A notebook of nutgrafs

Optimizing my life for depression

I had to tell my boss that I am depressed.

It took me several minutes of staring at my text conversation with him, laying in bed stomach-down and propped up on my elbows, to decide it was something I had to do.

The message was written, erased, and rewritten a few times. Did I really need to tell him all this? If the last several days of my life were anything to go by — not being able to leave my prone position on the bed or couch; forgetting to eat until my stomach cramped from hunger; unwilling to do anything that would make me feel better, like going on a walk or calling a friend; staring at the wall with a pit in my stomach at the thought of stepping in to the office — then yes. Yes, I absolutely did need to tell him.

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Phew. A thumbs-up react. We live to see another day.

I closed my eyes, thanked the corporate gods that be, and shrugged on my work-appropriate outfit from Gap Factory.

Disclosing mental illness in life and work

I'm pretty open with my mental health with most people. I don't keep secrets, and I don't have a strong sense of self-preservation — this blog is evidence of that.

I joke about my depression, anxiety, and neurodivergent tendencies easily with my friends (almost all of whom suffer at least one similar affliction). I tell myself this is because I believe we should all be less ashamed to talk about mental health, but I think humor just makes life easier to bear for me.

My parents are of the generation that doesn't tell the boss anything.

(Actually, they don't seem to tell anyone at work anything. I shared with them once that I knew a coworker with the same position made a bit more than me. Their first reaction was to be appalled that their little girl was being underpaid, but then, "Wait, how do you know that?" Well, mom and dad, I explained, Gen Z workers tend to be more transparent with one another so things like pay gaps are less inclined to happen. "Do NOT tell your coworkers how much you make. That's a terrible idea."

A few weeks later, I let them know I was offered a raise. "That's great! What did you say?" Well, mom and dad, I explained, I listed out the work I do on a daily basis, and I added that I would like my compensation to be more in line with that of my coworkers. "Oh. We're glad you got a raise! But you really shouldn't let your boss know that you know how much money your coworkers make.")

As someone who has flirted with anti-work ideology, I get where they're coming from. My boss doesn't deserve to know my personal information or about my life outside of work, but the conflict eventually arises when that life outside of work starts affecting my work.

He was understanding, told me to keep him updated on whether I need anything from him. He's not always the best manager, but he gets the mental health part right.

I suspect that I have been in positions where disclosing my mental health has lost me a job. Luckily, in this case, it did not.

Living with this pesky roommate that is depression

I've had to adapt a lot of my life to cohabitate with depression. It reminds me of what it felt like to learn my college dorm roommates' tics, adapting to the things I need to warily tiptoe around rather than push.

Some of it is more tangible:

But a lot of the changes are more oriented in giving myself grace.

I've found a lot of comfort in fanfiction, lately. Instead of listening to audiobooks or any of the many (many) unread books on my shelf, I download another AO3 work as an epub and open the Books app.

A few weeks ago, I went to my therapist and told her, somewhat desperately, that something must be wrong with me because all I want to do is read Heated Rivalry fanfiction! My therapist, who is also a Heated Rivalry fan, asked why I think I want to read fanfic instead of doing my other hobbies. I floundered for a second, but we landed on some reasons that actually make a whole lot of sense:

In a nutshell: Comfort, security, reliability.

Why, my therapist challenged, should I feel ashamed for seeking those feelings out when my brain thinks its in crisis mode?

Well, Mrs. Therapist, it sounds rather silly for me to be so worried when you put it that way.

Maybe it'd help if I hate myself less

A common thread among many of my posts is insecurity and lack of confidence. If I fail at a skill, I wasn't cut out for it. When people leave, I look inward.

Depression, for me, equals apathy. I don't burst into tears or become an anxious mess. I lay around and feel guilty about it. I forget to eat and feel guilty about it. I drop my self-care routines and feel guilty about it. Each bout of guilt pushes me further inside of myself.

I'm not really sure how to get myself out of these bouts of depression. It usually just sort of... eventually ebbs.

Burnout from work isn't helping, I'm sure.

Being more gentle with myself is getting a little easier because I am an evidence-based being, and I do feel the rest helping. After giving in to the comfort for a while, I can trudge to wash some dishes, do a load of laundry, take a shower, or make a more substantial meal.

Answering the phone often fills me with dread, but I usually feel better after talking to family or friends.

There is no grand resolution here. The disclosure to my boss doesn't make it better, but it does make it a bit easier. I'm slowly learning to live with that roommate who likes to loom and scowl at me from the corner.

🥜📊

P.S. A gift for the Heated Rivalry loons who stuck around.

My favorite fics, in no particular order:

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