Depression, Amy Poehler and Roxanne’s Rant on “Baby Blues”
- At November 05, 2014
- By Roxanne Snopek
- In Life, Roxanne Writes On
- 10
To those of you new to me, announcement: I have depression. I know, I know what you’re thinking. “How can it be? Look at that smile! You’re so funny, quirky, even sometimes. Not to mention cute like a baby goat and oozing talent from every pore…” No? Well, whatever. I’m not a mind-reader.
Anyhoo, depression. The great first-world plague of our time, a genuine life-threatening illness that nevertheless makes us feel like pitiful, self-absorbed losers because compared to so many people in the world, we have awesome lives.
A lot of bad self-talk comes with the territory.
I’ve learned a great deal about the continuum of mental health since I was first diagnosed way back when my youngest was a toddler.
By the way, baby blues? Take 90% of functioning adults, inflate their bodies, put their hormones in a blender, then hurt them in places that really want to be treated nicely. After that, isolate them from their usual social circles, strip them of all status and economic power, and give them the job of caring for what everyone says is our “future, the most precious things in the universe” but is in fact a sleep-destroying effluent-producer, and the job doesn’t pay the couple-of-bucks an hour that teenagers get to spell you.
Oh, and don’t forget, it really is the most important job in the world and you really want to succeed, but you have zero training and will mostly suck at it.
To every doctor who has smiled dismissively and said “there, there, it’s just the baby blues,” may there always be a mosquito in your room at night and you always get a 15 second ad on YouTube.
Back on track, now. I’ve learned a lot about the black dog that lives inside my head (no, not my lovely poodle, he’s right here beside me), mostly that a) a lot more people than you know have or have had or will have a dance with that dog b) few of them will talk about it and c) most of them will be somewhat terrified, enormously ashamed and incredibly grateful to hear stories of other people’s experiences.
And on that note, the entire reason I began this post, I read a great little piece in Smart Bitches, Trashy Books today about depression, and I thought I’d share. More specifically, it’s about Amy Poehler’s book Yes, Please. That’s right, Amy Poehler’s dealt with depression.
Enjoy!
PS: In case you’re worried about me now and want to send cards or flowers, or drive by the house to see if the lights are on, I’m fine. I will probably always be prone to flare-ups, like people with eczema or herpes, but it doesn’t control my life. I have an awesome life and, more importantly, I know it.
Just A Little Love Story
- At September 11, 2014
- By Roxanne Snopek
- In Life, Roxanne Writes On
- 2
The Best Things About Sweet Romance
You’ve caught that bug. The Virus. You know the one. It’s been going around, the “common cold” germ that sets up shop inside your body like rats in a condemned building, leaving you to spend your nights hacking up your lungs, trying to breathe through the pin-hole that is your “good” nostril, swigging the four-years-past-due-date cough medicine you found at 2 am, wondering how long it would take for your family to notice your dead body on the bathroom floor.
The virus your doctor tells you with a gentle smile is “just a cold,” inciting a deep desire to French-kiss his eyeball and see how he feels about it then.
You know, of course, that there are a gazillion people with “real” illnesses and problems far worse than yours. And after seven-to-ten days, once you’ve more than a sliver of mucus-free brain to work with, you’ll be ready to take on the world again.
For now, though, you need happy, healing thoughts.
And would it kill someone to bring you a cup of tea, maybe a hug? Care? Just a little?
Whether it’s a bad cold or a bad day, a break-up, or a break-down, a flood, a fire, a flat tire, we all go through times when we’re running on fumes and what we need most is to surround ourselves with happy, healing thoughts and feel cared for, just a little.
For me, the answer is full-on immersion in a fictional world that’s bright, pretty, kind and most of all, hopeful, ie: sweet romances. Such stories don’t pretend the world is some magical place of utopian, possibly narcotic-induced hysterical perfection. But the focus is on the light, not the dark. On overcoming, not suffering. A fresh breath at dawn, not the midnight congestion.
Tender romances gently remind me that I too, can get through hard, lonely times, that I too, can overcome my flaws and be a better person, that a smile, a hug, an embrace, can make a world of difference, for the giver and the receiver.
That I too, can survive this virus and go on to lead a full, normal life.
Sweet love stories: a literary cup of happy, healing tea.
I’m feeling better. How about you?