It Takes Time – and then some

Winter is, for me, usually a time of inner reflection. It’s when I do what is called in Paganism, Shadow Work.

And, my Goddess, it’s been a heavy season of revelations.

I’m not listing these in any specific order, just as they come to me.

1. I have been planning on moving for a while now, but the process to get to the actual moving has been slow, and daunting. It’s a lot of work for 1 person to do on her own.

In this, I realized just how much stuff I have.

Gads, the shelves, piles, boxes, rooms… Of stuff.

I’ll never be able to take all of it with me, especially since I’m going to be downsizing my life, considerably.

And yet, I have so many things that were originally given to me as sentimental gifts…

How do you decide?

I was contemplating a clock. Literally.

My grandmother, who passed on some years ago, now, gifted me with a Grandmother clock when I got married the first time. (She gifted clocks to every one of the grandkids when they got married) It’s a gorgeous thing, made of a reddish-stained wood, with beautiful glass in door on the front, split into top and bottom. The top, of course, shows the face of the clock. The bottom is a square in the middle of clear glass, and 4 framing pieces of a lovely wavy, bumpy glass. The bottom shows the pendulum as it swings. The door swings on a hinge so you can open it up and wind the clock with a “key”, instead of like most pendulum grandfather clocks that have chained weights.

This clock used to play a tune on the hour & a piece of that tune on every quarter & half. My first ex-husband broke the music part of it shortly after we received it, by trying to set the time incorrectly. It’s never played music since, but the clock part still works.

During my second marriage, my now 2nd ex-husband, decided he didn’t like the “ticking”… said it was too loud. (Yeah, seriously)

So the clock was stopped, and never rewound. It’s hung on my living room wall ever since, silent.

It has hung there for 20 years, almost 21, now, silent.

And, as I stood there, looking at it, I wondered to myself…

Why do I have a clock hanging up that never works? I should take it down, put it back in its box, and pack it away for moving.

Moving?

When I move, I won’t have a place for this clock. My grandmother, rest her, is gone. My marriages… both are gone. The whole reason for the clock being gifted… is gone.

Hmmm… maybe one of my girls will want this? My son definitely won’t want it. Has no attachment to it.

And yet, neither of my girls have ever evinced an emotional attachment whatsoever to this clock. This silent clock that they’ve never heard sing. Have barely ever heard ticking.

No one wants this clock.

Even I don’t really want this clock anymore, other than as a tangible reminder of my grandmother… and yet.

I have many other things that remind me of her.

What do I do with it? Do I get rid of it?

I’m sure my mother would tell me to hang onto it. That one of the girls, or one of my grandkids will someday want it.

And yet. That’s so many years in the future. I’m downsizing. I don’t have, and won’t have, room for storage of “future maybes”.

If I get rid of it, my mom will surely have her feelings hurt… but again… it’s my clock. At least right now.

So, it sits on my floor now, I took it down from the wall, and am reminded every day about it.

When I took the clock down, the pendulum started swinging again, and now it sits… on my floor… ticking with the wrong time.

2. I was emotionally and mentally abused in my last marriage.

It didn’t start out that way, of course…(when does it?)

He told my best friend (who introduced us), that when he met me, he loved the fact that I was a “take no shit” kind of woman. I didn’t take crap from anyone, adult, child, or animal. I stood up for myself and made no apologies for that.

This ability was slowly squashed out of me over the 12 years we were married.

I don’t want to go into all the details, but he was a narcissist who had very little, if any, empathy for anyone other than our son, his golden angel.

It took me almost those same amount of years after we divorced to finally come to this realization.

I finally stood up for myself, and we’ve now been divorced for… well, it’ll be 10 years at the end of May this year.

Almost 10 years to finalize the conclusion that I had back then. And it took a friend, former boyfriend, really, to make me realize that. This man, my friend, asked me one night while we were messaging back & forth on facebook…

Are you happy?

And it took me too long to answer him.

I was going to answer “Of course I am!” But, I took a breath, and answered him honestly, instead.

No.

And that was the beginning of the end of my marriage.

The passive-aggressive insults, the subtle slap-downs, the quiet commentary on my lack, on my family’s lacks, on my friend’s shortcomings… they’d all built up into a deep, searing resentment that I couldn’t live with anymore. I’m ashamed to admit it now, but I now realize that he’d been doing the same things to my daughters, who were his step-children, and that this constituted emotional abuse of them as well. I waved it off at the time, not wanting to admit to myself that he was really hurting them. I wanted us to be a nuclear family like I’d grown up in. But I was wrong.

