The first three days. #reverb10

This time of year has me in a weird place – I’m both surging with joy and childish wonder at the beauty and spirit of the season… and scraping the barrel of my emotions, coming up with fingers mired in the black tar that lies at the bottom of my heart.

When I eyeballed #reverb10 yesterday, “an annual event and online initiative to reflect on your year and manifest what’s next,” I was intrigued. I was a little iffy about signing a commitment, because, let’s face it. The very nature of depression is that it’s hard to give a flying fuck lots of days. But then I decided it’s not a legal contract, and if I want to flake out like I do on everything else I’ve ever taken on, I totally can! Yay! (?)

But seriously, and more importantly, I see these writing (thinking/exploring/creating/discovering) prompts as a chance to find inspiration and motivation to keep me going through this season, even when the anchor tethered to my heart seems the heaviest, and the chain link line the shortest.

Day One:

December 1 – One Word. Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you? (Prompt Author: Gwen Bell)

Belong.

As in, where I do.  This has been a hell of a year for me, for my family. In both joyous and heartbreaking ways, and both literally and figuratively, I’ve come from far away back to where I belong.

I feel at home again… in my body, in my home, in the world, and in the arms of my husband (who, by the way, loves me with a depth and in a way I sometimes can’t believe possible, but for which I am grateful).

I’m not sure how I’ve really been lucky enough to make it here, but I’m so glad to not be wandering in the ether as often anymore.

I’ve refound where I truly belong this year, in so many ways.

My word for next year is…

Challenge.

I’ve been far too complacent about a lot of things for some time. (I know, how much more specific can I get, right?)  I’ve also allowed myself to fail at things (which is sometimes okay, but that’s another story) and I’m not okay with that right now.  I’ve felt left out, unconsidered, not good enough, and neglected in certain arenas.  I hate feeling that way.  I hate that I feel that way about myself, ever. I’m going to challenge myself in the coming year – to overcome those feelings, to focus on positives, and to accomplish successes that will help make those first two things easier.

I need to rise above the stopping point on my comfort level and push myself to new heights, both personally and professionally.  (And share it with all of you, whether you like it or not.)

Day Two:

December 2 – Writing. What do you do each day that doesn’t contribute to your writing — and can you eliminate it? (Prompt Author: Leo Babauta)

I do quite a lot of things that probably don’t contribute to my writing.  I don’t see that as a problem, though, so the idea of eliminating those things is somewhat puzzling and I find it unnecessary.

Writing is a deep part of me.  I do it often, share it sometimes. I write about… well, everything.  When I think about this, in fact, I’d have to say that, because of that very truth, everything I do and think while I’m not actually writing *does* eventually contribute to my writing. (Which is making this feel like a moot point, but I’m going to continue with the beating of the dead horse, for s&g.)

I write about my experiences, things I think, how I feel, etc.  As such, all things I do affect my writing in some way.  Writing and living the rest of your life = mutually exclusive? Nah.  Is life full of distractions?  Sure.  But I’m going to lean towards saying that time management, rather than elimination of life stuff, is the key to writing and still doing.

I’m never going to regret that I didn’t spend that hour writing, for deadline or for pleasure, rather than building an epic train track with my son or sharing some wine and my heart with my husband.

What I would regret is if I let everything in my life get in the way of ever writing.  So “balance,” once again, is the word of the day.

When I’m not wrapped up in my son, my husband, photography, cooking, gardening, Twitter/Facebook, fart jokes, Dexter, wine, or menial chores/errands/tasks that make me want to stab a pencil in my eye (clearly a favorite)… I’m writing.

Where the most time is devoted ebbs and flows, and I’m totally okay with that.

Day Three:

December 3 – Moment. Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors). (Prompt Author: Ali Edwards)

This makes smoke float out of my ears as my brain fries to a crisp.  It takes me eons to choose from the menu at a restaurant, deciding what to wear has the potential to cook up Angst Soup with a side of ARGH Salad, and any Bio or Profile where I’m required to list 3ish favorite books/movies/songs throws me into a mindlock of epic proportions.

