WE ARE NOT ALONE

Just a quick follow up to the last post about depression.  I'm better.  Way better.  Back to "normal", whatever that is.  It was a month-long slip-slide into darkness, and now it's light.  Sometimes it seems to happen overnight.  Sometimes I can feel the light getting in through the cracks more gradually.  Anyway, I am grateful to return to feeling like I'm an OK person and maybe, just maybe, people like me (a little) and I'm not a scourge upon the earth, wrong and ignorant in every way.  Sheesh.  

When I hit "publish" on the last post, it was because I was convinced that someone needed to hear they were not alone.  And guess what?  I got comments on the blog; I got emails; I got comments on my Facebook page;  I got one private message; and I got two texts all from people who could relate, who also are challenged by bouts of depression at various times, some currently.  That made risking my own vulnerable sharing worth it.  That is what we need to do for each other.  Be honest, be real, be there.  We are not alone.

I've been reading how we are all so isolated from each other, especially with the rise of social media, the horror of the pandemic years, and the polarized world we live in.  All true.  But I know, even with all those things, it only takes reaching out and telling the truth about our lives to make all of us feel less alone. 

Community can be formed in many ways.  I try to form community here on the blog.  I try to form community on my Inner Journey Yoga Facebook page, even on my personal Facebook page, although so many people these days have bailed on FB that it's rare to get personal sharing there.  But I persevere.  I also do it with the occasional email to my geographically closest neighbors and on the Messenger app group for my family.  Also, every Monday morning I Zoom with a group of smart, funny women friends who have met together now for several years.  I do a phone chat with a BFF weekly.  None of these are in person, none IRL (In Real Life), but they are all also forms of community.  I would miss them if they were gone.  I would be much more alone.

Of course I see family and friends in real life too, but far less often than I did pre-Covid.  I actually sort of like the less frantic social running around.  So it's OK, but I ask myself sometimes, "Do I actually have any friends?" when it feels like I can go days not seeing anyone outside my home, compared to the busy, calendar-full of events and activities I used to keep up with.  I can see why some of us suddenly feel lonely for a former fuller life.

But to completely feel alone, not a part of something, not important to anyone is not OK.  And depression tells us that lie.  That we are not worth being with and we are alone.  So, I'm grateful that my blog post found those who needed to hear that is not true, that we have worth and value and that the darkness will pass.  I'm grateful for the communities that exist in whatever form that keep us connected.  I am grateful for you.

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

:Photo Credit: www.pixabay.com

THE MONSTER RETURNS

One in ten Americans experience depression at any given time.  10% of the population.  That's one statistic anyway.  I guess one's experience with depression will color whether you think that's a large number or a small one.  As one of those 10% it seems really small to me; I sort of can't believe it.  Really?!?

I am very envious. I'd absolutely LOVE to be in the other 90%.  I simply cannot imagine what it's like to have the Monster at bay.  How can that possibly be???

I think part of my depression comes from my "highly sensitive/responsive" character traits which make me experience and feel things more deeply than most.  The "highly sensitive trait" is found in about 30% of the population.  (Previous blog post about this: https://myviewfromhere-donna.blogspot.com/2022/09/highly-sensitive-people.html  

Here's what I'd like:  to be highly sensitive (there are actually some really GOOD things about this!) but NOT depressive!  I'd be OK with being in that 20% of the population.  But alas...

Anyway, I know people who say they get "blue" for a few days, or feel "emotional" occasionally.  That's to be expected; life sucks sometimes.  But wow...it also feels so foreign, so impossible to attain that nearly constant state of okay-ness.  Their lives must be so easy, so mostly contented and happy!  What must that possibly feel like???  Do they feel anything?  LOL

I follow a professional blogger/writer who writes with great honesty, insight, and humor about her ongoing struggles with anxiety and depression.  I wish I could do that.  I write now with some trepidation and outdated shame.  I still feel the stigma -- the pity, judgement, fear, and rejection that lives in my past experiences and in my head around how others have, or may, respond to my revelation.  

