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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Why I Don't Return There

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stuck to Unstuck? My New Journey

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Stumbling Again

I spent most of last week in my pjs, without showering, watching Phineas and Ferb cartoons on Netflix. I felt anxious and overwhelmed and failing and all I wanted to do was escape and distract myself. So I did.

Then I had therapy. I had great difficulty even articulating my thoughts and feelings to my wonderful therapist. She was bewildered by the fact that I was succumbing in ways I haven't in months, seeming to have lost the progress she's seen me make.

I really wasn't feeling good.

But my therapist and I talked about how I have moved many times, always successfully. We talked about how I have the skills to overcome this feeling of being a victim of my emotions and thoughts, and of feeling smaller than my circumstances.

In addition, Deb and Sierra are participating by holding me accountable and checking in with me every day or two. And giving me pep talks and suggestions. My BFF says he'll help remind me that I can do this and have done it many times. 

I basically need all the cheerleading I can get because my confidence collapsed big time, another thing that baffled my therapist. But I think I know partially why. This is my first move where there wasn't this background safety net of my mother, and the first where there is literally no one here to come help me from time to time. So until I get Sierra down here near the end to help me with the final major packing, it's all on me. I'm still not strong in the "depend upon only myself" department. I suppose that this move will help me with that.

Holiday Quiet

I'm in the living room at my friend's house and it's almost entirely silent. Girl child went to a friend's house. Boy child and dad went to boy child's bagpipe lesson. Mom is taking a nap. And the animals appear to be napping as well. I feel entirely alone and at peace with the lit Christmas tree and the mantel lights and the Santas and nutcrackers and snowmen.

It's been a wonderful holiday so far. Knowing that I am wanted makes me light up inside, even though I am tired (my hips hit right at the middle bar on the cot and I am unused to being around people 24/7). It's gray outside and quite cold and has rained off and on, but I'm handling it. (The silk long underwear helps a lot!)

It is nice being in places that are familiar and knowing that I could get around on my own fairly easily (in spite of all the changes here and there over the past 12 1/2 years). 

The fact that it's in the 70s in Houston is a nice thought, but the extreme heat started there so early this year and has continued so late. I stayed indoors much of this past year because of stress and because I was afraid the weather would hurt me. 

I have been afraid that the local cold weather would hurt me, too, but today, with my silks on underneath my jeans and my thin fleece pullover, with wool-blend socks on my feet and my wool winter coat covering me from shoulder to mid-thigh, with my gloves on my hands, I managed a family walk down the hill to Starbucks and the walk back up the hill and was actually feeling warm before we got to the house. So the cold weather has made me feel cold when I was slightly underdressed, but it has not hurt me. (But I might feel differently if it were snowy or icy.)

I'm feeling peaceful right now. I don't feel the need to make any decisions or to rationalize any potential decisions to myself or others. I am simply relaxing on the couch, drinking hot tea with milk, and typing on my laptop.

I have been having so much fun, have been talking and laughing a great deal, and have listened and observed, all with great joy and contentment. Now I feel the contentment of the peace and quiet of this lull in the holiday and my visit.

Regarding thoughts of moving to Seattle, my friends have assured me they would have or make time for me in their lives. They miss me and would love to have me move back here, as long as I was happy. This is very comforting. I still have a lot of thinking to do, and a lot of research into jobs and rents etc., and a lot of talking with my therapist. But I feel better able to be able to judge the Seattle side of the equation.

Now I think I'm going to watch the lights of the tree and feel the warmth of the encompassing happiness my hosts have shown over having me share this holiday with them.

I hope your holidays were joyous and warm as well.

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.

But What Do I Want?

What do I want from friends and friendship, in general and in specific? That could tell me what I feel I'm missing in my life, and it could inform my casual search for friends. (I don't intend to make an impassioned, active search for friends right now, partly because it sounds kinda scary and stalkerish and partly because it sounds like it would involve the part of me that probably scared off potential friends in the past.)

I already have some of what I want; I'm just listing all my wants, even if I have some of them. And hopefully there is or will be overlap among these friends.

• I want close friends with whom I can talk about anything and everything. Someone to share the good and bad times with. Someone I could cry on (and let me tell you, I don't cry in front of people easily) and who would cry on me if necessary.


• I want friends to do things with, to have fun with. Someone to go to a museum or the zoo with, someone to play card games and board games with, even the twisted games like Cards Against Humanity. Friends who have time for me and like to spend time with me.


• I want friends who get my sense of humor and at least some of my references, including the role-playing-game and H.P. Lovecraft references. I make jokes that include these things with some frequency and it would be nice to not get the blank look. I want friends who will sincerely laugh at my jokes.


• I want friends who will accept the less-acceptable side of me, the side that I don't talk about even on this blog, the darker side of me, I guess.


• I want a two-way street: give and take in both directions. Friends who will let me do things for them when they need it and who will do things for me when I need it.

