Dealing with Depression — Driving

I hate driving.

When your main driving is commuting to work, and that commute is about 40 minutes, driving becomes a great place for negative thoughts, triggers, and breakdowns to form and take hold, leaving you relatively helpless to do anything about it. You’re stuck in that driver’s seat, hands on the wheel, sitting more or less still with the exception of moving the steering wheel or switching your foot from the acceleration to the brake.

For those that don’t know or don’t remember, I moved rather suddenly last fall. The whole experience wasn’t exactly smooth. In the grand scheme of things, I didn’t move far. A couple of towns over, about 25 miles. It’s my grandmother’s old house, which my parents inherited after she died a few years ago. I’m familiar enough with the area and the space between the two houses, so it’s not like I was completely thrust into a new environment. (Even though it sure feels like it. Guess it’s the difference between visiting somewhere and living there.)

Anyway, my job is back in my old town, so I’ve got a commute again. I had bigger commutes traveling to college — both of them — so I didn’t think it would be that big a deal. And with no homework waiting for me when I got back home, I was like, “who cares then?”

I didn’t count on depression like this, though. I didn’t plan on my car being one of the easiest places to be affected by it. Which in hindsight, I guess that should have been more obvious. My mind wanders a lot. Being stuck in a car for an extended period of time should have been a red flag from the start.

It’s not just the extended commute. As soon as I leave my neighborhood, I’m on busy roads. I lived in my old town for almost 20 years. I’m not only very used to traveling on mostly empty back roads, I need it. I need open spaces. I’m a nervous enough driver as it is. To immediately leave home and merge into busier traffic is still jarring, even nine months later.

I’m pretty much traveling through light traffic for 75% of the commute (a little less if I’m on the parkway at a good time). And I guess I’m more or less used to it, but when I’m trying to fight off attack thoughts and feelings of negativity, being surrounded by other vehicles and constantly stopping at traffic lights definitely doesn’t help. In fact, being stuck at a light when I’m being overwhelmed by thoughts and feelings is one of the worst places to be if you don’t want to feel completely helpless.

That last 25% of the commute is traveling the back roads from my old town to my job. It’s a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, getting away from all those other drivers and cruising down empty back roads filled with trees and fields feels much more right for me. (Did I mention my new town and most of the commute isn’t very nature friendly? No? Well it isn’t.) For a brief time, I get part of my old life back.

On the other hand, depending on how badly depression is hitting me that day, traveling through here only makes me feel worse. Missing my home and my neighborhood is also one of the reasons I’ve been depressed. Which in all honesty is kind of weird, because I honestly thought I was ready to move someplace completely new. But after everything that’s happened, now all I want to do is move back. Being back there makes me feel more at home than anywhere near my new place, but being there also makes me miss it even more.

I’ve cried a lot while driving this year. When I’m driving, something will always find its way back into my mind to remind me I’m still struggling with depression. And because there’s so little I can do about it in the car, everything builds up and overwhelms me. By the time I get to work, I honestly feel worn out. And I haven’t even started working yet!

The only realistic thing I can do while driving to distract myself is listen to something. I’m not really a fan of radio. Between stations playing music I either don’t like or the same songs I’ve heard too many times (coupled with varying degrees of static), I generally stay away from radio unless I really need to listen to something and whatever CD I have in my car and whatever music I have on my MP3 player won’t cut it.

I used to be able to leave any given CD in my car for a week and listen to the whole thing two or three times. My commute to work used to be only about 10 minutes, after all. It’s pretty easy to stretch out an album with that kind of time. But now I can easily listen to a whole CD twice from one trip to and from work. I feel like I’ve overplayed a lot of music, and I hate to say it, but I’m losing interest.

And it’s not like I had a lot of music that I currently want to listen to, anyway. I’ve built up a pretty decent music collection over the years, but at least half of that is stuff I’m not into anymore. The remaining CDs, well… they definitely fit certain moods, I can tell you that. The thing is…

I don’t know if this is going to make sense, but hear me out. Music’s great at being something people can identify with. In the past, music has been a great asset to me. I felt like whenever I was overwhelmed or alone or, well, depressed, I could count on music to connect with. That connection helped in some way.

