Depression is a Dick

Depression is such a dick. It gets in and messes with your head in ways that make you feel completely broken. It lies. It manipulates emotion and it ruins moments.

I feel like everything I do is wrong.

"You just need to build your confidence."

I honestly can't count how many times that has been the response when I've confessed I'm struggling. And it's not easy to admit in the first place. I'm a pretty open person but telling my boss or close coworkers that I'm feeling like a piece of shit isn't really an easy conversation topic to share.

I don't know why I do it really. I guess as a sort of warning for them? When I feel the depression start to bubble up and I can feel that I'm not quite myself, I feel like those around me deserve an explanation. That way if I burst into tears because someone's asked me to rewrite something maybe it won't be such a shock. Or maybe it will, I don't know. Inside I feel like a fucking wreck but I've gotten really good at putting on the 'everything is fine' face over the years so who knows if anyone even notices.

I feel like everyone is annoyed with me.

"You just need to learn how to love yourself."

Depression doesn't let you do that. It isolates you. It creates a circle within that even when you're surrounded by others makes you feel completely alone. Depression tells you that you are worthless, in the way, and a giant pain in the ass to everyone in your life. Sometimes it goes beyond that and makes you think strangers are silently judging you or your clothes, your hair, the way you walk or the way your mouth moves when you're trying desperately to smile through the pain.

My workplace is where I tend to struggle the most. I want so desperately to do well and there are still past experiences that I'm working through that make me feel I never will. That whole lack of confidence thing is pretty strong too and jesus, if I could just 'build my confidence' as simply as saying it was so, I would. But it takes time and I try to allow myself that. Doesn't always work. In fact, I'm rarely able to be gentle or kind wo myself when it comes to that. I don't want to go through this--I just want it to stop.

At home I can cry or numb my mind to try and find peace. I can communicate with The Fella honestly and tell him what I need or don't need to feel even just a tiny bit better. Any other time that's a successful solution.  Communication is what I do. It's a huge part of who I am and it's when talking about how I feel seems to fail that I feel this way.

Frustrated. Defeated. Angry. Sad. Pointless. The feeling that you don't matter is such an ugly emotion. And somewhere deep inside, I know it's untrue. But the voice of depression is so fucking loud. It literally feels like my mind is screaming.

I wish I was on the upside of this, on the way to coming out of it but I'm just not. I have no confidence. I don't hate myself, but I'm not particularly stoked about who I am right now because it's fucking miserable.

Helplessness is another feeling that depression brings. Because really, there's nothing I can do.

Day by Day

Sometimes, the way I feel changes so quickly that I don't realize it's happened.

I have days when I feel so confident and sure about myself. I feel like my hair is pretty or my shirt fits just right or my words are coming out witty, friendly and thoughtfully. I feel like I'm helping people at work or that I've really made progress on a project. I smile a lot on those days. I sing along to the radio and tap the steering wheel as I drive to and from wherever it is I'm going. I feel loved, liked, needed and appreciated. Those are good days.

I have days when I feel so insecure and unsure about myself. I feel like my hair is greasy or my shirt is emphasizing my fat rolls or my words are stumbling around inside my mouth, unable to escape in articulate sentences. I feel like I'm in the way of other people or that I've failed on a project. My brow is furrowed a lot on those days. I drive in silence to and from wherever it is I'm going. I feel invisible, a nuisance, in the way and pointless. Those are not good days.

I forget I have depression sometimes. I'll be going along with my life things-- work, home, friends, etc. and then it covers me like a wool blanket. I wrack my brain trying to figure out why, making myself.  I usually get mad at first. Mad at having depression. Mad at the fact that I somehow forget every time. Mad at that feeling of being covered in not good days.

The voice of self doubt starts screaming so loudly that it becomes all I hear. I try to reason with it, tell it (myself) that everything is ok. I'm not worthless, or stupid, or a failure. I'm going to be ok, I say. I seek friends that will say it too. But I'm covered completely now in the depression and the only thing that really works for me is time. Restlessness stirs with the self doubt--Why does it always seem to take so long to wade through this? 

I feel paranoid, like nothing I am doing is right. I'm hypersensitive and jumpy. I can't focus on anything to stay busy or distracted from myself and I obsess on the smallest infractions. The worst part is that while my brain is spinning, there is a small section that stays still and clear, knowing all of these feelings are irrational and I can't stop them.

I never know how long it will take but eventually I remember that this is just the way my brain works sometimes. Usually that helps me come out from underneath the wool blanket. On days I'm tired of fighting it, I bury farther into it, reluctant now to let it go because it's familiar. Because it's hard to be strong. Those are bad days that easily seep into weeks.

Slowly, acceptance of my dis-ease comes. The voice of clarity shouts over the doubt and I can throw the blanket to the side like a matador's cape. On that day I will play steering wheel music and problem solve like a boss. I will notice how long my hair is and that my shirt is comfortable against my skin. I'll smile a lot and feel accomplished, proud at the efforts I make. The good days will return.

November 26th

I slept ok last night. Not perfect, not great. I made myself coffee, gathered my book and set myself up for a day of reading and relaxing.

Wasn't going to happen.

I couldn't concentrate. I thought about taking a shower but ultimately just threw on yesterday's clothes. I went out into the day with no plans.

It usually feels good to buy something for someone and while I'd already spent money this weekend on Christmas gifts, I decided to go to a store I'd never been to before.

The first thing I notice is how empty the parking lot is. Once I'm inside, the white tile floor is gleaming and bright, the music is blaring--a Christmas pop favorite for many. I try for a moment to enjoy the tune and just can't. I wander up and down every aisle, eventually settling on a couple of small items to take home. The girl at the checkout tells me the cart's wheels will lock if I take it outside the store so I steer it towards the corral. Another worker reaches for it, "I'll put that away for you love."

I call people 'love'. Or 'sweetie', 'hon'...years from waiting tables I suppose. And mom. She called people by similar pet names and it wasn't weird, it seemed natural. Like when the clerk said it.

I left the store and headed to a nearby park. I just wanted to be around trees and water. I found both and walked carefully around puddles for awhile. I took a few pictures of very green moss and bright red berries. They seemed to jump out of the gray landscape of tree branches at me. I walked with my hood off, anticipating drops to kiss my head. None came.

I slipped on the leaves, catching myself before the fall. A passerby states the obvious for me, "It's slippery. Be careful." I caught my breath and nodded. "Yes. Thanks." I kept looking for him  on the trail after that but never saw him again. He chose a different path.

It was quiet at the park. A few birds called to one another but I was alone with my thoughts. They started to get too loud so I turned back. A policeman, driving through the lot waved to me as I made my way to the car and I nodded to him. I should feel safe but I don't and anxiety starts mumbling in the back of my head. I unlock the door and get behind the wheel. Next to me, a woman sits in her car. We're both staring out the windshield at nothing. I go first.

I remember there's a coffee stand near and I turn into it. A bright yellow SUV is in front of me with a dog hanging out the back window. He's very happy to be in the car, happier still to get scritches from the barista. I wait patiently for my turn, smiling softly to myself. The dog is smiling too.

The SUV pulls away and it's my turn. The girl in the shack is nearly naked, wearing a pair of blue panties, a mesh top, her breasts decorated with gold pasties and a metal chain across her hips. I try not to look taken aback as she takes my order.

She's very sweet and I confess I didn't know it was a 'bikini barista'. She says a lot of people don't. I tell her as long as she's comfortable with it, happy, then it was no biggie to me. She hesitates only a moment and then tells me she didn't really want to do it but a friend talked her into it.

"I used to work at an old folks' home. But my friend said it would build up my confidence--see I have this scar--" She turns and shows me a scar that runs from just under her breasts to her pierced navel. I can tell there's a story there and she wants to tell it but another car pulls up and a guy in hunter orange leans out the window to leer at her. Next to him is a girl who doesn't look very excited to see the pretty blond barista.

She hands me my coffee, asks me if I like it while she gets my change. At the same time the guy in the truck is asking her if she knows a good place to go shooting. She rolls her eyes at me and smiles. I tell her to be safe and give her a big tip.

I'm ready to go home now and I head that way. A song comes on the radio that my mom loved and I let myself cry a bit as I sing along.

Just a day really. Nothing exciting. But every year I promise myself I'll do something she would want me to do. Today I spent time with nature, surrounded by glorious trees.  I refrained from judgment and showed kindness to a stranger. I smiled at a dog. All of these things remind me of her. And through the unexpected, "love" from the clerk, I heard her voice. I feel like she's always with me in some way, but today I needed the reminders.

Adjustment, Transition and Change, oh my!

I don't do well with change. I used to think I did and in fact was in denial for a long time. It's much more cool to be able to go with the flow after all. But the older I get, the more I get to know myself and it turns out I just really have a hard time with transition and change and adjustment to new things.

In the last 6 months or so, I had my job position changed, got a new boss, had my job position change again, and moved out of my office into an open cubicle.

It's weird how something like that can affect you.

It's not all bad, truly. Getting a new boss helped me see that the position I was in needed to change. She made me look within myself and find my strengths so I could be successful. A lot of reflection on what I like to do, who I am and how I like to help others led me to my new title and I'm excited about it.

But...it's new. It's new to me and to the company. This position is one that I will have to literally help build and that's a bit overwhelming if I'm being honest. I do well with someone telling me what to do. I do a little better when I can tell (teach) others what to do. This position is a bit of both and it's very new. It's forcing me to learn differently too which I recognize is also not a bad thing. But again, it's different. It's a change and it's taking time to adjust to.

