Make-Up & the Battle of Marathon
Depression is annoying. I’ve been in a bit of a slump this past week with a few little perk-ups here and there. I can see the progress I’ve been making coping with my anxiety and depression since the beginning of this year, and while I’m proud of that progress, I’m also waiting for the inevitable other shoe to drop.
In the past, whenever I’ve made substantial progress or growth, reaching whatever milestones were in my sight at the time, something happens that shakes it all back down to the ground. Right when things are looking great (i.e. I successfully reduce the dosage on my antidepressants with no ill effects [with my psychiatrist’s guidance, of course]/I’m eating healthy well-balanced meals/I’m happily engaging in activities with friends outside my home), right when I’m actually happy for the first time in who knows how long and see the point in living life, I’ll see a news story about some horrible world event or get a report from the doctor about a medical issue, and I’ll be plunged back into the depths of despair. That’s what I’m waiting for.
My current prescription levels seem to be working admirably. My husband and I have been cooking new healthy recipes at home and saving money by not eating out as frequently. I’ve found enjoyable ways to keep physically active. I’ve been completing projects around the apartment left, right, and center. I did my nails last night as a kindness to Future Me because seeing color on my fingertips while I’m typing at work or sewing at home brings me a small joy. I was even in a good enough mood this morning to put on make-up before I left for work. I can’t remember the last time I wore make-up to the office, but over the past few days I have been looking at myself in the mirror as I brush my teeth and I’ve thought, “I’m looking better. I don’t know what it is, but I feel like I look… good? Am I happier? Is it showing? Is this what this is?” I wanted to add something to my face to compliment that I’m-looking-better feeling I was having. And because everything seems to be going so well, I’m so afraid to actually be happy and enjoy it. I’m terrified to embrace the progress and happiness because if the past is any indication, I’ll turn the corner and run into the next disaster that will shatter the recovery I’ve been building. I’m so tired of being scared to enjoy life.
I biked for 23 minutes and read about the later Persian empires before the Muslim conquests of the area of Iran. King Darius tried to kick Athens’ ass for giving aid to the Ionians, but got his ass kicked instead at the Battle of Marathon, from which marathon races get their name (even though all the legends about a messenger running from Athens to Sparta or from Marathon to Athens are all hugely conflated and about as historically accurate as the story of the god Pan sending down his own namesake brand of fear [“panic”] on the Persian army so they could be defeated).
