I’ve been doing things, which is very weird for me. They aren’t big, life-changing things, but they are things all the same. I am expending energy where previously I lay in bed thinking about expending energy, then went to get another bowl of ice cream.
I bought some tools to finish a project I’ve been meaning to work on for a while… and I’ve actually started working on the project. Assuming things go to plan, it should be finished by the end of August. Maybe sooner.
Yesterday, I made myself a sandwich for lunch. With bacon on it. Except, we didn’t have any precooked bacon, so I opened the pack of bacon and cooked it myself and had a sandwich with freshly cooked bacony goodness on it.
I did my laundry, even though I did it last week, too. I usually only do my laundry about once a month because it requires me leaving my apartment and leaving my apartment is a level 5 task, and I can only do one level 5 task a day (usually dishes wins out). [For those who are more comfortable with the spoonie analogy; laundry, dishes, and vacuuming take about half (or more, depending on the day) of my starting spoons for the day, so if I do two of them I can do literally nothing else for the rest of the day; so I can only do one because at some point I will probably have to fix myself something to eat.]
I know these aren’t huge things. For a lot (maybe even most) of the population, this is probably a really pathetic day. I ground a hole in a thing, made a sandwich, and am wearing clean underwear.
And, no, maybe it wasn’t a “perfect” day where I accomplished everything I set out to do. There were plenty of things I wanted to do (and could have, if I’d had the mental energy) yesterday that I didn’t get done. I bought a Passion Planner (my last attempt at finding a planner which works for me functionally and creatively) which arrived yesterday. In the front, is has this mind-map worksheet thing, where you take five minutes to list your dreams for the next w, x, y, and z amounts of time, no matter how absurd. The thought of thinking about my hopes and dreams for the distant )and not-so-distant) future makes me want to vomit, so I haven’t filled it out yet, even though I’d really like to.
But, with depression and anxiety, there is no such thing as a “perfect day.” (Note: My definition of a “perfect day” as a depressed and anxious person is completing everything on my to-do list, completing what would commonly be deemed an “appropriate” amount of tasks, and doing so without crying, yelling, or destroying something. Your personal mileage may vary). Perfection is a pipe dream. There are better days, and there are worse days. If I’m lucky, I have a good day or a really good day. I might even have a great day (I qualify a great day as “made it through 75% or more of my to-do list without crying and/or yelling at anyone”).
I may not have had a perfect day, but I had a damn good day. I did things I was proud of and I did them without having a mental break down. I woke up this morning feeling pretty good (save for some stomach issues; don’t eat fast food, kids) and did another small project thing. And I put my mohawk up.
Now I’m going to get dressed and go look at all the Halloween stuff at Michaels and then I’m going to the beach with Pup to take pictures of the ocean because why the heck not.
And, today isn’t going to be a perfect day. But, it is going to be another damn good day and perfection is overrated, anyway.