Moving out of my office was something I expected. I didn't particularly like my office space, but I liked my office because I'd truly made it mine. I surrounded myself with photos, post-it notes left from friends, pictures of happy things and just...my stuff. It was a cozy little nook and I had to prepare to let it go. I was a little butt hurt at first about it. A little bit of that, 'But whyyyy?' before I let it go and embraced the new space.  And I really have. First, it's bigger. And my stuff is still there. People stop and chat with me more often which is also nice. But it's an adjustment too. Because I'm out in the open, I have to be more aware of what I leave on my desk. And since I share a room with several others, I don't have a light to turn off, or a door to close when I leave.

Today I felt off. I didn't feel well yesterday and today is one day closer to the day mom died. Last night I had nightmares so I didn't sleep well. There were several factors. But I have a project I'm working on and I really want to do a good job. I had a meeting scheduled with my boss to discuss the steps and somewhere along the line I misunderstood what she'd wanted from me. I ended up feeling very unprepared and a little stupid. Rational? Not really, but there it was. We were not able to click when we normally have no trouble and I eventually just looked at her and said, "I'm so sorry but my brain is just not at full capacity today." Thankfully, she's understanding and just smiled, told me not to worry about it.

But I do, because that's something that won't change. I'm trying new ways to look at the world. I'm trying to acknowledge feelings, accept them and then move forward. And I'm trying to be gentle with myself, especially this time of year.

I would get so angry at not being able to adjust to change faster, better. I'd get frustrated that I wasn't able to move past an old haunt or that my mind would get clouded when I tried to solve problems that hadn't even surfaced. I don't like feeling that I'm not confident, sure, or able to understand everything and anything that might come my way. In short, I guess...well, I'd be pissed I wasn't what I considered perfect.

But change doesn't allow for that. Adjustment, transition, none of that is perfect. A continuous fluctuation of LIFE cannot be perfect. It can only be what it is and I can only remind myself it's ok to have off days, to not understand, or to leave the light on at the end of the day. It's ok to fight the change a little, for me, that's a normal reaction. As long as I learn to eventually embrace it, I think I'll be ok.

Nonsense

I have no idea what to say. I just wanted to feel the keys under my fingertips so I grabbed the laptop and curled up in my chair. 

So often it starts this way. 

A lot of people asked me how my weekend was today. It was fine. 

I finished a book, read more. I had breakfast with my dad and my fella and bought my favorite red licorice from Trader Joe's. It snowed. I took a nap. And then another one later. 

I got up this morning and took a shower, went to work. Everything is very...normal right now. 

I have dinner plans with a friend tomorrow, therapy the next day. My friend's birthday is this weekend, my ex's kid turns 9 meaning it's been 4 years since I've seen him. It's good it's been that long. 

I looked up 'antifa' today. And 'impeachment'. Politics scare me. 

Sometimes I look at all the books I have and think I'll never read them all and it makes me sad. I think about death a lot and how it could happen any moment to anyone. 

In 20 days it will be 11 years since my mom died. I just told the fella about that day. Sometimes I feel like I talk about it all the time, sometimes I feel like I need to tell the story again and again. 

I think about her in the strangest times. Like when I'm pulling a rouge hair from my chin. She asked me once if I would pluck the hairs from her chin when she was in the hospital and I did it without even thinking about it. She was embarrassed about them and now, with my own 40 year old facial hair...I understand. 

I keep trying to take a good selfie. But...why? Why try I mean. Just take it. It's my face, it's what it is and it's not changing. Well, maybe a little but the eyes, nose, mouth stuff is the same. I'll probably get more wrinkles around my eyes but those are from laughing. I don't mind those. I don't mind my grey hair either. I don't have much but once in awhile a strand makes itself known and I get so excited about it. I earned those grey hairs. Life hasn't always been easy. It's been stressful and mean and so tiring. Grey hairs are proof I got through. Just take the selfie. 

I love how different me and the Fella are. We are the same in the parts that really count. In our hearts, our values...we listen to each other and communicate. Sometimes, when he's immersed in a fantasy role playing game and I'm watching my true crime, I can see how different we are. But then he'll tell me a story about a woman impregnated by a sky demon and I'll tell him about a guy that ate his victims and we realize we're both a little fucked up and it works.

I have no idea what to say. I'm just happy sitting here, jotting down random thoughts as they come. But I'm hungry. And tonight we watch zombies-another things that works for us. I think we're both coming down with colds which sucks but is inevitable. 

I'm trying to figure out how to stop this blog post and realize I don't have to have a rea---

Own It

I'm not ready to write about what happened. I want to write about the support I've received. It's almost overwhelming and I couldn't be more grateful. 

I've been thinking about what I could do to repay the kindness that's been shown to me and mere words or actions could never truly express the appreciation I feel. 

I didn't want to tell anyone. I wanted to crawl inside myself and ignore the world. I wanted to pretend nothing happened and that I was fine. But that only lasted as long as the shock.  I'd have to tell people. I'd have to say it out loud. I'd have to own it. 

I was terrified. I didn't want others to think badly of me. That's the truth of it. I care too much what others think and I was petrified that I'd be thought of negatively. I immediately went to a dark place, telling myself that I was a monster and unforgivable. I assumed others felt the same. How could they not?

But I had to own it. I had to tell people. I thought about it for a long time before I did. I considered how to say it, and when. And when I felt just enough clarity to form complete sentences, I said it out loud. And then waited. 

No one called me a monster. No one said I was unforgivable, evil, terrible, cruel, irresponsible...No one said any of the things I'd already labeled myself with. 

Instead they said 'I'm so sorry' and 'I'm thinking of you.' They sent reassuring words like, 'I'm here if you need anything.' and 'It wasn't your fault.' When one person and then another, shared they'd experienced something similar, my heart broke for them. I know the anguish they felt. I was embraced physically and spiritually through kindness over and over again. I wanted so much to push it all away sometimes but they refused. So many beautiful people in my life would not let me destroy myself. 

I let them help me. I don't usually do that very easily. There's almost always been a voice inside me that screams 'you're not worth it!' or 'they're lying!' and brushing off a kind gesture or comment is easy when you don't believe it. 

But this was different. Each time someone sent me a kind message, I read it, felt it, held it. And then I said thank you. I didn't analyze it or doubt it. I just accepted it and let it help me heal. I've been using it, going back to the messages and reading them when the pain begins to bubble up. 

This is hard and it's going to take time. I know that as much as I know that I'm going to get through it. I won't fall away from believing I am supported and loved. I won't fall into a dark place when I am surrounded by such light. How could I?

Transition

I'm tired.

I can't watch the same tv shows I used to. I'm watching cartoon movies because anything even vaguely realistic is too fucking depressing.

I want to run away to the ocean and sit staring at the waves until my eyes tear from the wind. I want to feel the cold all around me and then feel the warmth tingle my skin when I finally go back in. I want to relax in the quiet and relish the break from whatever it is that keeps me so exhausted.

I feel sad a lot and it's boring.

I feel as though I'm standing in a clearing of trees with a crossroads in front of me. Classic fairy tale would have one side show light, illustrating hope and a bright future. The other way would hold darkness, shadows and foreboding beckoning. I feel like I'm  at the edge of both and sometimes...they look the same.

I'm more than tired actually.

But I don't really know what I am other than that.

Not For Me

It's not just feeling sad. There are lots of parts to depression that people don't talk about. They're starting to, which is good,  but talking about something, doesn't always mean its understood.

I was diagnosed with depression at 18. My mother took me in to see the doctor because I hadn't left my bed in two weeks. I stopped eating, I didn't shower and I cried constantly. Even though she was told I was 'just going through a phase' my mom recognized it could be something more and it was.

But having depression at 18 and 40 are very different.

I don't remember much about my symptoms then, only that I was put on medication to 'feel better'. Counseling was never suggested. Self-care wasn't even a term recognized or practiced yet. Eventually the meds stopped working and I started drinking and smoking pot to numb the pain instead.

In my mid twenties I made lines in my skin with razor blades. I didn't talk to anyone about how I was feeling until a friend came over and found me clutching a bottle of painkillers.  My doctor sent me to a psychologist that read my chart and said, "I can't do anything for you." I was convinced there was nothing I could do to feel 'normal'.

Eventually I ended up in counseling. I got on different meds. I learned that my past can affect my present. I got 'better'.

When I was barely 30, I was intensely anxious. I didn't know that's what it was though. I just thought I was shit at being a human. I was managing a retail store and it was the first time I'd tried to lead anyone. I was learning as I went along, failing and succeeding constantly. One morning a coworker shared she was taking Prozac for anxiety. She suggested maybe that would work better for me and desperate to feel 'normal' again, I asked my doctor about it.

He put me on it and things got better. It got easier to breathe again. I still had ebbs and flows of depression and anxiety, but they were manageable.  I've taken Prozac ever since... until two months ago.

I didn't stop taking it because I suddenly didn't think I needed it. I stopped because I had dental surgery and taking that many pills was literally painful. It had been figuratively painful for awhile. I hate taking medication to feel 'normal'. It's frustrating to know that something synthetic is the only thing that can make me feel real.  At the time of surgery I was taking 5 pills a day. After the surgery I took only what I needed to make the pain stop.  I stopped taking my antidepressants cold turkey. Everything everywhere tells you not to do this but I did it anyway. I justified it.

