But I’m better! And so I went to the Y this morning, since that is what I usually do on non-sick days. I felt like sitting down after going up all those flights of stairs (2) to the upper floor where the torture machines are, so I did the stationery bike for 30 minutes and listened to Laura Ingraham spout off a bunch of neo-conservative nonsense.

Note: listening to right-wingers get all sweaty about various issues is a surefire way to make those exercise minutes go EXTREMELY FAST, simply because you’re blinded by a)rage or b)laughter. It’s a little trick I’m passing on to you.

After about ten minutes I was ready to pack it in, but I did not. I DID NOT. I kept going, mostly because there was an elderly man who sat down next to me not three minutes after I got started and I didn’t want to him to silently judge me for getting off that stupid bike after only ten minutes. I also was intrigued by the little segueways that Laura kept putting together; music, soundbites, etc. She fascinates me. Probably not healthy, but there it is.

Oh my, what is the point of this post? Um. Hmmm. Oh yes! To tell all and sundry that my lungs are clear, my fever is gone, and even though my Rear Admiral is going through a little bit of an HMS Bounty phase, WE ARE ALL GOOD UP IN HEEYAH!

• Henry had a grand mal seizure landing him in the ER and the pediatric neurologist with a diagnosis of epilepsy
• we filed for chapter 13 due to extremely bad tax advice from a family member that landed us in hot water with the state
• my husband quit his admittedly abusive, yet still bringing in money, job
• my grandma died (that was this  morning)

I think I’m done.

I am a HUGE fan of musicals, mostly musicals made in the 1940′s to the 1950′s. One of my favorites of all time is “West Side Story”. I’m actually listening to the soundtrack of this fantastic movie as we speak, and since I’m not doing anything else right now (BUT AM TOTALLY SUPPOSED TO BE, erghhhh, procrastination you evil temptress you), I thought I’d share some videos of my favorite songs.

Because I’m trying to impart culture, doncha know.

Culture is very important.

Although culture is really not a good enough excuse for my procrastination.

It’s working for me, though.

How about you?

Yes?

You like West Side Story, too, don’t you.

Even though the whole gang members dancing around snapping their fingers is a bit giggle-inducing.

Because real live gang members probably don’t snap their fingers to coordinated dance numbers.

Although, wouldn’t that be totally awesome if they did?

Seriously.

I think that should be mandatory for new gang members.

Choreography, I mean.

ANYWAY, on to the videos! Whoo hoo!

First, the West Side Story classic prologue. Snap those fingers, boys!

The Gym Mambo. Seriously awesome.

We like to live in AMER-I-CA!

The classic “Tonight”. Soooo romantic. Except for the Century 21 realtor’s jacket that Tony is really trying to rock. What was up with that jacket, Tony?

I feel pretty….oh so pretty….

And probably the best song of the entire movie: “Somewhere”.

Honestly, if you haven’t seen this movie, run out and get it right now at Fry’s or Target or order it at Amazon or get it on Netflix. It’s that good. We watch it a couple of times a year and get something new out of it every time. Trust me, you won’t regret it.

Here’s the thing: I struggle with bone-crushing, soul-sucking, kick-me-in-the-teeth depression. And for some reason, summertime seems to make it about ten times worse than it usually is, which, hey! Just what I needed, right? Instead of the Universe giving me, oh, I don’t know, the ability to LOSE WEIGHT ten times faster, I get a crazy-making mental condition that shifts into super overdrive as soon as the sun comes out! Whoo hoo!

I do take medication for it. But, like a dumbass (!), I stopped taking them earlier this spring because I “was in control”. I “could handle it”. My depression “wasn’t really that bad” and I just “needed to get over it.”

See all those quotation marks? That’s the number of times I just face-palmed reading that sentence.

These last two weeks, I’ve felt the Monster – yes, I named it – trudging purposefully and dreadfully up behind me. It’s hard to explain, but if I had to describe it in just one word, it would be……

Darkness.

(Note: I realize that this post is getting quite emo, and I promise, it will end before we all start wearing gobs of black eyeliner and quoting Proust.)

Little things made me overreact in such a violent and over the top way that I scared myself. I scared my children. Terrified them. At one point this week, I was so enraged that I tore a book apart and screamed so loud that I literally lost my voice.

The looks of horror on my children’s faces as I completely lost it……I don’t think I can forgive myself for that. In fact, I know I can’t.

