You Don't Say

Suicide. It's a shocking, frightening word. Say it and you will catch your listeners' attention, but not in a good way. Say it and you might lose something you value.

Suicide. My brother committed it and I seriously considered it as recently as last month. But even when writing about it or talking about it, I tend to use other words and phrases: end my life; took his own life; hurt myself; stop living. Even in the psych ward, the professionals would say "do you want to hurt/injure yourself or others?" Suicide is a bit beyond 'hurt/injure', don't you think?

Depression. This one is slightly okay. I can say "I was so depressed I couldn't stop crying" and that's non-threatening. Adding "I was looking for ways to kill myself" filters my listeners and readers: some immediately want to call me and make sure I'm alright and get together with me. They want to talk to me and listen to me talk and tell them how I got that depressed, how I'm going to keep from getting that depressed, and I'd damn-well better call them if I feel that depressed again. And let's go have lunch next week.

The other people freak out. I lost a freelance gig I loved (but it was beyond my abilities), the present opportunity to even work for them for free, and the trust of the friend who was also my supervisor (plus, I think he really freaked out); and I may have lost a second gig and friend; she hasn't written back so I don't know yet. But the lack of response doesn't look good. I really love that gig, too.

So unless you want to separate the wheat from the chaff in your life in a quick and unflinching manner, say 'depressed' but don't say 'suicide' or any euphemism for it. It's bad enough to be sad in our culture; contemplating ending your life is possibly the most offensive and disturbing thought you can introduce to some people. I suppose it should be disturbing, but telling someone "I thought of killing myself" shouldn't be a reason to be cast aside. Imagine — if enough people did that, a sad and suffering person could end up feeling all his pain was valid, and he could go ahead and end his life, commit his suicide, feeling he had made the right choice. Think about it. 

(Not me. I now have enough people threatening me with bodily and spiritual harm if I so much as seriously consider this unspeakable act. I have no desire to fail if I tried it, but even worse would be succeeding and spending several eternities being punished by the spirits of my friends and family!)

Quitter

My parents used to call me a quitter.

• After a year or so of Campfire Girls, I didn't go back. It wasn't any fun and I have some very bad memories of it.
• I was in Honor Choir in 5th grade and I quit it to play softball. Because our lives revolved around my brother's sports, I thought I'd get some of the attention if I played a sport. (There is a whole, ugly story around this, but now isn't the time.) I wish I hadn't done this. I'd have been happier in Choir. But I was only 10 or 11.
• In 6th grade, I joined Girl Scouts. After about five months, all we had done were a handful of crafts. We didn't go anywhere or do anything. I had joined with two other girls, and they were also bored and unhappy. They made me the spokesman to tell the leader we were quitting. She cried. I was 11. My folk began calling me a quitter to my face.
• I was forced to join Job's Daughters when I was in 7th grade. Didn't want to, but the family had promised my dying grandfather (and given several things, I certainly felt no compulsion to follow that promise). I stayed for a year and a half before being able to leave it. My parents again accused me of quitting, of never being able to stick with a thing.

Pecked to Death By Chickens

A good friend of mine has a plaque on one of the walls of her house that says "Having children is like being pecked to death by chickens." (The sign hasn't seemed to have done any lasting harm to her children.) They all understood the concept: they had chickens.

Readers of this blog have some idea of how my life has gone in the past year and some. I haven't blogged much in the last couple of months, what with dealing with the estate, having surgery, finding work that is low-paying but gratifying (and anxiety-producing), and now getting a fairly solid respiratory infection that may have also endangered or even ended another work situation before it started. In fact, it feels a lot like being pecked to death by chickens, Universe-style.

I'm just trying to make progress. All I want is a life of health, financial stability, and the chance to pursue my happiness and my dreams. Given all my fortunate advantages — white, from a middle-class family, well-educated, and highly experienced in my field of endeavor — getting the life I want shouldn't be so hard. But every time I think I have my feet under me, things beyond my control knock them out from under me again: Mom, overwhelming grief and depression, unemployment, emergency surgery for god's sake!, illness, and timing.

Good things have happened: friends have helped and supported me in some places, I found a great therapist (and a mediocre psychiatric nurse), I got the one project. I know that life is hard. I also know that life was simpler and easier for my parents; it wasn't a painful struggle. We were all very happy and content (until my dad died and our lives completely fell apart, but that's a separate story). I just think that continually having to try and shovel myself out of a hole full of mud is harder than it needs to be. Add to that the continuous and uneven peck-peck-peck of my life's disasters — small and large — prevents me from making progress. And it wears me out completely.

