082619: naps and class

Man, I am TIRED.

Girl Child decided that 2 am was a fantastic time to wake up today. Therefore, 2 am is when I had my first of many wake up alarms. Too bad I can’t put her in snooze mode.

I’ve been attempting to focus on reading through “Verbal Behavior” but it doesn’t help that I’m on broken sleep. This book reads like stereo instructions. However, it’s an elementary text for this field so I need to get through it in some way. It’s not on audio book so I’m forced to do it the old fashioned way. Although, I’ve never listened to an audio book – this would have been my first.

I put on a pair of pants and shirt today that I haven’t put on since last winter. They both wore like a relaxed fit, which I’m into because they used to be quite snug. Pretty excited about that. I ate a garbage lunch (dino nuggets, fries, yogurt, and hershey’s caramel kisses), so I have to do better with dinner (which shouldn’t be an issue).

I really just want to nap. However, I’m not good at napping. My body just won’t allow it unless it’s literally tapping out of life for that time period. I get anxious about napping on school days. I’m always afraid I’m going to miss my daughter’s bus. It can be like 10 am – nope, still can somehow miss the bus. It’s illogical, I know, but that’s anxiety for you.

I’ve been tossing around the idea of turning my blog in to a book of some sort. I’m kind of stuck on where to start. I feel like I have a lot to say, but I’m unsure of how to structure it and/or where to begin. Do I start with the breakdown and approach it from the mental illness perspective? Do I start with being a parent of children with Autism? Do I write a collection of stories about various pole dancers? I just don’t know. My life is so varied, I’d love to somehow incorporate all three, but that just doesn’t work. I’d love to incorporate research regarding each topic to educate as well, but I feel like I need to zero-in on a topic to run with.

This blog was created after I had a breakdown two years ago. I’ve utilized it as an outlet for myself and, in doing so, have helped others. I’d like to try and do that on a broader scale.

I don’t know. I think I just need someone to say, “Do this thing” and set me on my merry way. I feel like there’s a way to cover both my own struggles with motherhood, but I haven’t quite figured it out yet.

My PhD program technically starts today. However, there are no syllabi available yet. This gives my over-planning personality major anxiety issues. The usual questions are running through my mind: what assignments do we have? what readings are we supposed to do? what do the rubrics look like? how much time do I need to allot to studying and work? how well versed in this particular subject matter do I need to be? etc etc etc.

I’m hoping we get that information soon so I can plan appropriately. I hate getting things at the last minute. I did, however, get a super neat planner. It’s called “Carpe F*cking Diem”. There are so many fucks scattered throughout this planner it makes me smile. I just have to make sure I don’t leave it out at the clinic for the kids to walk by and see.

In other news, I still need a nap. Woof.

Thanks for stopping by.

I am glad you exist.

082119: you’re a weirdo, but it’s cool.

“Pepper go in your crate!”

She-Dog looks at me, walks in her crate, turns right around, walks back out of her crate, straight up to me, sniffs, then walks away.

What a bitch.

In other news, I went to my therapist today. I read her my entry from Monday along with an excerpt from “An Unquiet Mind”. She complimented my writing, saying “You write so eloquently – that could have been a chapter in a book”. Of course I smiled and said thank you. I told her I get it from my Dad – he has a way with words. After some talking, she affirmed two things:

1. I am a crazy weirdo.
2. It’s OK.

I’ve always known that I’m different, which is why it has always been difficult for me to fit in – I don’t! It’s so easy to let society weigh you down and make you feel so terribly about yourself. We’re supposed to be a certain body type, have certain jobs, work a certain way, dress a particular way, say certain kinds of things.

You know what?

That’s dumb.

There’s much more freedom in being uniquely you. People appreciate you being just the way you are… even when you need help and support to get there.

I’m a hexagon peg in a round hole world.

And it’s OK.

