When I'm Stronger

NOTE: This is an extraordinarily long post and delves into more detail in ugly places than normal. Don't feel you have to read it.

My therapist and i talked about journaling at my last appointment, referring to my last blog post and the epiphanies that came to me while journaling early one morning. Michele suggested I continue to journal when I first wake up because your mind is still open then; it hasn't put up the usual barriers it does once you get up and start your day. That was Monday. (We had to meet out of order due to Xmas, and we'll meet on Tuesday next week due to New Year's.)

So I started on Tuesday, two days ago. In less than 2 pages, memories of Mom bubbled up in my mind. These memories promptly turned into ones that hurt and disturbed me, memories I have shunned and shunted away, memories I don't feel able to deal with. i want to be able to deal with all my memories of Mom during the few, short months leading to her death with acceptance and equanimity. The set of memories that came to me Tuesday morning hurt. They scared me the way the events I remembered scared me. My stomach is tight just remembering my reactions on Tuesday. I cried a little, but held myself back from full immersion into the emotions those memories contained. I was strong enough to hold myself back from that. I tell myself I'll deal with those memories when I'm stronger.

Today, after I'd been home for about an hour and a half (I spent Xmas with other friends), I took a nap. it was a wonderful nap: a gentle sinking into unconsciousness under a warm, fluffy cloud of a comforter with the sun shining through the window onto my face. Then lovely vague dreams, and waking up feeling soft, pliable, and happy.

Somehow, ideas relating to my past rose up inside my mind. I remembered a memory from when I had to be nine months old: I was lying in a cool, twilight-dim room and knew I shouldn't cry or make a fuss, just wait for someone to come get me out of bed. I know I was 9 months old because I knew who was my regular babysitter at the time (I checked with Mom). It was my Aunt Nita. She and her sons always seemed kind of tense and unhappy, for very good reason: Uncle Jack was a drunk. He wasn't just an alcoholic — he drank himself into a stupor, drank himself into the gutter, and, when brought home by my father and/or his other brothers and put to bed, would promptly climb out a window and go back to yet another bar. As an infant, I was completely aware that I shouldn't cry, shouldn't upset that household, should wait to be picked up from my nap.

That memory came to me as a corroboration of how I could remember that my cousin's molesting me started when I was two. How can a two-year-old remember anything? How can a nine-month-old? But traumatic events can set memories into stone.

Solstice Epiphanies

Last night Griffin and I talked about the sleep problem I’ve had for some time. Basically, I average 4.5 to 5 hours of sleep a night. Not only is it bad for me in general, it’s particularly bad for the fibro. Unfortunately, this is a habit I settled into after Mom died, or maybe just after I returned to Houston. I had developed the habit previously off and on over a few years prior to that, but never quite as extreme as this and not for as long an ongoing period.

Griffin suggested I keep a diary. He suggested I note when I go to bed, what time I wake during the night, what time I return to trying to sleep, and my feelings at the time — I think he meant my feelings as I try to return to sleep, but I think I should do so when I first get ready to go to sleep, and maybe when I first wake, if appropriate. To this list I’m adding a) what plans I have for the next day and what time those plans are for, and b) any events of note that occurred during the day, especially the evening.

I went to bed at midnight. I woke at after 6 a.m. to go pee. Then I sat in bed and journaled, and the rest of this post came from that journal entry. I made some important realizations and am going to write up the appropriate ones into thank-you cards for Griffin and Sabine, each. The following is the majority of the entry, edited for clarity.

***

6:20 a.m.  12-21-13  YULE! SOLSTICE!

Realized earlier that I didn’t do much for a long time [after I moved to Seattle] because I was healing. I’d wanted to just be cared for during all those months and years after Mom’s death — was so tired and drained and hurting and scared for all that time. So I got here and [Griffin and Sabine] took care of me. I may have needed care for longer than we all expected, but I am finally coming out of this mental and emotional space and doing chores around the house. Griffin being temporarily less able spurred me.

I am feeling more healed, I realized. Something that was clenched inside of me has loosened. I still have a lot to work on, but maybe I am now better able to not only work more effectively but recognize my progress.

Fix the Brain, Not the Body

I went to the rheumatologist today to do three things: 1) get set up with a new doctor, 2) talk about adjusting my main medication, and 3) ask about the current knowledge regarding fibromyalgia.

I like this doctor. He asked a lot of probing questions, such as "if you think you are having problems with mental acuity, why are you here rather than seeing a neurologist" and "who told you that the gabapentin might be causing such a problem." I figured these were good questions because firstly, I never even considered seeing a neurologist because the lack of mental acuity has gone on for so long (although it seems to have been getting worse, but then the last few years have been extra stressful) and I haven't seen any other odd neurological signs. At least none that I'd peg as such.

As for the second question, I told him that it had been suggested by friends who are or have been on gabapentin and found that this is a possible side effect. it has also been suggested by mental healthcare providers, too.

He was curious about everything dealing with my health, including my mental health. And then he gave me great insight into his interest in my mental health (and I really should have made this cognitive leap). The current understanding is that fibro is not a body problem at all: it's a brain problem. Specifically, it's a brain chemistry problem. And that is the center of the entire fibromyalgia universe.

It's why all the currently approved meds for fibro are brain-related rather than body-related: gabapentin, and its cousin Lyrica, are originally anti-seizure meds; Cymbalta and its cousin Effexor are anti-depressants that are both serotonin and norepinephrin re-uptake inhibitors; and a final medicine that I didn't get written down in time so I've forgotten the name, is also an anti-depressant. Doctors are trying to regulate fibro and its symptoms by manipulating brain chemistry. it makes sense.

I knew already about how fibro was considered a neurological disorder rather than a joint/muscle disease, and that gabapentin was an anti-seizure medicine. The point of using it is to quiet the brain impulses or transmitters or whatever is going wonky (yes, it's a technical term; why do you ask?) in the brain.

Validation

Follow me!

Sometimes I forget what this blog is. Sure, it started out as a way to share info with friends and family as I made my way to where I ended up. But I ended up somewhere, then this was a blog about my new home. And, when my life fell completely apart, it became a journal, a place to process what I worked on and discovered within therapy and without, and a place to vent my raw feelings and thoughts, without need to censor or be tactful.

It remains a journal, and I am very grateful to those of you who visit and comment because I enjoy what you have to say and I feel uplifted by your support. However, I began to crave comments. As someone who has long sought for validation externally, it took me long enough to figure that out. I realized this week, maybe Wednesday, that I feel bad if only one person comments. In fact, I feel inadequate if fewer than four people comment. (Weird, to have a number, but I do.)

At such times, I worry that my posts are too long, too boring, too negative, too sad, too much about myself. I wonder if I should change my posts to please my "audience". I forget, in other words, what this blog is.

**Allowing the laughter to subside**

I guess this is a good Learning Moment. It's pretty sorry that I need external validation so badly I consider changing what I write in my personal journal to try to get more comments.

**Quiet moment for obligatory shame**

I hope to remember this moment and this realization. I forgot it about five times over the past couple of days, luckily remembering it again each time. I'm staying up late to write this before I forget again. It's worth remembering.

Will writing this post help me learn to find my validation from within rather than without? On first consideration, it wouldn't seem so. It's just a blog post, right? But given what I, and all of you, have seen on this blog in the past almost three years (I know!), writing these posts has become part of my processing new information and making it possible to internalize changes. So, yeah, I think that's what writing this post will lead to: greater movement toward my finding my validation within myself. (That's a lot of "my's".)

It's hardly fair of me to put all of that on all of you.

Christmas Memories: Sadness and Joy

I always loved Christmas while growing up because it was a big deal to us as a family gathering, both immediate and extended. For the first 11 years of my life, we got together with my dad's family on Christmas Eve, even at immense inconvenience to other family members, to open presents after midnight when my grandfather arrived from closing up the movie theater he managed. After that, the younger siblings (my dad's generation) rose up in protest and we began having our gatherings at a more suitable day and time and took to drawing names instead of giving gifts to everyone, another hardship on the younger families. Even with all the craziness and sometimes 35-40 people in a small, three-bedroom house, I loved the holidays. And Christmas morning was always just about the four of us: Mom, Dad, my little brother Jim, and me.

However, the year I was 16, we moved 1100 miles away from the town, and everyone, I’d known my entire life. At least that Christmas, it was still the four of us. Unfortunately, Dad died of a heart attack the following May (or March, I'm not sure after 35 years) and Mom insisted we stay where we were. So the Christmas I was 17, there was just Mom, Jim, and me. Mom wanted to make it something to remember as being different, so that it wouldn’t be a memory of loss — any more than it already was — but a new memory. So the three of us talked about it and decided to have lobster tail for Christmas Eve dinner! Mom had never cooked lobster of any sort before, but she asked the man at the fish counter where she bought the lobster. Jim and I made the salad and melted the butter and set the breakfast bar for our feast. We even had little glasses of wine with Mom's regular-sized glass. And it was a very fine meal! It was a nice way to start a new memory.