That seems pretty comprehensive to me. Isn't this what most people want from friends? Or is my list oddly different from other people's? How is your list of friends you have or want different from mine? How is it the same?

Garden of Solitude

I am alone a lot, and by "a lot" I mean virtually all the time. I have Monday therapy, followed by a walk in the park and grocery shopping. About twice a month I have lunch with one friend and now perhaps once a month I'll be having lunch with another friend. And once a month an in-person meeting with the members of my volunteer group. That's about eight hours a month that I spend in-person with other people. 

I also have a weekly Castle-TV-watching-and-chat session with two girlfriends. I text with two friends quite frequently, it sometimes turning into long conversations, and I IM with three friends, at least with one once a day. That and a once a month teleconference meeting with my volunteer group adds up to about the same amount of time, although sometimes it's more, depending on whether my friends feel like talking more often or for longer. Plus, I get comments on my blog, which although not interactive still feels comforting and like I have people nearby to turn to.

I used to feel very lonely because of all this solitude; and I have had varying amounts of it, too. But lately it doesn't bother me except once in a while. Perhaps it means I'm more accustomed to being alone now. Perhaps it means that this amount of interaction is enough to get my needs met. Certainly once I've had a lot more interaction, such as when I go visit friends and am surrounded by people for long amounts of time, I have to rest when I come home. Unfortunately, I think that this reaction is a result of my being so much alone. I have become less tolerant of social interaction as an introvert with little to keep my social muscles strong. It's not a good thing for an introvert to spend too little time with people anymore than it's a good thing for her to spend too much time. If I went to a job even a couple of times a week it would help build up my people-tolerance. Going to the mall a couple of times a week might help, too, but that would be just a little too much, given that it is now December and the Christmas shopping frenzy has begun.

Thinking On My Center

The last part in my getting centered discussion with my therapist is the part that cognitive therapy has played, which is significant. As we discussed, I have tended to make other people or situations my center, my anchor, and my home, rather than making me be those things for myself.

On the cognitive side, I developed an external locus of control. I didn't learn young how to depend upon myself in a good way; I only learned the ways I couldn't depend upon others. Yet they still remained the loci from which all things came to me. But my therapist reminded me that we had in discussions come across things I have done in the past and present that showed me growing more independent from my family and standing on my own two feet. So her question to me was: what have I accomplished that proves to me that I am self-reliant and independent?

Being self-reliant and independent gives a person a center, an internal locus of control, and a firm place to ground themselves. Proving to myself that I have those qualities would go a long way toward helping me see that I have a center inside myself, just that it's been hidden and it may be undeveloped. It would prove that I am grounded at least a bit, no matter how high above the ground my feet feel.

So what have I done that proves self-reliance and independence? Well, for one thing, I left my family and moved halfway across the country. Part of my moving was to find work and a warm place to live. The other part was to cut the ties that had come to bind me to my family more closely than I was comfortable with. (I still feel guilty about that, as if I rejected my mom and grandma. I hope that goes away.) I relied upon myself to make the trip and find a new home successfully. I visited some other friends and family but didn't rely upon them for anything more than some company and a place to stay while I visited them. And I eventually found a warm place to live. The work part, not so much yet, but I continue to hope and to work on it. I kept driving until I found a reasonable place to look for work, even though I was ready to stop moving along at three weeks (it was five weeks before I stopped in Houston and another week before I decided to stay). I made these decisions alone.

Two Years

Yesterday was the two-year anniversary of my mom's death. I didn't cry or get horribly depressed, although I think my being slightly less functional this week may be related to it. My organizer came for three hours (our final three hours, it turns out ... we're done! Now it's all up to me ...) and I had an hour-long conference call meeting later on. I went to the grocery story and the library (finally able to get out of the house). But while I felt some sadness, it was mild and easy to handle.

I did feel on the edge of some major crying a few times, and on the edge of feeling very sad, trauma-sad, but it didn't come, even when I allowed myself to think about my mom and about losing her, oh so much too early.

My friend Deb chatted with me on IM for awhile to make sure I was okay. My BFF and I texted and he wanted to make sure I was alright, too. I still feel on the edge of great sadness, but I know I'm okay, as well.

For most of this year, I've been highly medicated, to get me to a place where the therapy could work. I've also felt rather emotionless, other than anxious. Numb. In the last couple of weeks, I changed some of my medications around and I have started feeling again. This is a good thing because if you numb your feelings for too long, they just build up rather than going away. Then, when you start to feel again, you have a flood coming out rather than a stream.

So I'm glad I could feel sad about my mom, and glad that I didn't fall over the edge into trauma-sadness. I feel like I am finally getting better, which will spread out into all of my life. I may have other times where I feel sadder — it's not at all predictable — but I feel I can handle it. And I can always get in contact with one of my friends if I need help handling how I feel. I know and trust that now.

Two years. It still doesn't seem real or right, but I am fine.

