on Depression

I know why I like music so much: It makes me feel something.

Depression sucks all the color out of experiences. Depression is apathy, it is lethargic, it is inertia. In the grip of depression, I feel nothing. I feel no hate, no anger, no love, no pleasure. Nothing.

Music lends me emotions. I borrow them until I can feel my own. 

Depression has led me to allow a lot of abuse in my life. It kept me from leaving an emotionally abusive ex-husband. Eventually he left me. I filed for divorce two years after he said goodbye. Depression kept me from fighting that rapist; I was emotionally paralyzed, mentally separated from my body; nothing mattered. 

Depression has prohibited me from expressing emotion, because I had none to express.

Is emotion the primary source of human motivation? You'd think so if you could watch the reel of my life. I never accomplished much that I wanted to accomplish. My ambitions have been stymied by involuntary inertia.

Depression has kept me from laughing at my son's jokes. It has kept me from hugging my husband back when he comforts me. Later, these memories fuel the guilt-laden loneliness that precedes a new cycle of apathy. 

I understand the appeal of masochism: when your emotions are blank, physical pain is a blessing because it's reassuring to know you can still feel something. 

Depression is mental paralysis. 

on living with another adult

I had never really lived alone - without another adult - for more than a month or two until my second husband left, about three years ago. [Ew, saying "my second husband" makes me feel gross.] I have always hated living alone. I hated the loneliness.

Over the past couple years, I realized that 1, my primary relationship was with a person who had an aversion to co-habitation, and 2, I wanted that relationship more than I wanted a roommate. It took some internal work to come to terms with what that all meant for me. I considered whether or not I would always need another person living with me to be happy. Now I'm facing moving in with Archer, and I'm concerned about whether we'll each be able to adjust to living with someone. He has long been clear on his difficulties with cohabitation; I'm just becoming aware that I will have these difficulties. I've become used to living without someone else. I've started enjoying it, even.

This isn't a question of whether or not I want Archer to live with me. Always, I'm happier when Archer is near. This is a question of adjustment. I'm not sure exactly how it will happen. We'll get creative, I'm sure.

I'm making it: cleaning houses and finding balance

I finished my bachelor's degree last spring, majored in psychology and anthropology, minored in history, so now I can clean houses full time and work more hours at the cafe.

I can't, at this point, go back to working an office job. A "real job" as my mother called it. She apologized for saying that, acknowledging that cleaning houses was, in fact, a real job that results in real money. But she'd like to see me in a career. Something that pays the bills a lot more easily. It just can't happen yet.

Mostly I say this is because my son isn't ready to go back to public school, and working close to home and on a relatively flexible schedule allows me to continue homeschooling him. My goal is to have him ready for public school by the 2015 school year. He's seeing a therapist, who is working with me to help him with his social anxiety. All this is true. Even if I wanted a 'regular' job, he wouldn't be ready for me to be gone that much.

I don't want a regular job. Well, part of me does, but not the rational part. I'd love to have a steady, and larger, income with benefits and all that fun stuff. I'd love to know what work I was going to be doing that month, and the next. I'd be an awesome park ranger, or historian, or researcher.

The rational part of me knows that I have not won the battle with my depression, and in any job that is only a job, not a passion, I will crumble and give way. I will start the work with excitement, just happy to have a job. But depression will creep in eventually, and I'll do something - show up late, not finish assignments, whatever - and get fired, or laid off.

For now I'll keep working at the cafe and cleaning houses, which keep me physically moving and don't allow me to wallow. The happiness of my customers in both jobs is rewarding enough to make me come back, on time, every day. And soon I'll apply for graduate school. With a Master's degree, I can teach. That has always been my favorite work, and I could do that joyfully, in spite of my depression.