In addition, my brother and I were panic-stricken that there was no one to fill Mom’s stocking or give her gifts from Santa that year, so we did it. We bought small gifts for her stocking, and we went in together on a single gift for her from Santa. On Christmas morning, Mom quickly figured out who the 'elves' were who had surprised her by filling her stocking, but the look on her face when she found a package to her from 'Santa' was one of shock. I think she believed in Santa for a moment, or that an angel had reached down and given her a gift. Then she saw the smug looks on our faces and realized that her 'angels' were the two teenagers who were her anchor in this world.

By then, our extended families no longer extended. Our family was just the three of us.

Anger and Compassion

Dangerous

My housemate Sabine is a very angry person. She is also kind and generous. But as someone living with her, I would not agree with "sweet" the way those who do not live with her (or are not married to her) think she is. Because when she gets angry, she uses her anger like a sledgehammer and woe to him, or her, who gets in her way.

Unfortunately for me, I have issues relating to anger, particularly to other people's anger, whether it's directed toward me or not. I want to cower, I want to hide, I want to run.

My friend Julie would say this is one of my Life Lessons. My therapists would all say I can use this as an opportunity to deal with my issues about anger. I'd like to tell them all to jump in the lake, but that would just be petty. Especially because they are right.

I wish I could help Sabine. I think she needs therapy, but she is not someone I can suggest that to. There is always a wall around her that I think no one can penetrate, except maybe her mom. Not even her husband, Griffin, gets that close.

And, basically, the only person we can fix is ourselves. That's another lesson I'm learning.

A Long Way

Two years ago tomorrow I checked myself into a psychiatric hospital because I was planning — very rationally and practically — to end my life. Just days prior to my checking myself into the hospital, my mom's 72nd birthday came and went. Because I am a fair and practical person, I told my therapist about my plans. And at her urging, I went to the hospital.

After a couple of weeks of almost constant tears and almost complete immobility, it felt good to let someone else make the decisions for a while.

One of the things about being in a psychiatric hospital or ward is that they assume that you will try to hurt yourself or someone else. By assuming that, and guarding against it, they probably save themselves and others a lot of unnecessary grief. Of course, they should have taken away my pen, but they either missed it or pitied me and let me keep it.

I was quietly and calmly matter-of-fact about why I was there when I checked in on Thanksgiving Day. I had missed lunch, but they arranged to get my a turkey lunch anyway. I talked to a psychiatrist and a nurse and filled out forms. I was searched to make sure I wasn't bringing in anything they didn't know about. They took virtually everything. I kept most of my clothes (those that either had nothing overtly dangerous to them or that I was willing to allow to be "adjusted"), my shoes (sans laces) and slippers, a couple of books, my toiletries, and my pen.

For the first two days, I stayed in the room I shared with another patient, except for meals and when I needed to take my meds. I wouldn't even go to Group sessions those two days. I slept, I cried, and I read The Goddess is in the Details by Deborah Blake, which was a comfort to me. I didn't have to prepare food, think about when and what to eat, or clean my dishes or my living space. It was a relief.

Flake

I have a confession: I am a flake. Iffy. Dodgy. A really good liar and undependable in work and play. Torpid. Stubborn. Lacking integrity, untrustworthy, and afraid of commitment. Basically, I kinda suck. I don't much like myself and I'm still working on loving myself.

I didn't used to be this way. Before I fell apart in my mid-30s, when an overwhelming depression washed over me and pulled me into deep, dark water. Before my ex-boyfriend — the one who'd changed his mind and decided he didn't want to get married, have children, or buy a house with me — got married and asked me how I used my 401K to buy my house. Before my insecure boss made me so diminished, anxious, and crazy-feeling that my psychiatrist prescribed not one but TWO mental health leaves within a six-month period. Before all that I was not perfect, but anyone could count on me to do what I said. Friends, family, and employers could trust me. I was active, flexible, creative, and committed.

I hate the way I am. I hate that I'm not the way I used to be. I hate that I can't seem to find my way back, after nearly 20 years. Twenty years is a long time to be disgusted by the person you've become.

"Ah, the sun is blindin'
I stayed up again
Oh, I am findin'
That that's not the way I want my story to end"

Death and Life

It is a matter worth noting that not once that I can remember this last week did I wish I were dead or dying. This fact is both happy and sad: happy because, hey, I didn't want to be dead, and sad because, wow, during enough other weeks I have?

Here's what I posted on the ReFab blog about this:

Some weeks, just getting through the week without having even random thoughts of how it would be easier if the Universe just casually bumped me off is a good thing. It’s not that things are rotten, just that they are hard and I’m still unemployed and I feel afraid about my future, never mind my present. So, I’m counting it as a win for this past week that I didn’t even wish I were dead, even for a moment.

Why have I felt different this past week? I have no idea. Could be we are getting somewhere in therapy (but I'm not aware of it; however, wouldn't be the first time). Could be due to the slight medication change (but we didn't start that until Wednesday and the past few days I've been kinda dizzy when I got up, so maybe the med isn't such a great thing for me). Could be the full moon (full moons make me happy). Could be, as was pointed out by responders to my comment, I know there are people who would miss me and be in pain if I died. I might as well flip a coin to decide what factor has made a change. Unless it's just a mental hiccup and I go back to occasionally thinking about how much it wouldn't hurt if I weren't alive. (Yeah, a bit of pessimism and wariness, plus discomfort about change even if it's for the better …)

Just FYI: NO! I am NOT thinking of hurting myself. Just want to be clear on that point so no one worries.

Who Am I?

Just got back from therapy a little while ago, a session that was basically a rambling, tangled talk about how I no longer feel as if I know who and what my authentic self even is, much less how to find her.

I articulated my ideas about self (well, at least I tried), and Michele provided some other ways to view self. I rambled over how much I hate that I am still in therapy, almost 30 years later; how I am afraid to "follow my dreams", not even being sure what they are anymore and being afraid of following them and being poor and insecure; about choices I've made in the way of relationships with men that where less than beneficial for me and why I might have made those choices; about feeling so many emotions and how they affect me physically and how I wonder if all my meds are messing me up and I wish I could go off them …. It was a turgid, tangled mess.

Sometimes I wonder if therapy is even helping me anymore, if I'm beyond the point where it could help. I wonder if I can every be functional again, or if I am now stuck in this mental and emotional tangle forever.

In therapy, I posited that we all have a basic (right now I'd say "essential') self — the person we are when we are born. The core of our personality, perhaps. And that we gain layers as we grow, and maybe we get twisted around our core self, or get too many layers between our authentic self and the self we have become, obscuring our authentic self. In this schema, I no longer know who I am when I'm authentic, what my core self is like. Is it the child I remember? The woman in her early 30s who went to Britain alone for a month, who published a story, who applied to and was accepted into a competitive six-week writing workshop?

Or am I the pleaser, the one who has a puppy-like need to make others like me, who makes herself as "normal" and non-threatening as possible, who doesn't make waves?

Michele's concept is that we have a central personality who is the kind of overseer of the sub-personalities. Our sub-personalities — the rebel, the responsible adult, whoever else one may have tucked in there — are kind of like board members of a corporation or organization. And that I, as the central personality, can have dialogues with the various sub-personalities of me. This concept has intriguing possibilities. However, it doesn't answer the questions of who am I? What is my authentic self like? And how do I know what my "dreams" are that I should follow?

I pointed out to her that she didn't give me what I wanted, which was a clear, pure answer. She was understandably amused.

Claustrophobia and Freedom

"I'm feeling lousy," I told my therapist. "I'm not sure I can any longer tell if I'm feeling depressed or anxious or both. It's been so long and they are so mushed together."

I've been feeling like curling into myself. I want to hide, to be small, to wrap myself into a tight little package. I could feel the muscles in my neck pushing my head forward and the muscles in my chest pulling my arms inward. And I wanted Michele to fix it.

So we talked. Mostly, I talked and she listened. Then I would pause and she would ask a question or make a comment that would lead me in a particular direction or spark another idea that I then followed.

I ended up talking about my housemates and my living situation. (From now on, I'm going to give them non de plumes, to more gracefully refer to them. They shall be Griffin and Sabine, which suits her more than him.) About how while I am truly grateful to Sabine for not allowing me to pay room and board — I only have to pay my own personal bills — and for buying me things, like the sweaters and warm socks she's just purchased for me so I will be warm this autumn and winter, I hate being dependent. I hate not being able to provide myself with these things.

