It’s a rainy Christmas Eve. (disclaimer: this blog is not about Xmas in any way. It’s actually srs bsns) I haven’t posted a blog since September. If I had it would have been a list of reasons/excuses why I haven’t been posting. I didn’t want to do that. It would have been boring, and it probably borderline dishonest. I despise liars and think self-delusion and denial are the greatest of man’s follies. After cruelty. And wearing Ugg boots.
If living the “pura vida” mantra has hurdles, for me, blogging it has gotten increasingly harder. It would be tough anyway, because I never quite conditioned myself into the mindset that I should be photographing every single thing I do (I am a chronic over-sharer, but that is some next-level shit. I can only spend so much time picking out Instagram filters in one day, people, I have to sleep sometime). It’s been extra tough this year, though, for other reasons.
So, in the spirit of full(ish) disclosure, this year has sucked. A lot. I’m not the kind of college student who can manage my time anyway, but when you add on that it’s year six of undergrad for me (though technically since I took a year off in halves it’s only 5 but seriously it feels like a decade) and that I am totally and completely burned out, the fact that I can still walk and talk is pretty impressive, in my opinion. When I can’t even manage to complete tiny writing assignments blogging seems like a particularly heavy and awkwardly shaped albatross.
So there is that. But the thing I’ve really been dreading being open about are the real kicker. Depression and anxiety. They work together like the worst possible super villain duo to compound my normal eccentricity, create breathtaking levels of abject self-loathing (over 9000), morph me into a terrified cave troll who can’t bear to leave the house most days, send me into 20 minute crying jags because the clerk at the post office was rude to me, make me circle the block endlessly trying to convince myself to park and go into the party, but end up going home because I just can’t do it. Or mentally replay moments of social interaction endlessly and obsessively in fear and certainty that I definitely said the wrong thing.
Hopefully this comes as a surprise to most people who know me. I’ve always been kind of loud and jittery around people, but it’s gotten crazy bad in the last two or three years. It’s not something I’ve ever felt comfortable talking about because a) it’s not ever really relevant or anyone’s business and b) there are a number of serious social stigmas at play here. I feel more comfortable putting it out there into the internet void because of the openness of Jenny Lawson (The Bloggess), and Wil Wheaton, who spoke out recently about their own struggles, but also because after the Newtown, CT shooting Americans are having to face the consequences of neglecting the national conversation about mental health.
I’m not a danger to other people, unlike Adam Lanza, but I do think writing about it openly might help humanize over-looked or trivialized issues many people face. I think it’s pretty harmful to act like mental illness isn’t just as legitimate an illness as an infection or a broken leg. It’s not like I wouldn’t be better if I could. I hear happiness is pretty cool.
So I’m trying to be the best I can be, even though the gas tank of my soul is empty (you may roll your eyes at that, I did). I’m trying to be honest. I’m really scared actually, that this post is going to come back and haunt me someday, but I’m sticking by what I said, it needs to be talked about. I’m doing what I can right now, and hopefully one day veryveryvery soon I will be able to be a functional human being without excuses and therapists and tiny little pills to prevent me from being a basket case all the time.
But for right now, all I can ask is that you try not to hate me if I haven’t been calling. It’s because I care enough about you that you terrify me (the lack of reasoning in this astounds me too). Understand that as much as I want to see the pictures from your Christmas party or all of the Grumpy Cat memes or the wildly inappropriate pictures of your baby belly in tacky lingerie, I can’t.
My hiatus may not be permanent, but after 7 years on Facebook and their worrisome ToS, this is probs necessary. I’m going to reactivate for a day or so to spam everyone with a page suggestion, so if they want to know where I went, they can read this. And also see when I post to the blog. *cough*& share with their friends to drive up the site traffic*cough* I’ll probably stick around on Instagram for a bit. Who knows. Twitter is a bit different because I don’t feel so socially constrained to interact or view things by people unless I wanna (I ain’t no follow back grrl). So call me, beep me if you wanna reach me. If you don’t have my email, my contact page has everything you need. I’m going to try to get some sleep so I can last minute clean/pack/drive to my parent’s house for Christmas. Try to bake things with my sister. Play with my brother’s German Shepherd. Eat all of the things.
(All you can do is try. It’s okay) Happy holidays. Pura Vida.