It feels like I only blog when I'm going through a tough time. And maybe that's true, but this time it's a little different. I was going through a tough time, but I've come out on the other side and I want to talk about it because something kind of remarkable happened.
A lot of this blog is me talking about mental health and how Major Depressive Disorder and Generalized Anxiety Order are straight up bitches. My life is often in turmoil because of these illnesses and I write about it for two reasons. One, writing is my outlet, my passion, and even if no one reads it, it makes me feel better to have it Out There. To just say it. And two, I try to talk about what I go through so that if anybody does read it, and struggles with similar issues, maybe my experiences can help them. Show them that even though life can be shit sometimes, even when I've been at my impossibly lowest point, eventually I do come back up... one way or another. And they can, too. So the past month and a half has been one of those deep spirals into a dark place where I can hardly get out of bed, where putting a smile on my face is torture, and I just want to quit. Everything. Even life. Yes, just recently, I was plagued with thoughts of wanting to go to sleep and never wake up again. It was that bad. To others, it probably didn't seem like it. I mean, some people knew I was off, but nobody really knew how bad it was because I've spent my life perfecting an outside front that looks relatively happy and capable of dealing with pretty much anything. I don't like to let others see just how vulnerable and shattered I am on the inside. Been there, done that, it doesn’t go well for me. So, I keep it mostly bottled up, which I know isn't healthy, but it is what it is. Unlike most instances, this time I know what triggered it. I took on something new that overwhelmed and intimidated me; feelings that I've never been adept at handling well. And because I knew that failure at this new task would be very bad, causing a ripple effect through all aspects of my life, I was stressed to my limits. Some people saw this, knew what it was about, and did what they could to bolster me up. I am SO grateful to these wonderful human beings and you know who you are. I give my deepest thanks to you. Because I was so afraid of failing at this task, because I just don't accept failure in myself, I knew I had to do something to change the way I was thinking about things. It sounds easy, but anyone dealing with depression/anxiety knows how impossible it seems. I've tried talking myself out of feeling anxious more times than I can count and all it does is frustrate me because my brain is wired in such a way that logic and reasonableness can't penetrate it. You can give me a laundry list of reasons why worrying about something is useless and I'll nod and agree with you, because in reality those reasons are, well, reasonable. But it does nothing to actually affect how my brain processes the situation. Somehow, I always think I'm the exception to the rule; part of the miniscule percentage to which bad stuff happens. That sounds a little narcissistic, but depression likes to lead me into a doom and gloom mindset where I'm headed straight to the worst-case scenario. And even though the worst-case result rarely ever happens, my mind refuses to acknowledge that fact. Maybe there's a name for this type of thinking. Some weird disorder. If you know, please enlighten me. It'd be helpful to understand what I'm always fighting against. But. And this is a pretty big but. As I mentioned earlier, this time around, I managed an impressive feat... at least, impressive for me. I had a light bulb moment; a kind of self-awareness flash that floored me. And this moment of clarity? Genius thinking (haha)? It was this: nobody is going to save me. It's not possible. Only I can do that. Only I can truly beat the darkness back. Now, some of you may be thinking, "What? That's the big answer? Everybody knows that." And while that may be true, it was striking to me. Because I've spent a lot of my life waiting for doctors and therapists and family and friends to lift me up and dig me out of those dark pits. I'd flounder around in the blackness, gasping for air, struggling to just get a grip on something, anything, and I'd think there's no way I could save myself. I needed somebody to throw me a life saver, come by with a raft, get me out of there and help me survive before I drowned for good. Don't get me wrong, please. Doctors and therapists and all the loved ones I have definitely help me float. I can 100% guarantee you that if I didn't have them, I wouldn't be here today. But floating isn't the way to live life. Floating is meant as a brief respite. A chance to catch your breath before diving back in. It's not going to help you grow stronger and tougher so that the next hurdles you face don't take you out again. You have to be able to get back in the game. If you don't, if you let yourself drift along, it's all going to pass you by and you'll be left wondering where the hell all your time went. And then it'll be over. I realized I didn't want to do that. I didn't want to wait around for somebody to save me. I didn't want that. And when this realization finally sank in, I acted. When I don't want to do something or when I'm afraid of failing at something, I handle it with kid gloves. I look at it from afar, maybe shuffle around the edges of it for a while, but never really get into it, until I'm pushed in by the bigger fear of failing before I even get started. Obviously, this isn't healthy or productive. And I wanted to change this tendency of mine. So, I jumped in. I can even remember the morning when I decided. The mental pep talk, y'all... it was one of my better ones, I gotta say. I told myself that I was a unique person. Doing my own take on a kinda new thing. I didn't need to hold myself to a preconceived notion of success. I was taking the chance to create something of my own. I reached deep inside myself, found the damn courage I was hiding away inside, and jumped in feet first. And it felt really, really good. It wasn't like everything miraculously did a 180 turn and was sunshine and rainbows and magical unicorns. But, the clouds around me lessened a little bit. So, the next day, I did it again. And again. And again. Until, one day I blinked and realized I was doing this thing and I was doing it well. I had made it my own. My thing. That doing this (my way) instead of that (what I imagined perfection to be) isn’t necessarily wrong. It’s just different. And that is okay. I’ve always held myself to impossible standards and don’t ask me why because I can’t answer you. I don’t know why perfection seems to be the only acceptable trait for myself. It’s a huge trap that I continue to fall into. But here lately, I’ve made a tiny bit of progress on this front. Despite having made some mistakes on this new journey of mine, I’m still feeling good. They haven’t decimated me like maybe they would have before. I allow myself to be a little disappointed for a finite amount of time and then I tell myself to stop it, cut it out, I’m only human. And for whatever reason, it’s working. Now the clouds have lifted and I really do feel like I'm standing back in the sunshine. I'm soaking it in. Storing the peacefulness in my heart, so that I'll have it when thunderstorms inevitably roll back in. Because they will. And I'll be tested again. Thrown back down in the pit. But I think next time, when it does happen, I'll finally, finally have my own path to follow that leads me back up.