It’s been over a year since I fell into my current state of depression, and for the first time, music isn’t helping. In fact, most of the time music makes me feel worse. When I feel like I can completely get real and submit to all my feelings and just let go with the right album, music’s great. But most of the time, music has been reminding me of all the reasons I’ve been so unhappy. And most of the time I’d honestly rather try to concentrate on getting though the day. I know I’ll probably be reminded of my depression sometime in the day. I don’t really want my music to act as a trigger.

There’s only a few bands I have albums of that I can really have “fun” with. They may still strike some chords with me, but as a whole they’re still something I can still enjoy. Thing is, it’s still easy to overplay and get tired of them. I’ve actually brought out some of my video game soundtracks from back in high school to listen to more, just to mix it up. They don’t have lyrics, so nothing about them triggers any negative thoughts, just general nostalgia (and since I don’t have any real desire to return to high school, I don’t see any harm in it).

What seems to help me most while driving, though, are podcasts. I used to listen to the Rooster Teeth podcast once a week when I walked around my old neighborhood, but stopped at some point a few years ago. I felt like a disconnect was growing between me and my interest in Rooster Teeth, so I started skipping weeks and eventually stopped listening to their podcasts altogether. I missed it though, so now that I have a bigger commute I figured it would be a good time to try getting back into it. I’ve been listening to their new podcasts for the past month, and I’m glad to say I enjoy them. Maybe not as much as I used to — I still feel disconnected or uninterested during certain parts — but as a whole listening to the podcast again has been helpful. Listening to conversations is a lot better for my mind right now than listening to music lately.

One of my friends also makes a podcast with a couple of other people. I’ve been listening to his for a while now, too, and it’s also helped me deal with driving. They mostly talk about video games, like what they’ve been playing, what’s new in the world of games, and the music of games. They even have a segment dedicated to a certain soundtrack each week, and they’ll talk about it, how it was composed, what the soundtrack was trying to go for, etc. If you’re into that kind of thing, I’d recommend giving them a listen sometime at http://www.8bitsandjoysticks.com/ They’re also trying to do some community events, so give them a little love if you’re interested.

While I do enjoy both of these podcasts, they’re both about video games. And while I do like video games, I don’t need to listen to stuff about them all the time (I already listen to enough game stuff on YouTube while I’m working on other stuff as it is). And while Rooster Teeth talks about a lot of other stuff on their podcast, I still identify them as a game-related one.

Podcasts have been helping me deal with driving a lot. I’d like to find more to listen to. They’re free, and should be released regularly. It’s been a great way of getting new stuff to listen to without hurting my wallet. If anyone has any podcast suggestions, or if anyone’s had similar problems with depression and driving and wants to share anything they’ve done to help deal with it, leave a comment. You never know who it will help.

Thanks for reading, hope everyone’s having a good week! 🙂

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Dealing with Depression — Revisiting Community College

I don’t really want to talk about my depression, but against my better judgment I’m thinking of starting a new series of posts discussing ways I’m dealing with it and how effective they are. Like I said, I’m thinking of it — this may or may not be a thing, and I have no idea if it would even be a regular topic if it became one. But I know a lot of you also have issues with depression, stress, anxiety, and other emotional issues, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try this out in case it somehow helped someone, or at the very least made someone feel less alone.

A lot of my depression comes from the fact that most of my friends have either moved or started a new phase of their lives that I can’t be a regular part of. That departure also makes the fact that I no longer have the closer community of literature majors and writers from my four-year school that I’d grown to appreciate and need a lot more apparent. I feel like I’ve lost a lot, and it really hurts.

I’ve been trying not to think about it, which of course varies in success depending on how well I’m feeling at the time. I changed a lot when I transferred to my four-year school, and I still stand by the fact that I changed for the better. However, as much as those years and people have influenced me and helped me grow into the person I am today, I’m beginning to wonder if placing so much into those things is making my fight against depression more difficult. I feel like I’ve lost too much, and that makes it harder to feel like there’s anything more to my life.

However, I’ve been trying to think of a time before my four-year school and the people I met there. Because whether I want to admit it or not, there was a before. True, I was less mature then. I honestly don’t have any sort of desire to return to that time. But there was a time before then, and I’ve been trying to do the things that made me happy then.

