I’m currently in the “anxiety and irritability” portion of our program, but make no mistake, I’m on my way upward if slowly. Depression just really fucking sucks all around but at least I can see a way out of it, if long and slow.
I’ve been showing this to everybody. If you haven’t read it yet, it’s like that. Yes. She nails it to the fucking wall.
Let’s see, let’s see, what news. The festival is over. Anytime I ever feel like spearheading a nine day event again, in particular when my availability is limited, do us all a favor and check me in. I’m officially certifiable for going forward with that and expecting different results.
That’s not to say it wasn’t without its moments of enjoyment. There were even some moments of outright fun (like blowing the grounds up…). And, none of it could have gone over without the help of my friends who were also my staff. And, to the performers and merchants who made it more than just a really pretty vacant lot.
But you see, a depressive crash hit me right square in the middle of it all. And with it came the “what the hell is the point?” described in the link above (seriously, GO READ IT). And so it means even more than it ordinarily would that those whom I could count on, stepped up and held things together while I tried holding me together. With the crash came the bitter disappointment of such low turnout, and by the time the second weekend rolled around, well, you had one elf ready to just throw in the towel and stay in bed. Which I pretty much did, on Saturday.
I can’t really state just how much of myself I end up pouring into things like this, so it’s hard not to take it personally when it falls miles short of expectation. So to everyone who said, “Mistletoe, this was a great event,” you made me cry. Which is a good thing because you got to my partially-frozen (due to the depression) heart and really made a difference. THAT, is the payoff I get for doing stuff like this.