Some people are content to let depression take its natural course: a slow downward slide into black, sad oblivion and then turn around for the long, slow way back out to the light. But there are those of us who are just a little too type A and can't wait that long. I'm in the second camp--the impatient camp. When I know I'm in a slump, I have this tendency to hurl myself over the edge and force myself to hit rock bottom. I suppose the theory is that if I force myself to hit rock bottom, then I'll just be on the mend that much quicker. Sort of like giving my black mood steroids.
This can and has taken many different forms. Most famously was the time that I was heartbroken and, in an effort to snap out of it, watched "When Harry Met Sally" 5 times in a row and polished off a gallon of ice cream, a jug of Carlo Rossi, plus a quart of whiskey in one sitting. Let me tell you, the next day I felt so horrible that I vowed to perk myself up and get out of my rut. And I did, pretty quickly. Not that I'm recommending the horrendous physical betrayal that I forced upon myself to anyone. It is a cruel, cruel way to abuse yourself, and its probably not anything that a sane person would do. Nonetheless, this type of regiment works for me without fail. When I find that I am so tired of my own misery that I cannot stand it any longer, I betray myself in the worst way that I can think of, indulging my most sadistic whims and it invariably cures me of my depression. All that "be kind to yourself" self-help crap really never worked. Its kind of like homeopathy: like cures like. Horrendous self-loathing is cured by treating yourself in the worst way imaginable, or something like that.
So this past little while I've been really just tired of feeling so bad and decided that I couldn't wait for nature or the grieving process or whatever to take its course. So I went on a huge bender and let it all hang out for a good couple of weeks. I shamelessly made out with a one-toothed, forty-year old alcoholic. I ingested substances that I did not know the names of. Then I got on a plane to Kauai and, like magic, the clouds parted, my mood lifted and I felt like my world was all brand new again. What can I say, I found my own little magical cure and it works like a charm. But, hey kids, don't try this at home. I think I have an unusual capacity for either self-forgiveness or lobotomizing my bad memories. Maybe both. Don't judge me, just laugh, please. I know I'm ridiculous.
This can and has taken many different forms. Most famously was the time that I was heartbroken and, in an effort to snap out of it, watched "When Harry Met Sally" 5 times in a row and polished off a gallon of ice cream, a jug of Carlo Rossi, plus a quart of whiskey in one sitting. Let me tell you, the next day I felt so horrible that I vowed to perk myself up and get out of my rut. And I did, pretty quickly. Not that I'm recommending the horrendous physical betrayal that I forced upon myself to anyone. It is a cruel, cruel way to abuse yourself, and its probably not anything that a sane person would do. Nonetheless, this type of regiment works for me without fail. When I find that I am so tired of my own misery that I cannot stand it any longer, I betray myself in the worst way that I can think of, indulging my most sadistic whims and it invariably cures me of my depression. All that "be kind to yourself" self-help crap really never worked. Its kind of like homeopathy: like cures like. Horrendous self-loathing is cured by treating yourself in the worst way imaginable, or something like that.
So this past little while I've been really just tired of feeling so bad and decided that I couldn't wait for nature or the grieving process or whatever to take its course. So I went on a huge bender and let it all hang out for a good couple of weeks. I shamelessly made out with a one-toothed, forty-year old alcoholic. I ingested substances that I did not know the names of. Then I got on a plane to Kauai and, like magic, the clouds parted, my mood lifted and I felt like my world was all brand new again. What can I say, I found my own little magical cure and it works like a charm. But, hey kids, don't try this at home. I think I have an unusual capacity for either self-forgiveness or lobotomizing my bad memories. Maybe both. Don't judge me, just laugh, please. I know I'm ridiculous.
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