And, in a way, there is a price for these wonderful things. Nothing that is expected or demanded of me. No, it is a situational and emotional price. Because my housemates' issues unfortunately trigger my worst issues and are making me want to be invisible and making me want to hide. I'm caught up in their issues and the blacklash of my own, and it seems that the result is that I'm focused more on those dramas than on myself and my own needs.

For example, Sabine is super-sensitive to noise. She also has anger issues. So the other night, when I was trying to manipulate a hot dish from the microwave, one without handles, using silicone hot pads, I was making lots of glass-on-glass noise. Eventually, Sabine exploded, took the dish with her bare hands ("It's hot!" I said. "I know," she said.), removed the lid, and set the dish on a cutting board. She continued to be angry and everything inside of me shrank and shriveled, even as I kept repeating to myself "not my issue, not my issue". When she calmed down later, she apologized. But the damage was done for the day.

Powers of the Mind

Lately in therapy, my therapist has been guiding me through imagery scenarios to address specific emotional situations. They've been enormously helpful. She also helped me address the difficulty I've been having with using affirmations and creative visualization on my own.

The guided imagery we've been doing in sessions has taken me to where in my life it seems the feelings originated. Once there, she has led me through asking myself questions, connecting to feelings, connecting to myself at those ages, and providing myself with what I seem to need at that point. These sessions are very powerful emotionally and mentally — I usually need a long nap afterward! It's so different from the therapy that I did with Karen, and equally powerful.

The difficulties I've been having with affirmations and creative visualizations stem from the standard instructions for doing them: to say things like "I have a great job" when I know I am unemployed, for example. My rational mind cannot buy into the part where you feel like you have this thing NOW.

Michele offered me an excellent way to do this. "Imagine your life on a timeline," she told me. "Put yourself on the timeline in a past time when you felt confident and happy in your job and really be there, not just seeing yourself there. Add in as much sensory detail as you can. Then put yourself on the timeline in the near future, where you want to be, and imagine having the job, the living situation that you want. Be there completely. Feel everything." This sounded like something I could definitely work with.

Three times this past week I've done this visualization, with varying levels of success. I know that the varying levels are due to how distracted I am and that I need more practice, so I'm not letting them bother me. I feel each time has been successful. The scenarios I've started with are having a great job that I love and that pays me lots of money, and having a place to live that I like very much and making it be the home I want (including the living room furniture I found that I WANT!). It amazes me how real I can make these visualizations. I know I need to do the work, too (keep job hunting and networking, for example), but I feel that the visualizations add a great deal of power and energy toward getting me what I want and need, sooner rather than later.

I know the mind is very powerful. There are been many studies about the benefits of visualizing success in sports; professional athletes use this technique to increase their abilities along with doing physical practice. I think I remember reading about how many successful business people also use these techniques. So there is some strong science behind them. And doing them in a way that doesn't cause my literal mind to pop up and say "no" allows me to benefit from the techniques.

Obviously, you need to really, really want the thing you are visualizing yourself having. The strong emotional content is essential. I really, really, really want a good job that I love and a home that I enjoy living in. Really.

How about you? Do you use mental techniques to help you achieve things? What do you use?

Sunshine Lentil Soup and Stock Recipe

Soup Fixin's!

Lately I've shared this recipe with some friends. I recently made a pot of it for my housemates and myself and they loved it. I just made a pot of stock so I can make the soup tomorrow for a friend who is enduring some major life crises right now. So I decided to make the recipe my post for tonight!

I don't cook much, but when I do, I tend to go all out. So I make my own vegetable stock from scratch; that's what we'll start with. And this is one of the things that I do while being entirely mindful and in the moment.

I was given the basic outline for the stock by a friend many years ago. Originally I used it with a soup using standard brown lentils that you can find anywhere. I don't know where I first learned about red lentils, but I assumed they behaved just like brown lentils when cooked. They don't. When they are cooked, they turn a sunshiny yellow and break up; I like to use enough of them that they make the soup thick. I don't even remember how I came up with this recipe, as I am not much of a cook, but I did make up this recipe myself.

I call the soup Sunshine Lentil for its bright color and its bright flavor. And it tastes much better the second day! (It also freezes well, as does the stock.)

Feeling, Detaching, Continuing

I haven't written in wow — 10 days! I know I usually write about my therapy, but last week, I just couldn't.

Last week's therapy ended up being very emotional and very raw. We started talking about what I wrote about in my last post and pursued it far into my mind and my feelings to see what is behind this desire to reconnect with my past. At the very base of the vortex, we found abandonment and being completely alone. Intellectually, I know that my family did not abandon me and I am not completely alone (besides that fact that we are all basically one on one level). I have people who love me, both locally and scattered across the country. But, at the heart of the matter, those are what I feel.

I cried some. Not as bad as most of the times I cried in Karen's office, but the first time I've cried in Michele's, and the first time I've cried in a while. I really don't like to cry, for numerous reasons. Even more, I don't like to cry in front of someone else. It exhausts me. And when I experience a strong emotion, afterward I detach from emotion for some amount of time.

We ended the hour with a long imaging session. Imaging, visualization, creative imaging: whatever you want to call it. Michele led me and helped me find my way through it and discover things. I'm not going to describe it because it's intensely personal and there are very few people I would be comfortable sharing it with. Hell, I'm barely comfortable sharing it with myself!

Thus, whenever I thought about writing for the blog, I kept thinking about writing about the session, then about how I didn't want to write about the session. So I didn't write, and I didn't write.

I had therapy again today, and after I finished chattering, I told Michele about how I didn't write about last week's session and why. Which in turn led to my emotion/detachment pattern.

I don't want to have this pattern. Last week, on the way home, I left the radio off so I could stay with the feelings from the session and the imaging work. I wanted to ride that emotional wave to the end, the way Michele encouraged me to do. And I did ride it, all the way home. Then, exhausted, I took a long nap. Afterward, I didn't return to thinking about the therapy session or my feelings or the work we'd done and ended with. I didn't do so again until today's therapy.

Why I Don't Return There

Long drives lead me to long thoughts. Sometimes, they even lead to epiphanies. My recent drive down to Oregon lead me to a surprising one.

I have never been to a class reunion with the class I graduated with. In fact, since my mom moved away from there in '91, I have been back exactly once, for the wedding of my step-niece. I spent my last two years of high school and three summers between college sessions in that town, but have had no contact with my old friends since college, except for a very brief moment in the "greeting" line at my little brother's funeral.

I even looked them all up in Facebook a little while back. I think I mentioned that in a post not long after. Part of me felt an instant compulsion to get in touch with them all, to reignite old friendships if possible. And immediately upon the heels of that came a feeling of revulsion and anxiety so severe it was almost a panic attack and it gave me a pain deep in my abdomen. So I didn't do it.

Still, on occasion, the compulsion comes back. Put up a FB page in your old name, it says. Get in touch. But I ignore it.

The idea wandered again into my mind during my drive down to Oregon and I opened my mind to it so I could explore it. I don't remember why or how I lost contact with the last of my high school friends. I do remember a feeling of anger. After I broke up with my boyfriend, he was all nice to me about it, but managed to turn people against me behind my back. (And I'm sure he never told any of them about how he would call me — collect — from the base after he went into the service, crying about how much he hated it.) I was left with a couple of girlfriends with whom I spent my summers when we all returned home between college sessions. But for some reason, that ended and I don't know why. I don't remember.

So why do I always say no when an old high school (and post-college) friend gets in touch (via a mutual friend) to ask if I want to be found by the reunion search committee? Why the revulsion and the anxiety? I wanted to know.

It boils down to the fact that I hate that place. I hated that we moved there, away from the place and people I'd known all my life. I hated the pitiful excuse for a high school. My cat was shot a few months after we moved there, and I'm sure I know which of the neighborhood boys did it. My dad died of a heart attack in our backyard. My little brother is buried in a cemetery less than a mile from our old house. Even when we first moved there, I hated the house: I could barely stand being alone in it, even in the daytime. It felt bad in that house. I was gloriously happy when my mom and her husband moved away from that house and that town.

Wet

Friday evening, my friend Skye (I know, right?) took me to her spa for a hydrotherapy evening. She has a membership to the spa that involves use of the hydrotherapy pools and massage. She gets one or two guest passes a month and asked me if I wanted to come with her this month.

The hydrotherapy set up consists of two pools and two saunas. You start in the hot pool. Then you move to the wet sauna where you scrub your body with salt (and you sweat and try to breathe the hot wet air). Shower off the salt, then out to the cool pool (which feels quite cold after the sauna), and finally to the dry sauna with cedar ledges. We did two full circuits, separated in the middle with a sit in the quiet room with tea and cookies, and then a final soak in the hot pool. Afterwards, I felt soft, smooth, loose, and relaxed. It was one of the most wonderful experiences I've ever had.

