Motionless

Our bodies are made for movement. To whatever extent a body can move, it needs to move. Recent articles tell how all kinds of non-good and even bad things happen to and within your body when you don't move it.

I have barely moved in 10 months. My muscles are shortened and tight. My body hurts, yet walking causes pain as well. While I fear what I am doing to my body, my inner paralyzation controls me more than that fear. As my therapist says, what you do depends on which fear is strongest.

My life has been motionless as well. I haven't looked for work (and even if I'd had an interview, I don't think I'd have managed it well, given how messed up I've been). I haven't pursued help for financial problems. I've been a little mouse in a little hole who fears a cat is waiting right outside the hole.

This is not how I want to be! I used to climb trees and ride my bike. I also used to lie on my bed and read for hours. When we had a swimming pool, I could swim laps for hours, enjoying the feel of the water and the movement of my body. (And one time, when no one was around, I swam naked, which is the most blissful feeling in the world.) I used to dance in my house in the evening with my stereo turned up and the only light the flickering of candles.

Of course, I felt safer then. When I was a child, I didn't have to worry because my parents took care of us. After Dad died, I felt the beginnings of the instability of life. Later, I usually had enough money to get by. Even when I had no health insurance, I was healthy and young and didn't need it. I had work, I had enough friends, I had comfortable homes, even if I did move rather a lot at first. For all the problems I had and the traumas and griefs I endured, I still felt a measure of safety that allowed me to move.

Then, in my mid-30s, I had my first immobilizing depression and anxiety. I eventually overcame them, or they went away, and I recovered. I had a few other times that weren't quite as bad, but still I moved less than before. But none of those times of immobility were as long as this one, or as completely paralyzing as this time. Even at the worst of those times, I would get up and move — dance just a little, go into the garden and pick something to eat, walk around the block or on the beach.

I'm old enough that everything I do physically is more significant for my future than anything I've done until now. If I want to be physically fit and in good condition so I'm self-mobile and can take care of myself for a long, long time, I need to move now. I need to exercise now — not the run-a-marathon type or the body-builder type or the gym-rat type. However, I need to be able to walk long distances, briskly, while holding a conversation. I need to be flexible and strong (yoga, pilates perhaps). I need upper body strength as well as lower-body and, most of all, I need to enjoy moving my body, and to move my body because I enjoy it.

Maybe part of my immobility comes down to enjoyment: I don't do what I enjoy. My mind is a strange and sometimes unfathomable place, even to me — it wouldn't be impossible that I am punishing myself for some perceived fault. Fear or punishment, does it matter? I hold myself motionless, strapped down with invisible bonds — and not in the good way. I've emptied my life of so much I enjoy, other than the hurtful binges of fat and sugar that only mimic pleasure, that I'm empty of almost everything but fear and pain and grief and longing ... and the memory of everything good.

Years ago, when I owned my first home, I bought an orchard ladder: a very, very tall three-legged ladder made for people picking fruit from tall trees. I've had a fear of heights since I was a child, but it was my house, and my fruit. As I told my friends and myself, "I will not live my life controlled by my fears." For some time, I lived by that credo. Even a few years ago, when I made a major, unbelievable change in my life, I chose to do so in spite of my fears.

The incalculable grief and loss of the last year, all the changes in my life that I had absolutely no control of, the feeling of falling from a high cliff toward rocks many miles below — through them I forgot how brave I am. I forgot my credo from many years ago. I forgot me.

I'm still walking a tightrope with no net below me and each day is scarier than the last, with my continued unemployment and my dwindling resources and my beloved safety net gone forever.  But I can do it. I can do this. I have endured and overcome so many, many things in my life and I have come up from the Abyss again and again to smile, love, and enjoy my life. I need to remember: it never wins.

Remembering this, I must get up again and smile and love and live. Because pain sucks and just existing sucks and if I run out of money and have to go live in someone's basement it will suck, too.

Smiling and loving and living won't hurt me any worse than I hurt now. At least they will make room in the fear and pain I've surrounded myself with so I can move. And the next time that I get knocked down, get my feet wet in the Abyss — because it will happen again and again in my life — the voice inside me will remind me that it never wins and I'll get up and walk and dance my way out of that damned Abyss, out of the paralysis of fear and I will win, because I have done so before. If I can do it as many times as I have, there is every reason I can do it again.

So move.

Some Days

Some days, just being is enough. Being quiet. Being still. Being away from the world.

