Fluffy Butts and Cheese Sandwiches


Hello world.  Goddamn I’m lost.  I have no idea how to start or how to finish anything.  I only know how to work on something.  Even then, I procrastinate.  So maybe I’ll just jump right in and hopefully as posts go by it’ll start to make some sense.

I’m currently unemployed.  What better time to sit around and finally get to publishing a weblog that I’ve always wanted to start.  Here I am, once swimming in ideas to write about, now an empty void.  The two things I think of most these days are food and knitting.  It could be worse I suppose.  I could be a meth addict.  Still, the days I keep are long spent on the couch, in my unwashed pajamas, stuffing my face with Cocoa Pebbles and cheese sandwiches, and knitting until the hand I slammed in the door jam to the chicken run hurts too much to lift a needle.  I am productive, you know (not Lather productive…); I try to do the dishes, the laundry, my homework, pay bills, feed and poop the dogs, and visit the girls.  All while suffering from a deep melancholy so debilitating that despite three hours of contemplation, nine time out of ten I decide to stay at home rather than leave to get a coffee every day.

I want to get something out in the open.  Something that I’ll keep referencing from here on forward, so it’s only befitting that I introduce it within my first blog entry.

I have a mental illness.

There.  I said it.  Just like, “I have cancer” or “I won the lottery” or “I have a cheese sandwich”.  I mainly suffer from Dysthymia, a chronic form of depression, which started when I was very young.  “Ever since I can remember” has always been my reply to any therapist.  The harder part is trying to formulate an answer when asked if there was any one event that may have triggered it.  Which leads me to thinking how boring my life was and worse – how I have no reason to be as miserable as I have always been.  Frequent monikers include ‘Moody Julie’, ‘Eeyore’, ‘Grumpy’, and my favorite, ‘Mopey Dick’.  It escalated to the point that I would be known to be miserable.  I followed my own fate.

During recent winter months, I have experienced many major depressive episodic flare-ups.   They just so happen to coincide with my unemployment and medication changes (more on that later).  It’s hard to say if things worsen because of the unemployment or if they would have gotten worse despite having a job.  Considering my track record, I would think there really isn’t one trigger to these flare-ups.  Although weather does play an important role.

It’s tough, not wanting to leave the house, and when I do, I find myself longing to be in front of the television, knitting, and drowning my thoughts with mindless TV shows and 1-star movies on Netflix.  I try to pinpoint the few times that I have slight relief and attempt to search for the one “thing” that sparked them so that I may replicate them, but I get nowhere.  This is because there isn’t just one “thing”.  There are a whole lotta little “things”.  The emotional instability, one of my many diagnoses, may cause these bouts of relief or it may be the intermittent doses of huge amounts of sugar.  Despite these moments of reprieve, however, I still find myself weighted down by that damn melancholy.

Because I have argued with David about whether or not to delete this post entirely and forget about writing a blog altogether, here is my fortune cookie advice for the week:


About Miss Misery

I am a miserable, depressed, borderline, sonofabitch. View all posts by Miss Misery

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