Wednesday, June 22, 2011

bitch, please.

That's what my friend Amanda says. Bitch, please. It has several meanings, though.

Me: Seriously, could my intestines be any more abusive?
Amanda: Bitch, please. Talk to me when they're falling out of you at a rate of six gallons an hour. Then we'll talk.

Me: I am loving my tax return. Time to get a new pair of shoes!
Amanda: Bitch, please. I'm gonna have to rent out a storage unit to hide the shit I bought with mine from my boyfriend.

Me: My brother is driving me nuts with his lack of responses to my text messages.
Amanda: Bitch, please. My little brother has decided to sell all of his belongings, pack up his girlfriend and their horse of a dog, quit his job, and move to Hawaii to "see what happens."

Me: I miss you. When are you coming back to Pittsburgh to visit?
Amanda: Bitch, please. I miss you, too. I'll be on the next plane as soon as I can sell a kidney and/or my eggs to pay for the ticket.

Yesterday I sort of had a Bitch, please moment.

About me. 

{Yes, me!}

This depression? I've just about had it. Sure, it's still lingering...putting its feet up on my coffee table without asking, drinking directly from the milk carton, and leaving its dirty underwear all over the bathroom floor.

Honestly. Talk about a rotten house guest.

So, I've decided: I'm not going to let it get the better of me anymore. I've sat in its muck for long enough. I've put up with its unwanted presence. I've let it sleep in my bed with me for one too many nights, and quite frankly, I'd like to stretch out again. With that said, I'm going to go ahead and do what it hates: fight it. And I'm going to do so by letting any little good thing take precedent. {Because the thing about depression is, you can't just tell it to behave, to go away, to stop. You have to try other tactics.} The past couple of days, I've had little bits and bobs of sunshine stream their way into my center in the form of good friends, lovely emails, amazing parents, healthy food, blissful naps, clean laundry, and an impending trip to the West Coast.

Bitch, please. Shit don't get much better than that.

Sure, I've still got some aches in my heart for a certain man I will always always love.
Sure, I've still got some grey clouds hanging out parallel to those streams of sunshine.
Sure, I've still got some walls of steel around the most tender parts of me.

But sometimes, you have to let the good things--the bits and bobs of sunshine--pour their warm and fuzzy glow all over you. It'll sink in. Even if it takes time.

I leave for San Francisco on Saturday morning. My heart is so ready. And, I've even constructed a secret door that opens within the walls of steel around my tender parts. I think I might just use it there.

Bitch, please.

p.s. Thank you, Michael.

1 lovely bits o' feedback.:

Chris said...

If it wasn't for the occasional grey cloud you wouldn't appreciate the sunshine nearly as much.

Oh - and your posts have made me very happy over the last few days. I can see who you are even if that beautiful writing expresses pain. The point is, you are doing it and it is beautiful!