Let It Go

Life is constantly changing.

One day your basement is dry, and the next, not so much.

One day your bedroom ceiling is patched and halfway normal, and the next, not so much.

One day you are all caught up on grading and the next, your Canvas account is filled with Research Papers.

The sun is shining and I don’t want to grade papers. I want to sing and dance and laugh and play.

Legos Everywhere

I bribed my kids to dance with me today. Well, I guess it’s not bribery, it’s teaching how to earn money for an honest five-minutes of work.

Of course, they will just save their quarters until they have enough to buy another Lego set. Have you noticed all the bins behind me when I dance? All. Legos.

I’d really like to convince them to get rid of all their other toys because Legos seem to be the only toy that they care about (besides electronics, of course).

My husband loves Legos, too, but for some reason they hold no interest for me. The only aspect that I find interesting is the special characters series that they sell. They’re kind of like trading cards in that you don’t know which one you’re going to get when you buy the packet.

Only we’ve never seen them in the stores. They’re always sold out.

Interesting. I like rare things. Collectible. Special.

All the issues that lie within my own struggle with my depression—a need to feel special. A need to be seen.

Lighten Up

Rainy day, so I need to soak up some dancing sun. I just allowed myself to get a bit silly with my dancing today to lighten my mood.

Rough start to the day when everyone slept late and I discovered I didn’t wash the dishes last night, so no cereal bowls or Tupperware for school lunches. Our school has a strict garbage-free lunch rule, so no plastic bags or anything allowed.

We still managed to get to school on time and while I was feeling myself getting annoyed and growly, I totally was aware of it and tried to laugh at myself.

And now I need to put real clothes and go to work.

Genre Play

Some writers fall very clearly into one genre and do not veer much away from that one style of writing because what they do fits them so well.

I’ve been trying out some new writing genres and styles. I think narrative nonfiction is my safe place, my comfort, but I’ve never felt trapped by the genre.

I also love to write poetry, drama, graphic narratives and humor. I even finished writing a romance novel this year.

I’m practicing immersing myself in new forms and in new ways of expressing myself. Huh—much like I’ve done with my dancing videos.

What I do and why is constantly evolving. I want to keep expressing myself in different forms for fun and for learning where and how I best feel I can truly say/dance/perform what lies within me.

Practice Saying Yes!

New focus this week: Fun, joy, happiness, silliness, play.

It’s so easy to fall into our roles in life and then stay stuck there, sometimes for a long time.

The boys pose for their first Selfie

As a writer and as someone with depression, it is second nature to focus on the heavy stuff, the serious issues, but then I churn through those emotions and experiences and get stuck there.

So, this week I’m going to try to work on fun topics in writing and in my mind in general. I’m going to practice not caring what others think of me. I’m going to practice the presence of fun in my life.

I’m going to say yes to following what just might be my bliss.

Today, I say yes!

College Writing and Teaching

At the beginning of every semester, I explain to my English 101 students that at the end of the semester there will be a bunch of them whining and crying to me for more time. I say that the time is now. Be proactive. Seek help early. Don’t fall behind.

And they all laugh thinking it won’t be them.

So, yesterday I had to point out to my class that it was, indeed, them.

I listened to the same old moan and groan and begging for more time.

The life of an adjunct instructor can be very tedious. We get none of the benefits and all of the crap.

For a writing instructor, for a writer, for someone who loves to read and write, it can be difficult to watch so many students who just don’t care.

I suppose it is every teacher’s dream to have a room full of students excited to learn. I work hard to instill that feeling into students and I think I do a pretty good job at it, too. It’s just discouraging to see how many students really don’t care.

I suppose that would have been me if I had gone to college when I was eighteen. In retrospect, it was definitely the right thing for me to go to college only when I was ready, only when I cared.

Cork that Feeling

I had an essay accepted for publication yesterday and I savored the feeling of happiness. I savored the rush of feeling accepted.

Can I bottle that feeling and uncork it when I’m feeling low?

