Five, four, three, two, one...

Now that I am into a more reflective time of self-examination, I'm much more aware of how seemingly unrelated events cause the most revealing thoughts to pop into my brain. Oh, it may take a few days, but it happens. For example, while getting an acupuncture treatment two weeks ago, I was telling my chiropractor--aka my acupuncturist--that I felt hyped up and couldn't relax. I had been feeling like that for several weeks, and I was erroneously thinking it was just an elevated mood. Apparently, a recently increased dosage in one of my medications was sending my blood pressure into dangerous territory. I freaked out when I got my BP reading and read about the numbers, especially the word "crisis." Yikes. Spent that day and the next four--including a weekend, which is why I couldn't get in to see my internist sooner--being extremely cautious, including making the stupid decision to stop taking most of my medications. I've been fighting taking the Hormone Replacement drugs due to the increased risk of heart attacks and strokes, and most of the other meds have some mention of the same side effects. I debated going to the Emergency Room, but part of me thought that was overreacting. As it turns out, my decision was serendipitous. One of the other meds was the one that was causing the problem. My internist, whom I saw ASAP, lectured me in no uncertain terms that I might have caused a worse situation by quitting my meds cold-turkey and that I was very fortunate indeed and to call her no matter the time, day or night, if something like that ever happened again. Phew, she chewed me out! Once it was all over and I felt calmer, I suddenly remembered something the chiropractor said about my hyperactive, manic feeling--"You jump into everything feet first, full tilt and give it 150%. You don't hold anything back, and it wears you out to do that." Of course, he had no way of knowing that it was the meds causing the problem, but I've been a patient of his for the past two+ years, so he knows me fairly well. I started going to him when I needed treatment for a pinched nerve in my neck. I forget the correct medical term, but there isn't really a nerve being pinched, although that's exactly what it feels like. Anyway, I had always viewed my initial energetic ventures into jobs and projects as stemming from a caring attitude. I always want to do everything perfectly (as if!), and I really care about the people involved. I was surprised to think that the physical aspect could have had as much of an impact as the emotional one. I've always thought that the emotional stress caused the physical problems. Maybe the combined results of both is what always pulled me down into a pit. The most unfortunate outcome, regardless of the cause, is the way others reacted to my decline, not to mention my own guilt for not meeting my own expectations. For that reason, I've been reluctant over the past year to get involved with anyone on any level to keep from feeling the pain and hurt when I don't meet their expectations.

The thought that I could get involved in something without launching myself into it is my pop-upped thought of the week.

(Image is entitled "Rocket to the Moon" and is available from Etsy shop loriontdorr. Do you see it?)

Know a good locksmith?

I've been out of work for almost 10 months, and although some might not think it's true, I have had somewhat of a schedule. Well, not for the first three months, that is. That was when I was simply numb. No thinking, no feeling, no responding. There were a handful of significantly stressful and humiliating events during the last decade of my life for which I had not grieved. Add to that the fact that I found myself in the final stage of my feminine life without much warning. Finally, the numbness wore off, and I became a thinking, feeling, responding maniac. Too much grief and hurt needed to be released. Too much time that had been, perhaps, wasted. This journal was my recording of what I needed to work through, get through one way or another. It took the last five or so months to do just that. One day I should probably record some of the events. I'm sure my doctor would recommend it. To anyone who took the time to read, encourage or offer up a prayer for me, I can't express enough just how thankful I am. Big, big hugs all around. I am eternally grateful.

Now, I am at a point in this journey that I can look back and see how I've progressed, and I am so encouraged by where I find myself. I am actually answering the telephone and talking to people. Amazing! I don't think I've ever said, but long ago during my first bad incident, I developed a phobia about the phone, and I've never gotten over it. Now, not only have I talked to people, I've gone back to work with my former employer. Technically, I guess I'm no longer employed, but then again, I'm not very technical. I think this is more of a part-part-time job. A good start, no? The retail position offered earlier in the year is still available, and I have been in touch with the owner recently. Again, good.

I know myself well enough to know that there will be more ups and downs. However, I believe that I've learned enough now to keep those ups and downs to a very low frequency. Hopefully, no more serious roller coaster emotional upheavals and certainly not with any regularity. I know when I need to back off, I think. Now that we've refinanced and made it possible for me to stay at home if I need to (which was a miracle to accomplish), I feel much less pressured and stressed. I have options. Again, amazing. I put myself at the mercy of others for so long, I forgot how that felt.

Well, all of this said because I believe that I had a bit of a schedule to my days. I am someone who needs a schedule. Plus, it was quiet, and I needed that as much as anything. My other half is now in the last of his four-week vacation, and having him constantly around has played havoc with my pseudo-schedule and my peace of mind! I can't wait for next week to arrive! He's not a horrible person, but it took this long and difficult 10-month journey to make him realize where I was headed. Downhill, very fast. He has begun to realize that he has never given me any support during the decade of difficulties and that he was, in fact, actually one of my difficulties. Sadly, over time, the result was the loss of our closeness. We will never have a true marriage again. He has also finally acknowledged that truth and is, like me, trying to live as friends. It is one of the situations that gives me the most grief. I am a person who needs to give and receive love. Not having that kind of relationship may be my biggest loss of all.

