Work In Progress

"What day is it? I can't seem to hold on to days any more. It's really bothering me."  My new friend M asks, shading her eyes to squint at me as we pause beside a swollen stream on our spring walk.  Trees reach out to each other above our heads, the path hugged by budding greenery, spotlights of sun dancing on the earth at our feet. I chuckle softly. My problem had always been the opposite.  I had a firm grasp on the days. Monday November 26, 2012 - The day I was admitted to the adult mental health ward. Monday October 6, 2014 - Returned to work.  March 11, 2016 - The day the darkness loomed so great I left work again to save myself. How could I have changed all the moments that led up to those days?  Now that I am unemployed, what will my future days look like? "It's my favorite day.  It's today," I reply with a smile.   I can tell she is not happy with that answer.  

One of the things my psychiatrist noted in her update to my insurance company was that I had been able to spend a few hours a day at my "desk" which seemed like a step forward.   What she failed to note was that "at desk" time could be interpreted by the insurance company  as "doing something productive/can concentrate".   The reality is "at desk time" is spent doing one of two things: Writing here. (AKA brain dump) Or Flipping frantically back and forth between a series of websites in an obsessive compulsive sort of manner.  What pets are up for adoption at the shelter now?  (Oh this is how I got three dogs....) Any insurance requests for information?  Refresh, refresh, refresh. Oooo look a 24 hour sale on cruises. Wonder if they have posted any new animals for adoption..... Are there vacancies at the campsite I went to last year? E-MAIL CHECK---nothing ok so ....FACEBOOK CHECK. Ohhh cute kitty video---and look at

Today, when my kids wake up, I will tell them I made  "extra crispy sausages" for breakfast. They aren't stupid though. Half of the package are burned black on one side. Here they are: I know how this will play out: "These look burnt" "Extra crispy!" I will insist, but I am already imagining the raised eyebrows, sausage crumbling to charcoal on their plate when they stab it. "Fine! Don't eat them then." See, look.  Now I can actually skip the whole conversation because I have lived it out in my mind.  This is how depression works for me....I get a preview of my failure and then get a live show!  Two shots for the price of one. Now you might be thinking, why not just imaging that the kids say, "Wow these are great crispy sausages". The Bloggess - Jenny Lawson  http://thebloggess.com/ Really?  False bullshit like that just makes the crushing reality of their scorn feel worse by a factor of te

As a former English teacher, and native Anglophone, I am perpetually annoyed at the improper use of the language. Let's take much vs. many. I have MUCH time and I have MANY minutes. NOT   I have many time and much minutes. IRREGARDLESS. It's just regardless people. Supposibly ---It's so wrong I am not even sure how it exists. And the DOUBLE NEGATIVE. If you don't have no time---that means you  HAVE  TIME! When someone speaks like this I cringe, but I don't actually SAY anything because it's not really hurting anyone. But there was one exception......   A couple of summers ago, my local Library was hosting a family reading session that explored the theme of "under the ocean".   I live in a very multicultural community, and the staff reflected in both the customers and staff of the Library.  I don't go often, but on a trek home from the mall, Youngest and I swung through to take advanta

Brené Brown talks about being vulnerable, naming your shame, sharing your stories with people who have earned the right to hear them...... which takes a lot of courage. Sista is that person for me.  We can be brave and courageous with each other! We name our shame, pick at the vulnerable parts and lay them out like a picnic on a blanket and invite each other to sit and share.   We name the shames, explore the tender spots  and  find places where love fits instead.  Then, we toss the garbage and end with a hug, smile and we might even laugh until we pee a little. (Damn you age and babies...) I feel the need to say, if it was a real picnic, Sista would have the super healthy one with lots of greens and legumes, no meat and delish sugar free, wheat free snacks! She works hard to provide a good dietary foundation for her family. Mine would be brownies and licorice. Last night Sista texted me from evening swimming lessons with her kids: It read: Toda

I spend a lot of time writing about all the stuff that goes on inside my body, mind, heart and soul as I dig through messy me to try to find something that I can hold on to, wave in the air,  and call "joy" or "happiness" or much more desirable, "peace".   Each day is another chance to practice digging deep to find it. The best place to look is often in the "small world" of my deck, or at my tiny trailer in summers, or even within the yellow orange walls of our backyard tent. I can be still, and I can find calm and peace in these small places. And yet, some days the smallest physical place I go is the one that most routinely dumps me soundly on my ass.   With a late spring, no trailer or tent or gazebo in sight, I have been seeking the smallest of physical spaces to call my own---my mind. The problem is....that is not the safest place right now as my doctor and I tweak medications to assist with the roving landslides that