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Knocked Over By A Feather

IT WAS A BIG FUCKING FEATHER…

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fibromyalgia

You are not my friend!

Having one of those days … looking into a mirror. Yep, she’s there, looking back at me. “You are NOT my friend.” I remember to say “today” under my breath because I’m trying to ‘turn my frown upside down’.  Why does that saying plague me? It is like an annoying mosquito, you can hear it but you can’t see it.

What do you do when you are having a not so friendly day with yourself? There are the ‘mild annoyances with oneself’ days, and the ‘I better not see you at all’ days. I’m going to ask you to be honest and open. Let people around you know, “This is not a good day for me, but I will get over it”. “Why?” “Because that is just the way it is some days.” You can play out the rest in your head … even prepare for it;

“Well, aren’t you selfish?” “Wish I had that much time to think about myself.” And the most endearing, “Get over it.”

Well, I could tell you what my mouth so desperately wants to say in response, but I’ll cool off and speak from the heart. My stock answer, “it is what it is.” I choose not to engage! I have enough going on with not liking myself (today). I choose to do something about that, as for the insults, you can go … get yourself a hobby!

Today I will choose to be nice to myself, even though I want to kick and scream and throw a tantrum. I also want to cut off all my hair, myself. Yes, it’s one of those days. I need to focus on what I like about myself. Since I’ve decided to be kind to the world and not run errands today, I will take out my journals.

Journals can be used for a vast array of things. I found one I liked, in particular, to just mess around with; Art, Doodle, Love, and I found one to write inspirations and aspirations in, my ‘green’ journal (very original name). Then I just found an awesome tablet divided into three sections, my ‘funky’ journal (again, a name of my own choosing, in case you were wondering). The funky journal has a section of lined paper, graph paper, and plain paper. And, my journal, The Shadow Boxers. I wrote it. I use it. I journal in it and make choices that I have advised others to make. I love my journals.

What kind of journals do you have? Would you like to start one? Is it already a habit for you? I finished Art, Doodle, Love but refer back to it on those days. I keep the green journal for the ‘I want to cut my hair off’ days. But all four get me through the ‘that person in the mirror is not my friend’ days. I am not crafty by any means. But it is helpful to review your scribbles and musings when you are in a bad mood. I have a good old stack of 99 cent tablets that I scribble in and write nasty notes in, they get thrown out as soon as they are filled up, no need to continue to travel down that path…

So, on those days, make sure it is just a regular old ‘you are not my friend’ day and it is not depression. If it is depression, this is a disorder, an illness that often walks hand in hand with chronic illness. You must be treated for it.  Once you’ve established what type of day you are having, grab the appropriate journal, book, DVD, photo album, whatever it takes to turn your day around and make it bearable. Because I can promise, tomorrow will be better!

IMG_2890~Kim

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Depression is Insidious

I try really hard not to get stuck in a vacuum here on my blog by only writing about depression and fibromyalgia. Just like eating a ham sandwich every day for lunch, that shit gets old pretty quick.

I don’t mean to offend ham, I’m just saying, give turkey a chance. It’s not just for Thanksgiving anymore.

And if you’re not allergic, try a peanut butter and jelly sandwich once in a while. Yum.

But things don’t always work out the way that I want them to. I can’t seem to find any stable footing, any peace. If it’s not one illness fucking with me, it’s the other. Or it’s both. Plus, I have a slew of heavy life issues to deal with that makes me sad.

I read a great post yesterday about how people who are depressed often have the knee jerk reaction of saying that they are “fine” when someone asks them how they are. It really hit me then, that I’ve been doing the exact same thing with almost everybody that I interact with.

I don’t want people to worry about me.

I mean, I’m human. I’m an empath. Emotional.

It’s normal to be bummed when life continuously throws you turdballs, right?


poop


Depression is insidious, it can grow slowly over a long period of time and before you know it, you’re in the woods on an unseasonably chilly, rainy July day with a bottle of hydrocodone, trying to kill yourself.

I’ve been thinking about running away from home, dreaming of a new life where I have the chance to start all over again, hoping that I can be free of the chains that are rubbing my skin raw.

Maybe I’m not the only person who has that urge sometimes. I hope not, anyways.

So, yeah, I’m not doing great right now. But I’m holding on. I do all of the things that I’m supposed to be doing in order to combat that mother fucker that is depression.

I take my medications every morning, I have a great therapist, I disconnect when I need to (not as often as I should, though) in order to recharge myself. I’m taking more time to do things that make me feel momentarily joyful.

I’ve stopped trying so hard to save everybody at the expense of my own well being, repeating what my therapist taught me, “you can’t fix everything.”

It’s something that I whisper to myself at least 20 times a day, if not more.

Get a Job

Every morning about this time
She gets me out of my bed a-crying
Get a job

After breakfast every day
She throws the want ads right my way
And never fails to say
Get a job

Get a Job – The Silhouettes – 1957


This month marks 5 years since I finally gave up trying to work due to my illnesses and applied for disability.

I haven’t had to wake up, slug down a couple of cups of coffee, get my groggy ass dressed, deal with traffic and contend with other people in order to make a living for 60 months.

Another way to look at it, the last time that I was gainfully employed was when I was 38 years old, pretty damn young if you ask me. Some would say in the prime of my life.

I’ll still wake up some mornings with my knickers in a bunch, panicking that I overslept, before the realization comes that I don’t have a job to be late for anymore.

I’m a combo of relieved and angry. Relieved because I don’t have to push myself so hard anymore or deal with pissy coworkers and mean bosses.

Angry because this isn’t how my life was supposed to turn out.

crying-woman
This is bullshit, man. Um…can you pass me a tissue?

I’m not the same person. I mean, technically I am. Shit, I don’t know how to explain it.

Sigh. Okay, here it goes…

Pain changes you. It chews you up and then spits out a completely different version of your prior self. I’m talking about both mental and physical pain, the two often go hand in hand. It touches every aspect of your life, not just being unable to keep a job.

It tries hard to ruin relationships and trust me on this, it does succeed.

I know that things will never go back to the way they were. I think that I’ve come to accept this and now I’m working on cleaning up the debris that these last few years have left behind.

All I really want is to be loved for the person that I am now.

Maybe that’s too much to ask for, but the thought continues to pop into my head, especially when I’m trying to fucking fall asleep.

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