I was fine for awhile. I felt clear headed and focused. I felt like I could handle anything and everything that was coming towards me. I felt 'normal'. And then my cat went missing. I still felt ok for a short time...I was sad, but I could tell it was sadness and not depression.

Until it was.

Depression took it's time coming to me, sneaking up like shadows at twilight before finally engulfing me in darkness. I didn't realize I was even in it until...well, I'm not even sure when. I just seem to know, I'm not 'normal' right now.

I cry.
I don't eat.
Unless I'm eating everything. (Like all the sweets in the house. Are you trying to be a diabetic?)
I can't sleep even though I desperately want to. All the time. (It's never quiet enough.)
I have little motivation. Even to get showered and dressed is a great effort sometimes. (I'm not that bad, I still make it to work. )
I want to go out and do things but it feels like I can't and then I feel mad because I don't do anything.
I am extremely sensitive. I soak in others' sadness and add it to my own. Empathy doesn't begin to describe it. Sad news sends me spiraling. (Nobody said life was easy. Jesus, get over it.)
I forget things. I have to ask people to repeat requests only an hour after they've asked them.
I space out.
Loud sounds make me wince and I am startled easily.
I feel worthless, disgusting, pointless. I believe Depression's lies.
I don't care about the things I want to care about.  (Doesn't matter anyway)
Unless I care too much.
I doubt kindness from others-wondering if someone told them to be nice to me or it feels like everyone is talking about what I look like, act like, said last week.

This isn't normal. Not for me.

If You're Happy and You Know It...

I just analyzed a facebook comment response for 20 minutes.

I contemplated sending someone a link to this blog because it's easier than trying to explain why I am the way I am.

I often feel like I need to explain myself.

I can't remember the last name of my first boyfriend. I can't even remember if it was Jeff or Tim that was first. They both dumped me so who cares?

I think my black and white profile picture is pretentious.

I just did one of those DNA test things and I feel like a scientist. And like I've eaten a bag of cotton balls. They want a lot of spit.

When songs from my teenage years become commercial jingles I am old.

My hand hurts. So does my neck. My stomach. My eyes are strained too. I'm broken, weighed down from pounds of depression and brownies.

I'm angry. I nearly hit a bicyclist today. He was riding through the crosswalk against a green light and if I hadn't been paying attention, I would have hit him. I laid on the horn instead and then roared through the light he almost made me miss.

I am completely lost. I don't know what to do and I lack the confidence to act on my own.

I miss my cat more than I ever thought I could. I'm regretful for letting her out, while trying to be gentle with myself and acknowledge that she was very happy as an indoor/outdoor kitty and anything less would have made her miserable.

I fear paranoia will come back. I want to trust that I am loved. I want to believe it and not need to hear it to feel assured.

I want to be happy again with what I have instead of irritated for not having more.

I have to admit to myself that I'm not ok and goddammit that's hard to do. It's even harder to admit it and not do anything about it. Harder still to realize you're not doing anything about it because you literally can't.

"I feel _______."

"Why?"

"I don't know. "

"But what is it that's making you anxious?"

"I don't feel anxious."

"Are you sad? Angry?"

"Yes. Sometimes."

"Ok, but why?"

"I don't know. This is just how it works for me."

I hate this. I hate that I am constantly worried that one day it's just going to be too much and he'll leave, stop loving me, throw his hands up. I hate that he has to see me this way, live with me, hear me and see me cry. I hate that he looks at me and doesn't know what to say so he says nothing. I hate that I know nothing he says can help.

I was sad last week-crying nearly all the time. This week I'm angry. I can't keep up with my own emotions. I have no motivation and yet, I feel stagnant.

I've been counseled to try to embrace these feelings when they come up but why? I don't want to accept them, hold them close to me. I want them gone.

I know the steps to practice self care but I don't want to take them. To do so would mean accepting (again) that there's something wrong with me. That I'm not ok.

It's not weakness, but it's crippling. Studies may show otherwise, but depression feels self inflicted. It feels like if I could just reason with myself that I would be fine. I try faking it til I make it by putting a smile on my face when I don't want to. I raise the tone of my voice so it sounds like I'm happy when I'm not and I tell people I'm crying because of some hormonal reason instead of not being able to do anything else. It's exhausting.

I'm tired from all of these things, the nightmares, the insomnia.

But most of all, for doing nothing.

Start Small to Be Less Big

I spent 45 minutes trying to get dressed this morning. I'm not injured or suffering from pain. At least...not on the inside. That sounds super emo but fuck if it isn't true.

I'm fat. Like icky fat. And I'm not trying to be self deprecating (defensive much?)  but I know the difference between plump and whoa. I'm so much closer to whoa than I want to be. And I know why.

I eat. When I'm sad. When I'm happy. When I'm bored. When I'm cranky. When I have pms, when I don't. When I'm alone and when I'm surrounded by friends. I wedge myself into restaurant booths and want to cry as I'm reaching for the appetizer.

When I waited tables, there was a woman that came into the restaurant frequently and she was a large lady. She wasn't particularly friendly either and because I was young and thought I'd never in a million years be the weight I am currently, I made fun of her. I wasn't alone in this. My coworkers and I created cruel nicknames about her behind her back. I won't repeat them now because I'm ashamed.

It didn't necessarily come from a need to be cruel, I just couldn't understand. Why was she so big? How did she get that way? Was it a health condition? Her habit of clutching a candy cane (or other sort of hard sucker) while eating pancakes and biscuits and gravy told me it wasn't likely. But I was curious nonetheless. How did she let herself get to such an uncomfortable place?

I wish I hadn't judged so harshly. Because now, I understand. It's actually really easy to gain weight. It's not that I wanted to, but I certainly didn't try to control it. I currently weigh the most I ever have and even though I'm not as large as the lady from the restaurant, I feel much larger.

So much of this is a mental struggle and I wonder how many people understand that. If they do, why don't we talk about it more? We live in an age where all shapes, sizes, colors and creeds are much more accepted. Are we where we should be? No way. But in the 20 years since I've waited tables, I've seen things change and it seems to be headed in the right direction.

But I digress.

I'm fat. And this could be where I begin the mantra of I'm tired of feeling like this, I want to be healthier, I want to FEEL better, I don't like looking this way.... And all of those statements are true.

I'm not very good at being kind to myself. But earlier this week in therapy, we started talking about how I could be. It's going to be hard but life is teaching me that most of the things that we desperately need to better ourselves,  ARE hard.

I've  received a lot of advice over the years to help myself either lose weight or embrace the weight I am. Things like the no/low carb diet. Or, drink lots of water and exercise more. Try meditation so you don't stress-eat. Go for walks by yourself or with a buddy! Go to a plus size yoga class, plus size swimming, plus size support group. This last suggestion is often followed by well meaning positive people. Embrace yourself and all your fat! You're beautiful just the way you are! Just be you! If you can't love yourself, how the hell you gonna love anyone else?

That last one is actually pretty easy for me. I just give my love to everyone else and stop thinking about me altogether.

Turns out that's a problem.

So when it was suggested I look at my past to see how food might tie into traumatic or even non traumatic events, I sort of freaked out. Going inside, rooting around in my past...it's not going to be pleasant. But maybe that's why it will work.

One of the first things suggested to me was to truly work on being kinder to myself. I mentioned before it was hard. It sometimes feels impossible. I don't think of 'eating healthy' as being kind to myself. It feels like I'm depriving myself of what I really want.

My Fella is able to have the sort of mindset of, "If it's not in the house, I won't eat it." I'm not like that. I'll go to the store and buy it if I really want it. If I'm already at the store, somehow I end up on the ice cream aisle. If I have time to kill,  I'll check out the new grocery store down the street. I can find food anywhere and will use any excuse to have it.

Food with friends is a favorite thing. I don't drink so instead of "let's go get a drink" it's "let's go have dinner!" But dinner so often includes appetizers and dessert because then we get to chat longer. It's not even always about the food (although it often is). It's about spending time with people I enjoy. So spend time together doing something else you might suggest. Like exercise? Do you know how challenging it is to have a conversation when you're huffing and puffing around a track?  Is that all I can do? No, but do I even want to exercise in the first place? Exercise is NOT FUN to me. 

I was counseled to focus on other things I can do to help myself that don't necessarily involve diet and exercise. In other words, start small.  During my 45 minute costume change this morning I was reminded. I need to get rid of all the clothes that don't fit me. That's unfortunately going to be quite a few items because I have a tendency to just go buy more clothes when I 'outgrow' others in a sad attempt at making myself feel better. It usually backfires. I don't feel better having to buy a size up. While riffling through my clothes this morning I tried to think more along the lines of 'this will help someone else if I donate' instead of 'look at all the fucking money I wasted on clothes that I hoped might fit one day'.

Another suggestion was to have mirrors all over the house. I felt sick at the idea at first and couldn't understand how that could possibly be a good idea. It was explained to me that the purpose behind all that...exposure..is to learn to see yourself. I felt I had this down since every time I pass a reflective surface I wince but evidently that's not the point of having the mirrors. Seeing my reflection consistently might show me every flaw at first. But then, maybe over time, if I can learn to look deeper, I'll see that I have nice eyes. Or that when I turn a certain way, and the light catches my hair the color is nice.