Calling depression a "mental illness" doesn't help, but I guess it actually is.  Depression and its twin, Anxiety, are big fat liars who scream in our heads that we are worthless and hopeless and that we should stay inside and under the covers for, like, forever so we don't inflict ourselves on "normal, happy" people.  It makes our minds a little weird and "ill", mentally.  We often take to our beds.  Except that I had a family vacation to do in the middle of it this time.  I wasn't moping around the whole time and mostly it was fine, but I did have to close the door to my room sometimes and I did smile through the dead-inside feelings sometimes.  I'm very good at that; a lifetime of practice.  

This time it's been about a month since I mostly checked out.  I got triggered by an old wound, a reminder of past events, and the PTSD of it all came roaring back in like one second.  I saw it coming.  I thought I'd handled it. But I couldn't, not really.  I wish I could explain how this feels to those 90% who just think we can wish or will it away.  Nope.  But, I'm coming out of it or I wouldn't be able to even write about it.  I knew this was a bad bout when I couldn't cry.  So about a week ago, when the tears came, I was relieved.  I knew that meant I was feeling something again.  

This week, I've started to return to my life, thinking about another upcoming trip, planning my garden season, thinking about getting involved in my community in some way, writing again, recording my weekly FB Live video for my yoga group, talking to a couple of friends, putting down my (non-violent, basically lovely) Laurie R. King historical-mystery-series, which I've been reading obsessively as an obvious escape from my own mysterious brain, and checking back in once/day with the actual news of the world.  (More mass shootings...which doesn't help, so I'm actively seeking out inspirational stories.)

I'm just going to hit "publish" on this now so it goes out to all who may feel less alone with your own struggles as you read about mine.  In a day or so I'll write about other things.  I just thought I'd let you know why I've been "absent".  If you are in the 10% Club, you get it.  If not, lucky you.  And I'll be back to your world soon and will cherish each moment of it until the Monster returns, as I've learned it will.  Damn it.

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

Photo Credit:  www.pixabay.com

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...©

THIS IS AMERIKA

Heavy sigh.

I have not felt like writing.  I envy my blogger friend who writes religiously (well, she'd take exception with that term; let's say regularly) whether she feels like it or not.  She is devoted to her writing schedule.  Plus, she finds everyday, funny, quirky things to write about.  Me? Not so much. I wait for inspiration, or at least a building up of "writing tension" that explodes onto the page (like today).  And lately not all that much feels funny to me, so I appreciate her making me smile all the more.

We still have a pandemic, which is getting worse.  We still have a lunatic authoritarian president, who is getting worse.  We still have social unrest in protest of generations of racial discrimination and violence, with mostly peaceful protestors, but not always.  And worse, the aforementioned authoritarian president has taken to sending unidentified security forces, dressed in camouflage and armed with "non-lethal" (but still blinding in one case) rubber bullets, into "Democrat led" cities to "restore order".  Only they make it more unstable and violent, subduing with tear gas and arresting protestors and observers without cause. Literally no one knows who these forces are, nor the men wearing the camo.  There is no identifying information as to agency or names on uniforms or vehicles.  They are there uninvited by local officials or law enforcement; some cities have sued the Administration to attempt to get them out.  This is Amerika.

So, I've been a little depressed.

I thought this would be the Summer of Political Action, gearing up for November.  This time it really is the most important election of our lifetimes...maybe generations.

Yet, here we are instead, arguing and polarized over whether it is an infringement on individual freedoms to be told to wear a mask, maintain physical distancing, and stay home, OR, whether these science-based recommendations and mandates are kind, compassionate, and necessary acts, as hospitals are filled to capacity, health care workers are so far beyond exhausted they are in tears on the nightly news begging people to follow the recommendations, and millions are suffering and dying.  The anti-maskers (including the lunatic president) who want to go to rallies, party, gather in larger groups and stand too close are helping extend the pandemic within the U.S., which is now a pariah in the world, where most countries have closed their borders to American citizens.  This is Amerika. 