I might be a little indecisive.

This task was difficult for me.  Really difficult. REEE-HEEEAAALY.

And I’m going to bend the rules, here, and tell you that this is ONE OF THE moments when I felt most alive this past year.  Seriously, I FEEEEEL way too much, far too often.  There is no way ONE moment can be the MOST of anything in a whole year.

In any case, right up there hovering damn near the top moments when I felt most alive? When John, Braden, and I walked through this house for the first time, in the middle of the night, after having traveled nearly 1000 miles to get here.

Something pleasantly electric ran through me.

During those first moments in this house, my heart was so full it seemed it might push its way up  through my throat and out my mouth, finally floating away. I took a photograph of myself, reflected in the back patio door… I think you can tell how I felt?

It was a dark, quiet night outside, and inside there was an air of neglect and loneliness, like the house had been alone for too long, waiting for someone to love.  Our voices rang out as we passed through together, seeking the room we’d put our air mattress in for the night.

I felt alive because this (this town, this neighborhood, this house) is where I belong, where we belong, and I knew it, felt it.  Maybe the house did, too.  When I woke up the next morning, it didn’t feel alone any more.

And hopefully, it never will again.

Puppies: They’re just better.

I wrote a very, very short and moody, desperate and pathetic post a few weeks ago about getting hit upside the heart again by the desire for my lost babies.

It really never goes away. It just hides a little sometimes, lurking; waiting for the right time to shit on your world. Or mine. Guess I can’t really speak for others.

Or yours, maybe, is true, since I’m publishing this crap.

I thought about sharing that post with you now that the bewbs of BEWB Fest 09 have been filed away… because really? Sharing it with you right at the same time as going, “OMG LOOK! IT’S BEWBS!” just didn’t feel right. And everything about bewbs generally feels good, so why ruin that? I mean. Really.

So I thought about sharing it with you now, in all of its deep and philosophical questioning glory (read: whiny and pathetic yearning-filled, demanding inquisitiveness). I thought about making you read trite crap like, “I’m stuck whining the same things, being the same pathetic empty, yearning bag over and over again.”

And

“When will it get so old that my heart just implodes from feeling the same tortured longing one.more.time?”

And the rest of it, too. But no, I saved it as a text file entitled, “baby nonsense.”

I did make you read part of it, now, didn’t I? Manipulative, emotional arse, I am.  But you’ll not have to read that in its entirety.

Instead, please enjoy looking at this cute puppy.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/conwayl/ / CC BY-ND 2.0

I like puppies.

They are way, way better than fetuses that are ripped out of your uterus.

Of course, then they grow up and pee on your baseboards and shit on the kitchen floor.

I have such a positive outlook.

I could use a few glitter coated unicorns flying out of my ass on rainbows during times like this.

Is disgusting the new black? No? Oh. Darn.

I’ve totally lost any desire to put forth the effort to have good hygiene.

I have become a stinky, flaky skinned, hairy, brutally disgusting version of my former self.

I’ve gotten used to going for long periods of time without taking a shower, brushing my teeth, or shaving.

I took a shower the other day… but I couldn’t remember when the one before it had happened.

At some point, this is going to become so ridiculous that something is going to have  to change.

I mean, there’s only so long I can blame it on Braden or claim I’m saving water to protect the environment.

Eventually, I’ll be POLLUTING the environment.

Like, early next Thursday.

Or whenever that dirt-encrusted thing growing off the side of my body starts talking. (It already has a face.  I’m thinking of naming it Grubbo.)

To add to my new-found charm, I’ve gained quite a bit of weight.

Yes. Kevin & Leroy are back, and Pattie has become ginormous.  Once again, parts of my body are rolling over onto other parts of it, saying, “Oh, Hai!  I’m TOUCHING you and I’m SO NOT supposed to be touching you! Neener.”

