I ran out of energy this week.
No, really. I went to sleep early on Sunday. I stayed up late Monday, sure, but then I went to sleep early Tuesday. And I skipped the Ditty Bops show at the Derby to go to sleep early Wednesday. It was one of those weeks where lethargy got the better of me.
Except it was something a few steps beyond lethargy. I was completely drained. Wednesday, I was writing a blog entry, and didn’t even finish it, because I was too tired (and overheated) to sit up. So I went back to lying on my bed and drinking extra water and fell asleep. I suspect a Depressive Episode was happening. I’m still, at twenty-seven, learning how my brain and my particular depressive condition works. And even after a year and change on the miracle drug that is Wellbutrin, I still have days when I don’t want to be awake. And I have days when my brain wiring comes loose, and I can’t focus, and sleep is all I want. And really, it just annoys me, because how can I get in all the things I want to do – concerts, friends, extracurriculars – if I’m too depressed to go out & enjoy them?
But yesterday, I snapped out of it. I was not exactly the world’s most happy camper when I woke up, and was still somewhat off kilter until mid-morning. And wake up was at FIVE so I could take one of my best friends to the airport. Then, because I was up at five, I seriously considered NOT accepting an invitation to go out dancing with the boyfriend & his friends until 2am. But I thought about it all day, and realized – if even the idea of going dancing cheered me up, then the reality would probably snap me out of whatever was wrong with me. And by the end of the day, I was singing along to Sisters of Mercy in the car and happily daydreaming about the dancefloor at Perversion. And that did it.
Today, I’m running on about four hours sleep as a result, but I’m a lot happier for it. I love to dance, and I love to dance to those genres of music played at the club, and I’m no end of happy the next day every time. Even if I am falling asleep over my work. Which means it’s time to crank the industrial to keep me awake.
This weekend’s jampacked with even MORE fun, too. Los Angeles Critical Mass is tonight, and I’m just going to roll from there onto the Gold Line light rail up to the 626, and spend the evening with the boyfriend. Tomorrow, I have a girls’ night with a crew of good friends – one of the girls is cooking, the rest of us are bringing dessert and wine. And Sunday, a posse of us are going up to the Kern Valley/Sequoia National Forest area to swim and hike and raft – and get the hell out of L.A.
Actually, even with the depressive episodes, Being Jillian is still Really Fucking Awesome these days. No, really. I have a thousand things to be happy about every single day, of varying sizes. There’s big things I’m happy about – work, where I live, my friends – the surroundings and life I have created for myself. There’s upcoming things to look forward to, like going home in just three more weeks, or a birthday weekend in Seattle with my mother that we just planned this week, or the Nine Zillion Things That Are Happening This Summer, from camping on Catalina to Bats Day at Disneyland. There’s the new stuff that’s come back into my life lately – rejoining the goth scene, developing a relationship based on mutual adoration, stuff I’ve missed. And finally, there’s the fact that I feel like me these days, like I’m finally getting comfortable and happy in my own skin and in who I am. I think that’s what I’m happiest about, every single day.
(And as a side note, I totally apologize for the whole “every single fucking post contains some sort of boyfriend reference” thing. I’m still adjusting, and it’s tough to write around because he does take up a decent piece of my life right now. And it’s still a novelty, like something I have to tell myself, after three years of being single, in order to remember. I’ll get over it before anyone gets nauseous, I promise – but I know you’re all willing to tolerate it so long as you continue to see me this happy, right?)
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