Darlene Antonelli is–

In-Person: Post Interview Reflection

Even though I managed to interview people suffering from depression online, I wanted to see and talk to someone face-to-face. I met with a friend-of-a-friend, Shana Schmoyer, in a “safe” spot, the Barnes and Nobles on campus.

I parked about 15 minutes earlier than we had scheduled to meet, and then debated going in or waiting in my car. I was nervous. What would I ask? What would I learn? What did I want to know?

I decided to head in, and immediately regretted it as soon as I stepped inside the door.

“I have red hair, and I’ll be wearing a brown jacket and a blue shirt,” read her text. I wanted to respond that I felt like I was going on a blind date, but I didn’t want to give off a creepy vibe.

I saw a girl with bright red hair and a blue shirt; her dark brown – or is it black? – was on the back of her chair. She was talking with a group of girls who were dressed similarly. I sat down across from their table to wait. I wasn’t sure if that was Shana. She’s not wearing the jacket. And I can’t tell if it’s brown. I kept analyzing the situation in my head. It probably isn’t her. This is another group of girls.

I fiddled with my phone as I waited, pretending to be busy. A few of the girls kept turning to look at me, but they didn’t say anything. I wanted to leave. I wanted to run. I felt my eyes burning. It was embarrassing. I fought the urge to get up and ditch the interview and waited.
My phone vibrated with an incoming text: “I’m here, hanging out with my friends.”

Shana and I met up, then retreated upstairs where we could talk in peace.

I noticed one thing: she wasn’t what I was expecting. I guess since I feel depressed, I feel like I look depressed. Fat, droopy, messy, ugly, not-put-together. Shana looked put together. She looked happy. She was gorgeous. After talking with other gloomy people online, I figured that we all gave off the same vibe, but Shana was different. I couldn’t believe the things she was telling me throughout the interview. I felt a little pang of jealousy: How could she not let the horrible things she’s been through stay inside without ruining her exterior?

Shana told me that she just started taking Zoloft, but won’t notice the effects for another month. It’s supposed to even out the chemicals in her brain to alter her mood. I wonder how well that works.

I got a lot of useful information from the interview. More experience for me to draw upon for the final project. Her story of depression wasn’t anything close to mine, but I can see how the mental illness affects people differently. Not all depressed people look alike, either, but depression comes in many forms. Beautiful people can be damaged on the inside – some people hide it better than others.

What Have I created?

Working on my final project. I can’t wait until it’s finished. Then I can go back to being me–closed up and pretending like everything is ok. You don’t need to know this much about me.

But it’s for my research.

I’m having a blast creating the final piece. It’s 18 passages long, 19 links, and 682 words. I haven’t even started yet. It’s not enough of a maze yet.

Living with Myself

I think I took a couple steps backward. I mean, I’m still trying to understand what depression is. I’ve expressed my feelings that I should be able to “snap out of it.” But I can’t. But I keep telling myself to.

It’s ridiculous, I know. I think. … I’m not sure.

I found, in my aimless wanderings around the web, an article called, “Nine Rules for Living with a Depressed Person.” Reading through the list, I feel like I’m living with a depressed person (when I’m not completely sucked into a gloomy mood).

1. Understand the disorder I think I know what it is. I’ve been able to relate a lot with the things that cause depression. See, once I get thinking about this, my brain floods with negative thoughts. Such as, “Major Depression is generally caused by a traumatic event. But, I haven’t suffered through a traumatic event, so what am I feeling? Am I making this up, just for shits and giggles?” I understand the disorder, but I don’t understand myself.

2. Keep in mind that he can’t “snap out of it” Keep in mind that I can’t “snap out of it,” quit telling myself to “snap out of it.” This rule is hard to follow. DAMNIT, DARLENE, SNAP OUT OF IT! (Seriously, has anyone had to live with an authoritative version of themselves in their heads? Oh man, it’s exhausting.)

I can’t help myself from quoting directly from the site here:

If the person is an unrelenting pessimist, as so many people with depression are, try to point out the positive things that are happening. His negative childhood programming–the “inner saboteur”–will probably prevent him from seeing these for himself. The depressive illness has a vested interest in the lie that nothing will go right.

