But what about all the other Christmas tunes that invade our mental safe spaces and offend our delicate sensibilities?
Questions that arose while reading Anna Quindlen’s “Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake: A Memoir of a Woman’s Life,”on the morning of my 36th birthday, drinking a cup of hand-poured, Tanzanian dark roast with hints of oatmeal raisin cookie and tangerine, or so I was told. Context, like batteries, not included:
- Why are the older, wiser people in my life the ones who are focused on money and business card titles?
- How much will I think of who’s not there?
- What friends can I imagine being there, in this kind of way, in 30 years?
- What piece of furniture do you wish you had?
- What will really make you happy? Not what looks good to others, or what will please your parents, or what will let you keep up? Just you.
- What mistakes do I think my mother made? Where do I think she went right?
- And when you’re the daughter who prefers boyshorts and high waists, with the thong-wearing mother?
- What good thing would you give up to have another good thing?
- What if you worry, but are too tired to figure out how to fix it?
- What do people see when they look at my face?
- Where’s the cat?
- When do you stop trying to make the checklist, or how do you get beyond it when some of the most important people in your life tell you you haven’t done well enough at it?
- Do women find loss of fertility a relief?
- To whom are we obliged? Those closest to us or those looking in the proverbial windows? How much do we do because someone really needs it, and how much because of a desire to make a more certain impression?
- Why am I the one seeking job leads or advice from women younger than me?
- Shouldn’t I have more time?
- I’m so tired and I know exercise will help, but I’m too tired and I hurt too much — how to stop the cycle?
- What is my personal symbol of opposition to pernicious pessimism?
- At 36, struggling for strength feels pathetic; perhaps in 30 years it will feel noble?
- Does the “big is beautiful” culture celebrate unhealthiness?
- Will being physically strong make one feel more emotionally strong?
- What’s your headstand?
- Why wait?
- Who is stopping us?
- No, seriously. Who and what stops you from being happy?
- How can you define someone else’s happiness?
- How can women of 60 communicate this lesson to women of 30?
- What is old?
- Why do you choose to change or keep your name?
- How old do you feel?
- “Fine” is not five years away: Why bother?
- This only addresses being beholden to your immediate sphere. What about the larger world?
- Even before kids, do women feel crazier than men? Perhaps in preparation?
- How do you balance independence and safety?
- How much did you keep to yourself? Did they know you disagreed with their choices?
- Is there that past-80 place where we can celebrate youthful optimism?
- What is “security” anyway?
- Would you rather settle down, settle in, or just settle?
- Are these really the cosmic questions? Will they be happy? Generous? Good?
- Do you enjoy being a parent? Did they enjoy it? Will I enjoy it?
- Do we make our parents laugh? Do our kids make us laugh?
- Do you want to be like your children? Is this the ultimate sign of parental success?
- Are you able to see the glass both ways?
- Who does the guilting?
- What examples of feminism were set for me in my family?
- Would you give up your place in the sun if it meant another critical mass of women were being recognized?
- How good or bad are the golden era, the good old days? What’s the tip of the scale from bad to better?
- Do women opt out? (Ally McBeal)
- Are older male partners not retiring?
- Why have I never been able to ask for a raise or promotion without feeling like an asshole?
- How is this need being communicated to men if women are far likelier to read this book?
- Is this really “normative”?
- But again, would you give up your success?
- Yes, women have to work harder to even get a chance to try, but the ones who succeed, who do earn a spot for themselves, would they give up their places if meant more women could be on the front page, in the boardroom, on the ballot?
- What does it mean to be of a faith?
- Because of what you learned, or because of rebelling against what you learned?
- How does Judaism foster a searching approach, or even a relationship, to spirituality?
- Ignorance is bliss, who whose?
- If you regularly attend religious services, why do you? If you did, but stopped, why did you stop?
- Can you substitute family, or culture, for church?
- What do you believe in?
- What about great women?
- Who has had great thoughts about you?
- What does it say that we see our usefulness primarily in our professions?
- Does equality mean women feeling less harried/oppressed and men feeling more?
- What’s better: To have a dream that never comes true or not to have a dream at all?
- Better question: What’s worse?
- Does it make someone less than if the “big things” haven’t happened yet?
- What is your plan B?
- If your career is your passion, aren’t you one of those people?
- Did I blink and miss my chance?
- How many old friends do you have who know you? How does friendship evolve over the years? How does age, marriage, family, moving, affect it?
- If someone is destined to die young, but is not yet on the way, do you ever speak of it?
- Not everyone wants to plan for the worst. Do I?
- How would you want the people you love most to die? Quickly, painlessly, and in their right mind, or slowly to give you time to do and say the things you want, even if there’s never really enough time?
- How well do we know our family members?
- Does my mother think I can be generous for its own sake?
- Do we need to have experienced loss in order to value something?
- Should we not take precautions?
- How do you stop someone being like me, choked and bruised by fear of what might happen?
- Living longer than your parents did — What perspective does that offer?
- “The human being is the only animal that thinks about the future” — Boon or curse?
