be assured, sam, if you're still out there

an interesting question today:

this blog so far has been some sort of experiment, practice in blogging, one might say. Though I read a number of blogs, I have not yet joined the blogging community. No comments, no interaction, no back-and-forth. I've been playing around this blog, experimenting with how it feels to see some of my words appear in such a format.
I NEVER imagined anyone else would read them!!!

and then a comment appeared..... unavoidable indication of an audience, however small, however sporadic, however randomly accomplished

Now, granted it's only a single comment, but somehow it hit hard. Mostly I've been experimenting with some of the darker thoughts I have, things relating to the mental health issues I'm currently exploring/dealing with/obsessing over. The people in my life need a break sometimes, I know, yet I need an outlet.

Let me get to the point: I am indeed troubled, but I also am already getting help via weekly visits to a counselor. I've even scheduled a psychiatric appointment. First one. Ever. And it's scary. But I am not willing to freefall into full-blown depression again. Or shall I say, I'm not willing to fall any further/deeper than where I am right now. The suicidal thoughts, well, they just show up from time to time and I look at them as some sort of curiosity. Wow. I just thought about that? How bizarre. My urge for life is still, always has been, very very strong.

Sam, thanks for your kind comment and encouraging voice. It's really a difficult point, a philosophical and existential dilemma. These emotions, these thoughts, are they me? are they chemicals? what's going on? what are my responsibilities in handling my health? how can I come closer to the kind of life and relationships I desire? if I go with medications, is that just taking the 'easy way out'?
I guess you've been here before, too. And I wonder... what made you decide not to take anything? How successful have you been at warding off depression? How many times, and for how long?

Today I planted some catnip, some basil, and some rosemary. Look forward to nourishing those lives, even as I work to nourish my own.

And now I finish this strange, half-journal entry, half-letter to a stranger, glimpse into the state of my mind today. Thanks again, stranger.

and today the theme is....

feeling the urge to purge... not bulimia, purge my life of stuff, there's too much crap everywhere and what am I doing with any of it? looking at it and getting depressed. what good does that do me? really want to birth myself out of this slump, into productivity, but feel it will require a radically revised me, a different shape of me. also feel it requires solitude and isolation from other people, who are starting to look like distractions.

Last night I lay in bed as waves of sadness and pain hit me, I wanted to give in and crumple up and cry but I didn't want to be seen that way so I resisted. And I just told him that I felt 'icky' and I wanted it to stop. And I thanked him for being so kind to me and I almost but didn't tell him how I saw the guy on the bus with the big hunting knife strapped onto his belt and somehow unbidden came the thought of taking the knife and driving it into my heart. I don't want to do that, though. Yet the thought pops into my head. Such things make me feel that I may actually be ill.

step one: read as many self-help books as you can find

Today I read Just Checking by Emily Colas. I can't say that I knew her exactly, but she used to wait on me at one of my favorite Ann Arbor bars. Hers is a story of life with OCD and her eventual decision to take medications for it. The ending hit me:

Which brings me to the point of my story. You can mind fuck something until it makes you crazy and it's all wasted energy. Spending so much time in your head. Because, the fact is, no matter what spin you choose, you just don't know. You can't know. So go out, have a good time, make the most of your life. And when you start to doubt yourself, if that happens, do what I do and blame it on the guy with the debilitating skin disease and let it go. Because life's just way too short to bother with such nonsense. Oh, and don't forget to take your medication.

She could have been talking directly to me. I've made myself crazy lately worrying, wondering, trying to decide, trying to collect all of the necessary evidence, etc., etc. In the end it's simply my decision. In the end it's my body, my mind, my life. Why waste it on thoughts that go around and around, the circle never expanding, maybe even narrowing and trapping me in its center.

my cocktail

I like it

How to make a blue/green machine

Ingredients: 3 parts intelligence 1 part brilliance 3 parts empathy

Method: Layer ingredients in a shot glass. Add a little cocktail umbrella and a dash of curiosity

Personality cocktail
From Go-Quiz.com

being happy

today i'm going to be happy!!!!
the sun was out today, i was productive today, i am going to will myself happy
so what if i was a raging jerk last night

all about perspective, right?

to have a diagnosis or not to have a diagnosis

It is an option. It is my decision. Do I go the 'easy way out', take the pharmacological route? Or do I keep pushing at my soft spots until I manage to heal them?

Viewpoint One: there is a biological component to my mood swings. This biological component is alterable with drugs. If I take the drugs, I will no longer be bombarded by little chemical packets of emotion, I will have an easier time managing my emotions, and I will have an easier time feeling at peace with myself and the world.

