Too many photos or not, I take them for fun as a hobby - not to stress me out. However, I took so so so many pictures on vacation in Scotland that uploading them became this HUGE ENORMOUS task that I never wanted to do because it would take me SO LONG. And I just didn't have TIME to upload pictures, you know, in the summer. Ahem. Bottom line: uploading the photos became a stressful, dreaded task.
And of course, because uploading the Scotland pictures became A Big Deal, I fell way behind on uploading my subsequent pictures (of which there were plenty - let my Flickr stream assure you). HOWEVER, gentle reader, the time has come to celebrate, because hark! As of this afternoon, I am one hundred percent up-to-date with my photos. And it feels really good.
It feels really good not only because I got to cross "finish uploading photos" off of my master to-do list (although that did feel pretty awesome), but also because it marks, for me, a sign that I'm returning to normalcy - that everyday life is returning to normalcy.
This photo upload brouhaha is a classic example of a task that began as a simple one - even a fun one. As I sank deeper and deeper into my depression, however, even tasks as simple as this one became impossiblities, or, perhaps more accurately, insurmountable obstacles of DOOM. Because logically I knew that such tasks were simple - that I shouldn't feel such crushing anxiety over uploading a bunch of pictures of my DOGS, mending a dress, or sending a birthday card in the mail - I felt even worse about myself when I was unable to complete them, or even to begin them.
I have been in therapy now for five weeks. The first time I saw the therapist I see now, she said, "Why don't you come twice a week at first?" Because y'all. That is how not ok I was. I am back down to one session a week, but the difference I detect between the Mary Frances of six weeks ago and the Mary Frances of today is palpable.
I'm not saying I don't ever have bad days, because I do. I still have days when I sob uncontrollably, when I have anxiety attacks on the way home from the library, and when the knowledge that I can climb into bed at night and go to sleep is all that propels me through the day. BUT. Most of the time, I feel stronger than I've felt in years. I still have a long way to go. I know that. I come with years of baggage, and although my hours of therapy have been productive ones, I've still hardly unzipped the front pocket of one of so very many suitcases. But for now, I'm going to take the completion of this task - this small task that had become So Much More - as proof that I'm gradually piecing myself, and my everyday life, back together. And at this point, few things could feel more thrilling.
Photos here.
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