Depression is a mental attitude. I found myself in the middle of it today and you know what I decided to do about it? I went for a run in one hundred degree weather. It felt fucking great. I haven’t been exercising and that’s the issue. If I’m not going to be on my meds I have to be in a livable mode. And after jumping in the pool my mental haze was cleared right up.
Who cares that I haven't showered in a couple days or that I passed by a man running in my baggy green shirt, flip flops, ridiculous hat and swimming trunks. I'm living my fucking life. What's next on the menu? I'm going to give myself a buzz-cut because I don't like my hair like this. Holy shit. Those people on the internet are depressing...I'm depressing.
It really is a completely necessary and vital practice to get away from the computer. Doesn’t matter if I need to be “making headway on my next book”. I need to be making headway on keeping my head on straight. I hate this cycle. I always bottom out before I realize I fell in. That’s the devil’s trap of depression. Snap. Snap. Snap. It goes. Exactly as was devised.
But now that you’ve read this, exactly as I told you not to, you can’t blame me for bringing down the mood for one small moment to announce that I’m writing a book that’s positively depressing, insular, insecure and freakish. It contains all of my greatest evils. And what are those? My need for other people. “Be happy in yourself,” they mew. Bah! I need other people.
Here’s a visual depiction of me crossing the desert in search of you. It’s true, it’s really true. Humans are social creatures. I desperately need to talk to somebody about Sofia Coppola.
As I arrive at your feet and grovel over your toes I raise my eyes towards your face, called my paradise sun, and say, “What’s going on in that woman’s brain? It’s to die for.”