An historic day.
My ‘go to’ comfy clothes are yoga pants, a Harvard t-shirt from when I was “Legally Brunette: Hungover at Harvard” (and had to puke in Au Bon Pain – the one in Good Will Hunting #claimtoshame) and my Gryffindor hoodie (Gryffindor for LIFE YO) but I also have THE CARDIE.
A sort of dishwater beige colour and long with a funny flappy front bit (ooh err missus) and distinctly unflattering although everybody says they like it, because really don’t we all just want to be in our comfies at all times?! It became my cardigan of complacency; my depression duds, and my ‘I’m not sure I can face the day – let’s just bung the cardigan on and try and power through’ go to.
I’ve been having some “talking therapy” recently with a lady who eats superfoods, smells like patchouli, and wears macrame jewellery. Although she is what I would call a ‘crunchy granola hippy’ she’s also a complete mind bender head fuck who I think I hate and and love in equal measure.
She talks a lot about signs and triggers – one of my ‘oh shit here comes a wave of the mega sads’ triggers is when I see old people and feel sad. I imagine them sat eating a tin of pilchards by a one bar fire which isn’t switched on because they’re living off a tiny pension and it makes me SAD. They might be the happiest people on earth but still, there they are, sat by the light of a single candle waiting for death.
One of the signs of a low is the frigging cardigan. It is as near as one can get to wearing a duvet in the office without actually wearing their king size 15 tog to work. I’m not sure my boss would jive with taking duvet day that literally…
Thanks to the crunchy granola hippy on her mindfuck Mondays and a healthy dose of little white tablets (prescribed, I’m not Pablo Escobar) I’ve been feeling so much better recently. It might not be forever and I’m taking it day by day but there have been enough days joined up that when I had a black bag in one hand and the dreaded cardigan in the other, they joined in the middle.
Begone cardigan of doom!