In the spirit of being truthful and authentic, it's been a terrible week. I just can't seem to shake this overwhelming feeling of the blues. I've been fighting it for a couple of weeks — if not months — to be honest, but this week it just seemed to come to a raging head. I think it really kicked in when I formally had to cancel the annual Faber Family Christmas weekend that I always host. I understand and am certainly on board with the restrictions for large gatherings to help keep everyone safe, but still, it was a devastating gut punch.
Getting ready for that weekend always helps me get through the anniversary of my mom's death on December 6, and I make a point to celebrate her by keeping family traditions alive with baking, cooking, and decorating. Like everything else this year, things will be different. And I know it's not forever and I'm not the only one in this boat, but it still doesn't negate the sadness or loneliness I feel when I think about it.
Then a few days later, a memory from three years ago popped up on my Facebook. It was a picture of my dad lying on the couch. He had looked a little cold and lonely, so I'd tucked a gigantic comforter around him, as well as my old doll "Jason" and a stuffed little Charlie Brown, so he'd have some company. And the smile on his face made me miss him — but more than that, it made me miss the fun we used to have. Every day we would laugh. Every single day, there was some sort of shenanigans going on. God, I miss that.
Then it hit me. I've stopped laughing. I used to be someone who laughed all the time, and most often I was the one doing the entertaining to make others laugh. These past few months, that's just disappeared, and I can probably count on one hand the number of times I've truly laughed since all this began. Sure, I've had some chuckles, but for someone who spent the majority of her day laughing and smiling, this is a huge change — and a huge blow to my mental wellbeing.
I didn't really make that connection until that picture of my dad showed up on my timeline. I feel like most of the time, I'm just faking it or forcing it when I do laugh or smile, and I don't like it. I never used to be that perpetually sad or cranky and cantankerous person. People could always count on me for a smile and a laugh. Not so much anymore, I'm afraid.
I feel bad because I know that people expect that from me. I know they look to me to cheer them up or to say something motivating or inspiring, but right now, I've got nothing. I've been faking it all day, every day at work. A huge part of my job is to motivate my clients — mainly kids and young adults — to take steps toward their goals, and part of me feels like I'm letting them down. Not purposely — I'm giving them all I have — but admittedly it's not what it used to be. And it bothers me because I will give, give, give until one day I wake up and realize the well has run dry and I'm lying beside it begging for water.
Let's just say my normal bucket of sunshine has sprung a gigantic hole, and at this point, nothing I try seems to plug the leak. I have been trying. I'm usually pretty good at pulling myself out of a bluesy period, but so far I've been striking out left, right, and centre. I love to take long walks, and I find that's the single thing that gets me going again. Unfortunately, my physical wellbeing has sort of mirrored my mental wellbeing lately.
My joints, especially my ankles, ache on a good day — aging and old injuries suck. Lately, they've all been on fire. So long walks are out, which just makes me sadder and a little distraught.
God bless my sister. She knows I'm in a rut and is doing everything she can to be there and help me through, despite her own exhaustion. We text all the time, and lately our Skype sessions have gone from a few times a week to almost nightly. She knows how much I love her little dog Mazie, so she'll hold the wee thing up to the camera to give me virtual kisses, which usually puts a genuine smile on my face.
I decided to treat myself to a "date night" on Friday. I made some barbequed ribs and a fresh salad, then poured myself a glass of white wine and actually sat at the kitchen table to eat it. You know I lit a candle or two. Usually one glass of wine leads to another and then some spontaneous dancing, and I was so hoping to find some spunk. I love to dance. It always makes me feel better, both mentally and physically.
Instead, I ended up running an Epsom salts bath with lavender, surrounding the tub with candles, and belting out 80s love ballads. Between you and me, I think Lionel Richie missed out not asking me to sing backup on "Truly," because I rocked it. Although it would have been hard to take a full bathtub as a prop on tour, and I probably would have been a bit uncomfortable onstage buck naked. I'm a rather shy girl, don't you know.
Thinking about those times did make me smile, and I got out of the tub in a much better mood than when I went in. Music really is good for the soul. I nestled under my comforter in a clean pair of snuggly jammies and fell asleep to music for the first time since 1980. I needed that sleep.
I'm not telling you all of this to garner sympathy — far from it. I'm telling this story because I think it's important for people to know that they are not alone in their struggles. I once had a friend call me the "happiest person he'd ever met" and I wear that moniker with pride. But the truth is, sometimes even the happiest people struggle. Sometimes, life overwhelms us too. Sometimes we get the blues, and when we get them, we get a damn good case of them.
I know I will get past this. I have no doubts. Don't fight it. Let it happen. Let the emotions exist. Reflect upon it. Soak in a steaming hot bathtub and belt out 80s love songs. Do whatever you need to do to help fill your bucket. And if you don't think you can patch that leak and fill it on your own, then reach out for help.
Most of all, take care of yourself. I spent the day on the couch just resting — no television, hardly any screen time or social media. I closed my computer and decided the work I had to do could wait. I was more important. Resting was more important.
Now that I'm feeling a little spunkier, I think I'm going to go practice a duet with Lionel. I'm still holding out hope for that telephone call. Honestly, I even have my own dance routines. It would be an amazing show. What does he have to lose? I'm waiting, Mr. Richie. Call me, Babe. We'd be famous...