Long Weekends: Blessing or Curse?

It's amazing how much a long weekend can disrupt an otherwise mostly-well-oiled routine. I mean, it's just one measly extra day, right?

For example: This weekend was a long weekend. We got an extra day because of the Labor Day holiday, so both kids were off school, and both hubby and I were off work. On this day, we were also invited to spend time with some dear friends of ours who recently got a small watercraft. Yes, I shall even call it a boat, as it is one. With some planning, we met said friends at the local boat ramp and, after a few false starts, managed to be on the water by about 11:00 a.m.

We enjoyed a lovely four solid hours buzzing around on the lake, towing the kiddos behind on a floaty-thing and reveling in their smiles and shrieks of laughter, and generally enjoying the day. Eventually, the aboard-boat snacks couldn't hold back the hunger, so we returned to the boat ramp, replaced the small craft upon its trailer, and headed to a restaurant where we proceeded to eat. A lot.

Fast forward to the next morning.

Kids slow to rise and get moving, so the proverbial Cattle Prods were removed from their safe spot and used liberally. (You do understand, we don't own cattle prods, right?) We left the house about 10 minutes later than usual only to find out that Boy-child had left his lunch box at school on Friday. When I asked him where his lunch was, he said, "In my backpack." I don't even want to know what he did, or did not, pack for lunch. I asked him where his trumpet was (he has band every day!), to which he responded, "Uh....I really don't know." REALLY!? Come on, kid! We called hubby, who said he'd bring it to the school later.

Girl-child, too, forgot her instrument (a viola) and called hubby to beg him to bring it to her.

Both kiddos forgot to brush their teeth, so we made them both go back inside and do that before they left the house. Which, I realize, added to our lateness, but tooth care is important!

Both kids were lethargic and quiet.

Both kids made mention of needing at least six more hours of sleep.

Both kids are going to have to deal with it and get through their respective days.

Welcome to adulthood, boys and girls.

For my part, I went to bed early-ish, got up as usual, got through my routine as usual, didn't forget anything, and, aside from being a bit later in arriving to work than I might prefer, I was still on time. This, friends and neighbors, comes from years and years of experience.

And...telling myself to "Do it anyway."

Even when I don't wanna.

TTFN
JMS

PS: I wish the kids would buy into my mantra!

Me vs. My Traitorous Mind

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Please watch this video BEFORE reading the post below.

Watching this video, I realized yet again, that I am not the only one who has this problem. BUT, for every person who has anxiety issues, there are just as many people who don’t, cannot, or refuse to, understand the anxious person. I’m no doctor, but neither can I explain WHY I feel or think the things I do.

Granted, a lot of the things I think or feel might not be true, at least as far as the non-anxious person is concerned, but the things ARE true to me.

I DO feel fat and ugly and useless and good for nothing and…(I won’t go on)…even while at the same time I know those things aren’t really true.  Yes, I may be overweight and average-looking (who really cares, right?) but I am not useless and good for nothing. And see…even as I type that my brain is working against me: But what about all those days you come home from work and do nothing except crawl into bed, huh? What about those times? What about when you just want to be left alone and don’t want to talk to anyone, even your family, when all they want is your time and attention?

Well, I can’t explain it. I’m tired. Really, actually, truthfully tired. And it’s not just a physical exhaustion, it’s a mental one – which is even harder to explain. I’ve spent all day “people-ing” and I just don’t have it in me to “people” any more. And every time I hear my name I cringe inside. And stuffing my ears with an audiobook doesn’t help, because I get interrupted anyway. I cannot ever tune out 100% as I want to.

And yes, dammit, it’s freaking selfish. I know it’s selfish. But it’s also self-preservation. And – if I’m being honest – I’m preserving others, too. The 11^th Commandment: Thou Shalt Not Harm Self or Others. That’s an institutionalizing offense!

So, when I express aloud that I feel a certain way, and it’s irrational and confusing to you, by the love of all that is holy, please, let it go. (No, I won’t sing.) Just assume it’s my anxiety talking and go with it. Trying to question me, or make me see things a different way, only makes me more anxious and then I yell. Or cry. Or some snotty, tearful combination of both. Suffice it to say, it gets ugly.

Every day I tell myself how awful I look because I FEEL AWFUL!

Every day I wake up and want to immediately put my head right back down on the pillow and IGNORE MY RESPONSIBILITIES in lieu of sleep. Sleep is good. But then I have insomnia, too. So, I have trouble sleeping - both getting there and staying there. And my legs are restless which is SO ANNOYING.