But enough of that. I am tremendously encouraged and almost feel giddy with the progress! I have a peace now that I have not had for a very long time. I think I've managed to put some of the pieces back together. My heart feels lighter, my emotions are positive, I have options, and I am able to not only unlock the door to The Place in which I had taken refuge but to step out into the world.

The Place will probably always be there. I can visit, but maybe I should throw away the key...

(Image is an assemblage from AnAlteredAffair at Etsy and is entitled "A Lock on My Heart."

Slowly but surely...

Okay, I don't know who I was kidding, but I really haven't been able to start everything in my "better health plan" this week. I've made several changes, but all of them? No way. I guess I'm going into it gradually since that's what my brain seems to be doing. Some things have been easy to change, and those are the ones I've started on. Why do I always save the hardest for last?? The good news is that I am trying! I lied when I told my doctor I could do it all this week, but she said I should be able to do it all this week. Who was she kidding?

I can only change a few pieces of me at a time...

(Image by OutsideTheBoxArt at Etsy entitled "Funky Face.")

Time to stop running and start running...

Went to a new doctor today. I've had a family doctor for general stuff, but my ob/gyn had told me that I should see an internist. I never really knew that an internist was like a family doctor, only better. Someone who looks at the big picture, not just the pieces. My ob/gyn gave me a recommendation, and I took her advice. Turns out this doctor is really good. She was so nice and took extra time with me. That doesn't happen much these days. I have two pages of notes that she wrote to remind/tell me what I need to do. I already knew most of it--better diet, more exercise, etc., but she gave me some very specific instructions. My recent blood work indicated that my cholesterol was up from last time, which is why I went to this new doc in the first place. Even though I knew I needed to take better care of myself, I wasn't doing it. Now, I have someone to answer to, and that's a good motivator.

Plus, I'm ready to start making changes...

[Image used is entitled "Time is a Runaway." It is by RLDesign, who unfortunately doesn't have anything in her Etsy shop anymore. She had several listings, all of which used parts of dress forms. Her creations were wall-mounted sculptures. It may not be evident at first glance, but this is/may be a working clock. Look on the right breast to find the clock hands. It also says the following (read from upper left to below the clock to lower left): "They say time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself." More good advice.]

Don't mess with me...

I can hardly believe that May is almost over. Most of April and May were taken over by everything related to refinancing. It really did take two months to complete the process. The initial contact to get the ball rolling was on March 25th, followed by the cleaning spree and then finally the fiasco of waiting on the bank to fix a 20 year-old error. Phew. Done. Over. Let's move on.

So now I'm back to reading a lot about hormones and menopause and about stress and how it affects aging and hormones. I think I may have said several times how confusing the whole menopausal phase is when no one talks about it. One author notes that it wasn't so very long ago that women were sent to sanatoriums because of the symptoms of nervousness, sleeplessness, irritability, and "a tendency to cause trouble"!! (Yeah, I would definitely be in a sanatorium.) To even speak of it was to risk being placed in a institution because if a woman knew about then it she must be experiencing it, and it was considered a dangerous time of life. (Dangerous to anyone around a menopausal woman, that is.) Thus, very little information was handed down. Hysteria was once considered a medical disorder diagnosed only in women. The word uterus derived from the Greek work for hysteria. Go figure. Plato discussed the problem of the "wandering uterus" creating havoc as it moved through the body. (I might buy that since I experience quite a bit of havoc inside.) However, by the mid-19th century, it was generally thought that hysteria "stemmed from sexual dissatisfaction," and several methods of treatment would result in "hysterical paroxysm," now better known as an orgasm. Huh. (Strangely, my doctor, a woman, has never mentioned this as a possible treatment for me.) Now get this. Treatment was tedious to physicians (who were always male) who tired of manual vaginal massage. Awww. (I think tedium must be the male equivalent of hysteria. Tedious males should have been put in institutions. Makes me wonder why their hands got so tired anyway.) It wasn't too long before massage devices were invented so those poor old doctors wouldn't get tedium. In the mid-19th century, a "hydrotherapy" device was available at bathing resorts. People used to go to these resorts to bathe in the waters, usually considered to having healing properties. Hugely popular. Now we know why. "By 1870, a clockwork-driven vibrator was available for physicians." (I wonder how long they set it for. Ten minutes? Two minutes?) "In 1873, the first electromechanical vibrator was used at an asylum in France for the treatment of hysteria." Catch that? Used at an "asylum"? Well, that is where we all were sent when we got hysterical. Thank goodness I didn't live back then. I probably would have been sent to the asylum when I was 12 and would have been placed in the hands of a doctor who treated his patients with vibrating electrodes attached at the temples. No paroxysms for me.

