this is important.
this is important.
They Asked: What do you do when you’re sad (but not depressed)? I’m in a funk.
I answer: You let yourself be sad for a minute, and then you catapult your way out of it, whether you want to or not. When I was (yo, pretty recently) in a funk, not knowing what the fuck I was doing or why I allowed my room to get so messy, I laid around for a couple of days and warmed myself in the stew of alone and sad. Didn’t speak a lot. Watched Mob Wives, ate takeout, read books that I couldn’t finish, drank wine I couldn’t finish, and quietly thought. I thought about what I wanted. I thought about why I was unhappy. I thought about where Jonathan Taylor Thomas was. I thought about myself, about being selfish, and all the things I wanted out of life. And when I was a couple of days shower-free and melancholy, I brushed my hands off and jumped back into life.
I said yes to parties, I went out for a run, I saw the sun, I called people, I began to make some changes in the absolute smallest ways possible (I took out the garbage in my room, for example). I did STUFF. It didn’t work right away, but you can only take a vacation from life for so long before you lose the things you didn’t know you’d miss. And I also began to realize some things that I didn’t miss at fucking ALL. And when you’re back to life, you make little plans to start to change these, too.
So, in the middle of your funk, immerse yourself in things and prioritize. But hell, take a little time to yourself, first. You’re allowed to wallow in moderation.
This is relevant to me. It’s catapult time.
This is how to run a stick of Chapstick
down the black boxes on your scantron
so the grading machine skips the wrong
answers. This is how to honor roll. Hell,
this is how to National Honor Society.
This is being voted “Most Likely to Marry
for Money” or “Talks the Most, Says the
Least” for senior superlatives. This is
stepping around the kids having panic
attacks in the hallway. This is being the
kid having a panic attack in the hallway.
This is making the A with purple moons
stamped under both eyes. We had to try.
This is telling the ACT supervisor you have
ADHD to get extra time. Today, the average
high school student has the same anxiety
levels as the average 1950’s psychiatric
patient. We know the Pythagorean theorem
by heart, but short-circuit when asked
“How are you?” We don’t know. We don’t
know. That wasn’t on the study guide.
We usually know the answer, but rarely