Not Dying

On the one hand, I think the folate/folic acid is working as an add-on to handle my depression. On the other hand, I think my anxiety has moved into stealth mode. It perks up when I start thinking about paying bills, but because I am in a very quiet mode where I'm focused on dealing with the house sale and the estate sale and having to go back to Oregon — many logistic details — I think my anxiety is simply being quiet, too. As long as I don't disturb it.

I'm glad that we're getting a chemical handle on the depression; I should be able to begin getting a personal handle on it, too. I'm also becoming more functional on some fronts — I'm not crying so much. But I wish we had a national short-term disability program, or at least have a disability program that didn't take years to get covered under, because I'm not fully functional yet and don't know when I will be.

I feel completely submerged by my current focus. It's like swimming in dark water with a flashlight: I can focus on only one section at a time. There are some other logistic issues that I've simply had to throw up my hands at and walk away from because I can't handle them right now.

Most folks handle all this stuff plus work a job plus handle a family. I don't think I could care for a cat.

I know everyone has been telling me I can handle it all and cheering me on and saying that the Universe/God/whatever never gives us what we/I cannot handle, but I've seen otherwise. I am experiencing otherwise. My anxiety is sitting there like an undetonated bomb — will it go off; how much vibration will set it off? I'm coping because I'm ignoring a lot of it and I'm desperately hoping that the bomb isn't triggered. If you judge that simply staying alive is "handling" what the Universe sends us, well that's no big deal; there are many reasons for not offing yourself that have nothing to do with indicating one is "handling" what the Universe has "given" you. Being a zombie for months or years, shutting off large sections of yourself or your life, living inside a very tiny virtual cocoon: I don't consider these ways of "handling" it. These are ways of not dying.

I look like I'm doing well to those outside my home. I probably look like I'm handling things better to those of you who read this. But for the most part, I'm really just not dying.

I'm going to do what I can do with the house and all. I can handle certain responsibilities and the pain/fear of not doing this stuff is greater than the pain/fear of doing it. There's a motivator for you. I'm terrified of dealing with my own storage unit, which is completely necessary to keep me from having to pay for two storage units with my own money.

Progress? It's been almost a year since Mom died. I can now wash my dishes after each meal (altho' today I am four meals behind) and I make my bed 75% of the time. Before you start cheering me on for these positive steps, please note that I haven't completely cleaned my bathroom or vacuumed since I moved in in December. I haven't finished unpacking. I haven't paid bills in a couple of months. When I venture out of my apartment it is notable. There are still a lot of things for me to trip and fall over on the floor. And I still don't shower every day (you really need to down here, what with the sweating and all).

Yeah, sure, celebrate the little steps I suppose. But they are like throwing pebbles in the ocean. So far, I'm just not dying. Now you're going to go and make that into some big positive thing, aren't you.

Negative Space

There is a style of painting and drawing where you use the "negative space" to create a picture. Generally, the negative space is the dark spaces, the shadows, and you draw the shapes of these dark areas until ... you have a recognizable picture! When done well, it is dramatic and beautiful.

Julie has recently called me on how I note the negatives and failures in my posts but not the positives and successes, even when I mention them. I don't even see them: I am drawing and seeing my life through the negative spaces, not the areas of light. I actually have a prose piece I wrote a few years ago when I was enduring great loneliness and depression and in it I speak of myself as living under shadows and looking out onto those who live in the light. Creating a life out of negative space is very dramatic, but it's not beautiful.

I have been better at perceiving positives at other times in my life. During those same times, I was usually doing gratitude journals or going through focused visualization and affirmations before bed. Sometimes I was "faking it until I made it" — smiling when I felt like frowning and so forth. But I was doing things that directly contributed to my positive mental health, beyond therapy or medications.

This morning I spent about 20 minutes on visualizations and affirmations (and where's that damned winning lottery ticket?!) — I felt more awake and more cheerful when I rolled out of bed than I usually do. I haven't been getting much out of doing a random reading out of each of some meaningful books, so tonight I'm going to start reading the Buddhism book by Boorstein one short chapter at a time; that has made me feel good in the past and has had a positive effect on my mental state. I believe doing these activities will make me more aware of positive occurrences and successes in my life. I hope to build in a positive feedback loop. Heaven knows I've got a very effective negative loop!

