Martha Kaplan and I are both depressed.

This is the second in a series of conversations about depression and money.

Logan Sachon: You said something in our first conversation that I keep thinking about.

Martha Kaplan: I’m pretty depressed, so it’s a good day for it. Go on.

LS: You were explaining why you’ve chosen not to use your real name for these chats, and you said: “It is hard to be respected in your place of employment when it is known that you sometimes cannot get out of bed.” (basically)

MK: Ah yes.

LS: And I’m wondering: Does your employer know about your mental health adventures? Past employers? Who gets to know, and who doesn’t?

MK: This is an interesting question. I have an office job now, but I used to be in a job that required me to supervise children. I was very young, and I didn’t have a particularly strong backbone (this was a thing that my supervisor told me once) (she was not trying to be mean). And what ended up happening was I would cry in front of the children. It happened more than once. A handful of times, I think? But it made it so, so, *so* much harder to go back the next day and command respect. Not that I was getting much before. Hence the crying.

But that was a lesson. Obviously, if they see you’re weak, they’ll respect you less, but children are just more honest humans. If you cry at work, you will get less respect. Or if you talk openly about being depressed, you will be seen as weak. Unreliable. (It’s a particularly fine line for a woman to walk) (because if you’re too aggressive, you’re seen as a bitch) (competent, strong, but not too strong, and not too threatening—please be all of those things). 

Anyway, this is not to say that I haven’t cried at my desk. I have, and I’ve told my co-workers, the ones I’m close with, some details about my mental state. There is one coworker in particular whose office I would sit in sometimes when I was freaking out, but this person was supposed to be mentoring me, so it felt okay to be vulnerable (or rather I felt like I had no choice). I honestly kind of regret that now. I had a panic attack at work once, and I joke about being in therapy because I feel like you’re allowed to do that in New York. But no one who’s actually in charge of me knows that I’m fifteen minutes from totally losing my shit at any given moment. Because honestly, if they did know, why would they give me anything to be in charge of?

LS: Do you think that person who is your mentor “gets” it?

MK: I think there’s an age difference that makes it hard. Part of me feels that, as a youngish woman, there’s no way that my “depression” will be taken seriously. I don’t think my mentor thinks my problems are a joke, but I also think that it’s easy to dismiss a twenty-something having panic attacks as, you know, just a girl going through a phase.

LS: This is something that I struggle with, even myself. Because even though I know that I have a Disease, that depression is a Disease, that I cannot Snap Out of It, that it’s not that I’m just not trying hard enough, that there are actual chemicals in my brain that are keeping me from being The Best Possible Me All The Time …. I still think sometimes (all the time?) that my inability to snap out of it is a personal weakness.

So if I can’t believe there is something physically or chemically happening that is making basic tasks so hard, or if I don’t, why should anyone else?

That said, I have been very open with most of my employers about the fact that I have been diagnosed and sometimes have to deal with being Clinically Depressed, mostly because I am very open with everyone about everything, and lying about that particular thing seemed harder and more stressful than just being out with it.

But I’ve never disclosed it preemptively—it’s always been when I’m basically already in crisis, or getting there, and feel I need to somehow justify my behavior (like, looking very morose) (or being late) (or subpar performance, or what I perceive as subpar performance).

MK: So what do you say?

LS: Well it’s hard. There isn’t really standard accepted language for what is happening. Depressed means so much more than whatever is in the DSM-IV. And I certainly am not precious about it. “Ugh, I’ve watched all of Game of Thrones , I’m so depressed” is just as legit a use of the word as “I’m sorry that I have been letting you down in every way lately, I’m depressed.” But they don’t mean the same thing. And I don’t love to use that word, really maybe because I do feel like it discounts what’s going on. I don’t know. When I’m in a bad place, that is, a depressed place, I describe it as “a dark place” or “a low place.” That language feels pretty apt to me. But that’s also very casual language.

Which is why it’s good, I think, to have a diagnosis and to medicalize it as much as possible. When I’ve felt the need to disclose it, I try to say, “I’m clinically depressed. I’ve had it under control but my meds have stopped working. I’m seeing a new therapist, I’m looking for a doctor to regulate my meds, this is what’s happening.” Using that language also helps me deal with self-loathing—it’s not me, it’s my disease.

