You know, I miss being here every day. Lani and Jenny had a Come-to-Jesus with me and told me I was wallowing, which I was, so we revamped Refab, but I miss coming here every day. Of course, I’m not as down as I was (hallelujah!) which helps. Then again, I’m with Jenny, so that helps too.
Anyway, I need to pop in more often. The reason I wanted to start this was to keep me honest in my efforts to reclaim my magnificence, and just tap-dancing in, doing a number and tap-dancing out is a bore.
So — here’s the deal. The eating isn’t going so well.
Well, fuck it, it’s going better. I’m not eating sweets or succumbing to dessert. Yesterday I had salad and an orange for lunch, an Applebees 550 and under dinner (though we’re getting sick of Applebees) and a breakfast bar for breakfast. Alas, too many goldfish, but hey, that’s really pretty damned good.
Why are we always so mean to ourselves? Even I, who professes to adore myself, can beat myself up with regularity.
Is it human nature, or our culture? Why can’t I be as loving and supportive to myself as I am to my sisters? Well, I do know all the deepest, darkest places in my own heart, so maybe that’s part of it. I know my own failures and weaknesses, my mistakes and every hurtful thing I ever did. Now, most of those hurtful things, close to 100% of them, were accidental. Which doesn’t make me a saint. (Though I always wanted to be one. Seriously.) It’s just that hurting people makes me unhappy. It’s simply self-preservation.
See, that’s me being mean to myself again. I don’t know if I can come up with an answer to that. Except try to catch myself when I do it.
Anyway, I’ve been down here since Friday, and there has been much merriment. I’m doing my best to facilitate Cruisie (notice I don’t say help) in her efforts to get into her house, so we watch tv and crochet and laugh and shop and eat and laugh. She goes off to paint, I nap or work on my novella or deal with the massive and expensive hackery that was done on my website, curse their evil souls. Today I take Jenny to get a shot in the eye (shudder) and then we’ll come home and snuggle down. Before that, though, she’ll paint and and I’ll work
But back to the beginning of today’s post. It’s hard to be depressed and not wallow. Hard to grieve and not mope. Hard to smack yourself upside the head … there’s me being mean again … and say “get over it.”
Maybe that’s why people grieve in private and hide their depression. But you know, I’ve never been particularly discreet or private (who knew?). It’s hard to tell when you cross the line. I was watching Joe Biden yesterday, and the sheer exuberance for life that he has, and remembered that he lost a wife and a young child. Those things can scar a person for life. But they don’t have to.
There must be some middle ground, of examining things openly and honestly, accepting things, and moving on.
Maybe some day I’ll learn.
I’ll take photos today (no, not of the shot in the eye) so you can see what it’s like around here. Cold and snowy and very beautiful. Yes, I said beautiful and it’s NJ. Then again, I grew up in Princeton, which is beautiful as well.
And I will be absolutely lovely to myself. Or there’ll be hell to pay.