I'm having good days - when I end the day with smiles from the homeowners and cash in my pocket - and bad days - when the bank tells me I can't spend all that cash - but here's to hoping the balance will find more good days than bad. I have a few years left before I qualify for the 'real' job I can handle.

some non-fictional thoughts

I took a break from writing fiction today.
I had reached a 'pause' in my flow, and I had homework to do, errands to run, etc., that made pushing myself to write seem wasteful. Especially since this was one of those days that I could barely hold myself together. I had random crying going on, flat affect, and massive anhedonia. Major Depressive Disorder: it's a blast.
Actually, it was the anhedonia that clued me in to just how bad it was. Me, of all people, feeling uninterested in anthropology and wondering if I even wanted to keep studying evolutionary psychology in grad school next year? Yeah, that's a clear sign that shit is bad. It also made me realize that my hesitation over submitting my grad school app for the ev-psy program at U of A was mainly a symptom of depression, not an honest hesitation of "do I want this?" However, I still don't know if I can do it. I mean, yeah I'm capable, and I'm passionate about the subject area and all that, but... my depression has been really bad this year. So bad that I've actually failed two classes because of it (I just couldn't rouse myself to do the work), and I might fail another. I can't afford to do that in grad school, obviously, but neither is my depression just going to disappear between now and then.
I want this. Even when the depression makes me forget that there's anything in the world that I want, I want this. So I'm going to apply. And hope my brain doesn't betray me if I'm accepted into the program.

easing back into life: some notes

I've been writing more lately. Like, actually writing. In a notebook. With a pen.
Somewhere along the way I had stopped doing that. I had forgotten, or maybe I had never realized, how satisfying it was to write by hand. Or maybe I stopped doing that so much because writing by hand is more likely to cause a flare up of the nerve damage in my right arm. Since I'm right-handed.

~

The other day I was talking to my mom about the possibility of me getting a disability rating from the VA (for my Depression and the nerve damage in my arm, and some other more minor issues). My advisor, I was telling her, had told me that all my issues could easily qualify me for a 100% rating. That means the VA might decide I rate getting 100% of my active duty pay for the rest of my life. My mom said, "That's great, I guess, but wouldn't that hurt your pride, to be considered disabled?" That stopped me short momentarily. Then I replied, "well, yeah it would, if I weren't disabled." Geez, Mom.

~

I'm newly single-ish. What the hell does that mean? It means my primary partner and I broke up. Archer & Bones is no longer a romantic relationship. He's still my best friend. It hurts, but it's also exactly the right thing for both of us. I have other people in my life, but my other relationships are not so intense. So I'm single-ish.

~

I had a revelation today, while I was thinking about being single. That is: I'm always strongest when I'm single. I wrote it in my journal. See? It's right there:

It's not a great picture, so I'll give you a transcription:

{Left page, top to bottom}
"I'm always strongest when I'm single.
Why do I do that?
Why do I weaken myself with men?
[Seriously, I don't do it in my relationships with women.]
How many loves has that cost me?
^maybe it's because I think in those terms
Can I stop thinking of Love as something to be caught and kept tight -
- and think of it instead as something that grows better when there is no pretense?"

{On the left side of the left page, in blue ink}
"I've seen this before, but did not recognize it until now."

{On the right page, top to bottom}
"That weakness is given shape by our culture, but the force came from my Depression, and the legacy of abuse.
This is what I must change next."

Are any of us ever completely ourselves with anyone? Isn't there always something that we hold back? - Thoughts that come but seem uncharitable or poorly timed; it's not always bad to hold things back. But sometimes, over time, holding back might make us seem to be someone we are not.

I always felt on some subtle level that voicing the thoughts that might have appeared to diminish his importance in my life was generally a bad thing which would potentially hurt his feelings and make him think I didn't really care about the relationship. (I'm using "he/him/his" generically here - it's a running theme in my relationships with men throughout my life.) It didn't matter that the thoughts didn't actually mean I didn't care, but the idea that it might be taken that way was enough to silence me. Thus, I appeared weaker, less independent than I was. I even believed it, right up until yesterday.

I don't know exactly where I picked up the idea that I had to appear weaker than I am in order to 'keep' a man. I'm aware of the likely culprits, but I don't feel like doing an in-depth analysis right now. It's enough to know that I've done this, and better to know that now I can work to change it. Phew.