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1. A never-ending search for elastic.
2. Confused dogs. 3. Online shopping. 4. Music 5. Too tired to cook. 6. T-shirts 7. Write. Delete. Write. 8. Late nights. 9. Lists. 10. Re-arranging 11.Cleaning 12. Mineral soaks 13. Why can't I find any elastic? 14. Empty shelves. 15. NCIS re-runs. 16. Don't TOUCH my NCIS re-runs. 17. Comfort food. 18. Video editing monster. 19. I'm not trying to salvage that. Throw it away. 20. Go-Pro 21. Thesaurus search. 22. Coffee. 23. Did I mention coffee? 24. 4 weeks on 1 tank of gas. 25. Red Bull 26. Lidocaine patches FTW. 27 YOGA PANTS 28. Crazy dogs. 29. Dry hands. 30. Arrows in the grocery store. 31. Grocery store shaming you for not following arrows. 32. Swimsuit? 33. Flowers 34. Is that what I really sound like? 35. Voiceover 36. Book. 1 book in particular. 37. Groupchats 38. Twitter dropout 39. Doubt. 40. Anxiety 41. Tears 42. Homemade Starbucks. 43. Emails FTW 44. Office chair from hell. 45. Different day, same routine. 46. Homeschooling 47. Seriously, where are people getting their ELASTIC? 48. #facemaskisthenewaccessory 49. YouTube 50. Blessings I haven't written. Not only on this blog, but anything. At all. I haven't even tried in the last almost 3 months. Until now. As much as I would love to say it's because I've been too busy, it's not. Or that I have too many ideas and can't decide which way to go, but I don't.
The truth? I'm just empty. God, I hate life most of the time. It's exhausting and stressful. It's depressing. Oh, the D word. Depression. Each time it sucker punches me I go down harder and it takes me longer to rise back up. This time of year is especially triggering for so many reasons. It would take me forever to list them, so please forgive me if I don't. Just know that October and the following months are something I view with equal parts anticipation and dread. That sorta makes me sound like a psycho, but oh well. *shrug* I've been going along for a few weeks feeling the weight of sadness tugging at me and I've tried so, so, SO hard to resist it. Today... no, not even that broad of a time-frame... literal hours ago, the sadness morphed into self-hate and anxiety and, and... despair, so quickly I could actually feel it flow through me like a strong current. Suddenly, I couldn't stay still. I was pacing restlessly, unhappy with watching tv, reading a book, listening to music, playing with my dogs, crafting, doing a puzzle, everything. I'm urged on by some unseen force which I now recognize as a precursor to a huge crash. I'm going to crater. It's as simple as that. I know it. I can see it. And nothing in this world is going to stop it. It's simply how I handle it that counts at this point. The problem is, I've already been applying all of my comfort techniques, and I'm still here, writing this down because it's the ONLY thing I hadn't tried yet. I wish I could sit here and say I feel better, but I don't. The thought of even opening my book file and trying to write something makes me want to throw up. Really. Depression's greatest little joke is that not only does it F with your mind, it F's with your body, too. How unfair is that? Sigh, I'm bored of this post already. I'm restless and fidgety and can't keep my legs from shaking up and down as I think about what I should be doing that's productive. Or, what I want to be doing, which I think I've established by the past 30 minutes of trying to articulate myself I don't have a clue about. So, I'm gonna wrap it up. Bye. I'm a list maker. I make a list for everything. I even make lists of lists. I write very carefully, sometimes starting over on a new sheet of paper if I don't like my handwriting or I screw up a word. I like to use pretty stationary or a nice, crisp sheet of lined paper. And scratching out anything isn't allowed until I'm crossing it off as complete.
