Out

I left the apartment today for something other than a medical appointment. I had to meet some people about working for them (which makes me feel like celebrating), and it took several hours, including travel time. (I need to look into what this year's IRs deduction is for mileage, given how high gas is and continues to become.)

All of this being away from home has exhausted me — one of those special effects of being an introvert, or as my therapist called me, an extreme introvert. I have many projects to do and I have to begin them immediately. I hope this need for quick work will keep me up and going.

I have begun to feel a bit better. This mood lift could be due to the sunshine we've had the last 2 days; it could be due to an uplift in my mood cycle. I kind of don't care, but I need to know so I can handle things better in the future.

And now that I am exhausted, I am going to bed. But at least I wrote another meaningful post. I need to write the details of the trauma work soon. You might find it interesting.

Hibernation of the Soul

I feel as if my spirit is in hiding. The true me, the authentic me, went underground years ago and I'm excavating, trying to find her, hoping she's neither dead nor fossilized.

I've experienced a lot of shitty, horrible things in my life, but for most of it I remained bright, positive, cheery, sunny. I had energy and I didn't have impulse control, especially toward eating. I was healthy and active and at a comfortable weight. I rode my bike or walked because I wanted to, because I enjoyed it.

Sometimes, I walked or drove or rode as far as I could because I was trying to escape the pain that chased after me, the pain from those shitty, horrible things. I kept going because I knew that happy existed and that, if I could figure out how, if I could escape the pain, I could be happy again.

The geologic layers that cover my true self have grown thicker over the years, and my back is sore and old from shoveling. I still have hope about finding my self, but I admit the hope is dimmer and more desperate.

I am very tired.

Drugs

Isn't it interesting that "drugs" are not the same thing as "medications?" For example, if you say to someone, "I had to stop to pick up my meds," you'll have an entirely different reaction than if you say "I had to stop to pick up my drugs."

Luckily, my new psychiatrist isn't giving me new medications, just greater amounts of what I'm already taking. She expects me to start feeling better in a week or two, so I'll see her in 2 weeks.

That's all I can manage now. Keep your fingers crossed for me!

Delayed actions

I sat in therapy and cried today. At the end of the session, I pointed out to my therapist that she was now in a very exclusive club. I have rarely gotten even teary in other therapy sessions and with other therapists. Today I was in tears for most of the session.

She suggested that I not worry about accomplishing anything right now. I am so depressed that I feel proud of myself when I take a shower and put on actual clothes.

I know that for people who have never experienced this kind of depression, it is very difficult to understand. I was trying to explain it to a friend today. He's one of those people who turn adversity into motivation. He wins. He succeeds. He is trying very hard to understand what I am going through.

The main thing that I can articulate is that my cognitive functions are almost completely cut off from everything else. I'll think "I could pick up a little around here" and ... nothing happens. I don't move. I simply move on. "I don't really need any more ice cream," I think to myself as I open the freezer, dish ice cream out, and sit down to eat.

So my therapist isn't expecting any homework from me right now. I'm really not capable. But I see my new psychiatrist tomorrow and both my therapist and I hope that she can help me get my brain chemicals squared away. Because I am not functioning.

Besides, my money isn't going to last that long.

Avoidance, Anger, & Angst

My mind has been in avoidance mode for many months now. Actually for a couple of years. When I find living to be overwhelming, I do something that keeps my mind distracted. I know this is not the most effective strategy for dealing with difficulty, but it's the strategy that I've used unconsciously for some time now.

It used to be that I read voraciously to distract myself. When I feel like it, I can read at least one and possibly two novels in an evening. Yes, I'm that fast. But for some reason, I haven't been as much of a reader for almost four years, except for about six months in a row in early 2008. The rest of this time I distracted myself with either highly detailed fantasy lives or the internet. And now, all I do is the internet. And sometimes the TV. I don't even go looking for new things on the internet anymore. I don't spend time looking at comics and LOLcats and YouTube videos. It's as if my mind has become the Sahara, almost totally devoid of life.

Currently, I'm avoiding everything. I'm avoiding the pain and grief of loss. I'm avoiding an ungodly amount of anger. And I'm avoiding a paralyzing amount of anxiety. Overwhelmed? Understatement.

