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.

Limb by Limb

Really, the cover art is the worst thing about this album. 

I've been talking a lot about my experiences with cyclothymia lately. That hasn't been my intent, but if you remember my post about the mania part of bi-polarism, there is (at least for me) some amount of obsessioning that goes on. (If Bill Shakespeare could just make up words to suit his needs, then I can too, dammit!) In fact, I had intended to write a whole series of music reviews of albums that came out in 2014. I even have extensive notes on one of them. But since I have the notes, I don't have to worry about forgetting what I wanted to say, and thus it can wait. The ideas for these more personal blogs seem more pressing, and also possibly fleeting, so here we are.

As is often the case, the idea or inspiration for how to say what I have to say came to me from a song. In this case, it is Limb by Limb by Phish. It's off their 1998 album The Story Of The Ghost. Most Phish fans will say all their studio works pale in comparison to the live jams, and of their studio albums, this is among the least liked. So, of course, it is my favorite of theirs. Not only that, taken as a whole artistic unit, it is probably my favorite album released between 1974 and 2002. (It was a rather low period for the album in those years, IMHO).

Anyway, the track Limb by Limb has many bits that I find exceptionally relatable, but I'm going to concentrate just on the chorus here. It reads:

Drop me off the Chinese Wall

And peel my fingers off the rim

I come unglued while in mid-air

And land to reform limb by limb

I think this describes exactly how what I have been going through in just four lines. Two lines, really. Maybe you can even boil it down to two words, unglued and reform. The functional part, though, the part that really helps to understand the process, is Limb by Limb. One step at a time is how you do it. Sometimes very, very small steps.

I've learned some important lessons recently. Part of what I've learned is that all those busy body know-it-all optimists that tell you to “just do it” are right. Sort of. What they are missing, at least for me, is specific instructions. That is what this post is in the end all about.

If you are anything like me, when you are in a depression, it is no exaggeration to say that EVERYTHING looks impossible. Nothing seems worth doing, nothing seems like it could possibly do any good, and most of it even seems undoable. What you are fighting the most is yourself and the excrement covered spectacles that you are seeing your life through. How can this attitude be changed?

I am living proof that it can change (at least in the short term. I'm sure I have a lot of work ahead of me to maintain it in the long term). However, I am not a writer of self help schlock, nor to I buy into hardly any of it at all. What I am about to reveal is what worked for me. I suspect it will work for many others, too, but who knows? I also know that I can't even begin to give you the whole story, that it is much much harder to get started than it appears to be here, and that everybody knows that Round Room is obviously the worst Phish album, period.

Really, the cover art is the best thing about this album. 

Here was my situation. My depression had contributed to me loosing yet another job, and I was living on the edge anyway. I had just recently learned that I had had a heart attack sometime in the past. This would explain why I had no stamina at all and would lose my breath after just a few seconds exertion. I had no self esteem nor confidence. I wasn't quite a hermit, but I was definitely pre-agoriphobic. I felt no sense of place or purpose. I hadn't created hardly anything in years, and worse yet had no ideas at all about how to fix any of it.

I essence, I only had to rebuild three things from scratch: my body, my mind, and my for lack of a better word, soul. To say the least, it was an overwhelming transformation I saw before me. That was in October. Today, less than 3 months later, things look much different. I have not fixed everything yet to be sure, but now it doesn't seem so daunting. I have made much progress.

For my body, I have lost 20 lbs and a few inches (!) round my belly. I can now exercise for about an hour with gym equipment, and I can lift some weights. On New Years Eve, I was able to dance for about 20 minutes, and could have gone on longer if the band hadn't quit. So, big improvements!

My mind: I have written several blog posts in the last month, and created three videos as part of an experiment in teaching myself video editing. I have even come up with a five year plan on how to start my own business. A lot has to happen first, but for the first time in my life I have an answer to “Where do you see yourself in five years?”

My “Soul”. I feel great. I have the confidence to imagine my business. I feel like I could be successful once I land a job. But beyond that, I am building an idea of who I am and where I fit.

Now, for the actual advice. How did I do any of this? One step at a time, limb by limb.