I’m not generally a pessimistic person when it comes to real-life. I’m so optimistic about getting this Graduate Assistantship. I mean, I’m soooooo qualified.
But when it comes to myself, I’m the most pessimistic person you’ll ever have the pleasure of meeting. I’ll never lose weight, I’ll never have an awesome chin/nose/forehead, I’ll never have the amazing tan that I used to have, I’ll never be great at anything.

3. Ask about his feelings and family programming This is what the therapist is helping me to do. I’m starting to become more aware of my feelings and thoughts, and jotting them down, either here (where they can’t be ignored), or my journal.

(skipping what I can’t immediately relate to)

7. Encourage him to seek help.

Many sufferers from depression deny that they have the disorder or try to self-medicate with alcohol (as my mother did) or overwork or shopping–all of which are depressives in the long run. Part of your self-preservation is getting the depressed person in your life to seek professional help.

The alcohol and over-shopping I can relate to. I think that these help me, when they only distract me for a little bit. I either need to drink more or shop more and more in order to continue distracting myself. Both of these are horrible addictions. I appreciate everyone who has stepped in to get me to a therapist. It wasn’t happening fast enough on its own.

That’s the end of the list for now. Days such as this, depression isn’t even on my radar, but I feel like I need to keep it in mind. When I get over an extremely gloomy period, I tend to forget about it and move on, thinking that it’s all over. But then I fall into melancholy once again, and I count it as a separate incident, though it might not be. I need to think of this as a cycle.

All or Nothing

I beat myself up constantly for these reasons (and probably more that I can’t recall at the moment:

• my 3.8 (graduate) and 3.7 (undergraduate) GPA (instead of 4.0).
• 4 A’s and 1 B (instead of all A’s)
• a 94/100 on a test (instead of 100)
• the B- on my Core 1 portfolio (instead of A)
• I’m 5’3 and 150lbs (and the fact that I gained 10 pounds over winter break and I can’t lose it)
• I’m unmotivated to try to lose weight and stick with it
• I’m pale as a ghost (when I’m half italian)
• I’m generally moody and irritable
• my teeth are crooked
• I’m socially awkward. I never know what to say
• I can never remember anything
• I’m always tired

It’s always all or nothing.

I remember, back when I wasn’t old enough to decide how many snacks I could eat:
“Mom, can I have 5 cookies?”
“You can have 2 cookies.”
I’d pout and stomp my feet. I didn’t want 2 cookies; I wanted 5 cookies. If I couldn’t have the 5 cookies, I wouldn’t have any cookies.

Simple as that.

I can’t have 5 A’s, but I can have 4 A’s and 1 B. But if I don’t have the 5 A’s, then I don’t want to be in school at all.
But I can’t disappoint everyone. Mom, Den, Dad, Matt, Grandma, and other relatives. Or myself. I think, in some way, I’d be letting myself down. I’m still aiming for those 5 A’s. (well, I’ll be taking 3 classes next semester… so maybe 3 A’s.) It’ll probably end up being 2 A’s and 1 B…

Bah. All or nothing.

Today’s a great example:
A potential cat-sitter is coming over tonight to scope out our cat and her personality. The house is a pathetic mess. I don’t clean. I wash the dishes once a week, but that’s it. There’s hairs and dust building up in the corners, dust bunnies hanging out under the kitchen table, rust stains and other gunk on our soap dispenser (kinda makes you wonder if it’s actually clean soap inside), food bits all over the kitchen, dried sauce on the floor… I’m cleaning today. I’m doing it all. Bathroom, kitchen, bedroom, living room. Mopping, scrubbing, vacuuming, straightening.

All or nothing. Today, I’m doing all. (I even took a a roll of tape and brushed the couches to get the cat-fur out of them. Heck, I even did that to the cat to try and get some of her loose hair out! And the only reason I’m on the computer right now and not cleaning is because the vacuum is recharging.)

We talked about this sort of brooding behavior in my session this past Friday. Once I start thinking these things, I need to

1. be aware that I’m thinking about (for example) my 3.8 GPA
2. reality check it. I should be happy for a 3.8 GPA; many people would kill for that sort of grade
3. stop thinking about it

I felt better about the therapy sessions after last Friday, just to update.

I think the vacuum is ready.

There's a first time for everything.

Had my first real session, although it wasn’t the “therapy” part. It was part of the “in-take” — or something like that.