This journey is different from other weight induced voyages. I mean, I KNOW that eating ice cream and bread and pasta and chips and basically anything delicious isn't good for me. I KNOW that moving around and doing that hated exercise thing would probably make me feel better once I got past the sweat storm. And maybe I'll get to the point that those choices will be second nature to me.

But I'm not there yet.  I'm going to have to start small to feel less big.

Kinda the Same

I don't go there much anymore. I found myself identifying too close to some of the others. I'd hear memories and stories and want so badly to take everyone's pain, knowing there was no way I could.

It only enhanced my own pain so... I ran from it.

Loss & Abandonment Issues haunted me for a while. Now they're shifting into Anxiety.

I was standing next to my boyfriend while he was reading something and he exclaimed in surprise. I jumped, hoped he wouldn't notice.

At work I pause and listen at blind corners so I don't get frightened by someone coming down the hallway.

Every child laughing outside sounds like a cat's cry. I stop, listening and trying to decide if it's one or the other... every single time.

I feel like I'm trapped in a glass box and I can't stop looking around me at all sides. A goldfish frantic in its bowl.

Sadness is hanging in there too, dancing with The Unknown and making lumps form in the back of my throat. My eyes stay puffy with lack of sleep and tearful moments.  I turn down my street and my heart sags. I turn my music up to try and drown out...everything.

I tell everyone I'm working on being stronger when really I feel I'm succumbing to my own weakness. I know this is temporary. I'm clear-headed and recognize that I'm going to get through all the emotions. I always do. So for now...

I'm painting, writing, coloring... tonight I sewed. Anything to make myself feel secure, calm, happy, content.

If It Ain't Broke

I don't like it when I can't fix it. Doesn't matter what it is but I need to be able to find a solution. I need to try different things or use examples or put forth every effort in successfully mending whatever is broken. And I don't like it when I can't.

I don't get angry or mad. Hardly ever. If something irks me, that irk turns into annoyance, then full on dislike. I generally shift to frustration next, and then I feel dispirited...and then on to sadness. I usually cry. I feel extra sensitive about...anything. And I feel like I'm saying the wrong thing, doing the wrong things and that everything is my fault. In short, I internalize whatever has irked me. I feel sad that it happened, or dispirited. I often take things personally when it literally has nothing to do with me.

I'm learning how to handle it but it's a long lesson. I suspect even life long which you know, is kinda disheartening for a person that likes to fix things, needs results, looks for closure.

The Fella doesn't get upset or sad. Hardly ever. Instead, he gets angry. A storm brews inside him and he yells. Never at me. At inanimate objects, at other drivers, at the pain he's in.  When this happens, when he feels this way, I can't fix it. I have to let him be who he is and there have been several times I've noticed the annoyance in him begin when I've suggested things to do to 'help'.  It's not his fault. I get it. It's just like someone telling me, "Oh just let it go. Or..."This too shall pass."

I might know that 'letting it go' is a better idea than dwelling on it.  Or remembering that 'it too shall pass' is better than believing it won't. But it's not as easy as all that when you're in the midst of an emotional ride.

I like to problem solve. I like to fix, take care of, people please. It's my very nature. And when I feel like I can't do that...when I can't make things ok again, it makes me feel worthless, pointless, unimportant. I'm not able to do the one thing that I think I'm really good at and I don't like it.

Gonna Be Alright

I'm fucking irritated. I'm jumpy. I'm sad. I'm annoyed because I'm all of these things. I feel like I could punch someone and I've never once hit anyone before.

I'm angry because I'm tired. I'm tired of life being shitty and not being able to do anything about it. I'm annoyed that it's almost 11 at night and I'm not asleep. I jumped because the stupid air conditioner kicked on, blasting air into the silent room and I hate being jumpy. I'm sad because this last week has had too much loss in it and I'm annoyed that I feel all of these things.

I can feel myself scowling. I can hear my tone of voice carry an edge. I can see the puffy eyes and feel the tension behind them. I can feel my fingers touching the keys but I don't know what I'm saying.

My uncle died. He had pancreatic cancer and had been ill for 7 months. Off and on his health waned, cancer slowing eating his life. I didn't know. When I found out, I heard the pain in my dad's voice and felt angry at the unfairness of death.  Dad had just come from the wake of a friend and was already in mourning. He was already in pain, remembering all others that are now gone.  Loss.

My sleep sucks. It's not happening much and when it does, it's filled with dreams that I don't want to talk about. I woke the other day, crying. The Fella was home but was on his way out and something as simple as him not saying goodbye launched me into a panic. My mind immediately went to a place of ridiculous thought about Loss' pal Abandonment. He had gone to the store, but it felt like he'd left me.

My cat is missing. She just didn't come home and it's breaking my heart. The not knowing what happened, where she is...it's unbelievable how much it affects everything else. That feeling is why I started at the sound of the AC kicking on. Anxiety.

Yet despite all of the annoyances that come with having, well, emotions...I can identify them and that's something kind of new for me. I can tell I'm sad, but I'm not depressed. I've cried every day this week but I'm still functioning. I can tell I'm irritable, but that the  scowling is mostly from lack of sleep. I can tell I'm anxious, a result of changes and the unknown.

I can identify why some things make me feel certain ways and for me, understanding the 'why' is how I get through it, whatever 'it' is.

Unlike this post. I have no idea what it really says, what it means or why I felt I needed to write it but here it is. It's a lot shorter than the one I wrote earlier but I'm not ready to share that one yet.

I guess the gist is: I'm going through some shit right now....but I'm gonna be ok.

Warning

Trigger Warning.

Sometimes the posts would have those two words prefacing a sad page of someone else's troubles. Their stories almost always mimicked my own.

I long ago abandoned the internet's message boards for a therapist and now... the trigger warnings don't come with labels.

They come out of nowhere and one right after the other.

The anniversary of a friend's death and an atmosphere permeated with sadness. An argument that feels bigger than it is and too much coffee. Cards and conversations and hugs and supportive gazes. A year's collection of memories spilling over, mixing with current struggles and tears. Just one day.

A feeling of worthlessness washes over in the middle of normalcy. I hear negative past remarks screaming at me. I hear, "you're not good enough" and "you're going to fail" and "why are you even here?" and that minuscule sprout of self confidence that had been struggling to the surface shies away and dies.

A moment in conversation that brings clarity. Terrifying clarity. I see things about myself now that yesterday I didn't and they're glaring. I feel like a neon sign is flashing at me, reminding me that I will always have something to work on. I have trouble sleeping.

And then, an opportunity. Something within stirs and the sprout again pushes towards life. But before it can be caressed with gentle hope, I hear, "Don't bother" and "Why do you think you could do that?" and "You're still not good enough." and I have to swallow hard to push it down into silence.

I listen to music that brings memories of something I don't want to think about. It hurts and peels a layer away from a healing scar. I want to scream the lyrics and for a moment I do. I punish myself by listening, each pound of the bass a memory when I wasn't me. I change the music.

I come home and make dinner. I don't really want it until I accidentally drop it on the floor.

I cry. I let myself fall into the arms of someone that loves me and sob. I ignore everything else in the world except the feeling of support. I let tears soak his shirt and my heart slow back to normal through deep breaths. He lets me go and I sit quietly for a while before talking about the triggers.

How it felt like they came out of nowhere. One right after the other.

I'm exhausted. My head and eyes hurt from crying and not sleeping well and I want so much for tomorrow to be just another day. The person that loves me has made me laugh and it feels like maybe  the worst part is on it's way out. For today.

You just never know when things can change. When the past will scream at you. When a memory will flood through and wash out all good thoughts in a second. When your dinner will fall on the floor.

No warning.

Therapeutic Dose

"I encourage you to journal about what you've done, how far you've come in the last year..."


I admire people that have triumphed over a hard situation. Seeing they have overcome hard words, situations and circumstances and then come through with hope and support for others is encouraging. It's freaking hard to be a person but even harder to mend from other people. And it's a slow process for most.

She was flipping pages of my file, pausing occasionally to read a note. "Practiced detachment."

I tensed. Detachment. That's a hard one. I tend to care with my whole self and heart. It leads me to pain quite often. Over the last year or so, I've had to learn that it's ok to care about my whole self and heart first. In fact, it's kind of the only thing you can do in order to care about others.

I've learned to let go and let people live their life, even if it's painful to watch them live it. Even if I can see them making dangerous decisions or hurting themselves I have to step back. I can ensure that they know I'm here for them, and love them. But my only responsibility is to remember that we have to fight our own battles.

"Stopped coming in early, leaving late and working through lunch."
She raised her eyebrow at me and I nodded. "I still come in and leave on time."
"And lunch?"
I decided to be honest. "I usually still sit in my office, but I don't work. I usually just read facebook or something."

Or do online shopping. Or watch cat videos. I should be walking at lunch, or at least breathing air that's not recycled but I'm not quite to the place that I want to actually give a shit about my health yet. That one always seems to be the last part to come back in my ongoing self-esteem rebuild.

"Took trip to ocean by self; felt 'rejuvenated'."

I took a deep breath. "This is what I don't understand. How is taking a drive an accomplishment? How is that something I've achieved?"

She stared at me a moment. "Had you ever done anything like that before?"

I shook my head. "No."

"It's an accomplishment for exactly that reason. You tried something and you did it and you succeeded. You said you felt rejuvenated when you got back."

