Mental Health: Ways to Perk Up When You Feel Like You’ve Been Percocet’d

Photo by visuals on Unsplash

Percocet’d? I’m making words up now. Is everyone okay? Am I okay? Only time will tell! Fun mystery!

I’m having some bad days and some okay days, not any particularly good days. Things that have perked up my mood are organizing things around the apartment, going for walks or doing yoga, reading a light, “for fun” book, cooking, baking, and keeping my usual morning and night routines. I say morning and night proverbially. Because… I keep vampiric hours.

Anyway.

‘Tined or not, I always love doing Yoga With Adriene. It’s free, approachable, and she’s lovely. 10/10 recommend. Even if you’ve never done yoga, she has a practice for you. Since staying in can be so sedentary, especially in a NYC apartment (approx. size of postage stamp), it’s nice to stretch ya hamstrings.

I’m reading dense things for school, but my light, “for fun” read right now is A Sky Painted Gold by Laura Wood, very Gatsby-esque. It’s an escape. While it’s great to buy physical and digital books to support authors, if you’re unable to financially and your library is currently closed (like the New York Public Library is), check out your library’s e-book rentals online. Of course you can read from an e-reader, but if you don’t have one you can also read from a phone (like me), laptop, etc.

I love a vegetarian green curry over basmati rice and tried out a new recipe. It’s comforting to eat something I make from scratch and I recommend doing the same if you’re able to. It’s nice to have a break from frozen meals and canned stuff. I have some similar recipes I’ve made here on Bummed Out Bailey:

Recipe: Thai Curry Vegetables (Gluten-Free + Vegan)
Recipe: THE Stew, AKA Spiced Chickpea Stew with Coconut and Tumeric (Gluten-Free + Vegan)
Recipe: Malai Kofta (Gluten-Free + Vegan)

In the mornings I chug some water, put in my contacts, wash my face, brush my teeth, apply toner, clean my mouthguard, put the kettle on for tea, make the bed, put on my serums and sunscreen, then get dressed for the day. I drink a pot of tea from my great aunt Ann’s teapot, eat, and then take my meds. Every. Morning.

At night Rick and I do a check-in (we take turns saying something we appreciated about each other that day, something that’s on our mind, and how the other can help), I take my night meds, turn down the bed, shower, change into my PJs, wash my face, brush my teeth, apply toner, clean my mouthguard, floss, use mouthwash, put on night and eye creams, apply retinol, take out my contacts, fill up my bedside water bottle, and read myself to sleep.

Wow, that was cathartic to list out and thrilling to look up and link products! I just realized something! The stakes are so dang low that I’m excited by minutiae! Even linking something like Polident! I’ll take it! Send help! Or snacks! It seems I’m having a meltdown!

The above are just things that have been helping me. There’s a lot of content floating around the internet asserting how to best use your days during the ‘rona ‘tine, but I think the most common, important denominator is to have some kind of routine tailored to you. A routine for the ‘tine. A ‘tine for the ‘tine. I’ll see myself out.

Godspeed during this weird time.

Warmest,
Bailey


Wednesday posts cover something that’s top of mind for me that week and are written in a short period of time. This means that editing is not strong. While it’s not my best work, it is my best, unfiltered thought.


More on Bummed Out Bailey:
Mental Health: Moving. Improving?
Mental Health: The Social Toll of Invisible Illness
Mental Health: Homebody v. Quarantine…Body?


Do you love Bummed Out Bailey? Want to help keep it going? Support me on my Patreon. Your contribution means more to me than you’ll ever know!

To subscribe to Bummed Out Bailey by email, scroll all the way down to the bottom of the website and enter your info into the form. I can also be found on InstagramFacebook, and Twitter!

If you or someone you know needs help right now, please call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.

Mental Health: Homebody v. Quarantine…body ?

Photo by Sasha Freemind on Unsplash

Hello from the living room couch in my and Rick’s new place. I had a hard time getting here, to this text box. As a matter of fact, I’ve been having a hard time doing things I know I need to or should do in general. I made a deal to myself to post something related to mental health on Bummed Out Bailey every Wednesday, and last week I blew it. I think I’m the only one who noticed a post missing last week, though (lol), but to me that’s just as bad as a bunch of people noticing. Not doing what I say I’m gonna do is letting myself down.