Seriously, all of this is just interesting to me when I think about how people view symptoms of stress and menopause now. I don't think much has changed except that we no longer are thrown into those sanatoriums. No, we are expected just to keep pushing ourselves harder and keep working a job while also doing all the work at home. We aren't supposed to think of ourselves, we should say yes to anything asked of us and feel deeply guilty should we ever consider saying no. If we are moody or irritable, just stuff it. And never, ever say that we're too tired. (The sanatorium is sounding better all the time.)

I'm also beginning to think there might have been something to Plato's ideas because something has definitely moved in to increase the size of my upper abdomen. It makes me feel like I am full all the time. Sitting makes me much more aware of it. I've always had a bit of a lower belly, but now the upper as well?

Makes me want to get into a hysterical fight with a tedious man.

(Image used is a pastel and pencil drawing entitled "Mood Swing" and is by orbisdeo at Etsy. The information on the histroy of hysteria was found at Wikipedia.)

The fat lady has sung...

I'm getting this out a bit late, but Happy Mother's Day to any moms out there! I got cards from my darling babies, one from the three older dogs and one from the new baby! My littlest one has bonded to me, much to the dismay of my other half, but he's only 5 months old, so maybe that's kinda natural. He kisses me all the time and wags his entire body when he sees me. Seriously, his tail is wagging so hard that it brings his butt up near his head! I call him my little wiggle worm. I also call him Hooty because he is a hoot! He makes me laugh all day long. My hubby says I'm confusing the little guy when I call him all these different names, but heck, I don't care. He'll learn his name one day.

This is the first time I have experienced Mother's Day since the big changes in my life last year. Even though I thought I had worked through this, I find that I am still a little sensitive about never having kids. The events that led to the changes occurred over a period of two or three months, but I have decided on July 1st as the beginning of this next phase of my life. That is when I left everyone and everything behind to go on a three week sabbatical. I went to the mountains to try to clear my head and recover from the difficulties I was experiencing. Getting away from it all was wonderful, but it wasn't the answer. Between work and home, I had so much stress and emotional upheaval that I had to quit work. I also went into post menopause possibly due to the stress. I'm am seriously still so confused about what is and isn't menopause. My doctor used the term "post-menopausal" to describe my hormone levels (basically non-existent), but I've also heard/read "menopause" used to describe the time when things stop happening (same thing?). No matter, whatever I'm in was not a good place to be. During that very emotional time, I had to deal with the fact that I no longer had the ability to have children. Now, don't get me wrong, I never gave it much thought prior to this. I never had that longing for a child. I really think the fact that my own mother wasn't nurturing was the reason. I love babies, but having one of my own just wasn't something I wanted. My hubby was teaching elementary school at the time and had kids around day long, so he wasn't too disappointed. So, my doctor had told me earlier in the year at my annual physical that since things were slowing down, I probably had three or four more years before I stopped having periods. Then, wham, bam, thank you ma'am, six months later it stopped. No warning. Although it is different for every woman, there does seem to be an average time of three to five years of "slow down" time. I was so stressed and emotionally wrung out and could not--absolutely could not--wrap my head around this newest development. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was mourning over this loss. It didn't matter that it had been my decision, I still had this sense of complete emptiness and failure as a woman. I don't feel as bad as I did back then, but I do feel down today. I'll be fine tomorrow.

As I should have expected, I really had a hard time finding an image that represented the day, so I just gave up and went will how I felt.

(Image is entitled "Feeling Empty Inside" and is by Gilfling at Etsy.)

Toss me a towel...

The recent appraisal and my marathon cleaning project have propelled me deeper into depression. My biggest triggers that caused the decline are stress and lack of sleep. Fatigue can be a trigger, but it is often a result of not sleeping enough. The last weekend prior to Monday's appraisal was the most hectic of the three weeks I spent cleaning. I got very little sleep Saturday night and practically none on Sunday night. The appraisal itself became a stressor as the deadline got closer, and my other half constantly voicing his worries only added to my stress. I thought if I heard him say one more time that we weren't going to make it (to the deadline), I was going to shoot him. Thankfully, I don't keep a gun in the house. His lucky week, I guess. Anyway, between pushing my limits in these areas (fatigue, lack of sleep, stress) and getting a new puppy, I went downhill quickly. The puppy isn't stressing me at all, but my allergies have gone haywire since getting him! Whatever he was bathed in on the day we picked him up is doing a number on my sinus and skin allergies as well as keeping the door slightly opened so that I can teach him that the yard is where he goes when he has to go. Add to that the dust stirred up while cleaning. By late Wednesday, I had a minor case of hives along with a mind that wasn't functioning well. I was in tears by Friday with a major case of hives and no mind to speak of. I had to take extra Benedryl to combat the hives, which really puts me in a fog. I tried to do several puzzles to keep my brain focused, but I wasn't even seeing all of the numbers. Saturday and Sunday were both the same.

