This post was originally going to be yet another entry in the now ongoing “Surreal” series, as at this point it doesn’t seem to end. I’m recovering from my SECOND hernia surgery, and my 80-year-old Dad is going in for a triple-bypass next month. Really???
But, I realize I’m no one special. I’m not being picked on. This is called life, and as the clock inevitably ticks, this is what’s in front of all of us. Nobody gets YOUNGER. I think comedian Marc Maron put it best — aging is really nothing more than “decay management.”
Plus, I have to say, it’s been nice to have an EXCUSE to sit around and do nothing. I’m recovering, right? I have to take it easy. No heavy lifting!
And I’ve realized a few things during this latest period of “forced” inactivity.
One of my depression symptoms is the classic no-longer-enjoying-things-I-used-to. Reading has piled up, shows go unwatched, writing has pretty much ceased altogether. They’ve all just turned into chores anymore. Most of my time is now spent in endless scrolls, brain completely disengaged.
But I’ve noticed a shift lately. Maybe it’s just getting off the treadmill for a minute, but I’m actually tackling my reading pile. I’ve FINALLY started this season’s Simpsons (I’ve watched every year since day one — I was in freaking COLLEGE for cryin’ out loud!).
And I’m finding the capacity to write these words. My brain isn’t constantly gasping for air. I can actually focus on something for more than a few minutes.
And, while I’m not exactly sure if I’m actually going to start taking better care of myself like I always say I want to, at least now I’m not immediately telling myself I won’t.
This is kind of huge, actually.
My inner dialogue is brutal. Usually in these situations I automatically tell myself, why bother? You’ll never follow through on it, so there’s no point in even starting. You’ll save yourself a lot of mental anguish if you just give up now. You’ll wind up in the same place, anyway.
Maybe not, this time.
Is the latest adjustment to my Prozac dosage actually kicking in? Perhaps.
Or perhaps I’m just tired of adding my own manufactured misery on top of the daily piles of crap I already have to wade through. Yes, I need to take better care of myself. But I’m not a bad person because I haven’t.
Maybe my mind, as well as my body, is starting to mend.
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