Me and My Bouncy Self

So – it is officially April.

I have made it through almost 2 months of misery and despair and self-reflection. I have flirted with depression (I am such an emotions whore) and have questioned what the fuck I’m going to do with myself and my life now.

Well HELLOOOOO there depression…. Wanna come over and fuck with me for a while…?

I don’t know how to answer that last question. But I do know this:

I am bouncy.



I am one hell of a bouncy soul.

(Here is where, if you are REALLY FUCKING COOL you will start thinking about one of my favorite bands here. Automatically. And if you don’t know what I am talking about – well, sorry. I am not going to tell you.)

I am not talking bouncy-boob bouncy, although I’m sure I am that too.


I am talking unbreakable bouncy. Whenever I feel shattered and unfixable, no matter how low my low gets, the bottom I hit is always cushiony. Like a sproingy trampoline. It catches me and propels me back up. Limbs still flailing. But I am not splattered at the bottom of a deep well anymore.


I attribute my bounciness to a few things:

1. To start off – I hate pity of any kind. I hate other people’s pity. I hate self-pity. To me – pity is like an unproductive handie. Sure – someone might be stroking the hell out of you, but you only wind up sore and pained.

Emotional blue balls is no joke, people. Just say no.


2. I will openly share my misery. I have tried to stuff that shit down and try to hide it behind a happy face, but I suck at it. So I cry when I need to. I will admit I am shit-show when it is painfully obvious that I am. I will yell out curses and have tantrums late at night if necessary. I will do whatever I need to do to emote and get out what I need to get out. It’s like a big satisfying dump.


Emotional constipation is no joke either, people. Say no to that too.

3. I know this sounds like something only annoying people on Facebook say – the ones you wind up blocking – but exercise has truly contributed to my whole mental state getting out of the complete and utter shitter.

It is not easy to lace up when every part of me is screaming that I am tired and sick and cannot move, but depression is a whiny bitch that wants your muscles to atrophy and have you lay on the couch eating your weight in cookie butter products. What kind of asshole friend wants you to be fat and flabby? Fuck that salty bitch.


So – on the bad days, I would promise myself I would hit no more than 30minutes. Whether it was weights, yoga, or running, I would start off with a 30 minute goal. Some days I stuck to it.

Some days, I had the right music or shook off some of the fog to dedicate an extra 15 minutes. Or carry it out to a whole hour. Or more. And then my brain got addicted to the endorphins like a strung out crackwhore.

Its OK to be strung out on running or yoga. Its socially acceptable and eventually you just might get to see your abs again. And when you start closing your pants without catching your muffintop flab in the zipper a-la”There’s Something About Mary” style, life is just SO much rosier.


I highly recommend not zipping your fat up in a zipper. That alone is the bomb-dot-com.

4. Something brilliant happens when you stop tunneling yourself into your ugly, dark, stupid thought cave and start looking out at all the shit that has nothing to do with you.

Sunsets have zero fucks to give about you.


You could hole yourself up in a bunker. You can lay on the couch staring at the ceiling. You can die. Sunsets will continue to be gloriously stunning despite all of that.


Obviously, I can only speak for myself, but when I have these moments of real eye-opening awareness that I am a tiny part of a huge thing and I can either check myself out and the world will still roll on, or I can opt back in and enjoy some of the things it has to offer, it puts me in a bizarre non-committal committed place in my head.

It’s all up to me. Or not. Whatever. The party will still take place whether or not I RSVP. It’s kind of like my 30-minute workout plan.

I go and take in something that is other-than-me for short periods of time. And then I can return home in my wah-mbulance or stay in the here and now of this otherness and chill the fuck out.

Chilling the fuck out is a thing I never thought I could buy into. But there is a lot to be said for it. Running 10 miles can be easier than chilling the fuck out for me sometimes, but I guess building endurance can apply to many things in a lifetime.

5. Eating healthy is crucial when it comes to chasing away the serious cray. I am not talking 24-7 kale smoothies, but I can’t sit and down bags of Doritoes dipped in ranch and then supersize my fries and still feel all is OK with the world.


Maybe all that fat, grease, and salt ooze into my brain and convince me I will die toothless and penniless in a puddle of my own vomit. I just can’t function with all that crap pumped into me.

I need food that has less than a 6-month shelf life in order for me to feel functional.

Don’t get me wrong. I am down with boozin it up and enjoy my cheat days like everyone else. But I need a balance in my life.

And so, I am able to wake up again in the morning and put both feet on the floor without crying and whining and concocting creative ways of getting out of work and life each morning. I will not declare myself “cured” or pretend this will stick permanently. But that is part of my list as well….

6. Right now – I am here. I need to hold on to this nowness and not let the befores and the afters taint the shit out of this NOW that I am in. Even if this “now” sucks. I need to absorb it and take it in and learn from it.

Oh. One more important thing….

7. Humor. Laugh at everything that is funny. And even things that are not.

(By the way… I totally said “taint” in #6.)




2 thoughts on “Me and My Bouncy Self

    1. Not quite sure what you are talking about…. But sorry you stopped laughing while simultaneously enjoying that feeling. And stuff. Or maybe I am not sorry and a congratulations is in order? In any case – you go with your big bad self!


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