So feel free to point out the positives I've missed, Julie and anyone else who wants to. As I retrain my perceptions, I can probably do with a little help. I may have forgotten what successes look like!

Not Afraid of It

I made a commitment a few months ago to blog every day about my therapy and my growth and change. I haven't managed it. I did well until my Haldol-induced Zombie-tude in June. And since then, it's been about 50-50.

Part of the problem is that I've felt dull and like I've had nothing interesting to say, or nothing to say at all. Part of the problem is that I've been so depressed or so anxious that I could barely talk. Neither of these aspects lend themselves to blogging.

Another part of it is that I have this blog, and I have my more public blog: these two have to have different faces, different subject matter. I've been writing more for the other one than I had in awhile. Sometimes I have to stop and think about which one I'm writing for. Sometimes I'll think I'm writing for this blog, but it turns out the post is better suited for the other one, and occasionally it's vice versa. Well, today I added another layer of complexity and started a professional-facing blog. That's the one I've attached my whole, real name to, my web site to, and that I'll let everyone know about. I don't think there will be a problem figuring out when I'm writing for that blog.

So what do I have to say today? I accomplished some things, then fell back into immobility? I still haven't gotten out and walked, but I've done some deep knee bends, a bit of boogying, and some kitchen-counter push-ups? My muscle tone is scarily poor, but just doing a couple of things seems to have an effect.

I'm just still having problems with these damned speed bumps!

I don't know. Maybe there is some very forceful visualization work I need to do. It's been a long time since I've done any. It couldn't hurt.

I'm in a dreadful place of anxiety right now, with Julie's "Hungry Ghosts" ringing me — I can see their teeth and hear them sing. But as Julie says: acknowledge, distract, distract, distract. I add to that sedate, sedate, sedate! But the anxiety is making paying my bills a problem because even thinking of paying my bills brings the anxiety and the HGs.

Because of the weight I put on in the past year, a lot of my clothes from the previous 2-3 years don't fit. So I bought 3 pair of shorts and a nightgown. The shorts are just a tad tight, which is okay. Not tight enough to pop buttons or be uncomfortable, but tight enough to fit me for quite a few pounds down. (Plus, they are shorter than anything I've worn in quite a while and even with that lack of muscle tone my legs still got it!) As for the nightie, well, the cut was nice and the fabric is cotton and modal. Sigh. It's pink, true, but more of a peony pink than a Barbie pink, so I'm good with it. It fits so well and it's so comfortable. So these four items were good buys for me, no matter what.

Well, there. See? Communicating. However, that's all I got right now. I've written two other posts already tonight! And I find I can write and edit a post, even one that I'm being all professional with, in 45 minutes for a post that was as high as 600 words but final count was 571. Not too bad.

Turn Off, Tune Out

Even with the new ideas I'm having here, the great work, and the epiphanies, I still ignore my life. I am still not living, I'm only taking up space and air.

Most people in my position would be finding some work, any work to help pay bills. Most people would have made the calls to find financial help.

I just watch streaming video and read blogs.

I have lived vibrantly in the past, even in my adulthood. I've even lived vibrantly in the last few years. But I've done so less and less and that disturbs me. I don't want to spend how many years I have left just taking up space, simply existing. I want to enjoy living.

Sure, right now the zest is still pretty much gone, with Mom gone and my having a distinct lack of social life. I love my online friends, but I need face time. I need to be able to hug someone, or even just touch their arm or their hand. Not being able to touch is kind of like being in prison.

I've had some times with The Man that were beautiful, truly beautiful. I've spent some time with one of my girlfriends here, just talking and talking, that was very fine. When I still lived at the beach, and was walking regularly on the beach, and was not wallowing in self-pity because I didn't have any friends at the beach or a lover, life was beautiful and joyous. (And my body was in good shape, too!)

