Tuesday, April 05, 2005

Maybe it's just me...

but I would never again date anyone who said that therapy was a load of b.s., hogwash, nonsense. Honestly, you know that these are usually the first people who have issues that they're squirreling away somewhere in the attic recesses of their mind. Even if they don't believe in the value of therapy they should believe in dealing with their issues or problems in someway other than denial. When I was younger I couldn't recognize that this was a problem in some of the individuals whom I chose as friends or as significant others. I think that there was this tacit training I received from my low-context-we-discuss-nothing upbringing that said, "If you're going to pick a partner, make sure they don't have any visible mental problems." Unfortunately, what this training left out is to note that some people who suffer from mental instability are actually very good at hiding what's wrong with them.

A study apparently was conducted that discovered that cognitive (behavior) therapy was more effective in restricting the recurring effects of depression than anti-depressant drugs or a placebo (no treatment). I've never been a huge fan of pumping chemicals into one's body to alter one's mood even for recreation, but I'd always suspected that the chemicals were a mask or a quick fix and at times just fucked with your body's natural harmony (now, I'm sounding like a complete hippy). Once after graduating from college (and having absolutely nothing to do because I could not find a job or market my skills) I was put on prozac to treat my mild depression, and I absolutely hated myself on it. I became "Rabbit" from the 1000 Acre woods. It was impossible for me to stay still and even focus. I did loose some weight though, but overall dropping 5 pounds was not worth feeling like A.D.D. Robot-girl.


Lately, I've had this invented themesong running through my head. The lyrics tell about a protagonist who seems to be stuck in one stage of their life, namely their youth. It's like an old 70's ballad that talks about the football jock living in the fantasy of his glory days. On a more exaggerated level, it rings of tones from that movie with William Holden, Fedora, in which the leading lady has become so obsessed with maintaining a visible portrait of youth to her public, that she forces her daughter to take on her identity.

I've come to realize and finally admit that all this obsessing over frozen youth is most likely due to the perceived and real pressure I've been experiencing lately to "grow up," but I usually go through some sort of mild depression when tax-time rolls around. I think that the worries, the thoughts, are symptoms of of getting older. I know I shouldn't worry about these things too much, but I've always worried that I would, like Fedora or the aging football coach have difficulties accepting my passing into maturity, mainly because being a grown up the way it was portrayed by those who are extremely skilled at it... seemed like an honest to God bore of a chore. Is there something wrong with me? I still do what I'm expected, but I can't help but think that those people who really enjoy or get great pleasure from setting up GANTT charts and shuffling indicators in excel spreadsheets... are...uh, kinda boring... (shhhhhh... don't tell anyone I said this)... At least that's what it seems to me. But that's been my problem all along, I'm suffering from a sort of Peter-panism that prevents me from sinking into their world and becoming one with them. I suppose I should just accept who I am and who they are and live in two different worlds.

Still, each time I get flack at work for asking questions (like 'why are we doing this?' or 'what do we get in the long run?' ) which seem obvious and child-like in a way, I get some obscene pleasure out of all of it.

I know I'm a grown up... just not their kind of grown up.

Maybe the grammar NAZI will come back and correct my work :)

One more piece of advice from the not-so grown up office woman child. Read the wonderful post by the Breadchick, "He's the one." It's so, so true in a way I wish I had this sort of insight on picking a love when I was in my early twenties, but then again, I wouldn't have had all the adventures I had good and bad if I was so wise.

Navy Bone Soop for Four
1 large ham bone (and any left over ham fat)
2 1/2 c. navy beans soaked overnight
1 1/2 tsp white pepper ground
One large onion peeled and scored on one end
2 tsp sea salt
3 bay leaves
1 1/2 quarts water

Rinse the beans and place all the ingredients in a large, thick-bottomed pot. Stir. Bring to a boil. Reduce to low and cook for four hours. Discard the fat pieces. If you have a crockpot, leave it all in there in the morning and you'll have dinner when you return from work.


Post a Comment

<< Home