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.

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.

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.)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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*

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.

Cognitive Slips, Mozambique Epiphanies, and My Nose

It's been a rather full week here in Skye World. I'm currently sitting on the couch with bandages on my nose and behind my ear and with thoughts buzzing and whirling around in my head like so many hummingbirds and butterflies.

On Monday, my therapist and I talked about my last post, about having the blues and just being down. She said my "cognitive slip" was showing. Basically, the tone of my post was one of powerlessness, as if I had no options but to feel depressed and oppressed and anxious. I wasn't using my cognitive skills to look at my situation differently or to see options. For example, instead of being depressed and staying depressed over the darkness of the weather and feeling like I was living in a cave, I could have acknowledged that I felt low but that I could then change it. I could have watched funny movies on Netflix. I could have taken on a project (and I have plenty of those) to turn my mind in a different direction. I could have blessed the rain for helping Houston against the drought. So I need to work more on my cognitive skills.

Then I was stressing about the decision whether to stay in Houston or move back to Seattle. There are pluses and minuses on both sides. I've gotten a lot of input from a variety of people about it. Then I was offered a full-time job by the people I did work for at the end of 2011 and the beginning of 2012. Right then I realized that I'd rather move to Seattle. Then I was offered a contract from that company to work on a job that would require me to work and live in Mozambique for 28 days, then leave and let another writer be there for 28 days, then I'd go back and so on for 6 months or more, and I could live in Seattle if I wanted. I even said yes because it seemed ideal.

Then the anxiety set in. And the stress. I was already still stressing from my cognitive slip and from my upcoming skin cancer surgery. Did I really want to travel to and from Africa and live there for a month at a time? Was it safe? Could I handle it? My cognitive slip got worse. But some of my friends talked to me and gave me their opinions and advice, which actually helped me focus on what was causing me so much anxiety. I realized that I'm not yet to a level where I could handle something like the Mozambique job, for a whole lot of reasons. But I can handle finding work in Seattle and moving there. Mozambique helped me see where I am with my mental health work and how much I still need to do. Luckily for me, the company was very understanding when I told them I didn't want that job, and they are even going to keep me in mind for projects I could do while I'm looking for work in Seattle.

Stumbling on the Road

So my January 1 post was positive and optimistic and forward-looking. That's a very good thing. Unfortunately, I have not been positive and optimistic. Since I've gotten home from my trip to Seattle, I've been kind of depressed, kind of blue.

At first I thought it was just the fatigue that comes from traveling and being with people 24/7, but it hasn't gone away. My sleep is messed up. I've only exercised once (although I think I overdid it and I still am very sore from it). I'm not eating well. And I'm not doing anything but surfing the web and going to appointments and doing necessary errands.

So I pondered what could be causing it. Well, it's been gray at home since I've been back, and cold, and rainy for much of it. It was that way in Seattle, too, but there my friends had lots of windows so that even gray light seemed like light. And I didn't even have my light box. At home, I live in a cave for all intents. I live on the first floor and cannot open my blinds all the way because then people could see in. If it's sunny outside, I can at least turn the blinds all the way so the light comes in and no one can see in because it's darker inside than outside. But on gray days I have all my lights on and it's lighter inside than outside so it would be just like being in a fish bowl. So I don't have windows letting in the natural, if gray, light.

I miss my friends in Seattle. I remind myself that I would not be living with any of them if I moved up there, but I would see them with some regularity and frequency (but not every weekend, most likely). And here I have only seen the people in my apartment office, briefly, the people at the dermatological surgeons' office, and my psych, briefly. And the brief contact with the people at the pharmacy and grocery store. No real connections.

Being home, reality sets in. I am still unemployed and I feel rather listless and unmotivated about looking for work given how unsuccessful I've been. I feel more motivated (slightly) about looking for work in Seattle. I've got to write that manual for my volunteer thing but I'm unmotivated because I find myself not caring as much. I haven't been treated the same since my 2011 breakdown. Plus, I totally forgot to do an editing project for them: I blame my worry about the skin cancer possibilities because it was for that week. So I'm going to sit myself down for a couple of days and write the damned thing and get it out for review.

The Hard Ones

Nope, this post is not by Tawna Fenske and I haven't taken to writing innuendo on my blog (although if I had her mind and her talent I totally would).

This post is about the hard decisions and how to make them. It's specifically about one decision that has come to completely occupy my mind.

I've become more and more compelled lately to consider whether to stay in Houston or move back to Seattle. There are so many things to consider and the two places are so different that trying to decide how to decide has been making me crazy. So I brought it up in therapy today.

I've been considering this decision casually for much of the year, but wasn't serious because my therapy and my therapist have been too important to me to let go. But as I have begun meeting goals and getting increasingly more healthy, the decision has begun to take on weight.

One of what I consider the downsides to being single is when I have to or choose to make big decisions. I like being able to choose a paint color for a room on my own, but it would be nice to have someone to share in the big decisions, someone who had a stake in the decision, someone to bounce ideas back and forth with, and someone for backup. A decision like where to live is huge and hard to make on my own. So I think it will be a topic of conversation in therapy, as well as how to make big decisions in general, for the next several sessions (which won't start again until January).

Just to start with, my therapist proposed I start thinking about what nourishes me most. Is it sunlight and warmth, or is it relationships? Can I adapt to the cold and dark again to be close to good friends, or can I live with the possibility of not having such close friends where I live yet can grow citrus trees in my backyard, when I get a backyard? Either place I live, I will need more friends and will have to approach finding them intentionally. I do have some good friends up north, but they cannot do it all for me; I'll need a few more to meet my socialization needs, but the ones I find in the north can be more casual types of friends while down here in Houston I'd still be looking for close friends with whom I can spend significant time together.