I haven't done my therapy homework this week and tomorrow is therapy. And I'm not going to do it at this point. I was going to skip or phone in a post again, but I decided to at least put some effort in here.

I have a good friend whom I talk with, and lately we've discussed how I'm feeling, what I'm doing (or not doing). He is a fixer and always has many suggestions for what I should or could do. Given that he is a successful entrepreneur, a former jock, and a complete go-getter, what he says makes sense to him. He has seen the success of what he is suggesting.

I'm none of those things, and my track record leaves me with a feeling of impotence. For so many of the important things in life, I have a great deal of evidence that my own actions have little or no effect. I might as well flip a coin. Feeling helpless makes me anxious.

You know I'm trying to make this an anonymous blog. I don't want this traceable to my self because I don't want to deal with professional repercussions, or even some personal ones. I'd rather not have to worry about being judged by what I might say here.

Given than, I find that trying to be less detectable is making me less detailed. So, I'm going to at least be real. If not named. As if those who I know don't already know this is me.

Crap, my writing is getting a bit unclear. So, I'll end now and continue with Anger tomorrow.

Thanks for listening.

Bad Day II

I was writing back and forth with a friend and talking about what I'm going through right now, and I became teary. Enough so that I knew I couldn't go out to an event this afternoon: I would cry in front of people. And I Do. Not. Cry. In. Public. Really don't like crying in private, for that matter. So I decided to skip it and instead melt my mind on the internet.

I don't even look for anything new, or at anything that used to interest me. I'm all tied down, and not in a good way.

So, here's to chocolate and comfort books.

Cheers!

Phoning It In

Sorry, folks, but I just don't have it in me to write a real post tonight. I was feeling better for much of this week, but began to go downhill yesterday and today my anxiety is back. I took half a pill about mid-day when I needed to function, thinking I wouldn't go out because it does make me a little loopy. But then a good friend called and wanted to get together for a little while, and we don't get together much, so I went out, feeling a little loopy. I have a commitment for tomorrow, so I have to function then, but only for a few hours in the middle of the day.

Next week I have some major commitments; I need to be able to function, focus, and drive. Go, me.

In addition, I haven't done my therapy homework yet. Nothing like waiting until the last moment!

Hypothetically Positive

One of my past therapists suggested a behavioral way to affect my mood when I am depressed. There is a corresponding cognitive aspect, as well.

When I was feeling down (and at the time, it was always), I was to smile, to make sure my posture was good --- shoulders back, head up --- and pick up my feet when I walked, rather than letting them kind of shuffle. These are behaviors most of us have when we feel positive and cheerful. (And I do find that when I am feeling most depressed or anxious, my head is bent way down, I look at the ground, and it requires much effort to not only bring my head up, but to keep it up.)

Cognitively, I was to consciously make positive statements to myself. If I found myself making a negative statement (I'm such a clutz!), I was to find a way to state it more positively (I may not be a ballet dancer, but I can get where I'm going!). These may not be the best examples, but I'm having difficulties making positive statements out of negatives right now, which is weird because I had a fairly good day. Except for eating all that chocolate. Why do I even buy it?

A friend of mine has been working on changing her mindset to a more positive one, and she says it seems to be working. I vaguely remember it working for me in the past. Therefore, I'm going to work on it. 

A sample of negatives I want to make more positive:

• I have no control over my eating and can't stop eating all the sweets in the house.
• I'm fat, and I'm stupid for not doing what I need to do to get healthier.
• I'll be alone and lonely forever.
• I'm lazy and I'll never find new work and I'll always be poor.
• I never pay my bills on time. I'll have bad credit and never be able to buy a house.

Now I'm just depressing myself. If this is what's going on inside my head (and there is more), then no wonder I'm a wreck. I need to spend some time thinking about how to reframe/reposition these statements. More fun for me.

