#happy sads season everyone! I am coping by keeping myself so physically exhausted I do not have time to be sad

[wutheringmights]

Seasonal depression is kicking in. Gotta reread CTB to feel something.

yeah you're gonna feel more Depression

[orderuponthe99prettygrimmdiaries]

Road to Recovery 👣

Well, this is gonna be a long ass one. Also, this has been kinda drafted over the past... week? So it’s gonna be a real rollercoaster of a ride. 

Had just binged Lucifer’s new season and was on reddit, looking at comments of redditors yelling at Luci to enjoy whilst he was finding stuff to freak out about. 

Like him, I should have just been in the moment. Appreciated it. Instead of worrying about the next. 

The past week has been.. emotional. Have been getting used to the fact that I might never speak or hear or see him again. Been also trying to focus on the bad to kinda ease the pain. At least it hurts a little less, less crying too. But it’s also like one day you do great, no crying, not much of missing and pain, but then the next, everything creeps in altogether and you fall apart. 

The thing is... why does it hurt so bad? Things had been weird for months. I mean, I was the one who was always preparing myself for him to leave, I was the one who told myself I’d be okay even if we never went on the date. And I guess it just boils back to... expectations. 

I expected him to care more, I didn’t expect that he’d be able to leave just like this. From regular convos to nothing in a week, now almost 2 weeks. I mean, we’ve had breaks. 1 day, 5 days, 10 days... It’s kinda strange if we were actually interested in the other. Maybe he wasn’t much of a texter and wanted to talk when we met. But did we really share much when we met? It’s odd... He doesn’t reply properly to texts, he disappears, he doesn’t really care much at times, but for some reason, I seem to remember the good more. It seemed like he does listen (at times), there were moments when I felt like he cared. A part of me still trusts him or sees the best in him. 

Initially, I was trying to avoid talking about him so I would also stop thinking about him and I could move on. But I think talking about it also helps. Did also google about moving on from crushes, and that is a major point. Maybe I’ll never figure out what really went wrong, but maybe I could still give myself some sorta closure.  Though reminiscing does hurt too. Going back to the place where we met, which is basically my workplace which I’ve to be at almost every day... The memories flooding in about the conversations we had. But it also helps me to acknowledge my feelings and fears, stuff that I suppose I didn’t acknowledge then. Maybe if I had been less afraid and tried harder, especially during the times we were both around considering how hard it was to get our schedules together. He probably thought I wasn’t that interested and moved on. Guys fall fast, but they seem to move on pretty quick too.

Ended up dreaming about him last night... It was really nice. There was a shipment, I didn’t let myself have hope that it would have been him. And he turned around, and it was him. I said hey and touched his arm. I headed off downstairs talking to the other guys, one of them was teasing me for giving him my number. He came down too. We sat there for a bit, and I asked if I could lean on his shoulder, and we ended up hugging too. That was just wonderful, but it’s sad to know it’d never be reality. 

And I guess all those breaks we had throughout the months still gives me the slightest bit of hope that he might return... But now, 2 whole weeks of not speaking. The glimmer of hope fades as each day passes. Maybe, distance is just what we need, I tell myself. 

But now, there’s also a new guy. So I’m guessing the likelihood of seeing him ever again is almost impossible. But is it really so bad if we never spoke or see each other again? Did he even really care? What were we? 

Feels like history is repeating itself, and honestly, after re-reading old posts, maybe it is. Okay, but this time was slightly different. I fought harder. I should be proud that I got his number, or well, convinced him to get mine. I should be proud for initiating those texts, for finally picking up that video call, for asking him out. 

I do wonder at times if it would have been better if I was just honest from the start, that I was interested and I felt there’s something special, different, but not entirely sure what it was. I had friends tell me that I shouldn’t be too emotional about too much, especially at the start. I mean, I did do this the last time, granted they were all online friends, and now we’re still friends. Maybe it’s different being online vs irl. 

Should I continue fighting for him or just let this be another regret/what if? I guess I chose the latter. I was still too afraid to make a move, I was still too afraid to admit my feelings. I wanted to tell him, I wanted to give him the choice. But I was afraid, what if he only says he feels the same because knowing what I felt? I couldn’t take the leap. 

And the more I thought, the less I knew. What did I ever really know about you? What did I like about you? I guess I didn’t listen to myself enough, or to the rational part at least. The closer you look, the less you see. By the time I remember this, it was a little too late... 

