The End (of this Blog)

I'm no longer going to post to this blog. It's old. It's stale. Never mind that I haven't posted to it in months because I'm so depressed I can barely get out of bed.

I've started a new blog. I'll give the link here, but I caution you. I'm writing the new blog about what I hope will be a successful journey from where I am now (very bad) to where I hope to be (very good). It will be raw, honest, accurate, and precise. I won't be sugar-coating anything in order to not upset my friends. It won't be sweet and it won't be pretty. Some things I write might piss off or hurt some of my friends because I will state unequivocally that I feel as if I am all alone. 

I'm writing the new blog because I hope it will help me hold onto the remains of myself. I hope that by writing it I will be able to hold myself together until I am  in less of a dark place.

So, feel free to join me if you want. Thanks for sticking with me here.

Bye.

New blog: The Light and the Dark

Lying Under Dark Water

I'm unhappy, desperately so. I'm more than unhappy: I'm sad; I'm depressed; I'm anxious. Like heavy weights chained to me and unrelenting noise piercing my ears.

I'm 53 years old; I can probably get away with looking like I'm in my early 40s. I'm 53 and I've got nothing to show for it. Went to college? Sure. I did do something with my second degree, and eared quite a bit of money for a while, but ow it's all gone. Fifty-three and no savings, no retirement, no home. No family of my own. No books written and published. I'm 53 and I'm living with friends because I have no income and the only reason I'm not living in a shelter is because I have friends who can and will support me financially. It's pathetic.

I can't find lasting work and haven't for many years now.It's come to the point where several people have begun asking if I shouldn't consider an alternate career! I don't have the education or training or experience for anything other than writing and editing; no one uses word processors anymore (the human kind, not the software kind).I don't even know why I can't find lasting work. Is there something wrong with me that I can't perceive?

Maybe everything is wrong with me. Broken. Sick. Non-functional. Incapable. Who else do you know who has spent nearly their entire adult life — 30 years! — in therapy without getting well?!

I hate my life, and I am so terribly disappointed in myself. Sometimes I'm completely disgusted with myself.I don't think I'd want to know me, much less be friends with me.

The only real thing I've ever done, the only thing that matters, was being with my Mom when she had cancer. Fifty-three years, and only two and a half months of it matters. And God! It was only two and a half months!

View from the Shadows

I'm feeling again. My intellectual detachment has faded, unfortunately. I don't like when I feel, because when my feelings come back, they are not the light, but the dark. They are not happiness, contentment, or serenity; they are pain and sadness and despair. I'd rather have the detachment.

Some years ago, as a therapy assignment, I wrote a piece that illustrated how I experienced and perceived the world. It told how I lived in a world of twilight and darkness, looking out onto the world of light, wondering at a world that I didn't live in, a world of beings who didn't see the dark and unsafe things in my world.

"So she built walls and landscapes and castles with high inaccessible towers, and she populated her lands with magical creatures and loving people, but she still yearned and the pain stayed inside her walls, keeping her company.  And even when the walls finally burst and broke and fell, she still had one wall remaining, one quiet hidden prison.  This prison hemmed in her unlovability, the thing you must never admit to, neither to the world nor even to yourself. To admit to it would only make the lovable ones feel uncomfortable, awkward.  As if their worlds were somehow missing something.  As if something important were hidden from them. As if they'd done something wrong."

i my perceptions and experiences haven't changed that much, except that right now, at least, I don't feel I'm in so much darkness as dusk, or perhaps a very flat, gray light that leeches the color, contrast, and depth from the scenery.

I also feel as if I am separated from the people around me by a glass barrier. I can see them; I'm not sure they can see me. But I cannot touch them. I am outside, excluded. Other. When I am detached, this separation is simply something I perceive. When I feel, this separation pains me.

Did I mention that I Don't like to feel?

I'm tired of this. I wonder if I will ever get better (hence the despair). I wonder if I am expending useless effort toward an impossible goal.

That's really all I've got to say right now.

A Tangled Mess

I'm a mess. Much of my life is a mess. I'm spending so much energy distracting myself from my messes that I barely have enough energy left to breathe. I feel like I'm caught  in a mass of tangled yarn.

I'm reading obsessively, including books that I'm not normally interested in, as long as the books are light entertainment. And when I read, I skip over more and more of the text to just get to the main plot points. I'm not taking much enjoyment from the books. Books with greater emotional or mental content get set aside. I just purchased a new Tawna Fenske book and haven't been able to enjoy it. I love Tawna's work, but I'm anticipating the emotional and romantic complications and getting anxious about them. Anxious about fictional characters, people!

I'm not watching any TV series with my housemates anymore. Everything they watch has character arcs: I become invested in the characters and get stressed out when their lives are difficult. In general I've always had difficulty detaching from movies and TV, but it's a lot worse now.

