Yesterday was one of those days…
It started off fine. Got up at 8am, Fed the cat, took Lainee for a quick walk, did some yoga, had breakfast, walked to the garage to do another coat on the table.
Then I came home to begin doing something. Anything.
I did another coat of paper on the bulldog, but had no inspiration to start forming the head.
I gave in to the couch and Netflix.
And I ate.
This happens to me now and then. I have bursts of energy which I put into making things, then I crash and can’t motivate myself to wash the dishes.
I struggle with some sort of depression. I just know that ever since I can remember I’ve felt different. I’d get these feelings and put them down to the fact that I questioned life while those around me sort of just went on with it, living the life they were expected to live. For instance, my female cousins all went to school and thought about the day they would marry and have children of their own. I wanted more from life. I didn’t know what I wanted, but I knew there had to be more to life than that for me.
I put it down to thinking too much. I thought it was cause they didn’t think beyond the everyday and truly believed they were happier than I was – they didn’t seem to struggle with any feelings of dissatisfaction or question their place in life like I did.
There were things that happened in my life at that time which may have been the reason I felt like that, but then again, maybe it was always there, in me.
When I was 10 we moved from Australia to Greece, leaving everything I knew and everyone I loved behind. I was 10. Up till then I never saw anyone who lived in Greece. I thought I’d never see the people I loved again. It was devastating.
I hated Greece. I hated everything about it (a feeling that’s hard to get rid of entirely). I went to American, then English, schools. I was greek but I thought in English and was educated in English. My parents expected me to act like the greek girls next door (good greek girls) when I had nothing in common with them. This just made the feeling of not belonging anywhere much stronger. Till I found my people in the punk world – greek kids who rebelled against society’s expectations.
The worst time for me was during art school when I actually went through a phase of not being able to get out of bed during the day and unable to sleep at night. I found I would cry a lot and would feel: ‘I don’t know why I’m so miserable. My life is good, I’m not unhappy, why do I feel like this?’
These were feelings I’ve often had in my life. The tears being just below the surface, or anger… yet nothing was really wrong.
My doctor back then recommended therapy and said it was a hormonal imbalance that could be corrected with pills. I’ve been on ‘happy pills’ for years. I only need a tiny dose, enough to maintain the level of energy I like to have most of the time. But sometimes this low breaks through.
In general, as long as I take my daily dose of happy I’m good. I sometimes have low days but they’re not rock bottom low where I cry for no reason. I maintain a sort of balance where most of the time I’m content and inspired to do things. Just sometimes the call of wallowing on the couch becomes too strong to resist. Hence this post is a day late.
I try not to feel guilty about wasting time but its hard to not beat myself up about it. Its different to days where I chose to take it easy and sit on the porch and read or have a nap, its more of a destructive type of wallowing where I eat junk cause I dislike myself.
It has nothing to do with the lockdown. I love being home, surrounded by things I love. I love doing my own thing. Yes, I’m very social so I do miss having a coffee with friends, but its not the be all and end all of my life and I still talk to friends every day.
I just have to find a way to never let this feeling go beyond one afternoon. Its not how I want to live or who I want to be.
Its 9.30am. Time to get up and get out for a walk, give the table another coat of paint, start working on something, anything.
And stop eating junk.