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Step 1

Right this instant I have a brisket with southwest seasonings doing tantalizing things in my slow cooker and the smell is driving me crazy because I keep finding myself drawn from the office to the kitchen, my hand reaching for the lid so I can stir things around and get a healthier whiff of the stuff, but NO!  I need to leave the lid in place and just let the magic happen.

It’s a test of will I have going on over here, and I only have… oh… 8 hours to go.

Shit.

I’m hoping the end result, southwest chipotle brisket tacos, will be worth the turmoil in my already unbalanced psyche.

Speaking of unbalanced psyches (how’s that for a segue?), my moods have been all over the place lately.  And by “lately,” I mean like the last 3 years.  But especially recently.

One minute I’ll feel elated, high as James Franco at the 2011 Oscars, infused with anticipation and joy from the plethora of choices I could make with my life, the friends I have, the places I’ve been and have yet to see.

And then I’ll be down.  So, so far down inside this rocky hole, and I climb out every time, but there’s nothing to stop my fingers from bleeding from the effort.  Because right now – not in the end, but right now – I’m a 28-year-old waitress with a college degree.  I’m essentially a stay-at-home mom without the “mom” part and what does that leave?  And, aside from the occasional decent dinner, I’m not even good at the stay-at-home part.  No matter what I do, the house always seems dirty, the laundry baskets are always full, the junk just keeps collecting everywhere, and the dogs are being so horrific today that part of me wants to leave the back gate open and be done with it.

Not that I would ever do that.

But I think it.

Does that make me a bad person?

I realize what I’m describing sounds like some type of horrific bipolar disorder that can only be satiated with drugs and extreme psychotherapy, but bear with me for a minute.

Maybe – just maybe – I’m not alone in my “crazy” thoughts.

Maybe we all have our ups and our downs, our moments when our subconscious is trying to tell us something is terribly wrong but we continue to ignore that voice because listening to voices really is crazy, but is it?

And before you call the nice young men in their clean white coats, hear me out.

I’m not talking about voices voices, but your subconscious.  Your you.  The thing you’re referring to in the rare quiet moment when you’re all alone and you ask yourself,

Who am I?

The thing that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up when the creepy man across the street is watching you a little too closely, or the thing that makes you feel bad when you say something mean to another person.

I’m pretty sure we all have it.  This internal voice we sometimes find ourselves arguing with but most often ignoring because I certainly know better than myself, right?  Who cares if myself is telling me that something doesn’t feel right and maybe I should get help?  Myself isn’t a doctor.  Myself doesn’t know what she’s talking about.

But maybe she does.

Because, whether I’d like to admit it or not, she knows me better than anyone.

If you’re still reading at this point and haven’t rushed off to unsubscribe, thank you.

I have a point.

And I think it’s this:

We all have a self.  A conscious.  A soul.  Whatever you want to call it.  It’s the thing that makes you, you and not me.  And, for whatever reason, we’ve trained ourselves not to listen when it’s trying to tell us something.

And we certainly don’t talk about it.

We’re afraid what others might think.  I’m afraid of what you think.

But I’m saying it now because maybe these “issues” aren’t really issues at all.  Maybe these bouts of depression/anxiety/self-doubt are something we’re all capable of contracting if we ignore the voice for too long.  At this point, I have nothing to lose – except maybe a bunch of blog readers I love – by admitting it.  But, maybe explaining my process of dealing with it could help someone else.

I have my second appointment with a counselor tomorrow.

Sure, I could just pop a couple of prescription happy pills (which I’m sure I’d have no trouble getting at this point) and go on acting like everything’s peachy, but living life in a fog and suppressing the one voice I know is 100% on my side doesn’t really seem like a way to live.

At least not for me.

I need to know why I feel the way I feel and then figure out a way to fix it.  I think this counselor might be able to help me with that.

Don’t get me wrong.  What you “hear” in this post isn’t the real me.  It’s not my normal tone.  I’m mostly a pretty positive person.  My inclination is to be happy.  My laugh lines are real.  I smile all the time.  Except lately, a little less.  I know that the wrinkles, the sagging skin, the spots on my hands are inevitable eventualities of getting older.  It’s going to happen one day, whether I like it or not.

But my happiness?  That is something I can control, even though lately it feels like I’m losing that control.  I know it’s a choice I can make.

So I’m making it now.

*I promise this blog will still have my usual posts – recipes, random humor, rants… it’s still me.  But I’m choosing to “go public” with this other issue and will refer to it on occasion because I think it’s important.  Some people need to see that the healthy way of dealing with emotional problems is not to ignore them.  We all experience them from time to time, and sometimes we heal naturally, and sometimes we need a little help.  You can judge me if you want for putting this out there and making everyone feel uncomfortable, but if it brings comfort to one person, I’ll consider it worth it.  And don’t be afraid of me.  I’m not going to break.  I thrive on feedback.  So, if you have thoughts about depression and the ways people deal with it, I’d love to read ’em.  UPDATE:  Click here to read Step 2.

