when you feel down,
down under, below the surface,
where your soul feels far away
and all the pain from this world
attacks your heart,
remember, dear friend;
your gift to the world is a selfless one.

it is the gift of love.

Let me just admit something reeeeal quick. I’m a little depressed. I know, I know. I have the things and the fun and the travel; how is this possible?

Nothing can prepare you for the divorce roller coaster. How once you climb those steep hills, reality and feelings and thoughts just smack you in the face again and again and again on the way down. I mean, sure, my life is good. It’s healthy. I’m happy. But there’s something about that random voice that comes in and says the grossest things to you during and after a breakup. “You weren’t sexy enough.” “You should have made him laugh more.” “If you weren’t good enough for him, do you really think you’ll be good enough for anyone?” Gross, right? Loudly and clearly gross.

Lately, I’ve had a hard time getting out of bed. I can’t sleep. Running is harder than ever. Being with friends isn’t as fun. Being alone is all I want. Oh hey, depression. What’s shakin?

Depression. I’m legit afraid of that word. I have family members who have suffered from it in a big way. It’s been hard to watch. And I’ve always feared that “big way” would happen to me. But the good news is I’m still getting out of bed. I’m still running. I’m still doing the things I love. It’s hard; but I know it’s the only way I’m going to keep it from kicking me so hard in the ass that getting up won’t be possible anymore. I have to choose me right now.

About a week ago, my friend–I’ll call him “MM” for “Military Mike”–asked, “Do you want to go see Smashing Pumpkins with me?” Um, say what? 1979. Today. Tonight, Tonight. Hell YES.

Then, today. I dragged myself through a training run against the frigid winds this morning. I full on cried during my weekly therapy sesh about it all. I sat at my desk, exhausted AF, counting the minutes until 6 PM. Then I thought, “Thank goodness I don’t have any plans tonight.” Whoops. I do.

Text from MM at 5:23 PM: You ready for this?

My response at 5:24 PM: Yea! (Because…yes)

We planned to meet at Beacon Bar in the Upper West Side, right next to Beacon Theater where Billy Corgan would serenade us later that night. I got there first so I ordered myself a super strong negroni, a whiskey ginger for him. I wanted both of the drinks to be honest. The second he sat down, I said it: I think I’m a little depressed. He didn’t look at me like I was crazy. Rather, he listened. And he gave me some really good advice (and made fun of me for a few things that 100% warranted teasing). I felt at ease. Like I could smile about it. In part because of the strong negroni. But mostly because I remembered that I don’t have to do this alone.

MM and Billy Corgan stole the show tonight. MM, because he secured that big bag of peanut M&Ms, which may or may not be the cause of my stomach ache right now. (Worth it.) And Billy, because even after all these years he still has the voice of an angel. Sigh. Love you, Billy.

My therapist once told me it’s been proven that two things can cure depression: music and exercise. I’m on board with this. Those are two of my favorite things. But she left out two other cures: Billy Corgan and people like MM. Oh and M&Ms. The peanut kind.

Here’s to feeling it.