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.

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.

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?

Deep thoughts #1

Sometimes all that is needed to raise my self-confidence on a dreadful day or a lousy week is for one really noticeable or significant item to go just right so I can say "Yay me!"

Today, that one was making the reservation for a room for tomorrow night. It's a bit more room than completely necessary, but I am a woman of taste and grace and a small sitting area for myself and guests is a small necessity.

So, YAY ME!

OMG! I DID STUFF!!!!

It's entirely appropriate language and punctuation to use.

Today was a typical Sunday. I stayed up until almost 3 am because I couldn't sleep; finally took a pill. Then I woke up at 11 am.  At least I slept for 8 hours, which is good for you, right?

I dawdled, knowing I had so much work to do that I'd put off since Friday (down heah in the South, folks take Good Friday off, including school and gov'mint offices, y'all). Almost all of what I had to do was work-related — a press release I'll get paid for as the contract progresses, and the work samples for the potential contract, plus updating my professional web site.  I also have my therapy homework. I just couldn't start.

I wrote emails. I checked blogs repetitively. I drank two large mugs of tea.

Finally, I ran out of ways to delay myself and I started. Nothing like a tight deadline to motivate one! And then something weird happened. I. Got. Productive.

Here's the list of what I accomplished today:

• edited a press release
• added 6 or 7 PDFs to my portfolio on my computer
• added the same 6 or 7 PDFs to my web site area
• updated my web site: made minor changes to 5 pages, major changes to 2, added 13 or 14 new pages, included all the correct links (and tested and tested), tested and fixed some more (uploaded and tested and fixed and uploaded)
• via email, asked for testimonials/recommendations (from probably 7 people) that I can post on my web site (have received 4 yeses and no noes)
• swept the deck, including the deck chairs and around the door
• took took the two large boxes that have been lingering in the living room out to the storage closet on the deck
• paid a bill
• boiled some eggs
• ate some eggs for dinner when I realized it was almost 8 pm

In between were at least 30 texts with friends.

I guess the drugs have kicked in.

"I had a good day," she said with surprise in her voice.

The day was sunny, but the sunshine is not the reason I had a good day. I held few expectations for myself — just a small list of things that must be done —, but keeping my expectations reasonable was not why I had a good day. My period hit flood stage, which is definitely not why I had a good day.

The day was sunny; I accomplished all my tasks; my period almost I survived being away from home for over three hours with a heavy period; I bought a few snacks and ate all of them (two steps forward, one step back); my brain whirred — the  title for this post came to me, I imagined a potential title and signature graphic for another blog if I choose to illustrate and sell greeting cards and other of my works, and ... I should use my digital recorder in the car because I have forgotten for the moment; my body sucked in the heat and the Vitamin D; I posted comments on blogs, I read blogs, I emailed, FBed, and Tweeted with friends; many ideas for all the writing aspects of my life ran in rivulets through my brain, just behind my eyes (where they are running now, like visual music tracks in color and motion).

None of these things is the reason I had a good day. Not one single thing made me feel better — it was the gestalt of all of them combined that lifted my spirits and the corners of my lips. On my mood spreadsheet for today, I will actually go positive on my Depressed/Happy axis. (Yes, I do keep a spreadsheet of my moods and any typical things that might have an influence on them. Then I create charts to see if there are obvious relationships. Thank Gates for something useful!)

I feel potentially productive. What this means is that my mind is churning on all the projects that I have to do and all the projects that I want to do. I can see them and hear them and feel them. (This may be my own form of synesthesia.) 

Tangent — A previous therapist of mine was quite concerned that I was wasting too much of my energy on a fantasy life I imagined every day. Finally I told her all about it, in the same amount of detail that I used in imagining this life and she was astounded. "I understand now," she said. "This is why you need to leave, to go somewhere more stimulating. If you can run your normal life and a whole yet imaginary life, your mind isn't getting anything close to the amount of stimulation and outlet that it needs." Which was entirely true, and which has continued to be true off and on — few jobs can occupy my mind fully for any great length of time. I get bored and wander off to something else. At least I give two weeks' notice before wandering off.

What this tangent means is that my mind was more awake today, more alive, and thus able to begin creating and reaching out for what it needs.

I endeavor to avoid becoming too excited over singular positive changes — they are too easily overset. I will save my excitation for an actual upward trend. (But I will continue to feel optimistic!)

Big love, bright life

Today I was drenched in prayers and good wishes from many friends in my extended community and now I feel light and shiny. 

How different from just a day or two ago!

I still have my depression and anxiety, but today I am feeling noticeably lifted above them. It feels good. Between good therapy and an amazing response from these friends, yes, it's a good day. This good day feeling directly recalls yesterday's post about the feel-good brain chemicals produced in women's conversations.