There are people in my life I haven't contacted in months, some of them in over a year, and not because I don't like them. I don't read blogs much at all. I don't know why I've dropped contact with most people: I have no idea how doing so connects with how I'm feeling.

Right now, I'm in the middle of a two-week experiment proposed by my psych. For two weeks, I'm not going to try to go to bed earlier. I've been staying up until 3 am, but wanting to go to bed around 10 pm. I spend mental and emotional energy chastising myself for staying up so late. So for these two weeks, I'm just going to let myself stay up as late as I want to and sleep as late as I want to. No judgements.

As a corollary of this experiment, I'm setting aside all shoulds and should-nots. No judgement. No restrictions. Want to eat ice cream? Sure. As much as I want. Be a slug on the couch? Sure, as usual, but this time no judgements. Do it because I want to.

When I manage to quiet the shoulds and should-nots, I feel less stressed, more peaceful. It does take effort to quiet them. In addition, my housemates do NOT like this experiment. They think it's a bad idea. They disapprove. They disagree with my psych. Even though it's only for two weeks and I wasn't making any progress doing things the other way!

Squish

I gained more insight into my attitudes toward strength, bravery, and resilience this week. It comes down to stress balls and Silly Putty.

I still have difficulties seeing myself as strong, brave, or resilient. For example, throughout my life I have been victimized, bullied, and abused in some way or another. Bullies, predators, and people who need to diminish someone else in order to feel bigger have found me and made it their purpose to squash me. Other children, adults, coworkers, bosses, even friends: people of all sorts have seen me as weaker than them and gone on to prove it.

My fight or flight reflex? Permanently set to flight. When the group of friends I hung out with in my 20s would get too overbearing and downright mean, instead of standing up for myself, I would take a break from them until I felt recovered. One of them even went so far as to tell me I was like a soft, furry bunny — and he didn't mean it as a cute thing but as a nonthreatening prey object. (BTW: I stopped hanging out with those folks regularly in my late 20s.)

Even some of my well-meaning friends have diminished me. Because I ask other people's opinion, many of my friends and even my mother sometimes treated me as if I were unable to make my own decisions, as if I were not quite a responsible adult. Really, because I have been single and lived alone most of my adult life, I like to get second opinions and bounce my own off of other people from time to time. Some of my male friends think of me as delicate or fragile.

Adjustments

Things are changing. Again. The feeling is just as pleasant as it usually is.

The events and situations causing the changes are good: I've been spending my weekends at the home of one of my best friend's and her family, and I've finally found work. Both of these things have an effect on my schedule and routines. Both of these things, because they are changes, cause me some stress. Stress is not always a bad thing.

One set of routines that has changed is my morning routine, which had grown to last until past noon. I woke up, got out of bed, made tea and breakfast, then spent hours reading my selected blogs — those blogs you see listed in the right-hand column. I comment on most of those blogs, too, which also takes a lot of time. And if I have comments on my blog post, I usually respond. That's a lot of time spent on blogs. Oh, and then there is the time I spend revisiting some of the sites to see what other visitors have said.

My first adjustment was that I didn't get online while I was at my friends' house, so I didn't visit my blogs on the weekend. Sometimes I'd catch up with one or two blogs on Sunday evenings, but that has become less frequent.

Next, I've been spending less time on blogs during the week. Today was my first (nearly) full day of work. I get to work at home, but I woke up later than planned and didn't have time to read blogs at all. Now that it's evening, I find myself uninterested in doing so. Perhaps I've become lazy.

I've also been reading books a lot more. I recently started borrowing ebooks from my library and reading them on my iPad. Because I read very quickly, and many of the books I want are available when I want them, I've managed to plow through a couple of writers' entire booklists and I'm working my way through a couple more. This reading has taken time and energy away from reading blogs.

Layers of Defense

My inner self, my core self, sits inside a stone tower within a stone castle behind a moat behind a low stone wall behind a white picket fence behind a low fence of iron pickets with roses growing up the fence.

I used to have a problem with boundaries, in that I had virtually none. This is typical of someone who has been sexually abused as a child. Over the years, I worked hard at developing boundaries. Then, as I continued to be hurt by relationships, rejections, disappointments, and letting too many people in too soon, I began developing protections.

I have a vivid and strong imagination and am good at visualization. Every time I felt hurt, I imagined myself protected by a thick wall. This wall extended out to become a fortified castle, a wide land filled with dangerous creatures, and a series of walls and fences, all with manned gates. The outer fence was too tall to see over and the roses grew huge, sharp thorns and obscured an onlooker's view inside. Eventually, no one could see inside and I couldn't see out. I had become almost completely protected against emotional pain, yet I still hurt because I didn't have close intimate friendships (I had even protected myself from my oldest, closest friends). I still felt alone. But no one could hurt me.

