bad egg
(source)
So the truth is, about a month ago, I was pretty depressed. I hated most things about myself, including my toes and other things I usually like. I was almost positive it was only a matter of weeks before all of my friends stopped talking to me. Everything felt overwhelming, including loading the dishwasher. I had a panic attack that lasted for HOURS. For two days, I lay on the couch watching Hulu, and feeling like if I moved, my fragile life might shatter into tiny fragments that would then embed themselves in the soles of my feet and cause infections. I didn’t really write about it, then, because I was embarrassed. And also because I was willing to bet that I’d never feel like writing again.
I am writing about it now in order to send an important message to myself and other people: you shouldn’t be embarrassed.
I don’t know what caused the depression (lots and lots of little things building up?). It fell on me, like a heavy piece of old furniture that’s been looming there in the corner for way too long, but no one wants to try to move it. It became immediately clear that I was terrible. That I had failed at everything. That I would continue to fail at everything, forever. There was all this math involved. And for the first time in my life, I understood it perfectly.
Let’s see…
Everything in the world=nothing. It sucks.
My goals+ my age + the chubbiness of my arms – irrelevant things I’m good at like cooking gumbo (the impressive accomplishments of everyone else)= I suck
My pathetic, scrabbling efforts to make something of my life X my utter lack of valuable skills/knowledge= yeah, the same thing. Sucking.
The things I should do before I think about having a baby+ the things I really want to do before I have a baby+the things I’m afraid I won’t be able to do after I have a baby(my total naivete about what it’s like to have a baby and what one is able to do and not do at that point)- the amount of time I have before I am no longer able to have a baby(the number of babies I might want to have if greater than 1)= sucking now and then sucking later, at being a mom, because I failed to get my stuff together before I had kids.
A pattern emerged through the fog of complicated equations. A simple, elegant pattern, that to the mathematical mind might have even been considered beautiful, for all its terribleness.
(the piece of furniture that fell on me. source)
And as I was hating myself, from the depths of the depression, I also felt crushingly guilty. Which then got mixed in with the hatred and the need to stare blankly at the screen of my laptop as the guys in Hot Tub Time Machine ran around trying to hit on girls while drunk in a ski lodge from the 80s. (How could that possibly be helpful?)
I have everything. I could list everything here, but it’d be really long. Summary: I have Bear, who I unironically, effortlessly believe to be my soulmate. I get to write ALL THE TIME, and writing is my favorite thing to do/I get paid to do things I love. I’m close with my family and they’re cool. I’m living in New York City, which is awesome. I am really not that bad looking. So what the hell?
Inevitable conclusion: I might be a bad egg.
I might just be biologically ill-suited for happiness. I might be a genetic mistake. I might be an accidental quirk resulting in an unfortunate and untenable set of neurological processes. What if I am never able to enjoy life the way normal people do? What if I’m constructed to self-destruct? Why are my brothers so normal and healthy? Why am I whining so much? Because! Because you’re destined to whine! Because you are broken!
I was sure I was a bad egg. Anyone else in my position would never be depressed. Anyone else in my position would have thin, graceful arms and a big white smile and a sunny disposition. When she got moody, for a few minutes, it would be because of her period. And then she’d perk right up again and go out to buy ingredients for the gumbo she was so proud of perfecting. The gumbo she’d INVENTED, by the way. With collard greens. And sausage.
(me, as I should be. note the arm. source)
Bear was sad. He didn’t know what to do about me. I was staring into space. I was nodding a lot without verbal elaboration. Nothing worked.
One day, he was trying to comfort me, and he pulled me onto his lap at the table. I stood up, picked up a glass, and threw it at the wall. I think I said, “No.” He held me for another minute, then went to get the vacuum.
That night, I told him everything.
“I’m depressed,” I said. “I’m scared.” I told him about being a bad egg. About failing at everything. About not making enough money and not being a big enough success. About being dumb enough to think I could follow my dreams. About being guilty for having everything and being thankful for nothing. I talked for a long time. I was using all of these mindless common phrases like “follow my dreams,” because I couldn’t think of a better way to say things. It was incredibly embarrassing. So I said that too. “This is humiliating,” I said, often. “This isn’t about you,” I said a lot, employing the mindless common phrase, because I didn’t want him to think that any of it was his fault. Because often when I am sad, Bear thinks that what is really happening is that he is failing to make me happy.
But he just listened. And then he said if I never accomplished anything, that would be totally fine. He really didn’t care. But that I needed to stop being so mean to myself.
I talked to a few friends. I told them I was depressed. I told them I was a bad egg and I was guilty. I felt like I was confessing.
