Because sometimes I need a reminder of the good things (much like this...and this).
1. Hugs from my thick & moody black cat, Buffy. She doesn't always appreciate attention, but there are times when she'll just purr loudly when I pick her up & lean in hard against my face. It's fucking adorable, because I know I'm getting affection from an animal that hates most of the human race.
2. People hugs -- the completely genuine sort. Long full squeezes that help put me back together, from people that appreciate me. Not some half-assed cold & forced bullshit.
3. Finding out that someone has good memories involving me. I tend to just assume I cease to exist to other people once I'm out of their sight.
4. Hearing songs and artists in my kids' Spotify playlists that I introduced them to.
5. Marzetti Sweet Italian dressing (TASTE BUD ORGASM).
8. Driving through an automatic car wash and watching the pretty colors of the foam soap on the windows. Mesmerizing.
9. Watching a horror movie with every light in the house turned off. Sometimes I just need a good spookin'.
10. Predicting the odd future event (good things, I mean, not dread) somewhat accurately. Makes me feel like I might be in control of this whole simulation (aka life) after all.
I have been a fan of The Sandman comics since the age of 16. I was first introduced through my love of Tori Amos. A friend had lent me her copy of the graphic novel, Death: The High Cost of Living (as Tori had written the forward for it). I adored it, then went on to read Death: Time of Your Life. Afterwards, I was left needing more -- not really realizing at the time that these Death comics were just spinoffs of something much larger. Then I found The Sandman, and I devoured it all.
I have never been an avid comic book reader, never been terribly into the idea of superheroes. They bored me. I've always liked the deeper and/or darker stories best. Even as a child, the only comics I had really liked were the horror EC Comics, stuff like Tales from the Crypt, The Vault of Horror, The Haunt of Fear. They were cute dark stories, but not terribly deep. With Sandman, though, I had finally found a comic that spoke my language.
The Sandman changed me at a time I was still forming the basic me-ness of me. I credited Sandman's creator, Neil Gaiman for a good chunk of my personality by the time I graduated high school -- not only him, of course. I mean... there were definitely some David Lynch and Stephen King influences in there, too. But Neil definitely contributed to my glorious weirdness, and I have since bonded with other weirdos over our shared love of Sandman.
Many of the Sandman characters opened my mind to different sexual orientations and gender identities. The concept of being gender nonbinary was first introduced to me through Desire of the Endless -- my first brush with they/them. I really think that exposure has helped me to wrap my mind around it easier now, as some of my friends and family have since come out as nonbinary. I really don't know if I'm a more accepting person for reading Sandman, or if it was just my accepting nature and openness that made me enjoy reading it in the first place. Shrug.
So! I had a point I was planning to get to eventually, then I started babbling. My point: Netflix has just released a live action series of The Sandman this past Friday. Ten glorious episodes covering the first couple volumes of the graphic novels. I have been waiting years for this, hoping it would actually happen this time, praying they wouldn't ruin it. August 5 became a holiday for me. SANDMAN DAY. I've already watched the entire season and am relieved, impressed, excited for more, and worried that it could be canceled by Netflix before I get to see the rest of the story on screen. I need ALL OF IT. So if you're reading this, I highly suggest you watch it. More viewers means Netflix will (hopefully) renew it for another season and there will finally be good shit for me to look forward to and less of my bullshit self indulgent depression posts.
Watch The Sandman and maybe I'll quit my incessant whining.
Pain is a familiar friend. I don't know how to behave without it, so I hold onto whatever anguish is happening today, roll it around my head and savor it. If I don't have something to cry about, am I really alive?
This is apparently how I prepare for my kids' birthday party. I'm supposed to be cleaning house today in preparation, but I drank these terrifying vodka redbull concoctions last night and now I feel like garbage.
So I'm lying in bed playing these scenarios in my head. Conversations that will never happen, but where I say all the things I want to say and I get the expected hurtful responses....which is why I don't actually have these conversations. I want to get the words out, but saying them aloud would be some nightmarish vulnerability. So nah.
The result of this, though, is me blubbering stupidly in bed while playing endless games of Solitaire Cash while I'm supposed to be steam mopping. Damn, this brain is wonderful.
Feeling as if I've fallen down a deep hole and no one can see me. I realize this isn't the fault of other people. I'm not being purposely ignored by the world. I mean, right now I'm not seeing past the end of my own nose, so I'm inadvertently doing this to others. Sometimes I feel pretty positive, I'm starting to get my shit figured out, I'm getting out of my own way and things will be better. But at the first unexpected obstacle, I'm immediately buried and see life as this unbearable sisyphean cycle.