You'll notice I haven't given up. I keep trying through some, potentially foolish, belief that I can grasp that life I want, one where I can withstand the difficulties because I have enough of the good to cushion my falls. Or maybe I keep on because, really, what else is there to do?

Only keep trying to dig myself out of the mud and avoid the damned chickens at the same time.

I'm not that fond of chicken.

A More Civilized Pace — Please!

Change. I know life is full of it, but I do remember when the changes in my life were more leisurely, when they weren't falling over each other in their eagerness to meet me, when they weren't pulling me along at rocket-speed and dangling me behind them like a toy on a tether.

I complain about everything, right? But my life seems to be on a bullet-train of change. I'm half a century old: change should slow down! Just let me catch my breath, at least. And how about balancing things out with some positive changes, such as financial independence (or at least security), and love and friendship (close on a geographic scale, please)?

I'm not a jet-setter. I'm not an adrenaline-junkie (but there are a couple of things I wouldn't mind trying again). I may walk briskly, but I also like to "stroll about, lookin' at the shops."* I love spending long, slow hours with friends and family, telling stories and laughing, taking long and scenic drives, playing games, and watching children play. I love spending time with someone special, curled up at opposite ends of the couch, and reading news articles, comics, and book passages to each other. I like to savor.

Mind you, I'm not only slow. I enjoy fast-paced movies and books. I love to watch MythBusters and the more explosions the better! I like fast rides and short lines. There's nothing like running and laughing with children until everyone collapses with exhaustion and giggles.

My social life at home is too slow: it's dead. With no work, my days drag. If I weren't paralyzed with fear over my impending complete brokeness, I could at least write. On the other hand, there have been jobs, Mom's cancer and death and all the many months of follow-up to that (that are speeding up now), and changes in my social life that brought it to death, freelance gigs, meeting people professionally — it's cocaine one one side and pot on the other, but not balanced and neither healthy nor fun.

Do you know what I want? 

1. Financial independence, or at least financial security, so I don't worry all the time, expending my energy fruitlessly.
2. Friends with whom I spend time with frequently.
3. Enough to do without it being too much. If I work for pay, then less than 40 hours a week and little or no commute: why spend my life on things that don't add to it? If I don't need to work for pay, then enough volunteer work and activities to keep me interested and interesting but that leaves me with plenty of time and energy to spend in other ways.
4. Someone special to spend that time with on the couch.
5. Two cats.
6. An office and studio that is full of light and comfort and that inspires creativity. In fact, an entire house like that. My house.

I know life is full of change, and that you cannot control all of it, or even most of it. I know change comes at all speeds, but lately I've felt exhausted by it. I want some good change in my life, and for my vehicle of change to move a bit slower. I don't need to ride in a stealth bomber.

*Moody Blues, Days of Future Passed

You Are What You ...

Eat. Watch. Read. Listen to. 

Everything that you are exposed to has an effect. For example, people who watch, listen to, or read the news regularly tend to have a more negative view of the world and feel that crime has increased over time, because that is what they are exposed to.

I'm a highly sensitive person. Add to that extreme introversion and PTSD and you'll find that my nerves are all right there at the surface. Some of them may even extend past my skin. 

I learned over a decade ago that I have to pay attention to what I let in. Very dark books, tv shows, and movies are hard on me. I take them inside me and the darkness tends to stick. I remember the most horrific things from such stories and they pop up years later. Given my obsessive thinking, it can take days to get the thoughts to go away. 

When it comes to the news, I keep in mind the way it can bend your perceptions, so I mostly scroll over the headlines online.

Although I learned my lesson over a decade ago, I have to keep relearning it and re-remembering it, as I do with everything. I have remembered to not read books about serial killers that won't die, but I keep forgetting about TV shows. I watch CSI and CSI NY (I think CSI NY is less dark than the original). But the worst is that I've been watching Criminal Minds. That's all about mass murderers, serial killers, and bombers! It's one of the worst things I can do to myself. It's like an addiction. When the next season comes around, I'm going to remind myself to Watch Something Else. 

Now, I cannot watch movies about psychopaths, because they are monsters that exist and I'll have nightmares and my anxieties will increase. But I can watch movies about non-human monsters, such as giant sharks and behemoths that come out of mountains. And I can watch natural disaster movies — the worse the disaster the better. Maybe these are cathartic for my anxiety, my PTSD. Certainly they stimulate me and make me breath faster, make my heart race. Perhaps they are helpful in balancing out how withdrawn I can become due to the hypersensitivity and the introversion.