Today it has been one week since the appraisal and most of the things that occurred to send me into this decline. I have tried to keep up with the events in terms of my depression cycle as well as how long it takes me to recover. Having been able to avoid my stressors for awhile, I can track the cycle better than I have ever been able to. I know that I have hit the bottom of this cycle and am on my way back up. Last week after the appraisal I was supposed to get my nails done, return some shoes at the mall, go to a chiropractic appointment and get the quarterly information from my employer by Friday. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to leave the house to accomplish any of those things. And they all were very necessary. I am apparently going to keep experiencing this fear of leaving the house when I am in a low cycle. Good to know these things and even better to be able to track them. I should be back to the point at which my meds are controlling my depression by the end of the week. Hopefully, sooner.

Meanwhile, I'll rest and recover and let the craziness of the last four weeks drip off/out. I think whoever said "don't sweat the small stuff" must have never had much stuff and could afford to forget the small ones. I'll sweat it all away, thank you.

(Image used is entitled "Tranquility," an oil painting by shiloratnerart at Etsy.)

House cleaning and Hormones and Hatters, Oh My!

Now that I'm back to my usual good-for-nothing self after my tornadic, frenzied cleanup, I think today calls for a tea party. I've been neglecting Dorothy and Alice far too much lately, and they are pretty peeved about it. All work and no play just isn't their cup of...well, need I say it?

So today is devoted to sipping tea and enjoying time with friends. And what do I find but that things are out of control! Dorothy has been doing so much research on hormone replacement for me that she believes she has lost her brain and needs to find the Wizard. Oh dear. She's helping me since I continue to doubt those questionable little pills. We discussed yet again the need to consult someone who can thoroughly explain the difference between my current hormone treatment and the bioidentical hormone therapy. I've already given the boot to the phyto-hormones since my history indicates they will be of little use to me. Alice, meanwhile, has been rather distant since I failed to make it to the theater to see her latest movie. She is also miffed due to the rather blah reviews it received from the critics. Apparently, no one consulted her on the cast or storyline. I tried to explain that while it might be a story about her, it wasn't her story to claim, i.e., she didn't write it so why would anyone ask her opinions. That did not go over well. And since she is madly in love with the Mad Hatter, or rather the Hatter from this movie, she is quite disappointed that...oops, bad form to reveal the ending, right? Ah, well. I obviously have been out-of-touch for too long. I didn't realize that they needed me so much. I had thought that they were here for me.

I guess we are all here for one another, no?

(Image used is entitled "A Cup of Tea Solves Everything" and is by whatnikkimade at Etsy.)

Just say whoa...

Most people say time flies when they are having fun. For me, time flies even faster when I have an unpleasant chore, maybe because I wish the time away. I simply cannot believe that it's been two weeks since my last post or that I have done one thing and one thing only in that same time. Clean. Clean and then clean some more. (Yikes, big lie there. I'll explain in my next post, hopefully sooner than two weeks from now!)

For the last five or more years, my schedule was so full that I had very little time for cleaning. On the weekends I was exhausted from doing too many things at one time. As usual, I said yes to too much and needed to learn to just say no. In between the stuff I was doing were several emotional upheavals (are there other kinds in my life??) that created their own stress and exhaustion. And at some point within the last few years, I had gradually started that winding down time of life known as menopause. While some women may have been prepared for the changes, I was not. I have always had fatigue that resulted from monthly hormonal changes, and this was as bad if not worse. Suffice it to say that if I was at home, my preference always was to rest rather than clean. If I did any cleaning, it was minimal.

Funny how things can really pile up. One day there is that day's mail on the counter, then suddenly there are weeks' worth just sitting there. Not to mention the things emptied out of my hubby's pockets each night as well as the stuff I brought in each week from the many projects I was working on. It was so much easier to move the piles upstairs to keep them out of sight. Of course, there came a point when the piles had to stay downstairs because there was no room upstairs. And laundry? Piles of dirty laundry versus piles of clean ones. Did I mention that I don't like to use the washer on a lot of items and never use the dryer on anything except linens? I have four clothes racks that are labeled by color and are constantly in use. Move the dry clothes off the rack onto the sofa and start the whole process over again.

Imagine how completely embarrassing this is for me to reveal. Now imagine how it was to actually have anyone see it. No one, and I do mean no one, was allowed to come in my house for the last five years. One friend did see it because she took me home after a surgical procedure, and at the time I could have cared less that she saw it. Later, however, I was truly mortified. My other half's family were sending him articles about how to deal with hoarding. As angry as that made me, I still did nothing about it. I knew I wasn't hoarding, and he really didn't think it was either, but he wasn't certain. The few times I did try to work on the house, I got so overwhelmed that very little was actually accomplished. There was too much to do in such a short amount of time.