MK: Interesting. I think one of the things I have been good at is faking it when necessary. I was talking to a friend today about how I feel like I have enough energy to do one of two things: either work or take care of myself. And I always choose work, no matter how awful I feel. Even if it makes me feel awful. I do enough to make sure I’m not insanely worried about getting fired. Or rather, I do enough so that when I tell people I’m insanely worried about getting fired, they tell me I’m crazy. I think work is a coping mechanism almost, like a way of avoiding the problem. Which is why it’s important that no one know that I actually have serious issues at work.

LS: The jobs that have been best for me, as far as being able to separate what is going on in my head and getting a job done, have been retail jobs. The jobs have been with larger companies, the policies are set by corporate, you clock in, you clock out, if you’re late three times, you’re fired. These are the jobs where I have not disclosed anything, because it doesn’t matter. Rules are rules and if you break the rules then you’re out. That kind of structure was good for me, I think.

The other jobs I’ve had—writing jobs, editing jobs—have not been so stringent. There is a bare minimum of things to be done, yes, but then also almost infinite possibilities of what Could be done. And when I’m struggling and when I’m just making it through doing the bare minimum, I feel the need to disclose what’s going on. I want to be an A+ amazing worker. And sometimes I can’t be. And it’s not because I’m lazy. Or maybe it is because I’m lazy. But it’s chemical imbalance-induced laziness.

When I’ve been in a bad place, and disclosed my depression, I’ve always encountered really understanding and lovely coworkers and bosses. And I think part of that is also that I have mostly worked at small companies, so these people have all been my friends, too, so they’ve been sympathetic and understanding and wanting to help and cut me a break.

But now I wonder if disclosing this to these people and accepting their help didn’t …. lower the stakes for me. Like, at the retail jobs, I’m going to show up no matter what because I know that if I don’t I will get fired and there is no recourse. But once people know, even if I don’t want it to be like this, once they know that I’m having a hard time, it makes this thing that I Had to get out of bed for, less of a Had? If that makes sense.

MK: It does. I mean, I do think depression is a real disease. I don’t think this is “in your head,” but I do think that you can lean into it or fight it. Or actually, you can be lucky enough to have the resources and support be able to actually take the time to try to fight it. Like, you can be financially stable and part of some miraculous supportive family that will pay for you to go to therapy and yoga all the time or something. Which is a small number of people. Or you can use all of your energy fighting to stay afloat. But when you’re using all of your energy fighting to stay afloat, you get tired, and eventually you just want to give up.

I think maybe telling your employers about your issues made it easier to allow yourself to give up. Which is not the same as saying you’re lazy. It’s more like, a regular person will take advantage of having flexible deadlines to a certain extent, but for a person who has depression, that’s almost like a trigger. You don’t want to take advantage, but you do because you’re normal, and then you feel awful about it, and then you do it more and more, because that makes you feel more depressed and you’re fighting harder just to keep yourself, like, not in a huge amount of pain and you can’t do the thing you were supposed to do ages ago.

LS: The Spiral.

MK: I think the idea is: Can work be a place that forces you to be healthy? And is that a good thing? I think it can be, but also, I feel a lot of the time like I’m choosing work over myself. Because being competent at work makes me feel baseline competent, even though my entire body is screaming that I’m not okay.

Doing your job while also having depression or mania or whatever is hard enough. Doing your job while also worrying about judgment, is too hard, is my feeling. But that’s also a product of how there is a stigma around mental illness. And it’s not well understood. It’s like, would I try to hide the fact that I had diabetes from my employer because of concerns that I would “take advantage” of that for more sick days? No.

LS: Right, or hide behind that diagnosis somehow. Do you take sick days?

MK: Not frequently. Once because I was extremely sad. That was awful.

LS: And did you say, “I’m extremely sad”?

MK: No I said I had the flu. One of these things is definitely not your fault (the flu). One of them seems like it might be (being sad).

LS: Another good thing about the retail jobs I’ve had is that, just like there are rules for being late and getting fired, there are also clear rules for calling out and for covering shifts. And, if I needed to, I did call out sick from those jobs—I knew the number of days I had, and I used them. Never more than was allowed, and never when I knew it was going to really mess anyone up.

