A Monthly Case of the Mehs.
I posted on this topic recently, only in a haha tone.
Today, there will be much less haha and many more tiny violins.
That was a warning, should you choose to flee the pity party before it begins.
Which would be now.
Underneath the exaggerated PMS jokes and witty puns, I am feeling incredibly frustrated with my months and my moods, both of which are anything and everything but consistent.
I exist in extremes. I’m either high or I’m low. Happy or sad. Confident or full of self-doubt.
In all my 35 years, my mind has yet to reach a happy medium of anything in between.
The only thing I’ve come to depend on is that my state of being is completely undependable. No matter how many good days may pass, I’m no longer fooled into believing that the other shoe isn’t dangling by a thread. I know it’s going to drop, I just don’t know exactly when – until I wake up in the morning and it’s upside down on the floor.
Usually, I have about two solid weeks of feeling on top of the world. I’m full of energy, confidence, and creativity. I’m the best mom, wife, and friend anyone could ask for. I’m responsible and timely. I like the way I look. I don’t get the nervous jitters when I have to talk to people, because I’m never at a loss for something funny to say. I always have a quip in my bag, ready to pull out, ready to break the ice.
And so I think….
Finally, I’ve found my groove! I’m a real writer, with real jobs. I’m a great mom and a kick ass wife. I clean my house. I get shit done. Shit that doesn’t even need doing. I’ve got life by the balls.
The shoe drops so loudly it startles me, and I’m hit with two weeks of trying to navigate through a dense, scary fog. I sit on the sidelines and, like an observer, watch my responsibilities pile up one…by…one. I know I need to tackle them or the elephant will continue to settle in on my chest.
But, I don’t.
Because, I can’t.
So, I look away (just not at my reflection, because suddenly I don’t like that nearly as much as I did just the day before).
Avoidance is a skill I’ve perfected. I’m so damn good at it I could win a medal in the Avoidance Olympics.
If I have twenty things I need to get done, I’ll put on pajamas and climb into bed.
Maybe if I ignore them they’ll just go away? Besides, tomorrow I’ll start over. I’ll do better. Maybe, I’ll even be me again.
I feel suffocated and paralyzed during the lows. And, it seems my main defense has become a sort of detached apathy.
I just stop giving a shit.
Why even try? It’s not like I’m that good a writer anyway. Does anyone even know I exist? Because, I’m not even sure I exist.
Of course, these lows come to an end and, just like that, I wake up with both shoes snug on my feet.
I’m me again.
Inevitably, this is when the guilt whacks me upside my head, and I feel so angry at myself for fucking up the roll I was on and throwing away all that progress.
With nothing else to do, I start over from scratch.
I see a therapist.
I’m on an anti-anxiety medication.
It helps. But, many times, not enough.
Or maybe (probably?) this is just who I am…and who I’ve always been.
An overly-emotional, all or nothing, basket-case of a chick.
Sometimes, I think I’d be better off concentrating less on fixing something…something that may not be that broken in the first place…and instead accept this crazy mood instability, and try to figure out a way to make it work for me.
All fine and good, if I only had the slightest clue as to how.
Sure, I could try and write through the lows, but there’s a huge chance this would result in a series of, “I have no creativity right now. I feel like shit. This shit sucks. Bleh. Meh. Cry. Wah. Punch something. Fuck it, I’m just gonna watch Real Housewives instead,” posts.
I’m constantly wondering if others ride this pendulum of emotions, too, or if I’m just a special kind of different.
Luckily, not all my lows are this low. But, I felt compelled to write about it today, because this month was a sad, sad beast, that I’m just now killing dead.
Finally, the fog is lifting and I’m on my way back up.
So, I’ll ride this high wave and take advantage of the energy and efficiency it brings so that, hopefully, when the low hits – and it will hit – I’ll be a tiny bit ahead in this game called life.