Screaming Meemies

This is what my folks called "nerves" (which was probably anxiety) when I was a kid. If you were all nervous about something, you were having the screaming meemies. I think I had them a lot, now that it's come to mind. I was a hypersensitive child, just as I am an only-slightly-less-hypersensitive adult. Plus, there were all these complications from bad stuff that would have fed into my anxieties.

I am having the screaming meemies right now. A wonderful opportunity was offered to me today (not a paying kind, I'm afraid) and I jumped on it of course, but now my meemies are screaming their little ... whatevers off. After I produced a document for the guy who gave me this opportunity, I essentially shut down. I've just been mindlessly surfing the web. I feel a bit shell-shocked in a way: kind of numb, a feeling of looming dread, and the feeling that no one is there behind my eyes. Screaming meemies alright — anxiety doesn't seem to quite describe it.

I also chose to not submit my resume on a potential job today. Does that make me lazy or bad? An email came up on a group I belong to saying that the agency she was doing contracting work with needed 2 more people and that if we wanted to talk to the recruiter, we had to do it today because she is off on vacation starting tomorrow. I looked at the info in the email and decided no. Why? 1) It's with a company in an industry that I haven't been able to break into — even for a contract job — because I have no experience in that particular industry, so there seemed no point; 2) my first thought was "well, then I wouldn't be able to do these other things, which are the project I'm currently working on and this opportunity. So I chose to forego a shot at a contract job so I wouldn't miss out on a cool-but-low-paying freelance gig and a wonderful volunteer gig.

I hope the Universe helps me out a bit here before my meemies scream themselves hoarse.

Mindlessness

I can't think of what to write. My mind is scattered like dust in the wind (Kansas, late 70s, I don't recall what album). I was out during part of the hottest part of the day (but not dehydrated). I was busy and I had actual communications with actual in-person humans. I'm tired and my brain is all fly-away.

So this is all the post I can manage. But at least I posted. I think I'm back into the post-a-day routine now.

So, until tomorrow, good night.

Inattentiveness

It's almost July. It's 2011. I'm missing large portions of the last year. I could point to what's caused that, except that I've experienced this before off and on. While the latest missing time has at its root the events and grief of the last year, it ends up coming from not paying attention, from not being present. 

This past year, I didn't want to be present for many things and so found ways to occupy my mind and my time in a wasteful way (I won't tell you how many of the LOL cats I've seen on icanhascheezburger.com.), all for very good reasons, but I haven't always had good reasons. I have left my attentiveness behind because I was sad or stressed or anxious or tired or lonely. So I end up missing large chunks of my life.

And now we are halfway through 2011, almost exactly a year ago that I had to go be with my mom. Various people said "oh, you are getting such good karma, next year will be spectacular for you," and other similar things. Well... I haven't seen it so far. But then, I've still got my sadness goggles on and may have missed the spectacular. I hope it comes back.

Paying attention makes time seem to move more slowly, because you are experiencing nearly all of it. When you are putting your attention into mindlessly surfing the Web or watching hours and hours of TV or doing anything that allows your mind to kind of fuzz out, time flies. When you are in a rut and don't look up, time flies. When you are trying very hard to ignore your life, for whatever reason, then time flies and weeks, months, maybe years can go by when you aren't paying attention.

Do you want more time in your life? Practice mindfulness. Be in the present. Pay attention to right now. The more of that you do, the more time you have to be in.

Once I get my sadness goggles off, I'll join you.

Broken Thoughts

I mentioned earlier that a blog I read had a post about Fear the other day; I may have mentioned that Fear and I are really far too close for my comfort. Even just reading the blog and the comments, most of which were about how others deal with fear and overcome fear, made all my fear reactions stand on end and I had to take a pill to calm me. I do not want to be that woman who "must take a little pill to calm me down."

Well, today was therapy. As I had not done my homework, we talked of other things, such as fear and how I'm doing on my behavior changes (we looked at what I had succeeded at, not what I didn't do, thank you Julie). The talk about fear merged into talk about some feelings I have that are pretty constant. I have quite a few, but we talked about how lost I feel, how I feel as if I'm floating, and how I feel untethered. That's when Karen the Wonderful Therapist took me through some focused Cognitive Therapy.

These thoughts are lies that my mind tells me and the only way to fix the distortions and overcome the lies (eventually getting rid of them altogether) is to combat them with truths. Luckily for me, she outlined true statements for me to use, because if we'd left it to me, I'd still be in her office!

For example, when I hear myself saying that I'm floating, I counter with I'm not floating. I am moving in a direction. I am making choices daily. For one thing, I choose to be in therapy to help me move in the direction I want. And that's all true. But I feel as if I need to write notes on my hands and arms to remember it all.  :)  Perhaps just a folded up cheat sheet I carry around.

It was very weird, hearing her statements for me to use to respond to these fear-based distortions in my head. I could really perceive the power of opposing these thoughts with true statements. For one thing, I have to think through the truths, so it's not just a mindless phrase to throw at an issue. And thinking will make it all stick better. It's like when I write something down, I remember it better, even if I don't reread what I wrote. (Not applicable to all things — I have to reread the truth responses to these first three distortions because they are complicated enough that I can't yet remember them off the top of my head.)

A lot of what I'm doing right now behaviorally and cognitively relates to grounding me, creating a foundation to build on. This same concept is what my outside life is about as well: I need to basically build a new life, and I don't have a stable foundation for it, either. The therapeutic work I'm doing will most likely help me to do the outside work; as one part stabilizes, so will the other parts. 

This is all more or less clear in my head. I'm not sure it's as clear on this blog. I can't say I know where I'm going yet. But I can say that I have a lot more hope that I will get there, wherever it is.

This is the Best. Therapy. EVAH!

Not Quite Succeeding

Well, I tried. This week, in addition to the regular therapy homework, I had my new behavioral homework, just a few tasks. And as simple and small were the challenges, it's going to take more than a week for me to incorporate everything successfully and routinely.