Several years ago, my protective barriers crumbled and broke down completely, leaving me naked and vulnerable. My therapist at the time was stunned by the self that was revealed because she had taken what she'd seen of me as truth: that I was fairly superficial and had solid boundaries. Finally we were able to do deep work. I learned that vulnerability was a strength and that being as protected as I'd made myself actually made it impossible for me to form and maintain the emotionally intimate connections I craved. I agreed to not create such an impenetrable barrier again, but I would still create the layered barriers to remind me to not let everyone in and to let people further in only when I knew I could trust them.

Over the past several years, I've experienced some heartbreaking pain. I've wanted so much to build up those barriers again, wanting to be safe from pain, but I have learned that they won't keep me safe from pain. Nothing can. And I want to be able to experience life fully, which does require being vulnerable to pain.

The Wrong Life

Sometimes in therapy I learn something about myself that seems so new, or I get a brilliant new perspective or I see something I hadn't seen clearly before. I guess that's why going to therapy remains worth it. (Besides that whole life ring while I'm drowning in depression thing, of course.) Moments like that bring into sharp focus how for quite a few years I learned nothing new in therapy.

In my mind, I sometimes try to "re-do" my past, think that I can somehow "fix" things. I know it isn't rational: I'm not going to be able to make my family be alive again or change any of a number of other past traumas. But emotionally I feel as if I can do so if only I do it right.

People define themselves differently. In many places in the world, people define themselves by their place within their community. The Navaho people define themselves by their family connections. LIke the Navaho, so did I. Without my family, I feel cut off, I feel like there are huge gaping holes inside me that nothing can fill.

This is not how my life should be. I wanted to marry and have children: I would have made a terrific wife and mother. I am nurturing and loving and giving. The fact that no one ever wanted to marry me has long made me feel there is something wrong with me. I see so many people who have lifelong relationships, people who don't seem to have the qualities I have, people who are takers or who are high-maintenance, and I have to wonder what is wrong with me that no one wanted what I have to give.

My brother was supposed to be my friend when we grew up. He was supposed to be here with me after our parents died. Our children would have been friends and we would have spent a lot of time together.

Better Living Through (Brain) Chemistry

It took me a long time to accept that I will have to be on medication for my mental health for the rest of my life. At first, I was sure that I only needed it for a little while, until I got control over my moods, until I stopped being depressed or anxious. Then, when my psychs started talking to me more specifically about brain chemistry, I thought maybe I'd just need to be on the right medicine for long enough to "fix" my brain chemistry, then the depression and anxiety would go away.

I now understand and accept that my brain chemistry is messed up, that it has been messed up for most of my life, and that the only thing that can help me develop and maintain some semblance of healthy brain chemistry is medication. Doesn't mean I like it, though. And I'm willing to bet money that the medications I'm on today are not the medications I'll be on five years from now, because for my brain chemistry problems it seems that the scientists haven't even stuck with the same diagnosis for five years, much less the same medications.

Of course, what that means is that I'm probably going to continue to struggle with my brain, that I won't be able to develop a stable balance. I could be wrong. I'd like to be wrong.

I felt virtually perfect that June, before Mom was diagnosed with cancer.

So my psych and I were talking last week and got on the topic of brain chemistry. I was explaining how frustrated I am that I still need weekly therapy after 30 years of therapy, with only about three years total of not being in therapy. And I am frustrated.I just want to be healthy and happy and be able to take care of myself without virtually constant medical oversight or care. Fine, I'll take the meds. But I want to stop being plunged into deep depressions or stabbed by spikes of anxiety. I want to function and function well, all on my own. But I feel a victim of my own brain chemicals.

Seesaw

It's been a bumpy winter. I've had phases of depression so deep I could barely say hello to my housemates and I've slept in until noon or 1 pm virtually every day. There was one day that was the worst I'e had since I checked myself into the hospital over two years ago. But as I am no longer in denial about how my untimely death would affect those who care about me, I am no longer in danger of blithely harming myself.

Then I've had days where I have noticed the sun was shining outside, days where I've spent time with good friends and I've smiled and laughed and felt all would be well. I am in such a mood today. Will it last? I don't know: I never expected the deep depression that has held me hostage for most of the last few months.

Being without work or income is hard on me. So is being dependent. And as much as I care for Griffin and Sabine, it is their house, not mine, and their ways are not my own. I am not made to be so quiet.

One of my best friends and her husband invited me to start spending weekends at their house. Inside their house are they, their teenage daughter, a dog, two cats, and a bunny. In their house are noise, cheesy horror movies, and laughter. They are my tribe. I think that having a break from G&S will be good for me and for them so we can live differently for 2-3 days a week.