Before I transferred to my four-year school, I went to community college for two and a half years. It was a really big transitional time in my life between high school and college. I had no idea what I wanted to do. I spent each semester cycling between art, business, teaching, psychology, and language classes, trying to see where my proper fit in life lay while making sure these classes satisfied my requirements for the A.A. in liberal arts I chose to pursue.

Honestly, community college wasn’t a particularly happy time in my life. College was a huge adjustment to me in terms of workload. I had a new 45 minute commute to do. I felt a lot of pressure to know what I was doing in life when I clearly didn’t. My friends from high school were dropping one by one. Now that I’m writing it, I see some similarities between then and now. 🙂 But a big difference was I wasn’t depressed back then. I was just mad a lot.

That being said, a lot about that time doesn’t really stand out to me. I don’t remember most of my classes very well, and I don’t remember a single professor’s name. I never made any long-term friends there, just a few people to talk with before class started.

Honestly, despite the workload, what I remember most of community college was spending time with the one friend I had left. I went to high school with him, and he wasn’t having much more luck in college than I did. We ending up hanging out a lot, and those times are what I end up thinking about whenever I recall my memories of community college.

We’d usually have one day a week where our classes would line up in such a way that we could meet for lunch. We’d spend an hour eating and talking, very similarly to lunch period in high school. If we were both free afterwards, we’d usually go back to his house and hang out for the rest of the day. We’d take trips to the mall, buy new anime and manga, go out to eat, play video games — a lot of stuff what you would expect teenagers to do. But at the time it was fine, because we were still teenagers. It took us a while to grow up.

And like I said, I don’t have any particular desire to go back to those times and do all the things we used to. But I do miss something about those times. I miss feeling like someone else was in the same boat as me. I miss knowing what I liked and what made me happy. I miss feeling like even though I just started college and had no idea where I was going, I still had a lot of time before I finished school and entered the “adult” world. And I guess that’s what I would want to return to — those feelings.

Anyway, I hate building this up like it’s some grand story when it really isn’t. I’ve been wanting to revisit my community college and take a little walk around campus. Sometimes things become much clearer to me if I’m physically there, so I was hoping I might find a way to remind myself that I had a life before my four year school. You know, that I existed before it and I could exist after it, too. So yesterday after work, I finally took a ride up there.

I’m never really up in the area where my community college is. Of the 45 minutes worth of a trip it was from where I used to live, I only ever went 20 minutes of it for unrelated needs. So a portion of the ride there was full of “Oh, I remember this!” moments. I was a little concerned I would forget the way; I didn’t remember any of the road names I needed to take. But things started clicking into place fast. I smiled as I remembered some of the littler things on the way there, like this one roadside stop that sold garden decor and the large expanse of farmland. There was even a bridge that went over a really beautiful lake! How the hell could I forget about that?

I brought the messenger bag I wore during college with me — partially for storing some casual clothes to change into after work, and partially to look like a college student in case someone thought I wasn’t supposed to be there (I’m a paranoid mess, cut me some slack). I also brought my camera with me. I used to bring my camera everywhere when I used to walk a lot. There was usually a lot of beautiful scenery that I wanted pictures of, and eventually I started taking pictures of important places so I wouldn’t forget them. And although I must have gotten a few weird looks from passing students and maintenance workers for taking pictures of seemingly random things, I’m glad I finally had some photos of the places I used to spend time at on campus.

One of the first things I started thinking about was how it’s been almost 10 years since I started at community college. Those milestone thoughts are usually common ones for me. I started thinking about who I was still talking to, the car I was driving, the job I was working at, the classes I started out with (oh god, the art class) — my mind was all over the place.

And of course, these milestone thoughts make me compare myself to me 9 years ago. It’s a mixed bag; I’m still struggling with many of the same problems, albeit in different ways, but I can also see how much I’ve grown up since then.

As much as I don’t remember my classes and professors, I somehow retained a pretty vivid image of most of the buildings on campus, and this was really obvious as I walked about and toured the school again. With the exception of the cafeteria, everything at the school stayed the same. I recognized everything. And I guess that’s to be expected — after all I did spend two and a half years studying there. But like I said in the beginning, this was a very transitional time for me. When I think of community college, I don’t think of what I did at the college itself, but rather my time hanging out with my friend.

I looked through all the buildings again, trying to remember which classrooms I had courses in. I recognized some of them, even the dreaded art room that demoralized me from pursuing anything creative for over a year as well as the “psych dungeon,” which is what I called the basement level classroom I took my second psych class in with an awful and rude professor.