I like to number my listed items, too. And yesterday, when I was adding tasks to my running "Action Items" list, I broke a hundred. 101 things to do. I mean, I know everyone has 101+ things on their plate. That's called life. But it sorta hits differently when you see them all lined up like dominoes in front of you. Do this. Do that. Check, check, check. I'm keeping busy. Sometimes too busy... the kind of busy where you suddenly realize how overwhelming everything is and you Ctrl+Alt+Del yourself and go into sleep mode because moving forward on a single thing seems too hard and too tiring and you can't do the simplest of things because even something like breathing is too much. I'm busy. And I guess that's a good thing. *NOTE* I have written, re-written, and RE-WRITTEN so many versions of this post and tonight I was finally satisfied with it, but...THE DAMN THING DIDN'T SAVE. *&*@#^&!*&#$%!! So, I'm posting even though it's incomplete and disjointed sounding because I'm fed up with it and never looking at this one again.
************************************* I've lost count of the times I've sat down to write this post, only to hesitate before hitting the publish button. In the course of this loop, I lost track of what I was even trying to convey in the first place. So, for today's post, I'm going to treat it as a sort of "heart-heavy list". My family lost a close family member last month. It was sudden and awful. It's still awful. I don't deal with death well. It overwhelms me and I get lost for weeks, or even months, after in this dark place where I contemplate life, my future, my past, and everything in-between. Unfortunately, I'm a dweller. By that, I mean I have trouble shaking things off and it can be rough. When it's someone who was close or someone I cared deeply about, the grief is unbearable for longer than it "should" be. I know you're going to tell me not to worry about it and everyone has their own timeline and way of dealing with grief. But, so many times I've caught people judging me... like, outwardly judging me, because I'm not dealing with stuff "normally" and I get a bit defensive about it. So... I guess that's all I have to say about that right now. I don't know if I've talked about my next topic here before, and frankly, I'm too lazy to go back and look, so I'm going to pretend I haven't. Not that I can say too much about it right now, even if I wanted to. But I do have an exciting possibility brewing. Let's just say it would be a dream come true and the fact that I'm even here, right now, talking about it like it COULD happen is huge. So, being the 24/7 worrier, perfectionist, and professional imposter syndrome sufferer that I am, you can probably imagine what kind of turmoil my life is in as I work on this new prospect. I'm not going to lie, I'm also in serious GoT withdrawal. I'm completely unhappy with the way they ended it, and I have A TON of things to say about the writing (which maybe I'll do another post about), but none of that changes the greatness of the show and how I miss it terribly. I'm not as bad as I was when TVD ended, but it's probably the closest any other show could get to that. *Deep Sigh* I wish this post was more cohesive. I wish I could shake the strong sense of caution I carry with me, especially when the idea of something good happening to me pops up. Fact: I've never felt like I deserved good things. I'm ever-cautious to accepting, or believing, that maybe I'm actually worth something. That sounds dramatic, but it's the truth. Fact number two: It's exhausting thinking this way. Feeling like this. I don't think I'll ever know what it is to truly relax and enjoy. I wish I felt like any of this blog has helped someone. Statistically speaking, I probably have somewhere along the way. But I don't feel like I'm doing much more than wasting time that I should be using toward other projects. So, there it is. My brief and somewhat random list of things I'm grappling with at the moment. *Shrug* P.S. Continuing on the "I wish" line of thinking, I wish my two very lovely, very sweet, very obstinate dogs would stop peeing on the floor. I'm fully aware this is probably a passive-aggressive move on their part, and since I've nearly perfected passive-aggressiveness, I give them an impressed head-nod, but I swear if I step in one more puddle of pee in the middle of the night, you'll be reading my obituary rather than my blog, 'cause I'll probably implode from sheer fed-upness. **If you know what the title is in reference to, I tip my hat to you.**
I'm here to make you feel better about yourself (again). You know when I start out like this, it's about to be a sh*tshow. And sh*tshow it is. I mean, it's no big deal. Right? Everyone has bad days and everyone's thought they were the worst human ever at some point in time, right? Please tell me I'm right... Sometimes I think I'm the worst mom and Maintainer of Household to walk the planet. Well, I'm not worse than those who do horrible things like beat, abuse, or abandon their kids. Those kind of people really are the worst. But if you take all that riffraff out, I'm definitely one of the biggest messes out there. Today started like any other weekday morning. I stumbled out of bed and took my oldest to school. At 6:30am, mind you. She just started driver's ed and I'm highkey anxious for her to be driving so I don't have to make this insane commute every morning. Sorry, I like my sleep too much. But I digress... Anyway, when my youngest and I arrived back home, we had thirty minutes to get her ready for school. Which is normally no big deal. She's old enough to get dressed and ready herself, so it's basically me making her lunch and sort of calling out the time every now and then to keep her on track. But today, I don't know what happened. Oh wait, yes I do. I forgot to close the