Sometimes it hurts more to smile in front of everyone than to cry alone.

I feel like a series of labels... I guess you could say I am the girl with PTSD, anxiety disorder, major depression, dysthymia, adjustment disorder... who the heck knows what else. Oh, maybe I also have hippocampus envy. You know in depressed people they generally have smaller hippocampuses... by the way you can get an artificial hippocampus now... just visit Ohio. In general, I think that I cope well and have worked really hard to overcome these labels. But then, wham, life throws a curve ball, and here I am... a crying heap of very embarrassing, socially unacceptable labels. I hate labels.

But you know what I hate more... in order to get better, I have to do the opposite of what feels instinctual. I want to curl up in my pajamas, stay in bed, read, take a bubble bath, and nap. That is what my body is telling me to do. Just sip some Gatorade now and then and rest. Wrong! Nope, no matter how bad I want to just stay alone and cry away the day, I have to do things to get better. Bryan helped me come up with a list, and they weren't even unenjoyable things. His list included things like going to Starbucks, having lunch with a friend, getting a massage. Do you know I actually cancelled a massage. It's true. And for those of you who care about my manicures and pedicures (none of you), let's just say I'm in desperate need of a nail salon. See, these are not difficult things. What else: jumping on the trampoline, swimming with the kids, bike riding. He didn't even use dreaded words like a stair stepper or weight lifting. Nope, easy breezy tasks. But they are not.

For now, I will pull my fake smile out of the drawer, glue it to my face, hope no one notices my puffy eyes (guess I could add shopping for sunglasses to the list) and force myself to go to my re-scheduled massage and facial. Really -- you know a girl is having a hard time when that seems like a chore.

I know this will pass. I mean it has the million other times it has happened. But the timing just sucks. It is happening right in the middle of my divorce. Can't crazy take a break? But it just reinforces totally illogical reasoning that I must be to blame for the divorce. Or I am damaged goods. Or maybe I do need to go to Ohio for a new artificial hippocampus. I'm sure it's all the rage.

Just like the title of my blog... Sometimes it hurts more to smile in front of everyone than to cry alone.