"Yeah...I guess I did. But..."

She closed the file and waited. This was typical of how we worked together. It took me a moment to form my thought. "I guess I don't see those things as successful things. Achievements. While it was happening, it didn't feel like I was achieving anything. It felt like I was drowning and doing those things were like me clinging to a life ring for survival. I did whatever I could to just try and feel better."

"Oh I see."

I watched her. Was that not the reaction I should have had? Am I still broken? I'd been feeling better lately, stronger. Was I wrong?

"I mean...does, that make sense?"

She nodded, "It does." And then she paused. "I encourage you to journal about the things you've done, how far you've come in the last year. There have been a lot of things you've shared with me that most people would still be struggling with understanding and you are already in the process of letting them go. That's a huge deal. And more than just surviving."

I left her office and let myself think about things I'd discussed with her on the drive home. I wasn't surprised to feel emotions bubbling up. I've had some really tough days. Weeks. And months. I had spent this same drive crying to the point I had to pull over. I've gotten ill from stress and feelings left unexpressed. I have gained nearly all the weight back I lost last year when I was in a better place and I've battled depression and anxiety nearly every day. I've learned to recognize triggers, how to deal with them when they come,  and what codependency is. I've learned that I don't have to do everything for everyone all the time. I've learned I can say no. I've learned that if I want to stay home and work on a jigsaw puzzle or have a day of sloth on Sunday, I can. I've learned that I can do something I've never done before and come away feeling stronger.

I've learned I don't need to cling to a life ring when I'm drowning, if I can learn how to swim.

I am lucky. I have an incredible support system and leaned heavily on them often over the last year. I do admire people that have triumphed over difficulties but the people standing by their side are the true heroes.

What If?

One of the worst things you can say to a person with depression is, "Just get over it." Even if someone tries to be gentle about it and frames it as a question like, "Can't you just get over it?" it's still shitty.

I don't blame them for asking. It's a question that seems totally legit to someone that has never experienced depression. Not being sad. Depressed. There's a big difference between the two but it doesn't feel like it for anyone in either camp.

I have been sad before. And I've been lost in depression. Tonight while brushing my teeth, I let myself wonder, "What if? What if I could just get over it?"

What if when my mind starts racing with snippets of songs I heard earlier in the day and the project at work and the friend that's struggling and the fella that's grumpy and the new kitten that I still can't quite let myself deserve and the flowers at work that maybe I should have brought home and not given him so much shit about because now I wonder if he gave them to me because he wanted to or because I was vocal about wanting them? What if I could just be silent?

What if I was able to look at myself in the mirror and smile instead of wince away? What if I just did what I know will help me feel better? What if I stopped feeling like I can't do anything? What if thinking about making better changes for myself wasn't so terrifying and overwhelming? What if just thinking about stepping on the scale didn't make me want to cry? What if when I went shopping for clothes I actually enjoyed it?

What would happen if I was able to accept a compliment? Or believed it? What if I was able to actually say 'thank you' and not spend the rest of the day wondering if I sounded arrogant? What if I was able to walk by a group of people and not think their conversation was about how terrible I was? What would happen if I stopped hearing voices from the past telling me that was absolutely what was happening?

What if I didn't feel all the things I feel? What if I didn't actually hurt when I read about tragic things happening in our world? What kind of life would I have? Would I still be kind? Or would I grow hard and indifferent? What if I was able to experience my senses in only the most basic of ways? What if I could say/dress/be who I wanted to be without constant wonder what others thought? Would I be different?

What if I could sleep normally? What if 3 am was just how late I used to stay up in my twenties instead of when my day starts? What if my dreams were of full of hope for the future instead of battling my past? What if I could recognize my triggers instead of getting slammed with circumstance? What if everything didn't scare me so? What if I could trust that life,that I, will just get through this?

What if I could just get over it?


*I really am ok. But I haven't been before. I have been all of the things I talked about above and more. Right now I'm in a good place but there will always be a fear of losing that feeling. Another difference between sadness and depression is that sadness fades, often changing into a life lessons. Depression can lay dormant, waiting and ready to latch onto the smallest of anxieties to drag you away from good places.  But right now, I feel ok. Even a little bit strong. What if that was me?

*Ping*

I visited my aunt in San Francisco for the first time when I was 20 years old. Her house was perfect with creaky hardwood floors and an overgrown back yard. It wasn't big or small, just narrow. I remember the computer was tucked into a nook at the back of the house. It was private and that made it perfect for conversations online with boys I didn't know.

I was not computer  or social media savvy. It wasn't called 'social media' yet. It was just strangers talking to each other through typed words.  I was young and fairly naive but I  didn't know that yet.

I loved going into chat rooms. The anonymity and the group setting and even the amusing tactics men used trying to get me to have cybersex was a new kind of entertainment.  The more I explored the rooms, the more I found myself looking forward to the *ping* of a message being sent to me. Specific attention was a constant craving back then.

When I used my handle, I was sassy, flirty, funny...and yet, still...invisible. I didn't have to worry about what other people thought about my weight or if they thought I was pretty. They couldn't see me and I equated that with being safe.  It was perfect.

And terrible.

I 'met' Jason in a chat room. I was on a roll with my cleverness. In the steady stream of conversation scrolling up my screen, my handle was present in nearly every line. I was having fun being someone no one knew.  And then he *ping*'d me.

He was sassy, flirty, funny...and chose to talk to ME. He made me feel seen, heard and understood. He made me feel important and like he cared. And he knew it.

I developed a crush. If I heard the computer *ping*, I responded like Pavlov's dog. Every time so eager to be acknowledged.

:Hey babe, did you get it to send?
:Hi! :) yeah, my aunts comp can do it
:i'll send it now ok?
:kewl. cant wait to see

He had asked me to send a picture a long time ago, but I didn't have a scanner. While visiting my aunt, I'd used hers and eventually I was able to scan my picture in to show him. Finally, after a few weeks of consistent chatting, I pressed 'enter' and time stopped while I waited for him to respond.

I never heard from him again.

Eventually I decided to call Jason. He'd given me his phone number early in our IM conversations telling me  I could call him "some time if you're up late at night".  It was early evening when I felt brave enough to confront him.

He answered and when I told him who it was, he got very quiet. I asked what happened the day I sent my picture.

"Oh, yeah...That. Well, I don't like girls that are big. So....I don't really want to talk to you anymore."

I felt my heart break into a million pieces. I immediately went cold inside and after a moment, I said something like, "You could have mentioned that earlier, " before hanging up. That might not be exactly what I said, but I know I didn't defend myself.

I still have the picture I sent to him. I'm wearing a tshirt with a pun on it and I'm grinning, caught in a laugh shared off with someone off camera. My little cousin is in the foreground, head to toe in homemade fingerpaint the same shade as his eyes. I'm holding a paint brush just in front of him, a smiley face circling his belly button. Being silly, having fun, feeling good.

And then he *ping*d me.
Reality collided with fantasy and I learned you can be hurt from someone you've never seen. Jason was unfortunately the first in a long line of internet interactions with men. Some of my experiences were good, some I just thought were good.

Eventually that line led me straight to the one that counts and I can look back without the sting of hurt. I can look at that picture from a lifetime ago and focus on the smile, not who I sent it to.

I know I don't have to defend myself either. Because this is just who I am and I trust that.

Mental Health Day

I had a feeling I was headed down a familiar path. The truth is, I've been traveling on it for quite some time. Occasionally there were signs to show me the direction but they were like the signs in Alice in Wonderland-hard to read and partially hidden, making it very easy for me to just continue on in my usual way.

My daily routine had become monotonous. Work, home, TV, bed. Sometimes a shower. Sometimes an evening out with friends, forcing myself to not hermit. Once a week, therapy. Work, home, TV (book if I can concentrate), bed. Then I couldn't sleep. Then all I wanted to do was sleep. Then I wanted to eat. Then I hated food. Then I got cranky, irritable, angry and tried to blame it on hormones. My mind began to spin with overanalyzation of every conversation, situation or circumstance.  I smiled on the outside but my face doesn't lie well. I started to withdraw.

I cried at work a few times. One day I was able to hold it together until I reached the basement floor to head out to my car. I thought I was in the clear but coworkers saw me wiping my eyes. They never mentioned it. I withdrew a little more.

I talked to a few people, shared my struggles, seeking desperately for them to say what I didn't know I needed to hear just so I would feel better.  Eventually I stopped talking. I didn't want to annoy them or burden them anymore. I said I was sorry a lot. I apologized before I even knew what was wrong. I began to feel paranoid, like everyone hated me. I withdrew further.

Painting wasn't interesting to me, taking photos seemed like too much work, I couldn't concentrate on reading and TV was just noise.  I even cut my hair just trying to feel different. Nothing was erasing that familiar dark spot of depression.

And I broke.

I was staring at the wall in my office, listening to work sounds. Laughter down the hallway, printers printing, footsteps from the top floor, muffled conversations, background music...normal sounds. It got very quiet as my focus landed on an elephant tchotchke I'd collected. I remember having no thoughts for a blissful moment. Then suddenly, the realization that I was not OK.

The subtle comments from concerned friends over the last few months, the direct queries from others regarding my mental state, therapy sessions peppered with 'aha' moments that stung...all of them came flooding back and I knew I needed to go. Happenstance had turned the clock to the end of my shift and I was able to leave the building without anyone seeing me.