I guess I need to stop trying to define everything. Some questions don’t have answers. Some stories won’t get closures. Not all friendships require daily talking. Why aren’t I okay with this? Am I just too attached to everyone? Does my life just basically revolve around people? Who the fuck am I?

I had been looking back at my old posts, all the way back to 2015, the darkest period of my life. I wanted to see what I did then, how did I handle it and pushed myself through. How the heck did I move on? Sure, it took me like... at least 2 years of moping around, then finally actually properly reaching out to get the help I needed. A couple months of counselling, pushing the focus back on myself, on self love and self care.

And all this unravelled within a couple months.

Granted, I think it was already starting to unravel early this year. All these work and personnel changes really fucked things up, with Covid just adding to it. And then comes those unexpected feelings, not knowing how to deal with it, worrying about how I’m gonna fuck it up, and in turn, fucking it up. Also, not giving myself a break when I truly needed it. I was afraid that if I took a break from texting him (okay I wasn’t really obsessively staring at my phone and replying immediately either, but I could have taken a proper break), I might have ended up losing him, and now, I’ve lost myself, I’ve lost him. 

So yep, losing myself... this time, I don’t think I was able to keep it as contained as I did previously. Loss of appetite, exhaustion... I guess at least I don’t exactly sigh as much as I did during the start of the year? But I guess now with Covid and mom at home, she’s noticed the symptoms too. And I guess how I tend to stay cooped in my room, retreat back after meals etc, not really making as much convos with my parents too... Maybe even agitation or irritation as my mom noticed too... 

She thinks it’s more physical, with my abnormal periods and stuff, like maybe I’m anaemic. Oof, and that one day she asked if I was alright because I didn’t seem happy. I literally broke down when I went back to my room. I try so hard to mask it all because I don’t want people to worry, and I want people to still be able to count on me when they need to. Though I’m pretty sure my colleagues noticed too. So I push myself. Sometimes I guess I pretend to be alright, cope with humour as my defence mechanism (self preservation through dissociation, amirite?), but then it comes crashing down the next day or next minute. 

I’m just human. I need to allow myself to feel. I need to embrace that I feel a lot, sometimes a little too much. I shouldn’t hate myself for caring too much, for feeling too much. I need to remember to allow myself to rest, or else this burnt out and exhaustion won’t do me or anyone any good. Yes, I want to be there for others, but sometimes you need to save yourself first. 

I’ve got one life to live, so I gotta live it. Right now it feels like I’m just surviving, otherwise basically floating through time and space. But it’s time to really live. it’s time to stop trying to keep everything under control. Sometimes a mistake is a destiny and sometimes we mess things up for the better. Stop comparing your progress and path to others. 

Recovery isn’t a straight line. You’re gonna feel good and then bad. You’re gonna feel like a bad-ass bitch who needs no one, but then the next you might be crying from the pain of missing him. Sometimes it will just get worse before it gets better. Real growth isn’t linear, it’s a step forward and 20 steps back. You’re gonna be tempted to text him, to hear his voice, to try one more time, but then you also gotta remember all the progress you’ve made. People are hard to forget and change takes time. 

Like Chandler and Joey were nudging Ross to move on from Rachel back in Season 1, maybe your friends had nudged you to move on too. My friends have been. Maybe our happiness just aren’t meant to be with each other. But I would love for you to be happy, even if it’s without me. 

So, I guess imma do a separate post about all the lessons I’ve re-learnt. It was a real headache trying to write this piece already. Thanks to anyone who’s actually taken the time to read this. Take care everyone! 

X

[trylonandperisphere]

Are you suffering from 2020 election burnout? You're not alone.

Covid-19 depleted our bodies’ ability to process stress months ago. Then election season arrived.

Oct. 31, 2020, 5:00 AM EDT

By Anne Helen Petersen

Like so many other people I know, I’ve spent the least eight months figuring out how to spread out my Covid-19 and election-related stress in a way that makes everyday life livable. I metered my anger; I figured out anxiety-diluting strategies; I got through one day of uncertainty and fear, then the next, then the next. I created basic, anchoring routines for each day, and I worked to cultivate spare moments of peace and something that approximates happiness. I figured it out because I had no other choice. My life wasn’t great — but it was bearable.