I want ... I need ... what I don't have, and that stunts me. I feel that living is unpleasant and a chore. I'm sure as hell not having fun and haven't had much in a long time. I know — just do it and all that other stuff. It's ungodly difficult when I don't see any payoff for me in terms of what I want, what I need. I'm not such a great person that I can live to serve others. In many ways, I've been there and done that, from family to manager to lover. I keep thinking the pendulum is going to swing back my way, but family is gone, I'm desperate for an income so I don't have a lot of choice about a managerial relationship, and I don't see The Man choosing me (yet, in some ways, I honestly see us together) nor do I see me choosing another.

So far I've gotten little zings here and there, from mental breakthroughs and good therapy, but it's all popcorn stuff — it doesn't satisfy except for a few moments.

Voices talk to me in my mind — not those kind of voices! — telling me all that stuff about just do it, be satisfied with what you've got, ya gotta give before you can get,  you'll only get love/friends/whatever once you stop wanting it (and what kind of psycho came up with that one?), etc. 

In the Buddhism book I like to read, the author refers to a couple of her friends who died young of cancer. One of them wrote a letter to all his friends about how he would have wanted more, but he had never wanted other.  You know the sayings about living without regrets? My life is filled with regrets and ways I wish my life had been "other." This is nothing like the life I wanted to live, and I never imagined I would be on the far side of middle age and completely alone as regards family and geographically close friends. This is nothing like the life I always imagined, not just in little ways but in huge, powerful, reasons for living ways.

So it's not really hard to figure out why I don't look forward to tomorrow and why my depression recurs and why this time it is so damned hard to shake. I can't even call my mom to talk to her about my sadness and get her sympathy and pep-talk the way I have a thousand million times before. 

I have no one I with whom I can exchange "I love you." "I love you, too." I miss it.

Life Changer

"Depression is a lifelong, chronic condition, and it needs to be maintained like any other disease." Catherine Winters

A "lifelong, chronic condition." "Like any other disease." 

Oh my fucking god. No one has ever expressed this concept to me. All these years, depression has been something that happened to me, or that I let happen by not stopping it in time. It was something that came and went, often for no discernible reason. And I've always wondered why it keeps happening to me. Why do I keep getting depressed?

Because clinical depression is a chronic condition, like my fibromyalgia. Neither of them currently has a cure or even a known cause, just surmises and theories. But the depression, like the fibromyalgia, needs to be treated and I need to stay on top of things that may trigger an event. Looking at it this way, I can handle it. 

I know how to handle my fibro (and I haven't been doing so well, but I think the heat and sun are providing balance against the lack of exercise), and I have to take a regular med to keep it under control. I know the warning signs of a fibro event (and I am thankful that I haven't had a major one in years). If I can stay on top of the fibro, I can stay on top of the depression. (You have no idea how difficult it was to type that sentence without any modifiers such as "I think I can stay on top" or "I can probably/most likely" stay on top.)

For example, if I overexert myself, do something physical enough to cause extreme fatigue, then I will suffer from this fatigue for a few days. I know that fibro makes me become more tired faster than other people, and it takes me much longer to recover from fatigue. Strong emotional events or highly stimulating events (such as going to a crowded festival or concert) have similar effects. And if I keep going and don't attend to my health needs and the signs from the fibro, I could end up in bed for days and barely able to move for weeks.

So how does this translate to the chronic condition of depression? Well, I didn't have a lot of options this last time, what with grief and exhaustion and all that I had to do. I got hit with a sledgehammer and there was no way around it. But I'm coming out of it, here and there, so I have the opportunity and the mental and physical capacity to examine this condition and learn how to keep it under control in the present and the future.

Like with the fibro, keeping myself healthy will have the greatest benefit for my mental condition. If I eat well, I'll have all the right nutrients and chemicals roaming around in my body and brain. If I exercise regularly (take walks, do a few body strengthening exercises, do some yoga), I'll get endorphins and keep the fibro pain down — pain can trigger depression, which is why fibro and depression are such close companions. And probably one of the most important factors in controlling the depression: do what I love to do. Write. Draw. Make things. Play. Dance. Maybe the effort it takes to completely inhibit my creative aspect causes depression because it takes so damned much mental energy!