It doesn’t always feel ok – as can be exemplified through a majority of my entries, but I guess the important thing is to surround yourself with a support network. A healthy support network. People who genuinely love and care about you and your well-being. In order to do that, though, you have to allow yourself to be vulnerable. That’s the catch.

A lot of us like to be seen like Superheroes with thick-ass armor. We are impenetrable. We are strong. We can handle our shit like a fucking boss.

Until you can’t.

And your armor is broken.

And you’re on the ground beaten, bloody, bruised.

Alone.

Those are the toughest times. When you feel like nothing is going your way, life keeps beating the shit out of you, and you wonder: Where is the superhero for superheroes?

Then you remember that superheroes are people too. People who fall apart and need others to put the pieces back together. Those people are just as great, if not greater.

To be honest, my Husband is one of the greatest people on this planet. He allows me to be great. He also allows me to spill my guts on the floor. In fact, he’s waiting there with a mop and bucket to clean up my guts. He probably also has cheese fries and a cupcake because that is my Depression Menu. He supports and encourages me through the highs and the lows. I know it’s exhausting for him because it’s exhausting for me. I appreciate everything he does during those times.

It’s also nice to have two smiling, annoying children. There’s nothing like getting a hug from one of your kids when you’re feeling like garbage. And by “hug” I mean “laying on top of me for an extended period of time because they have no concept of what an actual hug is”… or personal space… or time. But that’s okay. Just the fact that they are there sharing space with me during those times is nice. I may be feeling like the world is closing in on me, but it’s nice to know someone is willing to (or even wants to) sit with me in the darkness.

Speaking of children, Girl Child should be arriving home soon.

Thanks for stopping by.

I am glad you exist.

 

081919: suicide & stability

Last week was really tough. I’m not really sure where to begin.

I wrote my piece on Monday hoping it would help. It did, to a certain extent, but some times you just can’t help what’s going on in your brain. Monday night, I wasn’t safe. I didn’t feel safe with myself. I cancelled my session with my personal trainer because I wasn’t entirely sure that I was going to make the right decisions. What does that mean? Speaking very plainly, I couldn’t trust myself not to drive in to on-coming traffic. I couldn’t trust myself not to drive in to a ditch. I couldn’t trust myself to make it to my designated end destination. I may have veered off course and never returned home.

I stayed home. I waited for Husband to come home. The timing was terrible. He had just come from a tough session with his counselor to me in a suicidal state. I had the sense of mind to call for an appointment with my psychiatrist. I said I would take the first available appointment tomorrow morning, even though I had work.

Husband was really great about the whole thing. I knew if I was with someone, I was safe. We went to dinner. I had some drinks and fell asleep fairly quickly after taking my meds. A sleeping wife is still an alive wife.

I went to work the next day. I was shook. I took a call that said to be at the doctor by ten. I went to my clinic supervisor and told her I was in crisis. I told her if I was at work, I was safe. She talked with me for the next hour until it was time for me to go to my appointment. The conversation we had was so meaningful and helpful. She has such a beautiful soul and I’m beyond grateful to have her in my life – not just for work, but as a friend as well. She helped calm me down before I went to my appointment.

I don’t remember a lot of that morning. I remember being told to stop, slow down, and breathe a lot. The conversations with my CS and therapist helped get me to a place where I was able to finish out my day at work.

Husband encouraged me to exercise after work, so I did. On my way, I ended up getting pulled over by the cops. Thankfully it was just a warning. I probably looked so dejected from my day that he went easy on me.

Thursday I got put on a performance plan at work due to my attendance issues. This past summer has been absolutely atrocious. A lot of the things were beyond my control. I asked if FMLA will change things and the HR lady said yes. I asked if it would make sense to wait for FMLA and this wouldn’t be necessary and she said no. Having been on the other side of these conversations, I knew that I didn’t really have any say in the matter. Your comments are always an illusion, at best. HR has made up their mind and that’s what is going to happen.