I have a largish pile of clothes I can’t wear, but I’m rockin’ the maternity clothes.  And no, I’m not pregnant.

Unless we’re counting Grubbo.

It’s time for Operation Unfattenning and Destanking.

Hold on people, I’m about to step away from the fridge, onto the treadmill, and then into the shower.

This could get ugly.

I think Grubbo just hissed at me.

Haiku Assvice.

Scraping the barrel
like never before these days.
Weak, and yes, ashamed.

I know it takes time.
Am no stranger to symptoms;
it is depression.

From this low vantage
I can look up and see those
who are still moving.

Hear what they say, watch
what they do, and be amazed
at what’s important.

Be amazed at what
some find worthy of energy.
Anger. Ugliness.

It is so easy
to become ensnared in that.
Don’t let it happen.

With experience
comes perspective, and when it’s
shared, take what you can.

Try not to jump so
quickly to offense, anger…
do you benefit?

It is not easy
to step back and remain calm
with little practice.

I say this because
I know. I’m quick to anger,
easily annoyed.

And so often quite
the righteous rebel. And what
have I gained from this?

Drama is pointless.
Time passes by and I am
wasting my focus.

Have always found it
easy to see negatives.
Overlook the good.

Life is rich, complex.
Try to remind yourselves of
of this and do your best

to just ignore the
insignificant bumps and
enjoy all the rest.

The Great Depression

Winters where I live are long and cold and boring and I have a long history of spending much of the winter in a sulky grey funk. My husband has responded by making our house as fun as Disneyland – although less crowded and HOPEFULLY mouse-free – with tons of video games and movies and new books and theme dinner nights and board games and booze and stupid tv shows and it still doesn’t help all that much.

My poor husband. When I am sad, he wants more then anything to help me back up. And I find this beyond annoying, this constant low-key pestering when I’m wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed and stay there until the flowers come back up in May, wanting to be left alone while it’s grey and -30. Oh, how I resented it, and more than once I snapped at him to stop trying so hard to fix me, to just leave me be. And this is how you can tell that I am an awesome wife and that being married to me is MAGICAL.

Anyhow, my GOD I resented feeling like he needed me to hurry up and get better so that he would stop being inconvenienced by my inconvenient depression. I would lay in bed at night – not sleeping, thanks to The Depression – and think dark murky thoughts revolving around him being a pushy jerk, him trying to dictate to me how I should feel. Oh, sure - he’d make supper without complaining about it, but I knew that secretly he was feeling resentful and as if he thought I wasn’t trying hard enough, that I was wallowing in my moods for my own enjoyment.

So a few months ago, out of nowhere, my husband came up to me and told me that he was depressed, that he had been very, very sad for a while. And my heart broke into a billion pieces right there.

That my poor, kind-hearted, unassuming, hard-working, gentle husband had been walking around silently miserable all by himself - okay, even now I can’t write that down without putting my hand over my mouth and staring out the window for a while. And I responded with unusual fervor, making sure that things were clutter and stress-free around here, making sure that he’d come home to his favorite meals, that he was surrounded by love and affection and given more time to do things he liked and I was sobbingly relieved when he told me that he was feeling better, that it had passed.

“I was so worried about you!” I bawled at him, and he said, very tenderly, that he knew exactly what I’d felt because he’d gone through the same thing so many times with me. And with those words, I suddenly saw all of it – the suppers quietly made by him, the packages of new books sent the way a different man might send flowers, the horrible GAMES OF SCRABBLE – completely differently, saw them as his way of surrounding me with love and comfort.

I also know that he is lying to me.

I know that he feels like he’s not achieving what he’d hoped for with his talents, that he’s worried about money, that he’s over-burdened with responsibility and that he is hiding this from me because he is above all things tender and kind to me.

I have been wallowing. I have not been trying hard enough.