It’s not just fears of contracting Covid-19 or anxiety about who will win the presidential election — it’s more, “How will my community and my state and my country recover from this physical and economic calamity?”

But this week, my body began to tell me a different story. After all these months, my anxiety dreams began to incorporate Covid-19. In them, I show up in a store or to an event and I’ve somehow forgotten my mask, or everyone else has. My sleep, which had largely steadied, is beginning to disintegrate again. My misophonia — an actual medical condition in which particular sounds, especially chewing, make you feel like you want to bang your head against the wall — is off the charts. My stomach churns, my muscles ache. I feel totally scattered, unable to concentrate, sensitive to everything.

My partner’s migraines rolled in every day for the past week. No one I know was sleeping well. Once-manageable conditions — tinnitus, hot flashes, colitis — have spiraled out of control. All of our already bad digital habits, especially doomscrolling, have gotten worse. As I sit here writing, a devouring headache has traveled up my spine, over my skull and into my jaw bone. “All my coping strategies are failing,” one person told me recently. “I am coming undone.”

It’s not just fears of contracting Covid-19 or anxiety about who will win the presidential election. It’s more, “How will my community and my state and my country recover from this physical and economic calamity?” And, “Will American democracy be dismantled?” It’s constantly wondering: Are you doing enough? Do you have any more hours, more money, more desperate energy to give? What more can you wring out of your already wrung-out self so you can change the direction of this country?

There’s also the knowledge that there will be no catharsis on Election Day, because the president and the GOP have quietly and not-so-quietly been setting up an infrastructure to ensure that any win will be contested. Imagine running a marathon, seeing the finish line and then having someone on the sideline yell that you need to turn around and run all the way home. That’s what this election burnout feels like. The unknowns — about the virus, a potential cure, just how long all of this will last — just continue to cascade. The approach of winter feels like being in a dark tunnel closing in on both sides. Your fatigue accumulates gradually, until one day you realize you’ve been struggling to breathe for weeks.

The foundations of this stress are not new, even if they are new to some people. For years, a lot of white, middle-class people in the U.S. have been insulated from the reality that an election could have dramatic effects on their lives. President Donald Trump pulled that privilege away and introduced bourgeois liberals to what BIPOC, poor people, queer people and disabled people have been feeling for centuries. Feeling unsafe in public spaces, uncertain that law enforcement will protect you, fearful that certain rights could be taken from you without warning — for millions of Americans, the stress and threat was always there. But the thrum of constant worry has started to feel like someone screaming in your ear.

Imagine running a marathon, seeing the finish line, and then having someone on the sideline yell that you need to turn around and run all the way home. That’s what this election burnout feels like.

What’s changed is that our surge capacity — the body’s ability to process stress — was depleted months ago. We have so much grief and nowhere to put it. When you can’t process something, it builds up, like bile. And no matter how creatively or diligently you try to ignore it, it’s still there, slowly festering. At some point your body begins to betray your best compartmentalization strategies. Our dreams have become vivid and terrifying because sleep is one of the places we allow ourselves to confront our sadness and fear.

This sort of chronic instability, and the burnout and exhaustion that accompany it, fundamentally changes us. In some cases, our bodies and minds force us to check out entirely. We turn inward, become apathetic and withdrawn, neglect the effects of our actions on others and indulge our worst, most selfish and desperate selves.

If that’s what you need to do in order to keep going just one more day: Do it. But dropping out of civil life — of caring — is a worst-case scenario. What you can do, at least in the short term, is take the advice of my friend, clinical psychologist Darcy Lockman: Lower the bar. Now, look at that bar, and lower it again.

That philosophy can apply to basically everything in your life that you, personally, control: your appearance, the cleanliness of your house, your to-do list, your parenting, even your relationships. What is actually essential, and where can you give yourself some much-needed, even if temporary, slack? How can you give yourself the smallest — but nonetheless substantive — break from the relentlessness of your life right now?

If, like me, small measures of control make you feel better about a lack of control elsewhere, what’s something that will give you some form of short-term catharsis? You’re not the only person in your life who feels like things are falling apart, even more than they were falling apart before. Ask your friends in the group chat. Actually talk to your partner about it. If you have kids and they are old enough, talk to them, too. Our struggles can feel unique and unknowable to anyone else. But just admitting out loud that you’re feeling broken can produce something like strength.