When I started writing about his Covid-19 pandemic in early March, here were the stats I recorded in a blog post:

Worldwide: 100,000 cases; 3,408 deaths

United States: 233 cases; 12 deaths

Washington State: 39 cases; 10 deaths (in one long-term care facility, an early epicenter)

My county: 8 cases (including the very first Covid confirmed case in the U.S.; 0 deaths

Here are today's numbers, 4.5 months later:

Worldwide: 15.5 million cases; 634,000 deaths

United States: 4,024,492 cases; 143,868 deaths (cases and deaths the worst, by far, of any country in the world -- including people I know personally)

Washington State: 50,009 cases (including one of my sons); 1,482 deaths

My county: 4,562 cases; 182 deaths

There is no sign of this abating in the U.S.; our state is on the upswing like so many others. That's discouraging because our state was an early adopter of shutting down -- closing businesses and public places, closing schools, urging mask wearing (although no mandating it until far too late in my opinion).  Other states (especially in the south where there is apparently a neurotoxin in the water that effects the rational thinking centers of the brain in nearly all elected officials) didn't close down completely at all, or if they did, they opened up way too fast and too soon, resulting in the spikes we see across southern swath of the United States.  But even more progressive states like California, Oregon, and Washington (and others) contain large enough numbers of deniers who are screaming about their rights to assemble and to NOT wear masks, that the rest of us are endangered too.

So, I've been a little depressed.

There IS still an election in 102 days (but who's counting?) but it seems like an abstraction.  No big campaign rallies (well the lunatic president has held a few, against unanimous advice from health experts, but poor attendance and subsequent covid spikes of attendees seems to have cooled the ardor for now.)  Party conventions will be held online (although again, lunatic president still thinks he can address his adoring fans in person.)  Foreign influence and cyber attacks aimed at spreading disinformation and creating chaos and division are in full force since this Administration took almost no action to stop this after the debacle of 2016.  Voter suppression is in full steam ahead mode with some states refusing vote by mail (even when coming out to vote in a pandemic could kill you), and polling places are being shut down in some areas with large populations of brown and black people, making for 8 hour long lines to get into the few polling sites left open.  This is Amerika.

I'm running out of steam, as I do more easily these days.  I must face the unfathomable fact that I feel beaten up, beaten down, bloodied, and exhausted by the last four years of political (and personal) challenges.  My energy for the fight comes only in fits and starts with long pauses for sitting in my garden and/or binging on the TV Series du Jour Hub and I have decided to spend our evenings watching, popcorn bowls on our laps.

I feel like I will still rally for the cause eventually, but to do what?

I have no interest in talking myself blue trying to change hearts and minds -- they are unchangeable.

I have no interest in cold-calling voters; my introverted self has become even more so.  (The very best part of "stay at home" orders is that every single day I feel overwhelmingly relieved that I don't have to go anywhere, or do anything, or see anyone that I don't want to!)

I have no interest in attending rallies (Covid fears and inertia).

So I write postcards to voters for various organizations who are doing distance GOTV (Get Out The Vote) work.  I read, listen, watch, stay informed.  I post to social media.  I vote.

My primary ballot is sitting right next to my computer and when I sign off here, I will vote in the statewide races that are essential to moving us in the right direction.  Then I'll hold my breath to hear the results.  I take nothing for granted anymore.  So much that I thought I knew, could count on, believed in is in tatters.

I've been a little depressed.

This is Amerika.

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

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/

DEPRESSION LITE

So, a year.  It's been 14 months since I went back into therapy after a couple decades' hiatus from the shrink's couch.  But after the horrific winter of 2016 marked by an extended visit from the Twin Demons (depression and anxiety), I needed to call in the pro.  So I did, and it worked, and I've NOT BEEN DEPRESSED for a year!  Until last week.

But it's not so bad.  A few tears; a little self-berating; a bit of reclusiveness and lethargy, but basically continuing on with the ADLs (activities of daily living).  I eat, dress, toilet, pay bills, babysit my grandkids, see friends.  I'm just operating at a lower level of energy and hope.  Hope is the thing Depression robs.  But Depression is a big fat liar, so there's that.

I'm trying to trace where it wormed its way back into my psyche.  I used to say "it comes out of nowhere!" But my therapist taught me to be on the look-out.  There is usually a trigger.  She also said I try to talk myself out of it until it's too late for an early intervention and not to do that.  This time, well, I noticed it pronto, and took action (acceptance, compassion) -- but I still hadn't seen it coming.

Maybe it was the umpteenth sore throat/cold of the fall/winter/spring.  I'm sick of feeling sick.  Maybe it was a couple weeks of a too-full calendar and no down time.  So weary!  And not sleeping so great.