And we talked. We started out with the basic "what have you been doing lately" and, as we were there for nearly 3 hours, it just kept going deeper and wider.

I can be a chatterbox, especially if I'm feeling anxious or self-conscious. I realized later in the evening that I had forgotten my afternoon dose of Xanax, so that probably contributed some anxiety, but also I am still getting to know Skye and I am fairly insecure about my ability to make friends. Plus, I like Skye and want to create a solid friendship with her, so there's a little bit of anxiety there. (Hi Skye! I know you're there!) Because I know about this chatterbox behavior of mine, I remembered from time to time to specifically ask Skye about herself and to listen closely. Sometimes when I am in full-out chatterbox mode, I can forget to let the other person participate. I even apologized for babbling at the end of our hydro time, partly because I wasn't sure if I monopolized the conversation and partly because I was often chastised for talking too much as a child, sometimes by my parents and sometimes by teachers.

One of the topics that came up started with a discussion of fibromyalgia. In general, experts say that people with fibro should avoid exposing themselves to extreme temperatures. However, I enjoy heat a great deal. The few weeks when I went to a therapy pool for my fibro, I was completely grossed out by the body-temperature water. It felt dirty or greasy. ::shudder:: Heat doesn't seem to hurt my fibro any.

Rebound Effect

Wednesday's post was like flying, like rocketing up through the clouds into bright sunlight. Thursday was like faltering at the peak of my flight, Friday was stalling and then falling back through the dark clouds towards the earth, and today was like crashing in a fiery explosion on the ground. I am experiencing such a strong anxiety reaction that I had to spend over 45 minutes in bed this morning talking to myself and breathing just so I could get out of bed to take a Xanax to calm myself. And instead of the .5-mg that I've been taking for morning and afternoon doses, I returned to 1-mg doses for both of those. I'm still quaking inside, but I'm functional. Mostly.

How did I go from Wednesday to today, from being filled with light and life to being filled with shards of glass and fear?

One highly likely possibility is via the Rebound Effect, where my peak that came from reaching great depths in therapy rebounded to depths in response to the vulnerability and the anxieties and insecurities that remained in place even after the wonderful therapy-initiated learning. Vulnerability and fear operated like rubber bands to pull me back an amount equal to what therapy helped me soar to.

Why? Well, Wednesday did not cure me — it just provided me with new insights and perspectives and even handholds to keep pulling me toward progress. But I have been more vulnerable, to varying degrees, in the years since my fortifications were breached, and when I touch things deep inside myself during therapy or self-exploration, I am extremely vulnerable and all my history has taught me that vulnerability makes me unsafe, so touching that vulnerability can spark an equally powerful fear response. I think that is part of my response, my anxiety.

The other thing is that I have been feeling anxious and disappointed in myself for not having other paid work and for not searching hard for other work for many weeks. Add to that the fact that I didn't follow through with a commitment I made to the housemate who is supporting me (I agreed I would water some potted plants for her while she was at work, plants that were showing dryness and that she doesn't want to lose, and I had not done so by the time she got home), and she went into one of her temper fits, which triggered many of my worst anxiety and fear responses.

I apologized, after she finished watering the plants herself and came indoors. She eventually cooled off and apologized for her temper. But my anxiety is still resonating inside of me, and today I have been online a lot and I took a long nap, instead of baking as I wanted.

Power, Protection, and Progress

So. Therapy today was powerful. We talked about a major theme in my life: power and powerlessness, authenticity and invisibility. I came away with my mind spinning, feeling full to the brim, and feeling good. I even turned off my radio so my mind could keep resonating with what we talked about and when I got home I wrote the important bits down so I'd remember them.

It started off with me talking about the TED Talk by Amy Cuddy about body language and using it to change your own perceptions and feelings and behaviors. About the "Wonder Woman pose" that the media has played up and how to use it. (And I have used it, and Amy's other suggestions, and they seem to actually work.)

From there we went into how I diminish my own strengths and talents and accomplishments, and why I do so. I tend to have "don't look at me, I'm no threat" submissive and powerless postures: head or eyes down, shoulders hunched, arms and legs drawn in. I have often thought that I don't deserve as much space as other people, as much air as other people.

Then we went to why. Mostly self-protection, plus a lot of being squashed so much I've just given in and stayed squashed most of the time. Because of being molested, and from such a young age. Because my parents were always telling me "don't show off" (my intelligence and vocabulary), "don't brag," even while encouraging my little brother to show what an exceptional athlete he was and revolving our lives (mine included) around his sports. Because at a job I stayed at for six years (four years longer than I should have), my boss and co-workers treated me worse and worse the more authentically I lived my life and the more I threatened their world view: I both worked AND wrote (and published a story); I took a month off and went to Britain; I took six weeks off and attended a full-time writers' workshop (that you have to apply and compete for). Some people can be downright hostile if you do what they have told themselves they cannot do because that is How Things Are.

I have often in my life felt that The Universe hates me. It has seemed as if, just when my life was going particularly well, the Universe has reached out and slammed me, with moving when I was 16, with the deaths of my father and my brother and my mother, and with other things. And that has happened a lot, but there are times when I've been slammed while things were going very badly, and I'm sure there have been times when things have been going well and I haven't been slammed (I just have to remember them!).

Therapy Hangover

Sometimes, when going through therapy, a person can experience what some call a "therapy hangover." This feeling can occur from extreme emotions experienced during therapy, from reaching a deep place during therapy, and from intense realizations or epiphanies reached during therapy. Usually this feeling doesn't come during or right after the therapy session, but a little while later.

I think that today I experienced a therapy hangover.

Today's therapy was good. I was feeling disappointed with myself for not achieving the goals I set at last week's session. I've been feeling disappointed in myself for not putting more time toward my freelance job and being behind in reaching my deadline. Those were the feelings we started off the session discussing. Fairly simple and normal stuff.

I tend to approach my sessions in a freestyle, stream-of-conscious style. I lose track of original points as some new thought or memory comes to mind and I chase after that. I've told my previous therapist and my current therapist about this tendency and given them permission to control the session more, but both of them have basically let me follow my paths and tangents.

Today, in particular, I think this tactic was useful. I went from being disappointed in my not reaching my goal for the week to disappointment in myself regarding work to having developed the feeling over years that I'm going to disappoint my employer eventually, so I might as well get it over with right away. (I tend to feel this with friends, too, but forgot to bring this up during therapy.) So I tend to do something that will disappoint: I take a sick day early in my employment, I change plans suddenly (such as not coming in on a day I was scheduled to be in the office, saying I'll work at home instead), and I don't always work as hard as I feel I should and can. I'm not just in the process of disappointing others — I'm disappointing myself.

Ideas and memories and feelings kept coming to mind as I spoke, such as my parents' insistence on straight A's, even though they couldn't do the work I was doing in school and they had no understanding for how hard math was for me, for example. I told my therapist that I'd tried not to internalize that mindset, but that I had anyway. Perfection is hard to live up to.

Bedtime

When I was a child, bedtime was a pleasure I looked forward to. When it was time to go to bed, I went happily, looking forward to resting and dreaming. Even though I was prone to nightmares and night terrors that my parents didn't even know about, I still had more good dreams than bad and I looked forward to each new day.

Fast forward a few decades. The summer of 2007, I wasn't working and it was one of the most glorious summers ever on the Oregon Coast. Temperatures ranged from 75 to 85 most days, with sun and a bit of a breeze and I spent almost every day walking down the hill to the beach, walking up and down the beach, including into the breakers, and then walking back up the beach. I was in good condition, I was losing weight, and I was actually enjoying myself, but I wasn't going to bed until between 2 and 3 am every night. This was highly unusual for me: I hadn't pulled all-nighters or even super-late-nighters in college!

That summer, I was staying awake late because I had created an enormously detailed imaginary life and I stayed up every night into the wee hours living and creating that life. The people sharing that life with me were so real, with complete life histories and backstories. It was beautiful. Every night I would turn off all the lights in the house, turn on some music, light some candles all over my bedroom, and watch the moon wash across my bed and the floor in the room outside my door. And I would dream.

This imaginary life bothered my therapist. She was afraid I was hiding from reality within it. It wasn't until a conversation in mid-summer that she suddenly said "I get it now! Your mind needs to be occupied and it's so unused right now that you need to do something with it." And that was, in great part, why I stayed up late every night dreaming. Once I went back to doing some work and thinking about what I wanted to do next, the imaginary life just melted away.

Fast forward another few years. I've returned to Houston after getting things moving with my mom's estate. I'm miserable: lost, rudderless, and more alone than I've ever been in my life. My closest friend in Houston was rearranging things in his life, in particular his marriage, and he no longer made time to do things with me other than a few days in the Spring to go photograph birds and the occasional lunch. I spent my time — all day, every day — surfing the web. I stayed up far into the night more often than not, not because I had an imaginary life I loved but because I had a real life I despaired of and I stayed up late to put off having to begin another new day.