The girls have grown up since, both lovely adult women with lives of their own. My EldestDaughter is now a mother herself, to 3 beautiful children. Her eldest, my Schnicklefritz, is my buddy. The younger 2 don’t know me well enough yet to define our relationship, since they’re in Washington state, while I’m here. But once I get moved, and I’m planning on moving closer to them, that’ll shift too.

My YoungerDaughter is a no-nonsense upright young woman who is the first in our family for 4 generations to finish college, and is now a 2nd-grade teacher in Wisconsin. She lives with her long-time boyfriend, and I can see them getting married within the next few years.

My OnlySon, lives with his father. There’s a whole story there, but it’s not always an easy one, and I’m not going into it right now.

Suffice to say, the girls’ upbringing didn’t cause them irreparable harm. They have both been able to overcome it, and have built lives that suit them both.

Me, I’m getting there. It’s been a long, rocky road.

I’m still prone to times of severe depression, with longer periods now of only mild depression, thanks to changing a few things in my life, and the treatment I follow for it. I still have anxiety, pretty much always, but that’s manageable most of the time too, through my medication & things I do for it personally. I am working on it.

And as far as relationships go? Well, I’ve pretty much given up on that, since they’ve all failed, for one reason or another. I’m 50 years old, living alone with my cat. (My son’s cat went to a new home this year)

For right now, I’m contemplating finishing out my years living close to my grandkids, my daughter, and her husband, Moose. (yes, it’s a nickname, but appropriate… he’s 6’4″ for goddess’s sake!)

I’m contemplating being content doing that alone, because I can’t see anyone wanting to take on any of the myriad of years’ baggage I bring with me into any relationship.

Yeah, my self-esteem is still crap. Being ghosted, and/or told you’re not good enough to be in a permanent relationship, lied to, had promises broken because “it’s just not that big of a deal”, having one tell you that the depression is the deal-breaker, and any other number of “yeah, I’m just not going to deal with this woman” actions, is kind of a self-esteem killer.

But… it’s what it is, really. This is my life now. And I’m comfortable with living alone now.

I do what I want, when I want. I am obligated to no one for my time. I don’t have to apologize if I want to stay up late reading, or gaming. I come home, drop my stuff where I do, and it’s still there when I go back for it.

(unless the asshole cat has done something to it)

I can play my music at the top volume, singing along loudly, and dancing through the house, if I want.

I can, and have, paint whatever I want on the walls.

I can rearrange my life, my house, and my mind, in whatever way I want, and I don’t have to apologize, or explain, or defend my choices to anyone.

It’s not horrible.

Yeah, I’d like to have someone to share it with. Sure, who wouldn’t?

But, Relationship has 12 letters.

So does Fuck this shit.

Maybe, someday, I’ll be able to say I’m over it. It’s better, now that I can recognize what it is, truly.

Now, I can focus on what I need to do to heal.

These 2 things are not the end of my realizations this winter. But I’m emotionally exhausted from this session of reliving them for the page, so I’ll end this here.

I’m still going. I’m slower now, more cautious, in my decisions & actions. But I’m still moving, working toward my goal.

And that’s the important bit.

Isn’t it?

Hives, but no Bees

Ok, I’m ready to talk about the health crap I’ve been going through for the last few months. It’s not pretty, but also not lethal. Except to my mental health.

It really started at the end of March, when I came down with bronchitis. I thought it might be covid, because many of the symptoms match, so I got tested. Obviously, it came back negative, so I got on antibiotics & recovered from that.

At this point, I started working from home, since we were planning that anyway at my office, & I wasn’t the only one from my department that was going to be doing work from home. We hadn’t planned on me starting so soon, but it worked out.

Then, I got the flu about a week later. Good thing I was working from home, as I was able to log in & work when I could, without having to travel to the office, feeling like crap, & possibly infecting coworkers.

Then, a couple of days later… I started to notice hives.

Just a few spots to start, they quickly seemed to spread, until they covered most of my body in extremely itchy, raised red welts.

And I do mean covered.

As in, at least 85℅ of my body was itching, welted, or felt like it was extremely sunburned.

These are pictures I took to show my doctor. They are just of my arms, and aren’t of the worst days.

I went through 2&1/2 bottles of calamine, and was double dosing myself with antihistamines. (I can’t take anything with diphenhydramine in it, like benadryl, as it makes my heart race, so I had to take what I can)

I also ended up with chemical burns from all the calamine. It dries your skin extremely well, so well, in fact, that if you use it for 2 months, you get dry-skin burns. And believe me, they hurt. It took copious amounts of lotion to relieve and reverse this. Don’t overdo calamine, folks. Trust me.

