When your Junk Drawer Turns into a Snake Pit

I’ll try to keep it simple today. Feeling a little dark, spiritually flattened. Not a day to ask too much of myself.

(Yeah but remember, doing nothing can drive the rusty nail deeper.)

Okay so I’ll keep it small then. A dose of activity is often enough to keep the monsters at bay.

Today I will sort out a junk drawer in my dresser. One packed with various cables and wires and adapters and chargers and other techno bullshit.

As I peek into the drawer, the voices start:

Oh my god…it looks like a box of angry snakes. I can’t cope…nope.

Quickly I close it and take a stuttered breath. Then jump in again, crippled with indecision:

I shouldn’t throw out this weird-looking cable. If I need it later, I’ll be pissed at myself. But if I keep it, then I’m not really “cleaning out the drawer” am I?

Then some random “keeping up with the Joneses” thoughts:

There are people out there with way better wire drawers than me. I bet some people even label their cables. Or maybe they don’t even need a wire drawer because they’re using all their wires. They’re wire smart and I’m wire stupid.

Then unnecessary guilt:

I’ll ask my friend Dan about these things. He’s a computer geek. But I don’t want Dan to think I’m using him for his technical knowledge. I should call Dan but definitely not talk to him about these cables. That’s what I’ll do.

I finally toss out one wire (with a frayed end) and two booklets for cell phones I owned several years ago. The drawer hardly looks any different than before.

I grab one wire, determined to ditch it. Then an acid-like moment:

This cable is absurd looking. Why is it so big, so awkward? I’ll hide it in the back (in case I actually need it for something.) But I DO NOT want this ugly cable staring at me in the face every time I open the drawer.

Then the final realization crashes in on me:

What else am I too crippled to do based on endless rumination and needless fears? If I can’t organize this fucking drawer, how the hell can I organize my LIFE?

The word depression conjures up visions of sleeping all day (oh how I wish I had that “brand”) or a blank, thoughtless state (again, I wish). Like most mental health terms, it rarely hits the nail on the head.

Depression is active, repetitive, scouring, unfaltering, greedy, deeply cyclical and highly sensitive. Punitive thoughts nag and chomp at you constantly, like eternally hungry piranhas, making the smallest activity difficult. A drawer full of junk becomes a hostile, knotted symbol of my inability to make change in my life.

Maybe I’ll just make some toast instead.

Seriously, is that not a hostile looking cord?

My hair is sassy but I'm not

That's one tentative smile. The kind you make when your new hairstyle is bringing more to the table than you are. It's bold and snappy and I'm clearly not feeling that way.I look forward to growing my hair out quickly so I can yet again retreat behind it...which will take about 2 damn years.

I took selfies before they were called selfies (I swear). Now, taking shots of yourself is just another grating aspect of our vapid culture. Yet I still take them. The process is enlightening, comforting. Then sometimes its not. Most of the photos suck and as I get older, a higher percentage suck...I wish that wasn't the case. I wish I didn't feel that way.

Since I can't afford a shrink, my photos serve to show me how I'm doing (because photos can't lie and all). It's amazing how much your subconscious imprints on every image you take. How your face reveals all these "tells." Once viewed at a distance, messages become more clear. A visual diary of your subconscious.

I want to rock middle age like my haircut. But the fire inside is quiet and small. Maybe its alright for a haircut to do the work for me. An outside in job. I hope so.