Downscaling.net

So my husband, Mr. Logical, pointed out to me last night that getting a perfect score on all the possible symptoms of low self-esteem might actually be the antithesis of what I am trying to get out of the time spent with Dr. Shrink and all the happy pills I swallow everyday.

Whatever, Mr. Smarty Pants. At least I got to build a little self-esteem when I applied my mad math skillz to finding an average of my low-esteem points and plotting it on a line graph. Take that, Mr. Accountant-Know-it-All.

Sing it with me: "She's a Brick. House."

So I went to bed and fell asleep with the TV on Bravo, which means I woke up at 3 a.m. because on the bazillionth re-run of this show, the Real Housewives of Orange County were screaming at each other. As I fumbled for the remote to shut off those Botoxed bitches, I remember why I watch those shows: No matter how low my self-esteem may go, I have a better life than these status-obsessed, petty women.

That made me wake up just a few hours later with a whole new attitude toward this self esteem thing — and a new appreciation for just how dreadful the OC Housewives really are. I need to start accentuating the positive. At the same time I was having that little emotional revelation, I tried to get out of bed and could barely move. Then I remembered I walked a couple of miles yesterday.

Sore muscles from exercise is a good thing, I told myself as I reached for the ibuprofen. See how good I can be at accentuating the positive? Overachiever skillz; I have them.

It’s time, I believe, to get this blog off the emotional health issues (at least temporarily) and back to the physical ones. It’s time to hit the weight-loss effort with real gusto. It’s time to use the happy pills as a motivator to raising my mood through the hard work of exercise and healthier eating.

It’s time.

(Photo from http://suite148.tumblr.com/)

My shrink suggested last week that I get a copy of “The Self-Esteem Workbook” so I could master the skills needed to reduce my anxiety and depression by boosting my self worth. Sounds reasonable.

I got the book today and I see her again tomorrow, and the book’s not very long so I thought, “No biggie. I crammed a whole semester of coursework in a single weekend back in college. I can finish this whole book tonight, see the shrink tomorrow, get an A+ and be on my merry, newly high-esteemed way.”

Then, on page two, it says you can’t hurry through this book. You have to slowly master each skill.

Well, fuck me running.

It also listed 18 “symptoms” of low self-esteem. I hit 15 of 18 of those nails squarely on the head; the other three were big misses. I am not promiscuos, I don;’t abuse my husband or grown daughter, and, ironically, I would have to be a low achiever to get a perfect score.

Shit. I can’t even excel at feeling worthless.

Anyway, I am not sure I really need to keep seeing the shrink because this Abilify that costs more than two months of car payments is really helping with the depression. I am getting up in the morning without feeling sluggish and drained; I am getting a lot of shit done at work without shedding a single tear and I even got the wild idea to clean out my closet and get it organized.

So maybe the only mental health I really need is from a bottle at $15 a pill. Except I was sorely tempted to kick a store manager square in the balls yesterday (long story but he totally had it coming.) I guess that could still be a little anxiety issue. Maybe I could count that as covering the abuse part of the self-esteem test and now I am only missing two.

I am a little concerned that I am developing an obsession with shopping. Packages keep arriving in the mail that I barely recall ordering. All of it necessary and none of it expensive. There’s this self-esteem book, of course, and a new voice recorder with earphone and noise-canceling microphone that I totally need for work. And I am expecting two new coats I snagged from Macy’s online at HUGE discounts. And that doesn’t even factor in all the new costume jewelry, scented candles and cosmetics I’ve bought in the last two weeks.

OK. so maybe we could count all the shopping around as promiscuous and then I only have one more to check off the list. I have to start slacking at work. Now excuse me while I go wreck my newly organized closet.

I am a little slow, so forgive me for just now, on Jan. 20, announcing my New Year’s resolution:

I resolve to become high maintenance this year.

I made a good start today. I went to see a counselor that I will refer to as Ms. Shrink. We chatted for almost an hour. I am wary of the fact that she’s an evangelical (I don’t usually mix well with that crowd) but she seems like a nice lady and talking to her was easy. Besides, if I dismiss her out of hand because of her beliefs and lifestyle, would I not be committing the type of hypocrisy my crowd accuses her crowd of doing? Yes, I think so.

Besides, Ms. Shrink thinks I have self-esteem issues. So obviously she’s a good judge of character.

Yesterday, someone I consider a friend was having a rough day. In the course of doing my job, I annoyed him. He then got very passive-aggressive with me, and I swear it would have hurt me less if he had punched me in the face. Instead of just blowing it off as him having the type of bad day we all have at times, I internalized it as proof that I am worthless, that I can’t do anything right, and that I am a failure as a friend and a manager. I cried like a little bitch.

I don’t blame my friend (OK, I did for a while, but now I have a little perspective.) I blame myself for my lack of coping skills and my inability to react in an appropriate manner. I can’t control other people. But I need Ms. Shrink (or someone like her) to help me learn to control my emotions when faced with conflict and to get my self-esteem to a place where a bump in the emotional road doesn’t wreck my day.

So, after taking a time off work to see Ms. Shrink, I went to work for a while. Then I left early to get a manicure and pedicure that I’ve rescheduled a bazillion times since Thanksgiving.

See where I am going here? I am putting my mental, emotional and physical health as a priority. Sure, to meet all my deadlines I will have to work all day Sunday, but it’s worth it to have a few stolen moments of relaxation and therapy today.

Tomorrow is my only day off this weekend. Besides the normal chores I have to do to keep my house running smoothly, I am going to the gym. Because that is something I will do just for me– for my health– emotionally, mentally and physically. Then I am going shopping for nothing in particular. Then I am going to read a book.

