(Part of the Ebola Mom series)
(Part of the Ebola Mom series)
A pair of gloves, earmuffs, 2 pair of leather boots, new Uggs, and a scarf.
— My Cyber Monday gift to myself for not losing my shit over politics on Thanksgiving weekend.*
*Shit talked behind family members’ backs not included.
Mom (whispering before kid enters room): “So…[kid] didn’t get to do the homework you left him last week because he was so upset about the election results, he could barely do anything for days.”
Me: “Oh my gosh that’s terrible and so sad! It’s honestly so painful and disturbing to me that a kid his age would be so affected by this. The whole thing is just so awful. Obviously don’t worry about the homework, I completely understand.”
Mom: “Thank you, I knew you would.”
(Mom leaves, kid enters)
Me: “So like I just told your mom, don’t worry about the homework. I completely understand that you were upset about the election.”
Kid: “What election?”
I have no choice but to admit this is EXACTLY what election night looked like in my apartment, minus the rational black guy.
*Disclaimer: This post is not meant to represent the experience or feelings of anyone but myself. I recognize that crawling out of depression and Trump being president are not universally analogous, nor is the comparison relevant to most people out there, especially the people most potentially threatened by his presidency. This is simply a personal, self-indulgent journaling of how I am processing my emotions and looking to stay positive and make sense of things in a time that is overwhelmingly challenging to do so. But mostly, it’s just an ode to a dear friend.
Today I received this email from a dear friend…
Nine years ago, this same friend came to visit me in my darkest hour. I was living with my parents in Maryland, in the midst of an extremely serious depressive episode. I had left my job and my life in Philadelphia. I was literally sleeping in my parents’ bed, between them, too afraid to be alone with my thoughts. Despair was eating my insides. I couldn’t function, couldn’t eat, could barely breathe. Dressing myself was a challenge. I had lost any semblance of the life I had known and loved, and I saw absolutely no path to getting it back.
And then this friend came in from NY to visit. He dragged me into DC and forced me on a tour of our nation’s capital. And as we sat on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, he promised me hope.
I didn’t believe him. I couldn’t see how that was possible. I couldn’t see past the very moment I was trapped in. I couldn’t imagine how I’d ever be able to function again, how I’d ever be able to take a breath that didn’t feel shallow. I couldn’t imagine ever holding a job. I couldn’t imagine being able to connect with anyone, on any level, ever again. If I couldn’t even imagine these simplest of human tasks, the idea of ever living a fulfilling, productive life seemed completely out of my reach. I wanted to die.
But this friend insisted on hope. He insisted that progress doesn’t happen in a straight line– but that eventually, we always move forward. He promised me I’d not only get my life back, but this painful experience would, in time, lead to an even better, more connected life than the one I had before.
I protested. He protested back. Eventually, too bone-tired and sad to argue, I nodded. My heart wanted to believe him but my mind told me he was full of shit.
Shortly after his visit, life began to change. It wasn’t instant and it wasn’t easy. It took work. It took a LOT of support from those around me. It took a damn village. It took faith. It took forcing myself into action. It took constantly reminding myself that no matter the setback, everything was going to be ok.
Today I not only function, I thrive. Today I not only breathe, I breathe deeply. Today I not only work, I have my own business. Today I not only connect, I get to marry and share my life with the most incredible man I’ve ever known.
My friend was right. My life is better today than the life I was living before my darkest hour. Not only because I survived the despair, but because I learned from it. It opened my eyes. It gave me perspective. It made me more empathetic. It deepened my connections with others. It inspired me to give back. It forced me to speak out. It sprung me into action, and inspired me to work on myself and stand up for others every chance I get. It made me realize that I have to cherish, appreciate, and look for the good if I want to ensure that darkness will never win in the end.
So thank you, friend. I needed this reminder of hope today. And not because there aren’t other messages of hope out there. There certainly are, thank god.
But you are a source I can trust.
Going through my closet. Throwing out all my rust-colored belts.
In response to Worse Things, a friend just texted…
Ok, today was tough. But tomorrow I buy a pantsuit, insert a pussy-grab protector, reach for the nearest hat, and hold the fuck on.
We got this, ladies.
That moment when your therapist can’t fit you in tomorrow because she’s received too many calls for Trump-related emergency appointments.