Swallow This

So. I started a food blog. It’s here if you feel like reading it, and currently, I’m giving it a little more time and effort than I’m spending on this platform.

The reasons for this are twofold, really. One, while I really enjoy thinking about, talking about, and cooking food, I realize that most of the people who read this (or maybe I should say most of the people who still read this) don’t really give a shit, or simply prefer the good ol’ dick and fart jokes on which I made my name. And I don’t blame them. I’ve been writing this in one form or another for close to 10 years, so regardless of how little time I spend here now, a format change at this point would be ridiculous. Best to take the food talk elsewhere and keep a dedicated space for it. Make the jump if you want. If you don’t, that’s fine with me.

Two, even though I realize that most people I know don’t really care about the food posts, I feel like it’s necessary for me to write them because they’re one of the few things keeping my head above water right now. I’ve seen it coming for awhile, been able to sense it just around the corner, and although it’s not really here here, not just yet, I’ve got another major depressive bout to contend with, and sometimes the thought of writing anything that isn’t as immediate as the food I just put into my mouth fills me with exhaustion and dread. It’s as if I don’t know what to say if I’m not saying it about food. Believe me, I’ve tried. I’ve written and deleted so many fucking posts in the past few weeks (including this one), and there was a point in every single one of them where I veered way off track and just plummeted into a dark, negative space with no way back. If there’s anything I’ve learned in the past 10 years, it’s how to stay on topic and keep engaging people while I’m doing it (usually with the aforementioned dick and fart jokes). That’s something I’ve largely lost the ability to do lately, which is a lot of why I’m writing less.

Because being depressed is what it is, there’s not a lot I can do to avoid it. Like I said, I’ve seen this coming for awhile. I’ve had the familiar symptoms. I’ve been digging in and trying to stave them off for just a little while longer, a couple more weeks, just let me get through this other thing and then you can feel free to wallop me good, okay? Kick my ass, just…later.

But I can’t do it forever. It’s as if I’m perched on the precipice of a black hole and there are no handsome movie star astronauts to pull me back. While this will most definitely suck, at least this time seems a little different from the last time and I suppose that’s sort of interesting from an objective standpoint. Last time, I identified the primary feeling as sadness. That sadness affected the way I saw and interacted with the rest of the world and I was worried that I would not be able to continue functioning in a normal way because I was too sad.

This time, though, while I guess there is some sadness, mostly I don’t feel much of anything at all. I feel hollow, actually, and while I was walking around the other day, I briefly imagined that someone could reach an arm into my mouth and drop a stone down my throat and it would fall for ages before going plunk like a solitary object into a deep well. It feels like I don’t contain anything. I have nothing to contribute. I have no energy to spend. Doing anything that isn’t sitting quietly by myself or staring blankly at my bedroom wall feels like scraping the hollowness inside of me to find some wherewithal to participate, and because of this, simple things like talking to a cashier or going to work or writing about my fucking day are fucking exhausting. What’s even more exhausting – not to mention boring – is telling people about it, which is why I sometimes wish that depression had more of a physical aspect so people could just look at me and be like “ohhhh, right.” Currently, the only physical manifestations (or exacerbations, depending on how you want to look at it) are fatigue and vertigo, but based on that criteria, couldn’t any tired old drunk just be depressed?

I’m not sure why food seems to be the only topic that can keep me on track, or why just talking about it makes me feel something like contentment, but since this is the case, I’m choosing to go with it and follow whatever makes me feel less shitty. If nothing else, at least there are more leftovers and baked goods in the house.


(I am not asking for comments, or support, or whatever else people feel obligated to provide. I mean, do what you want, I’m just not fishing for it. And please do not suggest vitamin D, exercise, crafting, support groups, or the other things you heard might help. I’ve done what I can and I know what works and this is something I just have to wait out, no matter how interminable the wait may seem. This is not the place to tell me what to do. Thanks.)

About erineph

I'm Erin. I have tattoos and more than one cat. I am an office drone, a music writer, and an erstwhile bartender. I am a cook in the bedroom and a whore in the kitchen. Things I enjoy include but are not limited to zombies, burritos, Cthulhu, Kurt Vonnegut, Keith Richards, accordions, perfumery, and wearing fat pants in the privacy of my own home.
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