The subject of excuses being more precious than gold to a depressive came up in therapy today, so I figure that’s what I will talk about.
First, some theoretical groundwork. The main reason depressives cling to their repertoire of excuses (which can be formidable) is that they resolve the tension between the idea that they should, could, or even want to act and the overwhelming force of depression’s anti-action bias.
That’s why depressives are so quick to shoot down any hopeful suggestions as well. Hope leads to action and action is the enemy ergo hope must be killed.
That’s the power of the anti-action bias. It convinces you that taking action is the worst possible thing you could do and that therefore everything…. everything… that leads to the desire to act must be ruthlessly destroyed.
That includes things like lust, joy, inspiration, restlessness, curiosity, the desire for the company of others, the need to prove yourself, ambition, excitement, anger, and literally anything else that might trigger an adrenal reaction.
The only emotions pemitted are the kind of diffuse and diffident emotions that can be safely isolated from any possible connection to actual action and enjoyed for themselves and not what they might lead to.
Dreams fit this bill perfectly. It can be very pleasant to dream of all the great things you are totally going to do some day – while, of course, doing nothing to actually achieve said dreams in any way.
Because that was never the point in the first place. The dreams were meant to make you feel better, not to lead to action. If they could lead to action, the anti-action bias would kill them with extreme prejudice. It’s only when these dreams are completely divorced from any potential for action that they can endure long enough to give you feeling your life is going somewhere.
And you can see how important that is when the idea is to keep you from doing anything at all. Action is the enemy, after all.
Damn, I never should have let myself wander off into theory,.
I told you that so I can tell you this : I am hereby declaring myself to be out of excuses.
Let me be more clear : I have no excuse not to pursue my dreams.
From this point on, any lack of progress is a choice. I could do more, but I choose not to because my depression makes it too hard.
I could totally be spending every afternoon on UpWork looking for work, or making my presence known on some influential forum, or writing some seriously amazing fiction, or tightening up some of my stuff to make it ready for submission to places that might actually pay me for it, or fucking around with music and/pr video, or any one of the zillions of other things that are totally within my abilities and just require a little more focus, energy, and drive than playing fucking video games all the god damned time.
But is also way, way more rewarding.
I am taking responsibility for it all. No more excuses. My life is mine to control and it is up to me to make myself happy.
And you know what? I’m going to do it!
I am learning how to drive doubt out of my mind via the awesome power of my id.
It’s quite the revolution. I have been overly intellectual (another thing that came up in therapy today) for most of my life, and the very thought of asserting something unilaterally and without proof via sheer force of will would have seemed like the worst kind of intellectual crime.
But now? Fuck logic, man. Fuck reason. Fuck science. All that matters to me is maximizing my happiness and if that means thumping my rational mind into unconsciousness with the thick strong club of unreason, so be it.
I mean, why do I have to be the one who knows what is really going on all the time? What good has it ever done me? What has the “Truth” ever done for me?
Nothing matters more than my own happiness. Nothing. Whatever gets in the way is going to get seared out of me by an orbital laser and vaporized. I am in no mood to be gentle or careful about it either.
The bad stuff in me has to die, die, die.
Only then will I be free.
Proud of myself for Doing The Thing today.
See, I had a problem. I ran out of two of my diabetes meds, Metformin and Glyburide, a couple of days ago. And that is BAD. When I don’t get all my pills, my health degrade and the Demon Hunger is unleashed to torment me with an unstoppable appetite that normal meals cab barely dent and that is so intense it feels like I am going insane.
It sucks, but it does act as a very good punishment for not takinhg my meds. Any time I am thinking of skipping them because I don’t feel like I need them (lame, I know), the memory of being that particular kind of hungry stops me in my tracks and drags me over to the side of sane self-interest.
Anyhow, after therapy and cashing my check, I stopped by my pharmacy and asked for an emergency supply of the two drugs. Turns out, there was actually ten days worth of both of them remaining on my account.
No wonder I ran out!
I have to keep reminding myself that, despite how I have been treated by life, I am worth looking after with the same care and caution I would take with someone I really love and care about.
Because I am someone I really love and care about.
I just forget sometimes, and listen to the bad voice in my head that tells me to do as little as possible and even has the nerve to make me feel clever about it.
Yeah, clever like a brick. I’m so smart I hate my life.
Remember, stupid is as stupid does.
Who cares. I’m awesome. I’ve always been awesome and I will always be awesome. That’s all that truly matters. I am a truly amazing person and I deserve all the love, success, money, and happiness in the world.
Especially the money part. Hint hint, universe!
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow,