Thinking about things I do that depress me, and reading Tumblr is actually a big one. Well I’m not positive about the nature of the causality, actually, but suffice it to say that reading Tumblr makes me feel bad some/a lot of the time. Maybe because it’s a “social” site that I really only lurk on, so everytime I “like” a post, I feel creepy and bad about my lack of social capital here, and how that’s my choice. I also feel bad about my Google reader and the amount of time I spend on the internet in general. I am thinking about things I can do that I won’t feel bad about. One of the most common pieces of advice for dealing with depression is to start exercising. Start “working on mah fitness” as noted physical trainer Mike “The Situation” Sorrentino (?) once semi-memorably said.
Obviously this is my depressed state of mind speaking, but I hate exercising. I plan to start doing so eventually because I’m getting fat but it would be nice not to be, and I’m overdue to begin anew the cycle of losing a few pounds and then gaining back twice that much. (Also LOL I want to move to New York and you’re not allowed to be fat there.) But I don’t enjoy exercising. Mentally, it’s just more stuff I don’t want to deal with: feeling self-conscious at the gym. Being trapped with my own thoughts while being miserable on the treadmill. Never underestimate the things I will do to avoid being alone with my thoughts, guys. I know that’s an odd thing for someone who spends every waking hour worrying to say, but seriously, the idea of running around the park while listening to music and “reflecting” is BAD NEWS to me, not nearly enough to distract me from thinking “shitwhatamIdoinglifeispain!” The simple solution to this is that I should try an exercise program that isn’t so solitary. Well, no thank you. I don’t want to. Remember that time I tried spinning? Please don’t make me do that again. But doing things you don’t want to do can be good for you! I hate having these tiresome aguments with myself/other people. I would like to be the kind of person that does yoga (and, ok, is lithe and chub-free in my yoga pants), but when I think about how awkward that first class would be, that “Oh, well I can sort of…touch my toes?” moment, the lightbulb above my head that will go off and remind me that I never was able to do a proper cartwheel despite years of dance classes so taking up something involving gymnastics is obviously not going to suit me… you know, shut it down.
I’m wrestling with basic questions. What do people do to enjoy their lives? Why am I even on this earth? I mean me, specifically. I understand that life can be pretty fun/meaningful for some people who are happy and enjoy their friends and family, but lately I’ve just been angry at my parents for having me. (I’m 22 years old, so this is a very mature and constructive line of thought.) We’ll call this a rebuilding period. Not for nothing but I think I’ve reached the stage of my depression (yeah, I’ve been here before) where I’m open to picking up self-help and inspirational books and having “aha!” moments. This is not a bad first step. Just give in.
