I have been in my head a lot lately. I think that it is depression, but it feels a lot like a super rad anxiety and depression mashup. I am nervous about my future, my present, and overanalyzing my past.
“Go out and do something!” “Be social! You will feel better!” This is a thing that I know every single person with depression and anxiety hears on a daily basis from their friends. My therapist once told me that the only way to stay out of the depressive cycle is to fight it every step of the way. Having negative thoughts? Challenge them! Hibernating? Do a small chore, even if you just wash your face! And while it is true, research shows that giving into the depression and avoiding socialization does not help and furthers the depression, sometimes going out can make it worse. So this leads me to the awkward and ridiculous interaction that I had last night.
There is a really great author and I admire her a lot. She reminds me of myself. I am secretly concerned that my dream of my own book will never turn into anything because publishers will tell me that she has already “done that” (lol I even have anxiety in my fantasies). Anyway, we have friends in common on Facebook and my dumb ass added her. She accepted and we have had a few LOL moments in the comments of her posts, but nothing ever super personal. I try to play it cool, because duh, I want her to be my BFF. So anyway, last night she was doing a book reading nearby and I decided this was the time to force myself to go out. Mind you, I had worked all day and only had time to quickly change my clothes and deal with nervous poop drama before heading over. I thought that because I was trying to be a friend, someone that was chill and cool, that I should definitely not bring a book for her to sign. Instead, I would give her a gift. That’s what a cool, chill friend would do. I know that she loves lipstick and I get a ton of it from my monthly ipsy subscription and never use it so, voila! – I threw some tubes of lipstick into a makeup bag and put my fat ass into motion. I got there a few minutes early so I walked around, bought a book of poetry, and was feeling confident with all of these decisions. Then she showed up.
She was funny and she was great. I kept thinking it felt like I was in some sort of upside down world where I was seeing myself talk to others. She reminded me so much of how I think I present myself in person. Then during the Q&A, I swore we had made eye contact and she made a comment that hopefully her friends who she saw in the audience would ask questions to break the ice. I thought she meant me. I was wrong. We were then pushed into a line to get our books signed. And it started getting hot. Like, really hot. I was feeling the sweat on my legs, so I knew my face was a disaster. (I have cephalic hyperhidrosis and it is fucking awful and nothing helps.) I started fanning myself. Then I noticed that everyone, even her friends, had bought a book for her to sign. So I started sweating more. I was thinking how I was going to say who I was and why I had nothing for her to sign. The person in front of me was from the LA Times and maybe this is why I felt rushed and unimportant. Or maybe it was because I was soaking in sweat and carrying a bag of lip stick for someone I had never met, but wanted to be friends with so badly. In my cloudy, anxious-filled memory, this was our interaction:
Me (sweating): Hi I didn’t bring a book for you to sign. I wanted to give you a gift. It’s lip stick from ipsy and I don’t use it.
Her: That’s so kind of you to stand in line just to give me a gift. And I love your shirt!
Me (wiping the sweat): Thanks – it is from modcloth. I know you like lip stick.
Her: How’s your kid doing at home with the food?
Her: Aren’t you the one that said you wanted to come so you left your kid at home and ordered them food?
Me: No I don’t have kids. Just a cat and a boyfriend. They’re at home though… (sweating more)
Me: Can I get a high five?
I got into my car and regretted every decision I had made in the last 2 hours. So what does one sweaty, anxious person do when they feel that they fucked up? WELL YOU FUCK UP MORE, OBVIOUSLY. I sent her a private message via Facebook (because we are friends, remember, lol).
The good news is that I can laugh at how horribly this went. I can make jokes about my sweating and ASKING FOR A HIGH FIVE. The bad news is that I could not sleep. I tossed and turned. This interaction just was added to the long list of shit that is spinning on repeat in my brain. Now I got to add the thought that she for sure thought I was a psycho that tried to poison her with lip stick (fuck, I hope she does not really think this) to all of my ongoing questions about my life. She still has not read the message as far as I can tell and I wish so badly I could delete it. But instead, here I am, just another person proving that the research is right and going out helps with depression, but it also increases the chances of added anxiety and depression.