I’ve had to ask for forgiveness many times this past two weeks. The intense remorse I feel after my descents is apparently not enough to stop me from willingly throwing myself down there again.

In addition to the anger, I’ve had the most hand-shaking anxiety I’ve ever experienced in my life. I’d be driving and be so worried that another driver was going to slam into my car killing me and leaving my children without a mother that I would have to pull over and calm down. I’d play the piano, usually something that gives me peace, and suddenly the thought of having to play in front of someone else – anyone else – would make my fingers tremble so bad that they hurt. Just looking at my children, my delicious, wonderful children, would give me such anxiety (are they healthy? happy? fulfilled? I’m a terrible mother, I’ve failed them, ad infinitum, ad nauseum) that I would have to go into their room at night while they were sleeping and time their breathing, watching their chests rise, as the air literally was sucked out of my own chest by a full-blown panic attack. This anxiety would last all day long, and then camp out overnight – you know, like a slumber party? Except the hellish opposite? Yeah.

I’m stubborn, and kind of (A LOT) stupid when it comes to my own health, so even though I knew that this Monster had me by the scruff of the neck and was shakin’ me like a Polaroid picture, I figured I could tough it out.

But then I suddenly realized, WHY THE HELL WOULD I WANT TO DO THAT. There’s nothing admirable about refusing to take care of yourself. There’s nothing particularly praiseworthy about ignoring your mind’s desperate cries for help. If you can save yourself from drowning, why wouldn’t you do it?

All this to say that I started taking my meds again. And already, my fists are unclenching. I’ve stopped grinding my teeth. The anxiety, while still there and stinking up the room like a peanut butter dog fart, is starting to take her leave. And the anger, the disgusting, self-loathing anger, is starting to recede.

I guess my point in writing all of this is twofold.

First, meds are important (DUH) . I can’t go off them. They are necessary, and they make me healthy, and I need them. They are part of what I do to take care of myself, just like when I brush my teeth or exercise or eat frosted chocolate Pop Tarts.

Second, I need to have a record of what this feels like. It’s too easy for me to forget how awful this really feels and how utterly helpless I am against it. How it takes over, eclipsing me, erasing me.

So, hey. Future RedHeadMama! You with the slender thighs and the doctorate in something really impressive and the New York Times best seller!

(You never know. The future is CUHRAZY.)

I want you to remember something, toots. You are not fun when you go off your Happy Pills. Your family loves you, and you love your family, and this is a way of showing them that love. Don’t try to do it yourself. You can’t. (See Above Paragraphs, Please.) Remember? You don’t want to go back there. It’s not fun. AT ALL.

Oh, and by the way, Future RedHeadMama. Your kids forgave you within like 30 seconds. Really, they did. I promise. They are happy, healthy, well-adjusted kids. Even though they all still think it’s the funniest thing in the world to think of weird food combinations and the crazy-awesome farts that they would produce.

You can rely on me. I’m telling you the truth.

Be kind to yourself, kiddo.

Love, Me.

2) Sing to the cat. We also dance with him and make him do little coordinated movements to Heart’s “Barracuda”.

3) Watch crappy movies on Netflix. We do this while we’re working. You can’t do this while you’re doing your homework because you can’t concentrate and start getting all wonky, plus, we’re mean and wicked and wish you to be miserable.

4) Clean out your room. HA HA HA. Don’t be all shocked. Yes, you have a right to your privacy, but HA HA HA NO YOU DO NOT. Silly.

5) Master a cleansing exercise regimen. Physical exercise is so bracing! So wholesome! So easily procrastinated and yeah. This one is kind of negotiable.

6) Check Facebook every five minutes. This is also known as “networking”, and Mommy gets to do it and call it work! SCORE!

7) Plan nutritious meals that not only feed her family’s bellies, but their very SOULS. Dearest Family, please partake of my humble food offerings that I spent a mere 5 hours preparing and you will turn your noses up at and ask for a PBJ instead and then MAH WRATH, IT WILL COME UPON YOU.

8.) Laundry. Um, see number 5 for this one.

Addendum: probably should add “writing nonsensical lists on your blog”.

Second Addendum: Also “accidental” naps.

Third Addendum: And ingesting large amounts of legal stimulants.

For example, Soapdish:

You’ve Got Mail:

Sleepless in Seattle (see what I mean about Meg Ryan? She was in EVERYTHING.):

I think you get my point here, and I’m pretty sure you’ve got some embarrassing movies that you keep special for those days that you just need to veg out – come on, fess up!