Um stuff

The holidays were… not good. As a result, I’m fairly certain that once again, my dad is the only person in my family with whom I’m on good terms. Not sure if that’s out of pity or if the man’s a literal saint.

Last night I couldn’t sleep. My brain kept trying to write a letter to my family, explaining where he hell my brain is, and where it’s been. It wasn’t a letter of apologies. It wasn’t a letter of excuses. Just … hey, I’m a shitty communicator, here’s all of the shit I’ve been dealing with that I’ve never talked about. The internalized letter writing was making me cry, so around 11pm I got up, grabbed a Xanax and the laptop, and started typing. I stopped sometime around midnight:30, and it was another 15-20 minutes before my brain was wound down enough for me to pass out.

It felt good to write. Good to write out all of the things I wouldn’t let myself say. Good to exorcise the words from my head.

I did not send the letter. I might sleep on it a few times before I do, if I do. It’s one of those things that’s probably better for me to write than it is for anyone else to read. As much as I want to ask someone to proofread it for me — not for typos or grammatical errors, but for the maybe don’t be such of an asshole in this sentence, and tone down the sarcasm here sort of stuff — I feel almost like asking anyone else to read that level of angst would be a burden.

Ninety percent of it isn’t family drama. It’s me talking about my depression; coming out about being someone who experiences suicidal ideation on a monthly basis (thanks, PMS!); and coming out as gay, almost as an aside. It’s me telling my family stuff they might only know about me from vague inferences.

As always, whenever I remember how writing is a legit form of therapy for me, my brain tries to trick me into the idea of going back to blogging. It’ll stick for a few days, maybe even weeks. And then it falls by the wayside, like so many other new year resolutions. Maybe it’ll stick this time. Maybe not. But for now, it feels good. I’ll keep going as long as that holds true. And I’ll probably always leave this place up for me to come back to, for when the mood strikes.


How do I even adult?

Today I napped away a headache, then was determined to get Something done. Even though I’m trying to take it easy. 

I did a bunch of really yummy food prep for this week’s lunches, so yay! Beans and rice with sausage; strawberry yogurt with actual strawberries; beet hummus with carrots for dipping. Looking forward to the noms. 

And as I took Phoebe out for walk #2, I was trying to figure what was at the root of my creeping Sads. 

Oh, yeah: as much as I might have gotten done, taking my medication wasn’t on that list. Whoops. So now I’m outside on a bench while Phoebe takes in some Outside, and trying to figure what the rest of my evening looks like. 

I should eat something. I’ve only snacked on things as I made them for lunches. Oh wait, I did have eggs for breakfast. Maybe I’ll make another hash browns waffle. That was good. If not that, maybe some rice crackers, cream cheese and smoked oysters. That sounds phenomenal right about now. And requires less clean up than anything waffle, so I think that wins. 

I want to do my weekly skincare routine. It’s self care on multiple levels, and usually relaxes me to the point of sleepiness. Might skip a few steps, just because I am feeling super low on spoons. 

I want to watch another episode of Return of Superman. It’s like a bit of balm on my brain: seeing people being nice to kids and raising a new generation to be good and kind people. I loves it. And the children are adorable. It always makes me smile and usually makes me feel better. 

I need to pay some bills. Nothing’s overdue or anything, but I just keep forgetting to do it. 

I need to refill my weekly medication holder thingie. And like, actually take them for today. 

I need to brush my teeth and get a good night’s sleep. And snuggle my furkids and give them pettings and attentions and make sure they’re aware that they’re safe and cared for and loved. 

Adulting is tricky business, sometimes. Ugh. 


Getting back into the writing habit, take 872098

How many times have i said that i need to write more? and then started a blog or something or written a few posts and then forgotten all about it?

Lots of times. And to be fair, i’ll probably do it again, because that’s just how I get down.

But today I need to write. and even though I’m watching something with subtitles, I can type without looking, so I can make this work.

The problem is, I have no idea what to write about. I could write about how I’m having a really difficult period, not because of any endometriosis issues, but because of plain old jacked up chemistry. Bad brain day. Usually I only get one per cycle, but this one is on day two or three.

I’ve started to write a few things about depression and the tough week I’m having, but eh. I kind of want to write about something else, even if I don’t know particularly what I want to say. So I’m just doing the old trick of leaving my hands on the keyboard and letting them do whatever comes to mind. It’s all very stream of consciousness. Thankfully, I can type without looking and I can type pretty quickly.