I’m still oscillating between hope and despair, between believing the polls and rejecting them, between imagining the possibilities of radical, wide-ranging societal change and steeling myself for four more dark years. But the exhaustion we feel at that prospect is, as Dahlia Lithwick pointed out in her recent piece on the confirmation of Amy Coney Barrett, the point. If Republicans can’t win the popular vote, they’ve decided to win by simply wearing down the opposition: in the courts, in the legislature, through disinformation and on social media.

If Republicans can’t win the popular vote, they’ve decided to win by simply wearing down the opposition: in the courts, in the legislature, through disinformation, and on social media.

This arduousness has not been accidental. The response to this virus didn’t have to be another battle in the culture war. Voting doesn’t have to feel like a mythical hero’s journey. Applying for unemployment, taking a Covid-19 test, feeling confident that people will respect rules about masks — none of it should be this hard. That difficulty was always the point. Make things hard, and infuriating and time-consuming, and eventually people will give up — or at least fall in line.

The rallying cry that emerged in the wake of Trump’s election was resist. Resist normalizing Trump’s behavior. Resist his policies. Resist the spread of Trumpism — and resist his vision for America. Some people have been resisting for as long as they can remember. And others, new to this fatigue and fear, are arriving at new stages of empathy and solidarity. All of this resistance has exacted a steep toll. But if you’re on the brink of falling apart, it’s not a symptom of failure. It’s evidence of bone-deep care and commitment to a different vision of what this country can be: for yourself, for your family and for those who are nothing like you but deserve it nonetheless.

Be gentle on yourself these next few days. And remember that part of what we’re fighting for is to never feel this way again.

[itsabisnail-blog]

how to be a friend

(the following is a lot of word vomit of things that have happened recently and that I need to get out in writing--furthermore, despite the title of this, it will not be a how to, that’s just a catchy title--seriously though if you are looking for advice this ain’t it, I’m not even sure any of this makes sense but I had to put it out there somewhere.  hopefully there will be a follow up to this but who knows??)

I recently found out that my best friend is suicidal.  She voluntarily admitted herself into an inpatient psychiatric hospital for students.  This all occured under a week ago, but I have been aware of her battles with depression and anxiety since last spring when my suitemate and I found out she was self harming.  I think though that I knew about her struggle with mental health before that.  Her coping mechanisms with stress were/are to completely be silent and avoid interaction with anyone.  On days that she would decide to not talk, if I spoke to her, she would respond in the lowest volume she possibly could.  In the fall, I could clearly see how much and anxiety she had.  It wasn’t until spring when we started to get really busy because of our athletic season that I saw much worse.  That sounds too dramatic, it wasn’t like a switch.  At first it happened gradually, she would be crazy and funny one night--procrastinating work and talking about how she didn’t want to do it and joking about dropping out of school.  Then everyday was a day she didn’t want to talk.  It was never like in movies or shows, how they portray people who wouldn’t get out of bed.  It was like she would put off all her work until she physically couldn’t finish it then go to a library until 2 am to work.  She put off so much work that she had to sacrifice nights with the team or fun things we would do on the weekends sometimes.  During this time, our teammates would come up to me asking if she was okay or telling me that I should tell her to go to bed or make her come back from the library as if I had that much power over her.  

It was part way into season that I notcied some cuts on her arm and I asked her about them.  She lied and I let her get away with it even though I didn’t believe it.  I think I didn’t want her to not trust me and hide more stuff.  A few days later, a teammate came up to me and said she needed to talk to me about my friend.  She had noticed the cuts as well.  At this time, my friend had been seeing a therapist through the school for a while and so I emailed her, still thoroughly unsure of what to do.  Cut to a week later when it all came out that she had been self harming through a series of events that I can’t get into.

It led to a lot of honesty between me and her.  She told us everything that had happened--or what I thought was everything but definitely wasn’t because now that I know more, I know that she is a master of hiding.  

From then though, she seemed more open with us (us being me and my suitemate at the time--we were and still are extremely close).  So now that we have the background slightly laid out, we can flash forward to present day.  Less than a week ago she informed my old suitemate and I that she was being admitted to a hospital for her safety.  This led me to assume she was suicidal (a correct assumption).  I was hysterical.  I’m not really sure how I was supposed to react, but maybe I was being too crazy and too upset, I don’t know.  My suitemate got a bit annoyed with me, but maybe there just is no good way to respond to that.  We didn’t find out anything more that night, but I was sad and wanted to cry all day and skipped one of my classes to run through the events that had led up to this decision.  

