On Time Travel And Therapy

I'm having a tough time lately. And by lately, I mean always. I can't remember a time that wasn't tough. That I didn't struggle.

I do well sometimes. So well that even I don't believe that I'm on a tightrope of depression and anxiety. I feel like I'm walking that line so perfectly, so capably, that I am keeping my thoughts of doom and wrongness away. But after awhile, in they seep and I realize they've always been there. I've just been good at ignoring them. Ignoring the tightrope. The trepidation.

Day In The Life (With A Side Of Anxiety)

I turn the key in the ignition and grip the steering wheel; ten-and-two, as always. I breathe. No, I heave. Sigh. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

I relax.
Well, I try anyway.

I remind myself that this is a tight little spiral. Anxiety. Nothing is actually wrong. I haven't forgotten anything. Nobody is injured. I am just picking up my daughter from school, as usual. I am pulling away from the curb as usual. It is all okay.

This Thing Is Not Like The Other

I hurried up the stairs, knowing Ian was already running a little late. He is the one to get up with the kids in the morning, ushering Jonas off to high school in one piece before settling in for good morning cuddles with Iliana. They zone out on the couch together while I make my Walking Dead way out of bed. Eventually.

(It's pretty damn cool to spend your first waking moments knowing what a great choice you made in a husband.)

Growing Pains

Today I'm writing a post I promised to Sarah Fader of Stigma Fighters*. The piece, about living with and being vocal about mental illness, is due tomorrow (ohai procrastination) and being part of Sigma Fighters is super important to me.

Also important is a piece I've been working on is a submission to the HerStories Project's upcoming publication Mothering Through the Darkness. I saw that the deadline was moved back a month to January 1st on the exact same day I was lamenting having missed it, and am trying to take that as motivation to, I dunno, not miss it again. The topic, mothering in the face of postpartum depression (and other struggles) seems right up my alley, right? Just like Stigma Fighters is right up my alley. Hello alley, here I am! I write for you now, you lucky bastard!

In reality, I am totally freaking out.

On The Illusion of Epiphanies

I have this recurring pain in my right leg. Electric jolts of nerve pain shoot back and forth between my lower back and the arch of my foot and my knees will buckle beneath me. It's really, really, awful.

For a long time I thought the pain might be the symptom of a tumor. I tried really hard not to breathe life into that fear, but still it burrowed deep in my brain. When I found a lump in the back of my leg, I freaked the hell out until Ian finally made me an appointment to get it checked out. I was both terrified and hopeful that my doctor would find something. Terrified because, OMG tumor. Please, please, don't let it be a tumor. Hopeful because please, please, let there be some reason for all of this pain.

Ambition is Overrated

So there's a game we like to play with Iliana. We get a two dollar package of party balloons and blow them all up, then rub most of them against our shirts to build up a good charge of static electricity. Then we stick them to the ceiling and give her one balloon and orders to try and knock the rest of them down.

She loves that shit.

Fanfare! - or - Achievement Unlocked: #NaBloPoMo

I don't normally finish things. Not really, anyway. You can tell by the way I still haven't moved into my house six and a half years after, well. Moving in. The way I start and start and start different novels and stories and essays only to abandon them when another idea bubbles up. And, well, ideas are always bubbling, you know? That's what ideas just kind of do.

Holiday Weekend

After breakfast we pile into the car and drive to the Pay 'n Save at the bottom of the hill. If it was just me and Celine, we'd have walked down, maybe stop at the Goodie Korner for some Haw Flakes on the way home. But it is the day after Thanksgiving and there is a tree to be had, so Mom and Dad tell us to get in the car.

#MicroBlogMondays - The Angst of Obligations

I generally dislike obligations. I don't like having to be anywhere, which doesn't necessarily mean I don't like being places. Or doing things. I just don't like to have appointments. I get so stressed out thinking about the millions of things that could make me late. Or forget. Or whatever. And then I'm letting someone down and a failure and now everybody knows it blah blah blah.



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