Fuck it.

This may sound like I'm giving up, but it is actually a kind of war cry; a beginning to another attempt to actually write things on this blog. This article itself won't be very exciting probably, as I have to start getting ready for work soon. Yes, work!

I finally buckled down and got a job that is still kind of physically demanding (for me, anyway), but is still pretty accommodating. I work at a craft store as a cashier and sometimes a sales floor rep (basically just keeping things tidy while showing old ladys where the yarn is). I've wanted to work there for years, but I was either outright rejected (due to absolutely STUPID interview answers on my part--I still cringe), or I was too afraid to apply (years later). Either way, I finally applied and it took a couple months for a different location to actually get a hold of me (I hate online applications now). It was a simple, "if you can form a coherent sentence, you're hired" kind of interview, but I was still fabulously prepared for it.

I have made a lot of mental progress since the last time I wrote something here, and I have made a lot of progress on my novel, too. Once I get home tonight or between classes tomorrow I will write a lot more on that, as I am pretty excited about how well I've been doing. There is, of course, a lot of anxiety there as well, because my depression still sits in the back of my head and reminds me that it could rear its ugly head at any point if I drop my guard. It really is something I have to keep watch on, too, as I found out during my recent fall break.

At this point I'm mainly just rambling an update to (again) let you know I'm still alive, so I won't subject you to too much more until later. I just randomly saw the bookmark for blogger and thought I should just sneak a peek and see if it was something I wanted to do again, and it was! So yeah. Thanks for putting up with me thus far, and I'll write more soon.

Long time, no write.

Yeah, I know I haven't actually contributed anything to the blogosphere in a while. It happens. Especially when you are seriously down and out and then sick, and then starting school, and all that. Ah well.

But I am alive! At least...last time I checked, anyway.

I don't know exactly what's going to happen here, to be honest. I might shut this down, I might get right back up on the horse. Most likely, however, it will be a sporadic chronicling of the times when I am not depressed and/or sick and/or busy as hell (that last one almost never happens for real, so no worries there). Any way it happens in the future, I am writing now. And RIGHT NOW is the most important time, right?

That's such an interesting concept. Right this second is the rest of your life. <--and that, my friends, sounds cliche as fuck. But it's true, isn't it? I could, right this second: go rob a bank, take a nap, start trying to find money to start a homeless shelter, shoot myself in the face (actually, I don't think that would be a "right this second" kind of thing, as I have no ready access to a gun), work on my novel, or just finish this blog post and then start re-watching Archer from the beginning like I was planning on doing. Every instant has a wealth of possibilities that, when you're depressed, are almost impossible to see.

Depression is stupid.

Anyway, the more I think, "screw the audience, I'm just gonna write!" the more I want to continue this blog. Fuck it, why not? The worst that could happen is no one ever reads it and I just keep typing to myself. Maybe I'll get better at writing. Maybe I'll figure out some crazy awesome universal truth that no one has ever thought of before and then have some crazy epiphany and then solve world hunger or something. Most likely the first one, if I were a betting woman. The point is, I'm still alive and I get to decide what that means. Right now. And now. Aaaaaaaaaaaaand now.























And now.

Panicking--what do?!

The other day, I had a panic-filled hour or two. It wasn't a traditional panic attack--with the sweating and the heart palpitations and the feeling like I'm going crazy or going to die--this was a much more mild panic. That lasted forever. Ugh.

So how did I pull through this? Well, I'm not quite an expert at this whole thing yet, but I do have some tricks.

1. Realize that this is just a feeling. I'm not dying, I'm not in danger, I'm just overreacting to something (probably having been cooped up in the house for a couple weeks too long and not having much to show for it).
2. Fat lot of good that did. What's next?
3. Take long, slow, deep breaths.
4. Oh crap, that didn't work. Now what?
5. What do the experts say? Some say exercise...ugh, that sounds awful. Others say to distract yourself...okay...god this is uncomfortable...let's try to...I don't know...edit more of my book! That sounds like a good idea. 
6. Oh god, this still isn't working. I can't even concentrate, I'm so panicked. And finally, the (somewhat terrible) solution to many problems (that surprisingly works):
7. Take a nap.

Yeah, I took a nap. It took some time for my adrenaline to stop pumping, but there just is something about laying down in a really comfy bed with a fan blasting cool air in my face while petting my fluffy Pomeranian that calms me down from a 6 to a nap. 

I don't know why it works, and it really is only a temporary solution until I can finally master myself, but when I'm in a pinch, I take a nap. It's much better than, say, running around screaming until I throw myself into a full-fledged panic attack. I just wish I still had a prescription to Klonopin. Oh well.

Anyway, I hope you guys have a better week than I've been having.

~ML