I accomplished many things today: I ran errands; I bought some things I needed for the house and for personal needs; I bought an iced tea machine because I just don't make it myself --- this will be a lot easier; that damned candy, some of which is in the fridge, so I didn't eat it all; priced out things I'd like, such as curtain rods for the living room and bedroom and hand mixers; and I just shopped without buying. I saw pillows that would look great in my bedroom. I some perfect ones for the living room. But ... I'm not earning money, so it makes no sense to spend money on non-necessities (the iced tea machine is so a necessity; it's cheaper than buying pre-made tea or soda!). I've been thinking I should consider buying a simple sewing machine so I could make things for the apartment, instead of buying them. Right. Not like me to try to load myself down with too many things to do or think about.

So I will work on being more positive, and I still have my therapy homework to do. 

Is there something in your life that you could frame in a more positive way? Do you want to be more positive? What are your strategies?

Other People's Dreams

I had a therapist once, who was fairly "woo woo" (well, much more so that I was), who held the opinion that sometimes we encounter dreams that belong to someone else, as if the universal "over dream" occasionally slipped tracks. Every once in a while I have dreams that seem not to belong to me, which always reminds me of her and that conversation.

Last night I had such a dream. For some reason, I ended up near my old high school. There were other people in close proximity to me and we were looking for the street address of the school because we intended to mail something to the school. I felt as if I could almost remember it, but it was just out of reach. So I began to circle the school area, looking for street names.

All of the street signs were either obscured or they were very blurry; this happens to me sometimes in dreams, where I'll strain my dream-eyes attempting to read something that just won't come clear.

Some times I felt as if I were flying, sometimes as if I were driving a car, and always there were these presences behind me, who I conversed with but never saw, who kept up pressure on me to get this address.

Nothing about the area was familiar. Even if someone had razed the school and parking lots to the ground then rebuilt, this wouldn't have been the result. I went inside to ask someone the address.

I met an older woman (older than me, with steel gray fluffy-curly hair, sensible shoes, and all the rest of a particular stereotype). She was caring for a young boy and a puppy. She gave me the address and somehow we began a long conversation. During this time I had the puppy on my lap and had great, not always successful, battles keeping it from licking me all over the face. (I do not like dogs to lick me.) The woman commented about my not being able to even handle a puppy, to which I replied that I had never owned a dog.

Eventually, I was at my home (where I've never lived) with a car. There was another car, and out of it came a young man and woman, the little boy, and the older woman. They had a (different) puppy that for some reason I was going to foster. (IRL you couldn't pay me to foster a dog.) As we were all attempting to enter my home, I kept looking for the black cat I owned; I didn't want her to get outside while we were bringing puppy and people inside. The door would get left open, I'd look for the cat inside and out. Then it would happen again. We all ended up inside and ... not only was there a black cat, it was a small, wild, fluffy kitten. (I spent a lot of this part of the dream worrying about the cat.) Plus, there were my two dogs.

My memory of the dream ends here.

While there are many aspects of the dream that could be related to me, the whole felt alien. The feel of the dream was not what I am accustomed to feeling. The colors and the textures and my own sense of self was ... off.

AND I owned two dogs --- what's with that? I have never dreamed that I owned dogs. In my dreams, dogs are objects of fear.

All in all, it's easier for me to believe that I got someone else's dream than that I dreamed of owning dogs. But I'd definitely like to get someone else's interpretation of this thing, because I don't have one.

Fair

What do you mean by fair?

I am struggling with anger and resentment over an issue dealing with fairness. "Equal" does not mean the same thing as "fair," except sometimes. Same with "equitable." By handing out equal work or prizes to two or more people, your actions may be unfair to at least one of them.

I have a childish desire for fairness in all things, even though I have an adult knowledge that life is neither fair nor unfair, it simply is. These two ages of me are often waging fierce battle.

I feel that because life contains both the fair and the unfair, I must strive to be as fair as possible, because I have the capacity and the discernment for fairness. I think this is one aspect that sentience grants to those of us who have it (which can include humans --- but not all of them --- parrots, cats, dogs, horses, crows, elephants, and rocks). It is our responsibility to use this aspect and to use it ... well ... fairly.

Still, I want to scuff my sneakers and pout that "It's. Not. Fair!"

[In Welsh, llan fair means church (or churchyard) of Mary. In Welsh, Mair means Mary. The form here mutates the M into a V sound, which Welsh spells as F. So Mary is fair is kind of like saying Mary is mary. But only if you have a weird linguistic derailed train of thought.]