Therapy homework
Nope. Didn't even think of it until about an hour ago and a couple of hours before I go to sleep is not the best time.

Behavioral work

1. Take a shower and get dressed every day, preferably before noon.
   I showered every other day. I got dressed every day, although sometimes in lounge-around-the-house clothes. About half the time I managed this before noon. Lesson: Don't read more than one blog before beginning after-breakfast routine.
2. Eat three meals a day, plus a piece of fruit and/or a vegetable every day.
   Didn't manage the three meals at all. I still mess up the hours in my day. Started out okay with the fruit, but then let the rest of the fruit and some of the berries go bad. Managed that a third of the week. No vegies at all. Lesson: Create alarms to make me aware of meal times. Prepare vegies right after I bring them home. Be more vigilant and eat the fruit or vegie first.
3. Leave the apartment every day. Pick up my mail every day. Preferably mesh the two and walk to the mailbox every day to incorporate some body movement.
   Only one day did I manage the mesh. I think there were only two days when I didn't go out, thus two days (or maybe three) when I didn't pick up my mail. And the walk plus mail day was my only walk day. Lesson: Create a schedule for the week requiring me to leave. Walk the walking trail at the complex at least twice a week — maybe set an alarm for it. Pick up the mail when I return from my going out. Without an external reason, I just don't go. Still too inert.

I'm also still not getting to bed early. I haven't been to bed before 12 this week, and I hit 2-ish at least once, which makes me get up later. And I generally turn off my alarm and continue sleeping. I need to push myself (which I'm not yet succeeding at) to go to bed earlier, and I need to put my alarm across the room so I have to get up (the alarm doesn't stop until I physically turn it off, so this could work).

I also am finding I still need a Red Bull each day to help me stay awake. I had one all week and did fine. I didn't have one today and around two thirty was so tired I lay down. The alarm on my Mac woke me up just enough to turn it off. I went back to sleep until 6:30. Four hours. I wish I could simply take a nap for 30 minutes, rather than sleep through the afternoon. It cost me time on a project, pushing me even later.

So I had a couple of very small successes this week, plus I got some ideas about what might work for this coming week. I've been solidly this inert for months, so changing may take longer than I expected. Unfortunately, because I'm very tired of it. Plus, I'm not making any money, which puts me closer and closer to running out.

It doesn't seem fair, after all I've been through, to have to deal with all this, and alone. I know Life isn't fair, but I wish it would help me a bit. If I have to do it all myself, I just might end up living in my car. (Sorry, Julie.)

Ice & Stone

Fear generally initiates one of two reactions in a person: fight or flight. However, sometimes the fear is too strong for either — then it paralyzes.

My fear and anxiety levels have been off the charts for so long that I cannot move. I have no fight, and I cannot flee. So I freeze. I've been frozen for so long that I might as well be an ice sculpture at a fancy party.

Even the easy stuff, such as walking to the mailbox, isn't easy. Ninety-nine percent of the time, I don't go. I stay here in my small, more or less controllable environment. Outside is too unpredictable.

At a blog I read today, the topic was Fear, and the message was acknowledge that you are afraid, then go ahead and do whatever it is that you fear anyway. There have been times in my life when I could do that, all by myself, with no help. I have done plenty of scary things. But right now, I feel almost too afraid to cross the street without someone holding my hand. This is a time when having someone to help me would enable me to break through the ice. And this is a time when there is no one to help me, not in person. This is the time for hands-on help. With just me picking at the ice, getting me through the fear, I feel as though it will take me a hundred years. And yes, fear is undoubtedly causing me to feel that way.

I have reminders, like my affirmations, pinned up around the place in hopes that they will help reprogram my thinking. I imagine that I can get through this, all by myself, eventually. (Although, it would help me if I could just call people. But then, reaching out like that scares me silly, too. But actual conversations and poor babies would be nice.) I know it will take longer on my own, even with the therapy (because my therapist cannot be with me 24/7, and I'm going to have to cut back on therapy due to the whole money thing).

I'm so depressed and anxious, I can't look for work, so I'm afraid I'll run out of money, a not unreasonable fear. I'm afraid all my online friends will realize I'm a whiner and a downer and a lazy loser and stop liking me. I'm afraid that I can't find work because I'm so out of date (it's been a long time since I've had a regular job), and that I can't find enough work as a freelancer to make a go of it. Then I'll have to give up health insurance, which means no one will ever want to treat me knowing that I cannot pay them .... It all spirals out of control and ends with "and then I'll die, painfully." Most people when you ask them what's the worst that can happen will give a reasonable action (I'll make a fool of myself, I'll lose my job, whatever). My "worst that can happen" answer is always either that I will die, or that I will end up mutilated, in a hospital, with no way to end the life support. My fear reactions cause me to sink like a stone.

My biggest single fear, other than running out of money and then living out of my car or something, is that I am going to be old and alone, and that I will die old and alone because I have no kids to take care of me at the end the I did for Mom. I suppose, at least, this trumps the "and then I'll die" earlier in my life scenario.

And here I go, off into the other dark areas of my soul, so I'll end it here with this thought: I did go outside, take a small walk, and pick up my mail today. Then I took another quick walk later to the corner market for an ice cream sandwich; I should find a way to harness my love of ice cream to overcome my fear. And I have many new notes and affirmations added to the ones already littering my home. Something is bound to stick, sometime, if only to get me to stop repeating these mini-mantras.

I wish I could end this the way others on that other blog did, about how they have overcome fear and stare it down whenever it raises its head. I can't yet. My fear is Medusa and I am still paralyzed and cold.

A Clean & Orderly Home

I like a clean and orderly home. Clutter bothers me. Dirt makes me physically uncomfortable. And you wouldn't know it if you saw my home now. I haven't finished unpacking in the six-ish months I've been here. The worst part is that I haven't cleaned, other than putting dishes in the dishwasher (and occasionally wiping down the countertops) and freshening up the toilet and once or twice wiping out the bathroom sink. Yes, this shames me. It is a clear and unequivocal sign of how depressed and anxious I am and have been. (Anxiety paralyzes me as surely as depression does, making which is the culprit unobvious to observers.)

