Vitamin D, Depression and Putting on Pants

I’m writing this from my bed.  In less than 48 hours, I leave for tour; eighteen Colorado and west coast dates with Dopapod.  The list of things I need to accomplish before I hit the tarmac is long, and the excitement of this new adventure should be enough to pull me out of the comfort of my pillowy haven.  But seasonal depression is a real bitch.  This Florida girl needs some Vitamin D.  At least by Thursday, I’ll be a mile closer to the sun. 

Today’s to-do list is a wrap sheet of procrastination; simple things I should have already done mixed with more daunting tasks.  Put away laundry, pick up prescriptions, buy cat food, announce an Eberwine and Friends show, hang posters for noted EAF show, file my taxes… I am only writing this because Billie was licking my face at 9 AM.  And I had to put my pants on.  A plumber is swinging by to fix a leak under my kitchen sink. 

Lately, my life has just felt BLAH.  I’ve put in 15 pounds over the last year.  This is a massive source of anxiety for me.  I hate the way my body looks.  I know it’s my fault.  I stopped working out and eating well, so I feel and look like a dumpling.  When I bring it up, people try to say kind things like, “you were too skinny anyway.” Drives me mad.  So dismissive of my reality that I can do better, should be better, and I NEED to do better. 

Since I left school, I’ve lost touch with my creative center.  Yes, becoming a dietician was a short-lived and now-defunct goal.  The career path wasn’t for me.  But I reconnected with my love for writing.  And that, I guess is 50% percent of the reason for this blog.  Because when therapy isn’t enough,  I find peace in syntax and word vomit. 

The other half? Accountability.  I’ve been sulking about how I feel about myself.  And the reality is that I have nothing to be gloomy about other than this miserable Buffalo weather. The truth is that I have a cool career, an amazing partner, two dope kitties, a killer sense of style, amazing taste in music, a wicked sense of humor, and an abundance of humility. Too bad I’m too overwrought by a gnarly case of imposter syndrome to honestly believe that I live in a way that others might envy. I don’t view my life from the outside like a spectator. I feel it from the inside like an overwhelmed empath desperately watching a depressed chic fail to maximize her potential. 

But don’t cry for me, Argentina…or wherever you are reading this from.  It’s time for an experiment.  If I narcissistically document my life and shove my thoughts of self-doubt and disdain into the digital vortex, will I realize my potential? Will I drop the weight? Feel more creative? Make more money? Realize my life is pretty and golden?  

Guess it’s time to find out. 5…4…3…2…

Feet on the floor.