Or maybe the wettest fall/winter/spring on record with the accompanying oppressive cloud cover that never seems to lift has made me a wee bit gloomy.  I put away my winter all-spectrum desk lamp when we had a warm, sunny tease last month.  I should get it out again.  June-uary is upon us.

Maybe it was (is) the constant calls to action of being in the Resistance; trying to save our democracy from a horrific President/Administration and the Republican majority in Congress who are allowing him to dismantle the norms and traditions of our Republic.  Plus they are doing their own damage.  Every single day there is a new outrage and I feel more and more helpless and hopeless, in spite of having my members of congress on speed dial.  I go to sleep thinking politics and wake up thinking politics.  The current president's name is in my head far, far too often and I cringe each time I "hear" it aloud or in my thoughts.

My Shiny Sisters were aghast today when I said I'd love to just move to another country for awhile and get some respite.  I want to live where gun violence is not a fact of life, where the government works for people, where there are leaders we can be proud of, where people don't shout each other down all the time and maybe you don't take your life in your hands driving on freeways.  We are tantalizingly close to Canada.

They were aghast because they both expressed a similar desire months ago and I got pissed.  No abandoning the fight!  No running from 'Merica, no matter what!  Now?  I'm tired.  Really, really tired of the lies, hypocrisy, undoing of all that is good.  But I'll stay, of course.   I have grandchildren here.  Not going anywhere without them.

I'm confident that whatever the reason I'm feeling down, it will pass.  I might have to slog through this as best I can, but I will make it to the other side and get my mojo back.  I'm just disappointed the "cure" was not permanent.  Still -- I celebrate a year of feeling emotionally stable (even in the face of that truly depressing election result!) and that I recognized this nemesis right away and made moves to move it along.

Do not fear -- my new motto will prevail:  Nevertheless, She Persisted.

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

7/1/17 -- It was really only a few days and I've been back on track since I wrote this post.  YAY!  Thanks to Hub for always listening, to my friends for holding me in love and laughter, ME for persevering and knowing which tools to grab when I need to "jailbreak" out of depression.  

POST-APOCOLYPSE LANDSCAPE

So.  I guess it wasn't a nightmare we will awaken from any time soon.  Many of us are still in this phase of the journey as depicted in Edvard Munch's "The Scream".   It is said Munch meant it as an inwardly heard "scream of nature".  Well, nature should be screaming along with us, given the beliefs and policies of the President-Elect and his assumed Cabinet members about climate change.  (A digression:  I recommend the National Geographic documentary, "Before the Flood".  Beautifully photographed and full of easy to digest science info, if you believe in such things.)

Everyone is reacting in their own ways to the election outcome.  It's only been 5 days and it feels like 5 years of disbelief and grief to me; I'm sort of paralyzed in sadness.  Others have found their fervor for activism and are ready to do battle with all the wrongs he plans to visit upon people who are different or disagree with him.   Good for them!  I'll bring the snacks.

Of course those who voted for him (or didn't vote for President at all, which amounts to the same thing) are happy as clams.  They've been given the "un-PC" go-ahead to act out their worst selves.  Or they have been given hope for a "shake up" that they think will get their jobs back and put money in the bank again or keep those "other" people who are not like "us" out of the country.   They get to feel the self-righteous ardor of those who were willing to sacrifice the good for the perfect.  (Hello Bernie and 3rd Party voters.)  They have all put their faith in a selfish narcissist, a billionaire (if you believe him, but who knows since he won't release any information on his finances) unprepared for leading our country, with only sketchy policies and plans jotted down to "fix it".

Of course what they also got was the pleasure of putting that Bitch in her place.  Don't get me started. Can't even go there yet.

I am incredibly weary.  I am in full-blown grief.  I recognize it.  Been here.  All the stages swirl around except I'm not able to get too far past denial and anger quite yet.  Or tears.  Good god, what  has our country become?  The world is laughing and/or appalled and very worried.   Hillary supporters are stunned and take cold comfort in the fact that she won the popular vote.  More people voted for her than for him; more wanted her as our President. I do take comfort in that.  The Electoral College's intention to save the masses from themselves by not allowing the populace to directly vote for an unsuitable President went off the rails.  Again.

