Give a Shit

Recently, I read a post by Mark Manson called The Subtle Art of Not Giving A Fuck.  In it, he argues that fucks should be conserved and not given over especially trivial things. Fucks are valuable, and should only be given to things that are truly worthy of being given a fuck over. Essentially, he is saying “don't sweat the small stuff.” I urge you to read his piece, even though it makes my writing look very amateurish next to it, but I don't give a fuck.

And while I think he is right, to get ahead and make something of yourself, you have to let go and just not give a fuck. But you SHOULD give a SHIT. While fucks are precious and limited, shits are filthy and should be given, expelled even.

Not giving a fuck means plowing through the hard times, putting your shoulder to the grindstone (whatever) and just getting on with it. I guess the Brits would say “Carry on” right after advising to “Keep Calm”, but they always were more civilized than we 'Mericans.

Not giving a shit, though, means you have just given up. “I just don't give a shit” is what you say when you DON'T do something you should: The snow is piling up on your side walk, the grass is 10 inches tall, you haven't opened your mail in three months, etc. You don't do these things because you just don't give a shit anymore.

I can't remember when I first started not giving a shit. Certainly, there were certain things at a very young age I just didn't give a fuck about, such as the kids reaction to my proclivity for tweed caps in jr high. But at the same time I didn't give a shit about my things, and would often mistreat them through negligence. It just wasn't important to me to whether or not my Star Wars action figures were in pristine condition 20 years in the future when they would be worth something. To me, they were worth something then, when I played with them and enjoyed the hell out of them. I didn't give a shit about books. Books were to be read, spines were to be broken. Because of that, I never got nice hard cover books. But I sure as hell tried to keep my records in pretty good shape, mostly I guess because otherwise they would be unplayable.

Certainly, as I grew older, I started giving a shit much more often. I would pay attention to things like getting the part in my hair just the way I liked it. I started taking pride in how well my yard looked after I mowed it. When I first bought my house, I tried to keep it neat and organized. 

My niece complains about my "walls of text", so lets

take a moment and enjoy this quality product advertisement. 

 

 

But, as you know if you have been a long time reader (okay, long time being 6 weeks or so)  of Missives and Mischief, I have had some issues with mood disorders. Mostly mine, but other peoples' too, from time to time. The worst of it happened after I first sought help, though. I was put on meds designed to “stabilize” my mood, not on anti-depressants. They were afraid to prescribe those, as it might push me into a manic phase. Many bi-polars that quit taking their meds do so because they miss the manias. But stabilize me they did. I didn't feel depressed, and I was so relieved to not feel depressed that for a very long time I didn't realize that I didn't feel anything.

Over time, I became apathetic about almost everything. I just didn't give a shit anymore. I didn't give a shit about my yard. I didn't give a shit about my house. Nor my dishes. Nor whether or not I took a shower or had particularly clean clothes. I stopped writing my blog, sure, but I also stopped writing rants and raves on Facebook. I stopped posting at all, or even checking it. That doesn't sound so bad, until you realized that was my biggest social outlet.

I stopped giving a shit about my girlfriend.

That one I really didn't notice. I failed to notice it so much that I argued with her that I was improving and doing better. But really, I just didn't give a shit. When she left I acted pissed a bit more than I was, cause you're supposed to. I wasn't even that pissed when she stared dating one of my best friends. I was hurt, I felt betrayed, but I wasn't exactly pissed. However, it did depress me even more, even if the drugs didn't let me feel it.

I so much didn't give a shit that I didn't check my mail for months, and missed an appointment. I didn't see the letter saying I had to contact them by a certain date or I would be dropped from the program until the day after the deadline. That I really didn't give a shit about. When I ran out of meds, I just stopped taking them.

Again, my niece doesn't like so much text.  Kids these days, amiright?  

Some things changed a bit after that. One day I noticed that something sad and moving on the TV actually moved me, just a bit. On another day, I noticed I was actually happy for like five minutes. Slowly, my moods were returning. But I still didn't give a shit about anything that I should have.

Last spring I finally started to come out of it a bit. I started to engage with friends, and found some purpose in just being there for others, to be a support in my own humble way. I even discovered I had acquired some wisdom, but I'm not sure how the hell that happened. I wasn't recovering enough to save my house from the bank or anything, but maybe a new start in a new place would be the ticket.

To some degree it was, but not enough. I was still on auto-pilot for many things. The depression came back big time, and I knew I had hit bottom. There simply was no other place to go.

As I've mentioned elsewhere, I have sought help again. I am on anti-depressants, I am exercising, I am looking for work (and have found part time work) and I am taking better care of myself.

I tell you, dear reader, all of this for one reason only. Its not for you to feel sorry for me in anyway. Its so that you understand where I'm coming from, and that I know of what I speak. I am telling you all of this in case you are going through something remotely like what I am, so that you know you are not the only one, and that there is hope for a change for the better. (okay, that's more than one reason, but I don't give a fuck)

It is not only important to give shits, it is vital! If you keep all your shits, you will be full of shit and a complete shithead, and eventually you will be a piece of shit.  

Give a shit about yourself. Give a shit about what you put into your body and in your mind. Give a shit how you treat your body and your mind. Give a shit about the people you spend time with, not only about the way you treat them, but the way they treat you. Give a shit about your environment, how you treat it and how it treats you.*

When you give all these shits, you will feel much, much better. Just remember to wipe!

 The Beatles need no reason.

As usual, please leave comments below.  Once again, I seem to have at least some occasional readers in the UK, Ireland, and other ports of call in Europe.  So, where ever you are, I'm curious who's actually reading this stuff.  If just bots, so be it, but if actual sentient beings are reading it, just drop a one word (or more) comment about where you hang your hat. 

*I'm not talking about the hippy tree hugging sense of environment, although you should give a shit about that tool. I'm talking about your personal environment, your home, your work station, your car, whatever. You figure out the details.