Irrational Thinking, the Scarcity Mindset, and Cognitive Therapy

I am afraid. I'm afraid of many things, few of them rational. Some of them even have names. One of the things that most occupies my fear at the moment is that I'm going to run out of money and have no options. This is called a Scarcity Mindset. It's a little rational to think that I'll run out of money because I'm not working and the inheritance will last for only so long. But it's not rational to the extent that I fear it. I'm almost paralyzed with it.

It doesn't help that, for almost two years, I've been almost incapable of holding down a job. I worked at that contract job and called in sick way too often, just out of the stress of working and commuting when I was still recovering from my grief.

I'm capable of working a regular job now. I'd rather work freelance, but I think I can work something more normal. It would be best if it could be on a contract so I could get paid by the hour and extra for more than 40 hours a week; I don't want to work all those extra hours without extra pay anymore. I'm too old for that shit.

So here I am, looking for work on craigslist and the freelancer's association job list and LinkedIn and not finding anything or at least not getting even any messages back and I'm thinking maybe I need to find an office job (not like there aren't already enough office workers looking for work out there) or a retail job or something just so I can earn some money. I need to find work. I need an income. And I'm terrified that I won't find work and that I'll end up stone-broke. 

But this is something that cognitive therapy is designed to work with.

Falling In and Out of Love

My love affair with Houston has been waning, as many of you reading my blog have already surmised. I don't have many friends here and none of them are close friends. I don't have work. And it gets too hot and humid for too long for my taste in the summer. And it has giant roaches.

That being said, I have a terrific therapist and psychiatrist. I am involved with an interesting non-profit for which I do both volunteer and paid work. Rarely is there snow and ice in the winter.

I know that the friends part is due largely because I haven't gotten involved in a lot of things. I have gone to professional meetings and networking lunches and met a couple of women there, but they have drifted away. I'm involved with the non-profit and enjoy the people I know through there, but only a couple of them socialize with me and that is rarely. So I guess I have tried.

I think I'm noticing this more since my trip to Oregon. I got to see several friends (and was perhaps busier than was necessary for a vacation). I got to see the ocean again, which I love. I even imagined the sound of gulls my first morning back in Houston. 

In Hiding

Something happens to me when my anxiety hits a certain level: I stop going out unless I have to. I don't leave for a walk or just to be outside of my apartment. I leave for work — when I have some — and for medical appointments. Even leaving to go get a haircut, pick up prescriptions, or get groceries require herculean effort. If I couldn't pace around in my apartment, dance, and do minor exercises, I'd get no exercise at all.

This began last year but I think it's worse this year. The last time it happened was when I was in my early 30s. I'd bought my house, which was my haven, and both work and my ex-boyfriend had become serious stressors in my life, to the extent that I took a couple of months off of work due to mental health issues (this was the boss from hell, an exceptional person at making my life miserable). Even when I was going to work, I was going out in other ways less and less until I'd cancelled on my girlfriends once too many times. They came to the house and used the house key that I had given each of them to come in, make sure I was okay, and forcibly socialize me.

There is currently no one to come do that to me here and now. I don't think I'm that bad, either: I would gladly leave for a job interview and, if necessary, commute to work. I'm trying to get one friend to get together. I do leave here for lunches out with friends (I forgot that in the first paragraph).

Why do I hide inside? Fear. Anxiety. If I stay in the apartment, it's less likely that something bad will happen, so my mind whispers to me. I know that's crap ... staying home would not have kept my mom from dying ... but my mind is persuasive and I want to believe that there is something I can do to stay safe.

It's Hot

It's hot out — 102-plus this afternoon. I'm learning to be like the natives and stay inside during the hottest part of the day. I still haven't developed the habit of getting up and out early. It's the habit of the unemployed: stay up late and get up late.

I'm taking a trip back to the Oregon Coast in a couple of weeks, where it's still not hit 70 degrees even once this summer and sometimes doesn't get out of the 50s during the day. Unless the weather changes substantially, I will experience a drop of 40 to 50 degrees over the course of an air trip and a shuttle trip. In fact, I'll probably hit 90 degrees temps in Portland. I'm pulling out a pair of shorts and a couple of tees and the rest is jeans, a sweater and some long-sleeve shirts. Thank goodness for layering! And staying with someone who will have sweaters.

I wouldn't mind being a snowbird, because I love my temperature range to be between the 40s or 50s in the winter (I like sweaters) to the 80s or low 90s in the summer (I like shorts). But I'd need to be able to work anywhere I lived, either having a job that existed in two places or having two jobs or being able to telecommute. 

My friend Thea told me I need to live in San Diego. My BFF and a handful of other folks want me in Seattle. I have some people who think I'm in Houston forever. And I have a compulsion toward living on the Oregon Coast. 

I feel as if I were a kid wondering what I'm going to be when I grow up: I don't know what I want in specific. It's all just dreams right now, dreams of heat and cold, light and dark, here and there.

What climate do you prefer? Would you be a snowbird if you could? Where do you want to be?