Which brings me to what has kept me away for two weeks. We are refinancing since I haven't been working and contributing to household expenses. At some point, there will be an appraisal, and that is what ultimately motivated me to get to work. The first week was almost a full-time cleaning event. Almost round the clock since we thought that the appraisal was going to be "any day now." Unfortunately, I got so tired that the second week has been more part-time with rest periods in between and an early quitting time. I am happy to report that things are looking much, much better! I have managed to get all but one room in decent shape. Not completely clean, but I will go back and do more if I have time. I saved the worst room for last. Actually, I started upstairs and worked my way downstairs, so it just happened to work out that way.

Anyway, that's what I've been doing, and time has flown. I have purposely not taken time to look at anything online, knowing how I have a tendency to spend hours bouncing around in space. No reading since I usually start and finish a book in a single sitting. And definitely no tea parties! No, I forced myself to focus on the cleaning. Now I know why an annual spring cleaning is recommended. Otherwise, stuff, both necessary and not, just piles up and becomes overwhelming. And although it took a TV show ("Hoarding" on AandE, I think) and several chats, my hubby realizes that I'm really not hoarding, just holding onto and collecting things for all my artistic endeavors. I'm not sure, but I think he based his decision on the fact that in the show there were lots of dead creepy critters underneath all the "stuff" that was shoveled out. Thankfully, I didn't have to use a shovel, and I am happy to report that no critters were found during my cleanup. Well, except for the three that kept taking the trash out of the bags and playing with it, making me wonder if they shouldn't go in the bags, too!

I also thought about hiring some help at first. This crew looked interesting and did have a shovel, but I couldn't find any recommendations, so I just said...

(Image used is entitled "Mule Day Cleanup Crew" and is by PhotoAmerica at Etsy.)

Me and Flick...

I have always been active and in fairly good shape. I never thought about how the last six months of inactivity would affect my body. I was spending too much time thinking and not moving. Ouch, but that has taken a toll.

We have been cleaning out the garage for several weeks in anticipation of an inspection, and yesterday was the longest cleaning day we've had. This morning I couldn't move. Major lower back spasms. Majorly painful. Never had anything like this before. I've been doing some very careful and slow stretching as well as moving around slowly. I can't remember if it's heat or ice I need. Going to look that up next.

I'll be pulling out the walking shoes and the exercise mat soon. When I can move again. Right now I'm kinda stuck.

(Image from "A Christmas Story.")

Too little too late...

I'm finally getting over the exhaustion after my meltdown on Sunday evening. That was some night. My other half was truly shocked at my explosion of emotion. I certainly hadn't planned it, but I guess it was a good thing since it opened his eyes a bit.

Last night I saw a commercial for a hormone replacement center that helps treat "those who have lost the joy of life." After the experiences of last year, I definitely lost that joy. Going through the struggle with constant bleeding, all the tests to determine what was wrong and finding out I was post menopausal probably due to the extreme stress, a kind of forced post menopause. That pretty much made me lose it. The loss of joy, I mean. I really struggled for a few months trying to accept that what fundamentally makes me a female was dead. And it wasn't a silent struggle. I know I talked to my other half several times. However, interestingly enough, last night he once again proved that he and I are miles apart.

After I saw the commercial, I made the comment that maybe I should try to make an appointment. He asked me why I needed help with my hormones. I asked him if he truly didn't know, and he said, "I'm really sorry but I don't." Knock me over with a feather.

I'm married to a man who doesn't listen to me or hear what I'm saying. And all I really feel is sadness for the years I've given to someone who hasn't been there.

(Image used is entitled "Listen to What They Tell You" and is by lineanongrate at Etsy."

These shoes were made for walking...

Another problem these days is trying to decide what to do about finances. I was out of work last year for almost six months. I went back part-time in January, but thus far I've only been able to go one day per week. Our financial situation isn't one that will allow me to remain on the employment fence much longer. Actually, I think I have to be off of the fence by the end of this weekend.

It may be so hard to get my butt into the office every week because the extreme stress that sent me over the edge is probably always in the back of my mind. There is something in my head that just refuses to listen to reasoning even when I know I'm really going to be in trouble with my other half if I don't go into work. I have often thought that shame might play a part in how I feel about my failures or when I can't meet expectations. I remember specific incidents of shame being the disciplinary vehicle my mom used. Guess it carried over. It's either fear of the stress or shame, or it may be a combination of the two, but I'm not doing a very good job of getting past it.