Every day I have to force a smile when I speak to most people. I have to qualify that: MOST people. Not ALL people. There are some people who do not make me anxious, but they’re very few. And people as a general whole, en masse? Nope. Sorry. I’ll stay in bed, thanks.

Every day I tell myself how others feel negatively toward me, no matter what they might say aloud to the contrary. I’m convinced I’m not worth anyone’s real love, attention, or respect.

BUT I STILL TRY. I still try to DO IT ANYWAY. I’ve said this before. I try to get up anyway. Go to work anyway. Talk to people anyway. Smile and be friendly anyway.

And today isn’t any different.

I cannot say doing it all anyway is strength or courage. It isn’t. It’s a survival mechanism.

And you don't want to hear all this crap anyway.

TTFN

JMS

Drowning and the Lottery

I tend to steer away from writing about other people I'm close to - in particular my husband - simply because he's not a fan of having his world laid open for everyone to see. No matter what else is wrong with me, I've got to have an outlet and for me, that's what this blog is, right or wrong.  I also try to steer away from talking too deeply about my adoptive mother, Sandy. A lot of time, I refer to her as Gammy because it's less invasive, I think, to her privacy.  Needless to say, sometimes it cannot, or maybe, more accurately, should not be avoided.

I've spent a lot of time lately trying to unbury myself from years of depression and anxiety and, while it's really only been a few weeks, I could tell I was on an upswing. I was starting to feel better, a little, I think. I honestly don't know because I'm not sure I really know what feeling better feels like. (Gosh, what an awful sentence! You understood that, right?)

Anyway - I am trying very hard not to immediately dive into the negative and trying to focus on the positive. But by golly, it seems something is always trying to knock me down! Has my strength not been tested enough already? Except, that I just do what I always do - like the saying/song goes - I pick myself up, dust myself off, and start all over again. I keep going. I do it anyway. Because honestly, it's worse if I don't push forward. It's what I do.

People say, "You've got to take time for you!" or "If you don't take care of yourself, you can't take care of anyone else!" or "Make sure you get some rest!" - and they're all well-meaning. But quite frankly I don't have time for me right now. I've got time for kids, and hubby, and house, and work, and church, and Sandy and everything all of those things include, like school stuff and homework, art night. Church plays, Sunday school, Puppets. Cat litter, daily feedings, vet visits, flea meds, brushing, love, attention, what-the-heck-are-you-doing-with-that-Q-tip? Scouting events, merit badges. Cookies, cookies, cookies. Do laundry - pile after pile. Make sure kids stay clean and healthy. Talk about stuff that's important. Make sure I continue to get a paycheck by doing what they pay me to do, which is no small feat in itself.

My ability to find room for one more thing on a regular, daily basis is basically nil. I'm already up to my eyeballs and then some, breathing through a thin reed, and praying I don't drown.

So, when Sandy had yet another health scare this past weekend I just felt so...frustrated! With her (not that it was her fault), with the situation (not that it could have been helped), with me (because I feel like I'm not doing enough), with the fact that I can't find a way to help her (because...lots of reasons), with everything! As difficult of a relationship as she and I sometimes have, she basically saved my life and I will do anything - anything - to reciprocate.

Therefore, I am now consumed by trying to solve this problem. Because that's what it is, a problem. Clearly she cannot live on her own anymore, but she's not ready for a nursing home and cannot afford assisted living. Which means, at the very least, she'd need to move in with me and my family. And as we currently are, that is an impossibility.

Basically, I need to win the lottery. Just a couple million dollars; I'm not asking for much. Then I could fix up and pay off the house we're in, and buy something suitable for us and Sandy. See? I just solved the problem.

Right then! For the next six weeks, I expect to see lottery tickets in my mail box every time I look there.

I know. I know. Not gonna happen.

But a seriously frustrated person can dream, can they not?

Wish me luck.

TTFN
JMS

ADD and Fine-Grit Sandpaper

There are days when I'm fine. There are days when I'm not. There are days where I feel like a ping pong ball - bouncing relentlessly between the rubberized paddles of "Fine" and "Not Fine," - blows on each side - wondering which one will win. (That makes me think of an A.A. Milne Poem, Waiting at the Window. And then, after thinking of the A.A. Milne poem, I think of my Grandma Tennie, who instilled in me a love of of poetry and antiques, among other things. Geez - I need to get caffeinated, I'm all over the place today; gotta reign in this ADD. I guess there's a reason this blog is called ...Off on a Tangent.)

