Daily Archives: February 7, 2018
Originally posted on A Chronic Spoonful:
This week in Canada was #BellLetsTalk day, and Time to Talk day in the UK. Both days are focused on mental health awareness, and encouraging people to openly talk about mental health. Being transparent and discussing mental health experiences and issues is extremely important. It does a number of…
It is pouring down today and a bit cold. I haven’t even changed out of my pajamas yet because it’s so yucky out I don’t want to leave the house.
I’m still sending out stories and whatnot on a daily basis. I’ve only got eleven pieces I haven’t published yet so there is a lot of simultaneous submitting going on. I went ahead and sent my piece from MOnday to be graded–I won’t hear from it until next week but I am looking forward to see what my professor says. Then I can revise it and start sending it out as well.
I did let another writer read it and she liked it. Like the setting of the scene and the family dynamic I set up. She was in the program but dropped out when we had all the chaos last semester. But we have stayed in touch and become writer friends. So that has been nice.
I think I made our discussion space radioactive with my response to the story. No one else is talking about it since I posted my 500 words. I hate being the PC police but it was something that had to be said.
Anyway. Hope everyone has a good rest of the week.
Seasonal as well as a long medication-resistant depression have me in a “don’t stop, don’t go” loop. The anxiety from situational stress as well as the disorder itself has me too jumpy to think clearly during the day, waiting for the knock on the door being served an eviction notice. Which is just insulting since my rent’s never been late once in 9 years, I pay my bills, and cause no trouble but when the new mgmt company comes on hell bent on upending everything to ‘class’ things up…the poorest in the most run down places will be first to go, fact, not paranoia.
All the landscaping they warned about is underway so my days are spent being bombarded with the sounds of saws and bobcats mowing down large areas of brush and scrub. I have yet to find this dumpster they claimed to provide so I could start ditching some hoarded junk so I am sure that will bite me on the ass. I worry that they’re going to ‘up’ the date for us to clean the yards and whittle down our numbers of pets, but with a car that runs shabbily and has no heat or much gas, I am reliant on my dad to come get the outside cats and he’s working so that only leaves weekends and he has to call the farmer first to get the okay with him…Oh, and have you tried raking leaves covered in ice and snow? Not to mention I think someone stole my rake, as well as my shovel because I dared leave them outside unattended for ten minutes last summer.
Now, this could all come off sounding whiny and “woe is me” but I am telling the truth.This is my new reality, waiting for my head on the chopping block and the new powers that be swinging the axe. Everyone thinks making things spic and span will make a difference but with the floors caving in and all the other problems scumlord refused to fix over 8 years because he’s cheap…I have little doubt even if the place was spotless inside, the shabby outside, as it was when I moved in 9 years ago, will count against me and I can’t do a thing about that. I dread the mailbox every day cos it seems every couple of weeks the powers that be are sending us a letter highliting all the changes and who knows what’s coming next. If we have to start covering trash and water and they jack up rent..No way I can swing it.
I have EVERY logical reason to find this situation stressful, depressing, and anxiety invoking.
The thing is, I was feeling this way before that bomb was dropped on me, so things have metastasized.
Now to the double edge sword of my disorders.
I don’t sleep through at night, I am up 6,7,8 times so I may end up with 5 hours interrupted sleep. Come morning, I have the sensation of wearing a concrete bodysuit and cement shoes. Every step drains me. Making cheese and crackers for my kid’s snack seems taxing. Doing dishes seems insurmountable, even though I did do them yesterday but only cos she wanted ramen and all my bowls were in need of washing. The landscaping noise starts at 7 a.m., this after various headbutting sessions with my kid over every tiny thing. I want to be a whirlind, get things done, at least make an effort and get organized in the event they stoop so low as to give a 5 day eviction notice. But there’s the catch 22 because my brain is laden with ‘life is hopeless, why bother’ depression, as well as my sensitivity to the extreme cold, on which some days no matter how high I crank the heat I have to wear double layers indoors and still end up shivering and unmotivated. The anxiety in unrelenting during every daylight hour even if the seasonal affect does afford me an hour or two during the day to have some modicum of interest in living.
The other edge of the sword…I only breathe and relax truly after 6 p.m. when it starts to get dark and the anxiety is lowered. Because if the mail hasn’t brought bad news and no one’s knocked on my door with an official notice of eviction…I can breathe. But then I have to do battle with my kid over her homework and reading, while keeping up with her bottomless pit of hunger and desire for attention. By 7 p.m. I just want to close my door and keep the cats out. That is so far from who I normally am, I find comfort in my cats. But not now, they just stress me out more. In addition to the darkness, though, comes the even colder weather, which tends to make me feel like I am freezing from in the inside out thus anhilating energy. And the calm of the night is lost with the exhaustion and depression and my only escape is sleep even if it’s constantly interrupted and plagued by strange dreams.
Truth be told during these depressions and anxiety bouts…I count down every hour til I can put my kid to sleep then slither off under my covers and wait for sleep to take over. To escape my own mind.
So…less depressed during daylight but strung out from anxiety. Less anxious at night but totally in a mood slump. Double edged sword.
And no one seems to believe me but I’d swear on my kid, cats, Wednesday 13 albums, everything I hold dear…this is my truth. And my ‘fuck you’ attitude may keep me fighting, I am not feeling better at all. I am tired in every way. Basic outings and errands drain me. I feel hopeless of ever getting a psych doc who will actually help me. I feel like this depression will never break.
The double edged sword is cutting me to shreds.
Hopefully it’s not a crosscut shredder. Maybe if it’s just vertical I might be able to glue the pieces back together.
More than anything, I wish my brain would just behave and let me focus again and find a way back on my feet and a way out of this oppressive existence.
Wishing. I may as well be on the psychic hotline. Useless either way. But I guess wishing means somewhere under it all…hope lies dormant but not dead.