A Spoon Full of Sugar

Dear Internet,

Sundays have always been melancholy to me.  The ebb of the weekend being over but not quite the full on flow of a new week.  It's a quiet middle time I often spend alone.  Which leads to rumination and navel gazing at times.  Especially when I should be doing something else, like studying for the comprehensive examination I have tomorrow.  But why do that when I can sit and ponder the everyday struggle man must endure?

Which leads me to my own struggle-to take antidepressants or not to take antidepressants...

I come from a long line of depressed and anxious people.  Hippies too.  People who thought if it wasn't bleeding or you weren't dying then you suck it up and get over it (which is funny considering they were all medical professionals).  My mom once refused to take me to the ER when I broke my arm.  Stating that all they were going to do was wrap it and tell us to make an appointment with the orthopedic guy in the morning.  As there was no way he was coming in in the middle of the night just to set a fractured arm.  Plus, it was too swollen anyway.  So, she put an ace bandage around it, fed me four ibuprofen, and sent me to bed.

If a broken arm didn't merit immediate treatment how could my feelings?  Things that don't bleed.  That you can't definitively measure or see or quantify.  So, I suffered.  I dealt with my moods swings.  The crushing sadness.  The heightened anger.  The best ways I could.  Which wasn't good.  I hurt a lot of people (just ask most of my exboyfriends) including myself.

Because swimming in pancake syrup is hard.  You can't see where you're going.  You get no where fast.  And no one is ever strong enough to pluck you out.

Then one day I just gave up.  I'd had enough of the ace bandages and over the counter meds (i.e. alcohol and sex).  I decided that what I had was real and deserved some actual treatment.  So, I started swallowing pills.  And talking about my feelings.  Running.  Committing to my yoga practice.  And eating well.

And just like that it wasn't syrup anymore.  It was water.  Crystal clear water.

Sure it gets choppy sometimes.  And I lose my way.  But it feels a hell of a lot better than what I used to fight against.

Do I sometimes look at that pill and roll my eyes?  Do I want to be able to do this on my own?  Yes.  But I've tried that way and failed.  And isn't life about joy no matter how you find it?  Even if it is in something you have to swallow with a glassful of water everyday?

I promise to be more joyful tomorrow, lovelies.  But I just wanted you to know that it's ok.  Fuck Tom Cruise.  Do whatever it is you have to do in order to have the life you deserve.  And you deserve the best.

I love you all,
Sara

#36-Build a circle of dependable, creative, supportive friends, #102-Drink a bottle of Veuve Clicquot

Dear Internet,

I've never been the popular girl.  The one who tosses her perfect hair, and smiles with her perfect teeth, and has a laundry list of perfect friends so long she never gets to the bottom of it.  The one who has twelve bridesmaids at her wedding and was voted most likely to succeed by her sorority. 

No.  I've never been that girl.  I'm more the cool loner girl.  The girl with too many opinions.  Odd clothing.  Even odder music.  And a very small circle of friends.  Apparently because I'm intimating and unapproachable from what my bffs say.

Being that girl, the loner girl, is hard in the south where everyone has Greek letters and "sisters."  Even harder when you come from a long line of perfect women like I do.  Women who all are chairwomen of this and president of that.

That pressure, to be perfect and popular and fit in, is something I've always struggled with.  Wanting simultaneously to be that girl yet hating it and rebelling against it all at the same time.

But having a circle of dependable, creative, supportive friends is something I've wanted.  Longed for.  It's just been hard to find in a city full of people I have little in common with.  Because while I would like to be popular, I'd like to be popular with people I adore who adore me back.

And I finally did it.  It took me 28 years, but looking around the dinner table at my birthday party I realized I had become that girl.  My list might not be a mile long but my friends sure are perfect.

I couldn't help but crack open a bottle of Veuve Clicquot and toast to that.

Love,
Sara

Excuses, Excuses

Dear Internet,

Raise your hand if you read that article about why you're not married yet.  Yeah I know it's angry.  Funny.  Truthful.  Over the top.  Ridiculous.  Spot on.  I'm not here to argue or rebut or agree.  That's been done very eloquently here and here.

But it is a question I've been pondering lately, especially in light of my recent you're now in your late twenties birthday.  A birthday that here in the South means I might as well go ahead and get cats and sweatpants and live out my life as a spinster.  Because I'm now more likely to get struck by lighting than to get married.

So what happened? How in a culture that celebrates going to college to get your Mrs. degree did I fail at that? 

If I'm honest it is because I've been some of those things Ms. McMillan says.  But it's more than that too.  If I take a look back at my dating history I could have been married several times (The Duke, The Boyfriend, The Musician).  Just to the wrong person.  And I'd take a lifetime of dodging lightening and feeding cats over sharing I do's with someone who is a don't. 

Which brings me to this. 

