I've mentioned in recent posts, that I've been in a low and kind of ugly place. I haven't realized how low I was until I found a small ray of light. Not literal light, more like emotional and mental light. I don't even know what changed last week, but something just kind of gave.
It started when I called on Monday to get an appointment with a shrink. I'm going to call again tomorrow because I still haven't gotten an appointment. After that call, I scheduled an eye exam. And since I felt like I was on a roll, I made an appointment with the tattoo artist a friend recommended. The appointment for a consult was made for Friday.
I was feeling pretty fucking accomplished.
A couple days later, my 2 best friends and I collaborated on a tattoo the 3 of us agreed on getting. It's beautiful, signifies each of us and the struggled we've faced/overcome together. Since it was fully designed, in an hour messaging session (thank you Facebook Messenger!), I printed the idea to bring with me Friday.
Friday I forced Mac to go with me to the tattoo shop. I was freaking out about meeting someone new and having serious anxiety that he'd judge me and my tattoo idea, and even worried he'd laugh at me when I showed him where I wanted the tattoo. I didn't explain all this to Mac, instead I pretty much said he should come with me and support me because I support him...and doesn't he want to spend time with me? He agreed to go, probably to end my whining and ranting, but said he was packing his backpack with electronics.
He came with me and the tattoo artist was amazing! I ended up getting the small tattoo my best friends and I design and made an appointment for the other tattoo I want.
Last night, out of nowhere, I decided to try crocheting again. I'm in the infant stage of learning to crochet, I'm barely able to do more than the basic chain stitch. Putting my lack of skills aside, I was determined to practice. And practice I did. I finally got the tension right, the stitching right and I made something that looked awesome. Except it wasn't meant to be more than a practice thing, so I didn't really make anything. I tried turning it into a cape for my cat, bu she hated it and refused to wear it. She's so ungrateful!
This morning I woke up and felt a need to go buy more yarn, because I had projects in my head and since I know myself, if I didn't start them now I'd forget about them and possibly forget how to crochet all together. That might be my anxiety talking, I don't think I'd really forget how to crochet overnight...but why take the chance!
As I was driving to the fabric store today, I realized: I'm happy! I genuinely feel good. But then I realized, I didn't know I felt bad. Maybe bad is the wrong word. I didn't realize I wasn't feeling anything before today.
I chose my yarn, came home and started my projects. As I did, 2 more popped into my head. I'm not worried about having too many things happening at once, I'm writing them down so I don't forget them.
I can't say how long this goodness will last. I don't know what brought it on, but I am pretty glad it came.
Sunday, October 11, 2015
Tuesday, October 6, 2015
The guilt of life.....
With everything that's not right in my head, but that I'm struggling to get help with and fix, one of my biggest battles is a seemingly never ending amount of guilt. I feel guilty that Nixon has autism. I feel guilty that I stay home and don't work outside of the home, even though Nixon's in school full-time. I feel guilty that my house is a perpetual mess and that I hate dishes. I even feel guilty for my mental issues!
Guilt is an emotion I'm very familiar with, in case you couldn't tell.
Last night, Mac and I were talking about our electric bill. It was $90 for last month. I automatically apologized for it being so high, because I'm awful at unplugging unused electronics. I felt guilty, as if I don't do enough to help us save money.
Then what bothered me was: Mac never feels guilty for not cooking. I'm the sole person who makes any home cooked meal. Not saying Mac doesn't make food, he's a genius at salads, but if it's cooked/baked/crock potted I've made it. He does offer to buy take out, when I don't feel like cooking anything, but now that he needs to watch his cholesterol we'll be doing less of that. Which means more meals at home and I'm looking for recipes to help him health-wise.
I despise how much guilt I have and how little I value what I do. I'm working on my issues, admitting I my flaws is a start. Holding myself accountable by putting it in a public space (like this blog) is one way I'm dealing with my issues head-on.
Guilt is an emotion I'm very familiar with, in case you couldn't tell.
Last night, Mac and I were talking about our electric bill. It was $90 for last month. I automatically apologized for it being so high, because I'm awful at unplugging unused electronics. I felt guilty, as if I don't do enough to help us save money.
Then what bothered me was: Mac never feels guilty for not cooking. I'm the sole person who makes any home cooked meal. Not saying Mac doesn't make food, he's a genius at salads, but if it's cooked/baked/crock potted I've made it. He does offer to buy take out, when I don't feel like cooking anything, but now that he needs to watch his cholesterol we'll be doing less of that. Which means more meals at home and I'm looking for recipes to help him health-wise.
I despise how much guilt I have and how little I value what I do. I'm working on my issues, admitting I my flaws is a start. Holding myself accountable by putting it in a public space (like this blog) is one way I'm dealing with my issues head-on.
Sunday, October 4, 2015
This is marriage....
I've been battling the demons in my head again. Between the bouts of anxiety that have hit me so hard I couldn't make an appointment for a hair cut and the total lack of an real emotional connection to anything outside of my house, I've been a damned mess for more than a couple months. That's not even including the month before school started that saw me having anxiety-induced nightmares I felt like I never really woke up from!
But, I did finally see my doctor, because I was feeling really close to self-harm again just to feel anything. I didn't realize how low I'd gotten until I was holding a pair of scissors while looking at my thigh, my old and familiar place for cutting. But I saw the scars I have from past bouts of cutting and found myself going "Holy shit! You're fucked up!" and for me to tell myself I'm fucked up...well I'm pretty damned fucked up.
