Day 49: Rebel Without A Clue

When I get depressed, as I was last week, I can't find the wherewithal to do anything. It's not that I can't do anything -- hell, if you were to put a gun to one of my boy's heads you could even get me to sit through an entire Bush State Of The Union speech -- it's that I can't find the motivation to do anything. And especially anything that's "good" for me.

For example, last week I remember walking by my vitamins thinking, "I should probably take some of these," but somehow not being able to. What's really ironic is that "doing the right things" (exercising, following my diet, getting out of the house) makes me happier than not doing them. I know that for a fact. And yet, even knowing that I'm perfectly capable of doing them, I don't. Why?

My guess is that doing even a little thing like taking vitamins (when I'm depressed) is admitting to myself that I have hope -- that I believe in myself. In a way I'm like a stupid teenager, putting on a cool front to fool people into believing he doesn't care about anything. Only in my case I'm trying to fool myself. I look at the pills and say, "Fuck it, what does it matter? Who cares if I take these stupid things, anyway?"

But the fact is -- I care. I care so much it scares me sometimes. And it does matter. It matters because I promised myself that things would be different this time. That I wouldn't let myself feel out of control again. That I wouldn't wallow in my unhappiness anymore. So rather than say, "Okay, I made a mistake. Let's learn from that and move on," I said, "I can't do this! Who am I trying to kid?!" And to those watching me from the outside I added, "Why don't you all just leave me alone?!"

Just like a stupid teenager.