Skip to main content

A Day in the Life



"All my life, I've lived and worked in the big city, which now that I think of it, is kind of a problem since I always feel uncomfortable around crowds. I mean it, I-I have this fear of enclosed spaces. I-I-I, everything makes me feel trapped all the time. You know, I always tell myself, there's gotta be something better out there, but maybe I think too much. And I've always had these, these abandonment issues, which plagued me. And my job, don't get me started on, 'cause it really annoys me. I was not cut out to be a worker, I'll tell you right now. I-I-I feel physically inadequate. It's this whole gung-ho super-organism thing that, that, that I - you know, I can't get, I try but I can't get it. What about me? I mean, I gotta believe there's someplace out there that's better than this! Otherwise, I will just curl up in a larval position and weep! The whole system makes me feel - insignificant!"

I get frustrated because I feel I can't adequately express myself through words alone sometimes. It feels like our language hasn't expanded enough to cover all the nuances and complexities found in the range of human emotions, thoughts, and behaviors. Especially when you are trying to articulate your experiences with depression and anxiety to doctors, friends or family, or the internet- I feel like I fall short often. I end up sounding either too dark or not quite serious enough. Phrases shoot out of my mouth in confusing tourettes-like bursts and can become hour-long tangents where no one is quite sure what the fuck I have been saying. 

I wanted to try a different approach in expressing what it feels like to be depressed or anxious. Here's what a day would feel like for me if my anxiety and depression were at their worst- in images. 

Wake up: 
Shit.
 Getting out of bed to start the day feels like this: 



Getting dressed/getting ready sux b/c when you feel like shit it's really hard to get it together and plus all your physical issues with yourself are amplified. Objectively I look like this: 




But I swear I look in the mirror and see this: 

Goddamn it hair!!!
Gettin' my mail. (Sigh.) Where are my cats?!!


Simple housework becomes a tedious nightmare. This is how it feels when I see I have to do dishes or vacuum a little: 



Time to go to work? Great. When you are going through depression/anxiety your emotions are very black and white- not a lot of grey area. So for the next 6 hours I have to act like this on the outside...: 
HEY!!!!!!


...even though I feel like this. 


Off work! Made it!! Time to go to the grocery store. This is how I imagine a normal experience shopping would be: 

we're all normal here. just gettin some lettuce, nbd. 


So why does it look like THIS to me as soon as I walk inside?!

why.are.you.



STARING AT MEEE!!!


Oh my god I still have to get milk!


Driving home! Yey!
Yo-- did this dude just 

CUT 

ME 

OFF??? 


Time for a nervous break break



down..


 


Wow, today sucked. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

All That Glitters: The Dark Side of Lisa Frank and The Masks We Wear on Social Media

“Gold in its raw form appears dull and does not glitter.” Like most girls my age, I grew up on Lisa Frank; to this day I have never loved a boy as much as I loved my original Lisa Frank trapper keeper.   And as a feminist I deliciously delight in non-ironically reappropriating the pink colorful glitter images Frank iconized as celebratory and powerful rather than weak and flippant.   So while groggily sitting on my parent’s back deck this morning where I have been living for the past 6 months due to some of those wonderful life-likes-to-kick-you-in-the-ass-unforeseen-circumstances, I’m half enjoying my day off thanks to the long holiday weekend and half suffering through pangs of loneliness, deeply isolated from the glitzy city lights of Atlanta 30 miles away. As I scroll through my friends’ posts and pictures of their frolicking late night adventures around Dragon Con this weekend, adorned in pink wigs, high heels, outrageous costumes, and ridiculously (yet genuinely) larg

Confessions of a Waitress

Waiting tables is sort of like that thing you do until you can get a real job. It’s great in a lot of ways: it can work around your schedule if you are in school or trying to be an actress or a Mariah Carey biographer or something, you can leave with cash and make pretty decent money, and you can meet a lot of cool people. That being said, waiting tables is also one of the most grueling jobs and can sometimes make you hate people, a lot. It’s a pretty weird concept when you think about it: you are there to serve someone else, by definition. A little dehumanizing right off the bat. Second, it puts your financial success (or failure) in the hands of random people you don’t even know. I guess a lot of people still don’t realize that the wait staff relies (usually) entirely on their tips for income. You make $2.15 an hour and that money goes to your taxes. So your paycheck is a big fat zero. When you stiff me on a tip, it really affects me. For anyone out there who happens to

An Open Letter to Devin the Dude

Dear Devin the dude,  Here’s why I think you’re an asshole.  I went to your show last night in Atlanta, Ga.  I was excited. I like your music a lot; I think you make great records. I was really exited to see you perform. I work as a waitress, which means I work late nights and weekends. But luckily, Atlanta is a city that is notoriously late for everything, so I got off before you had gone on. So I was like, that’s what’s up, I’m gonna go see the Devin the Dude and smoke weed and drink gin and tonics with my friends. It should have been a really awesome night!                                                  what my night should have been like  When I got there I dished out the 20 dollars at the door, which I had just earned from commodifying myself to the point of oblivion. But if I know (think) I’m gonna see a really good show I’ll pay for it. It’s too bad that you failed to perform until almost 2 in the morning, after the audience had endured basically three