He asked me questions about why I was there, and other questions to better understand what he is working with. He mentioned that one thing he would like to focus on are my suicidal thoughts. I guess that’s a good place to start.
Though, I don’t know what he could say that other people haven’t that will make me change my mind, or stop the thoughts from occurring.

He mentioned that some people who go to therapy don’t believe the psychologist can help, since they “don’t know what it’s like in our shoes.” I think that he’s the only one who can help. But, I’m not really expecting anything. I’m hoping to be able to return to my ‘normal’ self (do I have a ‘normal’ self?). But I’m not expecting any changes. Hoping for the best; preparing for the worst — that’s what my mom taught me!

Do I really know why I’m going? The hour before the session, I was so tired, and I just wanted to go back to bed. Avoid the session. Close my eyes and forget about my issues and try to move on. But shit will pop up again, and I’ll act, again, like it’s the first time it’s happened to me. Just move past it, forget about it, and eventually feel shock when it happens again. Maybe it’s time now to stop the cycle. Trying to look back, I can’t even remember how many times the cycle has repeated itself. How many times have I stooped this low?

One part of why I’m going is my responsible side. That’s the part that gets me to school every day; that’s the part that nags me until I do my homework. That’s the part that makes me go to those sessions. I’m trying to live up to the expectations of peers, family, boyfriend, authority figures… but I can’t say that I’m doing this for myself yet.

I’m not comfortable talking about my problems with someone face-to-face. I feel awkward talking about myself, the other person nodding and taking in what I’m saying, and evaluating it. The things I have to say are weird, ridiculous, and stupid to my ears. I don’t want to talk about it; I’d much rather write it. But people tend to push people to talking, instead of writing. I wish I didn’t have a voice.

I don’t like hearing them, confirming them, and confronting them. That might be the point, but I think my walls will fall down as soon as all of that happens. I’m holding the pieces of my sanity together, but once I speak my thoughts out loud, as soon as I hear with my own ears what my mind runs through, I’m going to fall apart. I know it.

My worst fears will come true. I’ve heard personal stories where all this has happened. I don’t want it to happen to me: I’ll be hospitalized, I’ll have to drop school, I’ll end up costing more money, my life might be ruined. It’ll be hard to get a job when potential employers can look at my history and see “mental hospitalization” top of the list.

But I’ll keep going. Out of my sense of responsibility. I’ll probably drag myself kicking and screaming some days, but I’ll go.

I'm Not Great At Anything.

Conclusion: I’m not great at anything. I can’t do anything really well. I’m not the master of any sort of skill.

I could be. But I can never take the time to really hone a skill.

I used to be a great clarinetist. I was also picking up tenor sax. And I would transcribe music by ear with my keyboard, because I wanted to play “Harry Potter” music, but couldn’t afford the sheet music (this was before I was introduced to the awesomeness of the internet other than gaming). But I never chased any of these skills.

I don’t have a clarinet anymore, or a tenor saxophone, or a keyboard. I have a cheap violin that doesn’t stay in tune (that I also have NO idea how to play, and a book that’ll teach me how to play), and a bass guitar (which actually belongs to my BF).

I’d venture to say that I’m pretty good at writing, compared to a lot of people I meet. I’m pretty good with words.

I’m pretty good at gaming.

But I’m not great.

I used to be good at ballet — I used to be good at a lot of things, but I never try to break from good to great.

There’s nothing I’m great at. I’m an average person, with average skills in just about everything. Nothing stands out. I really do want to be great at something, but now I’m so used to being good and giving up. Settling for good, as if that’s all I’m capable of doing.

It’s a vicious cycle.

I mean, people have at least one thing that they are great at, right? Their specialty? I’ve noticed it in my friends and other people I’ve met. I can’t say anything I’m great at. Except being weird, I guess.

((PS – I’m writing things here to take to therapist… since I can never remember what I want to say when I’m in the spotlight. Does that ever happen to you? Even with a piece of paper that outlines what to talk about, my brain just freezes and can’t compute anything. So, I need something a little more out-there. I think this will help. HAHA! Can I give my therapist homework? Make him/her read my blog posts before a session? That would be FANTASTIC!))

It's Friday!

This song is seriously stuck in my head.

IT’S FREAKING THURSDAY! CHILL THE *F* OUT!