Viewpoint Two: I should be able to manage my emotions without altering my brain chemistry. Or at least without using drugs to alter my brain chemistry. I can exercise, have a better diet, and, most importantly, refuse to obsess, refuse to be unhappy, refuse to let my emotions take over. I should fight myself until I manage to be at peace. Or maybe I should by default be at peace with who I am, moods and all, and work on feeling more at ease with other people and the world.

Fuck. I don't want a diagnosis. I don't want to be part of that crowd. I just want to be happier.

taking care of my health

today it was proposed that I make a commitment, a plan of some sort, for taking care of a handful of lingering health issues which I have previously let go unhandled. The list would look like this, I guess:

1) physical therapy for the hand/forearm -- this I've already scheduled
2) dental work -- removal of wisdom teeth in particular
3) get checked out for my monthly monster headaches
4) mood stabilizers????

The first one, as noted, is already in the works. The second one I've been thinking about for some time. I've even enrolled in the dental option of my health insurance plan. (a year ago. I haven't used it yet. I've already paid at least $150 in premiums.) But I've got some stupid what-will-they-say-about-the-bad-state-of-my-teeth issues going on there. The third one seems like a good idea, if nothing else just to make sure there's nothing serious going on, maybe even to get some medications which might help me defeat the monsters.

But the fourth one. I resist. But I am drawn at the same time. Maybe it would make my life easier. Maybe I could get help feeling better. I'm tired of not feeling good. Everything is good yet I am not happy. They say that's a sign.

So I'm reading and researching and thinking, but I think I'm going to give in.
Though the thought makes me feel like a failure.
And I worry that I'd be letting people down. M. C. Mom.
I guess I feel that I'm supposed to fight my feelings, that I ought to be able to be okay no matter what. rrrgg.

I'll read. I'll research. I'll ruminate.

happy birthday dad

He would have turned 58 today. He would have been headed toward retirement, maybe. I wonder if he would have been thinner, healthier, smokefree, in better shape.

It's been six years now.

getting mad

Yesterday I had an interesting experience in anger.
I've never had an easy time being angry, particularly have had difficulty placing anger in the proper place. But yesterday rr. screwed up and I got mad at him for it and let him know it, and he brought me flowers and apologized, and I said okay, and now everything is fine. An arc of anger, properly traversed. And no debris left in its wake.
Am I growing up?

I still haven't settled into a comfortable tone or scope for this blog. Not sure how much to talk about, how anonymous (or not) to make it. I'd like to get it out there. But... worries of .........
what, exactly? being identified, letting those who know me see some secret side of me? I don't know. At the same time i'd like to share this with those who care about me.
I've talked about acting and my desire to try out different roles, so why do I now feel reluctant to don these robes?

one down

Nora's paper finally finished, I didn't sleep at all last night. Really. Not even a cat nap.
I feel tired but not yet destroyed, and giddy, though I don't yet feel the massive relief of having sent that paper off and away. I will not take another incomplete ever if I can at all help it.

Now I have Keith's paper and grading, grading, grading. Seems to be the mantra of the sisterhood of thirty-something, blogging, early academics. I'm a few steps behind the cohort. I wanted to believe that I'm learning my way out of procrastination, but these people are just as bad in their real jobs as I am in grad school. There may not be hope. hah.

On a sadder note, [note as 'nogt'?], today is Erich's death day. I can't think of him without thinking of Emily, as I imagine them partying together somewhere in the afterlife I don't really believe in. But I'd like to think there's a nice bar somewhere they can hang out at. Preferably outdoors in the sun. They always did care for each other, and I loved them both.

I miss you, my friends.
Erich Blough 12.13.97
Emily Harmon 3.13.04

a dream thing

Recent readings have brought me in touch with a way of thinking about dreams that I hadn't heard of before. The idea is that one function dreams can have is to try to reinforce personally-held beliefs which have been challenged by the day's experiences. For example, think of a small child who's scared of men with big beards. Say that during the day that child meets a really nice, friendly bearded man. The child then dreams of a scary man with a beard, the brain's attempt to insist something like "no, we were right, men with beards ARE scary, see?"

Well, yesterday I had a wonderful time, got to see Dog Show perform, enjoyed myself, had a happy day. Then last night I dreamt that I was a Jew in Nazi Germany, trying to hide and avoid capture, but capture was inevitable. I've had similar dreams before, dreams where I'm in trouble, I'm scared, I'm aware that there are nearly insurmountable obstacles in the shape of powerful forces that are specifically out to get me. Dear brain, I love you, and I'm telling you to shove it.

why the blog instead of the paper

because I've given up? because I don't care? because it feels impossible? because my standards and expectations are too high?

ah, that word again. expectations. I wonder how it would be to live without expectations.
I've already set my sights against worry and anxiety. Why not take out expectations too?

Curious also about the morphable nature of my prose. Depends so much on audience and recent influences. back to the paper