~

I'm working away at my story, which still doesn't have a title. I'm finally relatively satisfied with the first two chapters, and am planning chapter three. The work is invigorating and addictive. I did a character sketch today. Literally.

Jacqueline Avery

haitus

I probably won't be writing much over the next week or three.
I'm going through a depression ...relapse? episode? whatever you want to call it.
I don't feel like doing much of anything right now, but I am doing the things that need to be done. It's just, when those things are done, there's nothing left in me to write about.

I'll be back soon. I'm just coping with life, and this is how I choose to do it.

bad days

Just start writing. Just start writing... if I just start writing, then something will have to be said, right? Something will appear on the page. The screen, whatever. Something will be said. Even if I can't predict what it'll be. Something.

So I'll just start writing.
And writing... But what if nothing's said? What if I can't think of anything to write? Then I'll just keep writing.

Sigh.

I need a job. A real job, that can get me through the next year. But not just get me through. I want to be able to drive to the next town to see my boyfriend without asking him for gas money. I'm sick of it.

- I wrote that yesterday morning. It was somewhat prophetic.

~

What a miserable fucking day. 

I was down yesterday, no doubt. I got an email right before bed the night before, from my landlord, saying my dogs had been causing problems and he was tired of hearing about it. I hadn't heard about it at all, so I didn't know what was being said. I went to sleep - eventually - worried, stressing over the unknown. I had weird, unhappy but not-nightmarish dreams. In the morning I got the whole story about my dogs. 

Just one dog, really: my boxer, Roxy. She's a cranky old bitch, to be perfectly honest. When I leave the house she has to be locked in her crate. Otherwise, she'll get into the trash. If she were to get outside unsupervised, she'd wait on the front porch until a dog smaller than her shows up, then shover her way out the gate to go all alpha-dog on the poor thing. Other than that, there isn't much in life that inspires her to get off her butt. She's a great cuddler, if you don't mind 70 pounds of dog in your lap. Well, a couple weeks ago, she got out. My son had gone into the house while I was at work, let the dogs out of their crate, then left the house, leaving the front door wide open. So Roxy got out. And when the neighbor came out with their little terrier, she terrorized them. Because she's a bitch. And I just found out about all this yesterday morning. There was much apologetic-emailing done. I'm trying to set up a face-to-face meeting so I can apologize in person. Bah.

BUT yesterday was going to be a great day! Because I was picking Archer up from the airport in the afternoon, and DAMMIT I MISSED HIM. So I drove to the next town, where he lives and where I was dropping off my son to be babysat, did the dropping off of the son, drove to Archer's house to pick up his vehicle (because he much prefers to ride in his own when he gets home from any trip, and my truck didn't have the gas to get to the airport, which is about 90 miles away)... and realized that I'd left his keys at my house, 30 miles in the wrong direction. I had to drive all the way back to my house, then back to his, before I could drive to the airport. Which, of course, made me late to pick him up from the airport.

I am so very, very sick of the way my brain doesn't function. 

And when Archer was so kind to me about the whole thing... I lost it. Cried like a baby. Well, maybe not like a baby. I managed to avoid actually blubbering. Barely. I don't know what it was... some sort of mix of relief (that he wasn't yelling at me), guilt (because I fucked up again), and ... something painful that told me he deserved better treatment from me.  Better planning on my part. 

And when he said (nicely) that he thought it would help me if I planned things ahead better than I do, it was another stab; I knew that already - why can't I just do it? What is so wrong with me, I thought, that I can't put that good advice to use?

I took him home and got back into my own truck, then went to pick up my son. As I was waiting for him to find his ever-missing sock at the sitter's house, I tried to think about what I was doing for the rest of the week. What would I need? The extra trip between towns to get Archer's keys from my house had burned through my gas, and I had no cash. This meant I would have to ask him for some. So I did. I called him back and asked him for gas money, the same evening I was late picking him up from the airport. Because I'm classy like that. FML. More guilt, and... more kindness from Archer. Who, by the way, is far better known for his temper than his patience. 