pantry door when we rushed out into the night, high school bound, and Max the Trash Maniac decided to search for something tasty (and gross) to munch on. If it were just that, just him sticking his nose in there and taking a tiny nibble, it wouldn't bother me. But instead, he scatters that sh*t to the seven corners of the world... I mean, house. And every time, I lose it. Not at him. He's too adorable and old and set in his ways to even bother getting mad at. But I do take my frustration out with the broom and sometimes mop and trash. So anyway, that threw me off schedule a bit. After I got it together, I started making L's lunch. It's the same thing every day, and I was feeling a bit adventurous and wanted to shake it up. I should never do that. It just doesn't end well when I do this stuff. I was digging around for some new additions when L came downstairs with only one shoe on. "Where's your other shoe?" I ask, already groaning inside because I know EXACTLY what she's going to say. "I dunno. I can't find it." *DEEP SIGH* I knew it. Okay, so, if you've read my blog for any length of time, or you know me through social media, you also know EXACTLY what happened. Rex. No, not Max. Rex. Our little street rescue rat who's fondest activity is stealing anything he can get his mouth around and hiding it in his klepto cave under our bed. Also high on his favorites list is digging out from under the fence and taunting me when I come after him, pooping in the dining room (and sometimes PEEING on our Roomba (yes, I said peeing)), and whining at me every 3 minutes to engage in activity number 2. He's a brat. He's annoying. But he's also so affectionate (after he's done jumping and biting at me when I come home) and loving and CUTE that I also can't get mad at him. I look at L, she looks at me, and we both head into my bedroom to shine a flashlight under the bed. 'Course, Rex follows us and gets excited when we both get on the floor at his level, which annoys us further because who enjoys getting their hair shredded by claws wildly scratching about? Lo and behold, her bright pink shoe was there, shining like a beacon in the darkness and that was a disaster averted because he hadn't had time to destroy it yet. Happy that the crisis wasn't a crisis anymore, I went back to making her lunch. I made the mistake of telling her I dropped her apple on the floor and bruised it, but gave her another. And before you think it, no, she won't eat a bruised apple, and I can't scold her because I diss bruised apples, too, and what can you do? But I thought my redemption was clenched by giving her another shiny new one. I was wrong. She looks at me suspiciously and says, "But would you have given me that other one, anyway, if it wasn't bruised?" I didn't get her question at first so we went round and round with me saying "what?" and "I don't understand what you're asking" and "Are you even speaking English, what are you talking about!?" After five minutes of me literally not understanding the words coming out of her mouth, it finally clicked. Oh. She wanted to know if I would have still given it to her because it had been on the floor. Sheesh, I... "Yes, but I would have washed it again." She gives me her "look" and I know we're in dangerous waters, so I rush to reassure her. "Really, really well." Before she could say anything else I zip up her lunch bag, and rush her out the door. Guys, I didn't even look at the clock. Mistake number..., well, I've lost count. We're headed down the street when I do finally glance at the time. Oh boy. It was 7:59. The bell is at 8:00. Now, we live quite literally behind the school so it takes less than 2 minutes to drive there. And YES, I drive it because it's been cold and I don't want to change out of my snuggly fuzzy pants that are 5 inches too long and sweatshirt and fuzzy socks to walk across the street and over grass, so just judge me if you want. I don't care. Obviously, I drive a bit faster, but not much, because I'm still in the neighborhood and people are walking about and I'm not gonna risk it. However, once I got on the main road I floored it, racing into the school drive and up to the drop-off lane only to watch as the last teacher walked inside, locking the doors behind him. I missed it by 3 seconds. Just... To my credit, I remained calm. You're probably thinking it's no big deal, but one of my fears is drawing attention to myself by oh, say, walking into class or a meeting or a party, late. I blush horribly and my ears get hot and I get panicky and clumsy and it's awful. And L has inherited this lovely phobia, so you see why I had to remain calm to keep her calm...and, well, yeah. And that, my friends, is how I came to park in the front of the school and walked across the parking lot casually talking to the police office arriving for his security shift, and into the school where not only the front office staff greeted me, but so did the principal, in MY SNUGGLY FUZZY PANTS THAT ARE 5 INCHES TOO LONG AND SWEATSHIRT AND FUZZY SOCKS. L looked like she was about to cry while I'm trying to brush the whole thing off to the officer and I think he took pity on both of us and handed out police badge stickers. I gave her a hug and the patented "you can do it" mom smile/nod and watched her walk up the stairs with her backpack and scared face, and wanted to cry. Sometimes you can't help but think of yourself as a failure, no matter how much you know deep in your heart it's not that serious. She was a minute late for class. I had to walk across dirty pavement in socks and messy hair. It's not the end of the world and it won't even matter tomorrow that it ever happened. But in that moment, the whole world feels like sh*t because you're the mom and supposed to have it together... for her. You would have thought... hoped... that was the end of it. Surely