They told me about the times they’d been depressed. The years they’d been on medication. The times they thought their lives were over. They told me I had plenty of time to succeed, and that maybe I’d succeed in unexpected ways. That people succeed (in both expected and unexpected ways) even after they have babies. Maybe I should stop trying to control myself so strictly. Maybe I should stop being so mean to myself.
And then one day soon after all that, I didn’t feel depressed anymore. As though someone– actually, I think it was Bear and the friends I talked to– had heaved that stupid old piece of furniture off me, and I was free to move again. I sat up and shook my head a few times. I was suspicious and wary. What had happened? I waited for the darkness to come crashing back down. It didn’t. Days went by and it didn’t.
It still hasn’t.
It’s seeped back, around the edges, some days. But that’s all.
Maybe it’s a trick. Maybe it’s waiting for the moment when I least expect it. But I kind of think that maybe I did something to it. Maybe when I admitted that I was a mess, that I was falling apart, something shifted. I faced the darkness. I claimed it, instead of just letting it sit there on top of me. I said aloud the worst things I thought about myself, and admitted to the worst things I could feel. And, almost like life is secretly something out of a fantasy series where there is magic and evil curses and corsets that make your boobs look amazing but are also somehow comfortable and no one ever has to poop, the darkness lost its power over me, and subsided.
(i would wear this one. source)
These days I’m making a lot of gumbo.
I’m looking over my shoulder a lot, too. I don’t think it’s done with me. But I won this one. And this was the worst one.
And I just shared it on the internet. So I’m hoping that will count for something, too.
And guys, Hot Tub Time Machine is not a good movie, even when you’re in a state of mental perfection. In case you were wondering. Since I’m pretty sure you were.
* * *
Not that I’m just making you make me feel less alone, like I’ve totally done before, but because I always like to hear about your experiences (and OK, it’s cool to feel less alone), tell me a bad egg story! Did you ever think you might be one? Or have you never felt like this and can share your secret with the world so that we can all copy you?
Unroast: Today I love my breasts. They’re comforting.
Kate on November 30th 2011 in Uncategorized
Kate responded on 01 Dec 2011 at 1:35 pm #
Note: Remember how, in these comments, I asked the universe to send me someone who knew how to thread comments? Her name is Hannah.
And OK, maybe she was reading these comments all along. But still. It counts.
So that was awesome. A public thank you, Hannah!!
But the sad news is, I think this particular blog might be resistant to that particular change, in the end. I might just need to pick a new theme and start over one day. But hooray for Hannah!
Heather responded on 01 Dec 2011 at 4:02 pm #
I think you’ve helped a lot of people by writing so honestly about this. It’s a dark feeling that many feel we alone carry. Thanks for helping build bonds around it.
Kate responded on 01 Dec 2011 at 4:16 pm #
@Ezz
I definitely notice.
P Flooers responded on 01 Dec 2011 at 5:48 pm #
Many things help. One helpful thing is surprising: saturated fat, and lots of it. But without the sugar. So, a big meaty sandwich. Toast with MORE butter. Salmon dripping in garlic butter. Roast beef with mashed potatoes with cream. A Reuben. Shrimp dipped in hot butter. A bowl of olive oil, french bread, an orgy. You get the idea.
A lot of important vitamins and hormonal precursors are carried in good healthy saturated FAT. (Praise All That’s Holy!) And most of us don’t get enough of it.
Seriously. For real. Eat the damn fat!
Kate responded on 01 Dec 2011 at 5:50 pm #
@P Flooers
This is the best advice ever. No problem! I’m on it!
kate-in-cleveland responded on 01 Dec 2011 at 5:58 pm #
Oh my bad egg time – I was just about finished with graduate school in Chicago. And then these things happened, in this order: 1) my boyfriend decided he no longer loved and definitely did not want to be with me; 2) i could not get any job in Chicago that would have supported me enough financially to live on my own, and at the time, I had no one there that I could be roomates with; 3) I had to move back to Cleveland; 4) I could only get temp jobs in Cleveland; and 5) I had to finish writing my Master’s thesis long distance.
Any time I wasn’t working one of these terrible jobs, I laid on my old bunk bed in my old bedroom with the lights off and was silent. I didn’t talk to anyone at any of these temp jobs. And it stopped, but it took three months.
It is such a good thing to talk about this – it was around that time that my brother finally looked into going to a counselor, because he would have days where he would just take to his room too!
Amy responded on 01 Dec 2011 at 8:04 pm #
I was there very recently myself. I found out a month ago that I’m pregnant. Everyone rejoices when they hear this news, everyone but me. I have no reason not to be happy about this. Stable home life, no financial concerns, supportive (and also excited) husband, good health, not even any morning sickness to make me miserable. I should be thrilled. I’m not. I had no idea that I would feel this way. We consciously made the decision to stop birth control and “see what happened”. I didn’t fully grasp that this is what could happen.
