Goodbye Queen Smurf

I made the biggest adult purchase of my life so far. I bought a new (used) car Saturday after driving my 2010 Nissan Sentra “Queen Smurf” for the last seven years. I loved that car but it was time to “Kon Mari” it and say goodbye.

Queen Smurf was with me through the last half of high school, all of college and the first couple of years after. Queen Smurf rarely had maintenance issues (or at least none that I could hear if I turned the music up loud enough).

It got me from Missouri to Florida. It survived a rear-end accident when a woman behind me wasn’t paying attention. It bravely stood by through all the bumps and scrapes, especially the time I misgauged the garage opening and broke my mirror. You could barely tell the replacement mirror had a black encasing instead of a dark blue.

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My friend, Max, scraping snow and ice off Queen Smurf.

It was there to take me on late night drives when I was depressed and couldn’t sleep. It heard more of my crying than any living being, and it suffered through my incredibly bad singing.

When I first got Queen Smurf, I decided I would drive it into the ground before I purchased a new vehicle. I came close to doing just that. I was young and not educated on the value of a trade-in, though I still managed to get a solid trade-in value. I thank Queen Smurf for being the best first car I could have asked for, but it’s time to move on.

I traded up for a 2016 Fiat 500X. I’m still learning about its gadgets and how to use a rearview camera. It doesn’t rattle or make weird noises like Queen Smurf. All of its hubcaps are still attached, and it has Bluetooth.

I look forward to seeing where my new car takes me (literally). I do not, however, look forward to the car payments.



Tired Friday and Are the Pretzels Worth It?

I woke up at 5 a.m. today. I wish I could say it was because I’m that person who wakes up early to do things morning people do. Instead, I woke up in a dazed panic because my phone (read: alarm clock) wasn’t on my bedside table.

I starfished on my bed in hopes of hitting it with one of my extremities. Eventually, I had to turn on my lamp to find it underneath my dog, who looked at me with red, tired eyes and on the verge of growling for waking her up.

Ever since I was a child, I’ve had some interesting sleep issues. I used to sleepwalk. I even drew a bath and got in fully asleep in the second grade. When I’m not walking, I’m talking in my sleep. Hell, I once called someone on Snapchat, and I didn’t even know you could call people on Snapchat.

So when I couldn’t find my phone, there was no, “oh, I’m sure it’s close, and I’ll still hear my alarm.” It’s more like, “I hope it’s not in my betta fish’s tank.”

My frantic search woke me up enough that I knew I wasn’t going to fall back asleep right away. I got up, drank a smoothie and browsed social media.

By 6, I grabbed my pillow and went to lie on the couch to watch “Friends.” I managed to squeeze out another hour of sleep before my dog barked in my face, demanding to go outside.

It’s now almost 4 p.m., and all I can think about is curling back up on my couch. My apartment complex is celebrating National Pretzel Day with free pretzels in the clubhouse tonight, and I haven’t decided if a pretzel is worth being social.

It always takes more effort for me to go to gatherings like these. I hate the unknown. And it’s literally a room full of people I don’t know. I also like to know the “schedule” of things and how things are supposed to go beforehand. Will they be warm, soft pretzels? TBH, if they aren’t, that’s a bust and definitely not worth my time. How long do you have to socialize before you can leave? Will there be drinks? Pretzels without drinks sound like a nightmare. Should I bring a drink just in case?

Socializing is exhausting. I just want the damn pretzel.

In addition to longer blog posts, I’m now writing daily, shorter posts about life happenings and whatnot. A post a day is my goal, but, really, how much is there to blog about on days I only binge Netflix and fall asleep at 2 p.m.?

Why I Still Go to Therapy When I Feel Well

(My fitting coffee mug this morning before therapy.)

In addition to longer blog posts, I’m now writing daily, shorter posts about life happenings and whatnot. A post a day is my goal, but, really, how much is there to blog about on days I only binge Netflix and fall asleep at 2 p.m.?

Therapy isn’t only for people who are in crisis or at their lowest point. I sought therapy three years ago during a severe depressive episode, but I’ve learned there’s a benefit to sticking with it, even when everything seems OK.

I haven’t been in therapy consistently since I started going. I’ve changed therapists, I’ve moved, and I’ve taken breaks when I’ve felt “stable.”

I started attending therapy again in September 2018 when I realized I needed help getting through my latest depressive episode. I saw her until December when she had to unexpectedly move. Now, I see someone else in the same office, but I no longer consider myself in a depressive episode.

Instead of once a week, I go every other week on Thursdays. Sometimes it feels like I have nothing to talk about because I’m still learning how to use my time effectively in therapy.

Honestly, I’m not used to going when I feel well because I’ve been more depressed over the last three years than anything else. But I’m slowly learning that therapy when I’m well is just as important as therapy when I’m not.

When I’m depressed, there are things I can’t address in therapy because they’re either too hard to talk about or there is a more pressing matter in the moment.

Therapy while I feel well gives me the space to address issues like how bipolar disorder has affected my life over the last three years. “Well Therapy” gives me a chance to more objectively analyze my thoughts and behaviors that bubble up during depressive episodes.

Therapy right now essentially helps me gain the tools and perspective I need in order to survive the next depressive episode or stressful event.

This doesn’t mean I’ll have to stay in therapy for the rest of my life. Depending on how long I feel like myself or “stable,” I might stop before my next episode. I might need to start therapy again after taking a break from it. On the other hand, my next depressive or hypomanic episode could be around the corner, and I’ll need to continue going. I don’t know.

There isn’t a time limit on healing and bettering yourself. Therapy is for whatever you feel you need it for. You don’t have to hit rock bottom to go to therapy, and you don’t have to stop going the moment you feel better.