There, I feel a little lighter now, at least. That's the point of these posts -- to pull the heavy thoughts out and release them to the void.
I have to keep reminding myself, no matter what happens, I have friends and family who love me and I am worth more than I think. The weather (inside & out) has been pretty oppressive these last few days. I get caught up with my emotions too hard and quickly, it takes time after the storm to find my balance again. My even keel.
I need to stop crashing through doors that aren't open to me. Granted, this time it really felt as if I were invited, but the door was still shut. I am okay, got a good night's sleep, didn't drink away the emotions (sitting sober with them is very uncomfortable, but necessary). There's a calm today, and I can see that there's never going to be clear skies for long. But weathering these storms and coming back out (mostly) unscathed, it just toughens me up to survive the next one. And the next one. And the next one. Bring it.
Feeling pretty free lately, despite the occasional head storm (which is inevitable for me). Feeling fierce, actually. Fine time for list making. What to list...ah, how about Things I'm Letting Go:
The idea that I need to censor parts of myself to make others comfortable. If I make someone uncomfortable by being myself, that's probably not the company I need to be keeping.
The need to be alone to wallow in my thoughts. This never ends well, usually with me overthinking and imagining, writing needy pathetic poetry. Funk dat, I have my tribe of weirdos that love me and who also need another human to pull them back out of themselves. With hugs. Real squeezy hugs. Human physical contact helps keep me grounded.
Alcohol as a form of medication. I have writing, art, music, books, films, friends, family, cats, laughter, nature, ALL THIS FUCKING WORLD as medication, I don't need to tamp myself down with booze. Not saying I've stopped altogether, but not drinking alone anymore. A few drinks always helps connect my brain to my mouth, though.
The need to self diagnose myself with bullshit. I have an imbalance. Every fucking person has some sort of imbalance. There is no grown adult who is 100% sane. I don't need to hyper focus on what's wrong with me, or label it. As long as it stays within the realm of neurosis, I'm cool.
yeah, I'm tired of this list already. It's not even 9am, for fuck's sake.
dealing with my hills and dips, some higher and lower than others. I've had a bright shiny light lately, I just have to wait and see how that plays out. optimistic though (which, I realize, doesn't appear to be my norm, given everything I write, but know that I write more of my lows than of my highs -- the highs are a far more frequent occurance). drinking has definitely been under control for awhile now, which makes life so so much easier. trying hard not to internalize the stress of others and make it my own.
just thought I'd write something positive here, so I don't appear to be this pit of despair.
This one is: Coping Strategies? I guess? I don't know, I just had a hankering for listing things.
Recently learned helpful hint: people become 200x less intimidating once you remember they still have to wipe their asses. Yeah, probably don't picture it, though. I mean, unless you think it will help.
Buy a bag of goldfish crackers and bite them all in half along their seams. This gives one an enormous sense of accomplishment. Also, don't put them back in the bag after doing this, you really just have to eat them at this point. What are you, five years old? I shouldn't have to tell you this!
Put on the Electric Six album Fire. Loudly. Like, crank that shit to eleven. Sing and dance furiously to the entire album at least twice through. Forget about doing the dishes. What dishes? The dishes are an illusion. There's only Fire today.
See all your unfinished paintings? Yeah, girl, pop one on the easel and stare at it for a half hour. Just really get nowhere with it. Now put that shit away and get a fresh canvas out. Paint a lovely shade of orange over the entire thing. Yeah, that's pretty. What next? I have no idea, let's just finish that one later. I'm sick of painting now.
Start making a list. Get intensely into it for...eh, five minutes. Then... yeah, no, I'm done.
A little late for a resolution this year, but fuck it. Time is an illusion.
This resolution: indulge in every one of my "guilty pleasures" until I stop feeling guilty and ashamed for liking things other people don't. It's my life, my brain, my heart. I'm going to pour in as much good stuff as I can and stop judging myself for it.
This isn't really about covid, but I'm stuck home with it and the fun of being off work has worn off.
Depression isn't just not being able to get out of bed. I finally escaped and I'm trying I'M TRYING, but now all of my music somehow sounds the same and that's the worst.
I tried a self care app with this cute little bird thing. Sort of like a depression tamagotchi. I feed it energy I don't really have in the form of words and goals, and then it fucking goes adventuring without me.
Thanks bird, fine, just leave me after I tell you all of my problems.
Anyways, it picks words out of my prompt responses to focus on, and now it's decided that penguins are the source of my depression.
