I DON'T WANT TO GO?

 

It took a bit longer than usual, but today, 3 days ahead of our trip, I don't want to go.  

This happens every time.  There is a travel series on Apple TV+ (two seasons so far) hosted by actor/comedian Eugene Levy, called The Reluctant Traveler, where he pokes fun at himself for his anxieties and fears around travel and travel experiences that others seem to relish, but he (and I) prefer to avoid.  Like him I go anyway, and generally love the experience in retrospect, but the pre-trip and even some present-moment realities of travel can be challenging to a highly-sensitive homebody.  

I've learned ways to calm my anxieties around air travel, not sleeping well, gut-upsetting new diet, too much stimulation, too much busyness, being with strangers, getting confused in new cities, and generally just not being in my familiar life.  But still, calming anxiety is not the same as eliminating it.  My highly-sensitive constellation of traits all go on high, high alert. 

(I've written about highly-sensitive people before and I recently read another article about us where the author posited that we be called highly-responsive and I like that better.  "Sensitive" sounds so wimpy and whiny.  But no matter what it's called, about 20% of people have this constellation of traits and it can make life both amazingly deep and joyful and also overwhelming and difficult.  I'm just thankful to have a reason for being the me that I am: highly-responsive to internal and external stimuli/experiences.)

Anyway, I have a list of "to-do" items for each day before we leave.  My OCD tendencies when I'm anxious have now swooped in and I keep adding to the lists.  It was a joke when I was still working that I had to have every single loose end tied up before I went on my vacations, such that I'd work 12 hour days in the week before leaving and compose copious notes for those filling in for me trying to anticipate and mitigate every possible eventuality in my absence.  Then I'd go home and stay up to all hours doing the same at home, including one time repotting all my houseplants!  I'm better now.

I've been on a years-long journey of a spiritual practice of being in present moment.  Anxiety is about the future.  The future doesn't exist.  I meditate.  I practice calming breaths.  I come back to my senses over and over.  I am mostly successful.  But travel always upsets my peace and presents me with the challenge of putting all my tools into practice with great intention.  The way to deal with it is to be present with the discomfort.  Getting comfortable with being uncomfortable is a new goal of mine.  Don't we all do whatever we can to avoid any discomfort, physical or emotional?  Just ask the pharmaceutical and recreational drug/alcohol industries how lucrative it is to "fix" people's various real and perceived discomforts.

So, I am looking at this whole trip thing as the lab for my theory class.  Easy to practice present moment calm when things are calm.  Not so easy when things start to feel a wee bit out of control and anything but calm.  My mind is thinking, "I don't want to go" thoughts, but my Awareness is just sitting there watching those thoughts arise and dissipate and I am aware that my thoughts running wild are what is causing my emotional state to go into a reactive anxiety.  Come back to the present moment, my love.  You are sitting in your beautiful room, typing a blog post, sipping coffee, and watching the sun become brighter on this beautiful blue sky Spring day.  All is well, right?

Well, what is not so great are Nazis.  Last night we started watching All the Light You Cannot See on Netflix.  It's a 4-part series about a blind girl sending coded messages to the Allies via her underground radio broadcast.  The Nazis are on to her and on the hunt for her with the reluctant assistance of a young Nazi officer who was basically kidnapped by the SS and sent to a "training center" that was brutal and inhumane in order for him to use his genius with radio stuff in service to the Fuehrer.  It was hard to watch.  At one point I put a blanket over my eyes and ended up sobbing. I cannot abide cruelty. At the end of two episodes, we turned it off.  I won't go back and watch the rest.

Which reminded me that sites of Nazi atrocities are now tourist attractions.  Tickets to Anne Frank's home in Amsterdam are a hot item.  They are limited and only available for purchase 6 weeks ahead of one's planned visit.  We got up at 2:00 a.m. on the requisite date to get ours and felt lucky to be successful. Many are not; they sell out in minutes.  Now I'm wondering....why would I travel all that way, spending part of my vacation day touring the home where Anne Frank hid in secret rooms for years until someone ratted them out and she and her family ended up in the concentration camps anyway?  (Yes, I read the book in high school and it haunted me.)  I have my ticket.  I'll decide when I get there if I will use it.  I may prefer to sit in a field of tulips somewhere, creating a present moment that brings me peace and joy in the midst of travel.

At this point I feel compelled to say,  I don't actually HATE travel.  I've always had lovely experiences and love seeing new places.  I just have a lot of other discomforts along the way.  I am grateful, always, for experiencing it all with Hub, my boyfriend.  He understands me, he supports me, he is patient (mostly) with my quirks.  And I "get" him too.  He will spend a LOT of time taking photos, lagging behind, getting all the sites from every possible angle, all to be downloaded to his desktop computer and never seen again.  At least it slows our pace, and I like that.  More time for present moment awareness. 🙏🏽

Leaving soon...stay tuned...

At least, that's the view from here...©

COVID AND KARMA

Turns out I don't have Covid after all.  I sort of knew that.  But sheesh!  I was unusually tired and lethargic all week; had a sore-ish scratchy throat; felt a bit "feverish" even if my thermometer registered normal (could have been broken!); seemed lost in a brain fog and had zero interest in doing anything I'd normally enjoy or at least need to do; thought I felt a certain heaviness in the chest and maybe was a tad short of breath walking up my two flights of stairs.  (I checked my pulse ox -- normal, but again, those instruments can fail!)  I felt like a slug; a nervous, depressed, frightened, slow-crawling slug--as if someone with a salt shaker was about to unload on me.  (Don't have slugs where you live?  Salt kills, like Covid.)

While my granddaughter was here during the day last week, I pushed through and found relief from perseverating on the fact that I likely had deadly Delta-variant Covid, and we actually had a great time!  I didn't feel awful, just a little "off".  But as soon as she went home at dinnertime, I was back to being Sad Me, Sick Me, convinced I had caught The Covid somewhere while my guard was down.  Was it being told that our unvaccinated recent visitor was likely fine since she gets her antibodies tested monthly?  Was it being back to normal with my not-that-cautious extended family, maskless and huggy?  Was it my lax hand-washing?  So, to make absolutely sure, I went and had a Covid test on Thursday. Negative result came today. 

In the meantime I had figured out that my symptoms were psychologically-induced physical manifestations of my mental illness (wow, that diagnosis sounds bigger than what it feels like to me, but let's be honest, I guess.)  Turns out it was that I was missing the familiar energy drain of The Twins, who showed up rather unexpectedly:  Anxiety and Depression.  It's been awhile.  I didn't recognize them.  But the "I hate me" tears and lack of focus/energy/interest along with the absolute certainty of impending death should have tipped me off.

I'm just happy The Twins don't come 'round much anymore as I've gained some pretty great tools and remedies to either ward them off or stop them from moving in:  mindfulness, breathing, introspection, self-compassion, and just the history of knowing they are out there, they might stop by, but they won't stay.  These days, once they are in the door (sneaky bastards know the alarm code), I frown and say, "WTF? You again?"  Eventually I ask them what they are trying to teach me,  then I take a few days for the lesson to materialize, then take another few days to get its meaning.  Then I kick them to the curb, watching them slink away.  Buh-bye!  

Today I feel back to my perky self.  OK, not perky exactly but not bereft, like lyrics from the song by AJR that my granddaughter recently introduced me to:  🎶"I ain't happy yet, but I'm way less sad." 🎶 

I can tell I feel better because I have about a dozen things on my Sunday to-do list and this blog post isn't one of them, so perhaps I'm a little manic in my perceived ability to over-achieve.  Actually I realize this burst of energy is just relief and gratitude and if I don't get everything accomplished, well, there's always tomorrow.  

#1 on the list is getting off the sofa.  I've let my daily walks go, have only practiced yoga once this week, and again ignored my promise to myself to start weight training.  Today is rainy and chilly so I'll stream into Pod Save America on YouTube and watch that while I hit the treadmill.  Then switch over to Silver Sneakers on YouTube for a weights class.  So tech!

#2 is catching up with the webinar classes I've bought and paid for and never watched:  Yoga Lineages and Neuro-Dharma, both of which I'm totally psyched to watch but instead do other things because I want to dedicate a half day to them.  Well, that's not going to happen.  Just start.  