But it was really a no judgment system. You didn’t have to fake it. You just called and talked to a manager and said, “I’m calling out today.” And something about that let me take some much-needed “mental health days” without the guilt—I hadn’t done that before. If it was really bad, I had lied and said I was sick, or worse, I wouldn’t take a day at all when I really, really needed one because I’d felt that I should be able to talk myself out of bed or whip myself into shape.

And I hate lying. But yes, I’d say the flu. Or a fever. Or terrible menstrual cramps. All of that is easier than saying, “I just can’t make it out of bed today.”

Of course a lot of that had to do not just with the policies but with nature of the work—other people could do my job at the stores. Most of the jobs I’ve had, that hasn’t been the case. A sick day just meant no one was doing what needed to be done, or someone was having to do my job on top of their job.

MK: So the system that was in place at the store allowed you to take care of yourself without taking advantage. That’s insane. That sounds like a dream

LS: It was a good place. Good for me. Are you aware of anyone else at your office with mental unhealth? Are there people that talk about it?

MK: I know several people here are in therapy, but I doubt anyone else has a diagnosed thing. Is my feeling. But maybe that’s just me wanting to feel special.

LS: Ha, yes. We are so special. Magical butterflies of sadness. Superheroes of hating ourselves. Would we just had, like, different colored eyes, or photographic memories. I thought we were going to end up deciding that it would be better to be More Open About Our Depression at Work, but it seems like maybe we’re thinking … no. Keep it secret, keep it safe. But that seems wrong. I mean, one of the hard things about being depressed is that it’s not something that a lot of people accept as even a valid disease, so maybe we should be talking about it more (hence these conversations). But what if everyone at your work is also miserable and you’re all suffering silently? You could have a support group … of depressed people. Do we owe it to each other to talk about this openly at work?

MK: I think the key is that I am healthy enough to get my shit together and come to work and pretend to be fine, so no, I wouldn’t want to be reminded of how hard that is and how close I am to not being able to do that by having a support group at work. But also, there are people who are not healthy enough to have regular jobs, and maybe support groups would help get them to a place where they could.

LS: I’m very interested to read about other people’s experiences with telling or not telling at work. And I’d love to talk to some people who don’t Suffer From Depression about what it’s like to work with people who do Suffer From Depression. And as for you and me, we’re both going to keep doing the best we can. I’m going to do that by eating an apple. I am guessing that you are going to continue to work on your work. Thanks for chatting. I’m sorry you’re feeling bad today.

MK: It will be fine. It will pass. It always does.

Previously: Depression and Money: Some Real Talk

See also: How to Lose Four Months to a Depression/Spending Death Spiral

Martha Kaplan and I are both depressed.

This is the first in a series of conversations about depression and money.

Logan Sachon: So we’re here today to talk about DEPRESSION and how it affects our MONEY.

Martha Kaplan: Not well. It has what I would characterize as a “negative effect.”

LS: Yes. I think you are right about that. We both have some personal experience with this. I’d say.

MK: I would say that also.

LS: So we’re going to talk about this. Martha Kaplan is not your real name, though maybe it should be.

MK: Yes I have requested to be anonymous because of my job. It’s hard to be taken seriously in your place of business if it’s widely known that one, you are a lady, and two, you sometimes have trouble getting out of bed. Either of the the two is problematic. But in combination it’s disastrous.

LS: … 

MK: I’ll give you the breakdown on my “issues.” So I’ve probably always been somewhere on the depression spectrum. But this got particularly bad during college. There was a week-long period my sophomore year when I didn’t really leave my room. I mean, I got some food, occasionally, but I mostly didn’t go to class. I definitely didn’t wash my hair. I didn’t really see people (probably part of that was shame because of the state of my unwashed hair).

This was maybe right around the period when I started putting vodka into my coffee before going to class. I was, in general, not being the best Me I could be.

But anyway, at a certain point I came out of that, and I started seeing a therapist who I didn’t end up liking that much, but I was diagnosed then with a mild bipolar disorder. I eventually went on a couple medications: Lamictal, which was originally for seizures, but has a secondary use as a mood stabilizer for manic depressives who can’t be on antidepressants because that would make their mood too elevated, and also Concerta, which is essentially time release Ritalin, which I basically got because I wanted to stay up all night writing papers, because I always wait until the night before to start doing things. So that was less related to my “illness” or whatever.

LS: BUT WAS IT I WONDER? (I do that, too.) (Wait until the last minute.)

