(That’s what she said)
Someone recently asked me, “Are you EVER going to write again?”. Up until this very minute (when I was uncertain as to whether or not I would remember my WordPress password) I would have said a resounding no. Like ‘Fuck, no’.
I kind of gladly disappeared. I truly thought that no one would notice. But they did. And they commented on it. That was – strangely – pleasantly surprising. So I would like to explain why. As factually as I am able.
Since the end of February, I have been down in a hole, examining everything I say and do. And quite honestly, I have not felt very funny.
I didn’t know what to do anymore. I didn’t know what to say anymore.
As I examined what I considered to be funny, I came to realize that most of the things I ‘ve written about, complained about, tried to be humorous about, were entrenched in what some would call White Privilege. I realized that I cast about griping about events with such White Fragility, that I am shocked that I am not suffering from that brittle bone syndrome thingy.
It is difficult to defend being a reticent Snowflake. Yet that’s what I am. I’ve also been told repeatedly that I’m funny.
That’s what I am, too.
It is a tricky thing, dismantling funny. Descent down into the hole made me really shine a light on the why of why I’m funny. Discovery? Maybe I’m just an elitist asshole. Who can say?
So, instead of babbling on, in ignorance and with potential insensitivity, I chose to step off.
Down into the hole.
And let me tell you, that hole? Fucking unforgiving. As I plummeted, there were endless re-examinations of self. There was mental health stuff. Physical health stuff. The further down I explored, the more stuff presented itself. More action items for the seemingly never-ending list that I could not complete in three lifetimes.
Here are some facts that I’ve learned while I’ve been gone:
I am currently suffering from depression. Not super-debilatating, but pretty darned bleak nevertheless. I made a passing comment (mistake?) to my GP during a phone session that, if I ever had to go into the hospital for COVID, I don’t know how hard I would try to get better. This started an avalanche of unwanted attention. It reminded me of a movie scene from a war movie on a submarine, where they get hit – lights go out, there is a booming klaxxon alarm, red emergency lights flash on and off, people panic and yell and flail their arms in the air, and everyone’s being thrown back and forth willy-nilly.
So, as a result of all this, I’m on anti-depressants. I have to check in weekly about my mood scale. I have talk therapy with a counsellor.
I am poorly-functioning diabetic. Because (partly) I eat my feelings, my blood sugar numbers of late haven’t been acceptable. I now have a device glued to my arm, the data from which my medical team can access. (I call it my ankle monitor).
I have a nutritionist. Soon, I have talk therapy with a eating disorder specialist about how to un-become being the archetypical overweight diabetic.
I am down the hole. With, apparently, a lot of people.
Thanks to all the help I’m seeking, all the muck I’m wading through, all the mentally exhausting work I’m working through, there seems to not only be a bottom to this hole, but a ladder.
From the rung I stand on, I can see – up in the distance – blue sky.
And if you’ll allow me, I’ll try to come back.
Love you Shelley!
Ahhhh the return of one of my most favorite bloggers! I find you funny, talented, sweet, and kind. Carry on, or shall I say carry upward. I am also in the hole, still looking for the ladder.
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Dear Shelley: Although the topic is immensely complex, the reality is simple: Not only are you not the only one in that hole or working your way out of it, you are in good, nay…. excellent company. Yes, come back to writing if you feel like it. Certainly love reading your blog/posts/thoughts and love your brains, your heart and your humour. Most of all, be kind to yourself. You are loved, respected, and admired. You are one hell of a fine human being! ❤
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