that's enough WTF moments for a day. But the universe said "wait, there's more!" and chunked another WTF WHY IS THIS HAPPENING WHAT DID I EVER DO TO YOU moment straight at my head. It's no surprise, really. I mean, all of this is par for the course. But I was just so over the shenanigans, that when I walked through our bedroom and stepped in a cold, huge, wet spot IN MY FUZZY SOCKS, I broke a little. First, nobody likes stepping in puddles in socks. That's a known fact. But second, and far more importantly, NOBODY LIKES STEPPING IN PEE. ON THE CARPET. FOR THE 500TH TIME. I guess Emmy couldn't let Max and Rex have all the fun. I guess she thought I'd feel incomplete if she didn't do her part. I guess she was ultimately thinking of me. Sigh. I wish there was a way I could make her understand I'm totally okay with her waiting to pee until she's outside. In fact, I endorse it so hard. I tell her this, and she looks at me with alert ears and bright eyes and waggy tail, like she's really gettin' it. So I can't figure out if she's too lazy to let us know, suddenly physically incapable of letting us know, or getting back at me for bringing Rex into the house and thus usurping the "youngest kiddo spot" she'd held for so long. Or if she's just a sh*t. An adorable sh*t. A sweet and loving sh*t. But a sh*t all the same. A sh*t I... you guessed it... can't get mad at. I'm tired now, so I'll give you a brief rundown of what followed: washing pee out of the carpet... vacuuming the stairs, which if you saw my FB post, is full of my hope... scrubbing the kitchen... laundry...and finally, FINALLY, taking down the Christmas garland on the stairs. Yeah, yeah, I KNOW. I'm awful. I'm busy. I'm tired. I hate un-decorating. But, hey, at least it came down, right? I mean, this time I didn't leave a whole-ass Christmas tree up all year long... Now, don't ya feel better? I used to hate bucket lists. I think it's because the idea of setting goals to achieve before my death added pressure I didn't know how to handle. Also, because it's my nature to do the opposite of whatever's trendy because, well, I'm sideways like that.
Anyway, somewhere over the last couple of years I changed my way of thinking and bam! Here I am, fully aboard the Bucket List Bandwagon. First item on the list - Become kick-ass in the kitchen (I know, I know, these are supposed to be more one-time achievements rather than works in progress, but cut me some slack here. I'm trying.) Now, I'm no slouch at cooking. In fact, I'm pretty damn good. But. there's always room for improvement, right? Add to that, a health scare has sorta booted my ass into getting serious about making "healthy food" taste great. Starch, salt, sugar, dairy, and basically anything else fun has been either totally eliminated or severely curtailed. So, I've been researching and looking for recipes and generally putting real effort into not letting these new restrictions destroy everything appealing about mealtime. Challenge accepted. Cut to today. I woke up with fresh enthusiasm about trying a new dish - Quinoa and roasted veggies, to include something I've never fed my family...and only tried once myself - brussel sprouts. I was excited. I was positive. I was motivated! I got in the car and made my way to Sprouts. I was cheerful as I walked up to the doors, but as soon as I stepped inside, I froze. Have you ever been intimidated by an unfamiliar place? Yeah. Me, too. I was terrified as I stood in the entrance. I had NO idea where anything was, and my anxiety sorta plays with my mind in these situations and convinces me that every single person in the building knows I'm a noob and is secretly laughing at me. Ugh. I hate looking like I don't know what i'm doing. I mean, I really, really hate it. You'd be surprised how much I fight with this or how far out of my way I'll go to avoid the feeling in the first place. Anyway, to boil it all down, I circled the store multiple times trying to locate everything I needed. I never did find the fresh ginger. And after I passed through the produce section for the fifth time looking for it, I was pretty stressed, so I gave up. Sigh. How can a grocery trip be such an ordeal? Is it just me? Am I the only one? I bought white quinoa and made that with 1/2 chicken broth and 1/2 water (because of the sodium). Tossed the veggies with avocado oil, garlic, black pepper, and the tiniest pinch of sea salt you ever did see and threw it all in the oven to roast. I was pretty pleased with myself until I caught a whiff of the quinoa. Just...yuck. I tried to hide my face, but my youngest saw it and I knew any hope of her trying it was out the window. And I was right. She very politely declined and I'm not the mean mom that forces her to eat stuff because a) she loves plain steamed broccoli, so it's not like she doesn't eat veggies, b) she's normally good about trying things and I appreciate that about her, and c) it smelled awful and I fully understood her point of view because I didn't want to eat it, either. The veggies turned out okay except the brussel sprouts...I think they're an acquired taste that I question ever being able to enjoy. And this after I hyped it up to the rest of the family. But in the end, hubs said he really liked it and I'm inclined to believe him because he's not one to blow smoke at me about my culinary skills. He'll tell me if I shouldn't make something again (but in a super nice way, LOL). To be honest, though, I didn't like it and the house smells AWFUL. It's the damn brussel sprouts. :( If anyone knows a better way to fix them without using butter, a ton of salt, or anything else remotely tasty, let a girl know because I gotta find a way to prepare them without wanting to burn the house down afterward. Bucket item list number 2 coming soon... It's a cliche saying, but where has the time gone?