MK: I mean, my inability to do shit certainly is related to my anxiety re what I’m producing not being good enough. If you self-sabotage, you can blame that for the low quality of the product you make. You set yourself up for failure, so you can avoid larger, failure of SELF. We’ve talked about this. I think we both do it.

LS: Yes. You recently re-reminded me that I do it—many a therapist has told me I do this! And my mother! But I forget.

MK: Self-sabotage. It’s very trendy and helpful. Anyway, I spent a lot of time not being in therapy or on medication; but I’ve been seeing someone for about seven months now, and it’s been a pretty big game changer. Her diagnosis right now is generalized anxiety disorder, though I think I cycle through high and low moods with some intensity and frequency, which is a mark of bipolar disorder (like, also of life, and having feelings). But it’s probably not serious enough to be diagnosed. Bipolar disorder is SERIOUS.

Anyway. I’m managing my shit with talk therapy. And no medication at the moment. And it’s going okay. Probably my best friend, to whom I often write panicked emails and or have very teary conversations with, would disagree to a certain extent. So that is my deal. What is YOUR DEAL, Logan?

LS: Like you, my first experience with pretty intense therapy and an actual diagnosis and medication came in college. I saw two therapists in high school, but only for a few sessions each, and both times it was understood, at least by me, that I was just seeing this third-party adult to talk through some hard times. But my third year of college, everything was going great on paper but I was anxious and miserable all the time and also could not get out of bed. I eventually dragged myself to student health—it’s funny, that seems like such an easy thing to do, but I remember it being this huge internal debate, mostly because I felt like if I just tried harder I could figure this out. But something eventually made me go, and I went.

Pretty quickly I  had a talk therapist and a psychiatrist and a prescription for Prozac. I say sometimes that the Prozac saved my life, which is an exaggeration in that I wasn’t suicidal, but the difference between before I was taking it and after was incredible, for me. My diagnosis at that time was mild obsessive compulsive disorder, but all the docs I’ve seen since then—and it’s been several—have said it’s really more just clinical depression. I’ve taken myself on and off medication and in and out of talk therapy a lot in the past eight years. Sometimes because I felt like I was CURED, sometimes because of the expense, sometimes because my prescription ran out and I didn’t refill it, sometimes because I read an article or got deep into an internet hole about how anti-depressants are a government conspiracy to poison our brains and turn us into zombies, and sometimes because I moved and couldn’t deal with finding a new doctor.

MK: Feeling like you’re cured is a problem. I feel—and this is a dumb comparison—that it’s a little like being on a diet. Like, you lose 20 pounds, or feel mentally stable and you’re like OKAY DONE SOLVED IT. And then you stop eating just pressed fruit or taking your medication or going to therapy and your body is like, guess we’re off the hook and just goes back to doing what it does best, which is hating itself. That is obviously a glib comparison, but it has taken me a long time to accept that I’m never going to be done dealing with this. I have to live my life in a different way forever to be healthy/happy/not sobbing uncontrollably and never leaving my bed.

LS: Right. I went on and off medication several times and then three years ago I was like, okay, I’m going to give this one more try. I’m going to go off it and do it right, and see what happens. And so I weaned myself off with the help of a doctor. and I was off the meds for a year, and during that time I worked out several times a week, I swam laps, I ate good food. I saw an acupuncturist once or twice a week, I made sure I got enough sleep. I did all the things that you’re supposed to do. And I thought I was doing so well, I thought I’d figured it out.

And then I went home to visit my family, and I can still remember my mom saying, “Yeah, you can get out of bed, but you are not you. You are not thriving.” And it was then that I realized that my life was PERFECT, basically, at that time I had a good job and great friends and great house, and I should have been feeling so much better than “getting by.” So I saw a new doctor and went back on meds and I haven’t tried to go off of them again. But here’s the other fun thing.

MK: Tell me the fun thing.

LS: Is that even though I’ve accepted and decided and even embraced that I need medicine to just be at a normal functioning level, THAT’S NOT ENOUGH. Because three times since then I’ve had to change medications because what I was on stopped working. “How does that work?” UNCLEAR. Psychiatrists don’t even really know how antidepressants work, and they don’t know how they don’t work. So those periods of trying new meds are always really, really terrible.