#3 is baking an Asian pear crisp.  Son One has an Asian pear tree in his yard that is absolutely laden with fruit!  I found a recipe that has an interesting-sounding ingredient list for the topping that calls for almond flour.  So, normally I'd go to the Food Co-op to buy some. But no!!!  I'm grinding my own with my new VitaMix grain attachment!  Put the nuts in and voila! Flour!  

If I really did have Covid, of course, I'd not be doing any of this.  I'd just continue to read Thich Nhat Hanh's book, "Fear", which is really, really good.  I had forgotten how calming Buddhism can be.  All we really have is our Karma.  Aging, illness, death, and loss are all just the temporary conditions of our human reality.  We are left with what we think, say, and do while we are here and those consequences, both positive and negative, will play out in the next go-round.  This is what The Twins came to tell me too, so I ordered the book. Because Thich Nhat Hanh is a much gentler and more compassionate teacher.  He says, breathe and be present; do not worry or strive or look for escape -- everything, including you, is perfect in the Now.  The Twins shout, "Get your shit together or die, you worthless idiot."  Same ultimate message, different approach.

At least, that's the view from here...©

WE HAD A SCARY PARTY

Of course, within days of our Family Halloween Party the newest Covid numbers in the County were released and they are not good.  In fact, they are the worst since last March when all of this was taking us by storm.  The rising numbers are for all age groups and mostly due to "roommate, friend and/or family indoor gatherings" where mask wearing is sporadic if at all. 

So, this morning, when I felt chilled (likely because it's chilly in the house with fall temps and damp fog permeating our living space), I assumed I had "The Covid".  I assumed this with the irrational fear, and absolute conviction, that comes with being an anxiety sufferer even when we do not have a deadly pandemic hiding in plain sight. (BOO!)  I did try to talk myself down, Hub reminded me I was using worry to project myself into a future that I didn't want (ICU, ventilator, etc, etc.),  and I meditated.  All were helpful to a degree.  And still....did we make a mistake with the party?

We spent weeks figuring out how to gather safely indoors now that outdoor gatherings would be slightly miserable (cold and wet).  We decided to clean and clear our garage, hang fabric shower curtain liners over the open shelving, string party lights, set up tables and chairs at least 8 feet apart for each family unit.  We had hand sanitizer and sanitizing wipes at the ready.  We told everyone that costumes were optional but masks were mandatory.

Hub should have a degree in indoor ventilation by now with his research into, and buying of, HEPA Air Purifiers -- six of them! -- set strategically in the garage and the adjacent Game Room (pool table, darts, foosball).  He opened doors and windows and put box fans in windows opposite to draw air through the rooms, creating adequate flow to eliminate "dead air" spaces.  He tested this by carrying a lit candle around watching which way the flame bent.  

When we all gathered (Son One and his family, Son Two and his wife) we went outside to the yard to do a Candy Hunt.  Having lost Easter to Covid lockdown, I decided to create the traditional Easter Egg Hunt, but with Halloween candies inside the plastic eggs.  The grand-girls loved it.  Then we came in to the snacks I had spent all day creating.  Big hit.  Our 11 y/o granddaughter brought a dip and some cookies too -- she's turned into quite the cook/baker!  Then we carved pumpkins together, displaying the finished masterpieces.  A light supper of homemade (all from scratch, of which I am inordinately proud, since I don't normally cook) pumpkin soup, chili, cornbread, and pumpkin cake for dessert came last.  A few of us played a game of pool, some sat and visited together.  Then it was over.  Days and days of planning, two full days of work to cook, set up, and orchestrate and it was over in about 3-1/2 hours.  We were exhausted.  But we think we created a safe and memorable experience.

Still, is that what every family thinks, even those who end up with Covid in their midst?  We did remove masks to eat, to sip beverages, but masks were on at all other times...except our little 5 y/o who has such a hard time keeping her mask on and her distance from us, but I noticed she's much better with the mask if she does come close.  We did stay at least (usually more than) six feet apart.  Even with all our ventilation, was this too big a risk?  I think of all those going to restaurants, maskless, surrounded by strangers, eating and drinking, and who knows which way the indoor air is blowing, if at all?   Our party had to be safer than that, right?

I will be so grateful for the day when seeing my family doesn't include the "countdown to symptoms" anxiety that I felt this morning.  This is Day 5 post-party.  So far so good....

At least, that's the view from here...©

THIS SHIT GOT REAL

NOTE: I wrote and published this one before I added the Daily Musings, which is why it feels stuck in the middle.  Still relevant though.
**************************************
Nobody's laughing anymore.  Only a handful of idiots (mostly a few Red State politicians, some diehard partiers and...well, the current "President" of the United States) are taking this lightly.  I said two posts ago that Seattle was not a ghost town.  Now it is.

Here are today's numbers, to compare to my two previous posts on this topic:  Coronavirus worldwide: 460,065 cases; 20,828 deaths.  U.S.: 61,062 cases (including someone I know well); 20,828 deaths.  Washington State: 2469 cases (including someone I know well); 123 deaths.  The county in which I live: 614 cases; 16 deaths.

Many states, including here in Washington, are now on a "stay at home" order decreed by the Governor.  No one is to go out and about unless absolutely necessary -- for food, medications, essential services, work.  We can be out in nature going for walks and such if we keep a physical distance of at least 6 feet from other people.  Restaurants, bars, many retail stores, churches, gyms, theaters, etc etc etc are closed.  Meetings are cancelled (no gatherings allowed), weddings and funerals postponed.  Businesses closed; people are working from home.  Even the big Boeing assembly plant is shut down.   Health care providers and hospitals are begging people to stay home and stop the spread and alleviate the stress on hospitals and supplies which are in high demand and stunningly short supply.  I won't go into all the details here -- it is well documented and "coronavirus 2020" will show up in history books, no doubt.  This is a very consequential and terrifying period in our collective lives.

As for me:   Anxiety waxes and wanes.  At times I feel calm and secure in the knowledge that I am being so incredibly careful and sticking incredibly close to home that this thing can't catch me.  Then I'll feel a headache coming on, or a scratchy throat, or a little throat-clearing cough and I'm suddenly doing a body scan and counting on my fingers the days since I last saw someone outside my home or perhaps touched a surface and then my face unconsciously.  Then the anvil sits on my chest and I'm sure I can't breathe, which makes all the "symptoms" more pronounced.  I recognize it as an attack of anxiety and start my meditative breathing to calm the nervous system....and on it goes.

Hub and I are deadly serious about our physical distancing plan, only going out for groceries weekly, at the early morning designated "senior hours" at local supermarkets and Costco, implemented to try to shield older people from the general population.  It's been 16 days since I've seen any friends; 10 days for Hub.  We had our grandkids stay with us last week while their parents were traveling.  We are relieved they made it home before further limits on air travel took effect.  We loved having the girls with us, but now that they are home with their mom and dad, we are not sure when we will see them again.  They are all sticking close to home too, all of us fearful of inadvertently passing something along, unbeknownst.

This virus is most unforgiving to those over 60 and/or with underlying health conditions.  Hub and I are fortunate that we are basically healthy enough overall, but we are definitely on the over the hump side of 60.  Hub celebrated his 70th birthday last week, party postponed. At our ages, there is no longer a perfect health profile.

It's hard to describe how all of this is impacting us.  It's surrealistic; it's lonely; it's unsettling; it's chaotic; it's terrifying.  It's also oddly relieving to NOT have to keep up with the frantic pace of life; to be ordered to stay home and hunker down.  There is nowhere to go; nothing to do; no one we have to see.  As an introvert, I fluctuate between reveling in the open spaciousness of my days and feeling like "OMG, I'm trapped!"

And just saying that points to my privilege.  We have a big, warm, lovely home in a great neighborhood with all the amenities and plenty of food, entertainment options, access to email, text, Zoom, social media, etc.  We are retired and have enough money for now to see us through. (The stock market has crashed, though, so we will see how that goes over time.)  We love each other and enjoy each other's company, so being together is fun and comforting.  (I cannot even go there to the domestic violence and child abuse situations this stressful lockdown might be fostering, in some homes.)

