I’ve never been actually depressed. I’m too damn stupid and optimistic for that. But, I will say that there are some days out of the year that get me pretty down. Even now, at 23 years young.
The only thing I can compare it to is the day after Christmas (not to be confused with The Day After Tomorrow starring one sexy Gyllenhaal).
Obviously, this makes sense for a young child. We spent weeks decorating the house, my true love for baking came from all the holiday cookies and cakes I helped my mom make, I anxiously looked forward to the parties we had at school so I could wear some new red or green dress my parents bought me and any spare minute not spent shoving cookies in my mouth and freaking out like a crazy person was spent desperately trying to find my presents or tricking my parents into telling me what they bought. When they got sick of me, they would bundle me up and stick me outside to play in the snow (I grew up in Ohio, and every Christmas was a white Christmas).
My parents use to have to wrap my gifts in different sized boxes so I couldn’t tell what it was even after hours of feeling through the wrapping paper and shaking them until my head hurt. Obviously I never received any glass gifts.
So then Christmas comes, I wake up at about four in the morning and jump in my brothers beds to wake them up, dance on top of my parents to get them up and squeal alllll the way down the stairs to the Christmas tree. Obviously, I was just so fast for my parents that they could never keep up so I was left waiting by this tree with (what seemed like) a million unopened presents until the normal members of the family (read: everybody but me) got downstairs.
And then it happened. The unwrapping. The “yay!”-ing. The “I knew this is what you got me!” The “I love you”s. The hugs. The jumping up and down. Then it was on to breakfast, more cookies, more hugging, more family time and more “best memories of my life” moments. It was all so wonderful and even now, when it is sometimes just me and my parents on Christmas morning-no tree, no brothers, no gifts-I still look back on those times and am immediately happy.
At least we still have the cookies.
Why do I bring this up in October when it is still 85 degrees outside?
This past weekend I was a bridesmaid in one of my best friends weddings. The day was absolutely wonderful. She looked AMAZING and I can only hope that she was in love with the day as much as she is in love with her husband. Everybody had a good time and it was easily one of the best weddings I’ve been too–and I’ve been to quite a few weddings in my day!
The thing is, she had been engaged for 18 months. That’s 18 months of planning, waiting, wishing, etc. And as a member of the bridal party, I did all I could to help. There were countless Facebook messages, bridesmaid get togethers, wedding craft days, dress fittings, bachelorette parties, bridal showers, etc etc etc. It was all so fun and the entire time we just kept thinking about how the big day was getting closer and closer.
And then it came. And it was wonderful.
The next morning I woke up tired with 75 bobby pins stuck in my hair and my right knee screaming at me for dancing so much. I chose not to look in the mirror for my own sanity, but that feeling just washed over me. The wedding day was over. It wasn’t even MY wedding day and I was so sad. How pathetic. But the first thing I thought was, “man it’s like the day after Christmas!” and then I saw my bridesmaid dress laying in the corner and thought “damn, I’m going to have to get that dry cleaned.”
And thus started the beginning of a regular old day, with nothing to look forward to but pulling bobby pins out of my hair and remembering that I need a job…like a week ago.
At least there’s still wedding cake.