Unfortunately, it’s just not working. It still feels good to move my hands on the keyboard, and it’s a good habit to have, so I’m going to try to make myself do this every so often. I’ve been known to write decent shit before, when in a weird place.

My cat just jumped up onto the kitchen counter for what I think is the first time. This could end up very noisy. There’s nothing there that could cause her any harm that I’m aware of, but Phoebe is staring hard. Either out of concern or jealousy or envy, I’m not certain. She seems to want to jump to the other side of the kitchen, which… it looks like she opted out of that idea. Which is good. I don’t mind her on the counter, since I wipe it down frequently, but I don’t want her on the stove.

She’s been picking up things amazingly quickly. And the whole household integration has been better and faster than I’d even dreamed. She decided she lived here and we were her family, and that was That. Once she realized what the scratching pad was for, she hasn’t scratched at the rugs a single time, that I’m aware. She’s a good kitty, bless her little heart.

Moxie is starting to get playful. She’s climbing around the apartment. Batting at things on tables. Scampering more. Which tells me that she’s gotten rested up and is settling in nicely. It’s a really good feeling, to know that this tiny little creature feels safe around me, safe with me, and is able to be their own little self. They can learn to play. Learn to receive and give affection.

That being said, I feel like it’s a matter of time before I come home to find she’s torn down the curtains, hahah.

Okay. I’ve passed 500 words. It’s about bedtime. Or at least, it’s time to get into bed and play a game or read on my phone for a while.







Bringing it all together 

Every now and then, I get a new idea for a blog. And I rush to WordPress and create a new address and think of a name and pick a theme and then forget the entire thing. There’s one or two that actually got a fair number of posts. Long story short, I’m going to export all of them into XML files and import them all here. 

It has occurred to me that maybe I’ll dig some of my old WP blogs out of hard drive storage and put them up, too. Maybe, maybe not. We’ll see. I do want to write about a lot of things, but it makes most sense to me to just have it all in one damn place. 


My new internet policy

My desire to be informed is at direct odds with my desire to stay sane. I’m paraphrasing a comic I’ve seen around, but the sentiment rings true. What some people might not know about me, or might forget about me, is that I have pretty severe depression. Not the kind that makes me unable to get out of bed, but the kind where if I don’t take my medication, I get suicidal thoughts creeping through my brain.

It’s especially bad during the winter, at least when I live in Chicago. It still was present when I lived in Atlanta, but it wasn’t as severe.

These past few months have been full of anxiety and stress and depression, and Facebook wasn’t doing me any favors. I’ve taken a week or two off of Facebook, and it’s made me feel better. Lots better. I’ll not leave it entirely anytime soon, because that’s how I keep in touch with a number of friends and family. And I will be coming back in a bit, but it won’t be the same.

I’ve decided that I’ll only look at it when I’m at home, when I have a browser that can use the FBPurity browser extension — something that lets me filter by keyword and source. I’ve already started configuring it to block the fear-mongering and fake news sites. I may have snuck onto FB to read through a few things here and there, to see how I handled it before I said anything about coming back.

It’s really important for me to focus on the positive. If I wanted to be melodramatic, I’d say it was a matter of life and death, but to be even-keeled about it, it’s a matter of okay and suicidal. I’m not being melodramatic when I use that s-word. I swear on the soul of my grandmother that I’ve got no interest in acting on those thoughts, but I also swear that it’s a really damn miserable way to feel and live. I have to take care of myself if I can be able to take care of anyone else.

So I won’t be (re)posting, (re)tweeting, or otherwise putting up any content that isn’t either original to me, or somehow positive/encouraging/thoughtful/expressive. (I reserve the right to post about my issues and random bullshit, lol.) If something makes me feel anxious, I’m going to filter it out, because I have to. I’m doing it because I want to still be around to like your pictures and posts about dinner and puppies and dates and birthdays and kids and babies and wine and coffee and all that other great and amazing stuff that’s just a part of our daily lives.

Yes, the state of our country is incredibly important to me. But if I want to be around to see it turn back around, I’ve got to take care of myself. I can’t stress that enough, mostly because I’m afraid that people might be tempted to judge me and say that I’m complicit or compliant or indifferent or any other number of horrible things.

Stay safe. Stay sane. Stay alive.