Of course, one person's clutter is another person's uncluttered and my mother definitely found my uncluttered to be her clutter, and vice versa. Mom had many dustables, which she kept displayed neatly. I dislike dusting, so I want it to be as easy and quick to do as possible, which is why I'm getting rid of many of my dustables and looking to store what's left in sealed glass cabinets. I seem to have an allergy to dust and dust mites, so I have to get rid of the dust if I want to keep breathing and refrain from coughing. And having tidy bookshelves and clean surfaces satisfies a personal aesthetic. It's also easier to find the book I want.

I like being able to find what I'm looking for in a short amount of time. Now, I waste time looking for things, time I could spend doing stuff I like to do. 

I used to keep my things picked up and orderly. My bedroom when I was a child and a teenager was tidy and clean and I had only two small drawers that were my "junk" drawers where things were higgledy piggledy. They were like small treasure chests; I did not want my entire life to be that kind of treasure chest, just those two drawers. 

Back in the day, I found that it was much easier to keep my space at the level of clean and tidy that I wanted if I kept it up at all times — putting stuff away, cleaning on a schedule. As my life fell apart, bit by bit over the years, so did my levels of clean, tidy, organized. 

For example, my first home had an oak floor in the living room. When I first moved in, I took off my shoes at the door and I swept up the floor at least every other day. It was a pleasure: I loved that floor and sweeping it was an exercise in mindfulness before I ever knew what that was. It gave me pleasure. But when things happened that caused me great pain and depression, doing anything, especially anything that gave me pleasure, became virtually impossible and my floor lost its clean and shiny look. And that made me even sadder.

A vision

In my mind, every item in my home is in its place, including clothing and shoes, and put away neatly, without being squished, squashed, or wrinkled to fit it in. My home is easy to dust because the flat surfaces have few things on them — no piles of papers, no stacks of books and magazines. The few dustables I own are arranged neatly and visibly (because otherwise why have them?) My home is easy to vacuum because there is no stuff cluttering the floor — no out-of-place shoes, no piles of magazines and books (see a theme here?), no basket of unfolded laundry, no purses or totes littering the floor. My bedroom is a haven of calmness and my closet is ordered such that I can easily find the clothes and shoes I want, as well as the out-of-season bedding and other stored items. My kitchen is clean and my counters are clear; I can make brownies any time I want without a major effort to make space. I can — and do — eat my meals at my dining table.

Bonus: it doesn't take me much time at all to keep my home in this state, because I put my shoes and clothing away when I remove them, I put my purse or tote in the space for them. I unpack sacks when I bring them in and put those items away immediately. And I go through all my mail when I bring it into the house, noting the date each bill is due, addressing other mail that needs addressing, and tossing the junk. Piles don't form.

Then money floats through my door and into my wallet and bank account. My emotional eating disappears and with it my excess weight. And I write my first novel. And oh yeah: depression and anxiety? GONE!

Ta da!

Now does anyone know someone who could help me achieve any of this? Anyone? Anyone?

**crickets**

Turtling

Turtling is a term I use for when I close in on myself in a self-protective mode. I guess some people might call it nesting, but I avoid surrounding my areas with lots of clothing and blankets (I've done this in the past). Instead, I feel as if I've pulled into a shell and don't want to come back out.

I think it's different from agoraphobia (my BFF thinks differently, of course). Agoraphobia generally results from having panic attacks at different places until even leaving the house causes them, leaving you stuck. I don't feel as if I'm afraid to leave (although there is anxiety). I just feel safer inside my home.

When I do leave, I enjoy being out. When I've been out for a couple of hours, though, I start feeling like I need to be home. Luckily for me, it isn't the compulsion it was about 15 years ago. It's merely an urge.

The big problem seems to be making myself get out of my little womb.

I think part of it is the problem introverts can have when they've been excessively introverted, away from almost all stimuli. They become more introverted. When I read The Highly Sensitive Person, it changed my outlook and I learned that I'm not "too sensitive." But I do have to watch out for becoming so introverted I have difficulties having any stimuli at all. I don't even listen to music anymore.

Having reasons to go out, having people to see, having things I want or need to do: these would get me out and expand my stimulation threshold once more. Yes, it's been suggested I do some volunteer work that requires my physical presence. I forget to look for it. My current state of mind (or medicine) messes with my short-term memory. A lot. So I forget these ideas I have for helping myself get better. 

I forget to do stuff I really love to do, such as write and other creative things. Here I am, more time than money, and I fritter the time away not creating a thing, not walking in beauty, not going to a museum or the zoo. I waste it huddled in my self-created womb, my shell, my bomb shelter.

I need to remember to look outside and see that there is no bomb, the sky isn't falling, and the sun is shining invitingly. I need to reclaim my authentic self and surrender my turtle self, because I can protect myself in other ways and do not need a hard shell to hide inside. I must remind myself that I gave up barriers when the walls of my keep broke into ruins inside my mind and my heart a few years ago when I felt great pain.

Vulnerability is the new strength. Try it on, self. I think it looks very good on you.

Step, step

Well, I'm not perfect after all. Huh.

Today I did get up (altho' it was almost 10) and eat breakfast. I didn't shower but I did dress. But I didn't leave the apartment (except to put the garbage can outside my apartment) and I did not have a piece of fruit or vegetable. (The plum, kept in the fridge, was just not quite ripe enough.) However, I did manage a bonus action of cleaning the papers and books off the floor and into a box or the bookshelf.

I don't know why I didn't leave the apartment. It's part of this problem I have, this huge disconnect between thought and action. I can think about an action, but it takes a great deal of time and effort to get over the barrier into committing the action. It's not laziness. It's a problem, one that we hope to fix with the help of therapy.

For tomorrow: earlier out of bed, a shower, a shorter morning routine, that plum, and a little visit on foot to the mail box. And an earlier bed time.

