I bought three bird feeders (and a hummingbird feeder I have yet to hang) for my mom for her birthday and Mother’s Day earlier this year. After I turned an adult we kinda just pretend to give each other something for a special occasion when really we just give each other gifts all year round.
Case in point, the bird feeders. I supply the food that keeps the MANY birds coming back each day as well as squirrels. Since I’ve hung them, we are THE place for birds in the neighborhood.
Seriously, I can never get a photo of it but sometimes out back yard is a scene from the movie “The Birds”. It’s delightful and horrifying.
Anyway, for a while now a pair or one of the couple of grey doves partakes in visiting our humble acreage. Out of all the birds that come (okay, besides the road runners and the quail), these doves fascinate me and spark hope.
After some really rough anxiety days, I kind of enjoy the thought of looking out the window and seeing one or both of them, connected and caring for the earth and each other.
They give me hope in my foggiest of days when I feel like I’m grasping for air and a post to rest before I have to make it to the next block.
My journey might not be pretty or fun, but at least I can still find hope and strength, no matter how small it may feel.
The glamour you guys.
- Oh my God I’m still up!
- Will I ever get to sleep?
- Of course I will!
- WTF is on my phone? I just cleaned it yesterday with alcohol. Maybe it needs to be a daily task?
- Do I still have OCD?
- Will I ever get better?
- OH DEAR GOD SWEET JESUS WHY THE FUCK DOES XANAX TASTE SO BAD?!?!?
- They should invent good tasting Xanax. It has to dissolve quickly anyway.
- Why is it a struggle for me to swallow a Xanax fast enough?
- Seriously, this happens almost daily.
- Seriously, wtf is up with my phone?
- I wonder if I let the Xanax dissolve in juice..?
- No. nope. Not a doctor.
*day drinking alone is frowned upon and not recommended**
**again, I am not a doctor
I’ve been absent for a little while, yes?
I don’t want to talk about it.
Every time I open the WordPress app I see that nasty little box that taunts me with the simple words, “unsaved changes”.
To me, what I let my brain tell me it says is, “you big fat failure, why can’t you get your thoughts out and say something?!?” Which I must admit is super harsh and is exactly what I’ve been working on — the whole mega judgement of myself.
It’s almost still too raw for me to think or write about it even right now, but I promised myself that I would pause when that judgement and anxiety come up and breathe.
I don’t have to prove to anyone who I am or what I am except myself and, believe it or not, IM ONE MAGNIFICENT FUCKING FLOWER.
Nay Sir, I am a mother-flipping honey badger ready for high tea.
Yeah, that imagery works for me.
I haven’t had the best of weeks this week. My “background noise” panic and anxiety have come back which means they’re kind of constant companions no matter what I’m doing.
I see this as a good thing since this time around I know I’m getting to the fleshy, meaty feelings and I’ve noticed a sense of… drive.
Yeah, in this anger/ panicked/ self-aware cocktail I call my life right now there’s something else that’s been thrown in — it’s a fuckin’ fighter, baby.
And you know what? This tiny dancing fighter is tired of surrounding herself with meme excuses her friends post. She’s tired of pretending she’s not good enough or can’t handle life.
Because fuck these lies I’ve been perpetuating for who knows how the fuck long.
I CAN HANDLE MY SHIT, DAMNIT. AND I CAN DO IT WELL.
(Disclaimer: this also means that I can reach out for help when I need to. I may be able to be a badass warrior goddess but it’s not like I have to bite all the demons heads)
I’m of course talkin’ ’bout my girl Kali! Love that Boss Bitch!
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I’ve been really lucky about the type of support I’m getting from mostly everyone around me.
Then there’s people who don’t.
And honestly, that’s totally fine that not everyone knows what a panic attack feels like or the crushing pressure that anxious people put on themselves consciously or subconsciously or how hard it is just to do basic tasks.
The sad part is, I’m not always in a position to educate them. Maybe when I’m in a better place I can but right now when I get asked “But what do you do all day?!?” When I let them know I’m on disability.
That question has been really bugging me since it came from a trigger source — my brothers’ mother — this past weekend. I was all ready to see them and face any lingering fears I had head on and… curveball.
Not surprising, this is life.
I rattled off something vague like how I’m getting better but I only have my “safe” places that I go to and I’m cleaning a lot or I stay in my little town.
Here’s what I wish I had said: I do a lot of inner work. I meditate, pray, journal, knit a lot. I take frequent breaks because a cleaning project feels too much for me or I have to spend time actively learning to change how and what I say to myself. Some days I stay in bed just sleeping because I exhausted myself with people the day before. Sometimes I stay in bed all day because I feel paralyzed by fear that I’m fucking it all up. But then there are really great days where I feel like myself again and I am kicking all sorts of ass on the chores or outings list. What am I doing all day? I’m actively getting better come hell or high water.
This is basically how I’ve been all day and haven’t made much progress since this photo was taken this morning.
Have I talked about my knitting on this blog? Well anyway, I knit. A lot. It’s actually how I stay sane but this whole #epicsweaterexploit is killing me.
Apparently sweater burnout is common in knitters BUT OH MY GOD I CAN’T WALK AWAY.
AND I CAN’T JUST KNIT ONE SWEATER, I’M FREAKING KNITTING TWO. AT ONCE!
I’m supposed to have the front AND back of the sweater done by tomorrow’s class at noon. I keep threatening everyone I’ll impale myself on my knitting needles.
Actually, to sound less morbid I’ve just been moaning that I’ll die from knitting, but at this point-hah!- I can’t decide if garrote by circular needles or falling on those sharp sticks would be better?
I’m kidding folks. Suicide is a big bad real thing that I’m not touching with a ten foot pole right now since I’m not sure how many brain cells I have left.
BUT OH MY GOD PLEASE KILL ME. I’m in a vicious knitting cycle. Send tickets to a cruise because fuck this shit right now.
Because I am emotionally all over the place, this post will be broken up by pictures of pugs.
I am getting to the point where there are good days and if there is an anxiety flare up I can identify and talk through what going on, or recognize I just need a break and give myself the space to have feelings.
Basically my brain is changing.
For the better.
I feel alive.
And then there’s the anger part of it.
The getting annoyed at every little thing because … well, my habits haven’t quite caught up with my new attitude. I think.
See, I find myself needing to run, pace, move.
So honestly, I’m not really sure why I’m writing this post except to kick myself in the ass and actually fucking get out there. For realsies.