I am grateful for so much right now -- for the new relationships forming online, for the many acts of compassion and care I'm witnessing in the local and wider community, for the seriousness with which many of us are making the sacrifices needed to slow the spread and "flatten the curve" of this outbreak, for selfless and dedicated health care workers who run into the fire every day at great risk to themselves, for families who are creatively finding ways to connect and be in touch supporting and encouraging and loving all the more, for finding that all we take for granted comes with no guarantee.  All we have and think is permanent is built on sand that can shift from under us at any moment.

Some are urging "social isolation".  I get it, but isolating socially is a lonely road and not accurate.  We need to practice physical distancing and social solidarity.  We are all in this together.  Find a way to reach out.

At least, that's the view from here...©

CORONA MOAN

Seattle is not a ghost town as I saw reported recently.  But it is, well, quieter.  People are staying home out of an abundance of caution or because they have no choice.  So many business and social activities have been cancelled that there's nowhere to go.  Tech industry workers and others are being given the option (or order) to telecommute.

We seem to be Ground Zero in the U.S. for the Covid-19 corona virus.  In fact the very first person diagnosed in the U.S. was hospitalized about 3 miles from where I'm writing right now.

At first it seemed like a weird, scary, but still sort of "not my problem" story.  Mostly this was a China thing -- it started there and people who had it had been traveling there.  Some were stuck on a cruise ship, but those floating petri dishes often have outbreaks of horror.  I don't travel to Asia and I'm not a cruiser.  No problem.

But as viruses do, it spread.  Suddenly people were diagnosed who had NOT traveled nor been near others they knew had traveled.  It seemed to just be springing up in the general population with no way to determine why some people were catching this bad bug.  And those who were diagnosed were really sick.  And some died.  And there is no vaccine.  No cure.  No way of stopping it.

This morning I read in USA Today that there are 100,000 diagnosed cases worldwide; 233 in the United States.  There are 39 cases confirmed in Washington State -- 31 in King Co. (Seattle) and 8 in the county where I live.  Deaths worldwide stand at 3,400; 12 in the United States with 10 of those in Washington, due to an outbreak in a long-term health facility for older adults.  In the grand scheme these numbers are not huge and can be brushed aside -- unless you or a loved one falls into this group of unfortunate souls.  But the fear is that this could continue to spread and become much, much worse.  So we are all getting very, very nervous.

State health officials have advised staying out of large groups of people, so events and meetings are being cancelled left and right.  Schools are closing when anyone is diagnosed, or even in contact with another who has been diagnosed.  The University of Washington has suspended all in person classes until end of term on March 20.  The local medical clinics are greeting every single patient outside their doors with hand sanitizer and a list of screening questions before they can enter.  People are cancelling trips to avoid airline travel, hotels, theme parks, and tourist sites.

Store shelves are empty of hand sanitizer, bottled water, and toilet paper.  I get the sanitizer (people have resorted to making their own -- recipes online proliferate).  I don't understand the water (is our water supply at risk?) nor the TP (a historically recent convenience, but OK, now seen as a necessity.)  N-95 particulate masks are being hoarded, in the belief that these will protect the wearer from catching the virus.  They likely won't because most people don't wear them properly.  The result is that health care facilities, who really do need them, are in short supply, putting patients and providers at greater risk.

Everywhere you go people are talking about the virus and what to do.

The CDC and Health Departments are advising hand washing (for at least 20 seconds with lots of lather -- sing Happy Birthday to estimate 20 seconds), don't touch your own face (to keep the virus from invading through eyes, nose, or mouth), stay at least 6 feet away from people (no more hugging or handshaking), stay home if you are feeling ill.  Older adults (over 60) and those with underlying health issues are at greatest risk.

I questioned that "over 60" thing (I'm healthy!  So what if I'm 69?) until it was explained to me that just the fact of being older weakens our immune systems.  But don't panic.  (Sure.  Tell that to a person who has health anxiety, even with no pandemic in the headlines.)

Mostly I'm "keeping calm and carrying on" with lots of deep breathing and obsessive hand washing.  I rarely touch a public surface with my bare hands anyway. (Not germaphobia!  Common sense!)  And I don't like large crowds.  But avoiding all people while living a normal, non-quarantined life is a challenge.  I went to the Y this week and to my yoga class and had the family over for dinner.  Hub went to Costco and god knows what is in the air there besides some invisible urging to impulse buy.  Some are advising me to "self-quarantine" by avoiding groups over 10 people in number, which has been recommended by the experts.  I don't know...I'll think about it.

What I do know is this is contributing to an ongoing sense of unease over so many things --

--the ongoing political shit-show that is the United States right now (won't even go into the many ways in which our current government is completely unable to effectively communicate about or respond to this virus crisis);

--the fact that the most diverse field of Democratic presidential candidates in history has come down to two pushing-80 white men, leaving me to mourn again the strongest, most capable candidate (a woman) dropped out yesterday. (Thank you Elizabeth Warren...next time!);

--the planet seems to be melting, drowning and suffocating us;

and on the personal front:
--confronting that I am aged into a high risk group for no reason other than years lived;

--Hub is suffering more and more from a shoulder issue that puts another major joint replacement surgery sooner rather than later on the horizon (just when his knee has healed from last year's surgery!),

--and I'm still not eating sugar which would, if I was, make all of this so much easier and better for as along as my hot fudge sundae lasted.

So, what to do?  Well, my mantra is: breathe, breathe, breathe, persist.

At least, that's the view from here...©

Photo Credit:  www.pixabay.com

PROWLER AND MUSINGS

A couple weeks ago at 1:52 a.m. my phone dinged, waking me from a light sleep, with an alert from our security camera showing a man walking up my driveway and around our garage.  What?!?  Then another "ding" and the back camera picked him up on the patio heading for the door that would lead into the house that is well-hidden from anyone's view.  He walked up to the door, looked up at the little row of windows at the top, and immediately turned and left briskly.  I think he saw the 24 hr security monitoring system sticker.  If he'd opened the door, the alarm would have gone off and police would be called.  Nonetheless, my heart was pounding as I dialed 911.  In short order I saw the squad car pull to within a block of our house, lights off; three officers walked toward our house and once at our driveway, three large and bright flashlights illuminated the whole area as they walked around the whole house.  Nothing.  He was gone.

Earplugs firmly in place, Hub slept through the whole thing, including my 911 call.  People ask why I didn't wake him and I don't really know.  He wouldn't have done any more than I already did and I guess I wanted to just handle it.

I'm practicing individuation.  I've had anxiety probably my whole life as I look back on it, but I never used to have the degree of anxiety that I currently do about feeling vulnerable.  I think it's an age and stage thing.  It started with my "fainting out of the blue for no diagnosable reason" spells 8 or so years ago and when I write that I'm stunned I'm still carrying fear of it happening again after all this time.  I just seem to hold onto bad experiences and let them dictate how I live my life sometimes.  The whole reason we have a security system in the first place is because a guy broke into our home in 1985 when I was home alone with my newborn Son One.  No one has broken in since (although apparently we had a very recent close call.) And my fear of flying was from a horrific flight in 1981!  I've had dozens of great flights since, but still I get queasy every time I board a plane.  Sheesh!

Anyway, Hub travels a fair amount, leaving me home alone and every time he's away it's such an effort to remain calm and centered and anxiety-free.  It's exhausting, actually.  And ridiculous.  It's not as if he is some Ninja-trained, Secret Service style 007-skilled security force ready to jump into action as my protector.   He's just a guy who likely would be pretty freaked out too.  He just calms down faster with a rational rather than an emotional response to most things.  So I'm trying harder to handle things on my own, in my own way, cutting him out of the picture as if I'm a single lady, as strong and capable as all the women I know who live alone in what appears to me to be some strange brew of a silly, saavy, sassy, strong, and determined mindset.  I so admire it.

I also disappoint my feminist self and feel I'm not walking my talk if on the one hand I rail against the patriarchy and on the other I'm a wee bit afraid to be alone, which is weird cuz it's mostly men who are the "bad guys" of my nightmares and mostly men who I think can keep me safe.  That dualistic
thinking gets me into trouble.  The patriarchy IS bad and most criminals are men.  And men are also built to have more physical strength and protect-the-hearth hormones.  But the fact remains I feel like a wuss.