When I was getting my hair cut yesterday, my stylist and I spent quite some time talking about what we want to do for a living and how we want to live. She and I want very similar things in how we live and work: flexibility, variety, and freedom. While I will continue to seek work in the high-tech industry, I'm doing so only to keep my net wide so I can find some work, but I've realized that I no longer care about the high-tech sector. I no longer want to document software or internet applications. I want to do something that matters more. And I think that doing something more useful and/or meaningful than documenting things that few people will use and fewer people will read about will make me happier in my life, even if it won't pay as well as writing said documentation.

From a Place of Fear

While lying in bed, trying to make myself get out of bed, I spent some time musing about why I am at such a low place in my life. I have less than $3000 in the bank. I still need to find work. I generally stay in bed until noon or 1. I take a shower about every 5 days or so (I often lose track). I haven't finished my initial read-through on my novel; I read over half of it about a week ago and haven't touched it since. I don't exercise. I don't go for walks. My diet is crap.

Why? I, who have done so many different things in my life and who have made major changes and gone on to success, am stuck and passive. I am afraid. It all comes down to fear.

Detailing each individual fear connected to each individual lack is no longer useful: I believe it's all fused into one solid, darkly shining ball of fear and either it has overwhelmed me past my ability to cope or I have surrendered to it or both. Even that doesn't matter anymore. What matters is that virtually everything I do comes from or passes through a place of fear; fear controls me.

Inside, I want someone to save me. I want someone to take my hand and lead me out of bed early in the morning, lead me through exercise, make sure I eat fruit and vegetables, sit with me while I go through my novel, help me look for work (actually, I want someone to either hand me a job or tell me exactly the right work I should be doing right now), and make sure I go to bed early enough at night.

I don't think I've ever been this passive before in my life, no matter what trials and traumas I've faced. I feel ashamed.

I want to be active. I want to be in control of my own life. I want to make my choices from a positive place. I want to be strong and happy and healthy. I want abundance in all good things. I want to have enough money for all that I need and want, including enough so I can live on my own again, independently and comfortably. This doesn't seem like too much to want.

Change: Life Reboot

Ah, Change, how I love thee! {insert hysterical laughter here}

For all my life I have resisted change. Except that I went back to school when I was 26 to change careers. Except that I sold my house and moved to the Oregon Coast when the dot-com market crashed. Except that I sold most of my stuff and drove off into the wild blue yonder to try my fortunes elsewhere. Except that I tossed it all up in the air again and moved back to Seattle.

Yeah, I haven't loved change, but I have been willing to make major changes when my life has come to a halt on its current track. But my last two major moves seemed to leave me limp and limbless, unable to continue making changes to move my life forward into a new path. So I'm stuck still, geographically changed but not changed in habit or expectation or behavior. Now what?

My friend Mary Stella recently wrote on her blog about doing a "life reboot" that encompassed all the changes she made before, during, and since her bariatric surgery. Her life has changed so completely, and she is happier and healthier than she's been in a long time. My friend Deb has made similarly major changes in her own life over the years, and is leading a productive, happy, healthy life and has finally broken into the fiction market as she's wanted to for some time. Both of these women awe and inspire me. They also support me and cheer me on and remind me that these major changes are built upon smaller and incremental changes: they did not all happen in one fell swoop.

One of my continuing problems has been that I want change to happen in one fell swoop. I moved to Seattle: I should have had a great job within just a few months! I've been in therapy and on meds for some time, and have made major changes in the meds this year: I should be fully functional, happy, and healthy! I've come to have little patience with small, incremental change. I'm tired of waiting. I want results NOW!

Sigh. Yeah, I know. So probably the first small change I need to make, the one upon which to build all the rest of them, is to change my attitude and perspective. I need to accept that I need to start small, partly because I've dropped so low in mood and functionality. I need to accept that big changes — other than the relatively simple ones of selling your stuff and moving hundreds of miles — take time and effort. Dramatic breakthroughs, sudden success — they rarely happen.

I was talking with an acquaintance/casual friend (friend of my housemates) the other day and suddenly realized I've become That Person: the one who has a reason why every suggestion you make won't work for them. I was appalled at myself. I've never before been That Person. That Person has always driven me crazy. But I've become her and I intend to stop being her Right Now.

To really drive home to myself how not to be That Person, I'm going to consider every single thing other people suggest. I may not pursue everything, but I'm at least going to take in and consider everything and if I decide something is not for me, I'm going to have a much better reason than "that won't work for me." ::shudder::

I know from the past several posts I must seem like I'm bouncing on the end of a bungee cord. It feels that way to me (although a really slow one because this most recent bounce downward has been long and a real doozy). But I'm back on the change trek. I don't know if it will do any good for others to remind me of previous posts or any other positive things I've said or experienced, but feel free if you like. At worst, all I can say is "nope, that won't work for me."  :grin:: Or not.