I told my boss I wouldn't be in the next day and I stayed up late. One of the 'can't sleep' nights. I tried reading, writing, watching TV. Still dark in the spot.

I got up before my alarm. Typical. I lay there listening to the Fella get ready for work, wincing at weird morning sounds but relishing in their familiarity. One of the cats curled up on me and started purring but I knew it was a ploy for breakfast. I pet her anyway. The Fella kissed me goodbye and I lay there a bit longer, thinking about how I wasn't at work.

When I called in, I never said I was sick. I didn't want to lie or give the impression I'd been spreading germs about the last few days. But I chose not to share that I needed to take a mental health day. Not because I thought it wouldn't be accepted, but because I have a hard time admitting I need one. Or two. Or seven.

I never know how much time I'll need to feel OK. I don't need to be AMAZING! or AWESOME! but I'd like very much to be OK.

Several friends, my Fella and my therapist all told me to just do whatever I wanted to do for myself today. That's not an easy thing for me to do. So much of what I'm learning about myself goes back to me being a caretaker and a people pleaser that needs a lot of approval and affirmation. Learning how I became that way has been so hard to accept... but I'm trying. It makes being me very hard sometimes because it means I need to change and while it's so often necessary, change is hard.  Being someone that puts everyone else before myself is who I've been for nearly 40 years. Even as I told my boss I couldn't come in, I could hear "You're lucky you even have a job!" and "Just get over it!" and "What the hell is wrong with you anyway?" and "That's just how life is!" echoing in my head. Society screams it, my past and some of my present do too...Taking a 'mental health day' isn't something that was so easily accepted a few years ago and I had fear that others would think less of me if they knew. I felt paranoia creep in when I thought of what people might say when they saw I wasn't at work. I felt my brain begin to spin. I cried.

And then I got up. I took myself out to breakfast. The food wasn't that great, but it was comforting. There was a single mom behind me and I heard her ask the waiter how much everything cost before she ordered. I bought her breakfast because it felt good to do it. I was caretaking.

I went to the grocery store and bought myself 3 bouquets of flowers. Tulips, roses and something that looks like a mum. I also bought cards for friends, olives for the Fella and chocolates for the Fella's mom and dad. My need for approval.

Next I wandered the shelves of a Barnes and Noble. I looked for a magazine for my friend that's going to Scotland, I found a book for the Fella's mom and a few for me. I went to the attached Starbucks and bought an iced coffee and a lemon bar for an afternoon treat. The barista was a friendly auto-pilot but I tipped him anyway. People-pleaser.

The books were heavy so I put them in the trunk of my car before entering the pet store. I've been thinking about getting a betta fish for my office. Or if I can find a decent covered aquarium to protect him from the cat-beasts, one for home. They were right inside the door and I let them talk to me. One of the bettas had a beautiful white tail with red tips and he was right against his little plastic tub, fluttering his fins at me. He was the one. I wandered down the aisle to look at prospective homes for him when my eye caught the adoption booth in the corner. One kitty, a tuxedo like mine but with more black on his nose, lay there staring at me indifferently. I talked to him softly, unable to not go near the glass window. He didn't move. In fact, he barely blinked. He was not interested in me and the longer I looked at him, the sadder I felt. I glanced at his name-"Sunny Skys". The incorrect spelling only made the situation more sad. I tried to refocus on the aquariums and couldn't. Something was telling me to just go-so I did. I hope the betta and the cat find forever homes.

I was just talking about the lure of Target with a friend the other day, so I went. I smelled the popcorn and coffee mixture that permeates the air and breathed deeply. I was there for mouthwash but I knew I was leaving with more. There are a lot of small children at Target during the day, especially in the toy section. I was there for a reason but without a child in my cart calling me mommy, I could tell others were unsure. I tried my best to not look like a creepy adult while I perused the wall where my new hobby is kept. I chose two jigsaw puzzles to add to the collection. One of an enchanted garden because the colors were pretty, one that reminded me of my grandma. The cashier tried too hard to get me to sign up for whatever they try to get you to sign up for but I shut him down politely. I know he has to ask. He also asked how my day was and I told him. He suggested I take myself to lunch and I pretended to ponder the idea. I wasn't going to get lunch. My introvert side was much stronger than my extrovert side and I was ready to let it win and go home.

I stopped at the store by the house. I didn't really need anything but maybe something would look good for dinner. It wasn't even noon yet so I knew the aisles would be full of little old ladies or moms. I could handle that. Plus I was close to home and I'd discovered I could leave places I didn't want to be in anymore. Outside the doors, annual flowers sat in pots, waiting to go home. Their colors were so bright against the gray day and I told myself if they were on sale, I'd buy a few. I bought 10. And a begonia. And two carnations. And inside the store, an orange soda. I rarely drink soda but it sounded good and it was. I didn't look at the calories, carbs or sugar content because I didn't care.

I came home and did laundry, made a snack. I took a shower and curled up on the couch with my book. Throughout the day, I received texts from the Fella. That's not unusual, we communicate often. But today a few others reached out. "Enjoy your day my dear!" and "How you doing today?" and "Good. You deserve a day for you!"  and then, a personal call from my therapist to check in.  I told her I'd taken the day off and she said she knew, that she'd called my work and was pleased to hear it. I assured her I'd be in tomorrow. I told her I was doing OK. And I meant it.

But I wasn't this morning. And I might not be tomorrow. I have a lot to get through before I know I'm OK but I do know what it feels like.

Today was a good example.

Fall

I fell at work today. Tried to step over something, foot got caught, down I went. I took a cubicle wall down too.

Instantly my co-workers were at my side, helping me up and asking if I was ok.

I told them to laugh at me.

Throughout the day, as other co-workers arrived, people came by my office, asked me if I was all right. I was honest and told them my knees hurt a bit. That my palms stung. But I didn't care enough for my pride to affected.

By mid day I was limping and walking stiffly. I filled out an accident report. My day continued until it was over. As I was leaving, they told me to take care.

After I got home, the Fella asked if there was anything he could do. I shook my head no.

My back got tighter and my hatred for the stairs grew. I fell into my chair, done.

My mind started to replay the day as my body relaxed. The fall was prominently featured but I still felt oddly detached from the situation. I saw my body falling onto the floor, wobbly bits flying around unattractively. I felt my knees slam into the floor and pain radiate up both legs. I felt the weak cubicle wall break away from it's neighboring panel and I saw my hand reaching for anything to stop the rest of my body from folding.

And I heard concern. Immediately I was surrounded by concerned faces with kind tones in their voices.

 I couldn't say anything except, "Yes, I'm ok."

It wasn't because of the pain that words were lost. It was the compassion coming from my co-workers. I didn't realize how much I needed it.

I told them to laugh at me. Why? Why is it so difficult to let others be kind to me?

My first reaction was to deny that I was hurt. To not show my pain, my....weakness.

I've done that for a long time.  I've been afraid to speak my mind, share my feelings...to be true to me.
It hasn't always been like this but my confidence has been whittled to a sliver. Speaking my mind or sharing my feelings now seems like a weakness I can't afford.  I've become afraid to admit that I'm hurt.

Who Am I?

I think it's normal to forget who you are sometimes. I've already been there a couple times in my life and it seems that I'm currently again on a quest to figure myself out. Maybe it's a little different this time...maybe more of getting reacquainted but my sense of self is definitely not solid.

First, I have to be honest on the inside and admit that I haven't been ok for a little while. It isn't easy. It pisses me off. I'm almost 40 for god's sake. Shouldn't I know who I am by now? Why is my shit still so not together? Why is everything so hard and confusing and changing all the time? What the hell is wrong with me anyway?

And then, very quietly, a little voice reminds me. I'm always changing. Everyone is, all the time. So how can anyone know?

When I get lost in my head like this, that first voice is quite loud. I tend to cry and eat poorly. And generally my hormones are not helping things. Having pms when you're dealing with depression or anxiety is like pouring salt on wounds. It just heightens everything way the fuck up and makes you feel insane. Well, more insane.

My head was spinning with this mantra of Who Am I? when I realized even though I don't feel like I know...maybe I do at least a little.

I'm the one that you use for a job reference when we haven't worked together in ten years.

I'm the one that small kids smile shyly at in line at the grocery store or from the seat in front of me on an airplane or at the booth next to us in a restaurant.

I'm the one stray animals come to.

I'm the one that little old ladies ask for help to reach things on the top shelf.

I'm the one that chats up the barista/waitress/sales clerk and asks how her day is going.

I'm the one that compliments strangers on their clothes, hair, eyes.

I'm the one that you know you can talk to about anything.

I'm the one that knocks. Ok, no-that's a Breaking Bad line, but it made me a chuckle a little as I try to find more things about me that I already am.

I'm the one that buys flowers for no reason except that they were pretty.

I'm the one that will be honest with you. Straight forward, firm when necessary, but always honest.

I'm the one that will give without expecting something in return.

I'm the one that will try every single possible way to make it better before I work on letting it go.

I'm a hard worker.

I have a strong sense of right and wrong. I stand up for what I believe is right and I do it carefully-productively, not angrily.

I speak my mind. Again, carefully because the last thing I want is to hurt someone and have them feel for even a moment that pang of a harsh word.

I believe and see the good in people much sooner than bad. Sometimes, that's a detriment.


And it's partly why I am struggling now.