I realize I'm just thinking "out loud" on the page here.  Mostly musing about how couples negotiate their lives together.  Thinking about gender roles and how they shift over time.  Thinking about change and how hard it is. Thinking about ages and stages and how shocked I am that there are still growing pains in a body and mind bumping up against 70 years old and in a marriage bumping up against 50 years long.

I will post this, as I always do, hoping a reader will be able to relate and not feel alone with his/her own struggles to be free, safe, in love, and alone.

At least, that's the view from here....©

Photo Credit: www.pixabay.com

DOCTOR, PATIENT, NURSE...OH MY!

Well, it's been a helluva month.  My writing took a backseat as it so often does when I'm overwhelmed and distracted.  I am a most undisciplined writer!  I know the half dozen of you who read this must grow frustrated with me.  LOL

Earlier this month we retuned from our Southeast trip (see last post) and I did another Weekend Intensive for my Yoga teacher training.  Then, on May 15 I drove Hub to a 5:30 a.m. check in at the hospital 30 minutes from where we live to have his total knee replacement surgery, which has been on the horizon for many months.  He was eager to get on with it, anticipating a great outcome and a return to snowboarding by December.

I was a jangle of nerves, full of anxiety about the logistics of getting him there and back, medical anxiety about just having to be in the hospital environment for the day, performance anxiety about whether I could adequately perform the nursing duties I was expected to do post-operatively, and all the attendant "OMG what if he dies on the operating table?" anxiety as outlined in the release forms he signed.

I so admire people who handle these things with ease.  I was mostly short of breath, (fearing my own heart attack), a little light-headed and befuddled (I was momentarily overwhelmed navigating the hospital's vast cafeteria), and made several trips to the restroom to relieve my GI distress.  Classic anxiety attack territory.   I soothed myself by eating the absolutely biggest apple fritter I've ever seen in my life, thus blowing a hole in my Weight Watcher points for the week, but it was an emergency.

Turns out, Hub came through surgery without incident and all went "perfectly" according to the surgeon.  When I got the word, he said I'd be able to see him in about 45 minutes.  I waited, waited, waited...nearly 2 hours passed during which time I imagined all sorts of unexpected post-operative emergencies -- heart attack (he does have that little teeny blockage thing they discovered last summer), blood clot (ample warnings on that one!), stroke.  You name it, I imagined it.  But when I was finally ushered into Recovery, I found him fully dressed, sitting up, sipping a Starbucks.  I was almost mad at him.  The long wait wasn't his fault of course and he was frustrated too, just wanting to go home; it was a "short-staffed" snafu of moving patients through the various post-operative stages.

His surgery began at 7:30 a.m. and by noon we were on our way home.  Son One met us at the house, ready to usher his dad up the stairs of our completely stair-laden home and into bed.  Hub was not having it.  He felt great!  Wanted to navigate the initial stairway from the garage on his own.  He didn't want to continue up the next flight of stairs to the bedroom, which we'd set up as a Long Term Recovery Space with all kinds of pillows, tables, chairs, computer, books, etc etc for him to access during his initial recovery time.  He propped his leg up in the living room and spent the day saying how great he felt.  I think there was residual anesthesia on board which would have made me drowsy and puke-y, but seemed to make him talkative and upbeat.  Weird.

Since that day his recovery has been steady and successful.  We've had visiting nurses here, home physical therapy appointments, adjustments to the realities of recovery vs the anticipation in our imaginations of what it would be like, based on the information the doctor gave us.  Hub is way ahead of schedule in regaining his range of motion and strength, but he works like a fiend on his PT exercises, being highly motivated to be at full strength as soon as possible.

As for my nursing anxiety?  All for naught.  I forgot along the way, that my husband is an "I'll do it" man who prizes self-sufficiency and who, in this case, felt anything he could do for himself would only make him stronger in the long run.  My attempts to "help" were rebuffed for the most part, with my role relegated to fetching ice packs and food.  He even navigated our stairways alone.

This created within me a feeling of being unnecessary and rejected, having mentally prepared and studied the manual sent home with us about post-op care.  I really wasn't needed very much at all and I was sad...and angry to be shut out.  But how can you argue with a man who, as a doctor himself, is dead set on managing his own care and recovery and didn't need my hovering around?  I'm still trying to find the answer to why I grew so resentful of a situation many would envy...I hear tales of caregivers run ragged by the constant demands of their patients!  As with all disagreements, we've talked and talked with neither giving ground, but better to talk than to seethe, so we are pushing on.

Yesterday was his two week post-op appointment and the Medical Assistant we saw (I guess the surgeon will never appear to us again) was most pleased with Hub's progress.  Next on the horizon will be to continue PT, increase walking distances, and regain driving privileges.  None of this was as onerous as I'd imagined it would be.  When will I learn that my anxiety creates scenarios so far from the reality of a situation that it becomes a fiction of the mind?

Turns out that, thankfully, all is well.

At least, that's the view from here...

P.S.  The surgeon texted me photos of the inside of Hub's knee with before and after shots.  Just let me know if you want to see them.  Gross! And fascinating!

STRIPPED NAKED

Some of you are old enough to recall a TV show that ran from 1958-63 called "The Naked City", which was a black and white police procedural set in New York City.  It's famous episode-ending line was a solemn-voiced narrator intoning, "There are eight million stories in the naked city.  This has been one of them."  I don't recall ever watching the "grown-up" show -- I was 8 when it started and 13 with it ended and it was likely on past my bedtime.  But I remember that line vividly as it became part of the pop culture of the day. 

So, here's my tag line:  "There are 40 million anxiety sufferers in the United States of America.  I am one of them."

I wish I was like "The Bloggess", a blogger I love who writes with laugh-out-loud humor about her anxiety/depression and has gotten famous and sold books and has a gazillion followers and fans.  But I'm more the maudlin type, who tries to just tell the painful truth about this condition, hoping my story will resonate with others and we will become sisters/brothers of the heart; not famous, but still fighting for the Light in our own ways, in your own lives, whatever that looks like at your house.

At my house it looks like an almost constant low-level hum of "what if" and "be careful".  (Thanks, Mom, for those oft-repeated "words of wisdom" and the anxiety heredity factor.  I don't blame you anymore;  you are one of those sisters of the heart and I totally get it now -- you couldn't help it any more than I can and you had zero tools to mediate it.  So, actually, hats off to you; you fought and survived all on your own.)  

The hum becomes an audible persistent whisper when I am occasionally home alone for extended periods, like last week. I don't like nighttime.  I joke about being on 'lockdown' with every door and window secure, the direct-to-police department alarm system on at all times, and security cameras scanning.  It only helps a little bit.  (Is there a 'Rent-a-Rottweiler' place I can call?)

Let's add to that a horrific school shooting.  Every single time (there are so many that that phrase is not even weird), I go into "OMYGOD!" mode and project myself into that scene with pounding heart, lightheaded terror, overwhelming grief for those kids and their families.  It seems impossible to take a step back.  

I was sitting at Dairy Queen, enjoying a hot fudge sundae as a Valentine's Day treat to myself, when the report came over the TV (ubiquitous intrusions into public spaces these days.)  The sweetness turned sour in my mouth.  I watched for a few minutes as they reported one dead.  I drove home in dread, switched on my own TV and soon the reporting indicated there were "multiple" fatalities.  We now know there were seventeen.  I turned off the TV.  I meditated.  I did all my breathing exercises and positive self talk.  I started to calm down a wee bit.

Then, at dusk, the doorbell rang.  A stranger at my door is unusual.  I live up a steep driveway with a flight of stairs to the front door.  It's not an easy trek and it is very intentional for someone to come to our door.  Door-to-door salespeople often pass us by...not worth the physical effort.  Same with trick or treaters.  And some of our friends with bad knees.  But this guy made it a point to ring my doorbell.

He was fairly well groomed and not badly dressed, but seemed "off" somehow; darting eyes and kind of a slurry, sing-song-y voice.  He asked for "Lance" and since we've lived here for 35 years, the chances of him coming to Lance's old house seemed impossible.  I told him he had the wrong house and he left, muttering unintelligibly all the way down the front stairs.   