MK: I guess this is a good time for me to say that I am not super pro-medication, at least not for myself. There were a series of terrifying articles in the NYRB about how doctors literally have no idea how antipsychotics or antidepressants or any of that shit works, and how they change your brain, and how it’s impossible to ever go off them because of that. And that scares me. (I’ve also never had very good experiences with medications. The Lamictal made me feel like my head was filled with cotton balls. I felt functional but very, very dull.)

Though obviously everyone has to do what works for them, and as your friend, who cares about your mental health, I’m really glad you have found medication that works for you. You are typing right now, but I also want to remember to go back to that thing that you said about just getting by, just functioning because I think that’s really important AND has to do with how this kind of shit affects the way that we spend our money.

LS: The “yes meds or no meds conversations” isn’t a conversation I’m interested in having any longer. I’ve accepted that they work for me and I don’t care to explore that further. I’m not going to try to convince you to go on them. Okay that’s not entirely true. I have tried to convince you to go on them.

So basically we are two women. Two women who sometimes suffer from depression (I hate that phrase. Have depression? Can be depressed? Have a diagnosed disease called depression?) We are just trying to figure out the best ways to get through our days.

MK: Trying not to self-sabotage ourselves into an early grave, or bankruptcy.

LS: So to start out, with the money talk. Just going to doctors and therapists is expensive.

MK: Oh YES IT IS. When I was in college, my mother paid for not only my therapist BUT ALSO a psychiatrist I saw every couple of months, for the medication, because my psychologist was not a doctor/could not prescribe meds. And I … did not feel as guilty as I should have about this. I think insurance covered some part of it, but not all of it.

But now I am a grown ass woman, with a job and stuff. And so when I decided I needed to see a therapist again (“decided” = more like everyone I knew was like GET HELP WE CANNOT DEAL WITH THIS YOU ARE SO UNHAPPY) (and I was like a MACHINE OF SELF PITY) (and then finally I was like, “Hey guys, you’re right”), I was determined to pay for it myself, which, ugh, was/is hard.

The first person I went to, who I FELL IN LOVE WITH, was this tiny old woman on the Upper West Side (obviously). We had three consultation sessions, which thankfully I did not have to pay for, because this lady was $300 per session. WHICH IS BONKERS. That was like my entire income, basically.

LS: Did you know that before or after you went to see her?

MK: I found out during session two, which was crushing. But she was very nice and recommended someone. BUT this woman was also very expensive, because I lied about how much I could afford, because I am awkward talking about money. So for two months, I went to the woman I now see. And she was charging me her full rate, and that was … $200 a session. And that was very hard. I essentially took a second job to cover it. And my mom ended up paying $200 total over that two month period.

But finally my therapist, who is not a dumb lady, was like, “So, um, how are you paying for this? How much money do you actually make?” And I was like, “I actually cannot afford this AT ALL thank you for asking.” And she cut her fee in half, which was amazing. And THEN I went through this really rough period. I didn’t go to work for a day, because of the SADNESS. And she was like, “This happens a lot, when you start delving into stuff. It sometimes gets worse. If you want to get through this faster, maybe two sessions a week?” And I was like, “I cannot pay for that.” And she, being an amazing human, was like, “What if the rate was the same? Per week?”

So I’m now paying $50 a session, still kind of working a second job, but making it work and not relying on my mother for dollars, which I think is good for me. I think if she was paying for it (which she would totally do), I wouldn’t take it as seriously. I blew off appointments a lot when I was in school, because, like, whatever, not my money (also because I was sad and she was not a great therapist).

LS: I’m not seeing someone right now, but have an appointment next week to see someone, a consultation appointment. We haven’t talked money yet, but I know the friend who referred me pays a discounted rate, though that might not mean anything. You can only afford for so many people to not pay you your rate, right? So his sliding scale spots might be filled. So I’m preparing myself for that. But, like you and your UWS lady, you just need somewhere to start. If I can’t afford him, I’ll get names from him.

I also cannot really afford to be going to therapy, but … I also cannot really afford NOT to go to therapy. My parents have said they’ll help me, and they’ve helped me in the past, but like you, it’s not something I want to get into. Even though I’ve been to five zillion therapists, finding a new one and starting with a new one is always a big step, a positive step. This annual or biannual or whatever it is acceptance that this is not just a funk I’m in and I can’t just pull myself up and snap out of it. So making this appointment was big, and it’s something I want to do on my own.