It's a new year and I'm ready for it. I haven't written much the past few months, despite the urge. I start, only to get a paragraph in before everything comes to a screeching halt. It's like the gateway between my thoughts and my fingers has been snapped in two. The words are there, but they come out wrong...not making the impact I want. So, I guess that's my way of telling you I stopped writing books. I cry just typing it. I don't want to stop, but I have to. When something stops bringing you joy, there's no reason to do it anymore, right? Dammit, I didn't want to cry. 2018 was something. It was so good. But it was also terrible. Isn't that weird? Like, how can it be both? Aren't you supposed to be either doing well or... not? I think about it a lot. Duality. What it means. What it is. Sometimes, when I think about it too much, it keeps me awake. I've been awake a lot. I'm getting off track. So. Words describing the awesomeness of 2018:
I would guess my family is sick of me talking about it, but I discovered the absolute greatness of BTS. I'm going to spare you the gushing, because I've learned people hear "BTS" and sorta just glaze over if they're not already a fan. But, seriously, please do yourself a favor and check them out. Google them and look at the actual impact they're having on the world. Unicef campaign. Speaking at the UN. Named by Time Magazine (and on the cover) as the next generation's leaders. The message of loving yourself for who you are. Not to mention the great music. I don't think you'd be sorry. Okay, I gushed a little. Speaking of loving yourself. It's a phrase that gets tossed around a lot. For good reason. And it ties in to my last words/phrases. I'm not old, but I'm getting older. 2018 flicked a switch inside me. It flipped the hourglass over. If we look at it factually, I've lived over half of my life (probably). And as people promised me, those years brought wisdom. My thinking changed. My priorities, likes and dislikes, my "I don't give a f*ck's", shifted. It's almost comical how different I am. I don't care what people think of me. I'm 43 years old. I like pink hair. I like tattoos. I like Kpop. I like to dance and act goofy as hell and I don't give a flying F if you think I'm crazy or weird or even insane. I'm doing what I like because why not? I like to play Candy Crush for hours. I like to daydream. I dance with my dogs and drink tons of coffee and give finger hearts to my daughter as she walks into school. It's awesome. Oh, and I like to take selfies. I could give you a bs reason such as I'm chronicling my life and journey, but nope. I just love doing it. So, yeah, 2018 was good to me. I thank God for my blessings. I'm learning not to take things for granted. I cherish the relationships I have with my husband, my daughters, my family, and my friends. But nobody's life is perfect, right? As I mentioned earlier, I shut the door on my author self. Of course, I wonder if I'll pick it back up again, but I suppose I won't know until it happens. If I don't, at least I have something I can always point to and say (with some amount of pride), "I did that." I feel like I should talk more about this decision, but I don't know how. I'm crying again. My battle against constant pain continues. I found relief for a brief time, but it returned. I could continue the treatment that helped, but I have to give some things up for it, and while it may seem like a simple decision, it's not. Not for me, anyway. There are days I can barely move, every single joint in my body screaming bloody murder, and I sometimes joke that if I'm this bad now, what will I be like at 80? I say joke, but I'm actually serious. It's a fear. It's a cloud I can't outrun. Not only is my body an enemy at times, but my mind still works against me, too. I'm better at fighting it. Well, maybe not better...I'd say smarter. Years of therapy finally sank in. I actively think about my victories when I start to feel the darkness pushing in, and I remind myself that no matter how dark it's gotten, I've risen back up. I can do it as many times as necessary. Instead of hiding it now, I confront it. I speak it aloud to my loved ones so they know I'm vulnerable. It helps. It really does. Trust me when I say it's a solid-ass victory. My memory has become spotty. Doesn't that sound like something an old person would say? Haha. It's true, though. It's happened so much I've joked about my family having to put me in a home. They don't like that joke and they very confidently say I'm not losing my mind, but when you literally forget what you were going to do or say 10 seconds after thinking it, something's off. Yeah, we all lose our keys from time to time, or walk into a room to have no idea why we're there, but when it becomes a daily part of your life, it's unnerving. Especially when you have Alzheimer's and dementia on both sides of your family tree. It's something to think about, which admittedly, I do a lot of. To make myself feel better, I push it off as a side-effect of my medication. Heheh- wait, is that okay to joke about? [I had an entire section here, but I've decided it's not the time to talk about it. Remind me sometime, and hopefully, it will be easier and I'll have the courage to actually post it.] I think I've rambled long enough. It's been a couple of hours since I started and The Sound of Silence just started playing, which means I've gone through quite a chunk of my playlist. I like Disturbed's version better than the original. There's something in his voice that soothes me. And the instrumentals never fail to cause goosebumps. Just thought I'd mention that. I don't know if this post was even worth reading, but hey, it helped me, so that's really all that matters. That's the beauty of writing. It's not about the final product or giving readers what they want. It's about the healing and self-discovery it provides the writer during the process. So, with that, I'll say goodnight. Rex has curled up next to me and fallen asleep, which means I only have a few hours until he wakes me up to go back outside and either dig under the fence or patrol around the yard. It's a toss up what he's going to do. I gave up being mad at him for it, though, because he couldn't care less either way. Night, y'all. Sweet dreams. P.S. I re-read through this post and holy hell is it a rambling nightmare. But I'm gonna post it, anyway, 'cuz I'm tired and it's real and that's the point. WARNING: Long post . And if you make it to the end, thank you and I’m sorry and maybe you’ll feel better about your day?