Let's just recap the men I've gone out with since finding myself single shall we:

1. Towel-a man so boring not even I could coax more than a yes no answer out of him.  And I have a history of being able to make friends with a signpost.
2. Indian Man-he was already married, to his job.  And I didn't appreciate only meaning something to him once a week between the hours of 5 and 7.
3. Old Guy-he jerked me around so much I had knots in my stomach at all times.  Not to mention that thing with the brownies and the note.
4. Paramedic John-he thought what I did was hooey.  "People should just get over their stuff."
5. The US Attorney-tattoos and indie rock were too counter culture for him.  He wanted J. Crew and a W sticker on a SUV.
6. Steven Number Three-his job was training to be an ultimate fighter.  I'm democrat.  It would have never worked.
7. Toy Story Three-he "REALLY liked me" but you know "wanted to see other girls too."
8. The Psych Professor-his hair was longer than mine and he was getting ready to go on sabbatical to Holland.  I don't speak Dutch.

Not to mention the countless others I've turned down because they:

1. Sent me a seven point outline of what they wanted to do to my shoes.
2. Told me I was unoriginal and unstable.
3. Talked in rhyming couplets.
4. Lived halfway around the world.
5. Or were otherwise rude, crude, uninteresting, or not at all my type.

So see, Internet, I've tried.  And yes, I've been a bitch, shallow, a slut, a liar, selfish, and not good enough.  But they have too.  Because we're all human.  And that happens sometimes. 

But what I'm looking for accepts that and sees past it.  And that's something I'm willing to wait for.  Because in the meantime I've found it in myself, my friends, my job.  My life.  I hope you have too.

Love,
Sara

Joy in Packages: Lust Edition

Dear Internet,

These are somethings that have made me very happy lately even if I only get to look at them from a far...

1. Put this dress on.  Gather up your girlfriends.  Dance all night.
2. Every girl needs to feel a little like Barbie sometimes.  Even though we all know you're waaay prettier than she could ever be.
3. A perfect bag to lose your sunglasses in.
4. Paris.  Food.  Love.  Enough said.
5. The Red comes highly recommended by a fabulous gay man.  And who am I to argue with that?  Plus it makes jeans and a t-shirt so much classier.
6. Track 7 is particularly delightful.
   

Love,
Sara

Finding Joy

Dear Internet,

There's a line in the poem that inspired this blog that I often overlook-"At times Joy is elusive-she seems to disappear even as we approach her."

Joy has been elusive for me these past couple of weeks.  And I've been hesitant to write about it because this blog is supposed to be about the good things.  The wonder.  The happiness.  The joy.

But that lack.  That slipping through my fingers.  Is just as much a part of my journey as the times when I'm, "in love with life, all of it, the sun and the rain and the rainbow."

But I tend to think you won't like me.  Or you'll stop reading me.  If I tell you about the rain.  What I forget is that sometimes it's the rain that connects us the most.  Gives us permission to fall apart a little.  Cry.  Scream.  And be ok about that.  Because maybe if I am brave enough to tell you about how I fell out of joy.  How I didn't take down my Christmas tree until February.  Or wash dishes for a month.  Or ignored phone calls.  Or wrestled with whether I should go back on my anti-depressants.  You'll feel a little less alone.  And joy can come back in somewhere for someone.

And really isn't that what this is all about?

So, Internet, I had a shitty month.  It happens sometimes.  But, thankfully, Joy, "wait[s] for us.  Her desire to walk with us is as great as our longing to accompany her."

If she's left you, know that you'll find her again too.  And in the meantime, we'll all be here waiting and cheering you on while you find your way back.

XO,
Sara

Blushing and Bashful

Dear Internet,

Wow!  For the first time in a long time I'm speechless.  I'm rarely speechless.  I have red hair and a voice you can hear over ambulance sirens.  Quiet isn't something I often do.

But being mentioned by Maggie just floors me.  I don't know what to say.  Because I'm just going to go ahead and put it out there-that woman amazes me.  Girl crush doesn't even begin to describe it.  I admire her and the things she does for other women.  She's incredible.  And to have her link me.  And to have all you click over here.  Well that just tickles me pink.

Had I known you were coming I would have freshened up, made some sweet tea, and put out some snacks.  But my apology for not being prepared will have to do.  

I love you Internet.  And I love all the good things you do.  You're the greatest.

XO,
Sara

Making My Way Back

Dear Internet,

I had a Christmas tree in my living until last Sunday.  That's right.  A Christmas tree. 

Turns out I was depressed again.  Not debilitating.  Straight-jacket.  Kill myself depressed. That would be too easy.  I could just be committed and get it over with.

But no, what I struggle with is much more subtle than that.  A pull the covers over my head.  Hide.  Cry about commercials depressed.  A depressed that masquerades as being tired and cranky and a burnt out graduate student.

A depressed that I don't even notice until a friend comes over and says, "Why the fuck is your Christmas tree still up?"  And then suddenly all the avoiding phone calls, huffy exchanges with my colleagues, disaster of a house, and excessive Sex and City watching makes sense. 

Oh right.  This.  Again.

And then I have to dig myself out.  Wash the weeks old dirty dishes.  Hang up the clothes.  Call everyone back.

Take down the fucking Christmas tree.

Tell you I missed you and that I'll be back soon.

Love,
Sara