Why I Dislike Disaster Films and Why I'm Stuck On This Fucking Scene

 

So... I'm still stuck on the same scene I've been stuck on for the last three nights. Well, no, I'm not stuck per se. I know what I want to happen and all that right down to the dialogue... It's just I'm looking at this and all I can think about is how tired I am and how loud the TV is in the background. It's some disaster film-- Ben loves those. I don't. I think they're terrible actually. I don't like to watch realistic movies where everyone is suffering and struggling. I don't like to watch movies where kids get hurt or separated from their families. Last weekend we watched Doctor Sleep and the scene with Baseball Boy and Rose's crew gave me nightmares. It still bothers me if I let myself think about it. Now, that said, Doctor Sleep is fantastic and I loved it. I'll have to listen to the book. But still... that scene...ugh. 

    Actually, I guess that's not entirely true-- Pet Sematary is one of my favorite movies (the first one) and we all know what happens to Gage. But I think the fact that it all sort of happens off screen makes

it easier. I mean, I love horror films-- like good, legit horror films not bloodbath-torture-porn. Fuck that noise. Like, the first Paranormal Activity movie, The Exorcist, The Autopsy of Jane Doe, IT (both versions)... all stellar. But I guess that's because they're all ghost stories more or less and as far as I know, ghosts aren't real and I will probably never find myself in the position of doing a midnight autopsy on the corpse of a dead witch. And, if any demon should possess me, I'm pretty sure my anxiety and depression would make them regret their decision pretty quick. 

    Demon: Your soul is mine now!

    Me: Well, okay. If you can find it you can have it, I guess.

    Demon: Foolish mortal...wait... why're you? ... Jeeze, what's going on? Why...why is everything wound so tight in here? I mean... is something bad going to happen? 

   Me: I dunno. Anxiety says so, soooo... probably. Wanna over think it together?

    Demon: I... I mean... it just feels like everything in here is about to get into a fight with something and I don't know what it is... but at the same time I don't care because everything sucks anyway and I'm bad at everything I do.  ...Why do I suddenly feel so pathetic?!

    Me: Yeah, that's the depression. You get used to that. Want me to take a trazodone and we can both go to sleep?

    Demon: Yeah... yeah... let's do that. Maybe we'll feel better in the morning.  

    Me: Aw, you're optimism is cute. 

    And that's why ghost stories don't bother me. I can handle ghosts. What I can't handle is real life disaster stuff because I know that shit is a real possibility and not even my super nihilism powers can shrug that off. 

    To my husband, I guess, these disaster films are cathartic. He's a low level prepper and he takes

comfort in making sure we're prepared for shit like that. Those movies are like goddamned training videos for him. He loves them and I don't begrudge him that. His super prepper powers are what let us cruise through this pandemic with little to no trouble so far.

    But anyways, I'm staring at the same scene and for the life of me, can't finish it. I don't know why. It's a good scene. But I just can't seem to find the right words. And that's a problem. Because on a draft you shouldn't need the right words. The right words come later. But I can't write a draft. My brain isn't designed for outlines and plotting drafts. It's always working in final draft mode so I'll fixate on a little thing until it's just right at the expense of an hour. The funny thing is... that on the second round that paragraph will be edited and changed, and on the third go round it'll probably be gone entirely. Soooo.... there went that hour... right down the fucking drain. 

    I'm going to go back and try it again. Wait here.

     Hmm... well, what do you know. I finished the scene and it only took about twenty minutes. It's not great, but it will do for the moment, I guess. I mean, that's what I'm telling myself anyway. It will do. 

Moving on.

Mental Health Revisited

Welcome to the party. You're gonna hate it here.

I'm sure you know this by now, but I have anxiety and depression. I've always been anxious. I'm

pretty sure it really, officially set in when I was in high school. After my son was born 7 years ago I had some pretty wicked postpartum depression and I finally got medication to help. It was a decision I wish I had made much, much sooner.