I try to remember to practice what I preach, to exhibit grace in the face of human fallibility but, as so many people are, I am harder on myself than I am on anyone else. It’s challenging to find the line between reasonable grace and just straight up failing to fulfill my responsibilities. I just find myself wading through a littered pond, sorting through trash: what’s a reasonable excuse? What’s unreasonable? What’s just my mental illness in action, and I need to relax and give myself a break? What am I gonna do with this empty Pepsi bottle floating past me? Who drinks Pepsi? Etc, etc.

Anyway. During this bizarre COVID-19* time, when self-quarantine is being advised, at first I thought, Okay, Bailey. You’re a germaphobe homebody who’s been training for this your whole life. This is your time to rise up and SHINE. But after a couple days I started getting blue and wishing I was with the goldens (who’re on Long Island w my in-laws, where they belong for many reasons).

As a person who exists with a baseline of guilt coursing through my body at all times that I’m not doing or being enough in all senses, being shut in at home has given that guilt a steroid shot. It’s officially mandated I stay in and write my magnum opus and read my ass off. It’s ridiculous if I don’t, what wasted time, right? What is my mental illness in action? What’s me just avoiding responsibility? Am I depressed because I have Major Depressive Disorder, or am I depressed because I’m underperforming in general and my thesis is due in six weeks? It’s all muddled.

I enjoy being safe, comfortable, and clean at home. But being told to stay home, which should be my time to shine, has had an adverse effect. I need a quarantine from my quarantine. It’s messing with my self-worth and mental health.

With the right lens, writers and artists in general are being given a great opportunity during this social isolation. We are given the opportunity to produce, hone, tweak, invent, and expand, all interrupted. We are also being given the opportunity to rest. But, who deserves what? How do you know if you’re being a bum, or if you’re sleeping because of the exhaustion of carrying around a boulder of guilt on your shoulders all day, every day, and it’s just gotten heavier? Then, I think about all the folks who are having very real professional concerns right now, those who work in service and aren’t being patronized, those who are facing a lay-off, and those who have children to care for and may not make rent… and then I feel stupid for feeling the way I do and again for not taking proper advantage of the time I’ve been gifted. And then I feel even dumber for being a privileged white person writing such a navel-gaze of a post.

I’ve seen some posts about our fellow friends with mental illnesses and how this quarantine is extremely challenging for some. One, you may feel more isolated than usual while sitting at home (physically alone or not), and two, some people w mental illness require regular social interaction to keep healthy, and that’s no longer available. FaceTime just isn’t the same as a hug.

So, I suppose my points are these: I’ll continue chipping away at the guilt boulder that keeps gaining weight and following me around. And then nestling down into my neck and shoulders. I also want people who are struggling w their mental health during this weird time to know you’re not alone, and that my mood’s taken a dive, too. And it’s led me to post a bunch of weird stuff on Instagram stories. You’re welcome ?

If you need to talk, I’m here for you. As always, please feel free to comment below or message me privately. I’d love it if people with similar issues could find community in each other via Bummed Out Bailey. What a gift that could be!

Warmest,
Bailey

*Say it to the tune of “Come On Eileen,” and you’ll never be able to read it another way. I’m sorry for cursing you in this footnote.


Wednesday posts cover something that’s top of mind for me that week and are written in a short period of time. This means that editing is not strong. While it’s not my best work, it is my best, unfiltered thought.

More on Bummed Out Bailey:
Mental Health: Moving. Improving?
Mental Health: The Social Toll of Invisible Illness
Mental Health: The Things we Carry


Do you love Bummed Out Bailey? Want to help keep it going? Support me on my Patreon. Your contribution means more to me than you’ll ever know!

To subscribe to Bummed Out Bailey by email, scroll all the way down to the bottom of the website and enter your info into the form. I can also be found on InstagramFacebook, and Twitter!

If you or someone you know needs help right now, please call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.

Mental Health: Moving. Improving?

Please know before I get on Bummed Out Bailey to write I always prioritize working with my family and psychiatrist to stabilize myself. I wouldn’t be on here if I hadn’t first confirmed my safety.