Yesterday I took the drastic measure of signing out of Facebook for the foreseeable future.  I was overwhelming myself and others with the non-stop newsfeed of posts of both outrage and support for those of us who are broken.

It felt good for awhile to connect into communities of people, like Pantsuit Nation, a true phenomenon of Facebook -- a FB group formed by a woman in Maine intended to be a safe place for Hillary supporters to "gather" and share uplifting hopeful stories and encourage each other to action on her behalf.  In only two weeks, by Election Day, it had garnered 2,000,000 members (only allowed in through someone already a member -- word of mouth).  The posts were so hopeful and joyful.   Since Election Day it has grown to over 3,000,000 members, as people find solace and calls to action there.

But soon I became obsessed with seeking out articles and posts that would help me find meaning and uplift and passing them on in 'share' posts.  My sons told me it was over the top; Hub told me I was too constantly online; I know I was quoting "Facebook" as if it was a real thing and not just a bunch of pixels.  A friend and I had a disagreement about how the DNC vs. Bernie Sanders played into this outcome; another told me to back off because she was in such pain and overwhelm she couldn't take it anymore.  Even my good intentions to help those hurting, and to build community together, was having the opposite effect.

I'll admit that only 16 hours into no FB I'm twitching a little bit,  which is likely an indication of the depth of my addiction.  I feel very isolated and alone this morning.  My "FB Tribe" is out there without me, sharing and supporting.  And I don't know the latest this and that cool or abhorrent thing happening in this aftermath.  Well, have another cup of coffee and take a deep breath.

It's come to this:  Last night I was so depressed I was barely functional.  I fell asleep on the sofa for a couple hours, but when I went to bed I was wide awake.  I came back downstairs at 11:30 and sat in the dark.  I decided to meditate and did a series of guided meditations until the wee hours.  I got hungry and made my favorite healthy treat -- blueberries, vanilla yogurt, walnuts, and cinnamon.  But the berries were too tart, so I added a teaspoon of sugar.  The yogurt was too sour, so I shot a dollop of whipped cream over the top.   I already had a bad taste in my mouth...I had to find a way to sweeten my existence even if only in a small bowl of comfort.  I finally fell asleep on the sofa at 3:30, up at 6:45.

It's just like that now.

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... ©

THE CRAZY

Hmmm.....hoping The Crazy isn't back.

I woke up with a killer headache again this morning.  Fairly regular occurrence lately.  Not daily, but enough to feel like, "Oh shit.  Not again."  I don't know what a migraine actually feels like, never having been formally diagnosed, but I imagine this to be a mild form.  I feel a little dizzy, nauseated, and my head hurts like a pressure vice is clamped 'round it.  I just want to close my eyes.

I tend to go with worst case scenarios, so it might be brain cancer.  Or maybe I need a new pillow again.  I am constantly (and I mean years and years now) searching for a comfortable pillow.  I wake up often with neck and shoulder soreness and the realization that I have been tensing my head, neck and facial muscles.  So that's maybe where the headache thing is coming from.  A new pillow, I tell myself, will remedy that.

Hub thinks I should do a sleep study and see if I have the sleep apnea, so en vogue these days.  I am resisting that, since I know for sure I'd be very non-compliant with the whole whooshing, white-noise, panic-inducing mask apparatus over my face at night.  Plus, he's the one who snores like a locomotive, not me.  And I might have to to move to the guest room even if HE were to don the Elephant Man nocturnal noise maker.

Maybe the headaches are from trying again to go off Estrogen replacement.  I've been on the lowest possible dose since my hysterectomy back in the day -- like nearly 15 years ago -- and at various times I've tried going off, but the docs always put me back on due to having outrageously persistent hot flashes that cause chills, nausea, interrupted sleep and supreme discomfort.  I have taken to tracking them again.  Hitting about 15 episodes per day.  Better than last time I tried to go off -- that was more like 24 (once/hour).  No one believes me about that but that's because they weren't living in my hot bod.  It was hellish.  So maybe this is hormonal headache territory.

