Well, here we are again : Fru feels sick.
And as usual, I don’t really know how seriously to take it. So all I can do is monitor the situation and wait and see what happens.
Man my life is weird sometimes.
Did my first physiotherapy appointment earlier today. It went fine. A nice lady named Ekta asked me some standard questions about my health and then we did the usual “do this, then do this with me pushing in the opposite direction” testing.
She also gave me the standard seated exercises to do. “Marching” in the air, up on my toes for five seconds then up on my heel for five seconds. and the always faintly amusing “hold you foot up and try to draw letters of the alphabet with your toe”.
I got those exercises from my case worker before but I kind of ignored them out of my usual mixture of timidity and laziness.
This time, it’s from a real deal physiotherapist so I know that there’s no chance that doing them can hurt me, and so it’s just a matter of summoning the necessary wherewithal to forge a new habit.
Luckily they are the sort of thing I can do while sitting here at Mister Computer, so that at least minimizes the disruption to my life.
I hope to turn them into a nervous habit. A productive way to fidget. Ekta says I should repeat each of them ten times and no more often than once every two or three hours, so I can’t fidget them too often, but if I play my cards right, I can turn these little exercises into a treat that I look forward to every day.
Work doesn’t always have to be work. It can be a lot like play. Spoonful of sugar style.
Mary Poppins knows a thing or two.
Certainly all forms of exercise can, with a little mental reframing, be seen as fun as long as nobody is actually forcing you to do them. And they can also be seen as a form of relaxation because they get the tension out of your muscles.
And in general dissipate excess nervous energy.
Being a depressed sluggard only makes things worse for yourself. This is, of course, the exact thing that irritating perky people are always telling us but it takes a fair bit of work on yourself before you can accept that kind of truth.
You have to fight your way through depression’s lies.
I had another rage and bitterness explosion recently. I was watching some therapist talking about the neurology of depression on YouTube and it was all very good stuff but then we came to the “advice” on how to exit the negative brain state of depression and it was all the usual chirpy bullshit about journaling and affirmations and that one word that always sets me off like a Roman candle : gratitude.
So I went off on this poor lady in the comments. Just spewed all my Gen X depressive venom into my comment telling her how her advice was worse than useless and was like a slap in the face to someone like me and how it made me want to puke.
Hey, at least I stopped myself from saying I wanted to throw up in her face.
To be honest, she was no worse than a million other idiots telling me the way out of my depression is to do things my depression keeps me from doing.
Which of course only makes me feel worse. It’s like a very elaborate way to tell me I’m fucked. Oh, so sorry, did we give you a moment of hope? Well FUCK THAT.
And yes, I know that’s the depression talking, for the most part, But what always blows me away about these experiences is how they bring out this H-bomb of bitterness and rage in me that most of the time I have no idea is there.
I assume that these experiences are ultimate quite cathartic for me.
But I would be better off venting my bile in a less antisocial fashion.
But what the hell. I got to be me.
More after the break.
The cutest damn thing
Apparently I left a comment on this video a year ago.
I do not remember it at all.
Which is going to seem especially odd once you’ve seen it.
How could I have forgotten something so incredibly wonderful?
The look on the little deer boy’s face as he holds up the cookie for Santa is so heartwarming it could melt a dozen Grinches.
The whole thing makes me want to hug it. It’s just so very me.
Who’s the best boy ever? YOU ARE!
The predictable update
I feel better now.
Not entirely better but I feel a lot better than I did earlier today. Turns out that this time, the magic elixir wasn’t water but food.
Eating makes you feel better. How very,,, counterintuitive.
I still feel vaguely ill but I don’t feel like my life force is ebbing away any more, and that’s kind of a plus. I probably just need more hydration and food.
I really wish my body has a diagnostics panel so I could tell, at a glance, what my various levels of important things are and thus be able to fix my ills efficiently.
“Oh, I see. My hydration level is in the red and my blood sugar’s trending downward. Time for a glass of refreshing orange juice. ”
Wouldn’t that be amazing?
Instead, I have to make my best guess as to why I am feeling crappy.
The solution would be to develop a solid health routine. If you have a routine that supplies all your bodily essentials at a rate commensurate with their rate of use then you will probably stay hale and hearty all the live long day.
Or at the very least you don’t go thinking you have the plague when you just need to EAT. To pick a random example.
Mental note, hydrate AND eat before hitting the panic button.
Or well… I took a Xanax before going to physio, so… lack of panic button.
You get the idea.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.