TW: suicidal ideation

For the first time in two and a half years, Rick and I have our own place. We began moving today, and now officially reside in an ocean of boxes. We had to order a mattress (trying out Nectar cause they have a sweet ass 365 day trial) and it’s not yet arrived, so after bidding dramatic fare thee well to my in-laws, we came back out to their house on Long Island for the night. Ha. The goldens are here, the familiarity of my in-laws are here, and I know where the glasses are. I can’t say any of those things about the new place on the Upper West Side. After so anxiously awaiting this day and losing sleep over the excitement and stress of the move, we delighted in the new space for the day and then dipped out back to the comfort zone (and existence of a bed to sleep in). I feel like I’m gonna fall over, but in a good way. So, now I sip a well earned cocktail and write.

Of all days, I got a call from a potential new client and did a consult for Tidy B Organizing today, too. Phew. Once Rick and I are settled in, I will buckle down on my thesis w my eye on graduation in May.

This post is a little too pie in the sky for me, so let me bring it down a notch!

I’m gonna say something terrible (and triggering to some), and that is that, more times than not, I believe at some point in time I will lose my battle to mental illness. I’m not experiencing ideation, and I don’t have some kind of plan to employ, I just think it’s important to admit to it in case anyone else out there has a ping of “me too” from the dark recesses of their mind. I bring this up because, in therapy Monday night, I told both Rick and the therapist this truth about me. I’ve got dramatic dips and intoxicating highs, times when I actually think to myself I’m so glad I’m still here. I’m so glad I didn’t die in 2008 when I last wanted to most. I have important writings to offer. I have worthwhile things to say and kindness to spread and companionship to give to so many. And then, there’s the counterweight thoughts I’ve talked about many times before. This is my life. This is it, being at the mercy of this up and down, and I can’t take it anymore. I can’t do this forever. Maybe I can make it through this time, but I can’t do this forever. I think about my friend K who died by suicide in September every single day. I imagine her in some kind of business casual get up with ballet flats getting her running start, and I feel a companionship.

It’s so weird to feel a sisterhood in suicide. Joan Didion says that we as people are always looking “for the sermon in suicide” and I just don’t think it’s that deep. It’s an imbalance, a recurring, level ten pain, a self hatred that finally turns to numbness and then to action, because there’s nothing else left. This arc crystallizes in my mind, a piece of realism in the far distance, even when I’m experiencing good times like moving into a perfect tiny apartment w my husband half a block from Central Park. You can have all of the coziness and the comfort of being surrounded by your curated curiosities (golly that alliteration was HORRIFIC and obnoxious, sorry) you delight in, surrounding yourself with and books and books and books and still see the speck in the distance: a truth, a possibility, a place where my mind is able to go, firm and unmoving. Insoluble. The direction my life could take isn’t even scary to me anymore, cause it’s like that thing of touching a bruise to still see if it hurts. It’s still there, but you’re kinda used to it. It’s a blemish that won’t fade. Does it enrich my life somehow? I cant tell. I think Mozart said that the unexamined life is for dweebs. Maybe that was Hawking. Such poignancy should be properly credited.

I am exhausted, like fell asleep in the passenger seat of the car on the way home like a toddler exhausted, so hopefully my words aren’t alarming or weirding anyone out too much today. A little bit of weird is good though. It’s the essence of me.

Ever Yours in Cringe-Worthy Truths,

Bailey

p.s. I know my posts are always a bummer. It is my self-deprecating moniker, after all. But, I hope to start showing some joyful glimpses of the magical life I’m privileged to live on here soon. Rick is a hoot and a half to observe on the web, or so I hear. In the meantime, check out my Rick highlight on my gram, linked at bottom of this page, for more.

Written Tuesday, March 3, 2020.


Wednesday posts cover something that’s top of mind for me that week and are written in a short period of time. This means that editing is not strong. While it’s not my best work, it is my best, unfiltered thought.

More on Bummed Out Bailey:
Mental Health: Valentine’s Posts Are a No From Me Dog
Mental Health: The Social Toll of Invisible Illness
Mental Health: Tired of Me


Do you love Bummed Out Bailey? Want to help keep it going? Support me on my Patreon. Your contribution means more to me than you’ll ever know!