I might also be struggling with Demon Depression again.  I wrote a poem last week, when my writer's group summer writing project had one prompt in the form of he word "Hope",  about an acquaintance's suicide 20 years ago   Yes, I got from "hope" to "suicide" in a few well placed lines of poetry.  And today is the seventh anniversary of my mother's death from a stroke after years of living with increasing dementia.  That can't possibly be a contributor to my state of mind, can it?

When I'm not feeling jolly, I get a little testy.  At midnight last night I went out on the porch off our bedroom, switched on the bright lights, and politely, but firmly told the neighborhood teen boys it was time to stop their oh-so-entertaining-and-guffaw-inducing game of "kick the can" under the streetlight in front of our house.  I'd already endured Round 1 of their World Cup run last Sunday night.  Round 2 on Thursday, which resumed at 11:00 p.m. was enough after an hour of trying to ignore them.  It's hot and closing my bedroom window in a bid to screen their voices ended up being very uncomfortable.  But, boy did I feel like "the grouchy old lady across the street", even though I acknowledged they were having fun and I was sorry to ask them to stop.  They mumbled, "sorry", and scuffled into the house of one of the boys across the street.  Six 16 year olds, just having some good clean fun.  No swearing, no drinking, no girls, no throwing stuff, or breaking things...just literally playing a child's game with great hilarity.  I'm sorry; now I feel badly.  But damn, I was I tired last night and really?  Midnight?  (I guess teen boys don't get sleepy by 10 p.m.).

On top of that we had a bit of a family emergency yesterday and while all is well, it moved us all off our emotional ground.  It was like when I had my car accident last September.  One minute everything is fine and the next, in a flash, it isn't, and no amount of "It's going to be OK-ness" seems to return my psyche to a place of equilibrium.  So this afternoon when I looked out the window and saw a white chicken walking down the middle of our city neighborhood street, I just stared at it, and thought, "Yep.  That's a chicken.  Wonder where it's going?"

Which is when I wondered if The Crazy was back.  The Crazy that makes me shut down, take to my sofa, my books, my TV, my self-help library, my inner landscape of rumination and dread of all things awful, where no amount of rainbows and unicorns can break through the existential aloneness that results in a despair that paints everything with a slate gray "what's the point?"brushstroke.

But not to worry.  This is familiar territory and in some ways a time of renewal for me.  And I'll publicly smile through it.  Because even in this state of mind -- headache, angst, and all -- I get that my life is one of incredible bounty and privilege and no one is more grateful than I for the grace of all my blessings.

Nope, not going anywhere except to switch on AmazonPrime and watch another episode of "Catastrophe".   Ironically, it's pretty funny.

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

POOR, POOR PITIFUL ME

The month is nearly half over and people are asking me why I'm not posting to this blog.

I've been too busy with a big project that is taking all my energy.

Also, I'm battling the occasional bout of depression, so when I'm not pretending to be perky,  I'm mostly staring out the window like some reclusive scary woman in disheveled clothing, wearing no make up, and sporting wild hair that could stand to be washed and brushed.

Plus, no one wants to read whiny, "poor me" self-obsessed drivel.  I don't even want to write it.

Truth.

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

BACK FROM THE BRINK

Well, the morning started with rain which was just fine by me.  No amount of dark cloud cover could be any darker than the mood I've been in since….well, since…

Do you ever get depressed?  Most feel "blue" on occasion, or as my mom used to say, "I'm sorta down in the dumps today."  Me?  Oh, I get full-on depressed.  Depressed like nothing matters.  Depressed like I despise myself and my life.  Depressed like it will never, ever end.  Depressed like I'd just be doing everyone a favor by not being here.  Depressed like being exhausted and so sick of myself and my moods that I just want someone to take charge of everything and admit me to one of those good kind of psych wards where there is soft light,  fresh flowers, and a kindly older woman in sensible shoes paid to listen to my woes and hand me tissues.

And that last part is what saves me and reminds me this is a temporary state. I don't get so depressed that I don't still crave creature comforts, someone to care about me, and some sense of beauty in my surroundings.

It doesn't make sense to me how this black cloud descends, then lifts for a bit, then comes rolling in again and again and again over a period of days or weeks or months, until one morning (today) I wake up and feel alive and happy and funny and free again.