Ok, so, I’m updating everyone in this one, basically:

I met with a therapist at school today, but it was one of those evaluation meetings. They said that I should get a call within a week. *crosses fingers* Here’s to hoping I don’t get blown off by another therapist.

It’s really embarrassing to see such a community of people react to my words like that. I read back on that post now, and I see how scary it was. It was scary Maybe I should have censored a little?
I don’t like worrying people. Worrying people puts me in a spotlight. I don’t like the spotlight.

But, it helps.

Thanks for caring Thanks for looking out for me

I have a wonderful boyfriend and an amazing kitty that kinda-sorta make life worth living. I don’t think I’ll ever be fully embracing life, no matter how many prescription drugs I take or how much psychotherapy I get.

And now, for probably the first time in my life, I have a great, big, loving group of friends – that includes professors, peers, classmates, backs of heads that I’ve glimpsed every once in a while… The most friends I’ve ever had. (Like Pokémon: Gotta Catch ‘Em All!)

So, thanks for being there for me. I might not always so it, but I appreciate each and every one of you.
(I can’t handle being sappy for too long, so, let’s move on!)

I found this little treasure today:

Drawn by Ralph: http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100001040322521

You might also notice a new “twitter” icon – where my tweets appear in the sidebar. From the same guy. Tell me what you think! Is it too confusing there? Thanks for coming

Please Excuse this Interruption: Reflection

I suppose I shouldn’t have let my research go so far. I finally made it to a point where I could externalize my thoughts, but the response is overwhelming.

I’m sorry that I worried many of you.

That previous post is what has been going on in my head for … I don’t even know how long. I’m not going to off myself, no matter how strong the feeling. But I see why those words cause concern.

I’m sorry for worrying you.

I was just getting at the brutal honesty that this project needed. In a few days, when I’m happy-go-lucky again, I can look back on this and realize the scope of my “melancholy.”

Protected: Please Excuse this Interruption

Over-Reacting: My Specialty

Here’s a thought process for you:

Perspectives on Writing Assessment. The class that is going to kill me. Supposed to have a bunch of research ready for class tonight (Monday, March 21). It’s ethnographic research into a genre – mine is police reports. I’ve done searching on police reports and answered a few questions on my own, but I need to be around them.

I have been delaying. Why?

I’m terrified. I’m petrified. I’d rather die than cold-call or visit a police station alone. There’s something inside me that prevents me from doing these things. My brain knows I need to do it, my chest feels the anxiety closing in and shuts everything down. I can’t win. I put it off, put it off, and put it off more.

I finally made it to the municipal building (with company) to find out that they keep the station on lock-down. I was given a number to call to get the police training department. And I actually called the number when I got home (still had company!) … I called a few hundred times over the next few days, but never got an answer.

I started reaching out over the internet for cops to talk to. None close enough for face-to-face interview.

I called the Rowan Police, but they told me to ask again on Monday because no one was there with the authority to confirm or deny my presence at the station. This effort is too last-minute, I know. My brain keeps yelling at me that it’s unacceptable. I’m unacceptable. I need to turn this body in for a new one. But that’s assuming something is wrong with my body. My brain knows something is wrong – the rest of me isn’t listening to its commands.

This project is weighing me down. I’m scared to death of going out there and conducting research. I need to get over it. I’m yelling at myself to get over it. But no matter how loud I scream, I just can’t hear myself.

I’m accepting my fate. I took too long to get this project started. I’m afraid that it’ll show. I’m afraid I’ll get a ‘C’ in this class. A ‘C’ is an ‘F’ in grad school. I won’t get the credits – I can’t re-take the class; I won’t get my BA because this course is taking the place of an undergrad course. So much is riding on this. So much.

I won’t forgive myself if I fail this class. But it seems too late to change. I’m on a track toward failure. I haven’t encountered this level of failure in my life – it might kill me. It most likely will kill me. I’ve accepted that.

I waited too long. I couldn’t take control soon enough. I’m tearing myself apart, scolding and hating myself. Why couldn’t I do it earlier?

It all rests on today. I’ll head over to the Rowan PD and hopefully they’ll let me in. Hopefully, there will be someone to talk to. Hopefully, I can redeem myself a little more right now. Hopefully.

I’d really hate to see what happens if it doesn’t work out.

Is this the After.Life?

I should have been taking notes while watching this movie. I’ll try to get everything out here as much as possible.