1. She hadn’t been acting like she had last semester.  She seemed happier more consistently.  But she was just hiding it better I guess.  I’m not sure if I should have seen through it, but I guess I was under the impression that this was an improvement from last year and we were on the right track. 2. She had just started on antidepressants.  3.  She had to switch to a new therapist.  4. Her parents, who she doesn’t have the most open relationship with, had just been in town for a weekend.

The next day I was exhausted from giving my energy to thinking about her constantly and wonderinf if I had some part to play in all of it thinking about my interactions with her and the conversations we’d had before.  I wanted everything to stop moving, everyone to stop going about their lives, assignments to stop being assigned to I could collect myself.  So that I could have a day where I didn’t have to think or breathe or move and I could cry and lay in bed and try to figure out what the fuck happened.

I say all this like it happened so long ago.  This all literally happened this week.  I didn’t know how I felt when it happened then and I don’t know how I feel now five days later.  This week has felt like it is YEARS long.  Since Monday I have talked to her several times over the phone and visited her once.  While I have some clarity over the situation now, I am still confused.  I recognize that I am fortunate enough to not have to go through what she is going through.  I don’t know what it means to be severly depressed or have crippling anxiety or want to kill myself.  I am learning about a lot of this as it occurs.  And I know that me trying to figure out or pinpoint exactly what caused this is futile.  It’s hard to just accept that this occured without some singular thing triggering it but I know that mental health is not exact or some one size fits all type thing.

Now I said this wouldn’t be a how to and it’s not because I feel like I may be the least qualified to offer advice on this subject.  I’m still learning, I am still dealing with all of this.  I don’t have any advice.  I know that I am trying to be supportive and understand what she is going through it a way that is not pushy to her.  I am trying to keep things as normal as possible.  She is one of the funniest people I know and we are even funnier together.  I am trying to educate myself while not putting her in the position that she needs to educate me.  And I am trying to be understanding and empathetic despite my own personal ability to relate to the severity of what she is going through.  I am still struggling with how I come in and if I will ever be able to see that she is going through a depressive episode and how I tell someone about that.  There is so much I don’t know and so much I am confused about and I want to be there for her the best I can.  

There is no conclusive end to this story and no tragic or happy ending either.  This will be constant and something she always deals with and for as long as I know her I hope I can be someone who is there for her in some capacity.  Who knows what will happen the rest of this school year?  Who knows what will happen next year?  I guess, all I can do is show her that I’m here.  Just show up.  Or something like that.

[svartalfhild]

2018, I Won’t Miss You

A.k.a. I call out this year for all the ways it fucked me over and reflect on a few good experiences.

This year was the first year I’ve ever had a smart phone, which ended up being pretty damn useful, even essential at some points.  However, the counterbalance was that I had to go through finding out how to live in a post-school existence, and that was not pretty, because it put me at all new levels of social isolation and uncertainty.  I stressed super hard about finding a new job.  I ultimately didn’t get one and lost hours at my current job because I thought I was going to be transitioning to a better job at a toy store, but they laid me off only a few weeks after hiring me to replace me with someone with better availability.  They said I could stay on as a “seasonal worker” but it’s past Christmas and I haven’t been asked to fill a single shift since they benched me in September, so saying I still work there is kind of a joke at this point.

The good news is, despite the stress of failing to get a better job, I’ve added art as an occasional source of extra income, starting with doing the cover illustration for a short story my mother published earlier this year and later with opening commissions to the online community.

My mental health didn’t have a super great year, though, especially in the first half.  On top of the job bullshit and the dealing with not knowing how to live life without school, I was feeling intensely bleak about my existence.  I was in an excruciating amount of emotional pain because of things I couldn’t control, and it festered because I had the free time to ruminate about how lonely and dejected I felt.  I hadn’t felt quite that bad in several years, actually.  It’s hard to compete with the shit I was going through in middle school, but this came alarmingly close. 

I think my biggest mistake was trying to force myself to be fine again as soon as possible when it took me a couple years to get past the shit that plagued me when I was 12.  I honestly think, though, that there was a little while there from about July to late September when I was coping pretty well.  I don’t know what happened in late spring to make that happen, but I was in a state of higher functioning for a bit in the summer.