Our neighborhood listserve includes an ex-cop who has warned that often the bad guys will case a house by coming to the front door to see if anyone is home.  If so, they use the ruse that they are looking for someone, and leave.  But if no one answers the door, they go to the back, knock or ring again and if no answer, they break and enter.  This very thing happened to me in 1985 when I found myself alone in the house with a would-be thief who heard me call 911.  He fled, thankfully.  

So that's all it took for my already hair-trigger state of anxiety to tip into, let's call it, paralyzing fear.  Yep, fear cuz some yahoo rang my doorbell.  

I hear how crazy this sounds.  With all the of compassion and caring you can muster you will tell me all the rational ways to reframe this.  I AM NOT STUPID!  I tell myself the same rational story.  But Anxiety is a master teller of horror stories and your voice (and mine) don't stand a chance.

The next several days had me on high alert, where every sound, every shadow held menace; where every breath was hard fought when it feels like you can't breathe.  Still, I went about some semblance of "normalcy", seeing friends occasionally, going to Yoga class.   But I felt like an imposter and couldn't wait to get home to my sofa, and my house ... where I was scared again.  It was all so freaking exhausting.  And I knew it was TOTALLY irrational.  So next came Depression to seal the deal, with the constant berating, the constant judging, the constant nudging toward self-pity and self-loathing.  And that, my friends, is the aftermath of an Anxiety "episode".  

Depression comes in to tell you what an idiot fool you are and you deserve only to sit on the couch and hate yourself for another week or so -- or months or years.  But I think I can beat this thing off me in a few more days because I am now enlightened to its ways, even if I can't stay out of its way completely.  I know I'm coming out of it, actually, because I'm even writing this at all.  It's a step, revealing myself this way, to you who might be laughing at me.  Well, fuck you if you are.  

There are 40 million of us.  We are all struggling, suffering, and hopefully surviving.  I'm so grateful to have a supportive husband (pink roses, endless discussions, loving arms, lots of patience).  I'm so grateful to now understand this chronic condition and know it will never go completely away -- I liken it to a chronic physical ailment that is always there but can be managed, like arthritis or colitis, but still "flares" occasionally and needs a more aggressive intervention.  (Maybe I should call it "my anx-itis".)  

I'm so grateful to have found tools like breathing, yoga, meditation, and cognitive therapies to turn to in both the best and worst of times.  (I fought mightily to come off a terrible medication cocktail for anxiety and depression years ago that had me shaking with chills and head clanging brain fog, so not going back there.)

I'm sending love and compassion to those who share this condition, especially to those who don't have the support and resources I do to mitigate the "flares".  Nobody wants to be in this club.  Lucky you if you are not.  Mostly those of us who deal with this tend to sequester ourselves in a cocoon of isolation when we are at our worst.  But we love you for quietly holding us in your thoughts and being ready to welcome us back, without judgement, when we emerge -- raw, naked, and needing to know you are still there.

At least, that's the view from here...©

A short, easy article about anxiety, FYI:  https://www.elementsbehavioralhealth.com/mental-health/8-facts-anxiety-anxiety-disorders/

THE GREAT AMERICAN ECLIPSE 2017 -- PART 1

It was Hub's idea to go; not mine.  In fact, until he mentioned it, I had no idea a total eclipse was even happening in our area on August 21st.  Since COSMOS went off the air, I've not followed astronomy closely.  But Hub thought it would be an amazing sight, and so close to home that we should be sure to be there.  So a few months ago he started researching the path of totality and where we might find a place to camp away from the hordes, how soon to go, and how long to stay.  I basically left the logistics up to him...as I am wont to do.

As the date grew closer, I became less and less enamored of the whole plan.  Do NOT put a person with anxiety disorder anywhere near Armageddon!  To heed the considerable caution the media started to broadcast would cause any rational person to have some concern.  An anxiety-prone person would want to get as far away from the path of totality as possible!  Here are some of the dire warnings that started to keep me up at night:

1.  Traffic woes: Fifty mile back-ups on the interstates and state highways as people make their way to their preferred viewing destination (a 70-mile wide swath of the United States, arcing from the Pacific coast of Oregon to the Atlantic coast of South Carolina).  Cranky drivers all hoping to get a hotel room or a campsite, possibly devolving into the worst road rage riot in history.

2. About those campsites and hotel rooms: FULL.  People who pay attention to such things had booked their accommodations years ago!  And enterprising capitalists would recall something about "supply and demand" from their Econ. classes and skyrocket rates into the cosmic stratosphere:  camp sites reputedly going for $300/night; Motel 6 charging more like $600; farmers harvesting their crops to clear the way to opening their fields to RV-ers, charging who knows what fee for a side-by-side parking space under open skies.  Love your neighbor.

3.  Gas shortages:   Many millions of people descending, on rural communities especially, would put a strain on resources.  Warnings were issued to be sure to top off your tank every time it started to dip much below full.  Motorists were sure to be stranded, running on empty.

4.  Food and water shortages:  Those highway back-ups would mean being stuck in your car for hours, not daring to leave the roadway (and in rural American, or in mountain passes, where would you go anyway?)  Pack plenty of extra water and food for the road.

5.  No ambulance:  Be in good health and take care not to break a leg or have a heart attack.  Those clogged roadways would also mean emergency vehicles would not be able to get to  you.

6.  Fire:  Speaking of emergencies, here in the great and very dry eastern regions of Washington and Oregon, August is wildfire season.  Forest fire danger would increase exponentially with the millions more heading to national forests and big open high desert grasslands.

7.  No cell service:  Some places in the path are off the grid on a normal day; others would be so overloaded that cell reception would be compromised and partitioned to use by emergency first responders only.  (Apparently this is a thing...who knew?)

8.  Also, not on the news, but I wondered...if I'm stuck in our truck for hours on end, where would I pee?  Just askin'.

9. Blindness:  Reports of Amazon having to refund mega dollars to folks who bought from a rip-off vendor on their site had people terrified of having obtained ineffective eclipse glasses the would not offer the requisite protection needed to avoid permanent eye damage.  Everyone was warned DO NOT TO LOOK AT THE SUN EXCEPT AT TOTALITY!  Duly noted, but still...pretty scary.  I checked and double-checked our vendor's reputation and ISO registration number.

10.  Just stay home:  Some heeded all warnings and rolled their eyes and shook their heads when I said I was going.  The event in Seattle would be 92% complete, which most said was fine for them.

It all had the makings of a Lord of the Flies experience and being averse to chaos, conflict, and confrontation, I started to wonder if it was worth it.

Hub, for his part, began to tire of my constant warnings and forwarding of dire prediction articles on the internet and finally told me to just stay home...but that he was going.  Non-Anxious people make these kinds of adventure decisions with an optimistic outlook that all will be well.  I don't get it.  But I did decide to go along.

Let the adventure begin....©

Headline Credit:  BuzzFeed online story 8/3/17

WRITER'S BLOCK - PART 2 - BODY & SOUL

Hub is a saint.  I'm sure there are times he wants to throttle me.  I am just the type of patient he didn't want to see in his exam room.  Lots of vague complaints, skeptical of medical-pharmaceutical complex, non-compliant about taking medications, a little lazy about sweets consumption and aerobic exercise, but totally reliant upon, and demanding of, the health care system to keep me healthy and vitally alive until 2057.  (I have decided to live to 106 with fully functioning mind and body until some night that year when I fall asleep and forget to wake up.  This will not happen during Seahawks season.)

I have not been writing so frequently lately and we've already covered my preoccupation with politics as one distraction.  Let's move on to hypochondria.  NO!  I am NOT a hypochondriac!  Every moment of ache and pain, queasy, "weird" sensation, headache, muscle ache, joint ache, heart palpitation, ear ringing, itchy patch, and blurred vision is REAL and is likely a precursor to something truly awful, and which will cause me tremendous suffering until that blessed moment of release into the endless purgatory of trying to pass a math test to get into Heaven.  (I know there must be a test.  I hope its spelling; pretty good at spelling.  But probably it's math.)