Movie: After.Life – watched it on Netflix today. SPOLIER ALERT in this blog post. I’ll most likely be combing through the whole movie. If you don’t like spoilers, you should probably watch the movie first, or don’t read this post.

At the beginning, I immediately diagnosed Anna with depression. Most of her emotions are familiar to me: Lack of interest in sex, feeling outside of herself, numb, not knowing exactly what’s wrong, but knowing something is wrong. She colored her hair red suddenly – I got blue highlights in my hair suddenly. During a funeral, a lady mentions that Anne looks tired, to which Anne responds (unconvincingly): “No, no, I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” I get this a lot when I’m out and don’t feel out. I generally attribute it to tiredness; since I look sleepy, I might as well act sleepy.

Paul: Listen, I just want us to be happy again. Are you happy? Anne: I'm happy.

She says she’s happy, but she doesn’t sound like it. She’s emptily staring through the wall. She’s not happy. I hope I’m not this unconvincing…

There’s a theme of red/blood-looking water running down the drain throughout the movie; a couple semesters ago, I wrote poems for a creative writing class that had a similar theme – blood; red; and bloody water running down drains:

This is the only time it's actually blood running down the drain.(nosebleed)

Second time it appears: Anna is getting her hair colored red.

Third time red water goes down the drain. This time, Eliot is getting the red out of Anne's hair.

I was believing the storyline for a while. A long while. Anne was finally convinced that she was dead; I was convinced that Anne was dead; Paul wasn’t convinced that Anne was dead. It’s still hard to grasp, even after the movie ended.

Looking back, I can find more evidence to support Anne was actually alive the whole movie:
Eliot (the caretaker) kept injecting a fluid into Anne whenever people came to visit her and before her viewing at the funeral: (at the time, I believed what they told me, that it would prevent Rigor Mortis from setting in)

The stuff Eliot injected into Anne called "Hydronium Bromide," a drug that relaxes the muscles of the body. 1 - "Stop Rigor Mortis from setting in" (Eliot) 2 - make her 'appear' dead; disables Anne from moving

Injecting Anne with Hydronium Bromide before her mother visits

Later in the movie, the police mention that Hydronium Bromide was a drug that made people look dead. Hmm…

Eliot has a hard time trying to convince Anne that she is dead – to let go of her life and embrace death. He explains his ability to talk to her a gift that he has, as an usher to those between life and death. He claims to be in the process of ushering Anne to death. I guess it’s hard to believe you are dead and embrace death when you are still living, huh?

Jack, earlier in the movie, saw Anne standing in an upper floor of the house. Eliot claimed that the child had the same gift for seeing the dead, so a father-son-sort of relationship began blossoming between them. There’s a scene in which Eliot is preparing the grave site for the burial; Jack, Anne’s student, walks up to engage conversation.

Eliot: It’s only a hole in the ground. It’s for –
Jack: — Mrs. Taylor
Eliot: Exactly. For Anne. She belongs here.
Jack: Because she’s dead.
Eliot: No, because there’s no life left in her.
Jack: What do you mean?
Eliot: Don’t you see? I’m the only one that can see these corpses wandering around aimlessly. All they do is piss and shit, suffocating us with their stench, doing nothing with their lives, taking the air away from those that actually want to live. I have to bury them all. I have no choice.

This is mostly what gets to me: I hope I’m not one of those corpses, wandering around aimlessly, shitting, pissing, and taking the air away from those that actually want to live. People suffering with depression are commonly referred to as corpses. I feel like a corpse sometimes. Should I just die? I feel better off dead most of the time.

What would I do if I were drugged and convinced to embrace death? What would I do in those last moments, in the coffin, finally realizing that I wasn’t dead? What would I do? Do I want something like that to happen? Take it out of my hands?

I didn’t cover the whole movie, so there are still things that you can pick up on. The ending definitely keeps you wondering if she was buried alive. This is definitely a great psychological thriller that will keep me thinking for a while; it’s a movie that I’ll go back to, again and again.

An Online Interview: Reflection

Conducting an interview via e-mail is definitely awesome, compared to the traditional live-time interview. Like I’ve mentioned before: I’m horrible at thinking on my feet, and the email format gave me an opportunity to mull over the information and create more questions.

It was a bit more formal than I expected, since protocol in e-mail requires a greeting and a Sincerely, but we weren’t caught on formalities like last names.