I've been fascinated with the psychological side of 'bad' people for years. Acts from these individuals are unfathomable to me, yet I am intensely curious to know the 'why' behind their dark behaviors. Why are they mean, unkind, hurtful or even evil? What happened to them? Did anything happen or were they simply a product of nature?

What makes someone manipulative or deceitful? Is it practiced and then perfected? Taught by another? Why do some choose to say hateful things or intentionally seek out others that are more vulnerable?

Why am I not that kind of person and instead am the type I listed above? It's fascinating and interesting to contemplate....when you're not in the middle of it.

That moment when you realize someone isn't as you thought they were is a huge smack in the face for someone like me. An empath, a sensitive soul...It's as though all thoughts of others are connected to this one individual that turned out differently. Suddenly, everyone is an asshole. Or has potential to be one when before they were just slightly annoying.

It's a wicked ride. It's exhausting and stressful and affects parts of me I didn't know could be affected. I eat poorly, I sleep worse, I cry, and it can make me forget who I am sometimes.

As long as I remember I'm not a bad person...maybe that's ok.

Clouded

Why is it so much easier to help someone else than it is to help yourself? 

Why do you tell yourself you're fine when you're not?

Why is it so hard to believe it when someone compliments you?

Why do you put everyone before yourself?

Why do you struggle to remember that you don't have to be perfect?

Because someone made you feel you had to be. You put everyone first because it makes them happy and no one gets mad and there is peace. You don't believe compliments because they aren't something you're used to. You tell yourself you're fine because you really want to be. And it's easier to help someone else simply because it's not you. 

Getting too focused on your own troubles brings insanity and a break feels inevitable. Sometimes you look for issues to discuss, just so they are not your own. Just so you can have a minute of peace. 

When even the smallest issue is enormous, it's easy to feel overwhelmed. Saying you're fine and smiling when you want to cry is a challenge like no other. It's not a feeling you can wish away or wait out. You are forced to make a decision about yourself and either you fight it or you succumb to it. 

I fight. I get back up and I try again. I cry and I scream and I desperately try to understand and when I feel like I can't take anymore, I push a bit more and fight a little longer. 

It makes me tired. 

It makes me feel like I need to say I'm sorry all the time. As though this fight inside was hurting someone else. As if having emotions and being sensitive...makes others feel uncomfortable. I feel like if I lose the fight, it makes me look weak, it's shows I'm imperfect, it's putting my own feelings before anyone else's and I should be sorry. I shouldn't let someone else fight my battles.

  

So I smile even if I feel like crying. And I ask how your weekend was and how your kids are and how that project is going and I always bring the subject back to you so that I don't have to think about 

Why it's so much easier to help someone else than it is to help myself. 

Why I tell myself I'm fine when I'm not.

Why it's hard to believe when someone compliments me.

Why I put everyone before myself.

Why I struggle to remember I don't have to be perfect.

Mermaid Tale

I had a crush on Prince Eric. Ursula was a personal hero and I thought Sebastian was strangely exotic with his accent and lip puckering. I understood Ariel and saw my own father in Triton. I watched The Little Mermaid on a tiny television that came off my dad's boat. My VHS copy had the "dirty picture" drawn into the cover.

In 1990 I was 13 and I watched that movie all. the. time. My friends and I watched it religiously. A boy touched my boob for the first time during that movie. Under a blanket, over the shirt and it might have been an accident but it still counted.

I knew all the songs and my friends and I sang along with an animated mermaid at top volume about thingamabobs and whozits. No shame in our lack of tone. Sometimes Mom would sing along with us. Her favorite was 'Kiss the Girl'. She always laughed at the part with the little tadpoles.

I saw Splash when I was 7 and two things happened. I began a lifelong crush on Tom Hanks and I became convinced mermaids were real. It seemed perfectly plausible that people could live in the Puget Sound breathing water and gliding through seaweed forests. I was an imaginative child.

When I got to visit dad while he was working, I'd stand near the edge of the dock and stare down into the inky water willing a beautiful fish person to surface.

Once, in my twenties, while experimenting with shrooms I did the same thing on a downtown pier. I almost jumped.


I re-watched the Disney classic recently and fell in love with all of it all over again. Price Eric was still dreamy, Ursula was still a badass and Sebastian's voice still made me pay attention. I still heard mom's voice singing along. This time though, I identified with Triton and felt empathy for Ariel. Poor kid. Being 16 is so hard.

Being almost 40 is hard too. But it helps to have something to believe in. I'm not religious and I don't really believe in mermaids anymore but I do believe in the magic that I feel when I'm near the ocean. I believe in the green leaves on giant oak trees and the pale purple of Spring lilacs. I believe there is something bigger than me that will never let me jump, no matter how tempting the water.

I wonder if it has a pretty tail.

Daddy's Little Girl

He told me I could write about when he got arrested. He said he figured everyone knew about it anyway, so what difference did it make? He's said before that he wants me to write his story but I'm not sure it would turn out the way he wants.

The relationship with my father is...interesting. Complicated. Wonderful and devastating. I honestly am not sure where to begin.

So maybe at the beginning?

The first thing I remember about my dad was that he wasn't there.

Every summer he would leave to go fishing in Alaska and in the fall when he returned, he'd work at the docks. I'd see him in the evening, usually while we ate at TV trays and guessed at the puzzles on Wheel of Fortune. He'd sit in his bathrobe, smoking and growling at Pat Sajak. Sometimes he'd read the newspaper and smoke. Or mend nets during Jeopardy and smoke. It's rare to see him without a Camel pinched between his fingers.  I'd watch his hands weave in and out of the fishing nets, the odd shaped needles clicking against the rope. He would be right in front of me, a formidable presence and still not be there.

When I was old enough to understand, it was explained to me that what daddy did was very dangerous. It was never a secret that he might die. I grew up anticipating he would die while fishing the Alaskan waters at the same time he would assure me nothing bad was ever going to happen to him.

That just wasn't true.

I was about 3 when I remember waking to the familiar sound of his voice murmuring with my mom's. I was in the hallway when he ran passed me to the bathroom, "Where's the damn mouthwash?" He drank half the bottle before there was a knock on the door. I watched police take him away. Later I found out he'd hit someone with his car while driving drunk. The person was fine, in fact, Dad had tried to go back to apologize but the police started following him. He panicked, came home, and drank the mouthwash in a fruitless attempt to mask the smell of booze on his breath. Later, in court, the pedestrian walked by my father and spit on him. He wasn't in jail very long. To me it was just like he was away fishing anyway.

The next time he was in jail, I knew before he told me.

Mom had been dead for about a year and dad and I were working on being ok with ourselves and with each other. He and I weren't exactly friends for several years but it's amazing what shared grief can do. We had decided to visit his mother together in Alaska. I'd never been and it was a second home for him. It was the first time we'd ever gone anywhere together just the two of us.

The night before our flight, I called to confirm what time we were meeting in the morning. He didn't answer. I called the bar he was always in. They knew him, they knew me. The bartender that answered was cold when he was usually friendly. "No, he ain't here." I hung up mildly concerned. It wasn't usually hard to get a hold of him. We'd been even better at staying connected since Mom died and he always called me back right away if he missed my call. Some time went by and I tried again. Straight to voicemail. A cold feeling crawled across my skin. Something wasn't right. He's in jail.

I have no idea how I knew, I just did. I got on the internet and marveled at how easy it was to see if someone was in jail. Within moments I was looking at my own last name in a list of people arrested within the last 24 hours. Being right doesn't always feel good.

I called his brother that lived in Alaska and told him. He told me to call their mom, tell her we weren't going to be on tomorrow's flight, but not tell her why. So I did. I lied to my grandmother. And then I went and visited my dad in jail.

On the way I called and cancelled the plane tickets-non refundable. I sat next to a very good friend in her car, watching the county jail get closer as we traveled into the city and felt my insides swirl with anxiety, anger and fear.

The jail smelled. It was big and cold, gray. I immediately hated it. There were women in the waiting room that looked like the women from bad crime TV shows.  I waited with them, alternating between picking my cuticles and twirling my hair. They called my name, told me I could go in to see him and I got up, looked back at my friend. Her eyes held sympathy.

It wasn't like a bad crime show passed the doors. There were windows divided with thin partitions. A small space for each prisoner. No privacy. There was no one else there. A guard told me where to sit and I did. I waited.

When he came out in the jumpsuit, he looked small. He looked up at me and I saw surprise, shame and...pride flash across his face. He sat down on the other side of the glass and picked up the phone. I picked up mine. "Are you ok?"

He told me he was. I told him I cancelled the flight. He told me he didn't call because they took his phone and he didn't have my number memorized. I told him I called his mother but that I didn't tell him why we weren't coming. He told me he called a lawyer. I told him I talked to his brother.

And then, "What happened Dad?"

It took a little while for him to tell me.

Over several conversations through phone calls and visits, I learned that he'd been selling cocaine for a long time. And to a lot of people. He told me he'd crossed state lines and that there were people bigger than him that the cops wanted to know about, that he refused to snitch. He told me it was to pay bills. He told me it was to help me. He told me how he got caught.

A 'friend' was looking to score. She was an informant and when she found out dad and I were planning a trip, she tipped off the DEA. They swarmed the bar he was always in and arrested him with guns drawn and S.W.A.T on standby. They took him away in the back of a car, his life forever changed. The informant was never revealed.

