Okay, that's a bit of an over-simplification, but it's not entirely a lie. Here's what happened: I started to really think about what was making me feel so awful about life, thinking that I could sort it all into Stuff I Can Change, Stuff That Doesn't Actually Matter All That Much, and Stuff I Can Do Exactly Fuckall About. I realized a strange thing during this process... very little falls into that last category. Sure, I can't reverse global warming and I can't make all the morons realize that gay marriage isn't the end of the world and I can't make Nathan Fillion and Natalie Portman simultaneously fall madly in love with me. There are things about the world around me over which I have no control. But I can control a hell of a lot more than I give myself credit for. And, as soon as I accepted that little fact, I felt like I'd gotten another life.
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| Warning: consumption of brightly-colored mushrooms will, in fact, give you the opposite of more life. |
Realizing that my life is almost entirely up to me was hugely helpful in getting myself out of the hole I'd fallen dug myself into.
Hate
your job? Start throwing around applications for places you might hate
less. Learn a new skill that could be beneficial to your quest for new
employment. Find something redeeming in the job you have now that
makes it more tolerable for you to remain there.
I'm displeased with my job. But, until I find a new one, I've got two
choices: be miserable five days a week or find something to enjoy about
my job while remaining optimistic about employment elsewhere. I'm going
with the latter. Not only am I still attending bartending classes, but
I'm also actively applying for other jobs. Meanwhile, I've been giving
some thought to something that first occurred to me when I was a
wee lass. There was a time, somewhere between the desire to be a
princess and the ever-popular (if not somewhat vague) desire for fame,
that I said I want to be a cop when I grow up. It's a thought that pops
up every few years, like career Whack-A-Mole, and it always gets hit
with the mallet full of logical reasons why that wouldn't work for me.
But those reasons are disappearing and I find it's a thought worth
considering before sending it retreating back into its hole.
Tired
of being fat? After accepting that results will not come overnight,
stop eating so much and go to the damn gym. Can't afford the gym? Make
the world your gym. Find a staircase near you and run up and down for
twenty minutes a day. Don't want to go to the gym because you think
everyone is judging you? Get over yourself. No one cares what you look
like or what you're doing. Everyone is just there to exercise. If you
feel that this isn't the case at your gym, get a less douchey gym.
I'm
still fat. I may not be Jupiter-sized anymore, and I'm proud of that,
but I'm still overweight by most standards. Instead of resigning
myself to my Pluto-sized status and continuing to feed my depression
with ice cream and pizza, I hit the reset button and started over. I'm
back at the gym on a more regular basis, which I feel really good
about. As for eating? There's an app for that. I didn't want to go
back to the same repetitive diet that, while successful, was making me a
sad panda. But I do need something to help me keep track of caloric
intake. So I found an app called Lose It! that I've been toying with
for the last week or so and it works for me.
Didn't
attain a goal you'd set for yourself and worked really hard towards?
Figure out where you went wrong. Maybe you didn't try hard enough,
maybe you didn't give yourself enough time, or maybe it was just the
wrong goal for you. Something didn't go the way you thought it was
supposed to and that sucks, but you can try again.
I
had to give up on Slave Leia. The realization that I was simply not
going to be able to do it was heartbreaking. But it was also a
tremendous relief. As soon as I admitted it, I felt better. Had I
continued my course of salads and sit-ups, I may have accomplished the
feat of donning the gold bikini by July. However, I would have done so
as a depressed anorexic. A costume wasn't worth hating myself over.
Comic Con means too much to me to spend it unhappy. So, for this year,
Slave Leia is out. But that doesn't mean I can't wear something a bit
sexier than I have in years past. So, in two weeks, I'll be resembling
this:
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| Dragons sold separately. |
Don't
like the way your hair looks? Get some scissors and cut it off. Then
promptly go to Supercuts and sheepishly request that they fix the mess
you made when you thought you were being all defiant and badass.
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| Not that I would know anything about that scenario... |
I'd
love to go on and on about how my hair was a symbol of my depression
and cutting it off was some sort of meaningful gesture about freeing
myself from the grip of sadness. That's all very poetic and lovely.
But, the truth is, with Slave Leia out of the picture, I no longer had
any reason to keep growing my hair. So, one day, in the span of about
ten minutes, I decided I didn't want my hair anymore, bought some
scissors, put it in two braids, and cut it off. It's an unbelievably
satisfying and liberating experience. I recommend it. As for the
braids, they've been shipped off to the good folks at Locks Of Love to
provide wigs for the cancer kids, which makes me feel all warm and fuzzy
inside.
Is my
life all rainbows and sunshine now? Of course not. There are still
things that get under my skin. I still have to fight off some residual,
nonspecific sadness periodically. But I'm getting better. I'll always
be getting better. Because what happens when you've maxed out your
ability to level up?
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