Today, I am not fine, and I have no explanation for it. Nothing happened. No one said something. No one did anything. I got enough sleep (I think). But, when someone asks, "How are you?" and you burst into tears for no apparent reason, you're not fine. When that person asks, "Oh my gosh! What's wrong?" and you cannot explain any reason for your tears, you're not fine.

How do you explain something to someone for which you, yourself, have no explanation? You cannot. So therefore you say, "I'm fine," through the tears and walk away leaving the other party very confused. I care, and yet cannot care, about that.

So, today, I will tune out. I will plug my ears into some music (current selection: Turnpike Troubadours - a very recent addition to my beloved collection) which will hopefully act as fine-grit sandpaper and smooth out my rough edges. I will throw myself into my work and pray that when I look up, it will be time to go home and, further, that I am able to say I have have done my job in a manner in which I can be proud.

I will go home to my family.

I will do whatever needs to be done.

Today, I will "Do it anyway."

TTFN
JMS

Depression and Tattoos

I sat down today with the goal of pouring my heart out. But, now that I'm here, I don't quite know where to begin.  The last couple of weeks have been kind of a whirlwind; so much has happened and yet, with everything going on, not too much has changed. I'm not sure I can explain it any better than that.

Girl-child turned 10 on March 8th. Official double digits. We honestly didn't do very much, which makes me feel like a horrible mother, but I just couldn't get my act together. We did, however, have a huge sheet cake at the Wednesday night supper at church (which corresponded very nicely with her actual day of birth) and everyone who was there sang Happy Birthday to her - to her high embarrassment. But she thanked me later. And everyone had birthday cake, which is always a good thing.

The next day, I had my very first appointment with my new doctor, and that was an unexpected experience in itself. To begin with, I hadn't been to just a regular primary care physician in over a year; for any reason. Filling out all that new patient paperwork made me realize just how sorely lacking my self-care had been. I could not remember how long it'd been since my last [fill in the blank] on just about any of it. Sad, sad, sad. Anyway, when the nurse called me back, she spent almost 30 solid minutes going over my health history with me. She was kind, thoughtful, insightful, non-judgmental, took her time and didn't make me feel as if she had somewhere else to be. She put me right at ease. When all that was said and done, she said the doctor would be right in and, my cynical self thought, "Yeah, right!" Because, let's be honest, who hasn't heard that before and then waited 20, 30, sometimes even 40 minutes before the doctor came right in.

But, miracle of miracles, five minutes later there was a knock on the door and in came my new doctor and an assistant.  He, too, took his time with me. He, too, was thoughtful, respectful, responsive, insightful, and didn't make me feel like he had somewhere else to be. What a different experience from what I'd become used to. We started going over my health - the usual stuff - but then he paused, looked me straight in the eye, and said, "So...how's your stress level?" And I lost it.

Really lost it.

I cried like an idiot in front of my new doctor.

I fully expected him to find an excuse to leave the room, but he just laid a gentle hand on my shoulder and said, "It's OK. This is a safe place to cry. Take as long as you need."

Once I'd calmed down some, we spent an extremely long time talking about my stress, emotions, moods, etc. In detail. It was simultaneously embarrassing, uncomfortable, gratifying and freeing. To talk about stuff I hadn't talked about in any real way for...well...ever.

In the end, I left with new prescriptions for my asthma (which I was out of, and, other than establishing myself with a new physician, was the primary purpose of my visit), as well as an anti-depressant and an anti-anxiety, and a scheduled follow-up visit for a week later to see how things were going.

Well...if I'm being honest...I don't remember much about the following week. The anti-anxiety medicine basically made me into a semi-conscious zombie. I was a good patient, and took the medicine as it was prescribed, but it was - clearly - too much. Finally, the day before my follow-up visit, I didn't take my morning or afternoon doses because I was practically narcoleptic. That seemed to help. So by the time my follow-up appointment arrived, I felt mostly human again.  I relayed my situation to the doctor and he agreed; too much meds. We lowered the dose significantly and I've been fine ever since.

Also, my blood work indicated (as we suspected) very out-of-whack hormones and a severe vitamin D deficiency. So I am now also on a hormone creme which is supposedly going to "change my life" and extra doses of vitamin D.