Some of my friends are very thoughtful and mindful of my sensitivities and will caution me about various movies or books, even going so far as to say "don't watch that, ever" or "don't read that, ever." I love that they care and that they know me well enough to be able to tell me this. Their doing so makes me feel loved.

Lately I've been bingeing on monster movies, now that I have Netflix Streaming Video. It coincides with a lightening of my mood. I cannot even apply a correlation because I have nothing to base it on; there are other things that do have some correlation. However, the movies don't seem to have a negative effect on me, so I think I'll continue. Anything to feel better, right now. Anything to feel better.

This time I'll remember what is good for me to watch, read, or listen to. This time I'll remember what is bad. This time I won't listen to the little voice that says "it won't hurt you, you enjoy this." I'm sure many people have heard that voice and knew it meant the exact opposite of what it says. This time I'll remember to sick my big, protective voice on the evilly seductive voice. Who do you think will win?

This time I'll remember to take good care of myself. Forever.

Tidal effects, perhaps

I had thought that, being away from my every day for two weeks, I would be able to write. Write the blogs, write my therapy homework ....

I was mistaken. Instead, I have had friends stay overnight, which has been great. I've had a few just-for-an-hour visitors. When I've had no visitors, I've slept. And slept. And slept. One day, I got up at 1pm (bedtime by about 10), ate, went back to sleep at 2, up at 4, drifted off for most of the next 5 hours, up at 9, in bed by 11:30. Slept great. If nothing is demanding my attention, and sometimes even it if is, I want a nap and I want it NOW. I'm taking a drive inland a bit in a couple of days and I'm going to have to buy some energy drinks just to make the trip both ways!

Even being physically uncomfortable doesn't keep me awake: it makes me want to sleep. I am sometimes peaceful and comfortable and sometimes quite twitchy and uncomfortable. But I always want to sleep.

Maybe I need to sleep a lot to make up for all that grieving. I don't know. I guess I'll just ask my therapist.

Hey! It's 9 o'clock! It's almost bedtime again! Yay!

Changing my mind

Warning: This is an exceptionally long post, even tho' I cut and cut and cut. Sorry. You can skip this one if you like.

I've had many world views over my life, and many religious and philosophical beliefs.  When I was in elementary school, and my little brother was in kindergarten, we went to a Mormon afterschool program. it's like Sunday school, but during the week. I learned about God and baptism and heaven and hell. The whole God thing didn't make sense to me. I couldn't accept that He would discard people who hadn't ever heard some version of HIS message or that He would punish babies who hadn't been baptized. So at 11 or 12, sitting in the kitchen with my mom and my little brother, I announced I was an agnostic. 

You would think I'd announced I was an axe murderer and could I start with my little brother. Mom told me if I ever said that again, she'd tell my father. I wondered inside if she thought he'd beat me into believing in God. (For the record, my father spanked us very seldom.)

I had the fairly typical "jesus freak" stage at 15-16. I went to church with my best friend and her family. I went to Youth Group. i went to Bible studies. I wanted more than anything to fit in, and those groups claimed to love everyone. My parents weren't any more thrilled by my evangelistic Christianity than with my agnosticism. Once away from that environment, my belief faded and was entirely gone by the time I entered college.

Lost in the aisles

In therapy today, we wandered. I neglected to do my homework last week due to the usual, plus some days where I couldn't sleep until 3 am. (I am feeling somewhat better, which means I cannot get away without my homework next week.)

Instead of homework, we talked about other things. Last week, when I was making a comparison to illustrate how I felt at one point, I told her a story about something that happened when I was a child. It happened several times: I lost my parents in a department store. I would stop to look at something and when I was done I'd look around and they would be nowhere near me. I'd go from aisle to aisle looking, panic growing inside me. When I was too short to look over the top of the aisles, it was like I was caught in a maze; even when I went to the same aisle again (in case my parents were looking for me), it looked different. And I never asked another person for help. 

I always found them. And every time they'd say "Oh? You were lost? We didn't know that." Way to go folks. Kind of lost parenting points there. Even to this day, I stay close to friends when I'm shopping with them because I feel that panic start to rise if I cannot find them immediately.

