A few weeks ago, I went to the neurologist because I’ve been having memory problems. One of my close friends—someone who I’ve been tight with for twenty-fucking-years—has been starting anecdotes with, “Remember when…” and I’m always like… “Nope!” I get fake mad at my partner, then a few minutes later he’ll say, “I bet you don’t even remember what you’re mad about.” Sometimes, I do. Most times, I don’t. And every now and then, I forget what I’m talking about mid-sentence. It feels dumb and bad but also it reinforces everything I’ve been feeling lately: utter hopelessness, a general fed-upness with the world as it is, etc.
Anyway, I blamed last year’s COVID infection. Sure, I was having some issues before then, but my last and most savage bout of the ‘rona had exacerbated things. But after talking with this neurologist—who peskily kept coming back to the issue of my anxiety, while I was thinking OKAY BITCH, GET OVER IT—an even more sinister reason was revealed: that very proclivity for mental illness.
She suggested that I try getting my anxiety under control, which made me laugh. Later, I cried. Her thought was that I should get an MRI and also bloodwork to make sure I don’t have Lyme (fucking Pennsylvania), but she suspected my memory issues were intrinsically linked to my anxiety. Because my anxiety makes going to sleep difficult and makes being present difficult, I’m not paying attention as much as I could be, and in turn, I’m not remembering things as well as I should be.
To be fair, I guess I am perpetually preoccupied with a running commentary in my brain about how everything could go terribly wrong at any moment. But I’m used to it. I’ve tried getting it under control, but as you all know, I hate driving. I’m in the passenger seat. My overwhelming sense of doom is behind the wheel at all times.
But also: I’m never NOT trying to get my anxiety under control… if I was truly not trying, I would be screaming and crying all the time. But I cry sometimes and scream rarely. If that’s not trying, bitch I don’t know what is.
Anyway, as evidenced by this and my last depressing ass newsletter, I’ve been feeling very much like I have no hand in my own life. And what better way to really ground down in that feeling than to watch a series where the main characters are kiiiiiinda going through the same thing?
I’ve been sampling Extraordinary for the last couple of weeks. To be honest, I started watching it mostly because it seemed like Misfits, but more like, now-er. It is and isn’t — its lead, Jen, is a powerless girl in a world where everyone has superpowers. Some are shit powers, some are legit powers, but since she’s without, she longs for either. Except also she’s the worst—Jen is hopeless, yeah, powerless, yeah, but not hopeless and powerless enough to fix her selfish, horrible personality. It’s pretty classic British TV, lol.
Still, I’ve been liking watching a show about an ordinary person in a world of extraordinary people. Jen has never achieved anything and has never been the best at anything, but she still insists on deserving a fair shot (which like, same lol). Even her friends with powers feel the same way though: useless, most of the time. As if they’re wasting their lives away. Which like, same, lol.
Anyway, highly recommend if you’re into more superpower shit that’s not superpower-y. And that concludes my attempt at making good on the kind of promise that this newsletter explores mental health, “sometimes through the lens of pop culture.” I TRIED.
Til next time. R