Landslide

Protip:  If you ever find yourself home at 11 pm on a Saturday night Googling "Depression Quiz," you don't even need to take the quiz to know the answer.

But like every overachiever, we are good students, aren't we, and we love tests, so let's take a look and see how we do.

Question #1:  Without trying to diet, have you gained or lost weight?

What kind of question is this?  When I have not tried to diet?  And wait, people actually can lose weight without dieting?  If I wasn't depressed before, I am now.  Next.

Question #2:  My sleep has been disturbed - too little, too much, or broken.

What sleep?  Next.

Question #3:   It takes great effort to do simple things.

You mean not everyone's closet avalanches down on them when they open it?  Then yes, I guess, yes.  Isn't this quiz over yet?  Next.

 Question #4:  I have difficulty making decisions.

I'm not even sure how to answer this.  Like, all the time, or just sometimes?  Like big decisions like what to be when I grow up or small decisions like how do I like my eggs?  I don't know, I don't know.  Next.

Question #5:  I don't enjoy things that I used to.

Like taking tests?  Next.

Question #6:  It's hard for me to concentrate when thinking and/or reading.

What now?  Next.

Question #7:  When something is bothering me, I cannot stop thinking about it.

I mean, seriously, people can lose weight without trying?  How can this be?  Next.

Question #8:  When things go wrong,  I don't want to tell people because I worry they will pity me.

Why would you tell people and subject yourselves to their sad faces and pouty lower lips?  Move along, Judge Judy. Next.

Question #9:  Do you feel isolated and alone?

I think the fact that it's 11 pm on a Saturday night and I am taking this test speaks for itself on that front.  Next.

Question #10:  Do you feel depressed?

Why do I feel like this test could have been one question and not 10?

Yes.

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If I were to be honest, I think I've been depressed for quite awhile now, but since I so wholeheartedly embrace the anxious side of me and consider it a major part of who I am and, in some ways, a defining part of my personality - I mean, who in NYC isn't anxious?- I don't give the old depressive side as much attention.  Frankly, it's a bit of a downer.

I mean, at least when you're anxious, you get stuff done.  Depression is like a big old reverend no fun, like the friend in your group who is always complaining and has lots of negative opinions but has no productive suggestions.  I hate sushi.  Okay, where should we go?  I don't know, I just hate sushi.  Ok, what about burgers?  Ugh, no, God, who eats BURGERS?  I'm a vegetarian now.  Oh and I have a gluten allergy.  Wait, aren't you eating a donut, right now?  Ok, maybe it would be better if you just stayed home with some Real Housewives, Depression, you're bringing us down. Take one of those online Depression quizzes and text us in the morning.

Anxious me is always moving.  Where are we going?  What are we doing?  What can I plan?  Depressed me has no energy for the 37 unreturned emails, calls, and texts and last minute backouts and cancellations seemingly required to put any kind of plan together.  I'll just wait over here and see what happens, and if and when it's nothing, it'll be more food for my depression.  SEE.  No one loves me.

A good friend says that solitude and loneliness is the fuel that depression feeds off of.  And it's totally true.  But it's also true that, when you are depressed, reaching out, making plans, is really difficult.  It's really hard.  When you think about it, it's a pretty brave thing we all do each day putting ourselves there to people - do you want to see me?  Do you want to hang out with me?   Those are pretty vulnerable questions.

When you're depressed, not only does it take a lot of effort to even put the ask out there, but you're not really in any position to stomach the answer, either way.  No, you have other plans?  Oh God, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have bothered you, I knew that you would say no, if you wanted to see me, you would have reached out to me on your own, I know you'd rather be organizing your sock drawer, pretend I didn't ask.  Yes?  Oh, you mean I have to get dressed and have a productive conversation and be interesting and fun and toss my hair back and laugh and pay attention to what you have to say and answer the question "How are you?" with the socially acceptable "Fine" and not cry?  I'm not sure I can pull this one off.

The catch 22 is that you need to cut depression off from its food source of loneliness.  Depression is like those robots who use old people's medicine for food except the food in this case is isolation and, oh God, nevermind.  See questions #3 and #6.

And it's hard for those in our lives to win, right?  If you tell people you're depressed, if they start being a little more attentive, it's hard to not think, "Oh, so I had to be depressed to get attention?  That kinda stinks, doesn't it?"  And if they do nothing, you're like, "God they're assholes."  And if you don't tell them, the isolation increases and the gap between you and, everyone else, gets wider and wider.  But as they say, "It's not you, it's me."  And essentially we have to forgive ourselves for being broken and everyone else for not being inside our heads enough to know it and even moreso, for not knowing what to do.  They're too busy being inside their own heads.  And who knows what's going on in there?   Maybe a little resentment that we haven't been calling - because we're been depressed, remember?  Just a thought.

Like every human interaction, it's a little bit risky.  A little bit scary.  A little bit terrible.  Just like writing this post.

I know I won't  be depressed forever.  I'm not sure how I know that, but I do, and I think that's the biggest lifeline that I have.  Hope.  That's a bigger part of my personality than any depression.  I always believe, sometimes with no real evidence or reason, that tomorrow is another, better day.