Maybe it was just the heat (90+ degrees and high humidity are perfect parameters for hiking around a campus with your messenger bag full of crap you never emptied from the last semester, btw), but the longer I spent exploring campus and trying to relive memories, the less I really cared. It was nice seeing the place again, considering it played an important part in my life that wasn’t all bad, but… I don’t know.

I don’t want to say it didn’t matter. In a way, I came back and confronted a place that gave me a lot of stress and frustration. So that felt empowering. I set foot in a place that had remained in my memories for years, so that helped me feel like I can always come back and revisit people and places. They don’t need to stay locked away in memories forever. Well, sometimes. And at the very least, I took a drive to somewhere besides work, and I enjoyed it. It’s nice to be going somewhere other than work. In clothes that aren’t work clothes.

But the trip didn’t make me feel much better in terms of believing that a life existed before I was depressed and could therefore exist afterwards. I’m still trying to maintain the outlook, but the trip itself didn’t do anything to really reinforce it. Maybe it was never going to. Maybe it was just a weird line of thought in my head and something got mixed up. I got up this morning, started working on this, got called into work, had an awful day, and came back to finish this post. The negative thoughts and me missing so much ran pretty strongly today. I was hoping this trip back to another time would have helped, and even though it did in some ways, in the ways I wanted it to, it didn’t.

Maybe it was because it wasn’t significant enough in the grand scheme of things. Maybe there are more important things to make me feel there’s more to me than what I lost. Maybe it was just a bad day. Who knows.

I’m glad I went back there, though. Like I said, I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, and it was nice to physically see something that only existed in memories. Maybe in some unknown way I needed closure and this will help. At any rate, taking a drive to somewhere unexpected and having it go smoothly was a nice change of pace. Maybe I should make a point to go venture out to interesting areas more often.

Fuck You, Anxiety

Lately I feel like my posts have been focusing more on reviewing books and talking about video games. I don’t necessarily think that’s a bad thing, especially because I want to review things. But I’ve been avoiding talking about mental wellness topics for a while now and I want to address that.

If you’ve read a lot of my posts throughout the past year, you’ve probably read something about my struggle with depression. It’s not something I like throwing out there, but sometimes I feel like there’s no way around it and I just need to admit to it. The past couple of months, for no particular reason, has made me feel more anxious than usual and I haven’t felt like talking about things like mental health. In fact, I still don’t. But I had an idea I want to start trying out and I wanted to share it.

What if I treated anxiety like an obnoxious asshole? For example, I’m driving to work. It’s a 45 minute commute. I know it sounds bad because while operating a motor vehicle, you really should be alert at all times, but when you take the same route every time you go to work you can’t help but ease up and let the trip come naturally after a while. So essentially, I’m just sitting for 45 minutes unable to really do anything but turn the steering wheel and hit the turn signal lever. Depressed people should never sit still for that long without doing anything because their minds will eventually wander towards negative thoughts, and all they can really do is just sit there and take it.

So when those negative thoughts come swimming through my head and I start to feel like a wreck before I even get to work, what if I imagined my anxiety as some jerk in the seat next to me? I can’t tell off my own thoughts very well, but I think I could handle telling this imaginary person next to me to piss off.

Let’s compare:

Anxiety as a feeling:

Isn’t it great how you can pass by your old neighborhood every time you go to work? At least you didn’t completely have to say goodbye to it when you moved. You can still see it. Through car windows. Sure, you can’t just leave your home and walk around it like you used to, but you can remember it. And miss it. Here, keep looking at it. Miss it even more. Miss walking past the bank and couple of strip malls you used to grow up with. Remember the video store that was here? You used to rent video games in the summer here. Remember Kirby 64? You rented that one summer and played it at your friend’s house when you slept over one night. You took all the sheets in the house and made a big tent in his room while playing it. That was fun. Let’s remember more good things. That way it can make all the shitty things going on right now feel even worse. Blah blah blah blah you’re awful blah blah blah you’re not getting better blah blah blah…

Anxiety as a person:

Anxiety: Isn’t it great how you can pass by your old neighborhood every time you go to work? At least you didn’t completely have to say goodbye to it when you moved. You can still see it. Through car windows. Sure, you can’t just leave your home and walk around it like you used to, but you can remember it. And miss it. Here, keep looking at it. Miss it even more —

Me: Hey, can you go fuck off for a while? I can’t deal with you right now.

