Yesterday, some people that I love and care about very much received news that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. Out of respect for them, their family, and their privacy, I will not reveal details but suffice it to say that no one, and I mean no one, should ever have to go through what they are about to go through.

Their ordeal got me thinking about how much we take for granted. We waste so much time that we forget everything around us that’s amazing.  We take advantage of our time and our days and, in that, we forget that nothing is a guarantee.  We need to make the most of every moment, and cherish the time you have with people you love and care about because you never know when he or she might not be there anymore. And, because of that, we all need to take a moment to just pause.

We’re so busy being busy that we forget to just stop. We think that if you aren’t logged in to Facebook or running around to different activities, we’ll get lost in the shuffle. That people will forget about us. But I ask this—so what? So what if our online presence is absent for a day or two days or even a week? So what if we miss that class or party or even a day of work? What’s the worst that can happen (save being fired. That’s pretty awful)?

Just for today, tomorrow, or one day next month, I want you to just pause. I want you to step away from your iPhone or iPad or lap

top. I want you to turn off the TV unless you’re watching something that makes you extremely happy. I want you to say no to something that is obligatory rather than gives you enjoyment. I want you do to do any one (or more) of the following:

• Hug someone you love. Not because they’re in pain or hurting but because you just love them and you’re happy that they’re around.
• Take a walk. Spend time outside, even if it’s for a half hour on your lunch break. Enjoy the sunshine and the random bits of nature that might be around your office or home. And if it’s raining, sit at a window and watch the rain. Even that’s beautiful.
• Drive with the windows down and sing at the top of your lungs. Even at a red light. Because who cares what the other dri
  vers think?
• Play with your pets, if you have them. Take them for a walk or play fetch or do whatever it is that people do with pets that aren’t dogs.
• Give your kids a day of your undivided attention.
• Do something nice for yourself. Eat candy or ice cream for dinner. Take a nap. Go shopping. Have drinks with friends. Don’t work for a day.
• Call, rather than email or text, a friend.
• Tell your friends and family how much they mean to you.
• Draw a picture. Read a book. Play a game of tag or a board game or cards. Act like a 5 year old if you need to (but I implore you, please leave out the tantrums).
• Don’t clean your house that day. Don’t run any errands. Don’t answer any emails.
• Do anything else that you deem fun, important, or relaxing but you always put off because there’s never enough time.

And if you find yourself making excuses for why you can’t do any of this, tell yourself that you need to do it for the people who can’t or the kids who’ll never get the chance.

You owe it to them.

 

 

 

Dear Depression,

I want to begin by saying this: well played, sir. Well played. I admire your skill, persistence and determination to make my life a living hell. You used every available trick and, at times, you pulled a few new ones that I was completely unprepared for. For years, you used my horrible self-esteem to hold me hostage but these past few years, you have employed some ruthless techniques. Like using my husband’s affair to make me feel worthless. Or my fertility issues to make me feel defective. Or my bully of a boss to make me believe I was an idiot and incapable of doing my job well (a job I liked, too. So extra points for that one). And my personal favorite, teaming up with my low self-confidence to convince me that no matter how hard I tried, no matter how hard I worked, I would never be successful at anything other what you made me believe I deserved (which was very little, quite frankly).

You are a master of manipulation, sir, and for that, I tip my hat to you. But I know a secret about you. And no matter how much you plead, I’m telling everyone that secret.

And that secret is that you are an asshole. A lying, demoralizing, destructive asshole.

I don’t know what’s wrong with you that you have to creep into other people’s lives and so violently destroy them. Perhaps you need therapy to tackle your issues instead of sending innocent bystanders into the care of a therapist (and, at times, medication) in order to deal with you. Mainly, though, I think you need to work on your jealousy problem. Because, really, that’s what it is. You’re jealous that no one wants you around so you invade our lives to make yourself feel better. If you can destroy us, then you’ve won.

But I will not concede victory to you. Not this time.

For years, you’ve defeated me. You’ve hindered my ability to pursue my dream career because you told me I wasn’t good enough at it. You’ve prevented me from having friends (real friends) because you told me I didn’t deserve them. You made me think that I had no meaning to anyone, that I needed to doubt everything I did or said, and that I really had no purpose. And I believed you, too, because your persuasive abilities are just that good. Unfortunately for you, though, I am no longer easily persuaded.

How is that? I’m glad you asked because I’m more than happy to tell you.

You see, contrary to everything you’ve made me believe, there’s obviously something about me that’s stronger than you. With all that I’ve gone through, I’m still here. To quote Elton John, I’m still standing. A lesser person would have crawled up in a ball and never left the house again. But not me. I’m taking what’s happening and using that to fight on. I’m emerging tougher, more confident and unapologetic for who I am despite your best efforts to prevent that from happening.

That’s right. You can’t beat me anymore. I’ve drank your Kool Aid and quite frankly, it tastes terrible. (Also, I’m fairly certain it contains gelatin which you know I don’t eat because of the whole vegetarian thing. ) So I’m deciding not to have anymore. I know that my life trajectory hasn’t been the straightest path and I know that maybe I’m overreaching my goals, but so what? Who are you to tell me otherwise? Why don’t I deserve the chance to have a dream? Because I don’t know if you’ve noticed, I don’t totally suck at it, even though you’ve been whispering that I do for years. Which is really kind of rude. But that’s pretty much par for the course with you.

