Sorry to say that she’s attacking with a vengeance.
I don’t usually even like writing about it on here, preferring to instead just carry on as though everything’s fine. But you know, it’s not. And I don’t want to pretend. I don’t want to WALLOW mind you, but I don’t want to pretend. I think that’s what’s given this freaking thing it’s power in this world – by people feeling like it’s something that’s a sign of weakness, or freakiness and something that should thus be hidden away. But you know what?
That sucks balls. Big balls. Big gumballs that are past their useby date and are rotting in a cracked plastic takeaway container in the “fill a bag” pile at a garage sale.
So anyway, I’ve resolved that wherever I can, even if I can’t beat the damn thing myself, I’ll at least not give it extra oomph by trying to keep it packed away in private. So Depression, here’s where I officially notify you that if you’re gonna live here, then you’re gonna have to become an exhibitionist like the rest of me!
In short, I’m trying to deal with the BPD (holy crazzballs – literally as I typed that I realised that “Brownish Prairie Dog” shares the same anacronym as “BiPolar Disorder – complete coincidence, I kid you not) as best I can by trying to:
1. Exercise my ass off, literally and figuratively; and
2. Fuel all grossness into the creative stuff. Oh by heavens you should see how many cartoons I’ve done in the past 24 hours alone!
3. Outpouring to my darling hubby, who is doing a tremendous job of just listening, nodding where appropriate and making me cups of tea.
Hmmm, in need of a punchline….
Somebody, please throw me a line. And I will PUNCH IT!