Confidence Falls

Y'know, when I first set out to move back to Seattle, I was full of confidence about finding work back in high tech. I had a long history of high tech and I'd done a lot of extreme editing of scientific materials and I'd broadened the types of writing I've done with my various projects in Houston. Fantastic, right?

So now I am in Seattle and I've settled in and begun networking and looking for work. I've joined meetup groups in Content Strategy, Information Architecture/User Experience (IA/UX), general technology, and so on. I've gone to their meetup events. And my confidence has been pouring out of me like blood from an open arterial.

For example, last night I went to a Content Strategy meetup with my friend. The first presentation was fairly basic and I didn't really find it that informative or interesting, but the presenter was pretty excited about it so that made it okay. The second presentation was exciting, entertaining, and … confusing. I may have taken in about 10% of what the guy was talking about. The fellow to my right, an engineer and writer, had the opinion that the presentation was fairly content-free. I felt like I was too stupid to understand it, because everyone else seemed to really like the presentation. On the way home, I expressed my feeling and the other guy's opinion to my friend and he asked me what points I was confused about or what questions I had because maybe he could answer them. I only had one basic question because the rest of the presentation didn't make enough sense to me for me to even have questions I could articulate. I know I've been out of the high-tech biz for a while, and that things that used to be just what tech writers did are now their own professional niches with their own jargon, but I expected to be able to understand a hell of a lot more than what I did last night!

Secondly, I am not getting responses to job applications, other than the one where a friend submitted me via his company's employment referral system, probably because I've been out of high-tech for so long. There's a lot of jobs I'm not even applying for because of not having a few of their Required qualifications: specific programming languages, specific tools. I'm very happy to be here, but maybe I'm too out-of-date, too old. But if I'm not writing and editing, I don't know what else I can do. And honestly, I need to be working a professional job in high tech to be able to afford a decent apartment now and a decent house someday in this area. Besides all the other typical living expenses.

Yes, I have found a part-time freelance job, or rather, it found me. But it's taken me three weeks (okay, three part-time weeks, but still) to truly get up to speed on the information and how they want it presented for this first project and I've just been revising the existing stories written by someone else. I haven't even begun to write original text yet and I'm as nervous as my housemates' cat about doing so. What if I can't do this anymore? What if my work sucks?

A Body at Rest Tends to Stay at Rest

Inertia. Newton's First Law: a body at rest tends to stay at rest, unless a force is acted upon it. And I haven't been enacting any force upon myself since I arrived in Seattle. Well, not much.

As a result, I've lost the muscle tone I'd gained by doing exercises in the apartment. I have barely blogged at all. I haven't even been doing my therapy work, and I did my therapy work in Houston even when I was at my least functional! I have disappointed myself. My confidence has ebbed even lower than when I was in Houston.

However, I've had one phone interview for a full-time job and have another scheduled for next week. (According to my friend who works there, they screen very thoroughly so they get people who will work well with the team.) I think I have a shot, as long as I can convince them I am technical enough.

I've also acquired a part-time freelance job! They contacted me out of the blue: they'd found my profile on LinkedIn, then through that found my web site, which was unfortunately unchanged since Houston and they could only access one link to my work, but they still contacted me and by the time we talked in a two-hour meeting, they had decided upon me. It pays lower than a for-profit company would pay, naturally, but the work is very meaningful, challenging, and varied. Not only can I feel good about my contribution to this organization and the work they do, but I will not be bored and I will be stretching myself. Just for your info, this organization facilitates collaborations between researchers at small to large companies and institutions with other institutions and large pharmaceutical companies to address neglected diseases in the developing worlds and poor populations the world over. These diseases are not high-ticket items in terms of money-making, so the big companies don't pursue them. But the big pharmaceutical companies who have joined this consortium are committed to providing information — even about their compounds — and expertise to other researchers in this sphere. It's amazing!

So, this week my new therapist and I addressed my inertia. She asks good questions, such as when did I live my life more like I wanted it, when was I happier, when was I more active. We went all the way back to childhood for the answers. Among the answers we found was that I need to create for my mental health. I used to write and draw and paint all the time as a child, and even in my 20s. It began to taper off in my 30s, especially as my depression worsened. I developed the thought that I needed to write toward publication, rather than simply write the stories I want to tell. After taking my Scientific Illustration courses and doing beautiful work, I seemed to feel that I could no longer just mess around with my drawing and painting like I did before, but that I had to create at that same high level, so I stopped drawing and painting at all. And I really haven't crocheted a lot since creating a very intricate and difficult doily for my Grandma (which I now have framed).

Of Therapy and Medicines, of Carpenters and Kings

So I owe you folks a post about the cool idea my amazing Texas therapist came up with (that I have not yet implemented), and I want to tell you about my new Seattle psychotherapist, who is doing both my meds and my therapy and who I like a great deal.

First, Therapist Karen's Wonderful Idea

We were talking about how I wasn't accomplishing anything. I have felt slothful (taking a term from Zen Buddhism), which tends to be a frequent mind-state for me and I just choose to give in to that. See? Choice is again the topic here.

So the Amazing Karen came up with the Therapeutic Competition, wherein Productive Skye and Slothful Skye compete to see who racks up the most points for a day and a week. I'm to create a list of tasks and activities to carry out every day, nothing too onerous or crazy. Then, which ever side I choose to follow for that task gets the point. I'm to add them up daily and weekly. The purpose here is to show me very graphically and tangibly how I'm making choices and to encourage me to make more active, productive choices. I think the Competition will help with that … once I actually implement it. So far, Slothful Skye has won hands-down by my not implementing the Competition at all. Sigh.

Second, the new Therapist Michele

I've had two appointments with her this week, yesterday and today, getting the info dump out of the way and getting a start on the medication changes. And deciding that yes, we both think we will work well together.

I like her. I like what she has had to say about her therapeutic practice, and I like her voice. I find her aesthetically pleasing, if that makes any sense.

So yesterday I gave her the forms I'd filled out (LOTS of questions) and answered more questions and told her things I thought were important to know (I've been in therapy off and on, mostly on, since 1984, so there's a lot to say). Today, we got sidetracked onto a few other childhood things, then went back to talking about my medical history, current health, and medications. She put me back on Lamictal (I don't know why my previous psych took me off it, but maybe because I had a feeling-suicidal episode he decided that it wasn't working anymore, even though it had worked well for several years). We will probably up the dose of my Pristiq one pill.

And once things even out on those two meds (although it can take several months for the Lamictal to fully settle in), we will begin decreasing the Xanax. That could take six to nine months because I'm on three milligrams a day and have been for about a year and a half. Xanax is highly habituating, so the body doesn't give it up easily.

So I'm going to see Michele once a week from now on. And I'm going to have at least one more phone appointment with The Amazing Karen. Plus, I'm giving them both permission to communicate about me because Karen can better articulate what we've gone through and the therapeutic concepts much better than I can. I will hate to give up Karen because not only has she done more for me in two years than anyone else has done in more than twice that, she's become a friend and she was the one hug I knew I could get every week, which to an affection-needy person like me meant the world. But Michele is going to be good for me, too. Again, I lucked out in the find-a-therapist lottery.

Depression is Depressing

Well, it's been more than a month since my last post. I really didn't want to write anything, couldn't think of anything to write about. It seemed like too much effort and I really couldn't think of any reason why I should write.

Didn't write about one therapy session, even though it was interesting and my therapist came up with a great idea to try to get me moving again. But I didn't actually follow through on the idea; I just kept think "I'll do it tomorrow, it's too late to start today."

Then another therapy session came around. And I had to explain why I hadn't blogged or followed through. "It sounds like depression to me," my therapist said. Reluctantly, I was forced to agree.

I don't know why I'm depressed. I don't care why I'm depressed. I don't want to be depressed. I've done depressed and I was done with depressed. I pushed any and all thoughts that I might be even a teeny, tiny bit depressed into the furthest corners of my mind. I was not depressed, dammit!

Except that I was. And I am. And I'm so damned tired of being here again and again and again. It all seems so pointless if I'm just going to end up back in the Ol' Slough of Despond yet again.

I'm not going to hurt myself. I'm just really, really frustrated.

Even writing this post is hard, and for me, once I sit down to write one of these posts, they usually just flow out of my head and onto the screen like melted butter. This one? I've put it off and put it off — even with the threat of my dear friend Deb kicking my ass — and writing it is more like trying to chew a thick sandwich of dense bread, chunky peanut butter, and chocolate chips: too much work to even feel any pleasure from the ingredients.