The moral of yesterday's story: Archer loves me - he isn't going anywhere, despite my... issues. And that's how I was able to sleep last night without tossing and turning. 

I found this on facebook.

I did not die.

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glimpse on the snow.
I am the sunlight on refined grain
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quick birds in circled flight
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry
I am not there, I did not die.

- Mary Elizabeth Frye, 1932

Hel has held my hand, and led me back again. I'm more alive than ever; I hadn't known how dead I was. Half-rotted, half-dead; that part's gone now. Stepping back, now, into a life I've never led. It's a little disorienting.

Today I painted. It felt so good, I didn't want to stop. I wanted to get really into it, but I was wearing my nice clothes - meaning, the ones that don't yet have paint on them (well, now they do, but they didn't when I started, dammit). I put the paintings on the wall of the gallery next to my older paintings. They looked disoriented, too.

I smiled on my way home from the gallery. I smiled all the way.

living happy

I slept so well last night. It was awesome. I didn't even mind waking up, because I felt so good.

I haven't cleared off my nightstand yet. Who has time to do these things? But I did get a good workout in yesterday evening, and at bedtime I turned off my gadgets and my light, and just laid down. And went to sleep.

Ha! Take THAT, insomnia! Consider your ass kicked!

You gotta understand, this is a whole lifestyle change for me. Without Major Depression riding me into the ground, I can live my life the way I've always wanted to... except that I've never been able to before, so I don't actually have any of the groundwork done. I have all the wrong habits, and I'm trying to change that. For years, I've been starting my day by fighting tooth and nail with myself to get out of bed, then dragging ass until, oh, 2pm, barely getting anything done.

This morning, I woke up smiling and gave my bouncing (literally) boy a big hug and some breakfast. Then I drove us over to the park so we could ride our bikes (he's not quite ready, in his opinion, for riding around town just yet). It was a short ride because I didn't have much time before I had to get ready for work.

That's HUGE. Before, I wouldn't have taken him to the park unless we had hours to spend; the short amount of time we had would have been too big an obstacle for my depression-ravaged brain. Today, I knew I had to just do it. And I was excited to do it. We're going again this evening, for a bit longer.

Life is good.

attack of the Insomnia!

I had a month of no insomnia after my surgery. Then I got to spend a night with Archer (squeeeeeeeee!), and now I can't sleep without him. The beginnings of finding pleasure in having my bed to myself have been usurped; I know, again, that there's something better in this world. It's a lot harder to sleep without him, after sleeping with him.

I'm not going down without a fight, though.
I have habits that keep me an insomniac (I had lots of time to think about this at 3am this morning), like reading in bed and all the distractions of my cluttered nightstand. I'm going to clear off my nightstand today. Tonight I'll do my reading in a chair, or maybe on the couch, and turn off my internet - endless potential distractions, there - before going to bed. I'm thinking about doing a bedtime meditation, too, if I can figure one out.
Let's see if that works. 

preliminary thoughts on gender after my hysterectomy

I feel stronger; I feel whole in a way I never have before; I feel more complete, less scattered.

I think this is an unusual reaction to having an organ removed.

Yesterday I went to Tombstone (Arizona) with my mom, a friend of mine, and our kids. Walking through town, I felt myself standing taller than usual. My core felt reinforced; my core felt as though I needed no reinforcement.

I feel as though the divide between the female and the male inside me has receded. I am neither, or I am both, or I am a woman - I don't really, truly know. But the conflict is gone, regardless. I am me.

Archer says the timbre of my voice has dropped; I speak more readily and more directly. To him, I sound more masculine, only minus the grumpiness that often comes along with my masculinity.

I don't feel particularly masculine, now. I only feel strong. 

happy?

I've been holding back.
I made myself catch up on my homework before I posted a blog.
           ^That's something to be proud of, eh?

I've had a post brewing since before I left the hospital.

I went in Monday morning for my surgery, got out on Thursday. Why so long? Well, I kept running fevers at night. The first painkiller they put me on was morphine. Whoa. Big mistake. It didn't actually touch my pain, but it sure did a number on my stomach. Ugh. Let's just skip over that, shall we? They switched me to percocet, and things got better from there. So I came home. Whoohoo!