Baby Steps? Maybe for a Baby Bird!

Sunday:

Tiny, little, eensy baby steps. I did wash my dishes from my meals (but not from my evening snack yet). I did two smaller tasks and one load of laundry, but haven't approached my therapy homework or the two projects I have to do for other people. I did the easy stuff, basically. But I did something.

I still didn't leave the apartment. I did not do any exercise inside. And I have not picked up around the place. Still, I did something.

I tend to have overly high expectations for myself, making disappointment almost a given. The only way to avoid disappointment is to refrain from expectations. That is one of the things I am working toward.

Update: I did do my therapy homework, but that was it for the evening. No dishes.

Monday:

Today was therapy, and we discussed my plans. Karen believes that setting up the basic living habits — getting up, showering and getting dressed, and leaving the apartment, even to pick up my mail, which I should do daily — are fundamental. The extent to which a person lacks the basic living habits shows the extent of a person's depression. Guess where I am. So we agreed that getting those basic habits, plus adding a minor thing to work toward healthy eating habits (a fruit and a vegetable a day; or maybe it was a fruit or a vegetable a day — I'll do what I can without over stressing about it), is essential. These things will form the foundation on which to begin rebuilding my life skills, and, my life.

Today I went to therapy, went for a walk, went to the grocery store, filled the car with gas (when it was almost out), picked up some not-excessively unhealthy fast food, and that ended the productive portion of my day. I then watched movies on my laptop for the rest of the afternoon and evening.

Tomorrow, I begin doing the basics. I'll keep track and post.

As for therapy: I did my homework, we went over it, and I cried. Not as cathartic as previously, but it was a shorter piece and it was a less-emotional piece. I think that the real catharsis and "emptying" occurs when the emotional content is higher, and the trauma greater.

Not a thrilling post. Just one of those daily kind. I expect there will be a lot of those, as I begin my new Self-Rebuilding procedure.

Starting from Scratch

Depression devastates. It devours. It consumes your life and, if it goes on long enough or is bad enough, it can consume even your life skills.

I've been battling depression and anxiety directly for about 27 years; I've suffered from anxiety since I was a child. For a long time, I managed to hold on to the usual life skills of cleaning, cooking, staying organized, but during my worst periods have seen those skills erode. Since my mom's death, the anxiety and depression have taken me all the way down to the ground. 

I don't pick up. I don't clean. I don't fix meals ... I just buy stuff and it goes bad. I don't pay my bills on time. I don't look for work. It's not laziness. I don't do any of these things because I am overwhelmed by it. I sit on the couch and when I think about doing any of those tasks, my anxiety flares up and I'm even more stuck to the couch than before. The depression weighs me down and makes me feel vague and weak. Days pass by in a haze and I am constantly surprised by the end of the day.

I'm at ground zero and around me lay the ruins of my life. Not only do I not do basic life tasks and routines, I don't do the things I love other, such as write and go for walks.

The depression and anxiety have shown signs of clearing. I finally want to live again, which is rather new since Mom's death. But I have a lot of work to do before I am doing anything other than surviving.

I plan to continue to use this blog to talk about my therapy, but I am also going to use it as a journal of learning to live all over again. None of my therapists have offered me any way to do this; all we do is talk about ideas. Obviously that hasn't worked. I'll be making this up as I go along, cobbling together solutions and motivations and simple "how do I drag myself along" functions from other people's suggestions, from things I read, and from whatever I can dredge up a brain that's had most of its creativity smothered in muck for a very long time.

The things I intend to concentrate on first are

1. Basic routines & habits: moving the morning routine along faster and to somewhere other than the couch; putting the dishes away when they are clean; putting out the garbage in a timely manner; going to bed at a reasonable time and with a dependable routine.
2. Cleaning: first, clearing out the detritus that currently covers every surface, sorting, that overall declutter that needs to take place before I can even develop routines. I think I'll have a cleaning person come in and do a deep, thorough clean after I get all the clutter handled. Then develop habits and routines.
3. Money & paperwork: get my check register up to date; get my bills scheduled on my calendar so I can pay them on time; get that bankruptcy info; stay on top of my check register by actually entering all my debit card purchases (what a thought!). Truly concentrate on decreasing expenses. Do my 2010 taxes. Clean up existing files and start new ones, such as my 2011 tax files, now that we are halfway through the year. Develop a routine for handling paper that comes into the apartment.
4. Physical activity: daily activity such as walking or doing exercises; refraining from sitting so much.
5. Meals: fix actual meals for myself. I don't need four-course feasts and I am fine with having the same food frequently, but I do need more stability than cereal with berries for breakfast. Start small with easy stuff.
6. Stuff I love to do: make time to write and do other things I enjoy on a regular basis. Another habit/routine maneuver — makes habits of these things so I remember to do them.
7. Look for work: look into the things I need to do to find or make work; look at job boards, redo my resume and portfolio and all the rest of that; and do it all regularly.

Well. That's a lot of stuff to start with. But each of those sets is very important. Maybe I'll cut it down, start a couple of essential things every 2 - 3 weeks. Even figuring out how to start is something I need to relearn.

So check back. This could be very interesting ... or it could be unimaginably tedious. Just as long as it eventually succeeds.

All About Me

Of course, this blog is all about me. What would be the point, otherwise? This blog is about my return from the darkness of the Abyss. But I think it's grown somewhat stale. Perhaps I need to have more focus, the way I need it in my therapy (and I haven't done my homework yet, but I've had something that has taken me out of the house every day this week, and going outside, right now, tends to use up a lot of energy). I don't have any kind of a routine in place. Anywhere.

Where was I? Stale. While I don't want to shake things up (that would make me nauseated and mess up the serenity I'm so desperate to develop), I do want to develop a schema. Something that would make this blog more a part of my therapy rather than a place to blurp up my latest thoughts and feelings. This blog could be a useful tool; I'm not currently using it as one.