I was surprised by the first e-mail, after I asked,

“1. Can you introduce yourself? Name? Age? What do you do? School? Work? Hobbies? Favorite movies? Favorite books? What is your dream job? Anything along those lines…

2. Can you talk a little about your depression? When did you notice something was wrong? Are you seeing a doctor? Therapist? And anything along those lines…”

I was absolutely thrilled by the response: a 16-paragraph, detailed story. I learned so much more than I anticipated. That’s why I like open-ended questions; I’m never sure which questions to ask, and I generally always miss things.
Alee answered many, many questions that I didn’t foresee.

We chatted back-and-forth a bit until I ran out of questions. There are a few lines from her messages that I plan on using in my project that hit a chord with me, but you’ll find out what they are later. When I’m done with my story!

I don’t think I would have approached it any differently. I rather take an hour or so, pouring over the new information given to me, and creating my own response and story to tell. I loved the flow of the interview, and it still doesn’t feel quite finished; I still have the line open to ask more questions, or inquire on how she’s doing.

I feel like I’ve made a friend. A friend who feels like I do.

An Online Interview: Preparation

Getting ready for an online interview is pretty much like a blind date, for me at least. I’m not quite sure who I’ll be talking with. What does she look like? How old is she? What does she do?

I know she’s a she from her Twitter profile, which I have linked to earlier.

I don’t know her real name yet, since I have yet to make e-mail contact with her. Oh, that’s how I plan to do it: over e-mail. I’m not quick on my feet, so asking follow-up questions during a live chat would be near impossible, so the ease of e-mail will give me the chance to mull over ideas she presents and so I can ask more later.

Since I don’t have a complete goal with my interviews–I don’t have specifics I want to learn, I just want to learn as much as possible about other people with depression,–I don’t have many questions to ask.

My main questions will be: Tell me about yourself. When did you first start noticing something was wrong? Why did it seem wrong? Are you or have you been to a doctor?

I hope to learn more about how other people experience depression. To move away from the stigma that depressed people should “pull out of it.” To know that I’m not the only one feeling nuts.

I’ll make another post reflecting on this interview soon.

+ Alcohol = Chilling the F*ck Out.

I think it’s pretty self-explanatory. I drank a little that night to unwind – which is becoming a habit, but a blissful habit at that. My mind stops running around the hamster wheel. I stop obsessing over everything that has happened that could have happened better, or what will happen and how I should react, or what could happen and what I should do in that situation, or what I want to happen. I linger over what I said last week that should have been said another way, or what I wore that I now regret, or what I should do next week if anyone tries to talk to be about it, or what I said that I should not have said, or how I kept too much eye contact, or too little eye contact; I shouldn’t have said that; I should have said this “…”, or Next week, I’ll go here and there and get my work done… With alcohol, I can finally “chill the fuck out” as many people like to say.

I don’t find any kind of alcohol to be particularly tasty; every sip is hard to down, every sip is painful. But I know that in a few minutes, I’ll be stress-free. I drink through the disgust to find the bliss.

Hard liquor works much better than any mindfulness technique. I find it absolutely impossible to stop thinking on my own; even if I’m absorbed in kitty-cuddly time, the back of my mind is turning over thoughts and finding other things to worry about.

It’s sickening. I can’t bare to live inside my own head anymore. I just want to “chill the fuck out.”

I talked with Matt. We figured out it might just be anxiety. I think it’s getting worse. I can barely call strangers on the phone anymore. Matt had to call the psychiatrist (she didn’t answer…. still… so he left a message); Matt had to set up my dentist appointment; Matt had to accompany me to the Cherry Hill police department so I could start my research in another class. I’m becoming too independent; I’m closing up.

Since most research and doctors say (at least the ones I’ve been reading) that depression’s effects are strengthened by alcohol Matt and I think it’s mostly anxiety I’m suffering from. (if you didn’t catch it, I’m a much happier drunk). Debilitating anxiety that triggers the depression that brings out the evil monster and shoves the real me away in a closet. I feel the more depressed when I’m overwhelmed, or faced with a task that seems impossible (kinda seem like the same thing, right?).

It’s something to think about.

Hello, My Name Is …

Hello, my name is Darlene.

And I’m not depressed.