I love being home.

Before I came home, I had a moment I knew I would write about.

I was laying in the hospital bed, doing a whole lot of nothing. But that's not the important part. What struck me was this: I was happy.

I was happy.

The ever-present undercurrent of depression - wasn't present.

Whoa - didn't want to get my hopes up. Maybe this was post-op elation, or post-morphine relief, or maybe it was just the percocet. No, no I knew better. I've had surgery before. I've had percocet before. The undercurrent has never left. Still. I kept it to myself.

And it happened two more times: in these little moments with nothing going on, I realized I was happy.

At home, I confided in Archer that this was happening. He said percocet is actually kinda a depressant, so it's not likely to be a result of that. I don't know about percocet being a depressant (not that I don't believe him), but I know that I've taken percocet for my back pain many times over the years, and I've never felt a difference in my depression from it. I've never felt a real difference in my depression, period. Not like this. Sure the anti-depressants help, taking it from an 8 to a 4, say, on a 10 scale. But I'm at 0. Zero! WFT?!

I haven't even taken my anti-depressants since the Saturday before the surgery.

Suck on that one a moment, Big Pharm.

Still, I don't want to believe that it could be gone. But I'm not waiting for it to show back up. I'm on guard, like a chihuahua over the last donut: vicious and vigilant. I'm watching my thoughts; when they slip toward old sad habits, I scramble to right them, to set them back on the right path. I won't let myself slide back into depression out of habit. If I do go back there, it'll be kicking and screaming.

Fuck you, Depression. Fuck you.

"Mamaaaaaaaa!" - Bear

So the plan was that my little Bear would spend the bulk of the summer with his dad, after spending a couple weeks with my mom. Here's how things have gone down thus far: I went to Iowa with Bear and we stayed at Grandma's together for about a week and a half. Then I came home. Bear spent another two weeks with Grandma, then flew from Grandma's house to his dad's house on 14 July.

He was going to stay at his dad's house until late July. Well Bear has decided doesn't want to stay there that long. Instead of coming home at the end of July, he's now coming home on July 3rd. Surprise!

I'm both happy that I'll see him again sooner, and totally unprepared for him to get home that early.

I also felt, when I received the news, that I shouldn't really be that surprised - but I was. I knew Bear had expressed the desire to come home early, but that was while he was visiting Grandma. Bear and Grandma can be a little bit oil-and-water-ish sometimes. I figured that once he got to his dad's house, he'd have a great time and not want to come home - even at the end of July. That's what has happened in the past.

Past, shmast.

[Side note - my spell check doesn't like "ish" but thinks "shmast" is cool. I'm pretty sure "shmast" is not a real word. You fail, spellchecker.]

This year, things is Different. Bear misses me. That surprised me. When I spoke to Archer about it, he said this (which is probably more of a paraphrase than a quote), "It's not surprising. You're that boy's whole world. He loves you so deeply. With everything he goes through, you're the only one in his life who understands him. Of course he misses you."

I've never seen that before, and I said so to Archer.

He responded, "You don't see it because you're so used to thinking of yourself as not being a natural mother, as being bad at mothering, but you're a very loving person. Once you started digging yourself out of that hole of depression, that came out. When you were depressed before, you were cut off, but since you started coming out of that, you have become a great mother to Bear. He knows that you're there for him. You're doing great. Just cut yourself some slack."

When Archer and I first met, a little over two years ago, I was just beginning to realize that I had  chronic (Major) depression, and I had no idea how to manage it. I was cut off from everyone, including Bear. Gradually, I began to see that and figured out how to correct it. And I've found ways to help Bear deal with his ADHD and anxiety - he's doing better than ever, and he's not even on meds anymore. He's finally thriving, and so am I.

Thank you Archer, I see it now. As always, you help me find the point to my story light years faster than I ever would have found it on my own. You're my hero.