So, off we go again. One, two, three … CTRL+ALT+DELETE!

It's Not Raining

I've heard from my friends that they have been worried about me and I don't blame them. I haven't been this deep in the Abyss for a while. I wondered if I was stuck there for good this time: each time it seems as if it will be forever.

Then Deb and I chatted on IM the other day. Deb supports me, cheers me on, gives me pep talks, and when she feels necessary, gives me come-to-Goddess talks. Using examples from her own life as well as her exquisite personal wisdom, she talked me through a point — out of a bubble? past a barrier? around and over a ledge on a vertical rock face? — and somehow into a better frame of mind.

I am not well, but I am better than I was last week, and that's enough for now. I am standing between rain storms and enjoying the white stratus clouds and wispy blue sky. And I am thinking about Deb's description of how to get out of the Abyss: a spoonful of dirt at a time.

I saw my psych on Wednesday. I wish I could see her every week, but because she is not covered by my new insurance I have to pay her myself so I've backed down to every other week. She liked the "spoonful of dirt" analogy and nodded her head sympathetically when I told her I was hoping it would be more like a dramatic breakthrough.

Michele gave me three things to do:

1. Engage with myself. When I am distracting myself or escaping, as in playing a game or reading in lieu of being aware or acting, re-engage in the moment and really be there. Don't escape. Don't distract.
2. What do I need? What do I want? I am very clear about what I don't need or want — I tell myself and others all the time. I don't want to keep living with my friends. I don't want to work on the Eastside. I don't want to change careers. In fiction, those are all considered "negative goals" and considered poor goals to set for your character. It's better to have positive goals, something to move toward rather than something to move away from.
3. I forgot. Of course this one is getting away from me. I'll remember it. Eventually.

Epic

Gods, I'm still swimming through murk. Maybe I need to write or immerse myself in an epic fantasy where the heroine has to fight her way through unbelievable darkness before breaking into and winning the light. I am still in Mirkwood, or Mordor or something. I don't have a magical ring or a fellowship or a Gandalf. All I have is my little, barely functioning, broken self. I do have friends, but they aren't on this journey with me and I don't know how they can help.

What tools do I have? My ability to write: this blog, my novel, my journal, anything else that comes to mind. My ability to draw: sketch, color, illustrate whatever I see or think of. Cognitive therapy skills: I'm not sure how to use them on this, but this uncertainty could simply be a symptom of the depression, not letting me see how to use a powerful tool. Exercise: which I haven't been doing but which could change my brain chemistry at least for 15 minutes at a time. Medication: I really don't want to meddle with my meds right now.

What other resources do I have? I'm persistent like a kid sister. I'm brave, when I remember to be or don't notice. I'm stronger than I think. I'm smart, or used to be at any rate. I'm imaginative, creative, and articulate, which are the swords that cut in both directions. I have an intelligent and creative therapist. I have a stable home.

What are my hindrances? Years of being depressed and anxious. Years of being sedentary to the point of motionlessness. The helplessness that comes from long-term unemployment. Lethargy. Fear. Crumbling self-confidence. Years of giving in to the depression, lethargy, and shyness. The habit of hiding. I'm so the broken hero!

In an epic, I'd have to overcome all my personal hindrances, while battling the monsters as well, to get through the dark places and win the day. The unemployment is like the thousand-foot cataract: I have no control over the people who decide whether or not to pursue me after reading my resume. I can try to paddle to shore before the water falls over the cliff; I can grab onto a passing giant bird; I can hastily manufacture a parachute. Or I can simply go over the edge in my bark canoe and hope I don't drown or smash against the rocks at the bottom.

I like metaphors. I know this sort of thing doesn't work for everyone, but my imagination has in the past helped me through difficulties in my life. Maybe my not using it much for too many years has contributed to this morass I currently inhabit.

Perhaps I have my magic sword, my wand, my string of charms, my book of spells. Now I just need to figure out how to use it, whatever it is.

Damn, Damn, Damn Depression!

I'm sunk in the stupid pit again. Why? Hell if I know. And it's not just depression, although that is an overriding emotion. I'm crabby and antisocial. I'm terrifically stressed and anxious, to the tune of taking an extra 1 mg of Xanax each of the last two days. (So far today I haven't taken any extra.) I took a four-hour nap yesterday and still slept for 9.5 hours last night … and still didn't want to get up this morning.

I'm really tired of being "the sick one", the one people have to ask "how are you doing today?" I have no idea what I'm doing wrong or what I'm not doing right that keeps dumping me back into this debilitating space. "Functional" might as well be at the top of the highest glacier on Mt. Rainier, it seems to impossible to reach.

You can't get there from here.