1001 reasons why today has been a shit show. Mind you, it started out great! My baby turned fifteen today, and I made muffins and put a candle in it and sang Happy Birthday and laughed and joked. It was awesome. But after I got the girls to school, the universe decided to f*** with me. 1.I had some Christmas items shipped to a store and I needed to pick them up. But the store is in Burleson and they didn’t open until 10. Okay, no problem. I do some stuff around the house and at 9:30 head that way. Except I took a different route and got lost. So what should have been a 20 min drive turned into a 40 min one. But still, it was okay. B.The next stop was a store three doors down that I was super excited about going to because I absolutely hate the one near me. But when I arrived, there was a huge sign on the front doors, “Temporarily Closed”. Well, crap. 15.I had 3 more stores to stop by before I had to be home to get ready for a doctor’s appointment in Las Colinas at 2pm. Long story, don’t ask. C. Store #1 went smooth as silk. Store #2 didn’t have the item I went for – panic mode setting in. Store #3 had what I needed but I had to make up for store #2 so that took way longer than anticipated. 26. Look at watch and realize I only have 35 mins left before I’m supposed to be leaving for doctor in BFE. Full panic ON. I haven’t even showered yet. 2. Race home with “tire low pressure” warning flashing at me. I try not to think about blowing out a tire while going 80mph. 85. Get home and the dogs act like they hadn’t seen me in 15 years. Rex starts jumping and hollering at me and proceeds to get his nail caught on my pants and pulls them down. Lots of yelling ensues. D. Take the quickest shower in the west and race around drying hair and doing makeup and locating outfit appropriate for 35 degree weather. The pants I want have mysteriously disappeared and I tear closet apart looking for them. GPS said it would take approx. 35 mins to get there but I was raised to be early and I had intended to leave at 1:15. 129. Did not find pants. Sad/mad. At 1:25 I’m getting into the car while the dogs stare at me forlornly. I turn GPS on and the Sync Lady Voice says, “Travel time is 1 hr. 10 mins”. WHAT. THE. F***?!? D123. I think I can outsmart Sync Lady and ignore suggested route. I was not as smart as Sync Lady. 492. Every car on the road knows I need to be in Las Colinas at 2pm and purposely goes at least 10 miles under the speed limit. Lots of screaming. Apparently, I have road rage? E45.2 Call doctor’s office to tell them I’ll be a tiny bit late and please don’t cancel my appointment because I have to see him before Thanksgiving and this was my one shot. Hit huge pothole while talking and scream. Lady on the other end thinks I’ve been in an accident. I think about blowing out tires again and do some kind of weird maniacal laugh. Awkward. G. I arrive after making 2 wrong turns and having another mini panic attack. ONLY 10 minutes late, but a piece of my soul has died because I despise being late. 14. Receptionist looks at me like I grew three heads when I tell her I’m there for Dr. X. “But Dr. X isn’t here on Tuesdays. He comes on Wednesdays.” WHAT THE ACTUAL F***? More words come out of her mouth but the screaming in my mind muffles it. T. OH BY THE WAY, I FORGOT TO MENTION THAT I WAS DUE AT WORK AT 3PM. BWAHAHAHAHA! 55. Now it’s 2:15. Very calmly (I think), I call the lady back I had spoken with earlier and explain that I’m at the facility I was given but Dr. X isn’t here. She pauses and then says, “Yes, he is. He’s there right now. You’re at the Irving location, right?” Silence while I process this information. I finally tell her what address I’m at, and she goes, “OH! No, I mean, the OTHER Irving location.” WHAT THE F*** ALREADY! X. I walk back to my car and trip on my pants. They’re flowy pants and a little too long, so I’d worn heeled boots. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but flowy pants like to wrap around little heels and then trip you and I’d already done it 3 times since putting them on. But I digress… ZZ. Zoom zoom to the new address and arrive at 2:30. But I’m supposed to be at work at 3! I let work peeps know I’ll be a tiny bit late and proceed to wait in the waiting room for another 20 mins. The silent screaming in my head is getting louder. 6. Oh, by the way, I haven’t eaten anything yet and I’m starting to get shaky which doesn’t help things at all. 84. Finally see Dr. X and I’m in and out in 10 mins. 998. I trip again in the parking lot. Curse words may or may not have come out of my mouth. Loudly. T. Plug in the coordinates to get back to my end of the metroplex and it routes me via 360. Except I miss my exit and had to go down Amon Carter to Trinity. I’m congratulating myself on working my own way back to 360 (in case you didn’t know, I’m severely directionally challenged) when I come to a screeching halt behind a line of cars sitting still. It’s way past 3pm and all I can do is sit and suffer. I finally get to the light and realize it’s out. I suffer some more as 12 lanes try to coordinate their turn to go. 56. Finally get on 360 and I’m super pumped. Y. It’s short-lived because, of course, it’s a parking lot. Not only did we have construction going on, but there was an accident. I had a lot of time to chew my nails, look at the clock, and basically stroke out. 888. I finally, FINALLY get past I20 and decide “f*** it, I’m taking the toll road". There’s nobody on it and I relish being able to put the pedal to the floor. 