(I shouldn't, but I can't resist: Thanks, Captain Save-a-Ho! Hahahaaaa!)
[The above is in reference to Archer's penchant for saving damsels in distress such as myself. It's probably a tasteless joke. I have a terrible sense of humor.]

something

I'm not sure I should post this. It used to be easier to make these decisions, when my blog was anonymous. It didn't matter because nobody would see me later and feel the need to express some sort of sympathy or well-wishes. That's always so awkward in person, because I know this will never go away. The cycles will complete, and I'll feel better for a while, until it begins again. This is just the bottom. I hope this is the bottom.

I'm going to post this, because I want people reading to have a better understanding of what depression is from the inside. I'm posting this for the sake of those times when I feel better, and can't find the words to explain what it was like being on the bottom.

~

Right now, I feel very little. Little enough that it should frighten me, but it doesn't. It just is. Everything just is. I feel no need to get out of bed. I feel no need to leave my house. I do these things anyway, because my rational mind is still in charge, mostly. It's a cold rationality. It's empty, but it's right. I don't get up and interact with the world because I want to; I do it because there are other people I've made promises too. I know that if I break those promises, I will not be acting as the person I want to be. There's nothing in my heart that cares, but my head knows that later, my heart will care again. More than that, my need for fairness is anchored in me somewhere deeper than my heart, somewhere deeper than my depression has yet touched. For now, I feel dead.

The only spark of emotion I felt today was when I got angry with Archer. I was wrong to be angry with him, but at least I felt something. The anger was only skin deep, and it faded quickly, but it was something, and that's a good sign.

My heart still leapt to hear his voice on the other end of the phone when he called me. Not so high as usual, but still. Something.

I still felt anxious when we started talking. Not the good anxiousness I usually get, but still. Something.

I got angry when he seemed to be blowing me off. He probably wasn't, but maybe he was. I don't know. And now that the tiny burst of anger has faded, I care to find out, because I know I should. My heart doesn't care. My heart is blank.

But I know that if I could just hear a whisper of love in his voice, my heart would jump again, and everything would be a tiny bit better. And that thought, somehow, brought me a shadow of pain. I think that's a good thing.

- It's gone now. -

I'd like to apologize to him, for feeling so little. For not being supportive of him. For getting angry.
And I will, if he will pick up the phone.

Somewhere under this blanket of nothingness, I ache for him. 

bubbles

Today I rode passenger in my little truck while my friend drove us around to do errands. I didn't feel like driving. I didn't feel like doing errands, either, but as long as she was driving, it wasn't so bad. I sat there with my right arm and leg out the window, blowing bubbles with a bottle of bubbles shaped like a bottle of wine. A very tiny bottle of wine. That arm-and-leg-out-the-window thing makes more sense if you know that a) I live in the desert, and b) my truck has no AC. The bubbles didn't last long once they streamed out the window, but it was totally worth it. It made me feel like I could ignore how fucking difficult everything single thing is right now, and just smile at the bubbles. I was putting a positive spin on mental vacancy.

hermiting

I'm hiding in my house today. I needed to do some errands - drop the rent check off at the bank, for example - but that would have required putting on pants and going outside my yard. I don't have the will to do either of those things. On the bright side, my hands aren't shaking today, which makes it easy to type. That might be because I haven't had my medicine yet today. I think that's what makes my hands shake all the time. I can hear Archer saying, "baby, you need to take your medicine." I know, but I have to take it with breakfast, and I wasn't hungry until just now. I'll take it, I promise. It's ok though. I'm staying home today. This is my safe place. I'll be ok.

a conversation with myself

"The mysterious call of the Goddess doesn't come from the mental-thought realm. It comes from the body, pouring forth from your bones and your blood. Your cellular memory nudges you to remember there is more to life than what you experience in the outer world. The inner world is the domain of the Divine Feminine. She nutures and encourages you to explore your inner sanctuary."
- from Properous Priestess Handbook by Lisa Michaels

"Do I even have an inner sanctuary?" I pondered this; momentarily bitter and reflecting on the ravaged landscape of my inner self. The answer came from within: Yes. "But I don't know where it is." - Sadly, feeling knowing and confused. Yes I do - it's underneath, it's the core within the core, the life within the rot. It's what stays my hand when all feels worthless.

