Wednesday
Mar102010
Muddling Through
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Man, but it's hard to be a human being.
A couple of people stew their DNA together, one of them cooks it up into a body, somewhere along the line it gets married together with consciousness, and, BAM!, you're stuck with it. Blood and bone and muscle and soft organs orchestrate a walking imprisonment for the next several decades.
It's Stockholm syndrome, how we feel for this flesh, identify with it, but I suppose that it's difficult not to be demented under the circumstances.
It is March, the month that marks the onset of spring, but it is also the month that brings on the powerful death throws of my seasonal depression. It is almost as if it has a life of its own and doesn't want to give up its host.
As far as I am concerned, there are too many of us screaming for attention in this body.
Luckily, because I have been working with this seasonal depression thing for thirty-plus years, I know that it is going to sputter out sometime between now and June — I know! The specificity of its timing is remarkable! — but, until then, I have to contend with the following: mild social paranoia, depression, interrupted sleep, anxiety, physical pain, erratic appetite, crying jags, indecisiveness, inability to concentrate, irritability, etcetera, etcetera, blah, blah, my apathy increaseth, whatever, yougettheidea.
Two hours later...
...aaaaand the Palinode and I have prepared and are eating enough pasta and sauce to choke an Italian family of fifteen, even though it's midnight, because I was too distracted earlier to remember that, hey, maybe we should eat food and sustain these stupid meat suits that are all the rage these days.
Does anybody here want to take over the rest of March and most of April and May for me? Thanks.
A couple of people stew their DNA together, one of them cooks it up into a body, somewhere along the line it gets married together with consciousness, and, BAM!, you're stuck with it. Blood and bone and muscle and soft organs orchestrate a walking imprisonment for the next several decades.
It's Stockholm syndrome, how we feel for this flesh, identify with it, but I suppose that it's difficult not to be demented under the circumstances.
It is March, the month that marks the onset of spring, but it is also the month that brings on the powerful death throws of my seasonal depression. It is almost as if it has a life of its own and doesn't want to give up its host.
As far as I am concerned, there are too many of us screaming for attention in this body.
Luckily, because I have been working with this seasonal depression thing for thirty-plus years, I know that it is going to sputter out sometime between now and June — I know! The specificity of its timing is remarkable! — but, until then, I have to contend with the following: mild social paranoia, depression, interrupted sleep, anxiety, physical pain, erratic appetite, crying jags, indecisiveness, inability to concentrate, irritability, etcetera, etcetera, blah, blah, my apathy increaseth, whatever, yougettheidea.
Two hours later...
...aaaaand the Palinode and I have prepared and are eating enough pasta and sauce to choke an Italian family of fifteen, even though it's midnight, because I was too distracted earlier to remember that, hey, maybe we should eat food and sustain these stupid meat suits that are all the rage these days.
Does anybody here want to take over the rest of March and most of April and May for me? Thanks.
Reader Comments (11)
Just eat a lot of pasta. No depression.
Oh, hm. I'm going through some kind of cycle. My seasonal thing starts in October. I don't know whether anything goes on in March but I'm just extra crazy now.
I hear you on that human thing. It's really full self-consciousness that's the bitch, in my opinion.
Hope things get better. Ever since you told me to eat squash and root vegetables I've been going crazy on those. So perhaps try steamed spinach? Sweartagod it's a mild antidepressant. Just stick it in a pot with a little purified water and a lid and boil, then turn off. Add some garlic powder and butter. I mean, unless you really know how to cook. Then do something else.
I am so thankful I don't suffer from this. I guess it is because it doesn't really get that cold here in Australia...
Hoping for a speedy end and a summer of joy.
Be well, Schmutzie, dear.
I hear you Schmutzie! For me, this is the state of my life since cancer treatment. I don't know if it will ever end and so I struggle each day with acceptance of my new "lifestyle", can I call it that? The hardest days for sure are when I get out of bed and decide I'm going to fight through it, the easiest days when I give in to it. Then there are those embarrassing days because on the easy day I didn't pay a bill, or forgot an appointment, or gained a few pounds again, or cried at an "inappropriate" time in public, or didn't express myself properly and somebody wants to hang me for it. anyway, you are not alone - hope that knowledge helps.
I was hoping to see another Schmutzie crochet original. Maybe a little yarn would please and distract?
I don't think I'm gonna be a lot of help here, because I seem to be depressed most of the time, except when I'm sleeping, or having fun with my kids. Other than that, life sucks. But, I'll take over until June if you really really want me to. :o)
You, me, and it looks like Miss Banshee from what I'm reading. Spring is so hard!
:o)
i didn't know what to call it.
i am trying those syllables out on my tongue. sea-son-al. de-press-shun. okay. the seasonal part is kind of inherently promising.
yesterday the sun came out and i felt like the freakiest freak in a sea of smiling people, because the whole day tears welled just at the drop point, threatening.
today, better. but yesterday started an anniversary season of being overwhelmed by the past, and that season will march on through April, and this year as every spring i am again - yet again - waiting for external forces to decide big aspects of my life and i realized yesterday that you don't really fully heal from having your hands burnt. or your child die. or your life fall apart.
calling it seasonal depression feels less hopeless than calling myself broken.
so thank you.
Stupid meat suits.
I love it.