I'm trying. But I've been sleeping so late (thanks to this great melatonin-based supplement my psych recommended) that I feel if I don't get up NOW then the day is fucking OVER, so I haven't been journaling or trying to meditate or visualize. And when I do try to meditate or visualize, I haven't been able to achieve the levels I was at back before I tried the Abilify (which I've been off of all this month).

In therapy yesterday, Michele asked why I feel I have to get up and start my day as soon as I wake up. What will happen if I put it off for another half an hour while I journal or meditate or something? If I stay in bed even later, I feel as if the entire day is over, wasted. I feel like a complete failure for the day. I feel judged and judging.

We also talked about writing. And drawing. About how I used to do them all the time virtually every day, from the time I was quite young. How somewhere in my 20s, I stopped doing them much and they became fraught with difficulties and issues. And yet, I need to do them. Writing and drawing are parts of me that need attention. When I do them I feel better. I feel like myself.

Write a Memoir? Me?

Yesterday at brunch, a good friend suggested I write a memoir about all the changes I've made in my life (and some that were made for me). She said that most people don't and won't make the large changes I've made (moving places without knowing what I was going to do once I got there, moving without knowing where I was moving to) and don't take the risks I've taken. The idea sounded crazy to me, but she was persuasive, so the idea has been rattling around in my mind like a marble in a can.

But how interesting would it be? I don't even have an "and I've been so successful, have done so many wonderful things, have a job I love, etc., etc., etc.," ending for the memoir. All I can imagine is someone reading this story and saying "See? You take all those risks and end up living in a bedroom in someone else's house while all your stuff is in storage and your bank account is starting to sound like a sucking chest wound." I mean, I can always hope that by the time I came to the end of the story I'd actually have some sort of success story to end with.

One good thing I can think of that could come out of writing it is that I'd have to take a step back and look at my life differently. I'd have to own some part of being brave enough to do these things. I'd have to own up to being strong enough to get through my mother's death and aftermath. I'd have to see my life as something more than the train wreck I currently think it is.

But could I? Isn't my life rather a train wreck?

Unlike people like The Bloggess, I don't write a public blog. I don't want to share the details that I share with you with the whole world, in part because I don't want potential clients and employers to see this side of me. I don't think I'd get hired if they did.

A memoir would be different from this blog. This blog is about journaling and processing and therapy. It's uncensored, stream-of-consciousness writing with very little editing. It's long and rambling and sometimes barely has a point. A memoir would have to be different.

So the marble is rolling around and around in the empty tin can that is my mind. I may put some words on paper to see if anything happens. I'm open to suggestions and feedback. Do any of you really think the past 12–15 years of my life are memoir-worthy? (I moved from Seattle to the Oregon Coast in 2001, which is why I'm going back that far.)

How Do You Do?

Doing: it's what I'm not and haven't been for a long while. I used to, a lot, and I need to again. I've just got to get over this speed bump that looms like a twenty-foot granite wall. I just need a way over. Or around.

I have a sign saying "Action" on my bathroom mirror, per the instructions of my good friend Bob. Most mornings I am now getting at least pretend-dressed (yoga pants and a sweater) before I come downstairs. And some days I even put on regular shoes to help put me in the mindset of activity, per another good friend.

I'm still mostly inert.

I did go for a walk around the neighborhood with the housemates today. It took Griffin to push us into it. I used to be able to push myself. Hell, oftentimes a walk would simply sing its siren song and I'd feel compelled to follow, to walk along the verge or the walking path to a park or a school or simply around the neighborhood. When did I become so solidly still? How did I turn to stone?

I think it mostly started with a devastating depression in my mid-30s that just about cut me off at the knees. With help, I clambered out of that hole and began working my way up to full functioning. Then, in 2000, I was hit with a bad case of vertigo of unknown origin (also known as "idiopathic") that allowed me to work only 20 hours a week or so. (Insurance did not accept anything my rack of doctors said and declared me "not disabled" — stupid things.) While I did that work, I also attended a program in scientific illustration. That's all I was able to do (including my homework); the rest of the time I was stuck on the couch, exhausted from feeling like I was always in motion.

Again, I eventually got over the vertigo (after about 18 months). I had moved to the beach by the time it passed and I started walking on the beach most days. I found work and walked around the estuary at our work campus most days. I still walked on the beach. When I moved to Houston, I walked in the park. When I was on the road, I walked whenever I could.

Baby Steps, 3, The Null Day

So no baby steps happened yesterday. Instead, I pretty much pulled in the sidewalks and shut the curtains. It was the anniversary of my little brother's death — a long, long time ago, but it still gets me, no matter what I do. I pretty much just felt sad about that and about life in general and super anxious about the still not job thing.

I stayed up very late, trying to avoid going to bed (why? because sleep certainly is a great way to lose yourself), I woke up a few times, then today I chose to go back to sleep and slept until 1:30 pm. I don't really expect any baby steps today. Maybe I'll take a quick turn around the yard for some (really gray) sunlight.