This has been a pattern of mine for as long as I can recall.  I always think it's recent and due to some external circumstance until I trace back and back and back and see it play out over and over in my adult life.  (Perhaps born of the anxieties I can trace back into childhood?)  Sometimes it does seem to come from nowhere, but sometimes I do see how a specific event (my accident, recently) or allowing myself to become depleted by a ''go and do" schedule of commitments and concerns (over the past year, yep.)

I try to comfort myself by saying everyone is a little crazy, right?  We all have our neuroses, our struggles, our private doomsday scenarios.  But I just know my own and know that every time I am in it, it sucks, and when I come out I sort of forget about the lessons that were there to learn and go back to thinking, "Well.  That was weird.  I'm sure that will never happen again.  I feel great!"

You may be sitting around now, coffee cup in hand, ready with an armchair diagnosis.  Bipolar comes to mind.  But those with degrees have already been there and declared this one a no-go.  I just have the old run of the mill feeling like crap depression with none of the invincible, erratic, impulsive manic episodes.  I'm either super sad or super normal.

Thankfully, my toolbox is now chock full of hammers and chisels and wrenches that I take to the job of "dealing with my depression."  I can "fix" it in much shorter order than in the days of overwhelm and hopelessness and total fear and loathing.  (That took meds and counseling, for which I was most grateful, believe me.)  Now, med-free, I have lots of "counselors", chief among them Hub and a few close friends, who see me through.  I have meditation and Yoga and the strength to say "no" to outside commitments for the time it takes for me to just move through the morass of darkness, knowing there is light ahead.

So, thanks to all who have allowed me space, wiped my tears, and offered gentle encouragements over the past three weeks.  And for those who didn't even notice…it's one of my best traits.  I can get through most normal, everyday social exchanges now without faltering, even in my depression.  You helped too, by treating me normally and allowing me to access the healthier part of me, even when I was sad on the inside.

My hugest gratitude goes to Hub, who sees and understands and supports me in my collapse in the privacy of our own lives.  He is my rock.  My love.  My life partner.  I don't know what he gets out of loving an occasionally morose woman who can't even cook (even on my best days), but I'm glad it's keeping him around.

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

EXCITED. ALSO SICK & TIRED.

First of all….when you put something out to the Universe in a strong and declarative way, it will often come back to you (for good or ill).  In my last post I declared: "I am a writer!"  And guess what?  Within a few days, someone offered to PAY me to write for them.  It will be a new blog about yoga.  Excited!

Other than that, it's been a tough month and I am in a contemplative state of mind.  I always worry a bit that this blog is too close to a personal journal, then I have people tell me how much they can relate to my experiences and it only encourages me to continue in this navel-gazing vein, thinking we really are all in this life together and there may be only a few discreet human experiences, but hundreds of ways to interpret and live them.  So here goes...

I'm back to feeling a vague sense of queasiness a lot of the time.  I feel like it's the first day of a bout with the flu.  Tired, sort of tummy sick, a little head-achy, just want to moan and sit still.  Then it passes and I'm fine….until out of the blue it hits me again.  I spent a year like this not long ago and underwent every test in the book with no diagnosis (but I did lose 25 pounds!).  I don't really want to do this again.  I'm managing, but I'm frustrated and a little scared.  And my level of compassion for people who have real, debilitating, chronic ailments is at an all-time high.  I cannot imagine….

I'm trying to clean up my diet again; I'd gotten lazy and gave in too often to my sweet tooth.  I gained a few pounds and the carb cravings were back.  So maybe that's it.  I don't know; I really don't.  I just feel like whining about it, but that does no one any good and puts out to the Universe exactly what I don't want!  They say, when you are asking for what you want, to be clear and positive; don't say what you don't want:  "I don't want to be sick; I don't want to be sick; I don't want to be sick"…is heard as sick sick sick!  Say instead, "I am strong and healthy; I am strong and healthy; I am strong and healthy"…and health and strength abound!  Worth a try.