Mixed blessings, mixed bag

Today was a good day, in the beginning. I got up before 10 am. The sun was out. I went to my therapy appointment. I went for a walk after, bought groceries. Then I was done. I'd accomplished things successfully. Didn't want to push my luck.

But in therapy we didn't get around to the trauma work. I dislike pauses and I tend to talk too much in therapy, especially when I feel nervous, which can even happen with an established therapist. I think it's when I know there is a challenging topic on the agenda. We did talk about other things, and I told her some stories about childhood, which filled in more of my history. We talked about how I've missed some developmental steps, which leave me having trust issues, clingy-dependency issues, and having very real difficulties relating to people and establishing relationships. Often times it seems I completely miss social cues, or know they are there but do not understand them. I'm not sure if I will ever really learn them, but it would be nice to get better than I am. Or else I'll be stuck having a peer group that tops out at nine years old.

Then came the less than good part. I ate ice cream. A lot of ice cream. My bed is littered with clothing (mostly pants) that is too small for me, because of the 15+ pounds I've put on. In fact, I am eating some ice cream again, late at night, near to bedtime, which is not a good time to eat.

Karen and I talked about my depression, which is something she has difficulty seeing or imagining, because I've been "up" when I've seen her. I explained to her that I'm still riding high from going birding with a good friend, and that I am feeling a little better. But also because I don't like to show negative feelings, even to therapists. I think I've cried maybe a handful of times in front of therapists, in all these many years (decades). My first therapist commented on how I really didn't fit the profile of a depressed person, because I can still get excited about things and occasionally do things.

I'm just being me, the one who doesn't fit any mold.

I have difficulties with vulnerability. I've been trashed so thoroughly by people I've been vulnerable to, since a very early age. And yet, without vulnerability, there can be no deep connection to others, and that's the kind of connections I want. If I appear to need nothing, then people aren't going to feel that I need their friendship. Or, perhaps, that I will have any to offer them.

I became so good at protecting myself and masking my vulnerability that I built an entire world inside myself, with a many-layered fortified castle. With creatures. I could describe it to you, but I won't. I may need it again.

Because being vulnerable is difficult and frightening. I'll need some place to feel safe, when the vulnerability gets me into painful places. Because it always does.

I wanna walk like you, talk like you

I've been singing lately. Well, I often do. The latest song that keeps coming to mind is from The Jungle Book (Disney animated, many years ago).

Oh I'm the King of the Swingers

The Jungle VIP

I want to be a man like you

and that's what's botherin' me.

Oh you-u-u

I wanna be like you-u-u

I wanna walk like you, talk like you

....

And that's where my memory runs out. I like that the song is bouncy and energetic and silly. Those are qualities that I would associate with myself, if I were myself.

I want to get back to myself.

As a child, I was happy, cheerful. I was extremely bright and creative and was always creating something, whether it was doll clothes or stories or artwork. If I'd had LEGO, I would have been building things. I had a toy where you poured plastic liquid into molds and cooked them until hot; you could burn yourself, but you learned not to. And no, my parents did not supervise, even tho' I was only 8. I'm not sure if that was laziness on their part or trust that I could handle it. Same with my chemistry set when I was 12. Fun times!

I was fairly solitary as a child, unfortunately. There were no girls close to me in age in my neighborhood and the boys didn't always want to play with a girl, especially once my younger brother got older. Sure, he was lots younger than the other boys, but he was a genius when it came to sports, and I was pathetic. Who do you think they wanted to play with?

All my friends from school lived a fair distance away and no one arranged play dates back then. You were just stuck with whoever was nearby and if no one was nearby, you were out of luck. Except on those rare times when you could arrange an after school play time. Those were some of the most memorable times of my childhood.

I'm still unfortunately and involuntarily solitary. I guess it's just one of the curses of my life. But I want to get back to being able to occupy myself pleasurably, be creative, and able to play and be happy alone. I skated, ran, climbed all on my own. No reason I can't do that now. Once I get through the crap in my head that forms the brambles and walls separating who I've become from who I am and could be.

I wanna be like me.

Timex Girl

I've decided I'm like a Timex watch: I take a lickin' and keep on tickin'. I may not be happy, but I keep on plodding along, one foot in front of the other.