Think of it like pouring hydrogen peroxide into an open wound. After the bubbling stops, it turns white, right? Because it’s dessicated the tissue. Dried it to oblivion.

I also found a lotion that has menthol & camphor in it, which helps to kill the itch, & makes your skin feel extremely cold in the process, which helps with the burning feeling the inflammation causes. (It’s called Sarna)

My doc put me on prednisone, to help with that, as well as another issue, & it seemed to help.

During all of this, I tried to figure out if the hives were a reaction to a medication I’d started taking for my depression, or if it was a new allergy. Joy.

I stopped taking the antidepressant, on recommendation of my doc, and my emotions went haywire again.

I stopped eating the one food I thought might have caused the allergy. (I’m extremely picky in my eating, there aren’t a lot of things it could be, anymore)

And… The hives started to go away. It took a while, but it seemed to be working.

Then, last weekend, when I had my Schnicklefritz for the weekend, I ate something I hadn’t had for a while, & the hives flared again that night.

I thought this was my answer!

I’d found the culprit, and eliminating this would stop the hives, right?

I made an appointment with an allergist, anyway, just to make sure, but I was fairly positive I had my answer.

After seeing my doc this last week, I told her my theory, & she agreed with me, that it was probably a food allergy, had nothing to do with my med, & I could start taking it again, so I did.

That was 2 days ago.

Yesterday night, I noticed a couple of hives – on my face – and some itchy, raised patches on my thighs. I treated my legs with calamine, & my face with hydrocortisone cream.

This morning…

My legs.

I can’t show you pictures of the other places I found hives, because it was the back of my scalp, & along the back of my neck. Kind of difficult to get pictures of that, but believe me, I felt every welt.

And I’m not allowed to take any antihistamines. None.

Not until after my allergist appointment – next Wednesday.

So, I have literally zero idea what’s causing the hives.

No product changes, everything I use from soap to shampoo to laundry detergent, is stuff I’ve been using for years.

There are about 4 or 5 foods that I eat right now, and none of them have caused this since I cut the last one out. (It was barbeque, both chips & sauce, which is probably going to make me very sad, because I love barbeque. It’s one of my favorite condiments)

Most of the hives have settled down again tonight. Probably from the facts that, A) I applied calamine to every affected patch of skin I could reach, except my scalp; B) I used lidocaine spray on ALL of the welts. If it’s numb, I can’t feel the itch, so I won’t scratch, which just makes spread; & C) I haven’t eaten anything all day, but one of the few meals I know for a fact has nothing in it that will affect me.

But…

I’m frustrated.

And tired.

And depressed.

I’ve had so many problems with allergies over the years.

And now, to add hives into this?

What if the allergist can’t figure out what’s causing them?

I have enough trouble with getting people to believe me about my allergies.

I need a large change in my life.

I want to move.

And I want to get a job where I can work from my home.

I’m tired of other people pissing on my feelings, & endangering my life, because they want to eat something I’m sensitive to, something that could possibly kill me.

I’m tired of having to excuse their lapses in memory.

I’m tired of turning the other cheek when their actions impact my health.

I have an autoimmune disease, rheumatoid arthritis, which impacts so much more than just stiffness & pain in my joints. And I’m tired of people not believing me when I tell them that, too.

I need an out.

And I need it soon.

Or my mental health is going to continue to nosedive, antidepressants or not.

Shag

I am an emotional cutter.

My Floor is Lava

My emotions are all over the place right now.

Ever since my ER visit, & subsequent withdrawal from my latest med, I’m a sobbing hot mess, who can’t seem to figure out if I’m ok, or if my floor is lava.

So, I had a visit with my regular doc today, & I was hoping she could put me on a different med.

Instead, she told me that, because we’re having difficulty finding a med that works for me now…she’s referring me to the psychiatric clinic.

Now, back up a little.

I’ve been on anti-anxiety meds since 2008. Yes, it took a couple of trial-and-errors to find one that worked for me, but then I was on that one for about 12 years, with almost NO side effects.

Then, in October of 2018, I hit a depression so deep, I lay at the bottom of it for a whole year.

Honestly, if it wasn’t for my kids, my Best friend/Nephew, & my parents, I had 3 severe times that winter, where I would have “taken too many”, and just ended it.

I waited through the nice months of 2019. Normally the return of sun, warmth, & natural Vitamin D, can drag me from the seasonal depression.

But, it didn’t happen.

I finally told my doc when it was time for my annual physical (because I couldn’t raise any “give a fucks” to call sooner). I needed an antidepressant.

This was at the middle of December? maybe? Time gets weird when your brain is not balanced right. It’s slippy, & stretchy.

