*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.