Since my mom's death, I've experienced a lot of that lost, panicky feeling. Today my therapist told me something she'd forgotten to say last week, which was that she sees me being in that place of being lost and unable to find my family — permanently. And now I have to find a way to become okay with myself and with being here. Without my parents, my brother. Just me.

The idea of being lost in the department store for the rest of my life punched me in the stomach I know she didn't mean it that literally, but I am a literal person in unexpected ways. And I kind of do feel as if I am lost in the department store. One of the darkly funny things about that is that some of the scariest movies I've ever seen — seen when I was a kid — took place in department stores.

Have you ever been lost? Did you look for your parents, or did they look for you? Who was panicking and who was calm? I've known kids who felt it was their parents who were lost, not themselves. No panic. Just hanging out doing what they wanted until their parents came running to find them. These kids didn't understand why their parents were so upset. I suppose I have to become that kid, because no one is going to run around looking for me.

What do you think are the qualities a person needs to adapt to the department store, to being alone? Yes, i know I have friends, good friends, but in the end, it is me and my aisle in the store and no one running around trying to find me. I've got to get home by myself this time. I'm not sure how.

Exploring pain

Therapy was rough today. In fact, it hurt like hell. And this is going to be a very long post explaining why.

I told Karen that she needed to be the leader, because if left to my own devices I tend to wander, especially if I dread the topic of the day. So today we jumped back into the trauma therapy and continued to read the first section I'd written about.

Now, this first section only covers from the point I found out about Mom's cancer to the point where I got on a plane to fly home.  There is a lot more geography to cover, hills and valleys and even fruited plains (truly — there were clover fields between Mom's house and the cancer center that we watched go from green to greener to magenta to ... mowed, and I didn't manage to get a photograph, even though I passed those fields five days a week). Given such a small section of the whole, it seems reasonable to think that there could be only a small amount of emotional trauma to discover. Even as I read through what I'd written, I felt little emotion ... until near the end when I spoke of the fear I felt. That's when I began to weep.

I expected that, from our last session doing trauma therapy. Weep a little, recover a little. Before we began, I grabbed a tissue because I knew I'd need it.

Then Karen began working me deeper into my experience and my feelings from that time, almost a year ago. I went through a second tissue and started on a third. She asked about my mom and about our relationship and meaningful conversations we'd had. We laughed at one or two of my stories.

I had no idea how deep we could go, how far back emotions can connect and resonate. We reached the topic of how I feel with Mom gone, how mothers can be anchors, which mine was for me, and so on. What came to mind for me was what happened from time to time when I was a child. 

Did you ever wander off in a store as a child? Did your parents panic when they didn't find you, or did you? I had a tendency to stop to look at something more closely, or to keep going when my parent(s) stopped. Eventually, I'd look up and not see my parents. A touch of panic would grab me right away. I'd look in the next couple of aisles and not see them, then the real panic would set in. I never called out, I never cried, I just felt dread and fear squeeze my insides as if wringing out a wet cloth. 

I always found them. They would be looking at something and had no idea that I'd gone "missing." They'd even tease me about worrying. "We're here," they'd say. "We wouldn't leave without you." But I'd always end up doing and feeling the same thing.

This panic went deep. Even within the past few years, if I lost track of my friends in a store, I'd feel the panic and look for them. This sense of being lost and alone generally led me to stay close to them, whether what they were looking at interested me or not. In fact, that behavior has become routine for me. If I am in a crowded situation with someone, I will hold onto a piece of their clothing, if I cannot hold their hand, so I don't get lost.

"So how do you feel now," asked Karen. "Now that your family is all gone?" All the fear and the sense of isolation and panic and the knowledge that my fear I would end up alone has been completely validated surged up and out of me, first in words then in tears and finally in sobs that shook me so I could barely breathe — I don't know how long that lasted. I do know I went through two more tissues.

I knew this work was going to be difficult, and I knew I would cry. I did not know that I would actually sob my heart out in this woman's office; I have only done that in front of one person ever in my life (at least in my memory). I hate feeling this much pain, I hate crying, and I particularly hate sobbing where my body shakes and I can't keep noise from coming out of my mouth — the part of me that stands aside and observes always comments on how stupid those noises sound. I hate them. Doing this in front of another person simply added to the intensity and distress.

We talked me down and I was calm and tear-free when I left. I even took a walk at the park. But I'm going to have to figure out a different strategy: I also went to the grocery store because I needed a few things. Unfortunately, not only do I not manage lunch before my appointment, I also feel a sense of need for comfort after pouring out my tears. I bought goodies. And ate them all. Even if I'm burning off calories by crying and by walking, they aren't enough to balance out the comfort foods.