So maybe I'm not as depressed as I think, maybe I'm a little bit closer to failing this test.  And funnily enough, the act of writing this post, of sharing where I am and how I feel, brought me there.

Who knew?

(Parting thoughts:  I encourage anyone struggling with depression to seek help - you are not alone, even when the empty space on your couch or in your inbox or the lack of likes on your posts or dings on your phone suggest otherwise.)

Fait Inaccompli

'tis the season for resolutions!  How will I use this year to become a better, different person?  Lynn (Len) 2.0?  Sign me up, baby!

But alas, it is well-documented that I'm not a patient person.

I'm a pacer, a leg-shaker, an interrupter, a constant phone-checker.  I hate waiting, or, really, the lack of control involved in waiting.

It runs in my family - we've been known to ask for the check before the entrees come, and plan an exit before something even begins.   What time does this show end?  Why did I even get tickets?  To essentially show up and wait for it to end?

By the way, I can't wait for this post to be over.

This is probably also why I am not a good listener.   I want to listen.  I care about what you have to say, really I do, but let's get this show on the road already, so we can continue to go, well, nowhere.

I feel like I've been going a whole lot of nowhere recently and I'm in a really big hurry to get there.  I can't be bothered to finish an entire article, project, workout, night's sleep, thought.  All starting somewhere and ending nowhere.  The only thing I've finished recently is a donut.  And, let me tell you, it was good.

Now, don't get me wrong, at work, I am a star at starting and finishing things.  So, before you rush off and tattle to my boss, it's my personal life where it all falls short.

Pretty much the only thing worse than starting something and not finishing it is thinking about all of the things you started and didn't finish and how, if you had actually finished those things when you started them, if not the first time, but the tenth time, they would be off your plate, and well, done, and you could move on to the next things.

But where's the fun in that?

Sometimes I think about having been on a diet since I was 8 years old.  If my math serves me and I'm being a little kind to myself, that's over 30 years on a diet.  Do you mean to tell me if I had actually lost weight 30 years ago I could have spent the past 30 years of my life doing something different?  Like curing cancer?  Or becoming the first white middle aged lady rapper?  Or finding out what all the fuss was about with Breaking Bad?

Gretchen Rubin writes about how all of our bad habits and patterns actually serve a purpose and if we can identify the purpose, we get closer to the root of change.  For example, if you eat a candy bar every afternoon, it's maybe because you hit an energy slump every day at that time - you hit on a solution for it, congratulations you!, but how can you come up with a better solution?

Now I want a candy bar.  No, must finish post.

Where was I?  Oh right, so what does all of this starting and not finishing mean?   For me, I think it's fear.  Fear of finding out that I'm not perfect.  I know the fact that I'm not perfect is shocking and mind blowing to many of you so, if you feel the need to take some time to eat a candy bar and reflect and come to terms with this revelation, feel free to take that time for yourself now.  I'll wait.

Wait, you're done already?  You're sure you don't need more time?  Ok, whatever.

You know, maybe I never finished learning to play guitar because I'm no Carlos Santana or even Charo.  Maybe I can't dance, swim well, paint, ride a horse, run a marathon, cook a proper dinner.  Maybe I keep gaining and losing the same weight over and over because I'll find out that, under all this, I look perfectly average, maybe even worse than average, and not at all like Gisele.

Even worse, maybe all the things I've blamed on my weight really had nothing to do with it after all.   Maybe they're thanks to other things that I also need to work on.  Man, you mean I'm not done?

I'm tired just thinking about it.  When do I get to be done?

Oh, I know:  Never.  It's all a little overwhelming.

I tell myself, I don't want to be perfect.  Perfect is boring.  But IS perfect boring?  Or is that what imperfect people tell ourselves?  I guess since no one is perfect, we'll never know.

But what's the flip side?  A constant, lazy, circuitous quest for imperfection?  If they give out medals for that, I'm definitely in the running for the gold.  I'm like the Michael Phelps of imperfection.  Quick temper?  Borderline hoarding tendencies?  Underachieving bank account balances?  Check, check and check.  I'm getting to imperfect at lightning speed.

Love yourself just as you are, they say.  I call bullshit.  I'm not sure that's always great advice.  Hitler, you be you, I got you brother, never change.   No, no, no.

Sure, we can have compassion for ourselves, and not beat ourselves up, but I don't see any problem in wanting to be a better version of yourself.  Not for anyone else, but for you.

The problem is, how do you identify those things that you really can and should work on without subjecting yourself to crippling judgment?  I'm not really sure.

I feel like I've spent the past year in a place wanting to move forward but really marching in place, marking time.  And what I can say about that experience is it doesn't help anybody.

So as 2015 starts, I have a whole new list of to-dos, many of which are carry overs from, the, well, last 20 years.  Some of them have evolved into more realistic goals over the years.  Like, maybe "Get a body like Gisele's" is now more like, "Get a body like Kirstie Alley's after she lost the weight the 15th time - no, not when she lost it with Jenny Craig and went on Oprah in the bikini and had those weird control top pantyhose on with the seam- but that time right after Dancing with the Stars before she gained weight again."

This, my friends, is what we call progress.

And at least I finished this post.  If nothing else this year, I can say that.

Happy belated new year, friends.  May you end this year a slightly better you than how you began it - whatever that means to you.