Now playing: "The Clock" Thom Yorke

Everything in life happens in cycles: seasons, tides, moons, moods, karma, laundry. If you start paying close enough attention, year after year, to your own shifts in creativity, energy and mindset, you will see definite emerging patterns. For instance, I've noticed that every May, I go crazy. If I can make it through May without doing something wildly reckless that ends up costing me my life, I might be lucky enough to make it through another year.

February seems to be my annual, month-long encounter with the Dark Side.
Every year as I approach February, I feel like a pilot taking down a plane with no wheels. I can’t help but feel like if I can just make it through February without killing myself—I might make it through another year. And this year, with the shit hitting the fan every direction I turn, my feelings of anxiety, doom and gloom are drastically heightened.

It starts right away at 8:03 am. The phone rings. I panic. I look at it cruelly blinking Unavailable and avoid the call. I don’t want to get out of bed. The mail comes. I cringe and pull the covers over my head. My bills are late and still mounting, the health insurance is about to expire, rent is due and the refrigerator empty. I want to stay under the blankets and hide all day. I am drowning in debt, financially fucked.

I did a pretty good job of keeping the worry at bay for most of the month of January, but today, that familiar sense of dread and panic rears its ugly head. The sense of powerlessness and agonizing defeat that come from being monetarily stressed can feel overwhelming to the point of paralysis.

“See you later!” my roommate cheerfully says as she heads out the door to work.
“If I’m still alive.” I call out morbidly behind her from under the covers. Oh shit, the Pity Party started early today.

By the time 9:00 am rolls around, I’ve already overdramatically threatened to kill myself at least twice and am in the process of telling a friend I think it is high time I start stripping.

“I think it’s time I took to the pole,” I say, in semi-seriousness, to him.
“Admit it,” he says sarcastically, “You’re just trying to be Diablo Cody.”
“True,” I respond, “But I also need some cash.”
“Who doesn’t?” he asks.

He’s absolutely right. And this is the beginning of the end of my Personal Pity Party. I realize I’m feeling sorry for myself. Waking up with the mindset of worry, dread and fear is always a tough one to snap out of because it instantly breeds self-pity. Self-pity breeds inertia. Inertia breeds self-loathing. And guess what self-loathing breeds, you got it, more self-pity. Worse still, this is a vicious cycle from which only you can save yourself. Self-pity is a downward mental spiral that, once it begins, is hard, although not impossible, to arrest.

I call the roommate who had to put up with my early Oscar the Grouch-ness and was a poor, unfortunate victim of my outrageous, melodramatic, morning Pity Party.

“I’m sorry, I’ll pull it out now.” I say.
“What?” she says.
“My head. Out of my ass.” I reply dryly.
She laughs. “Good. I meant to tell you that on my way out.”

The trick for me is to notice self-pity (or have someone point it out) in its earliest stage (whining and melodrama), before completely losing sight of the big picture and immersing myself in a disgusting vat of self-indulgent, defensive behavior, bad habits, wallowing, complaining, bitching and poor me, poor me, pour me another drink. That mindset, more than anything, will make me want to kill myself.

I start counting my blessings. Running water. Hands that work. A brain that kind of does. A roof over my head…By 10:00 am I am coming around the bend, ready to face the day and take whatever action I can. The truth is, I am NOT the only one waking up trying to figure out how it’s all going to work out. Not by any means at all. It’s not just me who is broke…America is broke. And on top of that, most of the rest of the world is dirt poor.

Just a quick glance at the morning news is proof of that. The statistics are so alarming; they actually make me feel better. And they should. I have a lot more than most. I have seen the light. I was just momentarily blinded to it by the darkness of having my head stuck up my ass.

So bust out the Radiohead. Stay calm and don't panic. We’re taking this baby down.