4 posts tagged “depression”
9 hours: sleeping
3 hours: crying
9 hours: at work
3 hours: watching reality TV, reading gossip blogs
hrm. those aren't good ratios. i hate wednesdays, because that's the day i usually go to the shrink. today he said, "it's going to take a lot of time ... and of course money ... to get you to a good, functioning point." i'm conflicted. i could say more, but i'm just too tired. not working out, not reading, not even being nice to my cat. misery.
(also, i know it's of limited utility, but i want to try and document my depression. i want to be open about it and try and find...a new way. because 10 years of doctors and group sessions and medicine...they jst haven't seemed to be the solution.)
Man on Queens Boulevard and 63rd Ave., imagining I have my headphones up so loud I won't hear him: "Hey sexy, I want to eat you!"
Homeless man walking down staircase at 5th Ave./53rd St. station: "Nudity is your constitutional right!"
Boss, in front of elevator full of my peers: "This skirt you have on, is it your family tartan?"
Ugh. I just feel like falling over and dying.
i'm turning into a shopper, and i don't know how i feel about that.
i've always been a thrifter. extracting gems from the chaos of goodwill, the salvation army, spending hours to find a pristine black pencil skirt, the perfect worn cardigan, to mimic what i've gleaned from a rumpled copy of instyle on the gym's shared rack. i've furnished entire apartments on $300, turned $3 saris into glittering tablecloths, and salvaged classic dinner settings from garage sale hell.
but now i have legitimate disposable income, even after setting aside about 20% of my salary in a savings account. and i live in arguably the world's shopping haven. and i'm so disgusted with myself that i'll do anything to avoid unmediated alone time, which often results in aimless ambles of upward of six hours. so i buy. i buy things i never would have bought before, like $45 eyeshadow and $400 betsey johnson eyeglasses and a queen-sized mattress; i buy endless treats for my cat, pants i'll never wear, and culinary delights for my husband, who bemusedly appraises my treasures and laughs at my apparent frivolity. what will he do with kurkure and thums up cola, imported from india and sold at ten times the price from the subcontinent?
i feel like a bourgeois pig. like i'm trying to keep up with the joneses, but i don't know who the joneses are, and frankly, i could care less what they think of my heavy black frames adorned with betsey's signature rosebuds. i just need something to fill up these endless hours, and i haven't been able to read, i'm tired of going to the gym, i don't want to talk on the phone....does everyone reach this point, or am i singularly pathetic?
wintering in queens. hands in pockets. headphones in ears. wind chapping my cheeks as i power down queens boulevard.
another age of discontent, and nothing to make this feeling go away. read forster again? only connect? or hunker down, windows open to let in the frost, while i hide beneath my quilt and watch tv that's ludicrously unconnected to my life?