All-in-all, I do feel better. I couldn't tell right away, but as the anti-depressant builds in my system I find myself feeling clearer and clearer. I'm still not "there" yet - wherever "there" is - but I am on my way. I think.

Which brings me to - at least partially - what I was originally going to write about. This depression thing has been going on since I was 13 or 14. I've either been seeing some form of therapist, or taking some form of medication, almost as long as I can remember. But, I've been without (by choice) either therapist or medicine for several years now. I guess I thought maybe I was as good as I'd ever be, things wouldn't get better, and I might as well get used to things as they were because...well...it is what it is, right? I mean, at some point I guess I must have consciously decided to just deal with it, the depression, that is. And truthfully, I thought I was doing alright.

But lately, I began to realize I was not doing alright. That I needed help. And I remembered all the times I've said to others that it's OK to ask for help, so why did I feel that it was not OK for ME to ask for help, too? Stubbornness? A desire to be OK even if I wasn't? To not be a failure to myself? To others? The incorrect belief that if I looked OK on the outside, I might fool myself (and others) into believing I really was OK on the inside, too?  I've got people counting on me! I've got a good job, thank God! I've got responsibilities! I cannot, NOT be OK! It was simply unacceptable for me to show weakness - either to myself or to others.

But when my doctor asked, "So...how's your stress level?" it provided an unexpected opportunity to ask for the help I needed, even though I wasn't really sure what I needed. I know now that this, more than anything, was why I broke down and cried in his office.

Another thing. Last night was my monthly Girl's Night with my girlfriends. Truthfully, they're more my Soul Sisters. The 5 other women in my life who have held me together more times than they even realize. And we got to talking about tattoos (our conversations are always all across the map and are sacred and not to be repeated in most cases) and wouldn't it be neat if we - the sisters - could come up with a tattoo that represented all of us and we would each get one. Yes, I'm all for that. (Another story for another time, really.)  But, during that conversation, one friend asked us about our own personal symbols - a symbol that we each, individually, felt inextricably linked to. Something that we felt defined us, in a way. And though I had a symbol, I felt more linked to a particular phrase: "Do it anyway."

If you read my blog regularly, I think I've talked about this before, so you'll understand. However, to me, "Do it anyway," is my way of forcing myself to be OK. To force myself to get up in the morning, to take a shower, to drive to work and work all day, to do the laundry...sometimes to go tuck my kids in and kiss them and tell them I love them even though I've already gotten in bed.  To do all the little things I'd just rather not do because it would be easier to stay in bed all day and just give in to the blackness I feel. Don't want to do something? Do it anyway! (Within reason, of course, because it certainly cannot apply to everything!)

So I tried very hard to explain to my sisters what I envision when I think about this phrase: "Do it anyway."

Basically what I said was, when I think about a "normal" person - someone who doesn't suffer from depression and anxiety and constantly questions their self-worth - I think of a clear pane of glass, or a beautiful crystal bowl. Perfect. Lovely. Together. Transparent. Unblemished. But when I think about me and how I feel - how my depression and all the rest of it feels to me - I feel broken. Like shards of glass, or shattered crystal. And I see my mantra, "Do it anyway." written in pieces of glass.

It's hard to explain. I certainly wouldn't know how to take this image I see so perfectly in my mind and transfer it into a vision suitable for a tattoo. But you know what? I think I'm going to try.

One of my sisters said, "You know, that kinda shows your strength, actually." (I might be paraphrasing, but essentially that was it.) And I think maybe she might be right.

I want those words - where I can see them and remember what I've suffered through - clear for the world to see, too. I want someone to ask me about it. What does it mean?

For folks who live in their unblemished, clear-pane-of-glass worlds (not a judgment, I promise, just an observation), it might be hard to understand the struggle it is to live with depression and anxiety (among other things).  But for those who know...well, maybe they'll see my tattoo and they'll just GET IT. They'll understand. And they'll know I'm safe, that I'm someone they can talk to about their own struggle. And maybe, just maybe, they'll feel a little bit better.

Again - I feel like I'm having trouble explaining things. I suppose you can take all this (the words of this unbelievably long blog post) however you wish. Bottom line for me, though? I'm finally getting help and I have a vision I'd like to realize in the form of a tattoo. Now, I just need to save up the money.

Really? That's the summary of this long post? Well...I might have follow-ups in the future, but yes, for now, that's it.

I hope this post helps you in some small way. Because if it helps you - even if I don't know it - it will help me, too.

TTFN
JMS