In fact, most of my posts are first and only drafts, requiring few or no revisions. On the one hand, I'm very proud of the writing skills that enable me to create what I consider good posts in an hour, or less. On the other hand, what could these be if I put some more thought and effort into them? I need to make sure I don't make this blog a burden. I have too many burdens right now.

I'll spend some time thinking about this and when I figure out what I want to do, I'll tell you. Until then, I'll continue with these short, 15-minute posts and the long 1-hour posts.

Nap Attack

I was attacked by a nap today. It kept me under for 3 hours. Same happened yesterday. These damned naps take a huge toll on my productivity.

Just don't go to sleep? Have you seen a cat, or maybe a kitten, experience a nap attack? Suddenly their eyes get sleepy, their head wobbles, they try to stay awake, and then they fall asleep in some weird position, like half out of their bed or upside-down in a chair. Well that's what my nap attacks are like. The only thing is I manage to put things off my lap and somewhere safe before I fall over asleep. And I don't sleep upside-down.

These are a bit different from the zombie-sleeping I experienced when I was on the evil Haldol: with these last two nap attacks, I felt very sleepy but not like I wouldn't be able to do a couple of things before I slept. I had the chance to use the restroom, get comfy on the couch, and set an alarm. (Which did no good because after an hour, I turned it off and went back to sleep.) The zombie-sleep attacks hit me like a freight train and I had to put things down immediately because I was going unconscious Right Now. It is possible that I'm still suffering effects from Haldol as it leaves my system; I'm very sensitive to medications and they seem to take forever to clear out of my body.

Still, I don't think I should be napping like this. Let's see, yesterday I had therapy, took a walk, and grocery shopped. I had to ice my heels due to the fact that my feet are still weak and stiff from sitting and lying about. Today I had a massage that worked some very severe knots. I iced those previously knotted areas. However, I don't think the ice had anything to do with my naps.

I couldn't tell you if I'm getting good sleep, but I am not going to bed at a good time, so I'm getting around 6 hours of sleep. Tonight I should get 7 — woo hoo! — and going to bed much earlier, both of which should offer me benefits.

Yes, I need to see a doctor, just to make sure I'm okay. But I haven't written the letter to my health insurance stating why they need to reinstate me, so I don't have health insurance right now and I don't like the idea of paying the huge amount I'll need to pay. As it is, I may need to buy several meds at full price if I don't get this insurance thing handled soon. You'd think this would motivate me to write the letter (and I've had over a week, almost two, that I've known to write it). 

Right now, all that seems to motivate me are naps. And I'm just not enjoying them as much as I used to.

Decent day — good day

When I was thinking of the title for tonight's post, I thought "I've had a good day.  A decent day." The fact that I downgraded it from good to decent struck me. Why do I so often diminish the good, but the bad is always way up there — awful, horrible, terrible? When I exchanged greetings with someone I know around the complex, he said he was "good" and I said I was "not too bad." Am I afraid that I will attract The Bad by giving attention to The Good? It's weird, whatever it is.

Therapy Day today. I still hadn't done my homework, so we talked about all the other crap. Then I learned that while I thought I'd been doing cognitive therapy in the past, I hadn't done it in the orderly manner that Karen does it. 

We were discussing, hell, I don't remember all of it specifically.  We discussed my living in the past and the future. We discussed my meltdowns of last week. Then she asked me if she'd gone over the Cognitive Distortions checklist. No, she hadn't, and I'm glad she thought to do so today. I have a lot of the distorted thinking patterns on her list. For example, All or Nothing thinking, where everything is black or white. When my meltdowns occur, that's the first place I go. Or "Mental filter: you pick out a single negative detail and dwell on it exclusively so that your vision of all reality becomes darkened, like the drop of ink that discolors the entire beaker of water." Might as well put my picture on that one. One bad thing can color the rest of a predominantly good thing for me. 

My current homework is to note these distortions when I think them, label them, then replace them with corrected, undistorted thoughts.

I've been in therapy for over half my life. I was told that much of it was cognitive therapy. But I've never had it targeted this well or been given such specific information and ways to deal with it.

My other homework is to get some balance in my life with the computer. I've let the computer be my escape from reality, my distraction from thinking or living. Now my intention is to use the computer as a tool — for writing, for communicating, for doing work — and to not use it for escapist activities. Nope, no planning any prison breaks on the computer for me! Oh, not that kind of escapist. And if you check out my blog list down on the right, you'll see "zen habits." In my previous post I mentioned the blog author's book, Focus. Well part of that book talks about becoming addicted to the computer and allowing it to control you rather than the other way around. Luckily for me, this book has come to me at the right time to help me with this specific task. Oh, and with the next one.

In order to deal with my forever living in the past and the future rather than the present, my homework is to practice mindfulness and get out of my head. Think outwardly, not inwardly. Yeah, that will be easy. I worked on it while on my short walk. "Oh look, pretty trees. Ow, my feet hurt. Listen to the birds. The sun is in my eyes. Smell the scent of trees and pine needles and dust. My feet still hurt." It was like dragging a toddler along on my walk! Which, in some way, I guess I was. That inner child thing.

And, of course, I need to continue on my trauma homework.

It's a whole lot of work, certainly. I must make it a priority or I'll never do any of it. And at my advanced age, it's high time I stop suffering from my past and fearing my future and simply begin living my life. Because being miserable has lost its glamour somehow.

Meltdown

Well, I melted down most of last week. Lost all power of perspective, all positivity, all courage. I let fear and the scarcity-mindset take me over and make me their bitch.

That's over. This week I have regained perspective. I am putting great effort into the power of positivity and gratitude. I'm remembering how courageous I am and have been in my life. I'm remembering hope. I'm kicking fear and scarcity in their skinny little butts.

I used to have routines; I had habits. I had regular behaviors. I cooked and ate decent meals, and cleaned my home and kept it organized. I walked. I went to bed and got up at reasonable hours and I read some useful and inspirational books at bedtime so I could take their wisdom into sleep with me.

