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(Cowboy Bebop OST – Rain (lyrics))

Whelp, if you weren’t depressed before, you probably are after listening to that song. Sorry about that, sort of. It popped into my head and I felt it was apt to my mood and state of being. Okay, maybe I’m not outwardly doom and gloom, but everything under the surface is rather drowned. And that statement feels too dramatic on the whole, so once again, there’s a disconnect on trying to explain feelings into words. It’s not something I feel exceptionally talented in either, considering I only figured out how to say even the simplest ‘Good’ or ‘Bad’ until I was into my 20s. The roots of that stunting lie in ye olde parental blame, so we’ll just move right along for now.

For the most part, I’m just sitting here trying to keep my mind empty, except for one little mantra. As a friend on Google+ reminded me last night — to take small steps, and all the mindfulness that comes with trying to balance self-care against the annoyance of still being all sorts of housebound. The level of frustration is high enough that part of me very much wishes to dive into le booze and ignore all the self-preservation… but those are fleeting thoughts that are fairly easily quashed.

So then, that is to say — I feel horrible. I probably wouldn’t come across as such if you were sitting here talking to me; my sense of humor is mainly intact, and I’m currently engaged in activities of a hobby-based nature. But again, outward appearances lied — I’m cored, body and mind. Everything is sluggish and non-functional — I have no idea how I managing to make words sort of form sentences here. Poor me, etc. *poses dramatically*

So yeah… no idea if I’m actually going to manage to make anything happen besides a drool pile on my desk, and a few stitches in my current knit square. Small steps and whatnot — if I can see a small productive step to make, then perhaps I’ll give it a go. At least, for what it’s worth, I’ve managed at least this today, so that’s worth micro-celebrating.

I hope everyone is having a better braining day than me!

<3

The post (In the) Rain appeared first on The Scarlet B.

I think I’m having a slight hypomanic patch, which leaves me in a conundrum. Do I try to do things, or do I hunker down and try to avoid being annoyed (difficult at best) so I don’t risk overdoing it? Neither option is exactly ideal, but I think… I think… I’ll try to do some things, if I can. I’ve got my crochet on my desk. I’ve got my Word doc with my poor neglected NaNoWriMo story in it. There’s also a basket of laundry that is calling me, and is probably the starting place. I will consider it a victory of a day if I manage the laundry, methinks.

I was talking to a good friend last night, and I was relaying to her my specific issues with exercise. This time of year, we all have lots of friends who mistake losing weight for getting healthy, and I was hitting a fed up point watching otherwise intelligent people spewing bullshit at each other to ‘support’ each other in disordered eating and exercise regimes they will never keep. Now, I’m wiggly and move quite a bit; this is probably tied to probable ADHD. It’s always been problematic because people assume that means I am energetic when I absolutely never am. I’m sort of like a laboratory frog being electrocuted; I keep dancing ’cause there’s random currents jagging through, but they’re not of actual use or durability. So we start with a baseline of no real energy or spoons, a loathing of all forms of traditional exercise, and severe obsessive-compulsive issues when it comes to trying to maintain anything resembling exercise. I’ll fixate on counting up calories burned and how long I’m doing it and will push very hard for that lovely endorphin high… and injure myself in pretty short order. Even if I do manage to keep a routine going for more than a few weeks, my hatred of the concept of exercise negates any endorphins that might be garnered, and makes me dislike something I might otherwise like doing. And because I will push myself to the point of injury no matter what I mean to do, that means recoup time, which means mega-crash. It’s just absolutely not worth it, ever. I do try to sneak in a few sit-ups and maybe a minute or two on the bike when I can, but that’s about all I can do without risking harm to myself. Joy!

But yeah, the long and the short of it is that all my chemicals are wonky, har har har. And it’s becoming increasingly obvious that my probable endometriosis is on the rise again, and that adds several wrenches to the works. Another of my friends commented to me that my physical ailments of yesterday sounded like Irritable Bowel Syndrome, to which I had to point out that endo is frequently misdiagnosed as such due to similar gastrointestinal issues. So while it was painful and obnoxious, it’s another arrow in my bow. Maybe, if I can get that looked at and treated (it requires laparoscopy to diagnose//treat), that will help me get better stability. The joys of both body and brain being spiteful, right?

Right, babble off, attempt at laundry victory on.

<3