I decided to read “An Unquiet Mind.” It’s written by a psychiatrist who battles with manic-depressive illness. There were so many times while I was reading the book where I went, “OH MY GOD, YES. THIS. SHE GETS IT. THIS MAKES SO MUCH SENSE.” It was reassuring to know that I’m not alone. I kept reading the book for hints or tidbits of information that can help me live a better life. I didn’t quite find those, but I found a lot of comfort and solace in someone else’s mania and depression.

I just keep wanting to know: how do you work? How do you live life like this? Clearly I’ve been living my life, but I’ve lived life unmedicated and erratic for 30 years. Now I’m medicated and I still feel like I’m flailing. I started to get better mentally, then I started falling apart physically. Now the physical effects the mental and I feel like I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

I don’t know what’s good for me any more. I don’t quite think I’ve nailed down what’s NOT good for me any more, either. I don’t know how to make sense of this all, but I guess I’m not supposed to and that’s my therapist’s job anyhow.

I really wonder how other people do it – how do you get up every day? How do you consistently make it to work? How do you deal with the days when you are incredibly depressed? How do you slow yourself down on those days where you have far too much energy?

I remember when I was first put on medication. The very first time I took those two little pills. I felt like I was zooming so high, going a million miles an hour and someone SLAMMED on the brakes. Full stop. I remember falling asleep within 5-10 minutes after taking the medication. I remember feeling the world start to slow down. Rather, I slowed down – the world kept going at it’s normal pace. I felt like everyone knew I was on medication; they could see it in my eyes. They could sense my crazy.

Now, rather than feeling at a full stop, I feel more like I’m riding the brakes. In the book, she talks about being addicted to the highs. I can absolutely relate to that. I miss sleeping less, feeling more productive, being more enthusiastic and energetic.

I don’t understand how life was simultaneously easier and more difficult while I was unmedicated and untreated. I feel like I have bigger problems and more difficulty now than before and I don’t quite know how to deal with it.

I have faith that I’ll do well in my program. Past performance is an indicator of future behavior, right? Well, if my past tells you anything – I’m really great student. I’m not a good traditional worker. I don’t quite know how to do that. It was really great when I could work from home. I made my own schedule. I worked when I was able. No one was dependent on me in the way I’m depended on now. I took care of things when I was well and on days I needed to rest or be a blob, I could and it didn’t hurt any one.

That’s not how things work now, though. I’m having a hard time fitting in to a regular, “normal” lifestyle of working. I wish I knew why it was so difficult for me. Then I’d better know how to fix it or stack the deck in my favor. I don’t know. I plan on talking all of this over with my psychiatrist on Wednesday and figuring out a plan of attack.

Anyway, I’m going to go read before Girl Child comes home from her first day of 6th grade.

Thanks for stopping by.

I am glad you exist.

081219: invisible illnesses, depression, and work

My husband falls asleep fairly easily and quickly.

It’s something I often envy about him. I have to rely on my meds to help me fall (and remain) asleep. Sometimes, though, my depression and/or anxiety will be going so strong that the meds do absolutely nothing and I remain awake way past the time they were supposed to kick in. Like last night. I laid awake.

Having illnesses that strike without rhyme or obvious reason is tremendously difficult. I’m overly aware of how my actions effect others. When I get sick, it doesn’t just effect me. It effects the people I work with – now they have to cover my hours, adjust my schedule, notify the chain of command, therapists lose out on the supervision time with me, I don’t get to coach and teach during those times. It effects the kids – instead of seeing me direct, they see the therapists; I miss that time with my clinic kiddos. It effects my husband – now he has to pick up the slack at home, now he worries about me. It effects my kids – now I don’t have the energy to play or interact with them, now I don’t have as much patience as I usually do, sometimes we have to cancel our adventures because I just can’t physically move.