That's all there is to say for now.

Baby Steps, 2

Today's baby steps were hampered by the fact that I woke up groggy and the grogginess lasted all day. I got 5.5 hours of sleep, broken, and had taken 2 of the melatonin supplement pills instead of one because I was afraid I'd missed the sleep window. I should have trusted the first pill. I was so groggy later, even after a nap, that i didn't feel safe driving to the professional meeting, which made me feel bad.

What I did do:

• Spent two hours updating my resume on the national Society for Technical Communications site. Given we are a bunch of techies, or we at least know a bunch of techies, you'd think that uploading a resume would simply populate the information fields in a database. Other companies manage it. But no, I uploaded a resume AND had to enter information in all the personal info and employment fields. That's why it took two hours.
• Re-did my nails because the polish was trashed and I can't look professional with trashed nail polish.

I found no jobs to apply for, unfortunately. Yes, my stress level is way up about finding work. Why do you ask? Scared as hell, actually. Wondering what I'm doing wrong or not doing right. And what with getting up late (due to the poor sleep) and then taking a nap so I'd be awake for the meeting I didn't go to, there was no walkies. But no nap today so I expect walkies at some point.

I also worked on my self-talk. When it came up with disappointed, I channeled it away from "disappointed in me" to "disappointed in the situation". I worked on trying to apologize less. It seems all the great work I did with Karen in Houston has slid away, but I'm sure it's there and just needs to be uncovered again.

So that was my day. I did stuff. I worked on self-talk. Good things. Without qualifiers, even if they keep popping up in my mind.  :)

Baby Steps, 1

Per a suggestion by Susanne, a regular reader and commenter on my blog, I am posting what steps I made on a daily basis for a little bit, to be interspersed with blogs of a heftier sort if and when necessary.

As I am also trying to think less and do more, I am going to try to focus on the action and the functional rather than the what and why. Sometimes I feel like a self-centered brat, always moaning and going on about my problems. But when I presented this perspective a some friends last night, one of them has already responded with a totally different perspective of me as one who is brave and committed to healing and willing to face and talk about my crap and stuff. She doesn't see me the same why I've been seeing me, not even close. That actually makes me feel better.

So, without further ado, I present yesterday's baby steps.

1. Took a short walk with Sabine. It was around the center circle of the neighborhood, so it wasn't that long but the way back required climbing a pretty good hill for about half the walk. It took 10+ minutes and we were both out of breath (oh so horribly out of shape!).
2. Assembled steel-cut oats for slow-cooking to be eaten this morning. (Unfortunately, Griffin didn't turn it on last night and I'm not sure how quickly they will cook on high this morning.)
3. Turned off computer by 9. Didn't start surfing or Pinterest in iPad. Used it for music and found that my good earbuds fit, which made me ecstatic. My good earbuds are Ultimate Ears, which I got 6 years ago, when I bought my MacBook and my iRiver Clix2 mp3 player. Both player and earbuds were most highly rated for sound quality and usability and they rock. Plugging my earbuds into the iPad after having downloaded all my music to it, then listening to the music and hear the full range of sounds, from subtle based to solid midtones and crystal clear high notes just blissed me out as I listened to the end of a playlist before bed.
4. Took a melatonin supplement and got into bed by midnight. Might have made the sleep window but reflux/acidic stomach interfered and I eventually took the 2nd pill. I'm feeling groggy this morning (but then, sleep was still broken and I got 5 1/2 hours of sleep total, but the potential is there). So I tried and will continue trying on that front.

So that's the scoop for yesterday. Tonight I am scheduled to attend a professional meeting (networking, dinner, presentation, more networking). I will NOT allow myself to skip out on it just because I "don't feel like it." Not this time. I am sick of being unemployed (or underemployed) and living in my friends' house in a bedroom. I need my own place. Now. And I need to get out on my own more.

I'm glad I accomplished what I did. I'm disappointed in that it was little. I got very little sleep the night before and didn't get ready very early. More like in the afternoon. Then there was little time to do things. Today I was up a little earlier but as mentioned before am quite groggy (on melatonin but insufficient sleep perhaps?) and my breakfast isn't ready so I'm a bit cranky. While I'm trying to avoid naps in order to be more ready to sleep, today I may make an exception just so I'll be bright-eyed and bush-tailed for the meeting tonight.

That's the news so far today. Thanks, Susanne. This is a great way to keep track and take note.

That's it for

So What's Been Goin' On?

Well, I've been thinking. I've been zoning out. I've been getting very few  hours of sleep a night — still — and wondering why. And the past couple of days I've been playing with the cool new toy Sabine bought me: an iPad mini. She said we all needed tablets, so she bought Griffin an android tablet of his choice and now she's seeing what about each of ours she likes so she can decide among all the choices for herself.