You can’t unknow self-knowledge, can’t unsee what you have seen. And so my New Year’s resolution is to protect him more, to meet his tired smile as he arrives home in the evening with one of my own, to see his love for what it is and to be grateful.  I will instigate more stupid Scrabble games and thank him as he passes me the smooth wooden letters, knowing for once in my life what secret words they are actually spelling.
_____________________________________________________________________________________

Beck puts words together this beautifully on a regular basis over at her website, Frog & Toad Are Still Friends. It is among the first blogs I ever read, and was an inspiration for me as I began writing a blogsite.  Her delightful nature and incredible depth drew me in and have never let go.

Goodbye, Cruel Year

December 31, 2008

Dear 2008,

You were my first full year of blogging on my very own, self-hosted website from beginning to end. That was a happy thing about you. As I have written and published posts on my website this year, I’ve learned, grown, healed, changed, triumphed, laughed and cried.

I had a few trolls, it’s true. And unfortunately, I often take the trolls too seriously. I’m an emotional, sensitive chick with a high need for love and a fair amount of insecurity – it’s easy to slice me to the core. But, yes, trolls are just silly, angry people with too much time on their hands. I think Backpacking Dad said it in my favorite way recently, on Redneck Mommy‘s site:

“I love trolls. They’re so cute when they take their little poos everywhere.”

What’s more important about blogging for this whole year is that I’ve made wonderful friends and received love and kindness, as well as laughter and good cheer, from people I never would have met if I hadn’t stuck with this blogging business.

2008, that was so good about you.

My baby turned into a little boy this year, too, 2008. He had his first haircut and finished getting all his teeth (finally!). He asked to sit in a big chair (!!!), and the high-chair is gone.

My little boy, just this past week, left his crib. He is sleeping in a bed now. *heart beating hard*

He sings songs with words, and dances. He counts to 20 and knows all his letters. He can drink from a juice box and he’s learning how to brush his own teeth. He can take off his socks, pull down his pants, and he’s playing with the idea of actually using the potty again.

He snuggles his cheek up against mine, puts his hand on my other cheek and says, “Hufff-yooo.”

He quotes Spongebob Squarepants and asks me for milk when he’s thirsty.

He looks at me and says, “Aww, duuuude.”

No longer a baby, he is a boy.

This is bittersweet, 2008. My heart gets this panicky, tight feeling as I watch Braden grow so fast, 2008. So very fast.

But then it swells with pride. He is MY boy. I am so grateful for him.

So that has been good, as well, 2008.

I even finally lost the last 15lbs of my “baby weight” and got back to pre-pregnancy sveltness while you were around! That was phenomenally good, 2008. I was so incredibly happy to be moving more swiftly, and feeling lighter. (And fitting back into those hot jeans was certainly not a bad thing – bow chicka.)

Also, 2008, you gave me not just one, but two more babies. What a joy it is to find out there is a life growing inside of you. What an amazing, phenomenal thing that so many take for granted – a thing many of us just brush off as easy, or incidental.

It’s not, 2008. It’s incredible. It’s a delicate, vulnerable thing.  A beautiful thing. When a live baby is born, it is a miracle of sorts.

Every time.

You taught me that, 2008.

You took them both back before I got to kiss their foreheads. I miss them so much.

That was very much not a good thing. I don’t like you right now, 2008. It’s going to take me a very long time before I can look at you again without tears in my eyes. I want to grab you and shake you until you feel as bad as I do.

I keep trying to be mature about it, 2008, and see all the good things we had together.  I keep trying to count my blessings, 2008, because I know they are many!

But you know what?

Right now, I just can’t. And that’s okay. For awhile, I think I am going to let myself hate you with all of my heart.

For awhile, I am going to be a child.

It’s not fair, 2008. It’s not fair.
I’m not your friend anymore, and I don’t want to play with you ever again.

It’s not fair.

2009′s Anxious Mistress,
Lotus

Mah Mojo, She A-Go-Go Away

It’s true. My mojo is what usually drives me to rant, joke, and jibber-jabber.