I think I've had a bit more focused anxiety worrying over wanting to make this decision. I have a stomach ache and have had one since we started talking about it in therapy. But I need to remind myself of what my therapist said at the end of the session. Whichever place I choose, I'll be able to adapt and be happy. I have developed my center within myself, and contentment with myself outside of what my environment is like. So this decision isn't a matter of which place is the "right" place for me; neither is a right decision or a wrong decision. 

Whichever place I choose to live in, I will be fine and content. I will be at home.

Friends of a Feather

On my previous post, a couple of commenters talked about how there are different kinds and levels of friendships. Another commenter talked about how some of her friends were not what she expected. Those comments got me thinking about expectations I have had for friends in the past and that I have now.

For example, I do tend to stay away from the extremely outgoing extroverts as friends. I have had a couple of friends like that and the friendships weren't as deep as I wanted; when my situation changed and I wasn't able to be where those friends were, they stopped being friends. Yet, we had fun when we were together. And what's wrong with having some friendships that aren't deep? Do all of one's friendships have to be strongly emotionally intimate? I hate to use the words "shallower' or "more superficial" because they carry negative connotations, but what's wrong with friendships that are just fun and only a few inches deep? Perhaps I imbued those friendships with attributes they just weren't capable of having.

The people I'm used to having as friends are introverts with a background in reading science fiction and fantasy or playing role-playing games, but not the folks who like to live it such as the LARPers (Live-Action Role Players) or who spend all their free time in the Society for Creative Anachronism. People who were moderate in their love of the non-conformist and the out of this world. People like me, in other words. So I am guilty of dismissing many people as possible friends. In my defense, I have friends who do not fulfill all those aspects and have a couple of good friends who fulfill none of them. 

On Making Friends

Today in therapy, we were congratulating me on the strides I've made in my cognitive therapy: developing my center and a sense of home in myself; becoming comfortable and content with the way my life is, even though I would rather it be less solitary; basically developing more of an internal locus of control rather than external.

Then I asked my therapist, "What next? Go back and do some trauma work?" She was curious why I felt I need trauma work rather than to continue with cognitive work. 

"Where in your life do you feel that past traumas are holding you back?"

That was a good question. We talked about that for a bit, then I came up with my problems with making connections: both friendship and romantic. Since I've lived in Houston, I've had two friendships go ballistic on me (and had to go to other friends to get reality checks to make sure I wasn't the crazy one in each situation), one dropped off the radar, and one has had very good reasons to be scarce. But in my past, I've watched as other people made workplace friendships that developed past the workplace and I saw people make love matches that eluded me. I've developed the expectation, I told my therapist, that either I won't make any connections or the ones I do make will end very badly. (I have one good friend I made via work and who has remained a good friend for over 25 years.) I feel I'm so poor at making friends I might as well start making them out of Sculpy.

There is good reason for me to think that traumas have affected my ability to make intimate and lasting connections. But it's also possible that my expectations, based as they are upon experience, have twisted my beliefs and self-talk about friendships and romantic relationships. So far, we are doing quite well with the cognitive stuff, so why not keep going on that, my therapist suggested. 

Progressive Thinking

I'm making progress! My therapist sat there this week and told me what a delight it was to watch me change how I was speaking about something, midstream, from using passive or victim-like language to strong and rational language. And how she'd been seeing this more and more the last several sessions.

We talked in our last session about how to break myself from identifying with depression and anxiety, something I do because I've dealt with them for so long they seem like something I just am. Well, I am not depression and I am not anxiety and I'm going to approach them the way I approach the fibromyalgia, starting with changing from saying my depression or my anxiety to the depression and the anxiety. None of them are me, none of them are who I am, they are simply disorders or illnesses or enemies that I struggle with, that try to keep me from being the energetic, creative, active person I truly am. I am now externalizing them rather than internalizing them.

Who would think that a small word change like using 'the' instead of 'my' would make a difference? But it does. How's this for an example? My depression makes me tired and sleepy versus The depression causes me to feel tired and sleepy. Using 'the' distances the depression from me, which cognitively allows me to add the extra words in the second sentence because they enhance the sense of distance. And if I only feel tired and sleepy, I don't have to give in to the feeling.

There is also the power aspect. As my therapist put it, the depression and the anxiety are the enemy and I have more power to fight them when they aren't part of me. My anxiety can control me; it's in charge and it's big. The anxiety is just a thing I experience and I, as I am learning to manage my emotions, am developing the ability to choose how I respond to it. 

It's freedom and it's in reach. Instead of being controlled by how I feel, I am learning to control what I choose to do in response to how I feel. The SOS Help for Emotions book says "manage your emotions or they will manage you." And I'm learning how to do that.

I've always before not done something if I didn't feel like it or done something else because I did feel like it, but always how I felt determined what I did. I basically knew that wasn't really the best way to do things, but that didn't change how I did what I did. Now I have very real proof that I not only don't have to live that way, there is a better way to live and I can do it. I'm still having difficulties with doing things I don't feel like doing, but as I'm making progress with my thinking, I'm making progress with my speaking. Next I'll be making progress with my behaving. And that's what cognitive-behavioral therapy is about.

"I think therefore I am" may be enough for some people, but for me, I think I'll choose "I think therefore I do."