Shaking the Blues Away

You know those people who have no boundaries or discernment? The strangers who sit down next to you on a bus and five minutes later you know all about their gall bladder operation, their best friend’s messy divorce, and their cousin’s arrest for indecent exposure? I think I’m becoming one of those people. Whenever I’m feeling particularly panicked or anxious, as I was for most of today, I lose any ability I have to keep my problems to myself and I am compelled to blather on to anyone who will listen, from the UPS man to the Starbucks barista. Emailing is no better—today I sent one over-the-top email to my boss along with two neurotic missives to colleagues in which I painted myself as a gross incompetent who is not bringing in nearly enough books for our company. Stop the shame spiral, I want to get off! Then when the blackness starts to lift, I feel like the sobered-up drunk who made a fool out of himself at the Christmas party and wants to slither into a hole.

On the other hand, I wonder if my tendency towards self-flagellation acts as some kind of release valve, allowing me to let off steam that might otherwise build to explosive levels. Maybe all of my mood swings are part of some carefully designed (by Satan?) system of checks and balances that prevents me from completely losing it and ending up in the West Adams Home for the Hopelessly Insane. Total repression one minute, total disclosure the next, it seems like a fair trade. Oh wait, I forgot about the option of actually becoming a healthy human being. Gotta try that one of these days.

And of course, when I’m in the midst of my Self-Hating Anxiety Disorder (SHAD?) I hate myself for hating myself so the miserable feelings snowball into hyper-narcissism. And then, thank God, some tiny shift will occur and the black storm clouds in my head begin to drift apart, allowing me to delineate between the real issues I am grappling with and the irrational belief that everyone has it together except for me, that I am doomed to fail because I’m just not good enough. Yuck.

I haven’t forgotten the vow I made on this very blog after my high school friend Julie died two weeks ago. I said I would remember her incredible spirit the next time I felt like I was losing perspective about what really matters. And I did think of Julie’s healing smile tonight and it did help me get a grip. Thank you, Julie. I had the pleasure of talking to some of her current friends after I wrote that post and finding out how her unusually giving and kind adolescent years matured into an unusually strong and loving adulthood. She is so missed but even in death she is bringing people closer together.

I’m keenly aware that blogging is the ultimate in public disclosure and sometimes (like right now) I cannot believe the things I write about in here. When I’m feeling “good,” I seem to have much clearer boundaries about how personal I’ll go than when I’m feeling emotionally shaky. Is one the Real Me and the other an illusion? I think not.

I noticed that a lot of blogs today were focused on this issue of exposure and discomfort including posts by two members of the (in)famous blogging Gottliebs. In “Blog: Geek Clique or Soapbox Confessional?” Annie Gottlieb wrote:

This makes me think about how I feel guilty and embarrassed in one way when I blog about personal stuff, and in another way when I don't. I started out as an impersonal, outward-looking blogger, but was dared and inspired by my brother True Ancestor and his blogfriends and admirers to risk being more self-revealing—only to embarrass the hell out of the other brother ("part of me thinks that people who reveal so much of themselves to the public should BE committed"). It's a no-win situation, or maybe I just haven't quite struck the balance that feels right to me yet. I tend to lurch from one extreme to the other. One way, I feel faintly exhibitionistic (and like I am exhibiting others, such as my husband, without their consent). The other way I feel masked and faintly phony.

Then her niece Sara chimed in with this rant on her “Raising up Sunshine” blog:

here's the thing: i resent my own blog. hows that! my blog mocks me in the background of my early evenings..."don't you have anything to say? aren't you interesting? what? nothing???? NOTHING?????"
fuck you, blog. fuck you, "Raising up Sunshine"!  what the fuck is that anyway!! then i sit in guilt and longingly look at my computer from across the room. it is a feeling of rejection; some entity's elitism has shut me out in the cold. the entity: my own creation. AYYEEEIII!!!!!

So I guess I am not alone in my blog angst. I recently read someone's opinion that people with blogs should only write when they have something to say. What does that even mean? Something to say? I never do! I always do! And now if I don’t occasionally wince with embarrassment because of what I’ve written in my blog, I somehow feel like I’m not properly committed to it. As I’ve been speculating, part of me NEEDS this venue for disclosure. I need the release or I really will go crazy. Sorry, folks.