I also applied for six jobs yesterday. They say you need to apply for 100 jobs to find one. If I do, say, 5 a day for the rest of the month, I'll be set! Of course, I missed today. And I get very distracted by my housemates sometimes, especially since Sabine has retired.

I made a schedule of my daily routine needs. It will work, if I can get to sleep by 11, stay asleep all night, and get up at 7. Big 'ifs'.

My creativity seems to be in the bottom of the sink right now. I've been crocheting my brains out and showing some creativity there, but then I look at stuff people have made up that's on Pinterest or Ravelry and think "why don't I do that? I'm so dull!" The crocheting has left no time for other creative work (writing, drawing) or reading. But it is satisfying because I am creating tangible, useful, beautiful things for other people and that is one of my languages of love. Actually, two I guess: gifts and service.

I talked with my therapist about the rebound effect I experienced for the couple of days following my last post. We talked a bit about it being one of my patterns and how it seems related to how I withdraw after feeling a strong emotion — for example, after I have a cry or even a big emotional event, I then pull back and am distant and detached for a while, hours to days. I think maybe that's what I've supposed to have been thinking about and working on since Wednesday, but I forgot and it's upstairs in my journal and I don't feel like going up and checking it out. Right now I'm not feeling amazing and I don't feel like I'm doing Great Things, but I at least still believe I am and I can, even if not right now.

Amazing, aka Great Things

[Note: I don't normally put another post up so quickly after a big post like yesterday's, but this one needs to go up and I don't want to wait. And there are lots of italics and all caps, so be warned. And yes, others have told me; I had to see it myself.]

Finding treasures comes from looking

This journaling-in-the-morning thing is so cool! This morning I woke up after 6 hours or a little more and decided to write for a bit before going back to sleep. I didn't end up going back to sleep. The journaling brought me to such an amazing place.

At first, all I could think of writing about was the changes in my medications. That led to thoughts about managing my brain chemistry and a wonderful vision of an orange-robed monk on top of a terrifyingly high, narrow cliff. He was sitting cross-legged, his hands dangling loosely over his knees, his eyes closed, and a wide, serene smile on his face. Every line of his body and face spoke of serenity and peace. And while I know that it's easier to achieve such things when you are not in the world, certainly exceptional people like the Dalai Lama and Thich Naht Hanh are able to be serene and peaceful while interacting with the world at large. I figure I should be able to achieve some level of serenity and peace and have in fact achieved them at times in my life. I want them again.

So I explored what might help me manage my brain chemistry other than drugs: meditation, exercise, visualizing happy things, visualizing actually changing the chemistry. Diet would probably help, too: Sabine read something about how anti-inflammatory diets can reduce depression in women by a significant amount (30%? 40%?), or in a significant amount of women. Today she began researching such diets and ran across articles about a local woman who has developed such a diet and who gives classes about the diet. Honestly, the classes seem to be long-drawn out lectures, one a week for five weeks, explaining the science behind the diet. Given that she's also written a book, I'm pretty sure we will be able to get everything we need out of the book, without paying the $180 per person to take the class. And, basically, it's just another version of the Mediterranean diet, so it's just another reminder of what healthy eating consists of.

Turn Around and Walk Forward

Caution: A long post with complex sentence structure, complicated punctuation, and many, many different metaphors. Not for the faint-hearted.

The best path isn't always the straightest

That's my motto for the year. The last post was all about traumas of the past and how they have affected me and my life. Within the gentle and supportive comments ran a particular thread: perhaps I need to simply accept my past and look to the present and future.

This is not the first time this concept has been suggested to me. A previous therapist became quite frustrated with me for continuing to talk about the past. A couple of friends have suggested that I cling to the past — suggested with increasing frustration and decreasing gentleness. I appreciate the gentle directness of my commenters.

It's true: I do cling to and look to the past. When I was talking to my therapist on Tuesday of this week, I had this vivid flash of me walking backward, taking my cues on which way to turn from what I saw before my eyes. That way leads to missteps and even falling off cliffs. It was a powerful and stirring image. I resolved right then to turn around and use my present, and my visions and desires, to guide me into the future.

Of course, I asked Michele her opinion of, well, everything. What I said in the blog. The idea that I cling to and pay too much attention to the past. Some other stuff. It frustrated me that she didn't respond directly and completely refrained from answering my questions. I'm probably going to push her on that next week.

However, it is ultimately me who has the choice and power to turn around and move forward. I chose the term "walk forward" to indicate activity; I have been almost completely motionless since Mom died, and that was almost three and a half years ago; I wonder how many years that has taken off my life? So "walk forward" tells me to move my body and to participate in my life much more actively than I have been. "Look forward" would have been way too passive.