And I can drive the rest of the way listening to music without incident.

Or how about this. You’re in bed, trying to fall asleep. But low and behold, the bed is a terrible place to be when you’re trying to avoid anxiety. You’re about to fall asleep, everything’s blacking out, when anxiety lifts the covers and slides in next to you.

Anxiety as a feeling:

Hey. Sleeping, huh? Yeah, that’s cool. Sleeping’s kind of lonely without another person though, isn’t it? Like, how do you do it? How do you go to sleep each night knowing the fact that you’re going to wake up the next day without anyone next to you? How can you fall asleep without holding anyone? It’s weird. You’re weird. Here, I”ll hold onto you. We can sleep together.

Anxiety as a person:

Anxiety: Hey. Sleeping, huh?

Me: Yeah. Go away now. I can deal with you in the morning.

Anxiety: Yeah, that’s cool. Sleeping’s kind of lonely without another person —

Me: That was actually my nice way of saying eat a dick. Anxiety, would you mind leaving the room and shoving your mouth full of one? I seriously don’t want to listen to you right now. No one does, really. This would solve a lot of problems.

And then I can fall asleep.

Just an idea. I don’t think it’s going to work all the time. After all, if there was a surefire way to get rid of anxiety and depression nobody would be anxious or depressed. But it might be worth doing if nothing else is working.

Why I Like Nostalgic Things (And Why That Can Be Dangerous)

I don’t know if you can tell by a lot of my posts, but I’m drawn to nostalgia. As someone that thinks about the past a lot, I guess that’s to be expected. I try not to talk about it too much with other people; nostalgia’s typically something I relive on my own. But I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t an important part of my everyday life.

But ever since I was a teenager, people have always been sort of critical of that. People often develop the misunderstanding that I get so nostalgic because I believe the past to be some kind of golden age I’d like to return to. And while it’s true that I think about better times when I get nostalgic, I wish there was an easy way I can explain to people that I typically don’t want to go back in time. I want to keep growing as a person, I want to make new memories, and I want to experience new things.

However, I’m not perfect. I hit roadblocks. I get depressed. I get frustrated. I get lost. Nostalgia helps me deal with that. I never grew up moving every year, or had divorced parents, or anything like that. But I diddo — seem to have a recurring pattern of getting attached to people who will suddenly disappear from my life. And as someone that’s particularly sensitive to change, I don’t think I need to explain how difficult that can be to deal with.

Nostalgia acts as a kind of anchor for me. It helps me keep something familiar around when everything else in the world seems too different. You know the Perler bead art of old video games I sometimes post? Nostalgia. Making Perler bead art has been such an important aspect to helping me deal with depression this past year. It reminds me of a time when I had a better understanding about life, when I knew what made me happy and who I was, when what I had to deal with was clearly laid out in front of me and I didn’t have to second guess every action I took.

Some might argue that’s just a natural part of growing up; life is less black and white as an adult than it is as a kid. And yeah, I agree. But letting the unknown have such a strong hold on me doesn’t exactly sound like a natural part of being an adult. I mean at some point it is, and I imagine it’s something that will pop up throughout life. But constantly feeling it for years? No — that’s a sign something else is going on.

However, I won’t deny that too much nostalgia can be dangerous. That episode of Futurama where Fry starts collecting all the things from his time period and sits in his apartment all day in the dark watching reruns of old TV shows is a perfect example of how dangerous it can be. Deep down, I really do want to grow as a person, make new memories, and experience new things. But as anyone that deals with depression can tell you, there are times when it honestly feels like living in the past is the better option. You want to listen to music you used to listen to. You want to watch TV shows and movies you watched when you were younger. You want to play old video games. You want to revisit places you used to go to. It’s a natural feeling when you’re feeling depressed and nostalgic all at the same time.