I was referred to Behavior Health, currently waiting for my referral to be reviewed. In the meantime, I'm trying to stifle the crazypants bitch residing in my head.
Which, kind of sort of, brings me to the conversation Mac and I had tonight. We're getting very close to starting the joys (trauma?) of house hunting, with intent on buying a house. We have a timeline in place and have started our dream list. We've discussed wants vs needs in a house and are even so far into this that we discuss adopting a dog after we get settled into our home.
Tonight found us randomly chatting about dogs. I think it started with talking about a friend's puppy, morphing into puppy versus grown dog, and wound up with me on the verge of tears thinking of a dog we don't have and have never even met!
Neither of us wants a puppy. Puppies are like babies, you have to potty train them and they whine for hours if they're not getting what they want. I don't want another baby and I don't want a puppy. On this, Mac and I agree.
I said something like "I'd like a dog about 2 years old. Unless there's a dog who is like 15 years old and still in the shelter. Then I'd adopt that one because I think it's sad to imagine a dog spending it's final months in a shelter never having a family and a home to be loved in." Mac replies "We are not adopting an old-ass dog just so it can die a few months later! Not unless we have a ranch." So there is a way this could happen, see? He totally left a loophole! I continue, trying to explain that the dog would have to really touch me in order for me to want to adopt such an old dog. Mac counters with "We are not going to be running a nursing home for old dogs to just come and lie around until they die! If we get a dog, it's got to do dog things, like walk outside and move off the sofa!". Of course, that wasn't at all what I meant. "I just think it'd be nice for an old senior dog to leave the shelter and have a family that loves him before he dies, so he knows love and what a family feels like, even if it's just for a short period of time."
Right about here, I start to feel tears forming, just thinking about a poor old dog in a shelter with no family of it's own.
Mac sees me wiping the tears and he says "Are you crying over a pretend dog?!", because that's exactly what was happening and he knew it, but I think he was still slightly amazed at the emotional attachment I had formed with this hypothetical senior dog. He then points out that, if I'm this upset over an imaginary dog I'm going to be much worse when/if the real dog came into our lives and died. I get why he'd think that, but I needed to explain "I'm tearing up thinking of that poor old dog alone in the shelter with no family to love it, not because I'm thinking of our old dog's death." Which made no real sense at all, except to me.
In the end, we stopped talking about dogs and Mac told me I needed to get back on my blog and post this conversation. I'm grateful he is so tolerant and understanding of my mental issues. Sure he laughs at me and tells me to relax or do something when I'm falling into an abyss of anxiety, but he does it with good intentions.
But, I did finally see my doctor, because I was feeling really close to self-harm again just to feel anything. I didn't realize how low I'd gotten until I was holding a pair of scissors while looking at my thigh, my old and familiar place for cutting. But I saw the scars I have from past bouts of cutting and found myself going "Holy shit! You're fucked up!" and for me to tell myself I'm fucked up...well I'm pretty damned fucked up.
I was referred to Behavior Health, currently waiting for my referral to be reviewed. In the meantime, I'm trying to stifle the crazypants bitch residing in my head.
Which, kind of sort of, brings me to the conversation Mac and I had tonight. We're getting very close to starting the joys (trauma?) of house hunting, with intent on buying a house. We have a timeline in place and have started our dream list. We've discussed wants vs needs in a house and are even so far into this that we discuss adopting a dog after we get settled into our home.
Tonight found us randomly chatting about dogs. I think it started with talking about a friend's puppy, morphing into puppy versus grown dog, and wound up with me on the verge of tears thinking of a dog we don't have and have never even met!
Neither of us wants a puppy. Puppies are like babies, you have to potty train them and they whine for hours if they're not getting what they want. I don't want another baby and I don't want a puppy. On this, Mac and I agree.
I said something like "I'd like a dog about 2 years old. Unless there's a dog who is like 15 years old and still in the shelter. Then I'd adopt that one because I think it's sad to imagine a dog spending it's final months in a shelter never having a family and a home to be loved in." Mac replies "We are not adopting an old-ass dog just so it can die a few months later! Not unless we have a ranch." So there is a way this could happen, see? He totally left a loophole! I continue, trying to explain that the dog would have to really touch me in order for me to want to adopt such an old dog. Mac counters with "We are not going to be running a nursing home for old dogs to just come and lie around until they die! If we get a dog, it's got to do dog things, like walk outside and move off the sofa!". Of course, that wasn't at all what I meant. "I just think it'd be nice for an old senior dog to leave the shelter and have a family that loves him before he dies, so he knows love and what a family feels like, even if it's just for a short period of time."
Right about here, I start to feel tears forming, just thinking about a poor old dog in a shelter with no family of it's own.
Mac sees me wiping the tears and he says "Are you crying over a pretend dog?!", because that's exactly what was happening and he knew it, but I think he was still slightly amazed at the emotional attachment I had formed with this hypothetical senior dog. He then points out that, if I'm this upset over an imaginary dog I'm going to be much worse when/if the real dog came into our lives and died. I get why he'd think that, but I needed to explain "I'm tearing up thinking of that poor old dog alone in the shelter with no family to love it, not because I'm thinking of our old dog's death." Which made no real sense at all, except to me.
In the end, we stopped talking about dogs and Mac told me I needed to get back on my blog and post this conversation. I'm grateful he is so tolerant and understanding of my mental issues. Sure he laughs at me and tells me to relax or do something when I'm falling into an abyss of anxiety, but he does it with good intentions.
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