Up with Caffeine and Down with a Shot

I’m going to be honest.  I’ve been having a hard time lately.  You know, in case you didn’t figure that out here, here and especially here.

Sometimes I’ll be working at the bar and some customer will feel inclined to comment on my boobs or my tantrum-loving boss will throw a public conniption my way because, you know, it’s okay to do these things in a bar.  And then I’ll think to myself, for the umpteenth time, why the hell did I quit my awesome-paying, cozy little cubicle job for this?

You know, the boob thing doesn’t even bother me so much.  I expect that kind of behavior from drunk people and, if I’m going to be honest, I have nice boobs.  And taking it in stride leads to much better tips.  But the conniption thing?  Why someone this prone to high blood pressure and stress-induced hissy fits and all-around bouts of purely childish behavior would ever, ever own a bar is beyond my comprehension.

Photo source

When my boss is in the middle of a tantrum, I stand there and stare with disbelief for a few minutes because I honestly thought, at age 28, that my days of standing in front of a “grown-up” and enduring a verbally abusive rage of hysterics were over way back in my teenage years when I actually deserved it.

Then, when he finally stops to take a breath, I calmly ask, Are you finished?

Which is a little amusing to me because that ticks him off even more, and he gets revved up again with consternation and petulance, and his energy builds like the Little Engine that Could, painfully trucking his way up the hill, face turning red from the exertion of it all, only to putter to a stop at the top in an extremely disappointing and anticlimactic excretion of watered-down anger and spent steam.

It’s like emotional erectile dysfunction, and it’s exhausting just watching him.

Photo source

Now here’s something you should know about me.  I can get mad in certain trigger situations very, very easily.  The trade-off is that my anger is ridiculously short-lived.  So if you ever tick me off, don’t worry about it because we’ll likely be bonding over a couple of beers like the BFFs we were always meant to be in a matter of hours.

Which is how I’ve managed to continue working at this bar.  I get mad at my boss for his asinine behavior, but then I get over it.  That’s the nature of the food/beverage service industry, after all.

But anyway.  My hard time.

When I ask myself why I gave up my career to revert back to my college and pre-college days of professional food distribution, I have to force myself remember how I felt when I wrote this post, and specifically, this paragraph:

First, let me just say that the hardest thing about going to work when you know you want to quit, is going to work when you already have quit.  The gray cubicle walls seem a little… grayer… and the harsh neon lighting seems a little… neonier.  It’s like the last couple weeks of a prison sentence.  Except with coffee breaks and I don’t have to worry about my co-workers shanking me on my way to the bathroom.  Usually.

That place is not where I’m supposed to be.  This much I know.

But neither is the bar.  Not by a long shot.

So.  Where does that leave me?

I remember my 2-month adventure in Costa Rica and how it’s when I’m traveling that I feel the most alive.  I remember the sinking feeling I had when a dear friend invited me to India with her next month and I felt like I had to turn her down because travel costs money, and I don’t feel justified in spending money I’m not actually earning.  I want to earn money from traveling and writing, but can’t travel without money and can’t write without travel.

Huh?

Exactly.

That’s not 100% true.  I can write without travel, although the ability to say “yes” to these lofty excursions when the opportunities arise is my ultimate goal.  (And another opportunity has arisen.  It may not be as exciting as a trip to India, but it does involve a road trip and one of my favorite bands ever, but more on that as plans – or my typical lack-thereof – evolve.)

In the meantime, I’m going to jump into this writing thing with renewed zest.  I know it seems like I keep saying that on this blog, but that’s because I get inspired to write a post every time I’m on the up-slope of this emotional roller coaster.

I don’t write as much when I’m down, because… well… it’s dark down there and it’s hard to see the pages.

But then, then I get an encouraging comment on this blog or an email from a reader, and it’s like I can breathe again.  It makes me feel like I’m on the right track.  So thank you for that.

Sincerely.

You’re the best uppers ever because you’re free and just as addictive.

I’ll leave you with a question and some lines from Talk on Indolence by the Avett Brothers (hint, hint) because, as usual, they can express how I’m feeling much better than I ever could.

Question:  Have you ever had an extremely shitty boss, and if so, how did you deal?  I could really use some advice on this one.

Avetts:

Well I’ve been lockin’ myself up in my house for sometime now
Readin’ and writin’ and readin’ and thinkin’
And searching for reasons and missing the seasons.
The Autumn, the Spring, the Summer, the snow.
The record will stop the record will go.
Latches latched the windows down,
The dog coming in the dog going out.
Up with caffeine and down with a shot.
Constantly worried about what I’ve got.
Distracting my work but I can’t make a stop
And my confidence on and my confidence off.
And I sink to the bottom and rise to the top
And I think to myself that I do this a lot.
World outside just goes it goes it goes it goes it goes it goes…
And I witness it all from the blinds of my window.