I promise I will write about the cool idea my therapist came up with. Later. Right now, I just wanted to own up to my depression and get a post up.  And hey, I have an appointment with a psychiatric nurse practitioner up here, one recommended by my old NP! So if we click, I will have a new therapist and med psych (all rolled into one, like the ones prior to Houston). So at least there's some good news.

Okay, that's it for now. I'll start working on the one about the cool idea. Thanks for being patient with me.

The Powers of Choice

Had a therapy-by-phone session with my therapist this week and the main topic was "choice". I acknowledged that I have been choosing avoidance, distraction, and motionlessness rather than living fully, actively, and with purpose. I have been choosing naps over doing the things I need — and want! — to do.

Choice has many powers. Making a choice is powerful because it is an action and action is powerful. But when you make choice to be passive and powerless, that too is powerful because it increases the passivity and powerlessness, as well as any mental health issues associated with them, such as depression and anxiety such as I have. So I am in effect choosing to give my power over to oppression.

I truly do want to be more active and doing the things on my list and that I need and want to do: I can feel it! I feel urges toward movement and activity; I feel desires to walk and do exercises. But I squash them with the choices I make away from them. It's like choosing to kill the better part of yourself. I feel as if I've been killing the better part of myself for decades, now that I acknowledge that I have had choices. But for a long time, I didn't realize I could choose or that I had options. I felt powerless against my feelings. Now I know differently.

But changing the choices I make is not as easy as snapping my fingers and saying "Hey! I can make different choices!" It's going to require effort on my part due to the inertia involved and the habit involved and the weight of many years of making the other choices. I keep making the mistake of thinking that making changes will be easy, causing me to fall prey to falling back into what is easy. I haven't yet embraced the feeling of power that comes with doing what is difficult yet right.

I think I need to return to using contingent activities and rewards. I have better rewards now! I have a whole library of books to choose from here at the house (inhabited by two book-lovers, one of whom is a librarian). I have a niece and nephew who want to spend time with me and do the things I want to do as I re-explore Seattle and surroundings and re-experience my favorite things. I also need to again enlist select friends to nudge me along my way to making the habit of choosing the better options.

And I need to work some more on my thinking. I have my rubber band to remind me to think of the cognitive-behavioral tools I have (my housemate left me one in the bathroom we share the morning after he read my blog!). My therapist and I decided that the next major step in my therapy would probably be working on "growing up": i.e., self-actualization, letting go of the need for parental approval and validation (especially given that my last remaining one is now gone), strengthening my sense of self, however you want to define it. It's a process I haven't finished and I need to in order to be a fully functioning adult human. So time to dig in and find my next therapist. I now have a few names offered to me by my former practitioner in this area; next week will involve calling them and seeing if any are taking new patients. (I've heard that finding a mental health practitioner in this area is very difficult these days; must be a whole lot of over-stressed and "crazy" people around here; I blame the coffee!)

So making choices seems to be my next step, and one that I very strongly want to take. I can't wait for the blog post where I tell you all about how well it is going!

Victim Thinking

One of my more persistent issues is that of victim thinking. When  that is the way I am thinking, I feel powerless and hopeless. For example, when I feel tired, I generally don't do anything, feeling "too tired to do anything" and like my only option is to give up and do nothing. Or when I am approaching a problem or a project in a certain way and it's not working for me, I feel like I have no other options. Victim thinking makes me feel like I have no choices.

My therapist can basically tell when I'm caught in victim thinking just by my body posture and my voice. (Yeah, not going to take up professional poker any time soon.) Then we talk about how there are other ways to approach a situation differently, that I do have choices and options other than what I feel stuck with. That's powerful, active thinking. It's definitely the kind of thinking that uses the cognitive therapy techniques I've been working on.

The problem is that I've engaged in victim thinking for such a long time that it tends to be my default way of thinking and I still too-easily forget my cognitive techniques. One reason why I still need a therapist: to help me remember to use these techniques and to detect when I am engaged in victim thinking.

I've been caught up in victim thinking for a while since I've been in Seattle. I've grown more and more tired and sleepy since arriving here, so I sleep and don't accomplish the things on my to-do list. I haven't started looking for work and I've been here for a month and a half! I've been feeling unwell off and on and my fibromyalgia has flared up. So I've been thinking things like "I'm too tired to start an online job search right now; I'll take a nap first" and "I don't feel well enough to take a walk" and "My body hurts; I'll unpack later." So I haven't unpacked or started job searches or taken many walks. Then I feel stuck and tired and overwhelmed and ashamed, which thoughts just tend to spiral in on themselves.

I do have moments of powerful thinking. I wrote about them in my last post. I know what to do, what I need to do, what I want to do. But I let my old pattern of victim thinking and non-activity rule me, thus I don't do these things. This is not how to create the life I want. This is not how to be happy and contented.

I need to continually remind myself to check in on my thinking and self-talk. To do this, I need to have an easy way to remind myself. Wearing a rubber band on my wrist has worked in the past; I don't even need to snap it to encourage behavior/thinking modification. Just wearing it works. But I'm not sure where the ones I had back in Houston are right now. Of course, if I unpacked a few things, I might find them. Or I could ask my housemates if they have any large, wide rubber bands (I like them to be a little bit loose). *grin*

Stuck to Unstuck? My New Journey

Oh, how badly I've been stuck. I've been exhausted. My brain has felt clogged and slow. I've taken naps for hours almost every day. I have done virtually nothing to further my plans or contribute to the household. I have been a lump since arriving in Seattle.

Luckily for me, my hosts have been very understanding of my exhaustion and have asked little of me so far. Friends have supported my need for sleep and rest. It's just been me who has had higher expectations.

I have a comprehensive list of things I need to do: catch up with people online and over the phone; contact professional connections; get in touch with local contracting agencies; join professional organizations and meetups and attend meetings and events; unpack what I brought to the house; and begin revising my novel.

I don't expect myself to do everything every day or all at once. I have date ranges for everything in my list. Of course, I'm behind on probably half the list so far. But maybe that's due to my unreasonable expectations in the face of unexpected setbacks. Like needing to sleep all the time.

I have a long history of overindulging myself. In response to what seemed to me a lifetime of excessive and unreasonable expectations and a lack of understanding of my needs, I began to allow myself to slack off on things, which started small and gradually grew to encompass everything in my life.

Well, I've completely changed my life again and this, too, must change. There are things I want to do and things I need to do and blowing them off is not acceptable to me any longer. Blowing off these things does not lead to the life I want to live. And that's the important point: there is a life I want to live and I have to put in the time and effort to create it. Always before, I've waited for it to happen. No more.

When I was younger, I pursued my life more actively, so I know I can do it. There are many things I did and was when I was younger: I cleaned frequently and regularly; I wrote and drew and painted on virtually a daily basis; I did physical activities that I enjoyed; and I didn't dwell on my mostly solitary state. And I daydreamed. I played. I imagined. Those are important things in anybody's life, but particularly in the life of a creative person.

So I'm going to relearn old good habits and discard current bad ones. I'm going to be healthier in ways that I can enjoy. I'm going to rediscover my true self and let her out of the various boxes and closets where I've hidden her and all her wonderful, brilliant aspects. I'm going to love for love's sake, I'm going to love and value myself, and I'm going to live a full and rich life for as long as I possibly can.

Slow Maelstrom

That silence you've heard for the past week and a half was me resting, sleeping, and surfing on the interwebz. You might have heard some snoring, too, from the sleeping. My mind has kind of been like that empty, static-filled screen you see in the middle of the night on some TV channels.

So I'm here, in the Seattle area, and it's kind of weird. I still feel like I'm visiting, even though I oversaw the movers when they put all my stuff in a storage unit. Part of that is because I'm staying in someone's guest room, I'm sure, and some of it is because those times when I have been here over the last dozen years I have been visiting. I need to change my mental framework.

I'm very glad I'm here. I'm also kind of weirded out by it. Many thoughts and feelings have been swirling around inside of me: happiness, exhaustion, stress, anxiety, surrealism, expectations, trying to not have expectations, positivity, fear, and today I'm having some fibromyalgia pain, which I think is partly a delayed reaction from all the stress I was experiencing just getting ready to move. Everything has been swirling slowly, probably due to the exhaustion, for which I am grateful. I couldn't handle vertigo too right now!

The weather has been quite a bit cooler than I am used to. Colder, really — in the 50s during the day. We had a lot of rain and gray days my first week, but we've been having some simply glorious days recently, with brilliant blue skies, puffy white clouds, spring greens, flowers and flowering trees in all colors. These are the days that almost make you forget about the rain and the gray.