But she’s gone.

And I’m feeling like I’m just a shadow of my former self, right now.

My usual M.O. is that I have silly/sarcastic/bitchy/rantlike/dumb thoughts and reactions to things throughout the day, most days, and I share them with you in my posts.

But depression of a special kind has whisked my mojo away to a far-off land and is rubbing its feet and feeding it chocolates, and it does not want to return to me.

Yes, my mojo has taken a page from my book and has become a selfish, self-centered, gluttonous lazy douche.

*sniff*
I’m so proud of that freakin’ bitch.

So, lately, when I’m not crying The Ugly Cry or whipping out some classic Big Fat Ugly Lack of Grace I feel like I’m just “blahing” it through the day.

It’s not that I haven’t had things I wanted to write about, or good ideas for posts.  In fact, I have been having ideas off and on every day… moments where I think, “Ah, I should tell them about this….”

But I’m lacking that “oomph” I had before that actually started the engines.

I still have passing humorous thoughts, but they don’t linger, and when I think about creating a post surrounding one of them, my head starts feeling really heavy and my heart just sighs and doesn’t feel like it.

Clearly, my head and heart are yet another couple of lazy douches. This whole lazy douche thing is really contagious, yeh?

[Aside: Have you ever noticed how often I talk about being a lazy douche? And you thought trolls were good for nothing. Thanks, Dana, for the most fun running gag I've found since talking about my bewbs (aka The Rack). Seriously, trolls are funny.]

Anyway, I’m still here, still bitchyesque and rantalicious with a little happy sillification trying to make its way back in. And I’m sure it will, eventually. Just couldn’t go on living if that didn’t come back, really.

Most of the time my motivation control knob is turned up to a higher level. (In fact, it goes all the way to 11. Unlike most other knobs that only go to 10. When I need an extra push, I can go “one louder” than you losers with only 10….)

But right now, some asshole has me turned down to about 3.

Bear with me… it might take me some time to get back to “full volume.” But I promise I’m going to do my best to grab that knob and try to crank it.

Heh.

The Elves Came Early

They told some of my friends to send me things… they all chose things that would comfort me… how did they know? Now these are good friends…

Like my Cheese, Fruit & Cookies-Giving Friend…

She even put in presents for Braden to keep him distracted.


Or my Coffee-Giving Friend…

Gorgeous Tumbler and Charged Card so I can buy coffee and get free internet access at Starbucks. Me time!
*faints*


Or how about my Beautiful Soaps & Chapsticks-Giving Friend?

This was so perfect for me… I have a chapstick addiction. Do you know what I mean? Anyone?


And who can overlook my Chocolate & HooHaa Care-Giving Friend?

Gotta love a pad with BEWBS drawn on the wrapper. Also? Don’t touch my Russell Stover German Black Forest Truffle or you will draw back a nub.

And then I will rip off your nub and bludgeon you with it.

Yes, it’s that serious.


So, Nub Bludgeoning aside… would you be willing to give me a gift? Do me a favor right now and gift me this Christmas by doing something for someone else.

It’s really easy; all you have to do is click a link.

That’s right. I want you to click a link. Until the end of December, every time you click this link, or load any of the other pages on that website, you help earn ad revenue, 100% of which will be donated to a non-profit charity called “To Write Love on Her Arms.” (You can check the charity out here.  Make a donation, buy a shirt.  I’m going to buy a shirt… I’ll post photos of me in it later, even.)

They are “dedicated to presenting hope and finding help for those struggling with depression, addiction, self-injury, and suicide.”

So, from a person depressed as she’s ever been this Christmas, please click. Click as many times as you feel moved to click, between now and the end of December 2008.

If you click right now, leave a comment on that post, then come back to me and tell me you did it.  It’s like my Christmas present. But even if you don’t feel like coming back, just click anyway, ok?

Merry Christmas, to all of you. And thank you.