Is everyone doing okay?
Asking in earnest because I can barely answer the question myself. It’s been almost two years since I could answer this in a concise or even coherent way. Instead of processing my feelings to provide a better answer, I’ve been plying my brain with K-pop videos to combat the malaise and general feelings of whatever-the-fuck.
In early 2021, with the help of friends, therapy, endorphins via exercise (mostly overeating), and quotes from the internet that I haphazardly applied to my life, I pulled myself out of an almost all-consuming depressive state. I tried to dilute my despair around friends and family, annoyingly, behind texts like: “I’m depressed, haha” and “I’ve never been this sad in my entire life, lol.”
The bargaining it took to get out of bed every morning was substantial. I couldn’t sleep most days and spent large swaths of time crying from exhaustion. Almost everyone made aware of my insomnia recommended meditation — and maybe try to get more sleep?
FYI, people who can’t sleep for several days and weeks and months have tried every purported remedy on the internet. I would’ve jammed a Quartz crystal directly into my eye while doing sun salutations if more than two Reddit forums recommended the combo.
So yeah, I climbed up the slippery, lube-covered ravine and out of my depression pit. The journey was terrible, and I cried the entire time. Once I emerged, I thought I’d feel the sun on my face again, or whatever Eat, Pray, Love was about.
But as we all know, the Now That’s What I Call Pandemic franchise has no end — coupled with global atrocities, a surge in hate crimes, climate change, the collective stupidity of people, and other delights, I found myself in a new place. Not depressed, not happy, just wading around in tepid, Atlantic Ocean waters. If this emotional place could be a color, it would be a cargo shorts tan.
If you’re looking for an uplifting ending, here it is: I was able to temper my insomnia through meditation and sheer willpower.
Just kidding.
I take prescription meds, baby, and I sleep like how I imagine Paul Rudd sleeps — peacefully and drenched in skin-softening ceramides. I also started playing volleyball recently (and obsessively), and knowing that there’s the potential to spike a ball in someone’s face is enough raison d’être for moi to get out of bed in the morning.
I haven’t figured out how to climb out of this Florida swamp (emotionally), but I did feel happy for 25 seconds the other day. Now That’s What I Call Progress.