That’s part of the reason I’m almost always on the go – especially on good and mediocre days. I try to make sure I’m super attentive, hyper observant, on top of my programming, and trying to do “the most” because I honestly don’t know when the next flare up of anything will occur.

I try not to be hard on myself. I know I can’t really help how others may view me. I don’t want to be seen as someone who’s a flake or not dependable. I don’t want to be seen as someone who shirks responsibility. I don’t want to be seen as someone who doesn’t give 100+% when they can. I do what I can, when I can. I wish I could be more reliable, but I can’t really tell when my crappy body is going to crap out on me.

I felt so incredibly strong the day after my birthday. I felt strong and powerful during my workout on Wednesday. I flipped a 150-pound tire numerous times, I deadlifted 95-pounds, I chest pressed 45-pounds – I felt like I could even do more. The next day, as the day went on, I felt my body start to freeze. Thankfully, I was filling in for a few kiddos so it mostly involved pairing (playing and making yourself super awesome to that person, essentially) so I didn’t have to do a lot of intense moving or running… well, until the end when my kiddo eloped down the hallway, but that was fine. I called off my gym time for the evening because I was already feeling some pain. I could barely get out of my car when I got home. My thought when I opened my car door was “oh no.” I knew what was happening and too stubborn to admit it. The next morning, I could barely walk. My joints were frozen. I was sick. I couldn’t go to work.

I try to tell everyone at work that I absolutely hate missing work, that I love my job, who I work with, and the kids in my care. I don’t think they really understand how much it really bothers me NOT to be at work. Most of the time I cry about it. Spending my day laid out because I don’t have a choice is more painful than the illness itself. I’ve worked really hard to get to where I am, to love what I do, and to be kept from what you’re passionate about is depressing. Considering I already deal with the depression, these times are like ultra depression deluxe times.

What makes it even worse – sometimes I get so sick that I can’t even read. Like, it’s one thing to be laid up and be able to read a book. It’s another to be laid up and truly kept from all the things that bring you joy. I’m not a big TV watcher, so binging shows isn’t something that I do. I like to read, I like to draw, I like to write. There are times (like Friday) where I feel like an achy amorphous couch blob. I feel like I’m literally just existing, taking up space, depositing more carbon dioxide into the household atmosphere.

Talk about depressing.

I try to find something good everyday or at least something worthwhile to post on my Instagram. Try to find the positives, right? That’s a thing to do.

We went school supply shopping for Girl Child today. I love seeing what she picks out. She picked out a Captain Marvel folder and Spider-man backpack. She’s such a cool kid. Then I picked out a shiny rainbow binder because, well, I’m an adult and I can choose what I want.

I fell off the bandwagon a little bit with my eating over the past few days. I need to be better about it if I want to keep experiencing success with my weight loss and strength goals. I’ve been doing really well. Again, I don’t think I can stress the importance and drive I have to take advantage of my good days. Then you get knocked on your ass for a few days and have another few residual days where you can’t do much of anything. I keep my trainer informed of everything so she knows how to effectively program for me. I appreciate that a lot. That’s how it should work. It’s not like boot camp. It’s not like cross fit. We do exercises that are good for me, my body, and my goals. She keeps in mind what my body does and how it reacts and we know what to do/not do in the future.

I’ve just been feeling depressed because of the whole thing and I’ve been eating my greasy feelings.

I feel somewhat anxious to go back to work on Tuesday. The anxiety stems from worrying about how other people may view me because of what I have to do because of my illnesses. I know I shouldn’t care, I shouldn’t let it bother me. I’ll probably be ok. I’ve been thinking about either sending an email or saying something at our meeting about how much I appreciate all of them – when I’m there and when I’m not. It won’t hurt, but I don’t think I can say that statement without bawling. I’m tearing up as I write that. I don’t know. We’ll see. I guess I just want them to understand that I would be there if I could, but sometimes I just can’t and I’m sorry.

Bah, feelings.

Thanks for stopping by.

I am glad you exist.