To subscribe to Bummed Out Bailey by email, scroll all the way down to the bottom of the website and enter your info into the form. I can also be found on InstagramFacebook, and Twitter!

If you or someone you know needs help right now, please call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.

Mental Health: The Social Toll of Invisible Illness

Please know before I get on Bummed Out Bailey to write I always prioritize working with my family and psychiatrist to stabilize myself. I wouldn’t be on here if I hadn’t first confirmed my safety. 


TW: suicidal ideation

In July I suffered my most severe breakdown in more than ten years while home in Texas. There were unreasonable fears skipping through my mind like a CD player with low-quality ESP, horrific scenarios I played out in my head over and over. They all resulted in the deaths of me and my loved ones and untold suffering at my brother’s hands. These narratives repeated themselves so many times in my head that I began to believe them. I couldn’t help it and couldn’t turn it off.* Then, something moved in right next to me, mashing down the mattress on the other side of my bed. Self hatred. I’d seen glimpses of self hatred come and go most of my life, but it was usually more like a shadowy figure passing in front of a window at night, temporarily blocking out the glow of the streetlamp. Unsettling, but recoverable. After a while I came to expect it’s brief appearances, and my body stayed in a constant state of fight or flight tension. I have monster knots in my shoulders and back that make massage therapists click their tongues in disbelief. Sixty minutes isn’t enough to sort this out.

Unless you’re one of the four people who’ve seen me at my lowest, the remarkable tension in my back is the only outward proof of my mental illness. Because I don’t have a cast on, people who have not experienced or seen firsthand the manifestations of mental illness think I just need to get over it and pull myself up by the bootstraps. Suck it up. But, when I am immobilized, I want to die. I have no will to live and believe Rick, my parents, sisters, and brothers lives would be better without me. In my mind I am a drain financially, emotionally, everything. How exhausting must it be to deal with me?

I was meant to go to Texas for the first time since July this weekend for a dear friend’s wedding. The day before Rick and I were meant to leave, something descended upon me. I sat slumped on the bedroom floor, back against the bed, my bleary eyes and hand resting on Apollo. Rick came in and studied the back of my head.

“I canceled all my meetings today,” I said, moving my hand down Apollo’s neck and back, repeat. I’d had two meetings scheduled – one with my thesis partner and the other with my advisor. Important. Infrequent.

Rick came to sit down next to me and I couldn’t look at him. He’s been working so hard on his tech start up, pouring into it his heart, soul, money, intelligence, and time and now this. Me. He had a clump of meetings to take and his wife was a a heap on the floor, tugging at her oversized “A Woman’s Place is in the House and the Senate” sweatshirt.

“That’s not good, Bailey. Your thesis is your main job. If the mere idea of going home is sending you into this headspace, we don’t have to go.”

“No, I just need to sleep.” I folded up my glasses and crawled back into bed, pulling the sea foam comforter over my head. Three hours later, I heard Rick slink back into the room.

“Do you feel better?”

“No.” My eyes stayed closed and my head pounded.

“Is there a certain time you want me to wake you up?”

“I don’t know, six?” Dinner time. How normal.

“Okay. I want to talk about this trip when you wake up.”

I cracked an eye open. “What about it?”

“I don’t think we should go.”

“I feel better.” I closed my eyes again and rolled over.

Neither one of us believed me.

There was no way I was going to entertain missing such an important wedding, my high school best friend’s little sister’s, who I’d known since she was single-digit age. When I finally shuffled out of our room, I found Rick sitting in his chair, waiting, like a one-person intervention.

“After your July trip, it took you months to get back on track, mentally. Your family will understand.”

“[Our niece] is huge now, and I haven’t even met [our new nephew]. There’s no way I’m missing [friend]’s wedding, either. I can’t postpone a wedding until I feel better.”

“It’s too risky. You couldn’t even get out of bed today, Bailey. Best case scenario is we go and have a great time. Worst case is you get there, have a colossal meltdown, we take an emergency flight back to New York, and then deal with the repercussions for two months like last time.”