Also, I'm in burn-out mode and all of the above may also be the physical manifestation of the mental and emotional toll of my usual habit of over-committing, over-extending, over-scheduling, over-worrying, over-working, overly-perfectionistic tendencies.  Sheesh!  I just can't seem to learn this lesson!  How many times have I been here??? (A lot, I tell ya!)   So, the Ugly Critic Monster has shown up to berate me for being a slacker and unable to keep up the pace, unable to let criticism and conflict roll off my back, unable to just forge ahead like "normal" accomplished and highly functioning people can.   I've taken to the sofa with my TV remote and crocheting.  I have stopped committing to things and am telling everyone I'm on a summer hiatus beginning June 1st.  I am only going to do EXACTLY what I want to do and that will not include any meetings, few social engagements, no obligations.  So there!

When I'm in these sick and tired states I tend to get sad and think about all my regrets and mistakes.  It's a nice wallow, but I get sick and tired of that soon enough as well.  Then I decide to fix me.  Again.

My latest "fix me" fix is re-reading Grain Brain (by David Perlmutter, MD) to get me eating right again (cut the carbs!!!)  And I've just started reading Buddha's Brain (by Rick Hanson, Ph.D.) to get me thinking right.  (It is not lost on me that all this emphasis on "brains" is the opposite of living from the heart -- a goal of mine -- but I'll deconstruct that inconsistency another time.)   Buddha's Brain, at least the first 70 pages, is an enlightening discussion of the evolution of brain development and the biochemistry of feeling states and how we actually reinforce, chemically and neurologically, that which we think and feel.  And, the great part is we can train and re-program ourselves to think and feel better!  We can pursue practices which literally change our brain's response to pain and suffering, anxiety and depression.   So, that seems like a good goal while I'm on hiatus from  eating every sugary treat within 10 miles and being overwhelmed with tasks and depressed about people not appreciating my efforts.  (Poor, poor pitiful me.)

Please (please!) tell me you can relate to this rambling.  Or if not….

I'll be back soon with the always uplifting and simply hilarious tales of another gardening season at IvyWood, which is the name I secretly gave our property many years ago.  It reflects the wooded greenbelt that runs adjacent to where we live and also the absolutely ill-advised decision to plant ivy ground cover over the slope behind our house.  It is generally ill-advised for me to even go outside, actually.  But I'm giving gardening another shot this year; maybe I should write a book about my experiences:  Green Brain.

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…. ©

CRUISING SPEED

Aware that the "voice" of this blog is fairly upbeat has contributed to there being no posts this far into October.  Every morning this month I've gotten up with the best of intentions to write.  Every morning I make coffee, glance at Facebook, read a few emails, pour some more coffee, make my day's "to do" list, page through the newspaper (yes, a real one, delivered to my door), give Facebook another look, chat with Hub, sit down and crochet, add something to the "to do" list, drink some more coffee, wash a few dishes, look at a magazine.....you get the idea.  Stuck in Neutral, idling.  And that's on a good day.

At least I'm not usually in Low.  Low is a gear with which I have some familiarity.  Low is where I sometimes plug along, trying not to break down completely by the side of the road, especially after a particularly long stretch of road taken in Overdrive.  So, while Neutral doesn't advance me to any destination, it's better than Low -- cuz Low is mostly sitting in a chair crying.  Low is mostly feeling like the pull on the engine is more than I can take anymore.  Low is a chugging, clanking, near death rattle that seems endless and overwhelming.  But what I've learned -- hard lessons aplenty -- is that no matter how low my Low gets, I know I will somehow, sometimes with Herculean effort, jam that clutch in and reach ever so tentatively for the gearshift and knock it at least back into Neutral.  

Last Friday I did slip into Low, then stalled.  Hub, my mechanic extraordinaire, rushed in with patient diagnostics, just the right tools, and the sweet whisper of his confidence in my ability to self-correct and get back on the road.  I cancelled a few things jammed up on my calendar, saved energy for a couple of things I felt I still wanted to do at least marginally well, and took the rest of this week off.  Needed repair.  Lots of self care, quiet time, cocooning.  And touching my own heart.  Listening, in meditation, to that inner voice that tells me I am not that Ego that lets this crazy life make me a crazy person.  

I lose my way sometimes. My brain chemistry freaks out on me.  But I have big heart, healthy body, sound mind, and a Soul that dances.  I am shifting back into Drive, the winding road in front of me and adventures that await.

Soon re-approaching cruising speed, but with a light foot on the accelerator.

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