Face-Planting on the Broken Road

I’ve avoided this year’s anniversary. (You can read When the Knife Broke to be in the know if you are so inclined.) It isn’t a cherished memory, it’s more of a check-up: How have I done over the last year, how often did I want to die, did I mess everything up terribly and irreparably? In other words, what have I done to appreciate my second chance at life?

Jack. Shit.

  • I hung out with my old friend, Depression. Working out was beyond my capabilities when just getting out of bed was a plus. I drank too much too often. I ate too much too often.
  • I stopped caring about my performance at work. I’ve had 4 jobs within 7 months. That’s a record for me; I haven’t switched jobs like that since my college days. I didn’t even feel guilty when I called in. My need for sleep overrode everything.
  • I tried to love someone. It’s glaringly obvious now if I can’t take care of myself then I certainly can’t take care of anyone else.

Thoughts of ramming my truck into an abutment every time I was on the road teased me with sweet darkness.

I barely functioned. I often wanted to call my loved ones and yell – why did I stay alive for this life? So I can fail, fail miserably, fail again? I was so damn tired.

This is going to be painfully superficial…but no man I’ve been in a relationship with has never not told me I was pretty, smart, talented, whatever positive platitudes you can think of. A girl with my low self-esteem needs reminders, even if I don’t believe the words. Now, those men would later tell me I’m crazy and should kill myself. At least CLD, my last relationship, didn’t fill my head with these lies – probably because he never thought I was attractive – but he was never mean to me. So…which evil do I sustain my self-worth on? Because lord knows I need the approval of a man to validate my existence.

That was snark. Okay, mostly snark, just a smidgen of truth.

CLD didn’t care how I looked so why should I?

I can’t tell you what the turning point was. Sometime in January I got my fat ass back on the exercise bike, changed my diet, and drastically reigned in the wine intake. I no longer had health insurance so I was unable to buy Zoloft; I think the absence of it has shown me although it kept my moods even it did not help with caring about much.

Farewell, zombie-brain, I will miss you.

Eventually I started feeling better. Then a small miracle happened; I got a job offer from a really good company. Slowly, my life is returning to me.

Depression is a sneaky bastard. It rudely invites itself inside, eats on your brain, and sucks the good parts of you through a crazy straw. It snarfs down your give-a-fuck like dessert.

I march on. Inertia is not a good look on me. This is what we do, this being human thing; we surge blindly ahead pretending we know our destination. We get a reprieve, catch our breath, recharge, and strengthen for the next storm. We go on to enjoy another day with friends, make money, spend money on shoes, and continue to write that future best seller that someday you’ll let someone read.

And remember the knife broke for a good reason.  xo -T. persist and persevere//:

 

 

 

 

 


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