“I’m supposed to see Alex, too,” I muttered. It would’ve been the first time in two years. “He’s got these cats…” I trailed off. “But I guess either way that’s definitely off the table now.”

In July, one of the many things I was convinced of is that Alex was going to break into my parents’ house and kill all of us in our sleep. We’d all been through so much already, why would it stop now? We’re really going to go out with a bang. A literal bang. “I just don’t know what to do.”

“Do you wanna call your parents? Do you wanna call Duncan?”

“I don’t know, I don’t really wanna bother them. They’re going to be disappointed.”

“They more than anyone else understand, especially after your parents witnessed the breakdown in person last summer. Let’s call Keith.”

I pressed my lips to the side, eyes on my lap. “Okay.”

For the next hour we discussed the pros, cons, and potential scenarios of me coming home for the weekend first with me and Rick, then my parents, me, and Rick, then Duncan, me, and Rick, and finally just me and Rick again. We turned the issue over in our hands for so long, talked it to death. My parents sit around wondering if Alex is about to die everyday, and Duncan has a baby. Who has time for my repetitive mental issues? I cannot pull myself up by the bootstraps. I cannot suck it up. But I cannot stand to put my loved one through this again. I needed to stay in New York, and I hated myself for it. The shadow had sidled past the window, in through the backdoor, and plopped down next to me on the dirty couch. Nobody has time for this, it whispered. Everything would be so much easier without you. They’ll be sad at first, yeah, but they’ll get over it. Your suffering makes everyone else suffer.

I knew then, when these self harm thoughts began flooding the paths in my brain like the tunnels of an ant hill in peril, that I couldn’t go. We weren’t at my parents’ house, we weren’t in Dallas, we weren’t on a plane, it wasn’t even the day meant for departure, but it was like I was already preheating for another meltdown.

As suspected, my family understood. But, the worst part was calling my best friend to tell her I couldn’t come.

“I have bad news,” I said.

“You’re in New York and you’re not coming,” she panned.

I explained myself the best I could. She said the right things, but her tone indicated otherwise. She seemed impatient, maybe even angry. Worst of all, she seemed unsurprised. “They say 10% of people who RSVP to your wedding don’t end up coming. I really hoped you’d be here, but I did wonder…”

“We’ve had the flights booked for months and every intention of being there. I wanted to be there to support [sister], but I especially wanted to be there to support you.” I looked over at my half-packed suitcase, hanging vibrant dresses, and three pairs of stilettos. Three pairs for one night – just in case.

I apologized again, knowing it was futile. I hated myself for failing my best friend, and felt helpless knowing that someone can easily believe my excuses to be bullshit. I don’t blame anyone for thinking that way, especially with how the language surrounding mental illness has been diluted by misuse and hyperbole from people who do not actually suffer from mental illness. No wonder people just think it’s bullshit excuses, because there are people who are using what is extremely valid to some as a way to cop out of responsibility. Unaffected people throwing around “I have anxiety” and “I’m depressed” like a frisbee harms people who are truly afflicted, further harming the harmed.

No one “had anxiety” or “was depressed” when I couldn’t walk through the door of my elementary school in 5th grade. There wasn’t a lot of knowledge and language to identify these things in a child, let alone conversations among peers. When my parents witnessed my breakdown firsthand in July, they finally witnessed their 30 year-old adult child experiencing what I’ve experienced since I was nine. It’s crippling. And, when you miss unmovable, important life events like a funeral or, in this case, a wedding, it’s devastating.

It’s the night of the wedding as I write, and there’s nowhere I’d rather be but on the dance floor with the bride, cocktail in hand. Instead, I’m still sitting here on the dirty couch with an unwanted seat mate.

*Read more about what happened in July here.

Written Saturday, February 22, 2020.


Wednesday posts cover something that’s top of mind for me that week and are written in a short period of time. This means that editing is not strong. While it’s not my best work, it is my best, unfiltered thought.

More on Bummed Out Bailey:
Mental Health: Valentine’s Posts Are a No From Me Dog
Mental Health: Productivity
Mental Health: Tired of Me


Do you love Bummed Out Bailey? Want to help keep it going? Support me on my Patreon. Your contribution means more to me than you’ll ever know!