I feel like I’m already an awful mother. I’m terrified that I have lost all control over my life. Everything I do has to be looked at through the baby lens. I feel fairly confident that I will be totally in love with the baby but even that total all consuming love absolutely scares the shit out of me, and yet the possibility of not feeling that way also scares the shit out of me. I have a father who does not have the emotions of a normal parent, doesn’t feel that sort of love. This no doubt has impacted me.
I feel like I’m ruining this experience for my husband and my mother because I don’t want to talk about it obsessively. I want to know that I am more than a mother. I don’t want this to be my defining identity. I want to be a mom, I want to be a professional, I want to be pretty and now I’m not sure I will do any of these well because I want them all. I feel vain for worrying about how much weight I will gain and how log it will take me to lose it. I feel selfish for being more worried about my own sense of identity than being a good mother. I feel broken for not feeling as excited or more excited than everyone else.
This all came to a head last week when I was home for the holiday and was surrounded by very excited people. I’ve felt better since I’ve been back to work but I know fully it’s because I’m distracted by the business of life and work. I’m trying harder not to be so worried and to go easier on myself. It’s a challenge. I feel like women will read this a judge me, but I almost don’t care anymore. The more I talk about it, like you, the better I feel.
Thanks for sharing, it also helped me feel better.
Joni responded on 01 Dec 2011 at 9:12 pm #
Just read your post after a not so great day and cried. Sometimes I feel like my furniture doesn’t ever move, it just shifts a little and the weight decreases just a tiny bit. I have good days too, like you are having now, and I try to make the most of them but sometimes out of nowhere the furniture decides its time to be back. I have my own “Bear” and I just sent him the link to your post hoping that he will get a better understanding of all the things I sometimes cannot put into words. Thanks for sharing :)!
P Flooers responded on 01 Dec 2011 at 9:43 pm #
@Kate, I forgot to add: Brie, omelettes with sour cream, guacamole in a big bowl with a spoon, cream cheese all over everything –maybe warmed up. OH, I know! Crab in melted cream cheese. And don’t forget coconut oil. And chocolate is full of fat (obvs). There ya go!
You know, just making a list of fat food is rather cheerful.
Another surprising thing that can sometimes help: reading children’s books to yourself. There’s a lot of good fundamental life perspective in children’s books. A lot of what actually matters.
It’s December, Christmas Card Swap update, Wind energy…. « coffeetableconversations responded on 01 Dec 2011 at 10:12 pm #
[…] just read a post titled “Bad Egg” at Eat the Damn Cake and if you suffer from depression and you do not know how to explain […]
Laura responded on 02 Dec 2011 at 8:53 am #
It’s funny (in an ironic, non ha-ha kind of way) that depression has the ability to make us feel oh-so-isolated, while just the sheer number of comments and “Me, too!’s” here show how that wrong idea is.
That big piece of furniture lives in my house, too. It comes and goes, but it’s been either stalking me or directly on top of me for about 6 months now. I’ve got a roommate who cares about me unconditionally, but I get to the point where I think, “she doesn’t want to hear about the same damn thing again…”.
Of course, talking about it, getting it out in the open, making it seem less overwhelming and scary — that’s what helps. The light of day sometimes can help me see that I’m not as awful a person as my mind likes to make me believe. The darkness of holding it inside — thinking that I shouldn’t burden someone with the same old stupid problem, that, perhaps even, I’m not worth the time or energy someone would have to spend listening to me — makes it multiply. The bright light seems to help dry it up and wither a little bit, though.
Thanks for writing so candidly about this. It really does help to remember that I’m not alone.
Annie responded on 03 Dec 2011 at 12:25 am #
Thank you for writing this. My boyfriend (who I also frequently call Bear, oddly enough) frequently suffers from depression and is suffering from the large-furniture-crush right now. I always find it humbling (not sure that is the right word choice?) and comforting to read about other people’s bouts with depression. It reminds me that he isn’t alone and that I’m not either and that there is a light at the end of the tunnel.
Anyway, thank you again and (even though this is my first time commenting so I’m kind of just creepin’ in out of the blue) so glad to hear you’re feeling better about things these days. 🙂
JessB responded on 03 Dec 2011 at 4:09 am #
Oh gosh, I feel like I’m a bad egg all the time. I have a thing that I’m the only single gal amongst my group of friends. I think it’s because I’m a bad egg. People just don’t want to be with me.
And just the other day, I got out of the car when my mum was screaming at me, and it wasn’t safe for me to still be there. But now I feel like I’m a bad egg-daughter.
I feel like a rotten person sometimes.