After a couple of weeks, my depression started to peel away like a bad sunburn.

Cue the side effects.

Then the ER visit capper.

Annnnnnd, here we are today.

My LOGIC says that my doc is right, & that a referral is probably the best thing. She’s not a psychiatric specialist, even though she does see a lot of depression/anxiety patients.

My INTELLECT tells me that this is fine, right & good.

My EMOTIONS, colored by the liars and thieves of anxiety and depression, tell me that my doctor has now washed her hands of this nutjob hot mess, who’s making shit up for attention.

And, since the doc told me that she’ll send my referral in, THEN the new clinic will contact me to schedule an appointment…

My lying emotions are now sobbing that they’ll never call, because my doc is just brushing me off, & I’m on my own on this from now on.

Logically, I know better.

Emotionally, the fucking floor is lava, & I’m going to burn.

And I’m having trouble even contacting my Trusteds, because I don’t want to lay this mess in their laps.

I know each of them would slap me on the back of the head & tell me that’s what they’re there for, & to stop fucking around & call them…

Again Cool Logic/vs/Emotional lava.

I just can’t right now.

I can smile, but it still burns.

Some of it works out…Some of it just pisses me off.

All my tests (EKGs, blood test, & Chest Xrays) came back normal. This is the good news.

Figured y’all would want that up front.

So, my symptoms on Tuesday, really were just side effects of one of my medications. And yes, I have an appointment with my primary to switch my scrip.

But…it’s been a long damn week. And there’s been some stuff that’s happened that just -flat out – pissed me the hell off.

So, I’m not talking about it here yet.

I know me.

If I give even an inch of my rant over here…it’ll be verbal diarrhea, & I’ll end up being the one with the regrets.

If I keep shut for a little longer…work on it in my head, talk it over with my Trusteds – then when I AM ready to spill, it will be tea, not gasoline.

I’ll leave you with a quote I found in a book I’m re-reading:

Question everything. Learn something. Answer nothing. ~Euripides

Beautiful Creatures -by Margaret Stohl & Kami Garcia

Freaking Obnoxious and Scared Shitless

I’ve been on a new depression & anxiety med for a little over a month, now.

The effects were great, at the beginning. I could almost -feel- the depression peeling away like dead skin. I felt happy again, instead of numb or so extremely sad that it felt as though there was no way out.

But, then, side effects started popping up. Small, at first, they grew & multiplied over this last couple of weeks. They began to interfere with everyday normal stuff, so I started feeling that I probably needed to talk to my doc about switching.

Even happiness isn’t worth some of the shit I’ve been trying to work around, lately.

Tremors that started in my hands, are now full-body. I feel as though I have mid-level Parkinson’s, & can barely sign my name. (Kind of a problem, as my signature has to be on certain stuff at work, & I don’t want it to look like it’s a forgery!)

Constant headaches – every – damn – day. I ingest so much Advil migraine in a 24-hr. period, it’s kinda sad.

There’s other crap too, but the capper started on last Thursday. I started having some really uncomfortable chest tightness and pains, which did eventually subside, but came back today.

Yeah, I called my doc this morning.

And she freaking sent me to the ER when I told them I was having chest pains.

Shit.

So, here I sit, now.

They ran an EKG right away, but obvi I’m not in failure, because they booted me back to the lobby a little over 2 hours ago to wait for a curtain corner.

Shawn Coss artwork -freaking genius.

I just want out of here. I ain’t got time for this, I’ve got shit to do.

And yes, I’m fucking scared.

That’s obnoxious.

Struggling and a push

I’ve been absent from the blog for a while. I haven’t even been keeping up with reading the other blogs I follow.

I want to write, but my depression has been so bad for so long, that I haven’t had the emotional strength or motivation to even attempt it. And my fiction ideas have dried up.

So, I want to try something.

For those of you that read my blog, is there something that you’d like to see more of?

If there’s one of my fictions you’d like to see continued, let me know which one.

If you’d like poetry, tell me that, & I’ll work on it.

If you’d like more of my personal history stories, shout out, & I’ll see about continuing that thread.

Or if you’d like me to write more about my struggles with anxiety & depression, ask, and ye shall receive.

I just feel like I need a push in some direction.

It’s not coming from my internal furnace, so maybe I need to seek it outside myself.

So…I’m asking for help, which for me, is a big thing.

Any and all ideas & requests are welcome, but may not all be followed, depending on my comfort level.

Thank you.

Falling Up

Autumn has peeked her soft, little face around the corner of the seasons, here in North Dakota, and I’m actually sliding into a better frame of mind.