I tried to really experience the happiness in my whole body; I recorded the sensations of lightness, bounciness and accomplishment.

I think sometimes that is why I feel so driven, so in need of producing art or doing good in the world—I long for that rush of adrenaline, that shot of happy, that I seem to experience when I feel accomplished and worthy.

I guess it is that sensation of being seen, being recognized and appreciated for being me. That is where my happiness comes from.

Now I need to learn to be able to give myself that feeling. I want to be able to produce happiness through recognizing myself.

Music for Dancing

I went to bed at eight o’clock last night. Exhaustion seems to be my best friend. I also feel like I’m trying to shake off the beginnings of a cold.

I’m falling behind again on my school work. Lots of grading to do and not to mention a lesson plan for a class in, oh, an hour or so.

At least I got my dancing in. Genny likes to sit and watch me, but will not join in.

Today I went with just instrumental and allowed myself to sink more into feeling.

Dance Your Day

The Dance Pill actually worked today. I awoke early from bouncing kittens and children and was off to a crappy start of a day.

Before I knew it, I was ready to seriously bite everyone’s head off. It felt like I was being taunted by demons with breakfast orders and lunch demands. 

A small inhabitant of my house, when needing help getting dressed, stood five feet away from me and wondered why I could not be of more aid.

A slightly larger resident asked me to comb her hair and then whined and cried the entire time I did.

Mommy needed her Dance Pill.

I scanned through the choice of songs I have left on my iPhone and chose Duran Duran “Hungry Like a Wolf.”

As I began to dance, all the common thoughts raced through my mind—why am I doing this? This is dumb. This doesn’t help. Shut up. Just dance. Just feel.

And a remarkable thing happened. I just fell into the lyrics and let myself be in the moment and not care. When I do that, everything feels right.

After I returned to my normal maternal duties, I felt better. The dance actually centered me, brought me some peace.

Now, does this mean I have to dance through my entire day? Good God! That would be awkward.

Mantra Wanted

Spring break for the kids is over and they are all back to school. Only seven more weeks until their summer break.

Easter started out rough with a pretty strangling depression smashing me in the morning, but fortunately it receded by the time we went to visit family.

It really is a moment-to-moment experience to stay centered and calm. I need to face my demons not every day, but every minute.

I’m ready to start figuring out my next big writing project. I still have a few semi-completed projects I will work on this summer, but I want to start my next memoir.

There are plenty of topic seeds I need to start exploring.

Right now, I need to get through this semester. My students are working on their research papers. I am hoping for no cases of plagiarism this year. A girl can dream.

So, lots of planning and grading and prepping ahead of me. I will try to stay focused.

Maybe I need to come up with a mantra for myself. Something I can repeat to keep me as undepressed as possible.

Anyone have anything good that keeps them going?

Comfort Food

No one wanted to dance today. Not even me. My energy is absolutely zero; it might have something to do with the four kittens bouncing on my head all night.

I’ve noticed the way I’ve been dealing with my depression this round has been by eating a lot. My jeans are feeling tight and, come to think of it, that might have something to do with my lack of energy, too.

I’ve been offering myself all kinds of excuses of why I’m eating whatever I want but it all boils down to—it’ll make me feel better and I want to feel better.

I would say I’m going on a diet, but that’s dangerous for me. The other way I deal with my depression is by eating too little. Cutting out meals. Denying myself to an extreme. With my history with disordered eating, I need to work on developing a healthy relationship to food.

I know I should cut out the sugary treats, but I hesitate to do it because they bring me such comfort. Maybe I’ll have to just start by limiting the junk. But can I do it? Even just talking about limiting brings up anxiety like, if I don’t have food to turn to, what might I turn to instead?

Chill Out, Anxiety!

I’ve been trying to understand the anxiety bursts I get. They usually pop up right when for a moment my mind notices that everything is OK.

I hear a voice say, “Oh, wait. This is what it feels like to be content, dare I say it, happy.”

