On Saturday, I went to Nordstrom to buy my husband a shirt. As I’m looking through the rack for his size, I notice someone standing at my four o’clock. I can’t see what he looks like, but I know he’s there. After a couple minutes of searching for his size with no avail, I can feel the person still standing behind me, and I begin to wonder when the fuck this person is going to move. He is in my six feet of personal space, and my INFJ personality is not liking this kind of closeness to another human being. All sorts of thoughts start going through my head faster than I can sort them out – like, seriously, why does this person have to be right there, and why do I feel like he’s watching me? I finally turn to look at him, because if I look at him, he’ll know I know he’s looking at me, and he’ll stop. And he’s a mannequin. A fucking mannequin. I was straight up tripping balls. I am officially a hot mess.
Sometime over the weekend, I was able to finally watch Inside Out, and because I’ve been so out of sorts and emotional for the past couple of weeks, it made me cry like a little bitch. I am officially 50 Shades of a hot mess. One of my sisters had warned me it was sad, and I was thinking it was like Up sad, you know, bittersweet. But no. I watched a young girl named Riley slowly destroy herself inwardly, and I thought to myself, whoever wrote this knows exactly what depression feels like.
It’s one of those things where you’re relieved that you are not alone, but because you know how shitty it feels, you feel bad that someone else is going through it, too. The story was drawn up in the simplest of ways, and they chose to tell it from the mind of an eleven year old girl, but it was so dead on to how the process of depression begins, evolves, and then eventually destroys (or nearly destroys) a person. There was a trigger, then her environment and circumstances affected it, and then she turned it inward, and everything that she was began to deteriorate. It hit so close to home. I went to bed that night thinking about how my five emotions – joy, sadness, fear, disgust, and anger – are trying to coexist inside of me, and keep my personality islands from crumbling into complete and utter nonexistence.
In my mental picture, however, it was Joy who was over it, not disgust.
I have always been a writer, but I noticed that when I started to write seriously because I wanted to do it for a living, it began to slow the inward deterioration. Exercise helps, as does the medicine, but writing, by far, has become the best therapy for me. It works better than the stupid, poisonous pills I swallow every day and the infrequent trips to the gym combined. I don’t even have to write about what is bothering me, I just have to write, and somehow, it just manifests itself into my work. Everyone of my characters has a horcrux of mine inside of them, as well as the story itself, and I am most content with the world when I am lost in my writing. It’s the one personality island of mine that isn’t going to crumble and break apart. I hope.
So, that was my weekend. Straight tripping over a mannequin and a mini meltdown over an animated kids film. Happy Leap Day.