Today was one of those days. It was a good day.

Chemistry for Sadness

I saw my psychiatric nurse practitioner today (aka psych). I told her that I am feeling better mood-wise, but I'm still anxious and I just cannot seem to break that inertia-to-active barrier. (I didn't call it that; I just came up with it. But it's a great and intelligent-sounding phrase, isn't it?)

She listened to me this time (and I felt listened to, although she did call a patient and leave a message while I was in there — there is always something that takes up part of our 10 minutes or so together). Then she made notes on her computer and kind of rummaged around and came up with a med that is currently being used as an "add-on" to help bump up an anti-depressant. It's folic acid, the thing that they give pregnant women so that their fetus will have what it needs. This version of the folic acid, however, passes through the blood-brain barrier, which is what allows it to help with depression, so said my psych. It's been used very successfully with cancer patients; I hope that means they've also used it people who are depressed but don't have cancer.

I picked up my prescriptions and asked to talk to the pharmacist because I hadn't been on this particular med before. The first thing she asked me was were my folate levels down. Well, my psych didn't ask for that to be tested, which I didn't mention to the pharmacist (but I probably should have). I told her it was being used to treat my depression; she said yes, because when your folate levels are low you can get depressed. Okay ....

I'm on this med, wondering if I need to get my folate levels tested and if I should keep taking it if my folate levels get too high. Did my psych think about that? Does she know what would happen? Now I need to call her to ask her.

I suppose this is just another of the things I should probably be tested for, but I'm putting off going to the doctor for my "well woman" exam. Why? Because the lab tests cost a lot of money, and I'm still about $1500 from reaching my deductible. That's a hell of a lot of money for me right now. Therefore, until I have money (income or winning the lottery), I'm putting off my exam, my mammogram, the dentist, and lab tests.

In the meantime, assuming that my psych puts my concerns to rest, I anxiously await the effects of my new med. While I now have my new visualization for getting over "speed bumps" (that inertia-to-active barrier I mentioned earlier) — a big, black classic Jeep, built for extreme off-road action, it sneers at speed bumps — I still could use some help. I hope that my new chemical, which supposedly has no known side effects but could cause an allergic reaction, which is why I took my pill when I got home rather than waiting until just before bed, provides me with that help.

I wonder if it will cure me of extreme punctuation use?

Homework in the Aether

Karen the Wonder Therapist had a good idea today: how about I write my homework for my blog post once a week. I'm writing almost daily for the blog, so I already have the time available and habitual. And either post it, because this is a blog about my therapy and growth, or delete it and just bring it to her, if it seems inappropriate or too much information to give.

It makes sense. I'm already writing, most of the time I'm already writing about my state of mind or my therapy, so I'm in the right attitude. But I wonder if my therapy homework would be wrong for my blog. It's details of a trauma; currently the trauma involving my mom. Of course, I can always not post it on the blog and just use the time for my homework.

The other thing that concerns me is that I write this blog around 9 pm, or later. That's not prime deep thinking time for me. I would do better to write my homework earlier in the day, no later than between 7 and 8 pm.

However, it's a very good idea and I will give it a chance. If it helps, then I win!

Today's therapy was mostly talking. We talked about how not to get too negative and too focused on what I'm afraid of (money, work). We talked about how I forget planned tasks and activities and how to remember them: my current idea is to print out the week's and day's tasks and post them in the places I go to a lot: kitchen and bathroom. Then I would always see them. The rest of it currently escapes me, but I'm sure it will come back.

After therapy, I did my usual post-therapy walk and grocery shopping, then a stop at a favorite fast-food place for lunner (late lunch/early dinner). Then that was the end of the productive part of my day.

I feel okay today. I've been a bit down; I know it will pass. Feeling lonely and wanting my mom is all. I had a good mom — I knew I could go to her and she would help me and reassure me (mind you, she did better at this when I was an adult, and not so good when I was a kid). She was my safety net. So, just missing her.

Random Day

It just occurred to me that I don't always have to write on a specific topic (which has caused me to not write on occasion). Other bloggers have random thoughts posts, so what the hell, so can I!

I didn't do my homework, yet again. My therapist will wonder about my level of commitment, as do I. I desperately want to get better, but I wonder if the level of pain I have felt on a few of these homework days has put me off.  So the week passes and I keep thinking later, if I think at all. I have enlisted one friend to pester me to death if necessary. Other readers who know me, feel free to pester.