The thing is, there is nothing much wrong with me.  Physically I'm in good shape.  No chronic anythings.  Slightly elevated blood pressure; slightly high cholesterol.  I take low doses of drugs for those.  That's it.  But my overactive imagination that conjures up a litany of "what ifs" has been diagnosed and is pretty chronic -- "generalized anxiety disorder"with the subset "health anxiety" being the most predominant since some unexplained fainting episodes a few years ago, the memories of which still haunt me.

So, I do spend a lot of time fussing about this or that "symptom" and imagining the worst and bugging Hub to explain what it could be and what I should do. He used to take all this rather seriously and would conscienciously try to help.  Now he tells me to call my primary care provider.  He does triage me though, so my poor doc isn't inundated with Nervous-Nelly calls.  Hub listens to me while he's reading the paper and I'm sure he's concerned enough to rule out everything but those symptoms which might be truly alarming, but he also knows that most of what I complain about is normal body stuff that everyone has, they just don't carry on about it.  In fact I know people with real, potentially life-threatening conditions who seem to go about their lives with nary a care for the Grim Reaper.  I am amazed.  My anxiety keeps me stuck on the sofa, scrolling through Mayo Clinic and WebMD sites when I'm at my most distraught.  I am definitely NOT booking a flight to Madrid.  Lately I've been focusing on some out-of-the-blue joint and muscle pain and morning headaches.  Also memory loss.  Is constantly forgetting names (or getting them mixed up) normal?  How about sort of forgetting where I'm headed when I get to the bottom of the hill on my street and take the automatic right when I should have turned left?

And... what happens when we die anyway?  I have a vague notion of my spirit returning to the Source, or whatever, and I know a couple of people who are Mediums who report that they have contact with those who have taken a step into the Parallel Universe on 'the other side'.  (I should ask for the answers to the math test.)  I dunno.  But what I do know is that in spite of all my neuroses, I love my life.  I DO NOT WANT TO DIE!  I have written about dealing with depression and yes, I've had moments of Demon Depression trying to talk me into ending myself, but I always win that argument because I've learned that Demon is a big fat liar and I'm also so curious about the future.  I want to see what happens next, even when I'm at my very emotionally distraught worst.  What new tech innovations will there be?  Will there be Game of Thrones spin-offs?  Super Bowl repeats?  Impeachments?!?  I want to see my sons as old men, my grandchildren grow up and have children.  I want to get another cat someday and outlive it.  (I recently read an article by a woman who measures her life in terms of how many dogs she will be able to have before she dies.  She now figures her age at "half a dog"; that her dog's lifespan is likely double hers.  Now that's putting a point on it, huh?)

At my age, in spite of our absolute vow that it not be so when we were all younger, many conversations with friends revolve around physical ailments, terrible diagnoses, and fears of mental and physical decline.  It's impossible to deny, avoid, and put off.  These things are real and for my age cohort are often the answer to "what's new?" because dealing with all of it can be all-consuming. It seems everyone has had a joint replacement, a case of shingles, or an errant organ.  Everyone's waiting for test results.  A friend and I went visiting the other day to the homes of two other friends who we don't see frequently.  They are lovely, smart, funny, creative women.  We had a blast catching up.  Yet, in the course of that day they both independently brought up the idea of suicide as a totally valid and hoped for response to dementia or debilitating illness.  This is what we talk about over coffee and cake these days.  It's not depressing really, just weird to find myself at this stage where these conversations are not ironic, but deadly serious.

So, I think about my eventual decline and demise too.   I think about it too much.  I get nervous, frightened, terrified.  I spend a lot of time trying to stay strong, balanced, and flexible with yoga classes, strength training, treadmill walking.  I try to challenge my brain to grow new neurons by reading and doing "brain games".   I have enormous gratitude for the fact that  (I'm knocking on every piece of wood I can find right now) I'm, so far, healthy and able.  My anxieties are controlled by yoga, meditation, and mindfulness practices (also time-consuming), and by shifting my thinking from negative to positive, when I remember to do it.  So, instead of assuming the worst, I'm working on assuming the best.  I will live with fully functioning faculties to the age of 106, then perhaps die the night after Hub and I cheer on the Seahawks as they bring home the Lombardi Trophy in Super Bowl XCI.  Boom!

At least, that's the view from here...©

PHOTO CREDIT:  Copyright: <a href='https://www.123rf.com/profile_aihumnoi'>aihumnoi / 123RF Stock Photo</a>

PRE-MARCH JITTERS

Oh, hello there Anxiety Monster! I knew you were lurking and I was wondering when you could pounce again.  Yes, this does seem like a good time.  I've been pretty emotionally healthy and stable until November 8th, but even then kept you at bay; you and your ugly partner, Depression Monster...where is she, by the way?  One would think she'd be asserting her considerable influence at this dark time in our country and in my psyche.  But no!  In spite of periods of overwhelm and anger and sadness-- no Depression!  Woo-Hoo!  So, anyway, welcome to you.  I will sit and listen to you for a few minutes, since it's been months since you took your leave after wrecking havoc with me last winter.  What ya got?

Hmmm....yes.  Good point.  This big Seattle Women's March tomorrow is projected to be one of the largest in the nation -- estimates say up to 100,000 people.

Yes, I know I hate crowds and especially those that feel like a herd of people one so could easily be trapped in and trampled by.

Yes, I know the Anarchists could show up and cause all manner of disruption.

Yes, I've heard the new president's supporters may also show up to shout at us, try to goad us into a confrontation, or pretend to be one of us while screaming outrageous epitaphs and showing outrageous images in order to sully our good intentions.

Yes, I know that even those on "our side" will approach the march in various ways -- in spite of a call for a silent march, it is guaranteed that there will be those refusing to march in silence.

Yes, I know we are a weaponized society and some crazy person could toss a bomb or start shooting at the crowd.  I know...I know...

And yet, I'm not giving in to your little diatribe of "what ifs".  Am I apprehensive?  Yep.  And I terrified?  Nope.  All will be well no matter what happens.  Because I am willing to risk any or all of the scary scenarios you are throwing at me.

I hear you...you are trying to get me to call in sick and watch it on TV.  I'll admit there is some attraction to doing that.  But you don't understand...this is a monumental thing we are protesting.  We are exercising our First Amendment rights to stand up for our very Democracy, for dignity and human rights, for freedom of the press, for our environment -- all the things this new administration is eager to dismantle.  This is no time to cower on the couch.

I'm also marching for women.  I remember too well every time in the campaign when he denigrated women, admitted to sexual assault of women, ridiculed Hillary and called her a "Nasty Woman".  As I watched him do this, I shook as the buried memories of my own experiences with horrible, predatory men surfaced.  I march for us.  For my granddaughters, who I want so much to be raised in a nation where care, compassion, dignity, grace, equality, and inclusion are the norm.  I march because I am furious that I even have to march for the basic human rights and dignities that have been trampled by this man who has taken the oath of an office today that he does not deserve to hold.

So, you see, you can't sway me this time.

I've laced up my hiking boots.  I've donned my official Washington State Women's March sweatshirt.
I'm meeting up with good friends shortly, hopping on a bus, spending the night in Seattle, and making my way with the throngs early tomorrow morning to the rally that will kick off the march.  I will be there.  I will be "full in", not watching from the sidelines.   You will likely be with me, I know.  Come on along; maybe you'll learn not to be such an ass.  Cuz sometimes you just have to shut the hell up and do what must be done, even when you're a little bit scared.

At least, that's the view from here....©

COMPASSION IS SWEET

It is June 21st, and I know I haven't posted anything to the blog this month.  I seem to find myself in a time warp where the days speed by and I can barely recall what I did on any given day, but it is past nonetheless and time marches on, etc etc.  Plus, I'm tired and a little depressed, but not too depressed, so that's good.  But the tired thing is getting old.  I just feel like I could nap all the time, but there is no time for that, so I push on and whine about it like I'm doing now.  I'll stop.  Moving on....

