5 out of a possible 10

Earlier today, I outlined steps for myself that I could take in order to make myself happier. I called them ‘actionable steps forward.’ I’ve done this before in the past. The net result of defining these actionable steps often amount solely to frustration. I know what I need to do to make myself happier. At least, I know what things make me happy. Give me a dopamine hit.

I’m checking in tonight with a note of hesitation. I feel okay. Maybe even a bit better than okay. A 6 out of a possible 10 on the number line, where a 5 represents baseline. When I left work early today, convinced I was having a nervous breakdown and completely unable to focus on anything I was doing, I was at a 2 or a 3. I was in bad shape. I tunnel-visioned to Walmart, where I bought some things that a 4 or a 5 me put on a shopping list. I went home and yelled at the wall. The wall had a fancy learning thermostat on it. I wasn’t just yelling at a wall. Crazy people yell at a wall. Potentially, crazy people yell at fancy learning thermostats. Let’s get off the subject. I’m trying too hard to be funny anyway.

By the time Fia got home, I was working my way to a clean and functional kitchen. The rest of the evening was on a steady incline. I enjoyed Fia’s company. She made me happy just by her being around. She helped me by just working towards her own 6 or 7 out of a possible 10. She went to the gym in despite not wanting to because she had been tired all day. She cleaned because she knew that would make her feel happier. I did the kitchen, she did the bathroom. I cooked half of dinner before asking her if she wanted something out instead. We had Bojangles. They fucked up the order again and we drove off with the wrong food. I felt myself slip back to a 4. That was all it took. That’s what I mean when I assign myself the status ailment of ‘fragile.’

This bounce back from a 0 out of possible 10 has been particularly brutal. I think it was because my relationship with Fia has been a catalyzing element in why I hit that zero. I take a lot of comfort and base a lot of my security in this life around my relationship with her. I learned that about myself trip around the Depression-Go-Round. It’s something I want to rectify. I want to rectify it for myself and for her. I want to fortify myself against that because I care about her. I care about us, and the life I want with her. We’re good for each other – even if I’m convinced we’re not or that I’m fucking it up every time I pick up my phone or open my mouth. I get in those spells. Everything I say is stupid, etc.

Tomorrow, I’m not going to journal at work. That’s my actionable step forward. Instead, I’m going to write (and put up on this blog) a spec script. It will be riffed. It will be likely written in the framework of an AR audio drama thing. Immersive experience. Whatever they’re calling them. Maybe it won’t be, and will be pure prose. Either way, I won’t be plugging an instrument cable into my brain and improvisationally spelunking into my own depressed mental. I think this emotional rawness – or, at least being available for it – is the key to something. Maybe it’s not the skeleton key that unlocks creative genius like a 7 or 8 out of a possible 10 me thinks, but it’s something good. Something honest.

I just need to harness it into something tangible. Valuable. A third term.

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