My pronouns are he/him/his.
My colors are blush and bashful.
My pronouns are he/him/his.
My colors are blush and bashful.
I’m fine. Don’t worry.
Everything is great. No need to worry.
I’m okay. Just tired.
If you suffer from Depression, you know these phrases well. You are constantly reassuring the people around you that everything is fine. Why do we do it? Because there isn’t anything they can do to help, so why make them feel bad.
Most of the time, you will not be able to see when something is wrong. That is from a lifetime of experience and practice. If you think you see something off, chances are things are worse than usual. If you see clear signs that something is wrong, you probably want to intervene. I don’t have many strong signs, but when my hands cover my ears, it means the voices are deafening. My head is so loud that I can’t think. In order to push past my depression, I have to be sharp.
That’s the catch-22. If I’ve gotten to that point, I can’t fix it. I have to wait it out. I need people to understand that I can’t make decisions or have meaningful conversations. I can’t be witty and pretty. I just can’t.
Luckily for me, those extreme episodes are rare or short-lived.
When people suffer from Depression, they get a bit cutoff from their support because it’s really hard to understand what we are going through. Sometimes simple tasks like making a decision or just too damn hard.
I’m starting to see cracks in my armor. When this pandemic started, I was more than happy to stay home. For months I have been going to work and staying home with very little contact with others.
Recently I have noticed that it’s getting harder to leave the house. It’s harder to plan outings again. I spent years breaking out of this type of confinement. Now it seems I’m heading back.
I’m also drinking more. I’m watching the levels of my bottles go down quickly. I’m drinking during the week when I work from home the next day.
My armor is cracking and I’m not sure what to do. I can’t go back to being that person that barely functions. I don’t want to go back to daily anxiety or panic attacks. I don’t want to go back to having a plan in place for a quick escape, knowing my brain will forcing me to flee.
I need to start pushing myself again. It’s rough, but I need it. I need to force myself to go outside and wander. I need to go to a store. I need to fix my armor before it fails me completely.
Every now and then a word or phrase comes along that tosses me back through time. Whether that is an old nickname, a phrase from an era long past, or a jeer, the reaction of my brain to be back in that moment is startling.
I was teased and tormented as a child and a teenager. If that surprises you, please read my blog. Especially the name of it. When kids would make fun of me they would say “neener neener, *name* is a weiner”. Or “neener neener, you’re a peener.
These aren’t highly creative. They aren’t overly insulting either. I find it interesting that a woman that grew up thousands of miles away from me knows the word “neener”. That word just haunts every soul in my body. My cells react like an electric shock has been received. My brain cringes.
Most people have words that transport them through time. What are yours?
I understand that different situations affect people differently. I get it. I enjoy being at home watching movies or playing games on my phone. I generally have to talk myself into going out into the world to see people and be social.
I understand that the country is in disrepair right. I understand that the equal rights of many of us are at stake in this upcoming election. We need to reverse the destruction of our resources; the chipping away at civil rights; we need to rebuild our allies.
I also understand that I need to take care of me. The mass hysteria that is all around me is causing me to become hysterical. We don’t live in an either/or country. We live in a country of possibilities and freedoms. We can choose to move forward without going full speed ahead. We can slow down without coming to a complete stop. We can talk without agreeing.
I have been pulling away from some of my social media, zoom calls, texts, and phone calls. I’m not withdrawing into my inner world of depression like I used to. I’m walking away from a brawl that no one is going to win. I’m walking away from a circus where everyone is a performer and no one is in the audience. No one is watching or listening. No one.
I miss my friends and my social activities, but I won’t give up myself or allow myself to get into that brawl or circus. I’m going to sit down with my thoughts for a bit to see where I am and where I am going, but I’m not gone.
I am your captive audience. As I stay in bed with nothing to do, bored of my games, and eyes hurting from my books, I only have you. What do you have for me today? Has that changed in the last hour? Five minutes have passed and I haven’t found anything new.