That said, today was a better day. Maybe it was the sunshine. Maybe it was spending time outside. Maybe it was spending time with a good friend. Maybe all three. But I feel better today. What that will look like tomorrow is anyone's guess.

And I see therapist tomorrow, so I guess I'd better finish at least one small part of the homework!

Not tonight, my dears

Because I've spent half my life in cognitive therapy, I know clinical depression when I see it, er, experience it. And yeah, it's full blown. I need meds. And my appointment with a doc of meds is in about a week and a half.

Don't worry about me, lovelies. I am not going to off myself or do myself any sort of harm. That's a commitment I made many years ago. Besides, I promised my Mama. And some kinds of promises I keep. Not like the "No, Mom, I won't have sex until I'm married" promise, because if I'd kept that I'd still be a virgin.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I did think about suicide a lot in the years following my brother's suicide. Feeling responsible toward my mom, not wanting her to go through that again, kept me back from that more than anything. But there was one day when I was that close. I thought about it thoroughly. I knew exactly what I'd do. But I couldn't get out of my chair. I was in a recliner and I just could not make my body move; I felt like I was made of lead and weighed a half a ton. Eventually the compulsion to hurt myself passed and I could get up. And I never came that close again.

Finally, in my mid-20s, I committed to seeing out the remainder of my life. Of course, in my mind, I kept the idea of "until my mom dies." I changed my mind about that, too. And at the end, Mom pulled her mind away from her own situation enough to exact a promise and certainty that I would not harm myself after she was gone. And I won't, no matter how depressed I get.

Mind you, if I get some horrible disease where I'll end up a prisoner in my own body, all bets are off. I'll move to Oregon, where they have that right-to-die law.

For now I will live. I just won't be enjoying it.

Good night.

Distraction

Trauma work is hard. I find I've been avoiding it for days. Today I even took a three and a half hour nap, probably to avoid this. It's pretty late in the evening, but I started. And now I'm stepping away.

I still feel so much anger and pain. I know I told the therapist that I wanted to jump into the tough stuff so I could get thru things more quickly, but ow. Harder to start then I thought. I was so cocky. After everything, I can handle anything.

So I'm writing in my blog. Then I'm going to go play some little computer game.

My neck and head have gone all stiff. Yeah, I am really reacting to doing this work.

Now if only I could do some "work" that paid.

Good night. This is all I can handle tonight.

Talking to Strangers

When I was a child, I was amazingly outgoing and would talk to anyone who stood still long enough. I once introduced myself to a new mailman with my name, followed by "and I'm cute!" I knew it was true because everyone told me so.

But my dad was a cop, so he worked hard at teaching us, me especially, not to talk to strangers. Between that, puberty-onset shyness, and my inherent introversion, I became quite good at not talking to strangers. (I could still talk to friends who stood still long enough.)

But now I must talk to strangers if I am to find work and/or develop my own business. I must talk to strangers if I am to make new friends. And while some of my abilities and issues have changed, and my meds have had an effect, it's not always enough to make talking to strangers anything close to easy. And now that the meds aren't doing their job, such speech is very, very far from easy.

Tonight, my mind and body are buzzing as if filled with a hive of mad bees. I attended a professional meeting and spoke not only to individual strangers but to an entire group of them when I announced needing volunteers for a project I'm working on. I had met a few of these people before, but could only count two as people who knew my name. The food was well-balanced (and tasty!), so I cannot blame blood sugar. And the buzzy, vibrating feeling began before I entered my car for the long drive home. (And I don't have a sex toy in my pocket, although that might be a useful idea to help me come down from this feeling!)

I think it's nerves, both the anxiety kind and, probably in reaction, the neurological kind, given that I do have some neurological issues, too.

I can't go to sleep while I feel like this. Caffeine is useful and easy for perking up. What drink is useful and easy for perking down?

What would work, and has worked in the past, would be slow, comfortable conversation with a loved one. (Well, slow comfortable something else with a special loved one would work, too.) However, that is not an option at this moment, so instead I must contemplate warm milk.

If only there weren't so damned many strangers that I have to talk to!

