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A weekend check-in

A week ago today I had an agitating interaction with a random stranger that, somewhat inexplicably, sent me into a pretty scary depressive spiral. I spent about 36 hours in a state of what felt like light catatonia, mostly not moving, mostly not feeling but also constantly crying. My brain went places it hasn't been in a long time.

The good news is that my new therapist is the B E S T and we had a very helpful session talking about it later in the week. One of the things they noted, towards the end, is that I don't seem to have had a felt experience of happiness, at least not in the last decade or so, one that lasts longer than a few hours at a time. My default state is a low one. BUT, we also agreed that I'm going to try medication soon, and the prospect of that is extremely ... lifting? It's nice to imagine that there are other ways of being.

Some good things: I slept in this morning and my eye has stopped twitching. Today was day 36 of my run streak; my legs are tired but I can tell my lungs are functioning better. I can feel it when I'm singing and that is a real tangible win. I cleaned out my fridge. My brother tested positive for COVID recently but no longer has a fever, is feeling better and is out of quarantine. I did laundry yesterday and now all my white tshirts are clean again. Nikson and I had an overdue conversation about how much we are both in need of more space, so for Christmas we are giving each other separate weekends away for a staycation. This means that in January I'll spend my first weekend alone at home with the puppy, and I am both already nervous and excited to spend that much time alone in my own head. I feel grateful to be able to speak honestly about what I need, even if it takes me 47 times longer than it should have, even if it's really, really scary. After much hemming and hawing and comparing, I bought a pair of AirPods, and they have drastically improved my quality of life the past couple days. My dog is sleeping on me and that just doesn't get old.

One holiday down

Ah, Thanksgiving.

She's a messy bitch.

I confess to being deeply swayed by the occasionness of it all; It's a relief after feeling completely devoid of celebration or of anything to look forward to for such a long time. It felt good to be excited about having a fun day in my home. It feels VERY good to be taking a break from work.

But I feel achey, too, not only about the General State of Things but also in response to the bizarre, fanatical, aggressively heterosexual Objection to the Indignity of Missing Family Thanksgiving, the lives our loved ones and countless others be dambed. What, on earth, pray tell, is this? How did we get here? Who is this serving?

My new therapist, Randi, and I are talking a lot about what makes me feel safe. And what has historically made me feel safe throughout my life. It turns out the answer is "not much, not many people, not many scenarios". I'm trying to note when they happen so we can look for patterns. So far there's a real theme of Separateness, a real theme of Proximity But Not Too Much. Reading in my living room while my partner is in another part of the house. Being the only one awake at the end of the night, like now, looking at my Queer Atheist Bewitched by Twinkly Lights Christmas tree, listening to my dog snore. The ones I love are here, but not right here. Close by, but otherwise occupied. I see this fan out to my long distance friends and my Instagram DMs, the affection I feel for people whose presence is virtual while struggling to stay connected to the ones who live a few miles away.

Being a human with a heart is not easy. I'll take it, over the alternatives, but gosh, I am tired. Randi asks me how I feel at the end of every session and I just... say... tired. I am so tired.

Anyway, my big plan for the day was to buy a new set of pans and some nice sheets but I didn't do either of those. Instead I bought 90 days worth of contact lenses for roughly one hundred thousand American dollars, and they did NOT even offer a Black Friday discount. I ran a mile for the 27th day in a row. I pan-fried leftover mashed potatoes and put them in breakfast tacos. I washed A LOT of dishes. I went to the dog park and ate an enormous quantity of iceberg lettuce. I read a little bit and I watched a little television about rich people, for escapism reasons. It's one foot in front of the other, right; today was not a bad foot.

A new week beckons

Well, I certainly didn't skimp on the melodrama in my first post here. Glad this will be my starting legacy. I even used a little mood indicator!!

I was feeling melancholy, though, so I suppose it's fine to be honest about that.

One of the weirdest parts of being in this pandemic is how quickly my mood changes. Sometimes, I do manage to still feel very calm and content with my own little world, despite the turmoil raging on the outside. Other times the bigness of the Global Anxiety is too much and it seeps in through all the cracks.

Mostly this weekend I managed to feel good, and I am taking that as a win. In an effort to start slowly revisiting running, I have been running one mile every day. I have gotten into and out of a running habit enough times in my life that I know I have to go veeeery slowly, veeeery cautiously, otherwise I will get overwhelmed (or my body will start to hurt) and then I won't run again for a year. This daily mile has been perfect- it takes up so little time that there is no reason not to do it, ever. I feel more present in my own neighborhood, slowly increasing the list of neighbors I wave to on my loops around. And while I run, I have been listening to the same playlists I did in 2015ish, the last time I was Very Seriously Into Running. It turns out that it's not the worst thing to start your morning getting AMPED AS HELL on some synths.

Anyway, it's Monday morning and I am daunted by the prospect of another work week, but also trying hard not to let that get the best of me. It would be fun to have a good day! So I will try.

Current Mood: melancholy

Well, I suppose we'll give it a try.

It's surprising how difficult this feels to start.

It's been a long time since I wrote without an audience. It's been all filtered posts and edited captions and considering deeply how every semicolon would be received. But this is a thing that used to feel easy, sharing my own thoughts about my own life. It used to feel easy.

I worry sometimes that I'm at risk of losing my own voice completely. I'm not sure to what. I'm just sure that speaking is risky. Speaking up feels like sticking my neck out. Like putting an apple on my head and facing the archer.

But I am desperate for a space. I am desperate for a connection, for an outlet, for a room of four walls where no one can see me, for freedom to feel deeply. For the option not to be stifled. For the option to be free.

So maybe this is it? I guess we'll find out.