- I always appreciate old people who exercise, but why do I wait?
- How far into your past can you truly feel?
- Is choice always a good thing?
- What can we still do? (Don’t say “anything.” That’s a lie)
- Do you want to die before or after your spouse?
- Which one of them will be harder to take care of?
- Do I still have the time and room in my life to become more before the spectre of my life narrows?
- Imagine yourself at 85. Who are you? What does your life look like?
- How do you want to die?
- When it’s not how you imagine, can you see what’s beautiful about it? Can you quiet the voices inside, shut out the ones outside, the ones saying shoulda, coulda, woulda, and appreciate the place you are, the day, the life you have?
I have a dilemma. I would really like to bitch and moan about how freaking tired I am, because that’s what the Internet is for, right? Bitching and moaning.
The problem is: if I do that, some jackass is bound to say “just wait until you have kids.” and then I will be thoroughly disappointed that said jackass is not standing directly in front of me to receive a well deserved punch in the throat.
But… if teleportation existed the way ’80s and ’90s sci-fi movies promised it would, it would be far easier for me to deliver the aforementioned throat punch. And then I could utilize the Internet for its intended purpose (other than, you know, cat videos and porn) without fear of disappointment.
The point is, kids: never believe what you see in the movies.
I suppose if you’re going to lock yourself in a room in your house and not be able to get your mental shit together enough to actually leave the room and do the myriad things you have to do, the bathroom is not an unwise choice.
This is actually a surprisingly bolstering realization. Not bolstering enough to get me to leave the bathroom, but it’s nice to know that my fucked-up, anxiety-riddled brain at least has the wherewithal to not force me to pee in the laundry basket. So there’s that.
OK, let’s try to combat anxiety with organization. After all, part of what has me in a tailspin this morning is having too many balls in the air and feeling like I am going to fail miserably at juggling them.
It’s big, immediate things like deadlines. It’s the things that lurk around the corner, like not enough work. It’s stupid things, like why I didn’t start trying to combat been the wings years ago. It’s what am I going to do about my name after the wedding? And it’s the voices in my head trying to be louder than the ones that say writing helps, the ones saying “who wants to read this? who cares?” And warning me about the risks of honesty.
But despite the fact that I’m not entirely convinced, you can’t live your life on the bathroom floor. So… Let’s see what we can do to get up.
If you’ve been here, feel free to play along. The goal is to make a list of everything that needs to be done so it’s written down and not swimming around in my head. Ready? Go!
OK, so the problem there is when you get into multiple step things that need to be done then it just becomes another bees’ nest of bullshit. May I just say that people who do not at least occasionally feel completely pummeled, ’80s racist boxing video game style, by life are hereby formally invited to soak their heads.
I’m thinking maybe post-its would be a good method. Write each thing you need to do on one and when it’s finished, rip the post-it in half. That seems like it would be cathartic, yeah?
But acquiring post-its means going outside and going outside means leaving the bathroom. And apparently that’s too much of a fucking challenge for my brain to take on right now.
So we’re back to square goddamn one. And I’m hungry and bathroom sink water doesn’t taste nice. Any of you brainiacs have any thoughts?
(It’s cute how I write that as though people are reading this.)
“Are you suicidal?”
This is a question my doctor asked me during an appointment to get a referral to a psychiatrist for new medication.
In the spirit of both eradicating stigma related to mental illness and avoiding bullshit, I have long carried diagnoses of anxiety disorder, major depression (as opposed to bipolar depression) and attention deficit disorder. So now you’re caught up.
Trying to find the most effective way to treat/contend with my personal smorgasbord of crazy has been an ongoing project. And let it be known that the medical community does not make it easy.
A goodly portion of mental health professionals don’t accept insurance, patients often have to see one doctor for therapy, another for drug consultations, another for prescriptions, you get the idea. Basically, people who are in medical need of less bullshit get a hit parade of overpriced bullshit dumped in their laps. Rain on your wedding day be damned, Alanis should have been singing about the mental health system in America.
So when my doctor asks “are you suicidal?” It roughly translates to “there’s not an actual rush to improve your course of treatment, right?” That is the standard: If you haven’t bought the gun, squirreled away the pills, sharpened the razor, written the note… You’re cool.
To reassure any kind souls who might be concerned for my safety, no, I am not suicidal, nor do I self-harm.
But the fact that that’s basically what determines whether someone is in actual need of help drives me to a different department of the nut college than the one I’m already attending.
“Oh, you got slashed across the neck? Well, has your head actually fallen off? OK will if not you’re fine just put a Band-Aid on it.”
This is probably a poor comparison, because a deep enough blow to the neck with a sharp object could either result in the severing of a major artery or perhaps of ones spinal column, or something science-y like that. I don’t know, I’m not a doctor.
The point is the chronic and sometimes overwhelming exhaustion and pure bullshit, to use a scientific term, that accompanies things like depression are not only not helped but are often exacerbated by this lovely system that we call healthcare.
And I’ll leave you to contemplate the irony of that particular title on your own.