After an intensely emotional event, I generally move to a phase of "reduced affect" where I feel and display very little emotion. I have a polite and civilized aspect, I think. Given enough of these events over time to think about them, I've concluded that the follow-up phase functions both as a self-protective mechanism and a control mechanism. When I experience such intense emotions, I fear that I will lose control completely, and then what?  Therefore, after such events, my mind and body shut down to limit me and protect me from that intensity for a little while so I can recover. After today, I wouldn't be surprised if I shut down for the next week.

Cognitive therapy has nothing on trauma therapy. Nothing.

This. Day. SUCKS!!!

Taxes

There should be a hardship extension where you can just ask for the extension and get no penalties for not paying money. I don't have all my information; it turns out what I have is mostly Mom's. I'm not sure how to get some of mine. The H&R Block people didn't get back to me to answer the question of what happens if I just don't file yet. The other, highly recommended accountant I called didn't offer me anything more than that they can't help me because it's too late and they are busy. Fine. I'm in trouble either way.

I feel completely incompetent because I haven't handled my taxes in a timely manner.

Medication & Insurance

Insurance didn't pay for one of my new medications and I don't know why. I didn't buy it because it was $255.

I need to find out how much of my deductible I paid last year, and how much I've paid so far this year; I may find it best to double the deductible and decrease the monthly payment.

I feel incompetent because I don't know how to figure out the math to determine the best course of action regarding deductibles and monthly payments. I feel overwhelmed because there seems to be so much to do.

Anxiety through the roof

Interestingly, my anxiety was very high today. How odd. ::insert sarcasm emoticon here:: I took my new drug, which I prefer to the previous one for the over-the-top anxiety. I spent some time on Twitter and Facebook and IM chat with friends and had a very good time. However, I can feel the edges of feeling manic.* I can feel this kind of electric fizz zipping up and down my edges. There is a rushing in my ears as if I've been inside a rock concert or taken too much aspirin. I feel both hyper and exhausted. Kind of getting slugged in the gut by a bolt of lightning.

My anxiety also provides me with an added benefit of paranoia, the kind where I feel left out. On purpose. (There's this story from when I was in 4th grade, but I won't tell it right now.) I know the online community I'm part of is full of people making friends in their own ways and at their own rates. I just feel ... slow. Inadequate. I have one full-blown friendship, and another two that are growing. But the other people know all kinds of stuff about each other that I don't. About lots of the others. 

These factors bring me back to my feeling that I am broken or missing some important psycho-social developmental step.

Additionally, my PTSD is having a good time. Hypervigilance is not my friend. I cannot relax completely. I see things out of the corners of my eyes. When I'm in the shower I think I hear someone at the door, or I fear someone important will come to the door or that I will miss an important phone call. And I fear bugs, because I'm not tossing all food wrappers every night and I'm not putting my dishes into the dishwasher every night. When my therapist asked me if I startle easily, I laughed.

Solitude

Since my best friend in Houston had a cardiac arrest this fall and decided to redevote himself to his marriage in his usual laser-focused manner, I never see him anymore and talk to him seldom or only in five-minute chunks. He's been too busy for lunch or for the occasional wandering off or even a walk in the park.

My two girlfriends locally have become too busy to even return email much. One of them I have not seen in months.

My best girlfriends far away don't call and seldom write, unless I initiate. They were like that when I lived near them; I don't know what made me think they would change. They love to see me when I'm there, but they don't think of me much in between. And Facebook really isn't a forum that encourages actual emotional intimacy.

Therefore, I'm developing some online friends, but expecting them to fill much of my need for emotional intimacy, especially given my extreme needs and intensity, is unreasonable.

I'm feeling ridiculous because my feelings are childish. I'm feeling incompetent at making friends and at being an adult.

Other than the online conversation I had, it's been a shitty day. 

* I am not manic depressive, but part of my lovely brain and mind is that I do get periods of what psychotherapists and psychiatrists call "hypomania," meaning that manic feelings and behavior that are not the bipolar I kind. They are lesser: I won't go out and spend $10,000 on a shopping spree, but I might spend $300-400. Or behave over the top. Or drink. Or just be excessively hyper and talkative.

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 ....

