When you are depressed and ready to yell "fuck it" and jump off of a 50 story building onto hard cement, what is something that makes you say "not today"?
Is it a person? A pet? Is it because you have goals to fulfill?
For me, it's the goals I want to fulfill. My life's a living hell right now, but I'm sure it'll get better once I'm older.
Most Helpful Guy
I think about sailing. I think about waking up next to the most disarming, sexiest smile (sadly that happens no more). I think about my students. I think about the hugalanche when I return to work after being sick. I think about Bach. I think about friends. I think about walking on a sage prairie watching a herd of bison with an incredibly vibrant rainbow as a backdrop. I think about watching Venus shine brilliantly over the saguaro cactus in the Sonoran Desert. I think about watching the sunrise over that Pacific on Oahu. I think about the snow falling silently in the Hoh rainforest. I think about listening to Rachmaninof under the Josh us trees. I think about having lunch with a squirrel in the shade of the oldest living things on earth. I think about playing with my friend's granddaughter. And a lot of other things.
If I have done and seen these things, I think you can too. You're right. Adulthood is better. The air is good up here. Won't you join me?2
Most Helpful Girl
I went through some VERY bad stages of manic-depression (bipolar 1, in today's terms) when I was younger. There were days when the game between "should I keep going?" and "should I let go?" went to overtime.
I wrote this little story a few months ago on here, but, it's appropriate here. Have at it
Summertime, all six of us packed into that two-bedroom house, no school, no a/c, Santa Ana blowing in our faces, makin' us all tryna bumrush each other.
My brothers all played football. So daddy'd take us out to the school field, and he'd run us. And run us and run us and run us. Since I was the honorary 5th brother, I was soooo cordially "invited" too.
Anyway, that man ran THE FUCK out of us, let me tell you. One time he ran us for about 45-50 forties (40-yard dashes). For comparison's sake, 32 forties was the "boot camp" workout they gave the varsity football team, just to see who'd throw up last.
For one of the best teams in the nation.
This one time I thought I'd hit the point of no return. No returns, final sale.
Anyone else, I'da checked out a long long time before. But my father is a saint. I am daddy's girl.
My whole body hurt. Girl I learned the whole human musculature that day, one spasm of pain at a time. Oh shit, didn't even know I had a muscle there. Or there.
Shaking. Would put an epileptic to shame.
(Yes, I stayed hydrated, if your mind is going there.)
"Get up, [redeye]." Hand out.
Fuck it, I'm getting up mah damn self. My grown-ass, nyah-nyah-I'm-almost-3-inches-taller-than-you-daddy self.
Yeah, I fell on my face. Whap! July dirt, ain't seen rain since March, may as well be concrete.
I think third time was the charm.
May have been seventh time.
My point is.
You know how I felt?
I felt ALIVE. Fucking alive. ALIVE.
Anything hurts THAT bad, girl, you're alive. Alive and (dare I say it) well.
This is gna be exactly the opposite of what everyone else tells you, but, fuck it. You just ran 45 emotional forties.
Lie there on the ground for a sec.
FEEL the pain.
Marinate in it.
You're alive. Alive, goddamn it.
Crying is alive. Crying is not dead.
Break some shit. Just fix it later. If you punch a hole in the wall, learn to patch drywall. Don't be an asshole.
Find some music that agrees with you. Music heals a lot of pain, in a way nothing else can.
Find some decent headphones.
Drown out the world.
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