To subscribe to Bummed Out Bailey by email, scroll all the way down to the bottom of the website and enter your info into the form. I can also be found on InstagramFacebook, and Twitter!

If you or someone you know needs help right now, please call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.

Mental Health: Valentine’s Posts Are a No From Me Dog

Saddle up for a series of hot takes. Yeehaw!

Social media! A journey of jealousy and curation, trendy filters and ever-changing lexicon, FOMO and even some JOMO. Variations of “remember, social media is just someone’s highlight reel!” have become a common refrain when considering’ profiles, and now manufactured vulnerability has become de riguer, much to ole Bummed Out Bailey’s chagrin… my culture of crippling anxiety and ideation is not costume, [hot influencer selling something via fake mental illness confessional].

Your moods can be soaring or plummeting while you post something in opposition. You can display energy while you’re exhausted, or take a sleeping selfie (???how) when you’re actually up and at ’em. Maybe these things end up being self-fulfilling! Except for the selfie taking while you’re sleeping, ’cause that sounds witchy. Maybe social media presentation is all an evolved take on the “fake it til you make it” mentality, but I suspect it’s still more of a manipulative tool or façade. Who knows.

So, something top of mind this past week in regards to social media are, naturally, Valentine’s posts. I’d like to even the playing fields here.

Dear people who are coupled up on Valentine’s,

Guys, what the hell? Stop it. Your lover is not shipped off to ‘Nam. Why are you gushing about your S.O. on a social media platform when A) you can just tell them how you feel in person or on the phone, which is more meaningful anyway, and B) it makes people who are lonely on V-Day feel worse? It’s weird. And it was like the more people posted love letters to their S.O.s, the more other people did until it was a deluge of saccharine. I like sugar, but… gag. I’m sneakin’ in some salt.
I post goofy tributes to Rick ’cause I crack myself up and also ’cause I know ain’t nobody wanna read about what we mean to each other except… each other. So, I talk about, like, Rick’s vest collection or how he complains about Sprinkles cupcakes icing to cake ratio being off.
It comes off as insecure to rave about your romance online, which may or may not be true IRL. Sometimes you just wanna publicly celebrate your person, I get it. But I know what it feels like to be lonely and scrolling through people’s love stories advertised all over the place on V-Day. It hurts, so be cognizant. And maybe take a romantic social media-less trip to ‘Nam together.

Love,
Bailey

Dear lonely people on Valentine’s,

Reminder: marriage or romantic partnership does not equal ever-lasting emancipation from loneliness. The loneliness inside of these relationships actually compounds when you feel isolated or misunderstood because, even though you have a person to alleviate those things in theory, we’re all fallible human beings in practice and fail each other sometimes. Whether or not you’ve been in a longterm partnership, this is important for all people to keep in mind.
If you’re wondering what the heck is going on, and where your relationship(s) went wrong, they didn’t. It’s just that no one is posting the miserable stuff on the internet.com.

Love,
It’s Still Me, Bailey

P.S. One of my favorite podcasts I listened to this week was Bad On Paper’s “Being Single Doesn’t Have to Suck!” episode. I love the women who host this pod.

Three months after Rick and I got married my boss moved to Abu Dhabi and I asked to follow him. I created a deck and pitched why I’d be great and how badly I wanted it. I reasoned that Rick and I would fly back and forth and see each other every six weeks, equaling one trip for each of us every three months. I had it mapped and Rick’s arm twisted. My boss called me up on a Sunday morning and said that he and his wife had been married for 30 years, so this was kind of a drop in the bucket for them, but that my and Rick’s marriage was so new (he’d been there to celebrate with us) that he was wary to condone such a vast separation. I was so bummed when it didn’t work out back then, but Rick and I laugh about it now. The hindsight idea of us being separated by a 13 hour flight when we were just beginning to establish the foundation of our home is, for us, preposterous, especially considering how rocky it all was for us in the first two years. Rick likes to laugh and say “Hey remember when we got married and then you immediately tried to move away to the Middle East?” It seriously could’ve been a quick nail in the marital coffin.