I remember when I first moved to Houston: one of the habits I had to wean myself off from was always taking or wearing a jacket or at least an overshirt with me when I left the apartment. Well, I changed that habit and got very comfortable going outside in just a tank, shorts, and sandals. Now I'm in the position of having to reverse the process! I'm underestimating how much I need to wear to be warm enough, usually by a thin layer (think an undershirt or camisole). And I don't always bring a rain jacket when it looks like rain (which is often). I need more weather-appropriate shoes and probably another jacket or vest or two. My BFF says I can borrow his sweaters until I can buy more of my own, which is nice. I really need an income so I can buy these weather-appropriate clothing items. I'm just hoping that I can make enough of my Houston wardrobe work here in Seattle enough of the time so I don't have to buy an entirely new wardrobe, which is more or less what I did in Houston.

Day 6 (delayed): Arrival! Sigh!

This is just going to be a short post. I'll catch up with my next post. Enough to say that we arrived safely last night after what I consider a crazy-ass fast drive through the rain and the dark. I still have a cramp in my hand from holding onto the door handle ....  :)

I slept until almost 11 this morning, I was that tired. I have to do a few things today, but mostly I'm going to spend the next week or so just lazing around and getting rested. And getting pictures ready for the blog, of course.

That's it for now. I'll update later.

Days 5 and 6: Almost There!

Tonight I am so tired I hurt. I also hurt from being in the car so much. I think my fibromyalgia is playing into both the tired and the hurt.

So I'm not going to write much. 

Yesterday we spent most of the day in Joshua Tree National Park and so didn't get as far as planned. However, tonight we are halfway from last night's hotel to Seattle, so that's good. We've had to put in a little extra time driving, as we will tomorrow, but it will be worth it. I have no idea yet how my pictures from Joshua Tree turned out, but I will share them in the pictures blog post.

Tonight we are in Yreka, CA. For those who don't know, it is pronounced "why-reek-uh". Possibly because there is also a Eureka, CA. We encountered a fair amount of rain and clouds today and tonight we are at almost 3000 feet above sea level and it's in the mid-50s. Brrr! Tomorrow I will be wearing the warmer clothing I packed. No more shorts or thin tee shirts for me for a while!

My body doesn't travel well and it gets all discombobulated. I'm down to eating yogurt for dinner because that's all that sounds good. I felt lucky that there was a crockpot full of oatmeal at breakfast this morning. I felt rather queasy much of today. But I'm feeling better tonight. I am currently in bed with the computer on my legs. I'm going to post this and then probably go to sleep very early.

I am glad we are almost done. I am also extremely grateful that Steve flew down and has been helping me drive my car to Seattle, even if we have wanted to push each other out of the moving car from time to time. I've probably gotten some good pictures here and there and it's been cool seeing things that I haven't seen before, or haven't seen in four years. I'm excited about getting back to Seattle, and I'm looking forward to seeing my "family members". I'm also looking forward to a good and stable internet connection and sharing with y'all pictures from my trip.

Talk to you again soon!

Days 3 and 4: Still Alive — Both of Us!

When last we left our intrepid heroes, they were contemplating doing away with one another. I'm happy to say that hasn't happened. Yet. But it's still on the table.

The first part of yesterday (Monday, Day 3) we spent in the Las Cruces area, in Old Town Mesilla. The buildings, even many of the residences, are either original or reproduction adobe-style, and the center of town has a village square with a Catholic church on one side and shops and restaurants along the other sides and down the side streets.

One thing I've regretted since I drove through New Mexico on my way eastward four years ago was that I didn't buy any turquoise jewelry, particularly that made by locals and nearby Native Americans. So this time I bought a turquoise and silver pendant and a silver chain.

I couldn't believe how much time we spent just walking around the square looking at the shops and occasionally talking to shopkeepers! We had lunch next to the square at an outside cafe and we didn't get back to the room until around 3:30. I was hoping for a nap yesterday, but instead I got kitted out and went to the White Sands National Monument with Steve. He was hoping for some good late-afternoon and early-evening photos of the dunes. (He hasn't looked at them yet to see how he did, so I can't tell you yet.)

I took photos, too, but when the sun was getting low over the mountains and we were walking up the ridge of a dune, I'd had enough. Not only was the ridgeline of the dune triggering my edge phobia, I don't have very good night or dim-light vision, so I knew I'd better get back to the car. So I walked back out to the car and waited until Steve returned from taking sunset photos. Then we drove back to Las Cruces, stopped and picked up some things from a store, and by the time we got to our room it was late (again) and we were exhausted (again). So I didn't even write anything for the blog.

Today (Tuesday, Day 4) bloomed brightly and even though we tried, we still didn't get out of town until 10:30 am. Then we drove onward across New Mexico and Arizona.

We'd planned to stay at a nicer place in Blythe, California, tonight. Unfortunately, we are staying in a not as nice place just outside Blythe, still in Arizona, for two reasons. The first reason is that the Blythe Best Western was booked by the time I got around to making reservations. The second reason is the way this spring-time promotion of BW's is handled. The promotion states: stay three separate times and get one night free! I figured that meant that, since we've stayed at BW hotels three different times before today, that tonight's stay would be free.

Doesn't work that way. You stay three different times during the specified period. Then, a week or two later, you get a coupon in email that is good through June 30. I call shenanigans! The likelihood of my going on another trip before the end of June is low; I imagine it would be for most people who had managed three different stays during the spring! Stoopid corporations!

Today we mostly drove, stopped at rest areas to take walks, and stopped to eat. We did stop at one rest area so Steve could take pictures. The area is called Texas Canyon (it's in New Mexico) and the geological formations are fantastic! The rock is split horizontally and vertically, and sometimes diagonally, and it's all rounded on the edges. I don't know what caused such formations, but they were wonderful to see. When I eventually get some pictures put up, I'll include one of those, too.

By the time we got to Tucson, it was HOT. The weather app on Steve's phone said it was only 76, but I'd say high 80s or even 90.

By the time we got to Phoenix, it was rush hour. We made it through alive.

It was around 7:30 when we arrived at the hotel. The first room we had didn't have a working fridge, and we use our fridges to refreeze the blue ice and to keep other things cold. So they changed us to a different room. The fridge works, and it has a truly separate freezer compartment. The rest of the room is not so good, but we are here and checked in and tired. Steve has problems logging in to the wifi at the BW hotels, so he's informed me that we are staying at a different brand of place tomorrow. I pointed out that for what I'm willing to pay, we aren't going to get great internet access no matter what, but we'll see. He and I are kind of not talking tonight. We'll see how that goes tomorrow, too.

I really want to get more rest, but that isn't possible given our travel needs. So I will rest when we get back to the Seattle area. I may sleep for the entire following week. But that would be just fine with me!

I will get pictures for y'all as soon as I can, but it's possible that won't be until after the trip. If that's the case, I'll just do a couple of posts that are predominantly photos! That should be fun.

So, hoping tomorrow is a good day for us all, I am signing off now. Good night!

Day 2: Long, Hot, and Sweaty

And not in the good way!

We covered West Texas and landed in Las Cruces, New Mexico, tonight, a little after eight o'clock. We'd have been here sooner, but my alarm was set for weekdays only and we didn't actually wake up until almost ten! Luckily for us, check-out was noon!

Thunderstorms were forecast in the Kerrville area and westward and we ran into a doozy! I slowed down from 70 to 55 and had the wipers working overtime. Hailstones were coming down with the torrential rain, and for a few minutes, lightning was cracking every few seconds. Some people actually pulled to the side of the road to wait it out, something I considered doing. Steve called me a wimp. But we survived.

The geology along the first part of the trip was very cool: the highway had simply been cut through the hills, so the layering was completely visible. You could see the horizontal layers left from when Texas was an inland sea, and the occasional areas that had been compressed such that their layers were zigzags, or that had been uplifted such that their layers were more diagonal than horizontal. 

It was hot out and we are not yet using the AC, preferring to have the windows open some instead. Don't know why, because we end up getting overly warm and a bit sweaty. But it uses less gas to drive with the windows open than it does to drive with the AC on: the MythBusters proved it! And when driving at 70-75 most of the time, the gas mileage isn't what it could be. I can't complain really — I'm getting in the high 20s for mpg.

The sunset as we drove through El Paso was gorgeous in reds and pinks. There were several contrails that reflected the setting sun rather spectacularly, almost like fireworks threading through the sky. Unfortunately, the traffic through El Paso was less than gorgeous. Even worse, as we drove north of that city, we passed what must have been stockyards and the stench was unbelievable. Quite the contrast with the brilliant red sunset!

I decided I wanted to stay in the same hotel that I stayed in the last time I was here: a little over four years ago. So I made reservations over the phone while Steve drove. I'm running into higher prices everywhere, but I guess that is just to be expected four years later. But it boosts the cost of the trip back a bit. Just a few moments ago a train passed by. It blew it's horn. A few times. I do not remember that, and I would have remembered being woken by the loud blast of a train's klaxon. I hope we don't get trains like that all night.

