There is a scene in the first Austin Powers movie where Austin and Vanessa attempt a getaway in a steam roller. “Hang on, I'm gonna floor it,” Austin says. The camera angle shifts and reveals two police officers in front of the steam roller. Austin, with motioning hands, yells at the officers to move, but one lingers stuck with fear. The lingering officer, with feet planted firmly, puts up his hand for Austin to stop, and yells dramatically: “NOOOOOOOOOOOO!” It’s at this point the camera pans out and reveals the steam roller is nowhere near the officer.
Like, seriously, nowhere near him.
I am talking 500 feet at least. Eventually, though, Austin and Vanessa run over and crush him with the steamroller. This scene, which is hilarious and dumb and perfect, is what depression is like for me: slow, stupid and entirely avoidable, but crushing nonetheless.
We do not talk enough about how stupid depression is. Anxiety is too (which I also have because when the bartender put me together it was goth tuesday at the tiki bar).
When I have the sadz™, I am in my own worst commercial dramatization sandwiched between World News Tonight and Jeopardy! with side effects that amount to butt stuff, bleeding eyeballs, and an achy left knee. The lead actor playing me is a trained bulldog who’d rather be napping and moves off the couch like disgruntled slime for treats.
When I am depressed everything is an uphill battle, which means I am just as boring as every other person with a doom cloud as their action figure accessory. My depression is depressed about how fucking stupid being sad is and forever will be.
Imagine how many things I could accomplish if I wasn’t such an overachiever in depression. One time I asked someone who, without breaking a sweat, wrote a full manuscript, which is something I do not know how she has the time to accomplish — her job is high-powered-ish with intense responsibilities and she has like 300 children. (Maybe it’s four, but that might as well be 300). She told me, “It’s a form of anxiety.”
Now I know we all suffer differently, but where can I snort this anxiety? And how much is too much?
My depression and anxiety are basic nonsense, Dove variety mental illness. I really, truly do follow Instagram accounts so I can live with myself. Like, the ones that tell me I am whole, have survived some shit, I am WORTHY. But regardless of how much I scroll for mental health, depression and anxiety always knock me out with an amalgam of feelings that leave me numb from everything and nothing in particular.
I know that depression lies, but why can’t it dabble more in chill grandeur. Instead of barging into my mind with an update that’s like “Yo, forgettable trash, worst ever, yeah looking at you, give up.” Why can’t it hit me right in the frontal lobe with “BABE, IT WILL ALL WORK OUT.”
I want you to know that joy is not effortless and manageable emotional baselines take work. Sometimes I do horribly embarrassing shit because I think to myself, why not, maybe I’ll feel better. One time I read a Dr. Phil book earnestly. (I consider this third on my list of top 5 times I was the saddest I’ve ever been.) But I haven’t done anything utterly bonkers yet like tell someone, “Chris Pratt is an inspiration” or “low rise jeans deserve their comeback.”
Sometimes I buy too many clothes and eat too much or consider leading an active lifestyle as “I watched a lot of really good TV.” Because I did and it takes dedication to keep up with a show that doesn’t release all at once. Murders in the Building, American Crime Story: Impeachment, looking at you. But I do have to admit I’ve been watching a lot of QVC because it combines two things I love immensely: shopping and chaos. The only thing I’ve bought: a holiday set of Poo-Pourri (it was a great price, bitches!)
My point here is that, yes, depression and anxiety are so stupid that maybe, just maybe, having an even dumber response — reading Dr. Phil, watching QVC for the Poo-Pourri, streaming instead of running; just might save you.
I don’t know, I’m not a doctor. Therapy is great, try that. But I’m still here aren’t I. Working for my baseline, finding joy where I can. So I don’t get steamrolled.
CURRENTLY
Reading: Sometimes I Trip On How Happy We Could Be
Liking: Someone dressed their dog up as a spider and let them loose
Watching: Last Night in SoHo
Listening: It Ain’t Easy // David Bowie
Subscribing: Snack and Destroy
Coveting: These KB Shimmer sugar scrubs that come in rainbow colors and smell so good
SHARE FLOP ERA with the kind of person that’s hungry to feel better but stupid, overachieving depression and anxiety just won’t quit.