Depression is a fickle bitch. Anxiety is just as bad. They're like the dynamic duo of bullshit and they

basically come and go as they please. Bright sunny day out? Feeling good? Here comes anxiety kicking in your door like the goddamn Kool-Aid Man. You're on edge. You're scared. You feel like something bad is about to happen, but you don't know what or why.  Or in the case of depression, you just don't feel much of anything. The song Mr. Blue Sky could literally be playing out in real life, right in front of your sad-sack face, and the most you'll be able to muster is a weak, "meh." Or maybe some low key snark, if you're feeling saucy.

World: The sun is shining in the sky!
Me: Yes. If it wasn't, we'd all be dead.
World: There ain't a cloud in sight!
Me: Yeah? And?
World: It's stopped raining!
Me: 'Bout goddamn time.
World: Everybody's here to play, and don't you know, it's a beautiful new day!
Me: I'm going to bed.

Now, as far as I'm concerned, there are two types of people in the world. Those who understand mental health issues and those who need to shut the fuck up.

...And I mean that in the nicest way possible. You can always tell someone who doesn't get it by how they respond to the situation. They think depression will magically go away if you count your blessings, or smile more, or... ugh... tell yourself you don't have any real reason to be depressed.

Bitch, my brain physically cannot make the proper cocktail of smiley chemicals and neurotransmitters to keep me on what is considered to be a socially acceptable level of  happiness. I can't possibly think of any reason more real than that. Throw in some shitty genetics on top of it (Thanks Granny D!), and tell me again to count my blessings.

The people who understand things like anxiety and depression are, more often than not, people who also suffer from it. They're the ones who will hand you a bottle of water during a panic attack, say, "You are slogging through shit valley, my friend. Hang in there, it'll be over soon." and then send you funny cat pictures once you're calmed down. They don't ask you to explain why you're freaking out or feeling down. They know there isn't often a reason beyond the fact that your just brain decided to kick you in the mental balls today.

And that's cool. Just make sure that you get back up. Take your meds. Talk to your therapist. Visit

your doctor. Practice some fucking self care. And don't be so hard on yourself. You're doing everything a regular person is doing with the added weight of your brain arguing and screaming at you like the grumpy, sleep deprived toddler it is.

Good for you, dude. Good for me! Yeah bitches! We're slogging through shit valley with a backpack full of everyday life to look after and we're still moving! We're slapping our freeloading junk heap of a brain with some medication and talking about our goddamn feelings to people who get it and get us! We're taking a break in shit valley to regroup when we get tired and we don't give a fuck if people look at us and wonder why. Then, when we're rested, we'll pick up our backpack full of everyday life, and get back to slogging... but maybe a little more steadily this time.

Slog on, bitches.

In Case of Panic Attack Break Glass

I had a panic attack today. The Day Job is getting worse and has gone from something I really enjoyed to something I dread thanks to management changes, company downsizing etc... I don't really want to get into it. Regardless, it's put a huge amount of stress on me and in the last 6 months I've had 3 panic attacks. That's astronomical for me, especially since I'm on medication to keep them under control. 

Thing is, people don't know how to react to someone having a panic attack. It freaks them out. I get it. It is an unsettling thing to see. Now I can't speak for everyone, but here's a helpful guide for when I have a panic attack.

In case of a panic attack:

1) Do not ask why I'm freaking out. My brain is a herd of rabid velociraptors on cocaine right now. Chances are I don't know why. Just accept that I am and move forward.

2) Find a cat.

3) If a cat can't be found, offer me some water. Hydration is important.

4) A cat would be nice.

5) Empathize. If you know how it feels to be in my shoes, tell me. It'll make me feel like less of a loser... Because, trust me, I feel like a loser right now. If you don't know how it feels, sympathize. Say something encouraging like "That looks like it sucks. Don't worry, I still like you."

6) Are you sure there aren't any cats nearby? Have you looked?

7) Yes I'm doing weird breathing exercises and probably tensing and relaxing my hands. Let me do this. It helps.

8) Cats have gone extinct and no one has told me, haven't they.

9) I'm probably crying some. Don't judge. Like I said, I already feel like a huge loser.

10) Okay, I'll settle for a dog.

11) Once the episode has passed I will be very tired and likely have a headache. Offering ibuprofen or something like it is appreciated.

This has been a public service announcement.