Depression sets in like an annoying buzzing mosquito, hungry for some answers. It likes to interrogate me about all the times I have ever felt sad. Every. Single. Time. I. Felt. Down. It puts all those scenes in slow motion on a projector outside in my backyard, on display for all uninvited intruders to mock. It pays no mind to how embarrassed I felt during each one of those moments. With a cackle it only wants to feel satisfied, but finds that it can’t ever feel that way. Every image that pops up onto the projector only scoops up the darkness and rolls it into a giant ball of yarn. Bigger and bigger the ball gets, until there’s no more room in the room. No one ever can see inside this room except for me and the mosquito. And the mosquito won’t go away! It attacks any open spot on my skin, like a grenade in a war zone, and my heart explodes each time someone’s negative words are brought up once again. This mosquito is el diablo I tell you. It won’t let me get out of bed. I’m perpetually in my pajamas while everyone else is bringing home the bacon. I’m stuck in the memory of my father dragging my legs out to make them move and make me get up, but I never do. I’m taking the same warm shower over and over again, changing into my extra large gray T-shirt and drowning onto the bed, unable to wake up from this nightmare. There’s no escape. It’s all one Möbius strip. Tomorrow Depression is on the menu again and the barista can’t wait to brew a tall one for me.
Cold is the absence of heat. Heat is the absence of cold? Nah. Heat is more like a shot of whiskey (or so I’ve heard.) It’s like the time when your boyfriend can’t believe you don’t know there are lamps made just for warming things up. What? Am I suddenly a reptile now? Or like that time when you were sexually harassed and you keep hearing their dirty words, making your face turn crimson at the thought of embarrassment, helplessness, and indignation. Heat is when you’re shivering and you need to cuddle with your boyfriend because his body is an oven. But you don’t really want to pull a Sylvia Plath. The thought of her only makes you shiver more. It’s like drinking a white chocolate mocha from Starbucks for the first time in Chicago and letting it warm you down to the core. It announces itself in August when you are least expecting it and all you have to show for it is the sweat coming down, running to escape the inferno inside of you. Heat is like the kind of warm hug that only Olaf can give. It’s one candle you hold in your hand, supposed to represent a light to those who need to see it, and then you blow it out.
Saturday, June 2, 2018 – This was not the fifth one I had been to. I think this was my second one. I liked the name of the coffee shop, Pilgrim Coffee, and it was surprisingly easy for me to find, but I didn’t like the design of the name of the coffee shop. It looked too generic. I’m bothered by the little things as well as the big things. I remember liking my pastry and latte, but I couldn’t tell you what specifically I liked about it. I would say it tasted too generic as well, but I feel like most coffee places are like that. Our host provided a sheet with three topic points to cover. One was on FOMO vs. JOMO, another one on if discomfort has to come with personal growth, and a third one on how to describe home. I liked all of them because I can relate to all of them one way or another. But the thing is, what I remember the most from this get-together was not our answers to these questions. It was when we talked about our lives. It’s not that these topics weren’t interesting to talk about. They were, but they were even more interesting to discuss once we made our answers personal and then some. I think that’s with a lot of things in life. It’s just hard to be interested in something that we have no personal perspective on. Time moves so much slower when you’re trying to pay attention to someone speaking about something in a monotone or in such a way that expresses they are not passionate about the topic they are talking about. That’s why when you’re watching your favorite TV show or movie, you get to the end and you’re always like “that’s it?” 2.5 hours may have passed, but it feels like it was only 0.0167 hour. Guys, I’ve just explained the existence of movie marathons and binge watching. On that note, I’d like to say this: I enjoy these kinds of Nerdy 30s Ladies get-togethers because I get to learn more about other people’s perspectives on life as well as learn more about my likes and dislikes with regards to my environment. El fin.
I spat out a gnat the other day after I came home from running outside and I caught another one in my eye. After I cleaned myself up and thought about how repulsive I felt, I thought back to that time when the Fam went down to Ocean City, MD and my eight-years-old curiosity got me entangled in a rip current of sorts. Whatever it’s called, I stood with my feet in the sand and watched as the water slowly pulled me further in. Then it pulled me all the way in, tossed me around in every which way until it finally spat me out like that gnat. I ended up swallowing a lot of bugs and when I got out, Grandma’s chuckling face greeted me. I didn’t understand it back then, thinking that she was laughing at me, but I bet it was amusing for her to watch her granddaughter tossed around in the water like a piece of tumbleweed. (And I don’t mean this in a sarcastic way at all. When I really think of the look on my grandmother’s face, it wasn’t laughing at me. She was enjoying herself seeing how much fun I was having.) Not to mention she couldn’t stop herself from laughing, trying to figure out how she was going to explain that one to my mother. Mom was there, mind you, but she just missed me getting sucked in by the water and was letting Grandma watch me for a few minutes. Years later I was retelling what happened that moment to Mom and she just laughed and explained Grandma’s reaction to me.
It’s funny, you know. That feeling you get when you do something that isn’t pleasant, yet it reminds you of something else that happened to you that’s similar, but in a pleasant way. It’s like pulling out a white rabbit memory from a black top hat. You completely forgot you had this memory. You were holding onto it for just the right moment, like when the whole world shuts down and the only thing safe you do outside without a face mask on is go running by yourself because at least it keeps your lungs strong, just in case. That’s this feeling. It’s called That Gnat.