Along with the light and shiny feelings comes exhaustion. I conjecture this exhaustion comes from the emotional outpouring I made, and the emotional inpouring I received. How amazing the power that can be transmitted via email and cell phone!

One message that friends told me and told me was that Depression Lies.This message aligns with what Karen and I discussed in our session today. She said that whether or not I have some social developmental problem doesn't matter. The fact that I believe I do makes me act as if I do: I feel awkward in social situations, I don't know how to make small talk, I feel clueless and am tense, sure that I'll say or do something foolish or stupid (and in the past, I often have). Belief can create reality. (Julie, no crowing!)

Thus, I have another task, trying to change my belief and hoping it changes my behavior and thinking. I'll put it on the list.

I'll leave off some of the other things we talked about in today's session, because I don't want to bring down the tone of this post. 

I feel good. I feel a remembrance of when I was an optimist and rather bouncy. I can't wait until I get my new med — it may take me back to that place where I feel confident and calm. I'll hold onto today's light and shiny feeling for as long as I can, and I'll come back to this post to remind myself, when the dark days come, as they will do as I continue my therapeutic journey.

Thank you, my friends, for everything.

Signed,

Tinkerbell

Feel-good chemicals in the brain

Today a friend told me that women develop "feel-good" chemicals in their brains when they have long talks with friends. Given that I'd already had two long talks prior to electronically "talking" with her, and that I was feeling better, I'm predisposed to believe her to some extent. (I'd like the citation, though.) Then I spent quite some time online with her; anecdotally, I have to say that online talking provides feel-good chemicals as well.

If this information is correct, it would explain why many women enjoy talking for hours with their friends, especially their female friends: they are all getting the same happy drugs in their heads. 

I remember spending about four hours one evening last spring talking with a couple of girlfriends outside a restaurant. The restaurant was the kind that you order at the counter, then sit where you want. No waitstaff. It was a weeknight and the place wasn't crowded, so we sat at a table outside in the warmth and talked. The first friend had to leave about half an hour after friend #2 arrived; friend #2 stayed for nearly 3 hours ... until 9:30. We talked about many different things, most of which I don't remember now because they weren't long-term-memory topics; the important thing was the talking. The bonding. Feeling terrific.

The majority of my conversations and contacts currently are online. I do talk on the phone to one friend about every other weekend or so, but we'll talk for two hours. I talk on the phone to my BFF off and on; sometimes we'll talk every day, sometimes two weeks can go by and all we'll exchange is a few texts and some quick emails. My best girlfriends from way back don't call and they don't write, but if I come to town they seem happy to see me and spend time with me. I don't understand that, but I am rather clueless about many intersocial things. (Karen the therapist and I think it's due to my missing out on some important developments at key stages in my early years.)

I would love to add more friend conversations to help with both my brain chemicals and my social development. Given the recent boom in online-friend-making that I've come into, more long talks with friends may be a possibility. I'd much rather talk than take more medications. Good conversation seldom leaves me feeling drugged or hungover.

I don't think it's worth asking what gives men feel-good chemicals in their brains.

Note: Oftentimes, writing a coherent piece — be it blog post, non-fiction, or fiction — takes time and many revisions to make the piece logical and flowing. Sometimes — this time — the piece writes itself and requires very little editing or revision. Of course, maybe I'm seeing it that way due to the medications ....

Faith?

I'm not very good at faith. I have a scientific mind. However, I used to be a "true believer" type: faeries, Santa, good government, UFOs, true love, and unicorns. These two aspects do create a bit of cognitive dissonance.

Life has rather kicked the faith right out of me. When I encounter others who believe in things, whether it's a deity or true love, part of me is sure that person is deluded. The other part of me is envious. I guess that makes me Fox Mulder: I want to believe. Blind faith, however, has never suited me.

Given that information, you may be surprised to hear that I think I am feeling better. I have very limited, subjective evidence, and many adjectives: kind of, maybe, a little bit, perhaps. But I felt good after therapy the other day; I felt like myself. Actually, it was a little weird. I walked like I used to walk, long swinging steps, head held high. I felt light. There was something different physically. (It didn't last long, but that's a different story.)

Add to that anecdotal evidence is that fact that I seem to be less depressed. I think I've gotten off the couch more today. When off the couch, I made movements that one might interpret as dancing. Just a little. Maybe. Kind of.

It's possible that I'm turning the corner, with my new therapy and my higher dosages of medication. But I have no actual proof, yet. Maybe if I believe, perhaps, I'll get better because I believe.

That would be really great because then I could stop taking the medications, right?

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.

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.

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!