I have decided that 2012 is my year that I become high maintenance, and I started today.

A wise, funny and brilliant woman that I follow around the Internet once wrote that depression is a lying bastard.

Truer words have never been spoken, typed, printed, tweeted, whatever. Depression distorts reality and makes every obstacle seem miles too high and wide to overcome. Depression leads to lousy choices and dead ends, literally and figuratively.

These are things I have to remind myself every day.

I planned to spend this weekend wallowing in my own filth and despair. I planned to climb into bed and not come out. The idea of being very, very still, so still that nothing would notice me and thus nothing could hurt me, seemed like the perfect plan.

So of course I didn’t do that at all. Because I suck at making plans and sticking with them (but I excel at negative thoughts and self-deprecation, apparently.)

Bolstered by an unseasonably warm January day, my husband and I cleaned out our garage yesterday. We did the same thing with our basement furnace room last weekend. I referred to these areas of our home as our “Hoarders” starter kits. Each space contained junk that “might be useful some day.” That day, of course, would never come and even if it did, we could never have found that useful thing under all the crap.

We trashed a lot of it and organized the rest. We now look like very tidy hoarders. Total upgrade.

I’ve often read that physical exercise and a sense of accomplishment can do a lot for raising the levels of positive chemicals in the brain. Also, the lack of clutter can do a lot to ease anxiety. And in this case, it did indeed do a lot to make me feel better, probably much more than hiding under covers ever could.

These are facts that depression tries to hide from me, but depression is a lying sack of shit and not to be trusted. Ever.

Today I went shopping for nothing in particular, which is absolutely the best form of shopping, because shopping when I need something causes me anxiety.

I bought some Christmas decorations at a deep discount, which is sort of like saying the ocean went out to pick up some sea salt because it was on sale.

But if there is something wrong about getting an endorphin rush by buying really adorable stuff for 75 percent off, then I will never be right.

I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow morning. Because there is only so much room in our tidy, organized garage and storage space for deeply discounted Christmas decor. And there is only so long that I can keep the deceptive voice of depression drowned out by retail therapy, closet cleaning and skinny lattes at Starbucks.

I am going to need a few more coping skills.

I have been a little unwell lately.

Finger wagging felon

I am one of those idiots who thinks it’s possible to have a Martha-Stewart-inspired holiday season, complete with magazine-like decor, fabulous dishes all made from scratch, and perfect presents that will make everyone’s season bright. Yeah, I know that Martha Stewart has hundreds of minions that do all those things for her. What’s your point?

My in-laws came to visit, which was five fun-filled days of over-indulgence in food and booze and constant walking on egg shells.

Then there is work. I avoid blogging about my job, but let’s just say that December is my most difficult month of the year times 12. Totally not exaggerating.

And while all this is going on, I take lousy care of myself. Poor nutrition, lack of rest, very little mental relief or physical exercise. And after a few weeks, my rather fragile emotional balance starts to tilt. While I am busy crossing things off my to-do list, my brain chemicals start to drop. And finally, my grip on reality slips away.

That happened late Tuesday afternoon. On a day that my job required me to be at my multi-tasking best, I folded like a bad poker hand.

Let’s go on a guided tour of my mental meltdown:

Hello! This is your anxiety attack. Let’s get the party started with shortness of breath and numbness in your extremities. Feeling worried and tense? Good. Now let’s apply a little pressure with a few emails and voicemails about how disappointing you have performed on a couple of tasks.

Feeling a helpless? Maybe a little persecuted and frantic? Great!

Now, just for shits and giggles,  let’s add a heightened startle reflex. You’ll see how much this will kick up the flavor in this emotional shit stew when the office jackass unleashes a sneeze — identical volume to a shotgun blast —  just as you emerge from your office.

As fear ripples through your veins, COMMENCE UNCONTROLLABLE WEEPING!

Wonderful! OK, now go explain to a co-worker that you have just lost your collective shit and ask her to return a phone call for you because you are too unstable to speak to anyone. Embarrassed? Of course you are. Excellent.

Now that you are an unconsolable, unprofessional wreck, let’s have a parade of people march into your office to ask you questions that you can’t comprehend much less answer coherently. Here’s where the party really gets started. Start rocking back and forth in your chair, employing a coping skill that ceased working for you when you were four years old.

If everything is on schedule,  your hearing will acquire a tinny ring, you will have a metallic taste in your mouth and your head will start to spin. Finally,  your stomach will contract into a knot that a sailor would envy.

Because that? That will be the icing of frustration of this cake of emotional wreckage.

And hey, it’s ONLY TUESDAY! You will deal with the debris from this anxiety bash for three more working days. Winning!

And that’s when my soul splits in two– Emotional Me and Logical Me.

Emotional Me does all the whining, while Logical Me keeps the trains running on time. They don’t always get along well.

Emotional Me wants to stay buried under the covers in a dark room. Emotional Me can barely breathe under the weight of depression, afraid to stir the anxiety pot again. Left to her own devices, Emotional Me would sleep, watch re-runs of bad television and skip showering.

But Logical Me is a bad-ass task master and she is not letting Emotional Me wallow when there are deadlines looming.

Logical Me lets Emotional Me slide for a few hours, then Logical Me prods Emotional Me to get her ass in gear. Logical Me, being the bitch that she is, berates Emotional Me into the shower, into the car, and into the office. Deadlines are met. Crisis is averted.

And now, if you will excuse me, it’s Friday night, and Emotional Me just told Logical Me to shut the fuck up. There’s a blanket waiting for Emotional Me to climb under, and Logical Me is about to get a weekend pass.

I’m not crazy. I’m just a little unwell.