I didn’t know what to do.  I am living my dream, have amazing friends who make me laugh until I snort, the kind I want to grow old with.  I treasure my family.  I have everything I’ve ever wanted.  But sometimes, I get profoundly sad.  It usually never lasts for longer than 2 or 3 days, but it’s definitely there.  I think I’m just built this way.  My father tells me it’s genetic, that my grandmother was the same way.  Nothing is wrong in my life, and I feel completely satisfied, yet I become restless and sad and don’t know why.  I think it’s biological (and has nothing to do with PMS), but I refuse to take medication, as I’m not depressed, just prone to bouts of it every few months.  And 3 days in a few months isn’t a medication move.  So today, I figured out how to improve my mood.

I cried on the elliptical machine.  Cried with my eyes closed.  Finished working out, laid on a mat and watched the second hand of a clock, thought about gym class and growing up beneath orange gymnasium lights, the squeak of sneakers during dodge ball, climbing rope, locker rooms.  I felt more normal remembering how long I’ve been alive, that I’ve had a past that was just me, with gym class, math homework, and swimming lessons.  Chorus rehearsal.  I played the trombone.  I have a rich life.  It made me feel better knowing what I’ve accomplished on my own.  Even if they were small accomplishments.  The lead in the school play, a soccer goal, a massive sticker collection.

I walked 60 blocks listening to chick rock, realizing I needed to feel empowered and strong, and the only way I could do it was on my own.  I think it’s why I used to say I couldn’t be in a relationship.  I was scared of becoming co-dependent.  I turned into a caged animal because I allowed my esteem to come from exterior sources, because I could.  There was always a guy sitting there, telling me how pretty I was, how wonderful, smart.  Blah.  Blah.  All the stuff you hear when you’re in a loving relationship.  The problem was, I became reliant on what he gave and stopped giving to myself.  And that’s when I became a woman I wanted no part of.  This small little girl who began to worry if I was wearing the right things, or doing enough.  Man, it’s such bullshit.  I turned into someone else because I let myself.  I relied.  I weighed.  I felt empty and alone, worried I’d be left, worried if I did things the wrong way, I’d ruin things.  Fcuk that.  I am worth.  A lot.  As I am, no make up, frizz, stank, whatever.

In relationships, I was allowing myself to rely on someone other than myself for esteem.  Man, that’s just bad news.  So to build it up, I let myself cry, realizing the sadness would be temporary.  I gave myself permission to be miserable.  But I put a limit on it… didn’t allow myself to stew in it for days.  “Enough.”  Then I played my music LOUD.  I gave me what I give good.  Love.

I had to get back to loving me, knowing what I have is amazing because I’m the only one who can love the way I do.  I’m the only me.  I can stand on my own, don’t need anyone to fix me.  Can nurture, protect, and love.  Me.  Alone.  I give that good.  I don’t need to hear it to know it.   I don’t need confirmation or praise.  I don’t need.

After twenty blocks, I fcuking sang out loud.  Top of my lungs loud.  I’ve done it in the mountains of Italy, and dammit, in Times Square.  Let them look.  I don’t give a shit.  That’s my voice.  The one God gave me, and that is the one that matters most.  I’m precious because I’m alive.  Yes, I get sad; it’s part of me.  I don’t need any guy to walk around with a tool belt trying to fix me.  I have my own Dewalt drill, and I’ll figure it out because I was put on this earth with the skills to take care of me.  And I’m not giving up my tool belt.  Because I believe in me.  In my ability to stand tall, shoulders back, and sing with my eyes closed.  I have my own strength; I know who I am, and everything I need in this life is packed in these walls, in this skin.  Proud.  Strong.  Tall.  All in here.  And knowing that, let’s me be in a relationship, alongside someone who won’t try to fix me or tell me who I should be.  Me is good enough.