But then I remember that I’m actually a good person, I care about other people, and that I will find someone soon, or they will find me. I’m not a rotten egg, sometimes things are just a bit rotten around us.
I’m really glad you got through it Kate, I’m so proud that you didn’t give up and you kept working through it. Loads of love.
Beth responded on 04 Dec 2011 at 9:52 am #
A few days ago I (finally) wrote about my last month of curled-up-on-the-couchness. A major school project totally stymied me–something that rarely happens–and that, of course, turned in to how can I not be satisfied with my life, as I get to study and do exactly what I want etc etc etc.
Oddly enough, explaining it all to my wonderful boyfriend–who listened, concerned but somewhat unable to do anything from the other side of the country–helped bring it all back under control. While I always prickle at the “me male, tell me problems, I provide answers,” at that point it was exactly what I needed. Just talking about it brought things back into perspective.
But no. Obviously, you’re not alone.
tirzahrene responded on 04 Dec 2011 at 8:28 pm #
I find that having a pound of bacon for dinner helps too. Uh-huh.
But yeah. I have the super annoying brain chemistry that keeps me generally the OPPOSITE of depressed – I have a hard time not seeing the good things if I try – and I still have a piece of me that’s always terrified that I’m broken, that I’m not okay, that someday my awesome people will realize I don’t actually have a thing to offer and they’ll leave me far behind. It doesn’t help that I’m recently divorced, lost my stepkids of ten years’ loving, and I’m a student – I feel like I’m back at square one only ten years older and with nothing to show for it. I’m single and childless where I’ve never wanted to be either. I hold onto my faith that my awesome people prove that I’m awesome too and I do my best to OWN myself so no one can ever catch me off guard or unawares and hurt me.
And I eat bacon, because it’s good for my soul. And the good days come around again. (Actually, for me, it’s more in timelines of blood sugar swings.)
Kate responded on 05 Dec 2011 at 2:29 pm #
@tirzahrene
Seems like a good time to have happy brain chemistry! I will wait until your life gets back on track before I attempt to steal your brain 🙂
But seriously, I’m so sorry about the situation and I hope your life improves soon and you find a way to maintain your relationship with your stepkids.
I’m pretty sure your awesome people think you’re awesome. People who have your attitude almost always strike me as awesome.
tirzahrene responded on 07 Dec 2011 at 3:37 pm #
@Kate, thanks. I keep in touch with my stepkids (ex-stepkids? whatever. my babies) as I can. I lucked out getting people that fabulous for my stepkids, they’ve all been so good to me.
I’m pretty sure my awesome people think I’m awesome too, and they’re generally smart about people so I’m believing them. My life rocks in general, there’s just some rough stuff too.
Sage responded on 08 Dec 2011 at 12:28 am #
Thats funny. (well its not, but let me explain.). I’ve been reading your blog for awhile now and I was always thinking “Kate is so cool, she was homeschooled and is all creative and is writing for a living and she’s actually really beautiful because she doesn’t think she is, and she lives in New York. New York.” And basically my whole opinion of you from reading your blog was that you’re awesome and kicking ass at your life. And I was thinking to myself, simultaneously “God, I’m so unimportant and I have a blog and no one reads it and my boyfriend never goes on hikes with me and we live in a small town and I could never make money writing and why THE HELL DON’T I LIVE IN NEW YORK!!!”
Anyway, I think its funny because our perceptions of ourselves are so different from what everyone else thinks of us.
PS. I was kinda unschooled too. I believe fully in the philosophy and found school restricting, but unfortunately I don’t come from a home that was particularly good at nurturing a learning adolescent, so I moved out at sixteen, and now I’m just living. Or something.
Anyway, I love your blog and I’m happy you post so often.
PPS. How do you make a living writing? Its almost like an urban myth. Or the legend of the successful scribe. hehehe
Dawn responded on 09 Dec 2011 at 5:10 pm #
Dear Kate,
I think your arms are awesome. I come back time and again to see what you’ve got to say…because I enjoy it. Your balance is outstanding.
And I don’t think you are a bad egg. I think those are called “devil’d eggs”. You are far more colorful…like an Easter egg.
Kate responded on 09 Dec 2011 at 5:14 pm #
@Dawn
I love that you just called me an Easter egg. I’ll take it!
Miriam responded on 21 Dec 2011 at 10:14 pm #
Thank you Kate for sharing this with us. I thank you as someone who has experienced depression, panic attacks and the shame that comes with having those feelings. Some days I feel like there should be a t-shirt for people who are experiencing what they are. Maybe the more awareness there is, the less shame there would be? Who knows. Then again no one could possible want to hang around a depressed person. Anyways, I related to your post totally and for that I thank you.
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