I've become very good at not thinking. This is why it's July and I haven't done the stuff I should have done in January and why I'm still jobless. Well, I think that the level of my messed-up-ness and sheer pain, anxiety, and depression are what really are to blame for my joblessness. I must change that now that I'm feeling better.

I'm still feeling guilt that I am here and my mother is not. I know that I took very good care of her, the best I could, but I still feel guilty. For example, I kept forgetting to visualize her cancer cells being killed off by the radiation, even though I told her I would and I taught her how (and she did). Rationally, I know it wouldn't have helped. Irrationally, I feel that I didn't do my part and maybe it would have helped. And that life must be wrong for me to be here and her to be gone.

Home is still a mess: I've made little progress. I did organize my socks and underwear, rather than just have them tossed around in the closet. If I could just handle the pile of clothing in between the socks and underwear, my closet will be almost perfect. Of course, I have something like two dozen socks. But they are all so pretty!

I didn't walk this weekend. I didn't clean. I didn't have salad tonight like I told a friend I would do, but I did cut up and eat some yellow and orange bell peppers. Plus I had blueberries in my cereal and yogurt for breakfast, and a couple of strawberries for a snack. Go me!

My therapist and I talked about my feeling that I am a tiny sports car facing humongous speed bumps. She suggested I consider myself a big SUV looking down on speed bumps that, from here, are pretty small. I need to remember that. I'm a big SUV and the speed bumps are actually quite small. I wonder what kind of SUV? And what color should I be? These are very important details in a good visualization.

My computer needs an overhaul, but there are things I'm not sure are possible. So I have to do some research before I can simply reformat. Computer problems are almost as bad as car problems.

I got a great haircut. Now I need to find the right hair dye. I think I need a bigger pharmacy that what I usually go to. I want really saturated color.

Okay, this isn't that interesting, so I'll stop here. I wish I were as funny as my favorite writer; her random days are hilarious. But then, her blog isn't a therapy, open a vein kind of blog. Maybe I should try this on my regular blog. It might be easier.

Hope you aren't bothered by incessant fireworks tonight!

Funky Head

Dear Readers

For some reason, my meds seems to be out of whack, or maybe it's just my head. Any way, I chose to not operate a vehicle today (my head is all woozy) and I think it's also best that I don't write for either blog. Just a bad idea.

I'll be back tomorrow.

I Am Me

Ever since Karen the Wonder Therapist talked to me about some of my distorted thinking (Broken Thoughts), I haven't been thinking those thoughts. I don't think that I am Lost or Floating or Untethered. It could be that I am having sufficiently good days right now that I don't feel those things. Or it could be that simply having talked about them and being given truthful counter-arguments was enough. It will take some time, and some bad days, to see which it is.

I like saying to myself that I am not untethered: I am grounded by my values and my beliefs. These are part of me, something I continue to believe even if I never read another book about them or even talk about them. My values and my beliefs are my bedrock, even during times when I have broken thoughts. Given that I have had those thoughts to some extent off and on through my life (well, I did think of my mom as my anchor, no matter what), I never thought that I was grounded, or had a rock-solid foundation, or that I had a center. I now I know that I do. Oddly, feeling like this, having counter-arguments to these false thoughts, makes me feel free, even though I am feeling kind of crappy tonight.

The trauma and cognitive work seem like magic to me: they appear to have strong and immediate effects. The behavioral, well, that is very different and so far is slow going. At least I think about the better behaviors, the behaviors that will take me to where I want to be, which is important. Sometimes I need a lot of repetition to learn something (which didn't quite work with the times table, unfortunately; I still use my fingers). Behavioral change appears to be one of those somethings.

I am grateful that I have found therapists, both now and in the past, whom I clicked with right off. Each has helped me to some extent. So far, in a much shorter period, Karen has achieved more than any of my other therapists did, aside from the therapy that helped me with issues from childhood sexual abuse that my first therapist did. However, that took longer than change is taking place now and thereafter we didn't make much progress on anything else. I don't know that I would have had the nerve to keep looking for someone I clicked with if that first therapist hadn't.

I still need a lot of work — there is still a lot of distorted or traumatized junk inside me — but I have so much more hope that I'll get over all, or nearly all, of my debilitating thoughts, feelings, and behaviors through working with Karen. Luckily for me she's still fairly young (a year or two younger than me), so she won't be retiring anytime soon! I need her to help me out here!

If only there were a therapist who could help me make money.