MK: I think this is a totally acceptable thing for your parents to help you with if that’s possible for them. Like, it’s possible for me to make this work financially without help. But if you can’t make it work financially without help, I don’t think that’s a reason not to do it. Because so many other things, including your financial situation, will improve if you get help on this thing. And you are 28, so you will probs not be a dick like I was in college and not take it seriously.

I think this is a good transition to: how does being depressed/anxious make you spend more money? Because I really, really think it does and not just on meds/doctors/etc. at least for me. I am, right now, wearing a “panic sweater,” a sweater I bought while having a small panic attack. (I also bought a cardigan.) (They’re both great.) (But I DID NOT need them / could not really afford them.) But the brain situation was so crazy for me at that moment that I HAD TO PURCHASE SOMETHING to take my mind off it.

LS: It really is a beautiful sweater. I’ve been admiring it all day.

MK: Why thank you. Being panicked apparently makes me a discerning shopper. Who knew. That must be why shopping at large malls during the holiday season is so productive. (JOKES)

LS: Yeah I am wearing sad jeans, bought when I was sad. They aren’t that great. I am a bad sad shopper. Which is also one of the reasons I don’t have any cool stuff to show for all my credit card debt. It’s more like, this is a shirt, that’ll work, cha-ching, ten minutes of … not misery.

MK: I’ve made bad sad shopping decisions. Once I flew into a panic because I was going on a date and was too sweaty. So I bought an entirely new outfit, which included a tiny short-sleeved sweater, which I never wear because it is SUPER hideous. I think part of the problem is when you’re depressed or anxious, you don’t feel like it will ever be better. You believe you will exist in that state forever, and if there’s anything that you can think of that will make you feel better, you just fucking do it. Including buying tiny sweaters and sad pants and pounds of macaroni and cheese.

LS: Yes. It’s very much about what will help me NOW. For me, depression has a lot to do with stasis. I stayed in bed most of today. Reading. Watching TV shows. Napping. And I knew, theoretically, that if I got out of bed and took a shower I would feel SO MUCH Better, but there was also this part of me that was like, but what if I don’t? I’m miserable now, but at least I’m comfortable and miserable. And if I’m out in the world, it’s like, well I’m miserable, but if I buy something, at least i’ll have a cute outfit and be miserable. Or an ice cream cone and be miserable. I don’t ever think about future me. I’m really mean to future me. Only nice to this moment me.

MK: Being depressed is a lot about just surviving. It promotes a subsistence lifestyle. You were talking earlier about going home and your mom noticing that you were just “getting by,” but not doing well. I think if you’re depressed or anxious and you’re not treating it, you just do a bunch of shit in order to just get by. And the fear is, if you don’t there will be no future you. Not that I’m saying you would have killed yourself if you hadn’t bought those sad pants or I would have killed myself if I hadn’t bought that tiny sweater. But it’s true that my feelings felt unsustainable, and feelings are facts. (I stole that from a friend, but it is The Truth.)

LS: Oh that’s good. That’s really good.

MK: It’s hard to argue with them. They’re worse than facts, because they don’t respond to logic. They only respond to impulsive purchases, and massive amounts of cheese, or whatever it is that you’re doing in order not to rip your own face off. If you’re facing a choice between harming yourself financially and harming yourself physically, it seems pretty clear to me that price of a tiny sweater is not such a high one to pay.

LS: ON THAT NOTE. This has not been a terribly uplifting little chat we’ve had.

MK: No it has not been. I think we need to do more. But I have a birthday dinner to go to now.

LS: Oh, we’ll do more. So much to cover, so much to share. But for now, you’re going to leave, and I’m going to go back to bed.

MK: Do what you got to do. Seriously. The other options are kind of terrible, and it’s helpful sometimes to remember that you could be a lot worse to yourself, to future you AND present you, than going to bed. Or buying some jeans.

See also: How to Lose Four Months to a Depression/Spending Death Spiral

Martha Kaplan lives in New York.

We didn’t do so well this month when it came to saving. Not that we’ve been doing great up to this point by any means, but this month was pretty terrible. Adam and I were still able to save our goal amount: We currently have $2,200 in our savings account, and are still on track to putting away $10,000 by next May. That’s reassuring, but we could have done a lot better.