I do none of that right now. But I'm on the verge of relearning it all and one of the things helping me with this is the zenhabits web site and the free e-book Focus by the site's author, Leo Babauta. One of my favorite things about this book is that he says to not set goals, that goals can be more destructive and constructive. Yes! I heretofore discard goals.

My  goal  ... I mean, my intention is to get back to my pre-Mom's-cancer state of being meltdown-free. I worked hard for a couple of years — from when I first realized what was going on in my mind when I had these hamsters-whirling-around-in-my-head phases that made me feel I was going crazy — to get to where I knew my cycles and my triggers and how to perceive if and when I was developing a meltdown so I could head it off. I got very good at that. Then one of those little detours of life threw me out of that calmness and awareness (at a time I could have used it) and now I get to learn it and practice it all again. Well, I guess it's supposed to be character-building.

I swear that once I put myself back together again, I'll have a character that not even a nuclear bomb could shatter.

Not tonight

I cannot write tonight. I'm in a terrible mind-space and I'm crying, which makes my already blurry vision even worse, making it difficult to see what I'm typing.

I know I'm trying to be more positive, but I'm just not managing it today. It took me 3 Red Bulls and 2 vitamin C drinks to keep from falling asleep this afternoon and I've been down half on the new med for over a week and completely off for half a week. And I'm still seeing things and I don't like it.

Basically, I'm not having a very good time, so I won't massacre my (what am I down to now? one?) reader(s) with my lousy mood. I'll write when I'm better.

Benched

Couched is more like it. Today was a day that I spent on the couch. My long list of things to do sat there on the screen looking oh so lonely. I saw it. And I imagined doing the things on it, but that didn't happen.

But I couldn't get up. No shower today. Lunch was a couple of sticks of string cheese. I hope dinner will be healthier: I have PB for a boring sandwich, and I have salad stuff for a very good salad.

I even had a fall-unconscious moment. It wasn't as bad as it was when I was fully on the Haldol, but it was strong enough for me to shut the computer and make myself comfortable on the couch. Then I was out. Only two hours, this time. It has been worse. But naps like this don't leave me refreshed and ready to do stuff. They leave me lethargic and thinking of more naps. I even had two energy drinks before this nap and they had ZERO affect, obviously.

I don't know what the half-life of Haldol is, how long it will take for it to entirely leave my body. And my body is sensitive to drugs, so it could take a while longer than the professionals would say anyway. I just want it gone so I can stop having half a life. I need a lot more time and energy if I'm going to do what I need — and what i want — to do.

Is there like a spell to "dispell" the need for nap-comas?  :)

Money, money, money

All the things I could do
if I had a little money.
It's a rich man's world

"Money, Money, Money, ABBA, ABBA Gold

I'm unemployed. I ran out of unemployment last year. My rent is around $750 a month and my health insurance is $839 with a $2500 deductible. The "chump change" in the rest of my budget makes my monthly expenses — for a non-working person — almost $3400. I can probably shave a hundred dollars off that, if I am very careful about my groceries and only buy vegies and dairy, and if I drive even less than I do, and I cut off my biggest indulgence: using a garbage pickup service rather than dragging my garbage across the apartment complex to the dumpster. That's $20 a month and feeds into the $750 rent. If I can find and buy an inexpensive and working washer and dryer, I can save another $35 a month. And if I buy my own cable modem, I can save $7. More chump change that might add up. I see my therapist weekly right now, which is necessary, and my medications, mostly covered by insurance, still have a monthly cost of about $100 

I have between $8000 and $10,000 in debt: I have a couple of calls to make to find out the extent of the damage. I haven't paid on any of it and cannot afford to.

Rock, meet hard place. I don't know when my finances will change; much is up in the air on one side and finding a job on the other side is just as hard this time around. I made $500 for one and a half press releases. If I could get more of that, and more of the work I'm going to do for a very small business who has very little money to work with, I might make it with very little foray into my savings.

Retirement isn't even on the table: I have no retirement funds due to — wanna guess? — health costs in the past. Working in high-tech during the 90s took a hell of a toll on one's health.

Why am I telling you all this? Because I'm going to look into filing personal bankruptcy. I don't see any other way. And I want to do it before any real money comes in because the creditors would have first whack at it and I might need to live on it for a few more years.

Bankruptcy brings up a lot of differing feelings between people. For example, one of my best friends already reacted with worry and panicky cautions to rethink it. All he's heard are the horror stories. But I just read a financial article saying it could be the saving of me, if I can afford it. That's why I'm going to talk to the Volunteer Lawyers Program. I'm certainly low-income enough to qualify. I think I'll be lucky if I make $5000 this year. I made $3500 last year. And haven't done my taxes yet. 

The bulk of my debts are healthcare-related. I admit there are some clothes and shoes on the credit card. But I haven't used the card some the fall of 2009. The finance charges are killing me and putting me even further behind. I tried to work something out, a payment plan, cancel the card, but they only work like that with people who have an income. They have no programs for unemployed people. How about that? Is the gap between the haves and the have-nots widening? Damn skippy.

I'm not a bad person. I'm not irresponsible. I've been swimming upstream and the only help I've had was Mom paying for my food and little things for two and a half months and the very generous loan from a friend that is allowing me to get buy for another couple of months. With the bulk of an account that I shared with Mom now in my working account, I can get by for three more months. Three months. No wonder I need anti-anxiety medications and therapy. Any more than that and I am selling everything I own here (except my beloved printer), moving back North into someone's basement or spare room, and looking for work at McDonald's or something.. And I have a seven-month lease that just started this month. Kind of reminiscent of last year, isn't it? I wonder who will get cancer this year. Maybe it's my turn.

Sorry. Have to breath deeply for a moment. It kills me to even think of this. 

I haven't been able to seriously look for work while I've been in the Abyss. I just couldn't. Hell, I could barely get off the couch and buy groceries for myself. Once I accomplish a couple of necessary tasks the rest of this week, I can begin serious work hunting. Freelance would be the best and at half time and my usual rate, I can pay all my bills (but not the debts, unfortunately). That's all I need. 