The room is every bit as charming as I remember. The hotel is the Mission Inn and everything is done in Spanish Mission style. Behind the beds runs a deep shelf; the top is tiled in cobalt blue tiles. The white ceiling is punctuated by dark wooden beams and the furniture is all a heavy, somewhat rustic wood. 

Today my traveling companion and I fell back into old ways a bit. His idea of fun is to irk me until I almost blow a blood vessel. I react. I know that it spoils his fun if I don't react, or don't react in the way he wants me to, so I'll have to try harder at doing so. Unfortunately, like the boys on the playground in my childhood, ignoring him only makes him try harder. I told him at dinner that if I didn't need him for the drive home, I'd give serious consideration to smothering him in his sleep. This is only Day 2, people. Day 2 of what will probably be seven days, due to a couple of stops we want to make (such as spend tomorrow here so we can go to White Sands). And then I am going to live in the same house as this guy and his much more civilized companion. Cross your fingers that a) we both survive this trip, and b) I find a really fabulous job very quickly.  :)

Well, I am exhausted. I'll post this tomorrow, when I feel like playing with photos and all that. Thanks for the good wishes and I'll talk to you again soon!

***Late addition: Didn't have time to do photos today, or even post until this evening. So now I'm a day late. Crap. Oh well, I'll catch up as I can!

Day 1: Still Friendly

It's the end of our first day of travel and my friend Steve and I are in Kerrville, TX, staying in the same hotel I stayed in when I came east a little over four years ago. It's part of the German part of Texas, about a 6 hour drive from Houston. We took someone's advice and drove through Austin instead of San Antonio; not only did we save some time, we also saw a really cool, bustling college town and had lunch at a great little cafe.

While Steve and I have many differences of opinion and each tend to feel that our opinion is the right one, and while we do bicker a bit, we still enjoy each other's company. At least for a while.  :)  As of tonight, we are still friendly with one another. If I had some kind of gauge gadget, I'd put one up so you could watch it move around as the trip goes on!

We are currently trying to figure out how to see some of the places we've been exhorted to see and yet get home within a reasonable amount of time and without either driving for only u hours or for 10 (breaks not included). And there are a lot of in-between places that have no amenities or even small towns, so there is a lot of checking Google maps for towns and distances and our phone apps for places to stay.

I've gotten everything done except turn off my electricity. I really have to do that now. Last time I didn't and I got dinged quite a bit for electricity used by the next renters.  :(  So tomorrow, while I'm riding shotgun, I'll have to call the electric company and turn off my account.

We got started a day later than expected because I couldn't arrange a cleaner for the day after the movers came. It gave Steve and I the opportunity to see a couple of my friends and to do a lot of last-minute errands, and the next day we fit in quite a bit of stuff before collapsing.  And I found out that I was getting sunburned through the car windows, so I am now using Steve's SPF 50 sunscreen on my arms and the back of my neck, with my 25 SPF moisturizer on my face, neck and chest. I don't seem to have any sunburn today!

We've been eating a lot of desserts. Now we are going to be in a car all day for several more days. We plan to make some stops to see some scenic sites and take some pictures and walk around, but we cannot eat lots of sweets and drive the car and not expect to gain weight. And I really like the weight I've lost, thank you very much. Even if it is from stress! So today I had half of a huge salad before splitting a slice of tiramisu. (I was going to finish the salad tonight, but all I really wanted was a bit of yogurt. My bodily systems don't exactly travel well.)

It's late and I have to go to sleep, so I'm not going to take the time to upload the picture of the little cafe we ate at. I'll upload it tomorrow night, along with a picture of the gorgeous courtyard of our hotel that I will take tomorrow when it's light.

Stay with me. The day after tomorrow, we may visit White Sands, New Mexico and have some lovely pictures from there. And two days after that will be Joshua Tree National Park. So stay tuned and see what we truly end up doing!

Catching Up

Movement and power

It's been a while since I blogged, I know. I just haven't felt like blogging and haven't had much in mind other than moving. I even run out of things to say in therapy that aren't about moving. But my therapist, brilliant as she is, can tease knowledge and learning out of any aspect of my life.

For example, for several weeks, I went in to therapy feeling overwhelmed and stuck, not getting much done and not feeling as if I could get anything done. My therapist pointed out I was feeling like a victim of my feelings and my circumstance and feeling powerless. That I needed to remember I had other options for how to feel and what to do, that I indeed had power over my situation and myself. Then I started to accomplish a few things, and that started me feeling more powerful and like I could get even more done.

My friend Deb has taken on the task of "nudging" me daily to see what I plan to do and what I've done. I seldom do everything on my list, and I continue to take naps that disrupt my day and my flow of activity, but I am accomplishing things and Deb's nudging helps a great deal.

I had my organizer back to help me organize things for the move: pack a few things, sort a lot of things, and get rid of a lot of things to charity. That helped me so much that I can now see how my friend Sierra and I will be able to pack the whole place when she gets here this week to help me (yay!). And I still have things to take to donate; I don't want to take the time to try to sell them. At this point, I'll just wait until Sierra can help me.

A Blog Award!

My friend Delia nominated me for the Liebster Blog Award. Thanks Delia!

I've been nominated for a couple of other awards in the past and always flaked out on doing my part, so I swore I'd do the next one that came along.

The Liebster Award requires the following (which I snagged directly from Delia's post):

1. You must tell 11 things about yourself
2. Answer the questions your nominator gives you.
3. Create 11 questions for the bloggers you nominate.
4. Choose new blogs with fewer than 200 followers and link them to your post.
5. If you're nominated, please leave a comment on this post with the URL of  your Liebster Award post.

I'm going to do what Delia did, to avoid an excessively long post, and say that number 2 fulfills the requirements for number 1, also.

Here goes, my answers to Delia's questions.

1. What is your preferred beverage?

Tea, preferably black tea with a little bit of milk. My favorite tea is Kenilworth Estate Ceylon. Why yes, I am a bit of a tea snob!

2. Are you afraid of any animals?

Um, I'm afraid of many animals. But my fear of dogs has eased and I don't go swimming in the ocean and so am not going to get bitten by a shark. So I would have to say cows. Yes, I am afraid of cows. They are very large and they don't give way if you are walking through a herd of them. They don't even seem to like to give way to cars. Plus, when I stayed at a bed & breakfast in North Wales many years ago, the owner told me how cows with calves are much more aggressive than bulls and she was chased right up to a wall by one (she herself went over the wall).

3. Would you ever go hang-gliding?

I don't think so. I like the idea, but there's nothing to prevent you from dropping like a rock if something goes wrong. At least when I went bungee jumping, I was tethered firmly to the bridge!

4. Country, city, or suburbs?

Suburbs or edge of the city. I like to have neighbors, but not right in my face.

5. What is the easiest way to make you laugh?

Act goofy or surprise me in a happy way.

6. Do you enjoy a good cry?

Not really, even though sometimes I feel better afterward.

7. Are you multi-lingual?

Nope. I know bits and pieces of German and Welsh, as well as many word roots from Latin and Greek, but am not fluent in anything but English.

8. How often do you read for pleasure?

Depends. When I am going through a major reading phase, I'll read every day, sometimes all day long. When I'm stressed like I am for my move right now, I only read maybe once a week or less often. And I generally read a lot more during the winter.

9. Can you do anything crafty (sewing, knitting, woodwork, etc.)?

I crochet fairly well. I draw and paint a little. And a friend is teaching me to knit. I did some wood carving in a class once and did very well. I think that some day I'd like to do more of that.

10. What was the worst thing you've ever tried?

That's a very open question. Do you mean an action, or a situation, or something to eat? I'll say The Zipper, a carnival ride. Almost lost my cookies on that and it wasn't fun in the least.

11. Johnny Depp or Sam Elliot?

Johnny Depp.


Wow, those were some thoughtful questions.

My 11 questions for the people I'm nominating are:

1. If you could go anywhere in the world for a long visit, say three to six months, where would you go?
2. What's your favorite kind of movie to watch?
3. If money were no object, what kind of home would you have?
4. Have you ever wanted to be in movies or on TV?
5. What is your dream job?
6. Do you prefer to wear dresses/skirts or pants?
7. What is your favorite kind of weather?
8. Do you like to work with your hands? If so, doing what?
9. Do you prefer to drive or be driven?
10. What's the weirdest thing you've ever done?
11. Do you prefer to shop at stores, through catalogs, or over the internet?

And, I'm nominating the following three people:

Lora
London Mabel
Nan

Have fun!

As for the rest of you, pick a question from the list and answer it for the fun of it.