I once had depression a few years ago during my second year of college, before I started dancing.
I saw a therapist through my old job's EAP program for three free sessions. She helped me understand what therapists do for a living. It must be exhausting listening to people cry about their problems. She dug up a lot of bad memories from my childhood (even though I don't think I had a bad childhood) and concluded that I had depression in one session. The next two sessions I spent trying to convince her I didn't need pills to make my sadness and self-hatred go away.
I was just growing up, learning the hard way how to be totally responsible for my own actions. What really set me off was getting an F in my calculus class and a D in another class, and a C- in another. I had never done so shitty in school before. I had no idea how to handle failure or how to recover from it. I had practice making mistakes during a song in band class, and the way to handle it was to just keep playing.
But failing classes and making no money at my restaurant job seemed like failures at life, something to take more seriously than a silly band song. Well, I took it too seriously. I was so disappointed with myself, my failures were all I could think about.
What really snapped me out of it was my friend at the restaurant. She's a year younger than me, but more grown up in other ways. She was just as stressed out as me, but she relieved her stress through anger, unlike my tears. One day I was crying in the break room after getting yelled at for being slow, saying my life sucked and she heard me and snapped, "your life sucks because you don't DO anything about it!"
That made me cry even more because she was totally right. I was wasting my time complaining.
I looked at the past few posts in my blog, and they remind me of the time I got so down about my bad grades. I have been feeling so down about making hardly anything last week and I took it too personal. I ate a whole pie like Sookie (the girl from True Blood) did when her grandma died. I eat fattening foods the same way an alcoholic drinks away their sorrows.
NOT GOOD if I still wanna strip. I'm not 18 anymore so that pie went straight to my ass and thighs, my body's new hiding spot for cellulite.
So, in spite of all my pie-eating and whining about my failure as a stripper, I ordered the Brazil Butt Lift workout program. For a few months I had been watching the infomercials on mute (because I can't STAND the sound of commercials) while unwinding after work, enjoying the 30 minutes of sexy booty footage.
I figured it's time for a new workout. My buns of steel DVD crapped out on me when I tried to copy it, so I need a new video anyway. I know I'll feel better once I start getting into it. I already feel better knowing the kit is on its way. I think I'm gonna go celebrate with a cherry pie that way I'm nice and fat for my "before" picture... Just kidding.
I can already hear customers complimenting my body 3 weeks from now.
GOD DAMN! LOOK AT THAT ASS!
And my super sexy co-worker with the most gorgeous tits going, "YOUR ASS SHOULD BE ILLEGAL, BITCH!"
God, I love her. I really do love my job, that's why I haven't quit. Time to harden my shell and do as my mom told me, "keep on truckin."