"If my inner world is the domain of the Goddess, then mine must be a real bitch. It's a war zone in here, and I'm not winning. Not much of a sanctuary."

But the battlefield isn't in the place of a sanctuary. The battlefield stands between me and my inner sanctuary. If I'm war-torn, then maybe it's because I've spent my life fighting the concept of housing anything Feminine in my body.

-Full stop-
-Epiphany-

Oh... wow. Yeah, could be. Could be.
Hela help me.

this night

Tonight is the first night of the waning full moon;
tonight is the second night of the waning year.

Tonight the cycle turns toward endings;
Tonight, as the endings begin, I ask that my cycle of pain end too.

Hela, please, help me shed these corrosive fears, help me silence the disparaging voice. 
Hela, please, help me release the parts of my body that do not serve me.

Hela, please, let these things end.

Burn away the sickness; I prefer the pain of the burn to the pain of lingering ailments.

May my upcoming surgery go well and be successful; may that which needs changed, change.

By Hela's Hand, so mote it be.

my brain: unfocused

I wonder, sometimes, why it hurts to hear someone say they love me. Especially when I know it's true. They really do. Why does that make me cry? There's no reasoning in my thoughts that explains the tightening in my chest, the burning in my eyes; there's just emptiness in my head.

Maybe there's isn't any explanation, besides, "you're mentally ill, Bones."

~

I had a disagreement with my boss earlier this week about the relative meanings of "their" and "they're." I was right. I'm not sure who won. But luckily, we're still friends. She understands my virgo side, even if she's not sure about my grammar skills. She's a pretty awesome boss. She also makes great tea.

~

My favorite bumper sticker to date: "Bisbee: it's like Mayberry on acid" - that's totally true. Most accurate description of this town, ever.

~

I'm headed to the next town over to get some quality Archer time tonight. It does a body good. Specifically, my body. And my heart. And I need that. I'll miss my critters though. It's a trade off.

~

I should be doing homework right now. I'm scheduled to do two more classes in the second summer session, next month. I might withdraw and just take the rest of the summer off. It's a very appealing idea. My GPA would probably be better off if I did. I'm completely burnt out on academia right now. But I'm so close to my degree....! Another trade off, this one far more uncertain right now.

~

I did some paintings this morning. They're itty bitty - only 2x3" - and it was totally fun.

See that one in the middle? I used a strawberry to paint that one. It was a really juicy strawberry. Then I ate it. It was delicious. I think I'll leave it just like that, only I'll put a clear acrylic seal over it. So it doesn't attract ants. It would suck if ants ate my painting. Even though I bet it would be tasty. It still smells like strawberry. You don't even have to scratch it first. 

He's looking at you, kid.

I might keep that one for myself.

Because I love strawberries.

attractive

I'm been feeling distinctly unattractive lately. It's not unreasonable, because I'm overweight right now. I've only been struggling with my weight for the past few years. It's not an accustomed feeling. At first, it wasn't so bad. I still felt pretty, I was just wearing a bigger size. Now, at five pounds over the weight I was when I was nine months pregnant with my son, I feel yucky. Most of my clothes don't fit - even my "fat" clothes - and I refuse, refuse, to buy bigger clothes again.

Last night, in a fit of insomnia, I laid in bed reading - because that's what I do when I can't sleep - I had the sudden feeling of detachment from my body. Not like an astral projection or anything like that. More like, "this isn't my body - this isn't who I'm supposed to be." It was somewhere around 2 am, and I literally had to tamp down on an urge to jump out of bed and go running out the door. I wanted to go hiking or on a bike ride, anything to feel like I was actively fighting the poor state of fitness I'm in, and I wanted to do it immediately. I didn't go. I went back to my book, trying to ignore the feeling. Eventually I went to sleep. That was sometimes after 3 am.

I want to be healthy again.
I want to feel attractive.
I want to fit in my damn clothes.