I don't think it's too much to ask. All I need is for Luck, Life, and the Universe to smile on me and help me out this time.

The Zombiepocalypse is here --- but I'm winning

In case you don't remember, I spent over two weeks as a virtual zombie, being unconscious far too much, eating junk food in an effort to increase my energy, and being unable to form complete sent ....

What? Sorry, must have fallen asleep.

Some folks suggested it was meds and some suggested it was simple exhaustion. I think it was both ... but mostly the meds. I say that because, as a sufferer of a fatigue-producing syndrome, I know from exhaustion. Exhaustion doesn't make me have to immediately stop everything I'm doing so I can lay down before I simply fall unconscious. It also doesn't cause me to sleep away entire days — not just drowse or lounge on the couch, but actually sleep. It doesn't cause me to be incapable of writing at all. In addition, I cut in half the med I think has been causing my zombie-like behaviors and after six days I can say that the coma-like sleep compulsion has almost disappeared, although I still require excessive caffeine to stay fully alert throughout the day.

There are other symptoms — such as itchy skin, blurred vision, Vicodin-like urination difficulties, unable to be my usual chatty self because I have to think a bit too much (my typing sucks but the words flow just fine) — that are still a problem, but I expect them to fall away, too, as the med leaves my body, because the psychiatrist agreed I could go off of it (although she doesn't believe any symptom but the sleepiness is related). I have another, side-effect-free med I'm going to use for anxiety. It's not perfect, but it doesn't give me weird symptoms, so that gives it a win for me.

And if any of these symptoms persist past next Tuesday, then I will make a very urgent call to my doctor for an appointment. I promise.

Loving myself

My therapist doesn't know everything. Agreed, that shouldn't be shocking, but I thought she'd have some idea about why I have difficulties with orgasm, if they related back to an incident in college. Nope. Apparently that is more in the realm of sex therapists and mine is not.

Of course, now I have to wonder: should I see a sex therapist? Because I surely envy those women who seem to have orgasms effortlessly. Even the ones I give myself require epic effort most of the time. If only I could stop thinking. I feel only sympathy for the lovers I have had, given how frustrating I find it.

 There was a short period of time around 40 when they seemed to happen easier, but that was by myself and, I'm ashamed to admit, my most serious foray into self-love. Yes, at 40. Hell, I didn't get my first vibrator until my late 40s. Just a slow bloomer I guess.

And now my age is beginning to turn on me, leaving me wondering, will I still feel sexual during menopause? Afterward? My sexual feelings come and go; if there is no one to play with, then my libido takes a long walk, but it eventually comes back again, even if there is only me. I've passed my sexual peak, virtually unaccompanied. Will I want even battery-operated company when I've passed the 'pause?

I worry. I think that having no sexual feelings, at least for someone who has had a very active libido (moreso than some of my partners — they wear out so quickly), would be a significant loss. It would be like losing a part of myself. I am a less ecstatic person when I am not engaging in my own pleasure. (When all is well with me, I've usually been a happy, cheery, and occasionally somewhat manic person. Very easily blissed out.)

I don't really have anyone to talk to about this. One of my oldest friends doesn't talk about sex in quite that detail, at least with me. Another is still pre-M. Mom's gone. And I don't have any truly close friends to talk about this with. So I talk about it with all of you two or three people out in Digi-Land.

I hate uncertainty. I hate thinking I'll never have sex again. I hate thinking I'll never feel sexual again. I have a hot-air balloon full of feelings and fears and all I can do is hold tight to the balloon as it grows and grows.

I bought that KY Intense product to try. I don't know. I'll have to try it again. I was a bit nervous because the product notes say external use only, don't use it internally, but damn! Everything is so close together down there! I was afraid of getting it inside and getting the warming lube that I was experimenting with on the outside and what happens if you accidentally cross the lubes? I will say that the KY Intense feels a bit like mint on the outside.

In my search for more dependable (and greater) orgasms, I am a bit of an ad junkie. I've seen lately an ad for KY His & Hers or maybe it was KY Yours & Mine. Something like that. Apparently it feels great, one liquid for each person, and then when the two combine, KAPOW! I figure, I could use the Hers on me, of course, and the His on my Battery-Operated Boyfriend (aka B.O.B.) and see if it works. However, I have noticed a lack of ads for the KY Intense. Something tells me that perhaps it wasn't so intense and the new product is simply the new "flavor" of Orgasm Helper.

On the TV series CSI (the original, based in Las Vegas), there was a character named Lady Heather and she was a dominatrix who ran a BDSM club of sorts. Eventually, in order to be socially acceptable for inane reasons, she became a sex therapist instead. I wish she were real — I have a feeling she could help me out.

Deep thoughts #3 --- Deep thinking

I'm a thinker. I've always considered myself an intellectual, but I also have considered myself very emotional: a "feeler" as is described in the Myers-Briggs Personality Types. But a previous therapist told me that few people actually think about their feelings, like "what am I feeling?" "why am I feeling this?" "what does this feeling mean or related to?" and that sort of thing.

I was stunned. I thought that everyone approached life that way, or almost everyone. I feel. I think. I look at each of those things from the other perspective to understand myself. Apparently not everyone does this. It somewhat explained some of the areas where my mother and I lacked rapport. I think my brother was probably more like me in this than like our parents.

So I think all the time, even when I shouldn't. I think when I'm trying to sleep. I think when I'm on the toilet or in the shower. I even think during sex when I shouldn't be thinking (or rather, back when I used to have sex), making orgasm a very difficult feat for me, one worth cheering for when it did happen. I do it even with myself! (So I understand how frustrating it can be for a lover ....)

My mind doesn't turn off. And if there are no deep thoughts currently needing attention — or my medications are turning me into a zombie — then my mind plays with superficial or tiny thoughts, the way a kitten plays with a piece of fluff. Back and forth, back and forth. I've also just recently learned that this back and forthing, as much as my mind does it at any rate, is part of obsessive thinking. That explains a lot, too. Like how some thoughts won't leave, much like Daffy Duck getting stuck in taffy, repeating the same movements back and forth over and over again until I would like to scream. But I don't because my mother taught me not to make scenes.

