F*** expectations
MFF: Flat. One dimensional. Gray.
Oh depression, you tricky beast. Do you try to do this, or do you just naturally have terrible timing?
Today my publisher began pre-order sales on the book I have co-authored. This will be my first book. The fulfillment of a lifelong dream. In just a couple short months, I will get to hold it in my hand, smell its pages, run my fingers over my name on the cover.
I dreamed of this day — letting my friends and family know that they could now buy MY book. I imagined what it would feel like, what I would say, how I would celebrate.
I SHOULD feel like celebrating, right? I should feel like popping champagne, jumping up and down, having a dance party in my living room, something.
Instead — fucking depression.
It’s not a bad episode. I got out of bed and showered, finished all of my deadlines for work, walked the dog, cleaned the kitchen, exercised. I’m functioning just fine. But I feel . . . flat. Muted. Like Dorothy before the Techni-color. Not how I EXPECTED to feel on this day.
And of course, as it does, depression saw an opening and ran with it.
“What’s wrong with you? Why aren’t you excited? You’re ruining this. What a phony. Is this even something you want? Maybe you’re just not capable of being happy.”
Luckily by now, I know depression’s tricks. I know its lies. I know it’s like a moody adolescent, needling you, pushing your buttons just because it can.
So I don’t feel the way I expected to feel in this moment. This is just how it is. I can’t change the reality of the situation. I am depressed today, and depression doesn’t care what else is going on in your life. If I get hung up on my expectations, I’ll just spiral downward.
Here I am, practicing what I and my wonderful co-authors wrote about — surrender. I surrender to how I feel in this moment. I let go of my expectations, of what things are “supposed” to look like. I accept that in this moment, this is how it is.
I’ll save the champagne for tomorrow.