I would break up with you, but you are all that is left. As my life fades around me, the world swirls away, I am lost in your embrace. I can’t tell if I need you or you need me, but we are captives in this time.
I don’t have a lot of holds to my youth anymore. I work diligently to make it that way. There wasn’t a lot of greatness that came from there.
Music, though, is far different. My tastes are very much tied to my childhood. From Dolly Parton, to Kenny Rogers, and Tina Turner. Footloose and fancy free.
I hate to admit it, but we lost an icon today. While I’m not a country music fan, I did grow up listening to the Gambler, the Island in the Streams, and Ruby. My mother lit a candle for this man and he brought life into our house.
I never met the man, but I’m sad that the world lost him. He affected many of my childhood memories. He made me laugh and gave me hope. His songs made me dance and cry.
If there are two things that I learned from that man it’s that you should never fall in love with a dreamer, but sometimes she believes in me.
Growing up I often struggled with knowing when to hold them and when to fold them. I haven’t thought about this man in years, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t affect my life. My childhood.
Thank you for everything that you taught me. You may be gone, but we’ve got tonight and it’s a fine time to leave.
It was a simple task. Just climb the tree. So simple. If only I weren’t a fish.
I’m finding it very enlightening to see which people are struggling to stay home during this first week of quarantine. Staying home is simple. It’s easy. You just don’t go out. Why can’t you handle that? It’s so easy. You just don’t. go. out.
That’s what I hear when my depression is keeping me from life. From people and events. It’s easy to just grab a bus to the train and head to a city and then walk over there. Just come out to this loud, crazy place and don’t worry about anything. It’s so easy.
There are days that I use more energy and mental power forcing myself out of bed than you use to order a cup of coffee. There are days that I leave the house wondering why I can’t just lay on the couch watching movies or playing games. There are days that I miss birthdays and events and parties because I just can’t. I can’t.
I tried to be there when I could, but I couldn’t always be there. I hated disappointing my friends. I have even lost friends over this issue, but no one’s life was at risk.
Today, I am asking you to stay home. Don’t go out. Don’t travel. Don’t leave. Stay home. There are lives at stake.
Those friends that were disappointed with me, frustrated with me because I couldn’t simply do something so easy as to go to another city, those friends? They can’t stay home for one weekend. They are getting a small glimpse of what I go through daily and they are failing harder than a fish trying to climb a tree.
Simple is as simple does. You thought it was so easy to walk to the train and go for an adventure, while I found it terrifying, difficult, and mind draining. You didn’t understand. Now, you are being asked to do what I want to do every weekend. Stay home. Lay on the count. Don’t do anything. And guess what? You can’t. It’s too difficult for you. Imagine that you have to live like that every day. You can’t go out. You have to stay home. You can’t have contact with other people.
Welcome to the world of bizarro depression. Welcome to my world.
Sometimes people come together to do amazing things and do evil* deeds. That is what happened when Pink Poodle Batman was born. We had good intentions. We needed new candles; new body washes; new scents.
That’s when the store came into focus. Across the mall from where we were was tantalizing idea of a joke gone wild. Something that we didn’t know would survive longer than our next drink.
She and I. She and I. That’s what started it. A sale at a store (Bath and Body Works) and a combined thought.
We were high on sale prices and new scents. Nothing could stop us, not even the mall shoppers or mall walkers. We giggled. We hooted. We schemed and we created.
That is how Pink Poodle Batman came to be. It was innocent at first; but as with everything that comes from our group (the Court), it became a legend.
In the words of a 90s Diva, I have nothing, nothing, nothing!
I don’t have fractured bones. I don’t have inflammation. I don’t have arthritis. I don’t have osteoporosis. I don’t have bone density loss. I have nothing, nothing, nothing..
So I guess my pain isn’t real? My feet, my right ankle, my knees, my right hip. Obviously it’s nothing. The tests prove that. My doctor recommends going on a whole foods diet and exercise.