This month was one of those mentally draining, down-in-the-dumps months. It was full of impulse purchases and lack of any motivation whatsoever to try to cut back or be frugal.

For a few days in the middle of October, I felt completely overwhelmed with even the smallest tasks and wallowed around in depression, holing up under the bedcovers and feeling devastated about anything and everything. For me, depression creeps up slowly and uncontrollably, like a chest-constricting, overwhelming feeling of being trapped combined with the head-swirling vertigo of facing too many choices at once. Endless series of questions encroach one after the other, hypothetical answers branching off madly, zigzagging through my brain and jamming all the normal frequencies. It is bad. It makes Adam feel crappy and alienated because he can’t do anything to help me, and I just wind up lashing out at him when he does try to help. After a few days I get over it, and life rights itself. I feel mentally weak for being unable to check my own emotions and insecurities sometimes, but I figure it’s fairly normal. Or is it? Most people go through these periods of depression, right?

I guess everyone just has to try to avert their gaze from the darkest, most terrifying, infinite, yawning chasms of Reality, find some kind of overarching meaning or at least a distraction, or else we’d all be laid out flat on our backs, shivering with terror and desperation. As for myself, sometimes I think it’s good to come face-to-face with the hard, cold facts of life and my own microscopic, antlike existence, instead of cocooning myself in some kind of warm and fuzzy delusion where I am center of the universe.

I’m sure it’s much better to concentrate on the here and now, and enjoy the moment-to-moment little things—the creamy, steaming mug of hot chocolate and some toasted pecan-raisin bread slathered with a warm dollop of butter and honey. Or I can concentrate on bigger things, like on caring for the people closest and most important to me, on making my boyfriend feel special and loved, on my dog’s sweet and trusting dependence on me, on the rhythm of my breath and the pumping of my blood while I run on a wooded trail at the park.

Or I could focus on one small and attainable goal at a time, instead of making my habitual vast mental leap to my biggest long-term goals, which seem huge and insurmountable right now. For one thing, I could finally focus on creating a weekly food plan and budget for Adam and me. This is so necessary for us, and I have been meaning to do it, but haven’t gotten around to it yet. We have fallen in a sad trap of buying enough food for the coming day or two but no further, ultimately going grocery shopping almost every single day. This is a ridiculous and tiring habit and it’s also totally unnecessary. When we started, our original food budget goal was $600 per month. Last month, we spent a whopping $1,000 at the grocery store. This month, we spent about $900, ever so slightly better, but still coming in at $300 over our target. (This includes non-food items, like shampoo, soap, cleaning supplies, laundry detergent, dog food, etc.) Last month, we put about $400 on our credit card, and this month we charged about $550, which consisted of work boots for Adam, some new office apparel for me, new makeup, a haircut, a few cheap dinners out, and some first-aid stuff for Adam because he sliced his thumb up and had to get stitches, then immediately thereafter injured his knee while running in the Atlanta Marathon. No extravagantly luxurious charges, but clearly very little money-saving progress was made.

I’m taking more action this month. I will focus on forward progress, one step at a time, and will also concentrate on delving deeper into the good stuff in my life, getting out of the ruts I tend to dig for myself. So here are my goals for November:

Goal 1: Create at least three weekly money-optimizing menus that although cheap, are still mouth-wateringly, stomach-grumbling-ly delicious, stick to them, and share them with you next month.

Goal 2: Get more exercise. It feels good.

Goal 3: Do something purposeful every day. Apply for a job I think I’d like better. Finish projects I started but have let languish. Shell out a little extra for a class in a subject I really like. Make something that I care about. Knock out things on my to-do list and don’t let the tasks pile up.

Goal 4: Be stronger, more thoughtful, less selfish, more loving! Find new twists on my day-to-day life, stretch my abilities and challenge myself. Find that pit-of-the-stomach adrenaline rush that I constantly crave through being more productive and trying new things.

Goal 5: Save more money. (Obviously)

What does everyone else do get their motivation flowing? What makes you want to live, and do, and engage? What about your life do you find exciting and stimulating? How do you pay for it, or is it free? Is excitement a requirement for you to feel good or do you prefer a quieter, slower pace of life? Do you have a plan for the future or do you play it by ear? I would like to hear about it.

Previously: Parts I, and II

Amanda Tomas will do better next time.