So here I sit, attempting to use my blog to crawl out of my depression. And guess what—it’s working! Blog as confessional, blog as therapist, blog as stranger on the bus forced to listen to inappropriate ravings.

As I struggled to find my lost identity this weekend following my trip to Chicago, we were enjoying our obligatory holiday viewing of the MGM classic “Easter Parade” with Judy Garland and Fred Astaire. Ann Miller, one of our favorites, co-stars as ruthless career gal Nadine Hale who dumps longtime partner Fred Astaire for a promising solo gig. Miller’s big number is a song that we all (including Leah) know by heart. Irving Berlin’s words mirror my philosophy of denial that has gotten me into heaps of trouble over the years:

Shaking the blues away,
Unhappy news away
If you are blue, it's easy to
Shake off your cares and troubles.
Telling the blues to go,
They may refuse to go
But as a rule, they'll go if you'll
Shake them away.

During the number Ann Miller taps furiously around the Technicolor set like a wild woman, her mouth frozen in an obscene smile. Was this the first musical depiction of bipolar disorder? I was just grateful that they altered the lyrics from the original version sung by Ruth Etting in “The Ziegfeld Follies of 1927”  which included several lines like “Ev'ry darkie believes that trouble won't stay, If you shake it away.” Oy.

But maybe I’m wrong to call this a song about denial. Maybe we can shake our demons away if we just LET THEM OUT, whether it be to the stranger on the bus or through our blogs. So yes, perhaps bloggers who write about their personal lives should be committed—but you should see what we’d be like if we didn’t write about them!

Proving that there's a way
To chase your cares away
If you would lose your weary blues
Shake ‘em away
Shake ‘em away!

Comments

[Quinn]

Feeling the pain, Danny.My favorite sensation is having finished a blog. I then have up to 48 hours before I have to generate words. I find myself praying for a small, not-terribly-painful injury that can turn into 750 reasonably entertaining words. I'll stare off into space at the grocery store: Do I have feelings about jelly? Is my choice in detergent indicative of a larger pathology? Is the unexamined life A FAR BETTER OPTION?

http://qcreport.blogspot.com

[Matt]

I appreciate how honest you are here. For me, sometimes, just writing something down and seeing it on paper (or on a computer screen) helps me get some distance from whatever it is. I often find that in the act of writing something down, I re-live it, and then at the end am able to be rid of it, at least for a time.

[Tamar]

This is great, Danny. When others share of themselves it gives me permission to share more of myself. Otherwise, it feels lonely to share alone ... impossible actually.

[shari]

This post makes me think more about our conversation last weekend about men being able to a)figure out what they feel b)express it to someone. And how appreciative I am when you do this.

It also makes me wonder about the difference between expressing thoughts and feelings in a private journal vs. in a blog, knowing others will read it. It seems to me that in some ways both serve the same therapeutic purpose, but there are big differences, obviously. The level of vulnerability, for one. Is it the difference between being an introvert or an extrovert?

[Danny]

I think it's quite possible to be an introvert in life and an extrovert online. Maybe blogs are the perfect medium for such people!

[Martha]

Danny- as a non-blogger Gottlieb, I want you to know how much I enjoy reading yours- this one was wonderful. Glad to have another brother, and for my kids to have such a great uncle-

[nappy40]

I'm convinced you are my evil twin. The anxieties, the neuroses--all the same. I'm actually afraid of saying too much about myself on my blog. I'm afraid I'll meet someone in my real life and they'll recognize me. So I leave out big parts of myself then feel guilty.

[amba]

Blogst? Blangst?

Depression is a kind of paralysis, and I often find that moving -- exercise or, especially, wild dancing -- can break the spell. Watching other people dance brilliantly is almost as good. The other night, in the middle of my ghastly labor to clear out the old apartment, we accidentally found ourselves watching "That's Entertainment III." Afterwards, I felt so light and bubbly, like dry champagne.