Let's sit on the therapist's couch, shall we?  A few months ago I mentioned in the blog that I was having a championship wrestling match with my old foes, Anxiety and Depression.   It got so bad that I didn't really know if I'd get out alive.  (Oh, don't panic, I knew I'd never really do the bad thing with the new season of Outlander about to debut).  But it was really awful, such that for the first time in 20 years I went back into therapy, even though I have a ton of smart, intuitive friends to listen to me and a good deal of my own insight after a couple of decades of personal growth work of a fairly significant nature.  Turns out sometimes ya gotta call in the pros anyway.

I spent a couple weeks researching the type of therapy I wanted and then finding a therapist I thought would work.  I've done the bad therapist/bad fit dance before and I don't feel I have any time to waste at this stage in my life.  I found someone and so far I love my gal, "Stevie". (Not her real name, obviously, but because she dresses like Stevie Nicks, I'm going with that here.)  I'm terrible with ages -- she's early 40's maybe, wears long flowing skirts, lacy shirts, vests, little fingerless gloves, silver bangles, headbands holding back her long wavy brown hair, dangly earrings.  She is me when I was in my 20's.   I just love looking at her.  She's funny and compassionate and insightful and calls me on my bullshit.  What's not to love?

Right away she got that I already know a lot of stuff.  I thought I'd be in her DBT (dialectical behavioral therapy) group along with my individual therapy with her.  She said I don't need the group -- I already know about the things they work on...Identifying and regulating emotions, curbing impulsive behaviors, trying not to commit suicide, or act out in a totally antisocial, crazy-ass way. (This is technical psychotherapy talk which I use because I am advanced.)  Individual therapy with her is the plan.

At the first session she acknowledged my storehouse of groovy psychological tools and agreed with me that perhaps I should stop bludgeoning myself with them.  She ordered me to shut the toolbox, lock it tight, and stop rummaging around in there searching for yet another tool to "fix" me.  (Am I acting out of shadow? Should I do a Shadow-work session? Is this PTSD?  Should I do a Gestalt session with an empty chair?  Or maybe some voice dialog?  How about primal scream therapy? Or family constellation therapy?)  She gave me one tool, the only tool I'm allowed to use -- Mindfulness.  Just be mindful, aware, in the present moment.  It's the way out.  It's not easy.  It's a tricky tool to learn to use, which is why it is the only one I can work with right now.

Next session, sort of more of the same...plus she refuted my claim that my depression "comes out of nowhere".  No, actually, it doesn't.  There is always a trigger.  I'm just not paying attention, or I ignore the early warning signs, or I debate, deny, and denigrate myself until there is no turning back and I absolutely have no choice but to take to the sofa and cry for a week or a month or three.  Mindfulness again.  Pay attention.  I will see it coming and can take action to thwart it.  Like an Aikido master, I can turn the aggressor away with my energy flow.  Or something like that. Or, even better, according to Stevie would be to just accept that I'm feeling depressed.  Look for insight and meaning there; know it will pass.

Next couple of sessions, she hit me with the admonition that I must practice radical self-acceptance.  What????  If I could accept myself I wouldn't be sitting on her cute little teal loveseat grabbing tissue after tissue from the flowered box on the end table as I cry my way through another "I'm a shitty person" hour.  (I told her I plan to cry every session because I'm paying her good money to sit and watch me do it.  She agreed.)

Radical self-acceptance means I have to shut The Judge up.  Stevie has narrowed my issues down to the fact that I'm constantly judging myself and saying mean things to me.  I told her I have a self-deprecating, ironic sense of humor.  She said she knows that and I'm funny, but that's different.  Right now, for practice sake, I have to silence the wise-cracking girl and say nice things to myself all the time.  I have to reframe.  I have to find compassion for the me that deserves to be accepted unconditionally.  I have to keep a 'compassion journal' and write down all the times I want to judge myself and what I did instead to show myself some compassion.   Yesterday, when I started to criticize myself for my messy house,  I had vanilla ice cream with raspberry sauce for breakfast instead.  I'm not sure that's what she had in mind, but it's a start.

At least, that's the view from here...©

ONE LAST UPDATE, WITH GRATITUDE

OK.  After this post I'm going to move on from reporting on my recent episode of falling into the abyss.  But I feel sort of an obligation to offer an update because I have been overwhelmed by the number of people who have reached out with support and love.  Oh my.

The unfortunate thing is that in the throes of it all,  huddled inside the black hole where no light gets in, is that it's hard to truly believe that people care.  Well-wishes get interpreted as pity or obligation.  I tell ya, Depression is a BIG FAT LIAR!  Cuz now that I am feeling oh so much better, I remember the blog comments, the emails, the phone calls, the texts, the visits, the flowers delivered to my door, and I am beyond grateful for the love and care of my family and family of friends.  I believe.

So...here's the update:

After that last "Addendum" post that rang with optimism I fell back down, hard, and stayed in the back hole for several more days of non-stop crying and misery.  Then, slowly, I started to find the light...at least for now.  I have a feeling this bout with the Demons is a going to be an epic battle.

Now:

1.  I'm reading a great book called "Buddha's Brain" which I blogged about here:  http://circlingthemat.blogspot.com/2016/03/building-new-brain.htmlf  (Take a look.)
2.  I've gotten a call-back from a therapist who sounds like she will be a great fit once she is back at her practice at the end of April.
3.  Hub has recently connected with a guy (on a completely unrelated matter) who is the founder of a Mindfulness Center which teaches classes on MBSR (Mindfulness Based Stress Reduction - created by Jon Kabat-Zin and used widely now in medical settings and beyond.)  We are going to an introductory session together.
4.  I'm doing a sitting meditation faithfully every morning (short 15-20 mins).
5.  I'm ramping up my "move your body" (I hate the word 'exercise') opportunities.
6.  Getting to Yoga class has been a challenge, but yesterday morning I got up and did Sun Salutations in my living room for 15 minutes.
7.  I'm also doing a Facebook photography series and am reminded that when I'm looking through the lens all effort, worry, and time fall away in those moments of creative "seeing".

Re-reading that list makes me sound like I've just used my big bulging biceps and pulled myself right out of that hole and hit the ground running as if nothing had ever happened.  Let me clarify.  All of this is happening in slow motion.  Tears still come.  Anxiety still sets my heart pounding.  Often I curl up on the sofa with my blankie and stare out the window, with little energy for much of anything else.

But I don't feel hopeless and overwhelmed.  I feel like the worst is past and I'm highly motivated to collect some new tools for the toolbox for when the Demon Twins show up again.   I'm considering this:  Instead of hiding from them, lashing out at them, wishing they would crawl off and die, I might just have the courage and compassion to embrace them, to welcome them as familiar, albeit misguided, foes who seem to cling to the crazy notion that I need them for some reason.  I don't.  But the only way I can teach them that is to just love their good intentions into oblivion.

At least, that's the view from here....©

ADDENDUM TO THAT SUCKY POST

OK.  Yes, my post yesterday was a bummer.  I am tempted to take it down.  But not gonna cuz I still think connections get made when we tell the truth.  And that was/is my truth.

But today, things are looking up!  I went to my doctor appointment this afternoon, an Internist I've never met who is relatively new to the clinic I go to.  Mentioning this upcoming appointment to some friends over breakfast last Friday we traded stories about how we of a certain age have begun to feel ignored and dismissed, with providers spending the minimum time with us, on things only marginaly related to our actual ailments (that social welfare checklist and to resuscitate or not) and often rudely at that.  I decided, "Nope!  Not gonna happen again!"

I sat down early this morning and wrote a three page letter to this new doctor introducing myself, my expectations of our health care partnership, listing the things I wanted to address at our appointment and my preferences around health care philosophy.  I was clear, concise, assertive, friendly, funny.  I hand-delivered it 3 hours prior to my appointment with only about a 10% expectation that she'd get it and read it before I was sitting in the exam room.

Turns out she got it AND read it AND genuinely appreciated it!  We were able to zero in quickly on both my physical and mental health issues and create TOGETHER a plan that has me jazzed and hopeful!

My physical issues are real, not emergent, and most importantly not my fault.  I have hereditary factors that are causing some cardiovascular risk factors to creep up with age and I have agreed to a medication that will help mitigate these.  My mental health issues are real and not my fault -- again heredity plays a role when we sat and reviewed family history, going back a couple of generations.  I am not going on meds, but will seek a therapist who specializes in Mindfulness Cognitive Therapies for anxiety and depression.  There is a plan!  Yay!   Feeling hopeful.

