Where are you going? Where have you been?

This is the title of a Joyce Carol Oates' book that I haven't read, but it's a title I've always liked. I think it is a nice way I think about one's life and especially Dec 31.

On the New Year, I always post this: Happy Arbitrary Time Delineation Day! Not that the Gregorian calendar is arbitrary, but there are like 12 30+ others, including the Hebrew calendar and the Chinese calendar. Time is a construct we make so while I own calendars and follow calendars, I also believe they are bogus. 

How do I exist in this world being such a fucking buzzkill, you ask? 

I don't even know.

Time is weird. It can fly by; it can crawl by. Sometimes time feels like a fever-dream. When I reflect back on the past year, it doesn't feel real to me. I can't believe it hasn't been a year since my trip to Ecuador because it feels like 1,000 years. Although maybe by April, the year anniversary of the trip, it will feel like just the blink of an eye.

Because of the weirdness of time, it can make it difficult to reflect on it on a specific designated day, like today/tonight/tomorrow. Maybe I'm not feeling reflective? Maybe I'm just ornery and don't want to reflect when society tells me I need to?

There is a lot of pressure with the new year, just as there is with Christmas holidays. There is a pressure to create (or recreate) magic at Christmas, and there is a pressure to be resolute, to make changes, to become a new and better, stronger, more powerful version of YOU with the minute hand ticking. 

And I reject this completely, mostly because I'm allowed to since my kids don't care if I make resolutions or strive to be a better me. (They would have a shitfit, however, if I tried to not do Christmas.)

For the moment, I'm ok with who I am now. I went through my big workout and try to ward off middle-age phase after my third child was born 13 years ago. I long ago decided that getting a PhD probably isn't something I aspire to. I recently wrote a literary essay for publication that drove me insane to complete and made me question what my "writing life" is and what I want it to be. None of this required me to make a decision on Dec 31 or Jan 1. 

I don't need this day or tomorrow to be reflective. I guess some people do, and since I'm a fan of reflecting and metacognating, then kudos to those who do it tonight or tomorrow. But if you're not one of those folks, and you feel like a slug or a loser because you aren't motivated to extol your great PLANS for 2023, let it go. Just as time is a social construct, so is this expectation of growth, of change, of great personal fulfillment decided in one 24-hour period. 

You don't have to buy into it. 

Mental health holiday suckage

As I've mentioned on this blog, I wasn't diagnosed with a mood disorder until age 30, but I struggled with my mental health from age 10. 

I was always wound tight and now recognize that I had rituals that I did to ease my anxiety (although at the time I thought those were just "weird things" I did). I remember having depressive episodes and thinking about dying starting in middle school. I never seriously thought about committing suicide, but I definitely thought about death a lot. (And still do.)

Unless you've gone through a full-blown breakdown/episode, I don't think you can wrap your head around just how little control you have over your thoughts when things are bad. I have thought about this a lot with the recent suicide of Stephen tWitch Boss who, like so many people, was able to cover and pretend. But why is anyone shocked that a 10 second dance clip, or even a series of them, didn't sum up the entirety of a person's existence? 

When I reflect on the worst parts of my breakdown, I remember the brain fuzz, as if a cloud of static looped around my head and kept things clouded. I knew I was there somewhere inside my brain, but I was lost behind muck. I could not laugh or grin or find anything funny. Communication was hard. My ability to reason was skewed. My brain was sick. 

That was at my worst...but I had been "holding it together" and probably passing for ok for weeks and months before that. I don't know what flipped the switch from this to "unable to function," but it switched and it took me a couple years to get better. 

I cannot imagine all the synapse misfiring that was going on inside the crenelated corners of my brain at that time. Were the brain cells dying or just languishing from depleted chemicals (or maybe too many chemicals)? It is impossible for me to forget just how bad I felt. It was worse and longer-lasting than any physical illness I've experienced thus far. 

Ever since I went through therapy and got on medication, I have made it a point to be open about my mental health issues, even with students. Or maybe, especially with students. We all believe we run the ship, so it is especially devastating to find that you're not the captain or the first mate or even a swab. When experiencing a breakdown/episode, it feels pretty clear that you're maybe a rat somewhere down in the hold. It is a loss of empowerment that is unlike a kidney infection or the development of plantar fasciitis. To lose control of your brain is to lose control of your sense of self and your worth. That was devastating when I had three decades of life behind me and was in a relatively stable phase of life. 

This time of year is especially hard for a lot of people, including me. I absolutely, positively abhor the Christmas holiday season. I hold it together, but I'm cranky and moody and lacking energy. If you could look into my brain, you would see a brown cloud of unease there, similar to what follows Pigpen from the Peanuts gang, except it isn't dirt and dust. It is a sad, hollow mood that permeates everything. 

Why would I feel sad, some might ask. I have a family and my health and a home and a job and so much. I recognize this and am thankful. It isn't ungratefulness that makes the feeling. In some ways, it is that I put myself in the shoes of the people who don't have, who are without, this time of year. The story of Christmas in the manger even makes me terribly sad. That sounds absurd, I know. But this time of year simply makes me sad. Everything feels heavy. 

I guess I write this as a reminder to myself that feeling how I feel is ok. As much as I'd like to "think myself to a better mood," it ain't happening. I go through this every year (although I did have several years of reprieve when the kids were little). Having gone through this, I know it will end; the circle will turn, and I will feel not so glum, not so bleak. 

Until then, I muddle through, like so many people do at this time of year, knowing full well I'm not alone but feeling like the tide of good cheer and festivity is rolling over me and everyone else who can't muster themselves into good tidings.