Well, That’s New

You guys, oh, YOU GUYS.  I woke up before my alarm today. Granted, the alarm was set for 10:30, but STILL. Awake! Before my alarm! All just lying there reading emails and checking Instagram and then Twitter, and oh hell, why not Facebook too, I’VE GOT THE TIME. And I wonder if any apps need to be updated. And by the time I had opened every app on my phone twice MY ALARM STILL HADN’T GONE OFF. I even squeezed my eyes shut and chanted, “back to sleep, back to sleep, back to sleep” like it would do something. Until I realized mid-chant that I didn’t need to go back to sleep. I wasn’t tired.

I WASN’T TIRED, YOU GUYS.

This? This hasn’t happened in two years. I’ve gotten a day or two of decent sleep where my body just basically says, oh fuck this shit and essentially shuts down for 24 hours. But I’ve gotten almost an entire week’s worth of solid sleep. I don’t expect this to last, but good hell am I enjoying it while I can.

Sleep has not made me any less of a nutjob, however. Apparently that aspect is here to stay. I like to blame my terrible memory, my moodswings, the weather, my uncombed hair, basically anything I can on the fact that I rarely sleep. But now that I have had all the sleeps, I don’t think I can excuse away the fact that when I found out my darling friend was getting her appendix out my first thought was, “I MUST SING HER SOFT KITTY!” So, I did. (Surgery is a kind of sick. It totally applies.) And part way through leaving what can only be described as the most angelic version of Soft Kitty ever the cat came out looking all, “Wait, who’s sick. Why are we singing Soft Kitty?” Not to be confused with this face (which I’m belatedly realizing you can’t actually see):

Which is his NO I DO NOT WANT A BATH ZOMG WHY ARE WE IN HEREEEEEE LET ME DOWN OMG NO BATHS! face.

And that is my Dude take a breath face.

And now, the third week of January, as seen from my phone.

 

 

 

 

 

Someone I love. He’s 13 in this photo. We met when he was 6 weeks old. Oof.

 

Scuba Diving, Self Doubt and That Which We Don’t Speak Of

I’ve been staring at this little page for an hour trying to figure out how to connect all the things that I want to talk about. Make them cohesive, coherent, co-makes sense (whatever, just go with it) and then I realized, this isn’t a term paper, it’s my blog. None of the subjects are really long enough for their own post and if I dug around deep enough in my brain I could probably tie them together, but I’m running on goldfish and diet coke so that’s just not happening at the moment.

So, please enjoy the following disjointed post (with photo deluge, bonus!)

* * *

The past two years have not been easy on my (already tenuous) self-confidence. Trying to convince myself (or others) that I’m good at something has never been my strong suit. Even when I am good at it. And lately? Ooof. But today I found myself explaining that writing, well I’m good at that. I can do that. It certainly helps that I love do it, but I was pleasantly surprised when none of the negative self-doubt came trotting along behind. I even reminded my brain that this particular writing would be out of my comfort zone. Something new. Something different. But still, nothing. Just a solid feeling of I can do it. And damn, if that didn’t feel good.

* * *

A very wise lady described depression as scuba diving with a 2,000lb weight strapped to your back. And oh sister is she right. Because if you were to go scuba diving with a 2,000lb weight strapped to your back, you’d probably forget to breathe. You’d be concentrating so hard on not sinking to the bottom of the ocean that you’d forget that even though you’ve got a tank of air right there in your mouth, all you have to do is inhale. You’d forget to inhale and you certainly can’t kick your way to the top if you don’t have a lung full of air. Depression is like that. You get so focused on not falling, on not sinking that you forget that you’ve got this wonderful group of people all just standing by waiting to help. All you have to do is let them.

* * *

I’ve always admired those who completed a 365 photo project, but just the thought of leaving behind a slew of unfinished projects was enough to make me not start. And I’m not saying I started one for 2012, but I am saying that I downloaded an app called Project 365 and I do have my phone with me all the time.

I also signed up to participate in FatMumSlim’s January PhotoADay project. I take a lot of photos with my camera. But if you look at my photo album it’s mostly cat, cat, knitting, food, food, food, ME!, food, knitting, cat, cat, cat, cat, cat, ME! Well, you get the idea. I figured with these prompts hopefully I could take a few more meaningful photos throughout the year. You know, ones with people in them.  You know people, they stand on two legs and aren’t covered in fur. Well, most of them anyway.

So, I present to you, the prompts and the results for the first two weeks of January.

Week one:

A Christmas gift from her.

Inexplicably it was sunny, blue skies and almost 50 degrees. In January.

Itty bittys made by my favorite people.

Week two:

I don’t sleep much, so sadly seeing 5am before falling asleep has become routine.

All the female cousins got a little gold box with our name engraved one year from my aunt.

Clockwise: book, wallet, Boris Loved Natasha clutch, chapstick, deodorant, camera, Clean perfume, pen, sharpie, mascara, Fresh brown sugar, card case, lip gloss, notebook, glasses, advil, ipod.

Anyone else doing the #janphotoaday challenge?

The One I Didn’t Want To Write

I haven’t written in awhile. Mainly because I have nothing to say. Nothing good anyway. I could tell you about the ridiculous experience that was my first brazilian, but my family reads this, so I won’t. (Daddy, don’t google that. Trust me.)

I’m struggling right now more than I ever have. And after fighting this disease since I was sixteen you’d think I’d be good at it. That I’d have my defenses in place and ready to fight. But I don’t. I feel untenable. I feel like if anyone were to look too closely or too deeply I would shatter. I feel like I’ve already shattered from trying to keep myself together and one strong breeze will knock me down.

I’m trying very hard to remember that depression is a lying bastard, that I will come out of this on the other side. Hopefully stronger, definitely battleworn but maybe even a little better.

I don’t believe a word of that, but I’m trying very hard to fake it until I do.