There. This whole idea is going to roll around in my mind for weeks now. Always before when I've been told ways to get out of depression, it seemed like guessing. And besides, it always came back. Well now I see it from a new perspective and suddenly everything looks different. As a visual person, I can tell you everything literally looks different. As a tactile/kinesthetic person, I can also assure it that it all feels different, too, as if the texture of everything around me — even the air — has changed.

I'll probably go on about this in the near future. A lot. So you've been duly warned. Now I need to go watch the marbles roll around inside my skull.

Homework

I finished my homework for tomorrow: four hand-written pages of memories from last summer. I hand write it to make it more personal and immediate. For some reason, while I can write faster using a keyboard, I feel a distance between me and what I write. I am also more prone to edit as I write when I'm on a keyboard. I'll have to address this when I begin writing my own stuff again; I don't want to be distant from that.

In case you're wondering, I wrote about the end of Mom's radiation through her first fall --- a total of 2-3 weeks. I am constantly surprised at the amount of information I can bring up when I am writing about it. There is a lot of worry and fear in this part of the story. We were both still hopeful and optimistic at this point.

There is less than four weeks from the end of this week's homework until Mom died. I want to make that homework end the Sunday before an appointment, not on a week I don't have an appointment. It's going to be hard.

I've been thinking about the anniversary of Mom's death. I don't want to just hang out alone in my apartment here. I think that would be very bad. A friend suggested I do a peaceful ritual, which sounds nice. But I think I also need some people for the rest of the time around it, to help me not completely drown in grief. I'm just not sure what. I used to be a very decisive person.

So accomplishments today. Not too bad. And leaves me in an emotionally vulnerable place, just right for therapy tomorrow. Sigh. Yippee.

The Depression, She Returns

I guess it was the quietude before the sinkhole. I know recovery is not linear — I've said it often enough to myself, my therapist, on this blog. But it's still a shock when it happens. Even though I met a person in business who could be a great help to me, and who I could be a great help to, I feel overwhelmed and sad and in a hole. My laughter has disappeared again, and my smiles are small and variable. It's depression and it sucks.

Hell, even with an amazing thunderstorm, I didn't get too excited.

The sleepiness came upon me (I should have had more to eat for lunch, but I thought I'd be going out again) and I gave in, set the alarm for 45 minutes (I really need to set a more boisterous alarm), and woke about an hour and a half later when the phone rang. It was The Man and we had a decent time of talking, both of us sleepy. He can't go to the Dog Show with me because he has worked too hard again and had too little sleep this week, so he'll be welcoming his son home and sleeping. After having him for long lunches both days last weekend, I know better than to expect him again this weekend, but still it makes me a little sad. After we talked I lay back on the couch to just relax a bit before getting up, then spent the next four hours drowsing off and on ... until 9 pm. That's extreme even for me. I had dreams, but I don't remember them.

I still believe I will end up together with The Man. It doesn't feel like a desperate wish, just a calm sureness. I generally know when I'm fooling myself; if I am in this instance then I've become much, much better at it!

And now it's another weekend, which will be quiet and solitary. I should walk; my legs hurt from inaction and I'm doing myself damage by being so immobile. I should work on the house — I have some energy right now. The flesh is willing but the spirit is weak. Not quite the usual thing.

A good weekend to start a little yoga, a little meditation (probably walking for me, otherwise I tend to drift off). And there's nothing wrong with doing some work on my professional presence on the weekend; it's not like I've been doing any during the week.

If the depression lifts. It's a heavy thing and sometimes holds me down like a large boulder that has smashed me flat on the ground. And I've no one to help roll it off of me.

When the depression hits, so does my loneliness, my sadness, and I suppose my self-pity. Poor, poor me. Such a sad sack with such an awful life. Sniff, sniff.

So finally another post. And it's pathetic.