It’s been a hard couple of days—one of those deep depressions that makes the body too weary to move. Sunday, after struggling through my workout, having my pre-workout supplement routine set up and being sociable with my family, I grabbed a big bag of Cheetos at the Kwik Star and watched a horrible movie on TV. I didn’t care. All I wanted was oblivion. Damn new ways of behaving. Damn it all.
I made myself nauseous and slept for three hours. When I woke up with Henry and Emmett both guarding me on the bed, I rolled over and thought, Okay, that doesn’t work anymore.
Today I took a different tack. I went to my regular water aerobics class, then stayed for two more. I figured, the longer I moved in the water, the less likely I was to do something stupid (like eat or go back to bed). Then, I drove to Des Moines to my favorite theater and camped out for two good movies, Moonrise Kingdom and Seeking a Friend for the End of the World. Quirky (the former) and Poignant (the latter). High quality diversion at a discount (I had a coupon) with limited access to unseemly snacks (I don’t seem to have a problem limiting myself to plain popcorn at the movies. This is a gift, thank you, Universe).
The weather today in central Iowa was perfect, so after the movie marathon, I walked to PF Chang’s down the road and sat out on the veranda for a supper of Dim Sum and Wrinkled Green Beans. Still depressed, I could nonetheless gaze out at the big pond with its ducks and geese, feel the satin air slide over my skin, and appreciate the pedestrians wandering along the walkway Toddlers bobbed on splayed legs, an elderly couple shared a piece of cheesecake, middle-school boys tried to look like a tough gang. I breathed it all in, feeling my sadness, relishing the sweet garlic of the green beans, wondering about the little girl in pink sunglasses riding her daddy’s shoulders.
I took a turn around the pond myself, talked to the ducks going tail-up in the water to feed on the bottom, remembered other lakes and rivers I’d strolled around, remembered to ignore the regrets and dark twists my thoughts wanted to take. I rolled down all my windows on the drive home, letting that luscious air blow through my hair, and sang as loud as I could with my iPod.
I wanted to think of Sunday as a failure, but that’s not right. Diving back into pattern is expected in this process of change. Each time I make different choices, like I did today, those old ways lose a little more power. One binge in three weeks is actually quite miraculous for me. That’s what I need to focus on, not the dire and dismal that my depression shoves in my face.
So, tonight, as Henry and Emmet settle nearby, I’ll turn my face toward the open window and take another hit of that satin, summer breeze.