I have a few moments of happy bliss and then—boom!

“It isn’t going to last! It’s not real! I’m real! Be scared. Be depressed. That’s your natural state of being.”

And then I return to an anxious space of dread, of knowing peace doesn’t last.

I believe peace and happiness is a moment-to-moment experience, but can’t I back off on myself a little?

I need to figure out a counter response to the voice of anxiety.

“Chill out! Let me relax for a bit. You’ll have your turn. Trust me. But right now, let’s just have this brief moment.”

If I can remember to have this retort ready, maybe I’ll be able to tame the anxiety a bit. Maybe I’ll be able to make the moments of Ok last a bit longer every time.

Dancing By Myself (to Kidz Bop)

My mood seems to have balanced out this week. The deep despair I was feeling only a week ago has lifted. This is what I always need to remind myself of when I’m at my most depressed: it’s not a permanent state of being. I will feel better.

Of course, the flip side is that when I’m feeling better, in the back of my head I’m wondering when it’s all going to come crashing down again.

It’s like, my mind says, “Don’t get too comfortable; don’t enjoy this feeling. It’s only temporary.”

But I suppose everything is temporary. Like the boys wanting to dance with me. Yesterday seems to have been enough.

Spring Break Day 2 With the Kids

I managed to convince two out of my three children to dance with me today. True, a lot of the dance was spent trying to convince them to not pause yet.

“No, no, no…don’t turn the music off! Wait until the end of the song!”

And as I type these words, I had to go break up a Lego fight because, you know, we have thousands of Legos and everyone wants the same pieces at the same time.

Crisis averted by breaking the tower in two and sharing it out.

And I have Kidz Bop in the background and hey…they’re actually having fun together at the moment. Knock on wood.

Oops, spoke too soon. No, wait. They handled that one on their own.

A few more minutes bought for me.

Oh, I just remembered a moment of real humanity on Saturday: the boys had their first ever soccer practice. Tommy went first with twenty other three-year-olds; he lasted five minutes. Cole went the following hour and played the whole time. At the end when we greeted him on the sidelines, Tommy walked up to Cole, put his arm around his shoulder, patted and said, “I’m really proud of you.”

Nick and I looked at each other like, what the?!

Thinking about it now, we must say things like that to Tommy for him to know the right context to do it in. 

And maybe we’re not such bad parents after all.

Spring Break for Kids

My kids have Spring break this week, so I’ll only be able to write a minimum amount this week as I try to balance giving them attention and going to work and getting my class work done.

I returned to my teenage years and danced to Falco’s “Rock Me Amadeus” today. This was one of the songs I used to blast from our stereo after school and dance to until I sweated out my frustrations and depression.

To Feel Alive

Not sure how to talk today. Something needs to change. I am failing at things so important to me.

I feel like I should go live in a cave where who I am won’t hurt others. Where I won’t destroy lives.

But even still, as I sit and write these words, I still have the fight within me. I still can recognize these are not the only voices inside of me. I call upon the words that tell me I can fix things, which tell me I can fight day by day.

But how is that fair to those who love the happy me? It isn’t. This is where the loop of depression tries to tangle me up.

Depression sinks its greedy claws into my thoughts and makes me feel like I should remove myself, that that’s what people really want, that that’s the only thing that will cure the people who love me. My removal.

I toss around the idea of pretending to be happy. I really do. Perhaps this is what others do. Perhaps this is what I need to do. Perhaps I am weak for giving into depression. Perhaps it really is a character flaw and not an illness.

I don’t know right now. I don’t know.

So I’m just trying to shake it out. I’m not trying to feel joy. I’m just trying to feel alive.

Let It Out

Express yourself.

Have you ever stopped and asked yourself what that actually means?

Express yourself.

What is the “yourself” that can be expressed? I feel like I’ve been trying to figure it out my whole life and I come up with different answers as I move through life.