And for a while, it’s comforting. It helps distract you enough so your mind doesn’t clock into overdrive and completely overwhelm you. But after a certain point it stops becoming a distraction and acts as more of an excuse to avoid moving on in life. For example, when I got depressed last year I started playing a lot of older RPGs I have strong memories attached to. I revisited a lot of them during the past year, and for a while it helped me stop thinking about my depression. But at some point I felt like I needed to keep revisiting old RPGs because without them, my mind would focus too much on negative things. I came to rely on them, and I know from previous experiences I didn’t want that. When I was ready, I put more focus into other areas of my life. And while things haven’t progressed much with me personally, I at least feel like I’m more capable at looking at my problems and not having an overwhelming desire to run away.

You’ve got to find a balance with nostalgia. Yeah, that’s a little cliche, but it’s true. Reliving old memories is great, but doing it too much can hold you back from moving forward more than you think. It’s especially dangerous for people who are prone to depression. Since both nostalgia and depression draw you back to a previous time, it’s very easy to get lost in there. It’s a necessary evil, though — at least to an extent. I think it’s very important to contemplate the past. It helps you see repeatable patterns of negative behavior you want to change. It helps you feel comfortable when the rest of the world makes you uneasy. But it’s so hard not to slip and tumble into a giant mess unless you know how to tread properly.

Writing and Arting and Goals

Oh yeah. I’m supposed to be a writer. I should probably do the thing. With the words. For something other than the blog.

So last year I made several posts giving “advice” (please read that while doing air quotes) on writing when I started doing the blog. Looking back on them now – and a lot of my older posts, if I’m being honest – they seem so unlike me. Like, who am I to be giving anyone advice about writing? I guess I was still in the mindset of desperately trying to keep being a fiction writer after graduating college, and I was trying to share what I learned from other articles and authors about writing. I was very much into the idea of “if you want to be a writer, then start acting like one,” blah blah blah, post-college attitude, pre-I can’t find a job I’m qualified for even with a B.A. and it’s been two years since I graduated thoughts.

And geez, how I can’t even follow my own advice. Aside from the blog, I really haven’t done much writing in almost a year. There was a lot building up to it; the lack of effective workshop classes now that college was done, the lack of support (or even care) from most people; my own overly critical judgements of my work; the fact that all of my fiction pieces started sounding like the same thing and I was starting to feel like I was a one-trick pony…

And then I got rejected from my school’s literary magazine last year, and I don’t know why, but that really hurt. I made it the year before, and I didn’t spend nearly as much time on the short story that got accepted that year then the one I submitted last year. I put a lot of time into that one, a lot more time than any other story I’d written since I was actually in college. I was even able to workshop it with someone that used to be in my class. And one of my friends was on the team that selected stories to go in, and she kept telling me how there are so many bad entries and I’m not one of them. And I overheard someone saying that year’s edition (the one I was rejected from) had a lot of pieces that weren’t so great.

So even though I’ve been rejected a bunch of times before, this one kind of… stung. Definitely felt like I wasn’t really cut out for writing.

And then I fell into a very big depression shortly after due to something else, blah blah blah, how many times am I going to talk about being in the same state of depression, etc., etc. Long story short, it’s January and I think I only wrote 1 short story since getting rejected from my school’s literary journal. That was last April.

Oh, and that 1 short story is a revised draft of a story I did during college in 2011. Granted, it was a heavily revised draft, with half of it being brand new material, but still. Doesn’t really feel like I’m the fiction writer I wanted to be.

I don’t want to blame the depression, but it’s kind of hard for me to delve into writing fiction when my mind’s kind of… well, not so great. I mean I could definitely use this opportunity to write something involving the things I’ve been feeling. You know, turn that into a work of fiction.

But it’s hard when you’re still having trouble facing your own shit.

I guess I took a somewhat extended break from writing. I mean, it’s not like I didn’t do anything during that time. I started a few short stories, I have this collection of random scenes of random characters in random points of view that I occasionally add to – kind of hope it will grow into some sort of novella or longer work some day. But it’s mostly been the blog for a while, and I really want to start getting back into fiction.

And don’t get me wrong, the blog’s been great. I’ve been able to try out different styles of writing. And doing this weekly, even when I have no clue what I’m going to talk about some weeks (like this one), has kept me on my toes. I may have been slacking in writing fiction, but I’d like to say writing here every week has helped my writing abilities in some regard.