Other observations:  Apparently is it no longer necessary for a doctor to actually touch one's body.  At my last two doctor visits I did not disrobe.  My doctors did not touch me or look at my naked body or even pay much attention to listening to my heart.  Blood pressure and pulse, that's it.  Alive and upright?  She's fine!

This is surprising to me, but good news in one way.  I sort of dress up to go to the doctor -- a throwback to a different age, apparently, as I looked around the waiting room at the sweat pants, dirty jeans, team jerseys, and scuffed, dirty, weird footwear.  I take a shower, do my hair, smear on some make-up and put on nice clothes.  This has often felt like a wasted effort since in the olden days the first thing we were asked to do was to don a gown.  But today, my doc and I got to discuss fashion and my cute jacket.  It was sort of a "Hey, girlfriend!  Lookin' good!  How ya feelin'?" exam.

Whatever....I feel better.   And this whole therapy thing is likely to be great blog fodder!

At least, that's the view from here... ©

IT ALL SUCKS

I don't have any patience today for being politically correct or writing to a specific sensibility or coming up with a lesson or feel-good ending to this post.   I'd just like to rant for a moment....

DEPRESSION AND ANXIETY SUCK!!!  I can't remember a day in the past 6 weeks that I haven't felt miserable for at least part of the day; haven't cried and hated myself; felt frightened and panicked.     It's all so familiar:  I've had anxiety and episodic depression since I was about 4 years old.  These Twin Demons are old enemies who bully and torment me periodically.  It's such a relief when they leave for their Underworld Retreat (likely resting up for the next assault).  But back they come, often out of the blue for no goddamn good reason at all, even though every single goddamn time I try to figure out "why?"

Now don't get yourself all caught up at this point and start recommending I "see somebody".   I've seen many somebodies over the years; have popped the pills and worked my ass off through debilitating withdrawal to get off the pills; have sat in support groups; amassed a huge arsenal of weapons to help ward off the worst of the attacks, but this one has sent me reeling.   Hub is my rock and my support, but even he may be tiring of the whine and tears at this point.  I know I'm sick of me.

So, where did this come from?  Here are the "whys" that are up for me this time:  Seven months ago I lost a community that was central to my life; a community I had devoted my time, talent, and treasure to for many years, with a vision that sustained and motivated me to work my ass off.  It all came tumbling down in a hurtful and ugly way and I left.   I'm not a quitter -- don't think I've ever quit anything before that I'd made a commitment to -- but swimming in a toxic river just cuz I know how to swim doesn't make the water cleaner.  It just pulls me into a dangerous eddy where either I have to fight my way out to survive or surrender to the never-ending swirl of sameness.  Nope. Not gonna do that.  Some think those who left this community have "taken the easy way out".   That opinion couldn't be further off the mark or more hurtful, given the pain some of us have felt over this whole debacle.   I wish them well and actually those there seem to be happy and content; apparently things are as they want them to be.  I just can't be one of them.

Simultaneously, my brother endured a seven month relapse and ugly decline due to cancer.  He died a little over a month ago.   I am the only living member of my original family and I am sad and scared as I look in the mirror and see the wrinkles, the sags, the gray hairs.   Every twitch and twinge gets self-diagnosed as cancer or a heart attack (the killers in my family), and every forgotten name is evidence of dementia (another scourge I watched my dear, strong, capable, rock of a mother succumb to).   The list of feared ailments grows by the minute.  And there is always in the back of my mind those episodes of unexplained fainting I had a few years ago.  If they couldn't tell me why and fix it, I know only too well it could happen again as it did then out of the blue.  What if...I'm home alone with my grandbaby?  Driving my car?  Walking down a flight of stairs?  Oh, I can "what if" myself into oblivion, but my greatest fear is that some harm would come to my little Jewel while she is in my care.  I almost can't breathe just thinking of it.

So, what to do?  I've got a doctor appt tomorrow and will likely be referred to Behavioral Health where I will sit and yammer on to a therapist who will want to put me on meds again and I will refuse and then s/he will be frustrated at my lack of "compliance".  Screw that.  I've also been Googling "mindfulness meditation" classes in the area, believing that form of meditation to be best suited to this malaise.  I just need more direction and training and a firm commitment to "just do it".   I'm motivated and found one class about 6 blocks from my house.  Never knew that.  Thank you, Jesus.  (Or was it Buddha?)  Will keep up the Yoga and treadmill commitments, take a week off from Granny Nannying to get a bit of a break from that responsibility, spend time with my supportive, funny, compassionate friends who remind me who I am when I forget.  I will try to be gentle and compassionate with myself, but really a hallmark of the disease is a marked lack of self-compassion.

This is all so ugly to admit. A goal I always set for myself when the Twin Demons aim to beat the crap out of me (so I don't devolve into a bedridden bundle of angst and soggy tissues) is to do "one brave and courageous" thing a week.  This week it's to hit "publish" on this post.   I guess by revealing this struggle I hope to demonstrate commonality with someone out there who might feel better in their own battle with the bullies, knowing they at least are not so alone in the shit-storm.   If the Twin Demons haunt you too, you know how all-consuming and crazy-making it feels and how much you hate it.   Yep, this sucks.

Now, wasn't that fun?  Oh gosh...Don't worry!  Be happy!

At least, that's the view from here... ©

START SPREADIN' THE NEWS...

Back in February two of my gal-pals cooked up a scheme for the three of us to take a spring trip to New York City.  Hmmm…  Well, I don't travel much.  And never without Hub.  I'm not particularly proud of of this.  I want to be seen (and want to see myself) as a free spirit, ready for adventure.  The truth is, I've been sort of an anxiety-ridden, stay-close-to-home gal for a few years.

I didn't used to be this way.  This anxiety grew stealthily -- rooted in an overwhelming desire to protect my children, to keep us all safe; rooted in periods of anxiety and deep depression -- generally overwhelmed by the life I was living; rooted in a job that was all about anticipating worst case scenarios and avoiding liability for wrong decisions; rooted in a health issue that kept me from moving more than two feet from my cell phone or leaving the house without a friend or family member -- or ever staying home alone.

Fear seemed to grow around me like the English ivy we planted 30 years ago that now threatens to choke out all the natural growth in an area of our property.  We were naive; we did what we thought was right at the time.  We now live with the consequences and the painstaking and back-breaking work of undoing that which we had done.  Suffocating, it's time to rip out the roots of this creeping, confining thing that engulfs and constrains, both in the yard and in my psyche.

Every New Year I make an intention (something more solid and thoughtful than a resolution) -- something I will manifest as a personal growth goal.  My 2014 intention is "I will say 'yes' with a discerning heart."  I have spent the past couple of years with "no" being my default response to invitations and opportunities.  Or I would say yes and then regret it deeply, wishing I'd said no.  So, when this intention came to me at a ritual gathering to honor a dear friend's transition into retirement, I was surprised.  I threw the word "fear" into the raging fire over and over, and felt myself opening up to something new.  I felt myself saying "yes" and decided to get out of my head and let opportunities and invitations sink into my heart, following my intuition instead of the lists of pros and cons my mind created.

So, I said yes to New York.  My mind wanted me to know I would regret this decision, while my heart wanted me to get excited and feel happy.  So far, 2 days from boarding my eastbound plane, my heart is still winning the battle.  I keep waiting for the dread, the pit of my stomach tied in knots, the tears and terror.  Instead, I'm reading guidebooks, planning what to pack, visioning myself in Central Park or at MoMA or at a Broadway show.

No one is more surprised than I.  Something has shifted.  Something new is happening.  My life is opening and my heart is happy.   I see the old predilection toward saying no and being afraid as a time of dormancy, a time of transition, a time in the darkness.  I want this to be the start of a new era in my life, which would be so amazing -- to be on the cusp of yet another "lifetime" within this singular grand and amazing stint on earth!

So, this big experiment is underway.  Stay tuned for more from NYC….cause if I can make it there, I can make it anywhere….

At least, that's the view from here…. ©