SOMEONE BE AS MAD AT THIS AS I AM.

Kristen Bell IS a goddamn goddess, though…

I went to CVS today and their magazine rack was like, “Hey, you haven’t felt super bad about yourself in a while. Want us to fix that for ya?”

I SURE AS SHIT DO, CVS! Not only that, I will happily pay for the privilege!

Also, yes, that is definitely what every woman I know wears to the gym. Forkin’ NAILED it. 🙄

Greasy like Sunday morning…

I called a Lyft to take me to Federal Donuts.

I think I just got fatter.

Cognitive dissonance runs in the family.

My mother: “You really should watch your weight — too much salt and sugar will kill you.”

 

Also my mother: “Here’s a link to a bunch of pumpkin-flavored shit on sale at Williams Sonoma.”

 

👍🏼

“Whatever. I’m getting cheese fries.”

So, hey, ever get depressed about your weight and just think “Fuck it” and order a pizza AND cheese fries?

Ahem… Yeah, me, neither. I was just asking. Fucking ridiculous, right? What kind of dipshit-ass fake adult would do something THAT stupid…? *cough*

This needs more science.

One of the things I hate most about depression is… OK, fine, I COULD be. I’ll allow it. But has anyone considered that everything actually IS boring and shitty, and that staying in bed IS, in fact, the solution?

It merits investigation, is all I’m saying.

A fundamental flaw in the system

FAR too much “self care” requires getting out of bed, which defeats the whole idea.

Oh, right. ACTUAL self care. Shit.

“Ugh, what is WRONG with me?!”

“The inevitable and familiar consequences of not taking care of yourself in the ways you know you need to?”

“…Oh, BALLS.”

I guess I have some things to do tomorrow. FINE. 🙄

Time for a new OS

I’ve posted about this before, but what’s SUPER fun about depression is all the ways it looks that I didn’t know about before I saw doctors for it. And apparently in ME, it looks a lot like being an exhausted, lazy asshole. And since I frequently AM an exhausted lazy, asshole, it’s hard to differentiate.

So basically any time I’m tired I get anxious that I’m depressed, and then I can’t sleep, which is just goddamn delightful.

And I’m still not convinced I even HAVE depression. I feel like there’s a diet or a vitamin I haven’t tried yet that would just fix me right up, and my doctors are just throwing pills at me because that’s what doctors do for middle-aged, middle-class white women. Maybe all I need is, like, less gluten and more St. John’s Wort or whatever the shit.

Human brains and bodies are stupid and obsolete. I demand an upgrade.

Bitch better pay that bill.

My stepmother left a 5-word comment on my Facebook post, which led to me contacting my therapist to request an extra session.

So…that seems perfectly healthy…