Late Already

Well, I haven't started my therapy homework yet and it's almost bedtime. Is the procrastination due to my discomfort with the coming work, the trauma issues that keep me from doing anything, or just plain simple procrastination, if there is such a thing?

Sometimes I wonder if there is any such thing as plain and simple. But I'll visit simplicity in another post.

Not only do I want to work on my homework in a timely manner, I want to write blog posts as often as possible. Join the "blog every day" club, y'know? Besides, even if I don't get the accountability thing due to not advertising widely (I can't decide if I want to come out even semi-anonymously on too many of the blogs I frequent. There are potential issues there, too. I'll take suggestions and opinions under advisement.)

The weather was quite good today after dark and rain yesterday, and sunshine always raises my mood. I accomplished some work and some study toward other skills I intend to add to my bag of tricks. Of course, doing well today could end up making me hunker down tomorrow; it would be in pattern for me.

I've gotten pretty bad at going to bed at a reasonable time, which in turn causes me to sleep until an unreasonable time. Getting up at 10 or later really messes me up, because I'm not a night person. Even if I stay up too late.

I'm late on my bills, all of the ones I'm responsible for. I'm late looking for a psychiatrist to handle my medications. I'm late booking the last couple of appointments of physical therapy. And it's been two years since my last physical, and two and a half since my last mammogram. Oh yeah, and this year I get to start that whole colonoscopy thing. I think. I'm sure my doctor will let me know. Hooray.

On another topic, completely without segue, I think I have a strong "voice" in my writing, whether it be fiction or non. That, in itself, will probably give me away. Readers, what do you think? Is my voice identifiable? It's not as if I can perceive it. Inside my head, my voice is always the same, unless I've been reading too much of one kind of fiction. I have been known to think in "thee" and "thou," or in Victorian speech patterns.

Well, I think this is enough for the evening. This makes two in a row! ::much whistling and cheering ensues::

Good night.

Finnegan Begin Again

I've tried writing in my original blog, but I end up stopping for many reasons. One of those reasons is paranoia: I'll be talking about deeply personal things, including therapy, medication, and sex (not necessarily in that order), and I don't want a potential client or certain friends and family to connect this blog with me.

Maybe with this bit of anonymity, I'll find it easier to post. Because I have a lot of work to do. And a lot I want to say. And eventually I want to run my other blog better, and start a professional blog, but I think that first I need to just get my brain back into writing after being cemented in place for so long. So if I write crap, better here than in more public forums.

I've invited the people from blogs I visit routinely. Anyone who knows me from there will probably figure out who I am almost immediately, which is fine. It's not them I am trying to be anonymous with.

Have you ever heard of Trauma Therapy? I hadn't either until last week. It's different from cognitive therapy, which is good because over two decades of cognitive therapy taught me about how I think, but haven't enabled me to move.

Trauma therapy addresses each trauma event individually. Pick an event, say when someone hurt me. Then write down pieces of that event that were significant emotionally. For each piece, you then write about it: when it occurred (this anchors it in time, which often unresolved traumas are not); feelings ("I felt this") about the piece; put it in past tense (because unresolved traumas generally feel and are often talked about as if in the present); if there is a perpetrator, address them directly ("you did this"); and make the description factual, with as may details as possible. No opinions or explanations. Facts and feelings.

Then the next time I meet with my therapist (Karen), I'll read it aloud (that's gonna be fun) and we'll talk about my feelings, the event, and I'm not sure what else because this is the very first time I'm doing it.

Given that I have a long menu of traumas to choose from (many that perhaps only one other person might know about), I chose to go with one that is hardest, that is hitting me the most deeply, rather than trying to just dip my toes in with something "easy." Because I want to get through this crap as quickly as possible. I've been stuck at start for so many years now, I can't stand to wait any longer to begin my life again. I'll be starting with my most recent trauma, because it is directly related to the deepest issues, I think. Karen agrees.

Karen asked me why I have not done the things that I obviously want to. After thinking for a moment, I told her that while my mind knows the problems, and what to do mentally, there is something broken below that. It's like the steering and the wheels are completely disconnected. I am desperately hoping that this trauma work will reconnect me, so I can go where I mean to go.

Welcome. Let's see what happens, shall we?