That sinking feeling

I did nothing today. I take that back; finally, at the end of the day, I put the dishes in the dishwasher and started it. I shook out the toaster crumbs. And I wiped down the parts of the counter I have access to, as well as the inside of the sink. And I only did that because there are these small brown insects flying around, bothering the shit out of me. I want the place cleaner before I complain to the office.

I haven't checked on the as-yet-unplanted plants in a few days. They are probably dead and I'll need to replace them. I haven't even sat out on the deck in the recycled-plastic adirondack chairs I bought in January.

I didn't leave the apartment.

One of the sites I visit, JulieLand, had a very interesting tarot card and explanation on it from last night.  It talked about having a scarcity mindset, among others things, and that spoke to me. I am practically screaming with anxiety over the scarcity of money in my life right now. In fact, I'm so anxious and downright terrified, that I wondered if I wouldn't be better of dead. No, I'm not going to hurt myself. But I've been wondering what's the point of my life anymore?

I have no family that I grew up with anymore: my entire nuclear family is dead, and my extended family is no family. I haven't spoken with most of my extended relatives, some of them for almost 2 decades.

Yes, I have friends who count themselves as family, more or less, and I have new friends who care. I know that there are people who would grieve if I died. But I have no real safety net. If I run out of money, I am out of luck. I have never been this close to absolute broke before. It's not like I even have expensive things to sell.

I've been out of my primary profession for long enough that I don't know the current tools, work-styles, and language anymore. And I don't want to work there either. It burn me out so much, I think it might kill me this time. At the same time, I need work.

The potential new profession is in its infancy and so far I'm not actually making money. Part of that is my fault — I haven't been learning and I lack the confidence to sell myself at this new work. I have almost nothing to show potential employers or clients. And because I am so stuck by depression and anxiety, I'm making no progress.

I am failing because I cannot function. And my failing is contributing to my lack of functioning. I'm in a death spiral.

I'm not a major part of anyone's life, except for my BFF. I'm the only one who knows him almost entirely. I'm the only one he can be himself with.

I cannot reach out for help or comfort when I am like this. I am sinking and I don't even feel like calling for a lifeline, because there is nothing that I feel as compelling me to live for.

i won't hurt myself: that would damage so many people and I cannot do that. But I'm not sure I would step out of the way of a speeding truck, either.

I know what I'm supposed to feel and think. I just don't.

Time passing

When you spend your days trying to ignore them because they hurt, time just seems to slip away. You think I need to do this. I'll do it later, then suddenly the day is over and it's time for bed. Even if bedtime comes at 2 am.

How did it get to be April? Why is my life still so dark and painful? Because I'm ignoring my life. When I pay attention, I feel the pain. My pain. By not owning it, by ignoring it, I won't get past it. Oh lord, I hate to cry.

I forget things easily. If I don't return a text message immediately, I immediately forget it. Same with emails. In addition, I've let my email on the server pile up so high, the friend who so generously hosts me on his server is going to become cranky quite soon.

I wish I didn't have to handle all of this alone. Although I have friends, they are online. Even though I have some friends who live nearby, they are busy or we forget to finish creating plans. Thus, I am handling my life and all that is rough, unfinished, or painful alone. I don't think I'm handling it too well, either. Handling my life alone points out how alone I am, how solitary my life is. I don't want to be solitary. I want a full, active, joyful life, surrounded by people I love and who love me. This doesn't seem too much to ask, but the Universe seems to disagree.

Finding the positives just seems like too much of a burden right now. It feels like an impossibility.

Another over-stimulated day

Exhausted again, which also means an early(er) bedtime, which I hope will lead to an earlier wake-up time.

Lots of sunshine, and my car's sun visor is missing a screw, so I cannot effectively use it on the side. That doesn't matter so much because the sun was hitting my arm more than my face.

Then there was the large amount of people contact. Loud people contact. In breaks during that, I received two phone calls that I really wanted to take, including an invitation to lunch by a good friend, to go to our favorite restaurant. ::Sniff::

In addition, I'm experiencing some body sensory overload. Pain, tiredness from being on my feet for a large part of the day. Even my skin feels overstimulated, possibly in part due to the sun, sunscreen be damned.

I want to be quiet, but my home needs cleaning. And I'm hoping the not-lunch friend wants to go out adventuring one day this weekend. The clutter and dirt makes me tired, going out in the sun and who knows what will also tire me. I hope it will be a good tired. Besides, this friend is one who gives me energy when we are together.

No major insights or progress tonight. Just a body that is ringing like a bell.

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!

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!