I. Love. Autumn.

(This picture is from a couple of years ago, the trees aren’t quite this brill yet)

The air is softer than other seasons, as though I could scoop a handful out of the sky, and rub it on my face like downy feathers.

The light seems to be softer, as well. It doesn’t generally have the harsh glare of summer, & is not as early-morning frosty as spring. Obvi, it’s very different from winter. The light seems to sift through the leaves on the trees a little more golden, glittering lightly on water’s surface, ending earlier every day with glowing sunsets.

And the smells that permeate the air in autumn…fallen leaves, smoke from wood-burning fireplaces on chilly nights, or from barbeques being fired up for those last “Honey, I cooked over open flame… Hear me roar!” meals. Fragrant candles being lit in households that remind you of apple cider, freshly-baked cookies, or hot-out-of-the-oven spicy pies.

Oh yeah…I’m falling UP, now.

It’s been almost a year, it’s about damn time.

Bring on the hoodies and knit sweaters. Bring on the fuzzy socks & boots. I’ll pack away the shirts & sandals, good riddance for another year.

Goddess…

I’m SO ready for Autumn!

Hellmart

I had to go to Hellmart tonight for a few things.

As I was walking from one side of the aisle to another, I passed a box full of something, and impaled my hand on a hook sticking out of the box.

Blood running all the hell over the place, down my hand & arm, I frantically searched my purse for some tissues, but couldn’t find any.

And no one noticed or stopped.

So, as I bled all over the sleeve of my jacket, I pushed my cart to a counter back by the auto shop, where luckily,I found some industrial paper towels.

I started mopping myself up, & pulled my mini bandaid packet out of my purse. (Yeah, I carry them, I get paper cuts at work a lot)

And my sarcasm kicked in, when the gal behind the counter, who was helping another customer, looked over, and, with no compassion in her voice at all, said…

“Battery acid?”

I blinked at her & said that, no, I’d impaled myself on a hook in another aisle.

She sighed, & said,

“OK, as long as it’s not battery acid. Need a bandaid?”

*snort*

I held up my Band-Aids, & said that no, I had some, I just needed to stop bleeding everywhere.

She turned away.

Fuck, I hate Walmart.

Not ONE person, associate or otherwise, tried to help me.

One associate jackass even came and stood behind the counter not 2 feet from me, watching me, but saying nothing.

As though I might swipe something off the counter?

Fucking hellhole.

And now, my hand is throbbing and swelling.

I probably need stitches, or that super glue stuff, but fuckit.

I’m going to soak this bastard & ice it, after I put about 6 more Band-Aids on it.

Typing tomorrow should be fun.

FML.

*Edit*

Yeah, so looking at it, it’s about a quarter of an inch long, & the inside of my palm is starting to bruise up…I may end up going to the doc for this tomorrow. Joy.

24/7

So, I’ve been working and pushing myself on trying to claw my way out of my depression that I’ve been in since last October.

Yes, since October.

Normally, the winter months are notoriously bad for me, dark and cold. Long nights, and very little sunlight, which is an awful combination for someone with depression.

But – I can usually start to pull myself out of it once Spring starts.

When the sun starts to return, and things start to “green up”, when things start blooming again, normally, so do I.

*sigh*

Not this year.

Here we are, already in the middle of July, and I’m still struggling to see the point.

You know? The point in getting up in the morning. The point in doing the things. The point in breathing.

That point.

I keep doing it, just in case I catch it, one of these days.

But I don’t feel it.

ANYWAY,

This week, I decided it was time to pull my head out of my ass and start doing some of the real work around here.

I’ve been having a difficult time keeping up on the yardwork this year, between depression, arthritis, and my lawnmower not working the way it used to ( battery-operated, the battery is not charging like it used to, & those suckers are kinda spendy), I’ve fallen behind.

Basically, my yard looked like an overgrown, abandoned lot.

I broke down & bought a small battery-powered weed trimmer, because that’s what my arthritis can handle. It only runs for about a half hour, but that works.

My hedge trimmer? Well, I have to do what I can, in small chunks. I’m still working on it. This is difficult for me to do, as I hate leaving a job unfinished, and tend to push myself until the job is fucking done. Never mind if the body is broken at the end, which it would be.

My back yard…is a work in progress.

That’s all I’m going to say.

It’s all I can say.

And after yesterday, which was spent doing indoor work, cleaning house with OnlySon…

Today is a self-care day.

It has to be.

Yeah, I pushed too hard- I won’t deny it. Yeah, I’m feeling a little broken today.

So I’m taking today off.

Doesn’t mean I’m not still thinking about all the shit I still have left to do.

Ugh.

The brain keeps going.

24/7.