Anyway, while Rick and I have only been together 5-6 years, I can appreciate that it’s a beautiful thing for two people to choose each other over and over, every day. However, I can’t just get up and move to the Middle East because I feel like it anymore. On October 1, 2016 I committed to consulting and considering another person on all big choices for the rest of my life. Maybe I’d actually like to be shipped off to ‘Nam for a three month teaching adventure where I get a long weekend to fly over to Chiang Mai and snuggle an elephant, but I can’t just jet off into the sunset. And because Rick still thinks Linkedin is social media, I wouldn’t find a romantic Valentine’s post online, anyway, unless it was an allusion hidden in an article about ROI or how to scale product.

Whenever I see precious babies on social celebrating birthdays, family vacations to the beach with sandy Michelin-man buns, and matching Christmas PJs and the joy/terror of meeting Santa, I think about how nice that must be to have: a cozy home with children underfoot. But, in the same vein as marriage v. singledom, there are pros and cons, right? Longterm relationships, children – each one of these things is like a root that grows deeper, making it evermore challenging to uproot from the place you’re in geographically, professionally, etc. Sometimes I long for a little house with a yard and a derpy golden retriever and my own herb garden and a baby toddling around, but I try to recalibrate my thinking to remember that while there are wonderful things about that potential, there are also wonderful things about life without children (yet), if that’s something you desire. The same goes for life without a longterm partner (yet), again if that’s something you desire.

I think it’s so easy to look at someone else’s life online and feel as if you’re missing something fabulous. It’s not all creative baby announcements and promproposals, though (good golly so glad that didn’t exist when I was in high school. THE PRESSURE). Instead it’s staying up all night fighting, begging your S.O. to please not sleep on the couch, that you’ve got to work through it instead, no matter how long it takes or how exhausted we’ll be tomorrow. It’s not getting more than three consecutive hours of sleep for months on end due to a challenging baby schedule. It’s an inexplicable pit of despair or impatience with your partner cause they keep griping about someone stealing their socks and people driving with their brights on when no one is stealing their socks and not everyone they think has their brights on actually does. But, enough about Rick. It’s children you adore but who are driving you crazy with constant bickering. It’s parents with cancer or a lonely grandparent with Alzheimer’s. It’s car wrecks and missed trains and cold coffee and someone shoulder-checking you on the street and cruel words. It’s resenting your S.O. ’cause he’ll never understand what it’s like to have a dear brother experiencing homelessness and heroin addiction. It’s unfair. It’s also a thoughtful gift and a new friendship and a stiff cocktail and a loved one showing up to surprise you and fun bops on the radio and an exciting new career change and a gorgeous manicure that lasts a long time. It’s laughing at the bad times to make it through, it’s treasuring the good times when they come. It’s so, so many things, and I hate the limitations we put on ourselves when we compare the arbitrary bits we choose to feature on social media.

For years now we’ve been sanding down the bumps of social media unrest and what lies beneath those peaks and chasms. I think we know deep inside that everyone has their highs, lows, days when they feel bad about themselves, elated, gassed up, drained, inspired, decimated, anything. And the content doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with what’s really going on.

This actually brings me a sense of peace. Maybe that peace will be fleeting as we learn more and more about how we intertwine with the internet’s tendrils but, in this moment, remembering the fallible person behind the screen is freeing.

Free motto: Is my lover shipped off to ‘Nam?

Just kidding.

Kind of.


POST SCRIPT BONUS!

While I’m on a roll, here are more social media things that need to die:

– “my forever wedding date”
– “#blessed”
– “this man/this one”
– “I did a thing/we did a thing”
– “long hair don’t care” (good grief Nicki Minaj said this on the “Can’t Stop Won’t Stop” freestyle in 2007. 2007! Let’s find a new hair ref.)
– while on the subject, “can’t stop won’t stop”
– anything about tacos or Hocus Pocus, they’re the new PSL
– TBT/”throwin it back” to anything less than, like, five years ago

Wow, I feel so much better getting that off my chest.


Wednesday posts cover something that’s top of mind for me that week and are written in a short period of time. This means that editing is not strong. While it’s not my best work, it is my best, unfiltered thought.

More on Bummed Out Bailey:
Mental Health: Construct. Deconstruct? Reconstruct. Struct? Help.
Mental Health: Tired of Me
Mental Health: The Things We Carry


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