And one more thing. I am a good person. I do deserve to have good things happen to me. I deserve a support network and hobbies that make me happy and people that love me for who I am, flaws and all. I know I’m not perfect and I never will be but you know what? That’s fine. I like being quirky. I’m accepting of my quirkiness and I can’t pretend to be something that I’m not, no matter how much you try to convince me that the only way to be accepted is to be like the regular “happy” people. I don’t want to be like them. They’re boring and they kind of scare me anyway.

So hear this, depression. You have lost. I will not allow you to beat me for one day longer. I don’t need you in my life, I don’t want you in my life and you are hereby shunned.

I know you’re going to make attempts to creep back over the barbed wire fence I’ve installed, and that’s fine. I’m prepared for you. Because next time, I’ll recognize you before you emerge from the shadows and kidnap my life. Honestly, you’re kind of ugly and it makes it easy to spot you.

I also know that this war is far from over. But I’ve won this battle.

So fuck you, and kindly move along.

Love,

Jana

P.S. You can tell anxiety, your bitch of a sidekick, that she’s next to go. I’m pretty sick of her shit, too.

 

 

Dear Samuel, Jack, Mary, and the rest of the McDowell crew whose names I can’t remember because there are just too damn many of you,

You don’t know me but I feel like we’re old friends. Before you start freaking out and thinking I’m some sort of weird internet stalker, let me assure you that I am not. Actually, now that I really think about it, the reason we’re so intimately acquainted is your fault. How’s that, you ask? Let me tell you.

You won’t stop using my phone number. Which has actually been ours for the last 8 years. When we moved into our house. Yet this fact has somehow escaped you because for the last 8 years,  dozens of debt collectors that have called our house, repeatedly and at various hours of the day, look for your entire clan because at one point you did have our phone number and I’m pretty sure you’re still using it to avoid the situation you’ve placed us in. And I’m getting pretty damn sick of it.

I’m sure you can’t imagine how it’s annoyoing seeing as how you’ve effectively avoided debt collectors successfully for the last 8 years but I feel that it’s important to share with you just what it is about this situation that’s infuriating since you’re clearly unaware.

First of all, do you know how annoying it is to come home almost every day for weeks at a time to 16 missed calls on your caller ID (let’s pause for a moment for you to question why I even still have a landline. I’ll tell you that it’s really none of your business), as well as several nasty messages from said debt collectors imploring us to call them back because it’s an urgent matter? Wait, let me answer that question for you. No, you don’t. Because you don’t give your real damn phone number. But I can assure you that is about as maddening as having to constantly tell people you don’t know who the fucking McDowells are and have them not believe you so they keep calling back until you yell at them. Which I really don’t like to do but I don’t have a choice.  So now I’m also angry with you for making me be mean to strangers (and, let me clarify, you people are not strangers to me. No, I feel very well acquainted with all of you).

Second, not ever in my life have I been sent to a collections agency. Even in the thick of my debt, I always managed to pay the minimum so as to avoid this exact problem. I don’t like to be harassed (unless it’s by Wentworth Miller or Jason Segel. In that case, harass away, boys) and this is especially annoying because it’s not my debt. If it were my debt, I could manage the harassment; I wouldn’t have a choice considering I created the problem. But again, it’s not my debt. Or that of a family member. Or a close friend. Or someone I was friends with in the 5^th grade. Debt collectors calling me for those debts would make some amount of sense. But for you?  It’s just a bothersome pain in the ass. Seriously, McDowells, pay your damn debts and get these people off my back.

Third, I don’t want to know these things about you. I really don’t. I’m nosy but someone else’s personal financial disaster and ruined credit? Not something I care to know about. For a bunch of reasons, including the fact that it just makes me sad. And I don’t like to be sad over information I never needed in the first place. Including your health issues. Yes, McDowells, I know all about the cancer scare and the fact that Samuel needs more blood work. Why do I know this? Because you’re giving people our phone number and clearly people are idiots and don’t listen to outgoing messages so when they hear my family’s name they think it’s yours and they leave a message! If you want to keep this stuff a personal, family only matter, the solution is simple. Give your correct phone number!!!

At this point you’re probably wondering why we haven’t changed our phone number. We thought about it but then realized that would inconvenience us even more than your debt collection phone calls and it just wasn’t worth it. Besides, we’re not the problem. You are. Why should we need to do all the work?

You will be happy to know that continuing to use our phone number is not, in fact, fraud. I know this because I spoke to the police. So once again, you’re going to get off scot-free. And that completes the circle of annoyance.

In conclusion, McDowells, I’d just like to say two things: one, thank you so much for the years of annoying phone calls, harassment and general displeasure at answering the phone; two, I hope you take care of this situation because if there’s a generation of little McDowells out there, you’re setting a really bad example.

And you should be ashamed of yourselves.

Love,

Jana

P.S. If you’re wondering how any of the debt collectors tracked you down in Florida (if you’re even still there), you’re welcome. You should have changed your phone number with Best Buy, too.