I really liked my job. I really like the people I worked for. But I couldn't take the stress of being the only other employee doing all the admin and client paperwork. They admitted on more than one occasion that they needed at least two people and maybe three. They knew I was working too many hours and never making a dent in the stacks. We just couldn't ever find anyone. The one person we hired stayed only a few months. They hired someone else after I had been gone about two months. Now I'm more of a gopher, trying to help get things caught up. I can make my own schedule and am not responsible for any of the day-to-day stuff. It should be a no-brainer, so why am I so hesitant to go back? Maybe I should go be a greeter at Walmart or get a part-time job at the mall. I couldn't work at a bookstore, clothing store, shoe store or pet store. I would simply hand my check back to the owner on payday. That doesn't leave me many no-brainer possibilities for employment. I don't want to work somewhere that I will get so involved and feel so responsible. Gets me into too much trouble. I would love to do something at home, but I have no self-motivation right now. And there is still the issue of making a difference whatever I do. I saw an ad on TV recently that advised doing marketing surveys online that paid "thousands" of dollars. Yeah. What I really wish is that I could get paid for cleaning up my house. It has suffered the past year right along with me.

During tea today, my friends gave me a bit of advice. Alice said she wouldn't recommend falling into a hole, but she did admit that if I was in a place where everyone was mad, mad, mad, I might feel right at home. I'm thinking that the most important thing about their experiences is that neither one of them had a need for cash. Not in Wonderland or Oz. Something to consider.

Wonder how far it is to Yellow Brick Road. If I don't start making a monetary contribution to the home fund soon, I'm gonna be sent packing.

(Image used in this post is by artist Margaret Teichert and is entitled "The Yellow Brick Road." It can be found at margaretteichert.com.)

She's come undone...

I have often been told I am a true Aquarian. I don't think that's even a word, but that's why it perfectly describes me. I walk to the beat of a different drummer. I am independent. Solitude suits me just fine. My mom and dad have often said that they brought the wrong baby home from the hospital! I am the weird one, the rebellious one, even though I never did any of the stuff my brothers did. I think differently, I dress differently. My mom made my clothes, and I never could find fabrics or patterns that I liked. I had a vision of what I wanted, but no one could ever sew it. My mom was a true seamstress--no seams showed on the inside, prints matched at seams, lined, etc. Perhaps because I demanded perfection in everything I did (though I didn't realize it at the time), I wanted to wear what we now know as deconstruction style. I don't think that was a word back when I wanted it. For certain, my mother had no clue how to make it. My outfits were an odd combination of bohemian, punk, and goth before the last two were popular. Kind of a step up from the hippies of the sixties. Long chains, metal fastenings, lace, high-heeled boots, ripped and shredded, loose and layered. Rings on every finger and toe, bracelets up to my elbows and there wasn't a day when I didn't wear a scarf tied somewhere on my person. And I went to a prep school/college. Pink and green and La Costa. Hated it then, and still do. And yes, I was considered quite different. Duh. Did I care??

My tastes were refined as I got older to include asymmetrical and architectural looks. If I was lucky enough to find something like that, I still wore it in a way no one else would. People would stare at me and might say something about how "interesting" I looked! The Japanese and Belgians, among others, were designing the kind of clothing that I wanted, but I wouldn't discover it for years.

I did a similar thing in decorating. Long before it was popular, I was doing the shabby chic thing without the chic. My love of fibers and metals and layering translated into antique clothing and rusty stuff put together in unusual ways. I bought antiques that were broken or falling apart, and I used them just like I found them. Well, I did clean them up. I just didn't do any repairs. I went to flea markets up and down the east coast, shopped antique stores, did some dumpster diving, picked up "trash" off the side of the road and even picked pieces out of trash piles behind the antique stores in rural areas. I consider the found freebies some of my best treasures! I display the old clothing, usually in some state of decay, like art. Broken garden statue parts are scattered around my home, as are old mannequins and tabletop displays. I have been told by quite a number of people that my house looks like a museum. They usually make it sound like it's a good thing, but who knows? There was the one woman who asked me why I had severed limbs, heads, and torsos in my house. What could I say? She didn't get it, and I wasn't even going to try to explain.

Now, I mention all of this because I know that I am different in so many ways. Odd, unusual, weird, but for the most part I am very comfortable with myself. However, a friend told me a few years ago that she thought the reason I dressed and decorated with things that were flawed and falling apart was because I thought I was flawed and falling apart. What? I didn't know how to feel about that comment. Is it possible that I am outwardly manifesting my inner self with all my flaws and problems by the way I dress? Did I happily keep broken things broken because I was broken inside? Is it possible for a person to subconsciously do that? And would that same friend see every person with a mental disorder in the same way? Or was it just me?

I have to say that I've been disturbed by her words ever since. I'd like to think that my style is a completely separate issue from my mental and emotional state. Because if they are connected, then not only have I been this way all my life, then I am likely unable to change. And truthfully, while I do want to change on the inside, I don't want to change my style at all.

Maybe I should dress like a mental patient. Because it really is my style.

(Image from Dazed and Confused.)

I'm melting...

