andiamo

A few days ago, a retweeted comment flashed through my Twitter stream and caught my eye. Its author was someone I’d never heard of, and the message read:

“If you broke your leg, you’d go to the hospital. If you have depression you need to get help. #sunlight”

I retweeted it instantly, but it took me a couple more hours to investigate further, when that line wouldn’t get out of my head. It turned out to be one in a string of PSA-style messages imploring those suffering from depression to be public about it, to not hide it from friends and family, to not be ashamed by it, because that shame can be devastating.

“We live in a society where depression, WAY too often, is seen as just a mood or a feeling. Or if it is diagnosed, depression is seen as something to be ashamed of. A dirty secret. A hidden infection. That shame, of course, makes it worse. Makes the person with the disease feel like an outcast. Compounds the problem.”

I’ve dealt with depression before, most recently when I was working at a job that left me feeling so utterly downtrodden that I sought help from a psychologist and even took anti-depressants before finally feeling strong enough to quit. I’ve known people, some very close to me, who have been bed-ridden at times with depression. I’ve also known others, also very close to me, who regularly said they didn’t believe in depression, like it was the tooth fairy.
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In less than a week, I’ll turn 40.

I’m leaving for France on Wednesday, and I’m as excited about this trip as I’ve been for any in my whole life. Still, I know when I get home, I’ve got a bit of hard work ahead of me.

This whole “aging” thing is doing a fair job of catching up with me – it has for years, really, so the fact that I’m turning an age that ends in a zero doesn’t mean I’m going to feel any different than I do right now. And yet? It seems like a good time to have a come-to-jesus talk with myself.

I’ve never been one to make New Year’s resolutions, as they seem like they’re destined to make me feel like a failure, but I think I might be making some birthday resolutions this year. There’s some stuff on the “keep the body in good working order” list that’s been neglected for, well, awhile. It’s time for that to stop.

1. I need to go back to the dentist regularly. I haven’t been for a couple years now, for no reason other than I keep forgetting to make an appointment. That’s stupid.
2. I’ve got to schedule not just an annual exam this year, but – hello, 40! – my first mammogram. I’m dreading this something fierce, and yet I know it needs to be done. Sooner rather than later, methinks, so there’s not much time for the dread to continue building.
3. I need to lose weight. I hate the gym. Hate. It. So I need to figure out something else that works for me. This will not be as easy as making dental or mammogram appointments.
4. I need to learn to love how I look, no matter how I look. This feels a bit like it’s my fall-back position for item #3, and I suppose in some ways it is, but the bottom line is that I’m extremely self-conscious about how I look, to the point where I desperately hate being photographed or filmed, and I’m annoyed with myself every time I dodge a camera and need to explain why I’m doing so. “I just hate being photographed” is a lame excuse, but “I hate the way I look” would bring out comments I’d probably take as pitying, which would be worse. I just need to get over this. And yes, I realize this will be the hardest thing on this list to accomplish. I don’t expect to be able to check this one off this year. But I’d like to say I tried.

There are other things I’d like to do, too, but they’re smaller. And, really, far less important.

So, for a couple more weeks, I’ll enjoy my birthday celebrations, and give myself more reasons to not let body maintenance slip so far in the future. After all, I’d like to be able to take momentous birthday trips for many more years to come.