The sad thing is that here at the end of the year, I am once again struggling with the same shit; I’m just a whole lot better with how that affects my behaviour towards other people now.  I do feel like I’ve learned how to better interact with people and shield those I love from the worst of my mental health nonsense.  In turn, I think that has greatly improved my relationships and made me less prone to beating myself up over the things I say.  Progress.

And hey!  I did manage to do some pretty rad things this year, despite all the crap my physical and mental health were hefting onto me.  I got on a plane for the first time and traveled by myself to Oregon to be with some of my closest friends, who I’d only ever known through the internet before.  We went to a convention together and had a really awesome time getting our asses kicked at AtlA themed dodgeball dressed as our DnD characters.  I went through a haunted house for the first time and found out that I’m too rational to be scared by a lot of that sort of stuff (but it was still fun).  I got to go to huge bookstore and see a first American edition of Fellowship of the Ring.  I think the best part of that whole trip, though, was just living with friends and getting a taste of what life without my family’s control could be like.  For once in my life, I trusted that everyone and everything was going to be okay, and for a few days, I was really happy.  Because of that, though, I spent a lot of the day that I left crying or trying not to cry.  Having so much of what you want and then having to leave it is...really upsetting, as it turns out.

But anyway.  I also managed to complete an application to grad school, so even though my whole Find A Good Job plan didn’t work, I still took a step towards some kind of life goal and I don’t have to have a total existential crisis just yet.  I don’t have high expectations about being accepted, but I do have some hopes and that’s something I can hold onto going into next year.

A lot changed with my family this past year.  Dealing with the wake of my grandfather’s sudden death was a major issue all year that seemed almost handled until my grandmother died just a couple months ago, which threw everything back into chaos and despair.  Death and loss have been an awful theme for me this year in general.  On top of my grandparents’ deaths, my dad’s best friend committed suicide, and a friend of mine, who I know to have been suicidal in the past, completely disappeared from the internet when I wasn’t looking, and I was unable to track her down to find out if she was okay.  Other friends lost people who were dear to them as well.  The world was ravaged by increasingly terrible disasters on top of that.  Needless to say, my empathy circuits are fucking fried.

Thankfully, life handed me some pretty great distractions from its bullshit, like an awesome DnD campaign and lots of time with assorted other TTRPGs, or numerous video games like Pillars of Eternity II: Deadire, Fallout 4, and Overwatch.  Netflix brought me countless hours of enjoyment, and my brother got me to watch all of Stargate SG1 with him, which I wasn’t super into at first, but it grew on me.  I started knitting again for the first time in years, because I love knitting scarves for people.  I did a lot of fic writing, but it wasn’t really fanfiction so much as additional content for my tabletop games.  Same goes for art. 

It’s been over a year now since I’ve posted any proper fanfic or fanart, which feels weird, but I think I’ve become so exhausted with the politics of being a fan content creator that I haven’t had the motivation for it.  It’s much easier to keep your passion for something going when you don’t hope to attract the attention of thousands of people, and instead you’re making things for a story you made up with your closest friends.  The only people whose attention you need to care about then are a handful of people who are already inherently invested.

Of course, that’s not to say that I don’t get sad about my work sometimes anyway, regardless of what I’m creating and for whom.  Depression is and has been a real dick this year, and it made me procrastinate on my grad app manuscript to the point where I had to stress years off my life cramming the creation of a 10k word original short story into a single month just before the deadline.  I managed it, though, and that’s the important thing.

I don’t know what to expect from 2019 except more nonsense, because there’s always copious amounts of nonsense.  Having high expectations, given what the past few years have been like, seems rather silly at this point.  I suppose what the new year shapes up to be will largely hinge on whether I get accepted to grad school in March or not.  If I do, then it’ll be a year of big change in my life, going away to live on my own in a different state.  If I don’t, then it’ll just be More Of Same, still living with my parents, working part-time at a shit food service job, looking for a new job, and tearing my hair out trying to get everything together for more grad school applications. 

One way or the other, though, I intend to try to finally get treatment for my mental illness.  I am tired of being like this and I’m tired of having my memory and focus abilities steadily destroyed by this shit.  If anything goes right next year, let it be that.