So yesterday’s post was pretty heavy, I guess, and I was reflecting on it as I went about my day and thinking about the depths of the darkness. And I realized something, I noticed markers, I guess you could call them, that to me are signals that I have not yet reached a level of depression that is beyond hope. What markers?
1. No matter how down and out I feel, no matter how much self-loathing is going on, I never, ever skip using the squeegee to wipe the down the glass doors when I’m done with my shower. To me, the continued awareness of and aversion to soap scum build-up in my shower is a sign of hope.
2. Despite my pits-of-despair feelings, I continue to talk to the cats in that high-pitched sing-song voice I used to use with my kids when they were infants. And I carry on little conversations with them as if they understand, as if they are not the same animals who have not caught on even over a month’s time that we have moved the location of their foods dishes. If I can rally to be playful with the cats, I can’t be too far gone. Or maybe I’m a total cat lady and I’m past the point of no return.
3. I cannot drive in my car without turning on the radio and singing along, and not to sad, sappy songs but to loud, fast, take-no-prisoners songs. For the past three days I’ve heard the Clash’s “Should I Stay or Should I Go” in its entirety every time I got in the car. I think that’s a sign. And so I sang it at the top of my lungs every time. If I can still sing and dance while driving, I’ve got a chance.
4. Other people can’t eat when they get depressed. Or they eat too much. I tend toward the latter, but a sure sign that I haven’t slipped over the edge is the fact that even when I can barely stand to drag myself out of bed in the morning, I cannot stand pasta that is cooked one second past al dente. When I stop caring about the firmness of my pasta, I will know I need serious help.
And now the song…