I’ve tried many methods of expression: acting, dancing, modeling, writing, teaching. A lot of the time I’ve been expressing others’ words or ideas or what I think other people want and expect to see and hear.

Now that I’ve given myself free reign to express whatever is “myself,” I want to really get to the core of who I am when I express.

Sometimes I feel like that expression may just come out as pure feeling—like rage at certain injustices I see in the world. Other times, I feel like the expression is just a quiet whimper of emptiness that just wants to be seen and acknowledged.

I think we all have a need to express ourselves, to be seen, to be heard, to be understood.

Is it enough to just express or do we need a receiver on the other end? Does having someone witnessing our expression make the experience feel richer?

I think behind a lot of my expression is also the desire to reach others in some way, for them to be able to relate or be inspired, entertained or educated. So I think an audience can be very fulfilling.

I totally get it when Lady Gaga sings, “I live for the applause, applause, applause.”

I remember the days of applause and it did feel good.

Mix It Up

What would I do if I could do anything?

Why do I feel like I can’t do anything?

The things I do do, I feel like they are never good enough for this world that seems to demand perfection.

What would make me happy? If I knew I couldn’t fail, what would I do differently? What would I try?

For someone who was a stripper and a nude model, why am I so afraid to expose myself now? Because I’m afraid of failure. I’m afraid of never being good enough.

What is the antidote for feeling never good enough? I think it’s got to be to do what I want anyway, regardless of whether I’m good or not because if I’ll never think I’m good enough, if I don’t do something, I won’t do anything.

I guess I really need to figure out what’s most important to me, what brings me, or might potentially bring me, the most joy, then I need to do that thing.

Regardless of anything. 

I need to start allowing myself to do what I want even if it doesn’t fit into the mold that the world and I have accepted or deemed appropriate for me.

The Way I Feel

The world loves a winner. The world loves a winner who was a loser at some point even more. A beautiful, inspiring tale of—been there, done that, but look at me now, taking the high road!

The world does not love losers when they’re losing though.

When I was a stripper, I felt like people were always embarrassed for me, sad. Most people shook their heads and wondered why I was doing what I was doing when I could be doing so much more.

I was confused. Yes, of course, there were many horrible aspects to what I was experiencing, but I was also having fun. Little was required of me except to be pretty and dance. I could find employment wherever I went. I could step out of the real world and just dance.

For someone with depression, being able to step out of reality in a somewhat healthy way can be life-saving.

And being told I was pretty when I felt valueless was life-affirming.

What can I do now? I remind myself of my value because I know this is one of my underlying roots of depression. I know it has to be enough that I recognize my value as a human being, but oftentimes it doesn’t feel like enough to sustain me throughout the day.

I find myself tumbling back to a thought I often find myself face-to-face with, others cannot understand what I go through. They get tired of my state of being. At what point does it become unfair to them to have to live with someone who feels the way I do?

Good Days and Bad Days

Today I told my husband that I was fucking miserable.

And being the most awesome husband in the world, he told me to stop doing whatever is making me miserable. He told me to do what I feel I need to.

But I pointed out that I can’t stop doing the things that are making me miserable: raising a family, working, etcetera.

And he pointed out that I can.

I suppose I can or could. I could wake up one day and just not give my kids breakfast. I could not make their lunches. I could not go to work. I could not handle any of the zillion responsibilities I have.

But maybe my greatest fear is that even then, I would still be miserable.

Is it my life situation that creates my depression?

No, I really don’t think so. Would I be any happier if I had a nanny and no money worries? Well, probably, but I don’t think that would make everything better.

Would I like to run away to where no one needs anything from me? Where there are no demands made upon me?

Yes, I suppose that sounds nice, but I know that’s not what is going to make me “happy.”

I think one of my biggest fears is that nothing can make me happy. That this is who I am and I’m doomed to fight the rest of my life.

This is not me speaking, I remind myself for the umpteenth time. This is my depression. And today it has the upper hand and I just feel like crying.