My first piece of advice is to recognize what you have done. Don't so much look at all the shit you haven't done. You know what you haven't done. But what you may be missing, what I was, is the acknowledgment of what you did you. Look, if you wash you dishes, or organize a book shelf, or give your shoulder to a friend in distress, then tell yourself so. Acknowledge that you did it, and give yourself a moment to enjoy that fact.

In order to maximize the likelihood of this acknowledgment, start keeping a list of things you want to do. Keep it simple at first, don't write down big long term goals like “lose 100 pounds” or “get a 50K job”. No, make it just a list for tomorrow, and make it concrete, things that YOU have to DO. Like, for example, make breakfast and take your pills. Those are the first things on my list every day. Then put what you actually want to do tomorrow, such as clean bedroom, do laundry, apply for three jobs, go to the store, whatever. The very last thing on your list should be to write the next day's list.

The beauty of the list is that it helps you to stay on track, but most importantly, it lets you cross things off. Every time you do cross something off is a chance for you to say, I did that! Great! Pat yourself on the back!

One of the hard things about this is that it seems too small to matter, and even if it did matter, it can be almost impossible to know what exactly to do. In essence, major depression totally messes with your ability to make decisions. If this describes you, my best bit of advice is to find ways to take the decisions out of your hands. Find deciders for you, and just do what they tell you to do for a bit.

There were a few times that I let this happen, and it has always been to my benefit recently. Because somebody told me to ask about my heart at a doctor's visit, I found out about my heart attack. My best choice then was to insist to my cardiologist that he get me into a rehab program, because I knew if left to my own devices I would never get off my ass. I also knew that if I had an appointment when I just had to be there, I could do that. Once in the rehab gym, all I had to do was follow directions.

Another time was when I was about to become homeless. Maybe I could go live with mother, maybe my grandmother, maybe my father. I really couldn't care any less at the time. I was at bottom, and had no higher cognitive abilities at all. I just told my mom to deal with it. I eventually was told that I would stay with my dad, and that there would be “rules”. Rather than be put off by the revelation, I was relieved. I knew that I could benefit from structure and supervision. I now keep things around me cleaner. I am doing laundry more often, and all my clothes get properly put away. I clean the bathrooms every week. I clean up in the kitchen right away, and a bunch of other things. I'm doing all these things because my dad wants them done, but I know that they are habits that will serve me well in the future.

After a week or two in his house, something occurred to me, and it struck me like a bolt. It was so profound that I printed it up in bold large font letters and hung it over my monitor, so I see it all the time. It is one of the best lessons I ever figured out on my own. The sign simply says this: Some things you have to care about simply because others care about them.

One of the best things my dad has done for me is to put me in charge of his e-Bay project. He inherited a few dozen never worn wrist watches and some other things two years ago. He hasn't had the time to sell them on e-Bay, and asked me to look into it. This project has allowed me to use writing skills, photography, and organization. It's also given me a lot to cross off of to do lists.

The last example of just following orders I want to mention is that real early on in this process, a friend of mine got real frustrated with my attitude. She told me to tell her every day three things that I did that day for myself. I forgot about it right away, of course, but she asked me the next day. After that, I was forced to think about things I had done each and every day for about two weeks. That was the start of the first step I mentioned way back up there. All these things happened because I was smart enough to see that for a time at least, I was much better off listening to other people's commands rather than my own.

My last bit of advice is to seek professional help. I really don't know how much of my recent improvement is from the exercise, from the doing of things, or from the anti-depressants I'm on. I'm sure each of those things have had some impact, so I can't discount the drugs at all. Be careful about what you let them put you on. Or, at least, monitor exactly what effects the drugs seem to be having, and if they are bad, then let somebody know! But that's later. First, make the call. If you have a doctor, get an appointment. If you don't, or you have no insurance, call the crisis center in your town and get into the system.

So, in summary, do things no matter how small. The best small thing is to make a list. Next, cross things off that list and KNOW that you have done something. And if you can't decide what exactly to do, find somebody that you trust and do whatever they tell you to do. After a bit, and in less time than you think, you will have come farther than you thought you could. While the journey is long, it probably won't seem as daunting. You will get better, step by step and you will reform, limb by limb. 

For part one, go to Cyclothymia

For part two, go to I Don't Know and I Don't Care 
For part three, go to I Get Up I Get Down.