It snowed last Friday afternoon until sometime late Saturday. We got snowed in, and virtually the entire city shut down. Here in the South, we can't drive in the rain, so don't even ask what happens when it snows! I was content to sit and sip tea and watch the snow fall. It's one of the most peaceful things I know. It's amazing to think that every single snowflake is totally, completely unique. For me, that's mind boggling. Well, for me, a lot of things are mind boggling!

Being snowed in gave me some time to do more thinking about why I am here in The Place. I had to come here at the beginning. There simply was nothing else to do. I was broken, beaten down and exhausted. But I've been here for quite some time and decided it was time to reevaluate. I got the push from a friend who gave me some good advice. I didn't realize at the time just how good it was. She said that I should take care of myself and not try to control everything outside The Place. What? I was here because I couldn't control myself, never mind anything else, so just how was I trying to control the outside world? It took me a few days, but as I was trying to go to sleep Friday night, I sat straight up with that "AHA" kind of moment.

Previously I mentioned that I was staying here in The Place longer than some people thought I should. I don't go out very often, usually only once a week. The truth is, I have gotten quite comfortable here, and my friend has forced me to acknowledge that I am hiding here. By hiding, I'm doing two things. One, I'm assuming that everything on the outside will be difficult to deal with, and two, I'm not allowing myself a way to find out how much I've healed. Assuming everything outside will be difficult is putting boundaries on the outside, which is, in effect, controlling the outside. I set myself an impossible task there, no?

I do need to set some boundaries on the outside, otherwise I will be right back where I was six months ago. And I do need to go outside, for no other reason than it's time to take that first big step and see how far I've come. The Place will be right here should I need to run back. I can't control anything or anyone on the outside, and I can't live any kind of meaningful life without going back out there.

If I keep hiding, I'm going to fade away.

Many thanks to my friend for the wise words and the encouragement.

The image used in this post is from blog.myheartties.com. It's a blog by Leah Humphries, and in it, she discusses her life after an ostomy. I could relate to so much of what she had to say. She also makes and sells a heart-shaped ostomy pouch cover that she created to feel more "womanly" after her operation (myheartties.com).

Safe is The Place...

I've been hearing rumblings from those concerned about me being in The Place. They don't understand it at all. They think I would be better off not being here. They don't realize that I'm in a Place that is necessary for me to heal. A Place I have to be in order to heal myself completely, mind, body, heart and soul.

In The Place, I am protected from the daily onslaught of the world. As long as I can stay here, I feel good. There's no emotional overload. There is nothing and no one here to cause me any anxiety. There is just me and my friends. And we have tea. Ohhh, and cupcakes. Don't forget those. All in all, it's a lovely, peaceful Place. I keep the noise to a minimum, meaning no TV or radio. I listen to my own collection of CD's. I love so many different music genres. African drums and dancing. Rain forest rain. New Age musicians who make music sound like something more. Jazz, classic, country, old rock, new rock, international, alternative, opera. For some strange reason, I like women opera singers better than the Three Tenors, although I have those, too. Maybe it's because Madame Butterfly was the first opera I saw. And I'd say 60% of my CD's are instrumental. So I have it playing in the background, and it isn't intrusive. I read a lot, and of course, do my daily web surfing. My previous experience with a computer was limited to doing accounting and bookkeeping. Not only did I not have time to surf, I didn't know how to surf. Only within the last year or so have I discovered that there really is a world wide web full of more than any one person could ever want to see. Actually, it's full of stuff I never want to see. I found that out the hard way. So I have several places/blogs that I look at every day. And I am very picky. I want to see something new and interesting. Avant garde. Photographers who push the limits. Artists whose work takes more than a minute to understand. Seeing how far creative minds can take an idea. Or read and learn something I never knew.

Whoa, I can really go off on a tangent. Sorry. I was saying that I like the peacefulness of The Place. The problem, as those concerned see it, is that I am rather stuck here. As in, I don't leave very often. I do leave to go to work, but so far I've only managed one day per week. One day and I'm done. Come home, fall asleep, in a fog for the next three days. So I am here more than not here. I don't go to the grocery store or the drugstore. I can't go much of anywhere without running the risk of seeing someone I know. And that really scares me. I'd have to do the "happy face" thing, and I'm already so tired, I don't know if I could. So I'm trying to get these several concerned people to look at the bigger picture. I've been like this for over 20 years. More than 20 years in a depression that went from bad to worse to much worse. Now, I've finally given myself permission to focus on me, to allow myself to "completely" recover. I'm learning that I need more than just a few months or even six months. Maybe more than a year. I know that I am creating problems by doing this, namely financial problems, but I've done the quick fix thing for so long and it only gets me right back into the same hole. I think I need to stop falling down the hole. Or having the house land on me. Or whirling around in the cyclone. Or growing tall then small then having my head cut off. (I told Alice that if the Queen had gone through with "off with her head," it could be the solution to my problems. No head, no problems. Since it was her story, she adamantly refused to change it. Too bad.) Hopefully, I will have time to heal. Really, truly heal. I'll still have to live with depression, but at least it won't be in the major-to-severe levels. Because I want to be able to do the things I want to do. To truly live and not just be alive.