723.512 I realize since I’m already so late, what was 5 more minutes for me to stop and get a drink and maybe something to eat? ‘Cuz you know, still shaky. 25. And guys, this is where things really took a turn. The universe said, “Oh, no no no you don’t. I have one more trick up my sleeve, missy. Bwu-ha-ha-ha (is that how you spell an evil laugh?). YY. There’s no one in the drive-thru at Chick-fil-A save one pickup truck in front of me. A pickup truck that takes 7 minutes to order. 7! SEVEN! As we sit there, more and more cars pile up behind me. That’s important later. 999. I take out my debit card and randomly decide it’s time to throw my makeshift trash bag (a plastic Chick-Fil-A bag) into the trash can next to the drive-thru lane. By now, it’s 4:30pm. Yeah. I know. I’ve moved past panic and into acceptance. But that changes. When it’s my turn at the window, I realize with horror that I’m no longer holding my debit card. Y’ALL, I THREW IT AWAY IN THE TRASH. 1000. I squeak out what happened to the cashier and she looks at me, dumbfounded. Then offers me a weak smile and says, “I’m sorry?” I’m coaching myself through deep breathing and pull around to the front, go inside and tell the manager what happened. He gets irritated, sighs deeply, huffs his way into the back, and returns wearing a coat and pulling on plastic gloves. We venture out to the trash can and I watch as he digs through the trash, while everyone in the drive-thru watches us. A long-ass line of cars by now. 1001. Long story…longer…found the card, tripped walking back to my car (a walk of shame, to be sure), and at long last made it to work. At 4:45pm. Tripped 2 more times getting inside and also snagged my pants on the doorstop. Lessons learned: Get ready first thing in the morning. Don’t try to outsmart Sync Lady. Don’t wear pants that are too long. Avoid 360 at all cost. AND HANG ON TO YOUR DAMN CARD! Guys, I’m tired. There is an aching inside I can't soothe. I'm on an emotional roller coaster that refuses to stop, dipping and rising, speeding around corners, and generally keeping my state of mind in a turmoil of self-hate, anxiety, and sadness. It's a ride I didn't sign up for. But, nonetheless, I'm on it, always wishing for a brief stop so I can catch my breath and find peace, even if it's only for a day.
The evilness of depression continues to astound me. Just when you think you might have it figured out, created a plan to manage it, it takes a sharp turn and you're faced with something new. Something you never saw coming. How can that be? I've lived with this my entire life. How can it still find ways to surprise me, catch me in a weak spot, and bring me crashing down? I have no answers. Just more questions. Questions that I ask myself on a daily basis. Questions that are stuck on a loop in my mind. I must ask myself "Are you okay?" at least 50 times a day. What saddens me is that my answer is always "No." Life is weird. Or maybe it's just my life. When I take a step back and look at what I've accomplished in a little over a year, I can acknowledge that it's big. I've written four books. One launched in January, one in March, and I have two more coming this summer. That's a big deal, right? Most people would say yes. So why don't I feel a sense of accomplishment? Why does my brain refuse to allow me to take pride in what I've done? Perhaps it's because I've never really celebrated my first book properly. I've never actually celebrated any of them. I quietly hit publish and continue on as if nothing major has happened. But it is major because each book is a little piece of me. And when I look at it that way, I realize something. I don't celebrate myself. I can't seem to find value in anything I do...anything I am. I have a laundry list of items I don't like about myself. It's a list that is too long to even contemplate. But, the list of things I do like? It's scanty, at best. Sometimes this makes me so sad that I laugh....until it turns into a full-fledged ugly cry that leaves me exhausted and no closer to the self-acceptance I crave. Self-acceptance. Self-love. "You do you and don't listen to the haters." These are the things that are suddenly the hot topic of social media. When did this trend begin? Where was I? And why can't I jump aboard? It all sounds great in theory. But it's hard to grasp when you're soul has been so hammered with a fight you're continuously losing. I have no real understanding or "how-to" for applying these "feel good" strategies to myself. I need a step-by-step guide. With illustrations. Does anyone have that? I could really use it. I present a face to the world most days. It's a happy face. A smiling face. A silly face. Rarely do I allow myself to show what I'm really feeling. But, if you could take a peek inside my mind, you'd see the painting The Scream by Edvard Munch. That is the best representation I can think of. Because I'm screaming all the time inside. Only, I'm the only one who can hear it. It's deafening. Cringe-worthy. Horrific. But, it's me. |
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