Float Your Heart Balloon

Ride the gusts of joywind to any renewable pleasure

Years ago I went to the doctor because I was turning 35 and I wanted to see if something could be done about that.

Turns out it's kind of impossible to not get older (rude, science), but the medical professionals at my community care center did help me make a breakthrough in an unusual way.

Me with a buncha doctors trying to figure out wtf’s wrong with me

At the time, I was struggling with the beginning signs of a mental illness that I didn’t know I had. I didn’t know dysthymia (or persistent depressive disorder) was a thing. I just thought I had a case of the seasonal sads. I thought maybe it was normal to feel physically and mentally and emotionally low for 2+ years.

Surely, I thought, other people had stretches of months on end where they had no desire to see people or do things or even eat food—simply getting their bodies to survive by robotically chewing baby carrots while staring in a dissociate state out the window and mumbling “just keep chewing, just keep chewing.”

Totally standard, right??

When the world keeps on spinning but you can barely eat toddler meals

On top of that, I had been drinking a lot and isolating myself and living in a basement—not a set up for optimal health. Yet there was still a part of me that wanted to tick the basic boxes of well-being, so I set up a yearly checkup with my doctor.

When I got there, the nurse, a no-nonsense Vietnamese woman in pearls and high heels, attempted to take my blood—and was severely irritated that it wanted to stay in my body.

“Blood won't come out!” she kept yelling at me. “See! BLOOD WON’T COME OUT!" But I was too busy squeezing my eyelids shut and getting the skin-sweats to reply.

You can’t tell me this image doesn’t make you wanna lie down in a cool dark room for awhile

When she was done poking each arm a million times, she side-eyed me skeptically—so disappointed in my veins' performance and my obvious squeamishness.

"Blood won't come out" she scolded again, for good measure.

"I don't know what to tell you," I muttered, frustrated. Then, in a small and timid and worried voice I looked up at her and said: "Do you think there's something wrong with me?"

She sighed.

"Yes" she replied, somewhat sadly, not even skipping a beat.

And then I started laughing and couldn’t stop.

I laughed so hard tears leaked from my eyeballs. I laughed all the way home. I laughed through red lights and green lights and the drive-thru of the McDonalds as I got myself an egg mcmuffin—because that kind of laughter needs comfort sustenance.

Me, after a nurse told me I was probably dying

I had woken up feeling low and morose and viscerally heavy inside, and, somehow, someone telling me that my fleshbag of bones and liquid was probably malfunctioning made my heart lift wildly like a lone, rogue, skyward-shooting balloon escaped from a tight-fisted hand.

The laughter didn’t last forever, and there was still a long road to come with therapy and medication and modalities that would offer me even more healing, but that moment of an unexplainable lifting of my soul is cemented in my brain.

To this day, it’s a reminder that even in the lowest of times our minds and bodies and spirits can latch onto tiny strings of unexplainable glee…and if we just learn to ride those moments out and stitch them together in tapestries of our stories, we won’t be so downtrodden or despairing about the dark patches that mingle in the fabric with the light.

Hoping for moments of illogical joy for each and every one of you,

Annie B.

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THREE GOOD THINGS

1. While mental health has gone steadily upward since my blood-ballon doctor visit (thank you Zoloft and Wellbutrin!), I’m also more comfortable with the awareness that dysthymia isn’t a phase—and even embracing pride in the fact that I’ve continued (and continue) to seek health for myself, and even thrive. I love Justin’s t-shirts for this type of mental health empowerment—I got this one and I’m diggin’ it in particular!

   

2. Speaking of joy, THIS DANCE VIDEO. I love everything—the song, the styling, the choreography—and every time I watch it I find a new part I’m obsessed with.

3. I’ve made a couple salted caramel mochas with this coffee concentrate, and it’s RUHL GOOD.