Tag Archives: depression

Sometimes All We Have is Music

Oh hey, are you reading this?  Then my guess is you, too, are no stranger to disappointment or depression.  Are you human?  Alright then.  We’ve all been there – you got some less-than-good news, you had a bit of a soul-crushing defeat, someone you love has left you in one way or another – your friends see that you’ve put on a fucking smile anyway and then you know, you still gotta pay the stupid car insurance and got to work and buy toilet paper.  How do we keep going?  There are many answers to this complex question, and while I am a big fan in recent years of really feeling all the feels and figuring out why I feel the way I do and what, if any, action I can take, there are days when you just have to slap a motherfucking band-aid on that shit and say to life “WHAT ELSE.”

While you may really need that band-aid, I propose the theory that there is one thing that is that, but maybe more:  Music.

Music can get you out of a mood, put you in a mood, cause you to explore that mood, or shut out everything in your life that is just not a thing you can deal with right the fuck now.  As I blasted The Cult’s “Love Removal Machine” on the way to work this morning, I followed it with Deftones, Marilyn Manson, and Pantera just to get some fucking anger out of the way.  We all have our own thing.  There will be a moment in the next 48 hours in which I will probably sit bawling in my car to OH YOU FUCKING NAME IT, because my Spotify is filled with shit that will make you cry.  (Of course, when the dance-able joy of New Order’s “1963” makes me get teary, it doesn’t take much. Lyrics can hit me in the breadbasket.)

What I am trying to say is that for me, music is a key that can unlock numerous doors, or lock them back up if need be.  Sometimes you don’t know exactly what you need until that perfect song hits you.  There are other times where you know that if you roll all the windows down and turn up the volume, you’ll be allowed, in that space, to feel exactly what you need to feel.

Turn up the volume.  Either way, that guy next to you at the light totally wins.

 

 

 

 

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Pegleg: Slower Than You!

As I hobble to my makeshift workstation at the kitchen table with a pan of Stove Top in one hand and a shredded facial tissue in the other, I ask myself:

Self, am I depressed?

I mean, a broken fibula can mean many things to many people, as I have learned on mybrokenleg.com, but the bullshit that you go through on the day-to-day while cooped up in your house can feel slightly oppressive at times.  When the only audience you have for your outbursts are a overly-hyper dog and a lazy motherfucker of a cat, the feedback one gets is somewhat lacking.  Between the blank stares of the cat and the constant gnawing of the dog on his magical rawhide bone, far too busy to look up, I’m not sure they even know I’m here.

Oh, I’m working.  This working-from-home thing is a blessing and a curse.  Besides that, who only takes off one day for a broken leg?  Me, that’s who.  Who is also severely lacking in judgement?  OK, don’t answer that.  I’ve been stuck in an uncomfortable stabilizing boot for 3 long weeks and if I’m lucky, I’ll get out of it next week.

Week 1:  I was totally putting on makeup and dressing in real-ish clothes every day.

LOOK NORMAL AT ALL COSTS

Week 2:  Attempting and failing at looking normal, I instead just stayed angry at my laptop.

Learn to write an email, assholes.

 Week 3:  Complete Decline of all Civilization.

Who the fuck cares anymore. Not me. I look awesome.

And I guess that’s what really makes being broken, in its own way, a little beautiful and somewhat bittersweet.  I may be eating a pan of Stove Top for lunch, but trust me, you’re sleeping better than I am.  Plus 1 for Stove Top, minus 1 for no sleep.  I may not be able to outrun you for your candy, you don’t have Norco.  Minus 1 for being slower than a 90-year old, plus 1 for drugs.  I may be a completely miserable bitch 99.9% of the time at present, but I get to be that way in a robe at 2pm while drinking IF I WANTED TO.  Minus 1 for miserable bi-…

wait, there’s no minus there.

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