I went to court only one time. The first time. I sat on an uncomfortable bench, surrounded by uncomfortable people, waiting to hear uncomfortable things. I tried to read, waiting for my father's name to be called but it was no use. My mind was reeling.

When he came out in his gray suit, he looked small. He didn't look at me, instead he looked at the judge. I listened to him tell his side of things, repeating the story I'd heard. I couldn't stop staring at the back of his head. His hair was thinning. I hadn't seen him without his trademark fisherman's cap in so long...I hadn't known. His voice caught and my attention was refreshed.

"My daughter is in the audience Judge. I ain't proud of what I did," he paused. "I'm just glad my wife isn't around to see this."

That was when I started crying. The tears fell silently at first but I had to step outside for a moment to breathe again. For as long as I live, I will remember that moment.

He was in jail for a few months and then he was on house arrest. He lost his right to vote, own a gun, and was banned from the bar he'd been arrested in. He was mandated to attend AA meetings regularly but only went to a few before deciding he didn't need 'that shit'. A friend signed his name for him so he was still on record. After the ankle bracelet was removed he found another bar. They know him, they know me. He stopped selling drugs. He ran out of money. Eventually I paid for us to visit my grandmother in Alaska.  To my knowledge she never knew why the original trip had been postponed.

Our relationship changed again. I realized he was fallible. He and I talked a lot, got to know each other as adults instead of father and daughter. We never talked about the arrest until I asked him if I could write about it years later.

"I don't care. I figure everyone knows about it anyway so what difference would it make?"

Bad List

I've had a lot of things happen in my life that weren't good. Sometimes it feels like they play over in my head like end credits of a movie and my mind starts flooding with every tragic moment.

I see my experiences as a list of things that have helped shape me. I write it now not to be reminded of every painful situation but to try and remove them from my mind. For the credits to fade into black. t

1. The first thing I remember is my grandfather dying when I was four. It was Christmas Eve and the holiday was never the same after that. He had a brain tumor and I remember a big red X on his bald head, marking where the surgery had been to remove it-too late. I also remember seeing the white sheet pulled over his body. He was in a hospital bed in the middle of the living room, the Christmas tree lights casting an oddly comforting glow. I wanted to look under the sheet but no one let me.  I remember my grandmother crying, my mother and father holding each other and lots of emergency technicians milling about. White coated doctors and nurses from the hospice and EMTs. I wandered under their feet, lost in the intense sad chaos that my family was in, too young to fully understand. I had nightmares for years about giants stealing me in the middle of the night.

2. I was incredibly fearful of sirens and had nightmares that haunted me for years in my young childhood. I believe it was in part from being there that Christmas.

3. At a young age-perhaps about 6, the neighbor boy played doctor with me. My father was enraged and we moved soon after. Not because of the boy, because we were kicked out of our rental house. I pretended it was because of the boy.  We'd been under the porch where it was dark and smelled like dirt. It was more of a 'show me yours and I'll show you mine' kind of thing until he touched me. When my parents went to kiss me good night I recoiled and they eventually got me to tell them what had happened. My father went to the boy's father and I don't know what happened, but I heard him yelling from under my covers in my bedroom. I was terrified that what I'd done was the source of his rage.

4. My dog and my cat were run over and killed shortly after moving in to the new house. Both of them were named Muffin. I had other pets-a dog and two cats. The dog adopted my mother and after I moved out and my parents were evicted, they left the cats behind.

5. The house I grew up in had black mold on the walls.  The mold climbed from the floor to the middle of the walls in some places and I tried to cover it with posters. There were only two wall heaters for the whole house, windows that were falling off the hinges, holes in the floor where the wood had rotted through and no insulation. I was cold a lot. We were broken into several times-it wasn't a good neighborhood. There was one instance when we came in through the front door while the robber was running out the back. He stole my mother's jewelry and broke a box my grandfather had made. She cried for days.  Once we came home to find a snake in the middle of the living room.

6. I lived on an alley that I walked up and down countless times. Two girls lived along the alley, one on each end. They were cruel to me, calling me names and telling me things like, "You'd be pretty if you weren't so fat." I didn't know that wasn't right. They would tell me that my dolls were alive but that they only moved when I wasn't in the room because they didn't like me.

7. In fifth and sixth grade I learned about drugs and alcohol, specifically the DARE program. I was enthusiastic and excited to participate in the war on drugs. I made flyers about the dangers of smoking and drinking and put them in people's mailboxes. I went to both of my parents individually and expressed concern about the other's habits. Both parent said the same thing, "Ok honey, I'll talk to them"  but did nothing different. I grew up surrounded by alcohol and drugs.

8. When I was 15 I had what I can only describe as a panic attack while staying overnight at a friend's house. In a moment, I remembered every painful moment I had blocked from younger years involving the sons of my parents' friends. I didn't talk about it for another seven years and that was only after I was found clutching a bottle of pills.

9. My mother would get drunk and fall or run into things. She broke her leg, foot, toe several times. She was diabetic and didn't take care of herself. One summer evening she took me on a "treat run". A spontaneous trip to get ice cream. She'd been drinking and we hit a parked car. While we were out trying to find the owner, someone stole my ice cream from the car's open window.

10. The people working at the liquor store knew our name because of her shopping frequency. I can still remember the way the store smelled, see the bottles on the shelves.

11. My father would often call from the bar and my mother would tell him not to drive. She'd hang up and be angry or cry.  A little later we would hear his Cadillac rumble up the driveway. She was fine then.

12. When I was very little the police followed my father home because he'd hit a pedestrian while driving drunk. I remember him frantically drinking mouthwash to kill the smell of booze before they arrested him. I was three.

13. He passed out in his chair once with a little cigarette and nearly lit himself on fire. He still does it. This last Christmas I bought him a new bathrobe. He said it was good timing since he'd burned so many holes in the old one.

14. My grandfather was in town for a visit and dad took him out. They came home drunk and grandpa fell. They all laughed at me when I cried. That was the last time I saw him-he died a few months later. I didn't go to the funeral because I was mad that the last memory I had of him was his mocking laughter.

15. The neighbor kid was mentally challenged and he used to chase me, naked, demanding I look at him. When I told my mom I didn't want to go to their house anymore, she told me he was 'special' and didn't understand. She made me go anyway.

16. Every boy I have ever dated cheated or dumped me for a friend until I was in my early 30s. Every. Single. One.

17. I failed driver's education in high school. My parents refused to pay for another course.  My dad told me they had bought me a car but were returning it because I failed.

18. My father would come home drunk and try to box with me, or he'd fight with me verbally. He treated me like one of his cronies-guys that he surrounded himself with.  My mother's reaction was always,"now now, that's enough." She didn't try to stop it.

19. My friends loved my mom because she let us smoke and cuss. They were afraid of my father and would often ask if he'd be there before deciding on if they'd come over.

20. The mother of the sons that hurt me committed suicide and I was forced to go to the viewing. She was short and wearing cowboy boots and very dead. I can still see her face.

21. I have been in no less than 10 car accidents and maybe more than that. I lost track. I was never driving the car.

22. My grandmother threw me in the deep end of the community pool one summer so I'd learn how to swim. I nearly drowned. I remember the lifeguard taking me into the locker room and sitting me on the bench, helping me regain my composure. She kept looking at me to make sure I was ok.

23. Same grandmother told me I was going to lose weight and stop sucking my thumb or Jesus wouldn't love me anymore.

24. The guy I lost my virginity to told me he could never be with me because I was too fat, I didn't drive and I didn't have enough sexual experience to ever please him.

25. I lived with a man for two years that wouldn't touch me. It wasn't until years later he told me he "never liked me that way".

26. I fell head over heels for a guy that literally disappeared from my life one morning after he kissed me goodbye. I never talked to him again. Eventually a friend told me he'd gotten married.

27. My mom was in and out of the hospital for the latter part of her life-about a decade of mine. Heart attacks, strokes, near diabetic comas, broken bones from falling or running into things. Many many nights spent in the ER or ICU. Eventually she was put in a rehab place that I visited dutifully every Sunday for over a year. It was a wretched place that caused her intense depression. She was miserable there and every time I visited it became more clear that she was giving up.

28. I stayed with her one weekend and she fell. She had asked me to go to the store and buy her a jug of wine. And I did. And she drank it. And she fell. It was a pattern. The EMTs recognized her and addressed her by name.

29. She died in the fall of 2006.

30. My grandmother died that same year. She died first, in August. I had to go to the service alone, Mom couldn't travel. I went to my grandmother's house and watched in horror as my aunts and uncles went through her things.

31. My father would visit my mother at the rehab place drunk. Or show up at the hospital that way too. Except the last time. Then he was just angry.

32. Dad sold drugs. A lot and for a long time. He was being watched by the DEA and when they suspected he was leaving town (we were going to visit family in Alaska) they swooped in and arrested him. I had to call his mother, my grandmother, and tell her we wouldn't be coming but not why.

33. I saw him in prison, in court, and later with an ankle bracelet. He was ordered mandatory AA meetings and refused, instead getting a friend to sign off for him.

34. In my mid twenties I had the closest thing to a breakdown I can imagine. I sat with a bottle of pills and some very dark thoughts before a friend found me and took me to see my doctor. I started a very difficult journey.

There's more. I count that moment after the pills as my half way point and that was nearly 20 years ago. Since then a million other things have happened to make this list but that's enough for now.