I’ve been focusing a lot on other art projects in my absence of writing fiction, at least. You guys have probably seen some random Perler bead projects I’ve posted, right? Doing those is one of the ways I cope with the depression. It started out as a way to distract myself, but I’ve been loving it so much that I use a lot of potential writing time working on stuff like that. I reasoned that if I wasn’t making anything I was proud of in fiction, then I may as well concentrate on other creative mediums that I am proud of. And I really am proud I started doing the Perler stuff, I’ve wanted to for a long time and it always feels good to finally do something you’ve been wanting to do for a while. I can’t say everyone shares my enthusiasm for it, but those that do really love what I make, and some of them are even saying I should start selling them. And you know what, I would really like to! I’m going to start looking into some craft fairs, and maybe even selling them on Etsy. Like I said, I’m not having much luck finding work, and even though selling Perler art isn’t going to make me anywhere near enough money to move out and get my own place, it wouldn’t hurt if I could make a little extra money doing something I love.

I’ve also been trying (or meaning to try) incorporating some art into some of my posts. I mentioned last year when I reviewed Hyperbole and a Half that I wanted to try telling some stories the way Allie Brosh does, and I’m ashamed I haven’t even done one yet. My post about the first semester at college was supposed to be one, but at the last minute I just tailored it into a normal post. I’ve got one about my trouble with weight loss lined up. It’s written and everything. I just have to do the art. And I keep talking myself out of it because I feel like I’m always going to hate what I draw. I guess kind of like writing fiction.

Anyway, sorry if this post was kind of scattered. I guess this is a bit of a personal update post more than anything else.

Oops. Oh well.

Next week’s gonna have that art in it as I talk about trying to lose weight. There. I said it. Now if it’s not done, I’ll look pretty darn silly. 🙂

An Immature Rant About Older People Criticizing 20-somethings

As I was scrolling through my Facebook news feed last week, I was blessed with the following image posted by one of my older coworkers:

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Mmm. It was gonna be a good day.

When I was done cringing that the “l” in “life” was capitalized for no reason, I begun thinking why this was a great example why anxiety-ridden 20-somethings don’t share their feelings with people, particularly older people that may hold some kind of advice that could help us with life. Was I thinking too hard about this? Probably. Was this directed towards me specifically? No. (Although funnily enough, it was posted by someone I had opened up to about a recent issue after struggling with it for a week. Seemed very supportive and sympathetic then, but now who knows if she was being genuine or not?) But as someone who’s not really liking a lot about his life lately, I couldn’t help but get a little defensive.

And then a couple days ago, someone else (also older) posted the same picture.

… Ha ha. Yes. We get it. 20-somethings have never experienced life before, and should therefore refrain from voicing our made-up problems and concerns.

I hate to bring out my inner teen rebel that never grew up, but it’s comments like these that make me wish older people would stop trying so hard to convince the world that their problems are worse than everyone else’s. Sorry that we haven’t had as much life experience as you, but to be fair we’ve only been around half as long. Holding it against us that we haven’t “gotten fucked” by life through paying mortgages, becoming bankrupt, being in shitty marriages, raising children, and working jobs we hate seems a little unrealistic, though (by the way, we do work jobs we hate, but I guess since you’ve been doing it longer that doesn’t really count, huh).

I really hate that I can’t talk about life to someone who’s gotten 15 or 20 years on me without it coming back to how I haven’t experienced it yet. Conversations always seem to circle back to them:

“You think you’re getting older? You’re young. What do you have to worry about? Wait until you see what it’s like at my age.”

“You think you have money troubles now? Just wait until you have a house and family.”

“What do you know about love? You haven’t felt anything yet.”

These are the kind of responses I expected to hear when I was a teenager. At 26, I’d like to think I’ve earned a little more respect. Sometimes it honestly feels like I haven’t. I feel like nothing I ever say or do will compare to what an older generation says or does. Because let’s face it, I’m a 20-something. What the hell do I know about life?

To every 20-something who actively has their problems ridiculed by older people on the grounds that you haven’t had enough life experience yet, I’m sorry. It really sucks, and I hope you at least have a couple good friends around your age to talk things out with. It’s a strange, transitional time for us, and it’s too bad we can’t get better guidance from people that came before us. I know it’s sometimes tempting to have an older person give us life tips, but it’s probably better that we rely on each other for comfort and share things we personally found to have worked or not worked. Having people walk with you in the cliched path of life seems to be better than being led by someone that hasn’t been at your particular place for 20 years, anyway.