Emotional Chin-Ups

     I posted a list on my Facebook page of things to do to “Keep Your Shit Together” when you are clinically depressed. The person who wrote the list commented that their level of happy is just set way lower than most peoples. The “regulars.” I know that everyone has times when they are depressed. And, there are people that pop anti-anxiety/anti-depression pills like candy because it is the fashionable thing to do. But, there are some of us that have genuine issues.

     Here is a metaphor.  Remember in elementary school, the PE teacher would have everyone see how many chin ups they could do? There were the kids that could spring up to the bar like they had angelic wings that sprung forth from their unfairly athletic backs and could do them until the cows came home, or the teacher said stop. Those are the people that are ALWAYS genuinely blissful. For them, happiness comes very easily. However, they have trouble being empathetic at times. The idea of being upset about something or something “getting to you” is beyond their grasp. They look at the rest of us at times like we are just in denial.

     Then, there are the kids who can get up to the bar pretty easy. But, have to work on getting more than 5 or 6 chin ups. Those are the more “regular” people. They acknowledge that we should be happy. And, they really are. But, at times, like yesterday with the bombing in Boston, they are able to grieve and find frustration. But, when it comes to taking care of themselves and their loved ones, they function well.

Well, there are some of us that the kids dragging over a five gallon bucket, wrapping our legs around the pole, climbing with all of our might to get to where we are hanging by our knees. We just never get up the right way no matter how hard we try. That is me. Both in and out of the metaphor.  Some days, I can shimmy up that bar. But, there are some days, that the bucket tips over and I end up with my rear end stuck in it.

     As I get older, I am finding that I tend to run a bit manic depressive. My poor husband. He never knows what he will awake up to or go to be with. Shoot, there are some nights that I run the gambit between getting between the covers and falling asleep.  That being said, my bar of happiness is a lot lower than it was. And, it was low to start with. Don’t get me wrong. I am happy. I have so many things to be happy about. Between a loving husband, a dear son, and job that I actually don’t stress over and my faith in God, I am good. But, if any of these are in question, I am down. If I worry that I said something to Ty or Jerry that upset them, or if I over analyze something they did or didn’t say too long, I am crushed. Luckily, I work pretty much by myself. It is nice to not have to smile all the time. It gets exhausting. I can sit at my desk and cry. Or, step outside. I also work with people that knew Sarah. I hadn’t worked here in a couple of years when we lost Sarah. But, they were all at the visitation and almost all at the funeral. It helps a lot being with people that loved and knew her.

     Next blog will be far more uplifting.

     Find your bliss.