There are times when I want to get out of my own head so badly, my skin crawls from the desire to shed it.
The sensation is so palpable, so disquieting, uncomfortable and unpleasant, that, if I’m able, I will head directly for the shower, where I will stand under scalding hot water for as long as I can, to try to make it stop.
If I’m not, then I mostly just have to get up and pace around until the urge to run screaming into the void passes — or at least lets up a little.
After all, no matter where to go, there you are, right? Great! You’re outside! You’re still shackled to your own psyche.
This is the joy of anxiety.
There was a time when this feeling would push me toward self-destruction. I’d simply go do something reckless, to try to dull the din in my mind.
Drink ’til I black out. Chain smoke an entire pack of cigarettes. Get into fights with people who don’t deserve it. Maybe, all of the above.
Now? Now, I just watch “Queer Eye” and cry.
When it comes to entertainment, I do sometimes turn to morbid documentaries and horror films to ease the blues. When you’re depressed, there’s a catharsis to it — could be the endorphins from the scares, or maybe it’s comforting to know that, no matter how bad you feel, at least you’re not being chased through an abandoned building by an axe murderer.
But when the self-doubt, self-hate and nervousness kicks in, for my money, the feel-good message of the Fab 5 is far more effective.
Watching them take people under their wings for a week, and the major transformations they’re able to accomplish not only in regards to the nominees’ looks, but in all aspects of their lives, is genuinely uplifting to me.
As much as I usually despise the term “self-care,” I actually love hearing it come out of Jonathan Van Ness’ curlycue-mustached mouth.
I feel better just listening to Tan extolling the virtues of confidence and the power of the “French tuck.” (Especially since I’ve always been a fan of a French tuck myself.) The British accent (“French took”) doesn’t hurt, either.
Karamo always seems so sincere in trying to get to the bottom of the participants’ problems. Antoni’s obsession with food as comfort is certainly a trait we have in common. And Bobby just seems like a nice guy.
They ‘re so earnest, and it makes me want to get better for them.
Of course, watching this show doesn’t cure all. My head still feels full of hornets much of the time, and the concept of self-love these guys embrace is a tough sell even on my best days.
But when it works, it’s far superior to any chicken soup.
It’s a deep-conditioning, perfectly-tailored-suit, breakthrough-session-with-your-therapist, big-plate-of-pasta for the soul.
Even if I do occasionally still really, really miss chain smoking.
Katie McDowell is a copy editor/lifestyles writer for The Dominion Post. Email kmcdowell@dominionpost.com.
