I sell used panties online. Here’s why.
That’s all I could feel. Vast, stretching, unwavering emptiness. After stagnating in place after place, finding no solace from my mind, I returned to Canada to reunite with those I knew before I was a vagrant. Surely, I thought, I would find some glimpse of my emotions return while surrounded by those friendships that have surpassed time and distance. But as I visited friends I hadn’t seen in years, I felt a lack in my ability to connect with them. What do I say? How do I communicate with these people when inside I feel nothing? And with a feeling of nothingness, there seemed minimal point in doing anything at all. If I’m going to feel the same whether I get a few hours of transcription work done, raising my feeble finances ever so slightly, or hanging out with old friends, or sitting on my arse smoking weed all day, why would I do anything but the latter? Why move when there’s no reason?
The depression didn’t just slap me in the face one day when I woke up. No, rather I’d been falling deeper and deeper for some months. It began innocently enough – feelings of heartbreak and loneliness crept into my mind. I was already nearly three years into traveling by the time it had grown thick roots, and I was learning the dark sides of this lifestyle slowly but surely. My sense of home had long since disappeared, but now so did my sense of hope, which took with it all motivation to do, well, anything. While my ability to work was severely affected (why on earth do I need money just to have money? Give me a reason to make it, and I’ll make it), the depression didn’t stop there. Go out for drinks with old friends? Too tiresome. Have someone over to hang? But what if I want to nap? What if I don’t want to talk? What if – god forbid! – they ask me to tell them stories of my travels? OH THE HORROR!
So that’s a glimpse into how far I’d fallen, and in truth, am only beginning to bite and scratch my way out.
So there I was sitting in my room at my grandfather’s house – the room I lived in for six months after my very first backpacking trip. After hours upon hours of getting stoned and watching movies, I was flat out bloody bored. This is the point at which a normal, non-depressed human would probably call up some old friends to hang out (I was in my home town for once, after all!) But that’s not what I did. No, that still required far more strength than I possessed, even if the four walls surrounding me were rendering me insane.
Though I try to ignore the nagging thoughts of money that plague most people, they have their way of creeping up at times. I knew I couldn’t stay in Edmonton for long, as it only served to worsen my depression. If you give me a hole to hide in, you won’t find me for weeks. I would have to dig my way out and continue my nomadic life if I wanted to get better, and I knew it. But I still had no energy to do anything, let alone engage in the mundane cycle of transcription work – listen to audio file, type, tear your brain out of its socket because you’re so bored, earn money to waste likely on coffee so as to be able to work tomorrow. Repeat. No, I wasn’t ready for this pointlessness.
There was, however, one thing I had been wondering about for some time. It kept coming up here and there, usually as friends joking about how it would be a wonderful way to earn money. But no one actually tried it, so who the hell knew if it could work. Like I said, I was bored, depressed, and damn near broke, so I decided to do an experiment: I would see if I could sell my used panties online.
Now that was odd enough that I had the energy for it. How to sell used panties? Yeah, it spiked my interest.
After doing some research, I decided on the website which I thought was the best and most popular. The website fee was $19 a month, and I figured I could easily waste $19 in another way, so why not on this? You know, just in case it worked. Quite honestly, I didn’t really think it would. But what else was I going to do to fill the time?
To my utter surprise, the very day I made the profile an order came in to sell my used panties. An order for my used panties online. I received payment, and slipped the panties on in preparation for their journey onward.
Bon voyage, panties.
I never really had any qualms about selling my undies; everyone has some kind of kink (and if they say they don’t, they’re either lying or not human). If I can make someone else happy by passing on my used panties, which in return makes me happy because I now have a. money and b. a constant stream of new panties, why the hell wouldn’t I do it?! I’d already been a skimpy bartender in Australia, sporting nothing but lingerie as I poured beer after beer; was this really any worse?
So my depression caused me to do an experiment I likely would never have tried otherwise. I would have sucked it up and done so-called real work because I would have had the strength. Despite all the grief it likes to cause me, those demons in my head do have a tendency to get me where I need to be – whether by kicking my ass out of the country and onto the road, or by making me sell my panties online.
Sometimes I like to imagine my depression as a big fire breathing dragon in my head. But if I treat it right, I can calm that dragon down, and fly off to magical lands. Cause everyone could use a bad ass dragon on their side.
And so… off I go to tame my dragon.