As you may, or may not, have gathered, I am depressed. LOL!
Put the violins away, I’ll only end up smashing them. Because anger is my overriding mood at this particular moment.
It’s not the only one.
- The infamous bleak outlook is here, but look at the news. Is that any surprise? The most sunny, smiley, completely unrealistic sitcom character would be feeling bleak after a 5 minute scan of the news.
- My sleep is a bit all over the shop. It’s not as bad as it sometimes is, but it’s not great, and OHMYGOD I am SO zonked ALL the time. ALL OF IT.
- I’m overachieving on the self-loathing front, but hey-ho, what can you do? A lot of that is to do with all the talk of Weinstein and what it has unleashed. Not all of it is down to that, but that is very prominent in my every thought at the moment.
- I’m drinking too much. I don’t mean I’m out on the lash all the time, normally I have an “at least three days a week without a drop” rule, which I’ve pretty much kept to for the last 5 years, but the last month or so has involved a drink or two most nights. {I’m taking an aside here to pat myself on the back, though, because I AM getting better at moderation. GO ME!}
- But OH. MY. GOD. My tolerance level is SO low. My temper is SO short. About 98% percent of the people I’ve come into contact with over the last couple of months have been getting on my nerves (that’s not passively aggressively directed at anyone who might be reading this, it’s just a fact) and I am SO ANGRY. ALL OF THE TIME. ALL. OF. IT.
Now, I know that there are many reasons in this current day and age to be angry. “It may not be depression”, I hear you say, “you may just be pissed off”. But, irritatingly, I know it when I see it. (Also… somebody mentioned Grenfell Tower in a podcast I was listening to last night, and I instantly broke down in sobs which lasted about half an hour, I’m a bit humourless and dead behind the eyes, and yesterday I spent the whole day in my pyjamas…. although, in defence of my hygiene routine, I have also had a horrible cold the last few days, but normally I would at least have changed into some loungewear and sauntered around pretending to be Elizabeth Taylor, but no. There was no sign of old Liz.)
To be fair, a constant state of rage isn’t the worst way to present. (Check me out, I sound all doctor-y and official) there have been times when I’ve spent most of the “episode” in floods of tears, other times when I’ve been full on Liz-Taylor-hammered for the best part of the “spell”, and times when it’s taken all the effort I was capable of to convince myself that everyone in the world wouldn’t be better off if I’d never been born and ruined their lives. Which is kind of super-narcissistic when I think about it, tbh.
So yes… anger it is, and yes, although it doesn’t feel great, or even good, it could definitely be worse. From my point of view. So what if I’m just generally a bit mean? What are a few death stares and home truths, eh? I’m not suffering fools gladly, and am quite happy to tell them that. I’m standing up for myself a bit more than is probably necessary. I’m not answering all my emails, because some of them make me want to smash stuff, and the upside of that is, I’m getting fewer emails that piss me off. Long may that continue. And if the people I’m upsetting avoid me in future so much the better. My only hope is that I don’t end up hurting the people I actually care about it. Because that has happened before. And if it happens again, I can only hope it’s fixable. I might just take to carrying a warning with me when I see people I want to keep in my life. “May say something some people find offensive”… OR… I might just embrace my inner gambler and play Russian roulette with my relationships. I dunno yet, we’ll see…
If you, too, are depressed and furious, and just generally feeling a bit mean, think of the light at the end of the tunnel. You will have SO much free time when you come out the other side of this. No more evenings in the pub with that annoying work colleague who sticks to you like glue [Last time she asked if you fancied a post-work G&T, you screamed in her face that you would rather die a hundred deaths. Remember?]. No more having to find polite ways to decline dates with that weird smelling guy your aunt set you up on a blind date with last month [He took the hint when you turned up to the last one with a peg on your nose]. No more waiting for an hour and half for a pizza delivery, only for it to arrive freezing cold [You were black-listed when you force fed the last sorry excuse for a Margherita to the delivery guy and smeared his face with the wrong dip he’d brought along]. Just think of how much more pleasant your life will be.
Until the end of the tunnel comes, I’ll take some of Liz’s advice and put on some lipstick and pour myself a drink, but the pulling myself together part isn’t really currently in my power.
So you approach at your own risk.
This post was originally published as ‘The Anxious Actor”
My Name is Not Debbie 