Downscaling.net

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.