Indigolights, a Seller on Etsy, has a beautiful print entitled "The Healing Heart" by Brian. It looks like an open glass heart bound up in a metal harness. Right up my alley. Did I say I liked avant garde? Anyway, there is also the following about healing a wounded heart:

"The Healing Heart holds a spirit,
strained almost to breaking
by hurt, indifference, and pain,
binding it, until it is made whole again."

Healing a heart and mind that has been fractured and half-healed for so long cannot be done overnight. Who can say how long it will take? I want my heart and mind to heal, to be made whole, but I'm not unrealistic. I know that there is a limit to how whole they can be and that the healing will take time and lots of stitches and will leave scars. But I need to stay here in The Place for that to happen.

And I need for them to understand.

(Image used in this post is from TheLittleFox, a Seller at Etsy, and is entitled "The Safe Place.")

Being normal is not normal...

One of the things about being normal is that it is extremely exhausting. There is no down time when one is normal. It's about always being "up." I was normal for so long that I wore myself out. Now I am simply exhausted.

And no one understands.

(Image is by inksmear on Etsy and is entitled "Normal.")

The Thinker...

Today I am convinced that there is nothing wrong with me. I'm giddy with excitement! How could I have been so wrong for so long? Sad that all of my tears and anxiety were for naught, but who knew? I managed to reach this conclusion by some rather convoluted thinking, but there it is.

I do have my doubting Thomasinas. Oh, yes, my friends are trying not to laugh as I explain my theory. Surely laughing is not what friends would do.

My studies have led me to find that I fall into almost every category that researchers, um, researched, about depression and who is affected. Here are a few that I fall into:

--female
--oldest child
--intelligent
--perfectionist
--premature/low birth weight
--creative
--hormonal imbalance
--chronic stress
--non-drinker
--family history of depression
--brain chemical deficiency
--elderly (okay this one pushes it, but I am in post-menopause)


There were even a few categories that I fell into earlier in life. Teenager, lawyer (wanted to be one) and accountant (I was one). I'm fairly certain that these could relate to the chronic stress category, but they were separate studies. Who am I to question science?

Now, if I am predisposed to depression based on all of the above factors, then it is normal for me to be depressed. Which would make me normal. Isn't this something like the substitution theory or transitional theory? Didn't we all take geometry? If A, then B. If B, then C. Therefore, if A then C.

Do I think too much?

(This lovely deep thought patchwork-quilted hanging is by quiltedpetunia and is sold on Etsy.)

Who am I...

I find myself pondering the questions of who I am, where I am going and what I have accomplished. These are things that until now I've never asked myself. I've made choices I thought were the right ones to make. I've done my best in anything I endeavored to do. I have tried to make a difference wherever I am. I have always walked to my own drummer's beat and hopefully always will. I have never let age be an issue, never given it a second's thought. I have always known exactly who I am. Until now.

A little background info might be the thing. I had a very stressful time of it last year and took a "leave of absence" from work. Twice. For almost four months total. It took three of those months to recover from the emotional and physical consequences of the stress. Emotional stress isn't anything new for me, but the physical problems were not only new, they resulted in a state of mind that led me to The Place. I have changed physically in significant ways. Physically, I am no longer who I was. The overwhelming change that occurred was being thrown into post-menopause. And therefore being thrown into a tailspin of questioning everything about myself. Something has "died" inside of me, and I can't seem to get my head around that.

So in the midst of trying to decide who I am now and where I'm going, I'm also struggling with how to get back into the workplace. I've been given the green light for a part-time job with the employer for whom I was working when I was so stressed. There has been no definition of "part-time" on his part, however, and I am one who needs structure. Therefore, I'm left hanging as to how to proceed. Of course, there is the fact that the stressful part of the job hasn't really changed. I'll walk right back into it even as a part-time employee. Now, I will admit that he has hired someone to take my place, so it won't come close to being as bad as it was before, but it still will be bad. So what with knowing that it will be a bit stressful and not knowing exactly what my new part-time position entails, I'm feeling a bit lost.

As I have said, I am one who needs to make a difference no matter what I do. I have always been aware of this need, especially when I felt like I wasn't meeting it. Because I have been away from a work environment for so long, I'm giving more thought to my options. Isn't there a saying that if one does what one loves, the rest will follow? I'm assuming that "the rest" means an income. So what is it that I love doing? Can I do it well enough to make a living at it? Will it make a difference in this world? And most importantly, will it help me to leave The Place where I no longer know who I am? Asking myself these questions is enough to make me hyperventilate.

(Image used in this post is entitled "Trying to Breathe" by LightLeaks, found on Etsy.)