If only my mind would get stuck on positive thoughts, that would be acceptable. But, of course, my brain gets stuck on the negative things, or disturbing thoughts or images (Never, ever, EVER watch even a tiny film clip about the Human Centipede movie. Don't even look at the poster. Just. Don't.) In addition, I have a vivid, creative imagination and a vivid, detailed memory. Do all obsessive thinkers have the same kind of imagination and memory? Are all people with such memory and imagination obsessive thinkers? Am I the only person I know whose mind does this to them?

For the most part, I love my mind. I love the detailed memory and imagination, I love the vividness and the full-sensory details they provide me. Some of my dreams are unbelievable! But the obsessiveness has got to be controlled. The latest drug that was supposed to handle that is probably the one making me a zombie. Maybe we can handle it with therapy; I'd love to cut down on the medication, for certain.

Do you have a love-hate relationship with your mind?

The Scarlet Letter

I want a man, but he isn't mine. Since he decided to not live a double life — a predominantly time-spent and verbal and online play life — he doesn't play verbally or online. I rarely see him. He still calls me most — but no longer all — days.

Do I consider us friends? Yes, great friends. We know things about each other that few if any others know. We respect and support each other, even if it is now in very limited ways. 

Do I consider us more than friends? Yes. He calls me most days. He tells me about his days and, if there is anything to tell, listens to what I tell him about mine. I leave stuff out now because he's a fixer and he cannot fix what he has no time for. I'm a listener and supporter and comforter, so he tells me virtually everything, including letting loose a few things about his wife or marriage that are hurting him. 

Do I expect the situation to ever change again? I don't know. I hope so; I think the pain in his marriage would cause another person to leave. Sometimes one can be too committed. It's possible that I am being biased, but honestly I am probably too self-aware and too committed to truth and to other people's happiness or at least having what they want, even if it means I don't get what I need or want. I am fair with him, overly so if you ask my friends who know. Few do.

Do I still love him? Yes and I imagine I will for the rest of my days.

One of my friends thinks that being in love with a married man is my way of avoiding commitment. When I ask this friend what he considers all my previous relationships where I desperately wanted commitments, his opinion is that my disastrously poor choices and catastrophically bad relationships stem from the same fear to commit. It's an issue of contention between us, of course.

I have told a very few people about this relationship because I know most will judge me for it. It's about lying and cheating and it's wrong, right? Maybe ... not. I think that life is complicated and flexible. I have cheated. I have been cheated upon. I think that we all try to get what we need and I think that sometimes our partner can't, or even won't, give us what we need. And I think that sometimes a partner won't let us give them what they need and want. Thus the one who cheated most egregiously on me, was, to take his word, "not physical." Sometimes a partner wants out but doesn't want to be "the bad guy." This is why I've had to be the bad guy in numerous relationships because apparently I've got more balls than quite a few of the guys I've been involved with.

This is the man for me: he is virtually everything I want in a partner. He even matches virtually every one of the qualities I wrote in a list some time ago. All the important ones, at any rate.

Once a cheater, always a cheater? Not necessarily. Once you have what you want and need, most of us never look elsewhere again. There are as many reasons to look outside a relationship as there are people. I doubt that most people will do so, simply because they obey all the rules and there's nothing wrong with that at all. I admire that. 

I'm lonely and have never had a longer-term relationship than three years. I don't know if there is something wrong with me, or with my taste, or with the Universe, but I have never gotten all of it: want, need, someone who wants to be with me forever.

I'm not looking, partly because i love this man and it would hardly be fair to date someone else when my heart is elsewhere. I'm used to being alone, as much as I hate it. I am built, from the very atoms of my being, for a relational life, for having a man to share my life with, for having children to love and mentor and support. The Universe laughs. My therapist understands why I feel the Universe hates me.

Life and love are complicated and messy. Yes, I would hurt if my partner involved himself with someone else, but I would also strive to have the open, honest, giving relationship that I hope would lead him closer to me rather than farther away.

I love a man, but he's not mine. I hate it, but I'm okay with it. I just wish my mom could have met him.

Deep thoughts #2 --- Going ... up?

Do you ever find, after having been terribly sick or terribly down for a long time, that you resist feeling or seeming or accepting being better?

For example, I have bitten my nails most of my life and over the past decade and a half have managed to slowly make time periods between biting them longer and longer. Then last summer, when the troubles began to get worse, I began biting my nails again. I bit all of them, at some point, to the point of pain. 

A friend recently pointed out how they are growing again. "No they aren't," I said, pointing to the shortest one. "I bit this off just recently." "Yes," she said, "but I see white on all of them."

I wanted to argue with her. I'm not letting my nails grow. I'm still biting them because I'm Not Better Yet! I'm not getting better!

Why? Why would I resist any sign that I may be rising from the Abyss? Why would I want to continue to be or appear to be suffering or ill or unbelievably depressed?

Maybe I'm afraid that if I seem to be getting better, then no one will have patience with me if I'm not completely better — Now! — and all the time hereafter. Or maybe they'll think I was malingering: how long do you have to be in a Bad Place or State before you have legitimacy?

Or maybe I'm afraid I'm doing a disservice to my mom's memory by getting better now. Or maybe to myself in some odd way: if I'm well now, was I really that down and unreachable or was it really just ... all in my mind. Nerves. All those things that say I'm just a hypochondriac or just trying to get attention. Or maybe that I'm actually crazy. But something.

I have honestly turned the corner and I want to live now. That's an amazement in itself.

I'm still not doing my homework regularly, but I believe that my sleeping sickness over my vacation trumps that. Once I have the sleepiness under control and am feeling more me-normal again, the new "better-ness" will be more perceptible.

I'm going to show it off. Let others make their own judgments. I've been down to the Abyss yet again — my third time? my fourth or fifth? — and I beat it yet again. How many others can say that?