I was just talking to somebody about someone and they said, “What if they apologized?” And I said, “They can shove their apology right up their rectum with that hose that they used to inflate themselves to a pint-sized Michelin Man. The best thing they can do from now till eternity when they’re around me is to keep their head down and not talk. That’s their only salvation.”
And I remembered.
I remembered who I used to be.
I got an email from a college friend a year or so back that said, “You just don’t sound like the same girl that I knew. What happened to that girl that wouldn’t take anything off anybody?”
I didn’t know. But it’s true. Depression changes you. In college I mostly hung out with all male friends, didn’t take crap from anybody, unintentionally intimidated most of the other girls that came around and routinely got my tab picked up as an incentive to get me to get in verbal fights with Republican men at the bar. I can still hear my college boyfriend, a Republican, saying: “Here she goes, here she goes, grab a seat — she’s about to crush him!” Right before I would tear into somebody over Bill Clinton. This was during the impeachment trial, so I got to do that a lot.
I used to operate on that three-strike system and once you got three strikes, neither Jesus nor Bil Clinton could convince me to let you back in my good graces.
I don’t know, perhaps I’ve been taking Cymbalta and running again long enough to get the benefits that I started to remember who I am and what I’m worth.
I just know that I’ve been walking around today with a completely different attitude of “F*ck you, depression!” Maybe it comes from standing up for myself. Maybe it comes from the endorphin release from good old fashioned go-till-you-drop exercise. Or maybe it comes from knowing that my lifelong political hero, Hillary Clinton, is about to take the White House, and in doing so, is going to defeat a bullying, uninformed idiot who belittles women and verbally abuses them when he can’t outwit them.
I’ve had a lot of experience with those, so perhaps this victory feels personal.
I started out a journal when I was 19, the very first line reading: “Someone once told me if you leap, you just might find you could fly. So I jumped. And I hit the ground. But the fall didn’t kill me, and I saw some pretty incredible things on the way down.”
That was why I always claimed that the title of my memoir was going to be “On The Way Down.” I can’t think of anything else that sums up life, or at least my life, any more beautifully than that.
Of course like everything else I wrote and did nothing with, it’s now the title of a country song making somebody else money, but first penned by me.
C’est La Vie, friends. C’est La Vie.
Which, coincidentally, is the same way I feel about depression. That’s life. But not ALL of life. There’s so much more to me — and you — than that.