I’m just one of those people who isn’t very self-confident. I’m not always happy-go-lucky. I’m not really a people-person. And I tend to have less-than-happy thoughts, coined “ruminations.” Psychs don’t like ruminations because they are thoughts that tend to linger on all the negative aspects of life and living.

(What’s really funny.. I’ve been in a gloomy mood all month, and then PMS comes around, and I’m like, “HI GUYS!!!! I WANT TO DO DISHES AND BE HAPPY! DDD Kinda ironic.)

There are so many people in the world – and not everyone can be completely satisfied. I get overwhelmed easily. (OMG, there are FIVE dishes in the sink!! HELP! I’m NEVER gonna be able to wash them all!) I tend to get down when I’m overwhelmed.
[track change]
I watched A Beautiful Mind the other day; I admire how Nash was able to live with his condition without medicating it. I’ll quote here from a New York Times article, “Depression’s Upside:”

“Aristotle was there first, stating in the fourth century B.C. “that all men who have attained excellence in philosophy, in poetry, in art and in politics, even Socrates and Plato, had a melancholic habitus; indeed some suffered even from melancholic disease.”

As the article states, ruminations can be helpful:

“The capacity for intense focus, they note, relies in large part on a brain area called the left ventrolateral prefrontal cortex (VLPFC), which is located a few inches behind the forehead. While this area has been associated with a wide variety of mental talents, like conceptual knowledge and verb conjugation, it seems to be especially important for maintaining attention. Experiments show that neurons in the VLPFC must fire continuously to keep us on task so that we don’t become sidetracked by irrelevant information.”

Basically, when in a bout of depression, that part of the brain gets more blood flow, which increases our ability to concentrate on a specific problem. Also, when depressed, our thinking style becomes analytic. We break down our problems into pieces and look at everything from every point of view.

This could totally be useful, right? I’m not depressed, but I get more blood flow to a certain part of my brain that helps me focus longer on my problems. Maybe I should start analyzing something else… something useful…
[tack change]
Also:

“[T]here’s some suggestive evidence that states of unhappiness can actually improve our expressive abilities. Forgas said he has found that sadness correlates with clearer and more compelling sentences, and that negative moods “promote a more concrete, accommodative and ultimately more successful communication style.” Because we’re more critical of what we’re writing, we produce more refined prose, the sentences polished by our angst”

I’ve noticed that people laugh more with my writing when I’m not happy. I think my jokes are better when I’m blah-feeling; my delivery is probably better, too.

So, yeah. I’m cool.

Lawfully Wedded Life

I was thinking the other day about the perfect wedding. Most girls imagine a HUGE wedding, beautiful, perfect, lots of friends and family.

My perfect wedding wouldn’t be any sort of ceremony at all. I want my wedding to be as un-special as your 43rd birthday. It doesn’t need to be eventful. Not everyone has to be there. Well, no one has to be there.

My perfect wedding: signing some legal papers and that’s it. I don’t want to be in the middle of an aisle, with everyone’s eyes glued to me. I don’t want to stand at the front and have people watch an intimate moment between me and my boyfriend/fiance/husband.

I had a dream last night, or a nightmare… I can’t quite place this feeling that it left.
Matt and I were getting married. I remember Julianna was there and other people that I can’t name (friends/family… I can’t tell). I remember feeling mortified when we came to the “I Dos” because everyone was staring at me. And I was trying to make the moment intimate between me and Matt… But all those eyes.

Weddings are fucking ridiculous anyway. I’ve been part of too many to think that they were “cute” or “romantic.” You sit there and the guy at the front mumbles some religious shit, and, depending on which ridiculous religion you buy-in to, you might have to sit, stand, kneel, touch your toes, or do the hokey-pokey and turn yourself around. Meanwhile, you’re trying not to eat the fucking rice that you have to throw at the couple at the end of the ceremony, but you’re fucking starving because weddings are planned right in the middle of the freaking day, so you don’t have breakfast, lunch is fucking spent in the church, and dinner waits at the reception that comes after the religious bullshit.

I’m not even going to get into the family-political shit that I’d have to take into consideration when planning a wedding.

Weddings are just a convention of society – a way to get you to pay fucking ridiculous amounts of money for absolutely nothing. Everybody tries to make their wedding “special,” but I’ll do it the truly “special” way — no freaking wedding at all!

(Heh… maybe you can tell I’ve been steaming about this since yesterday.)