Have a Bad Day

I woke up from a dead sleep at 4am with an anxiety attack. It had something to do with the day job, an insignificant thing that my broke-ass brain decided was a much bigger issue and decided to flail about it despite my repeated attempts at logic and reason. It took almost two hours for me to get back to sleep and even then, I ended up having fitful anxiety dreams.

This set the tone for my day. It colored everything I did. How I interacted with other people and dealt with them, how I went about my writing and my day job shift. When I finished my exercises in the morning (because I made myself do them), I sat on the floor with my head in my hands for twenty minutes, inert. I knew that it was going to be a day. I was going to be out of sorts.

And you know what?

I let myself have a bad day.

There’s this idea that bad days should be avoided at all costs. Do whatever you can to not have one. Don’t let that one moment ruin your twenty-fours hours. Change your attitude, change your perspective, other people have it worse, don’t let it get you down.

Granted, no one wants to have a bad day, but I think so much of that is because people don’t like dealing with other people having a bad day. It makes them uncomfortable. It’s awkward. They don’t know what to say or what to do. So, they tell you not to have one so they don’t have to deal with it. Which perpetuates this idea that bad days are some kind of failing. To have one means you’re not fighting hard enough to be happy and therefore not burden the other people in your life with your unpleasant, unkempt shit.

In the past, I would have struggled to turn my frown upside down and that struggle would have made my bad day worse. I would have pushed and everything I touched would have gone to instant shit. Like the Midas touch, only crappy. Instead, I knew from the minute I woke up with that anxiety attack that I was going to have a bad day and I accepted it. I didn’t wallow in it. I didn’t take it out on anyone else. I just acknowledged that this was the day that I was having and it was okay. I was allowed.

The result?

My day wasn’t great, but it didn’t get worse. It was bearable. I was more productive than I thought I’d be because I didn’t push myself. I gave myself an out for everything on my schedule. I forced nothing. I took nothing personally and I ate comfort food for dinner. I let myself be, I had my bad day, and I didn’t make anyone else uncomfortable in the process. My day ended up being grey instead of black.

And it ended better than it started.

Two bowls of cereal have that power.

The Purge, But for My Stuff

Image by drewplaysdrums from pixbayAt the day job, sometimes we get projects. My first project involved going through the mess of empty DVD cases we have (they’re used for the collection of movies, TV shows, and games we have to loan out), weeding out the bad ones, and organizing the rest. It took a couple of weeks, but I got it done.

For an organizer like me, the project was great. For a pack rat like me, it was a challenge.

I’m the person that will hang onto the most random, useless things just in case. I will attempt to salvage things that can’t or shouldn’t be salvaged. It was tricky for me to get through that part of the project, but I eventually got the hang of it.

Then I brought it home.

I have a several To Do Lists. I have the writing To Do List of Doom. I have daily/weekly To Do Lists. And I have the To Do List of the Year. Stuff that needs to be done, but I don’t have a time limit on them. It covers things like getting new glasses (when I have the money), getting a tattoo cover-up (when I have the money), finishing sewing projects, transferring pictures from my phone to my computer. Stuff like that.

Many of the items currently sitting on that list involve getting rid of things. Cleaning out my writing drawer, cleaning out art drawer, cleaning out my make-up, cleaning out my nail polish, cleaning out my bookcases, cleaning out my email folders. Purging. Getting rid of that which no longer serves me.

This past week I brought my work home with me, so to speak. I’ve started going through my To Do List of the Year, accomplishing a couple of smaller tasks before setting my sights on the things that need to go. I’ve cleaned out all of my email folders. (Who the hell saves four year old coupon offers? Me. That’s who.) I’ve thrown out some nail polish. The make-up is next.

You see, not only do I have to seize these productive moods, but I also have to go with the pitch it flow. I’ve been throwing things out for two weeks now. I’m in the rhythm. I can carry that rhythm to moisturizer I’m never going to use and I know I’m never going to use. It’s okay for me to get rid of those things and create that much needed space.

I need to lighten my load, so to speak.

So if anyone needs any barely used eyeshadow, let me know. I might have your shade.

“I Have a Blood Pressure Situation.”

“If I ever let myself go…SPLAT!” -Frank Burns, M*A*S*H

Turns out that Frank Burns and I have that in common. A blood pressure situation, that is.

My blood pressure was fine in my twenties, back when I smoked and live on fast food and Hot Pockets. Then I quit smoking and started eating better, cooking actual meals, eating fast food only sometimes, and giving up Hot Pockets all together.

And my blood pressure started running a little high.

I will go to my grave pissed about that.

That grudge is probably one of the reasons why my blood pressure has recently gotten worse.

I would wager that my health problems over the past couple of years are probably a contributing factor as well. Stress can play hell with the blood pressure and even though I’m a year removed from that situation, it’s not hard to believe that some effects might still linger. I mean, it did take forever for my hair to start to grow back.

And frankly, my diet hasn’t been the greatest lately.

Though I haven’t gone back to Hot Pockets, and fast food is still an occasional thing, a little analysis of my diet has shown that sodium has still crept in and is probably the main culprit from my blood pressure situation getting worse.

Someone pointed out that age might also be a contributing factor and to them I say –That negativity is not helping.

So this month, I’m monitoring my sodium intake by logging all of my food (which I hate) and making some dietary changes in an attempt to reduce my saltiness. (In this case the literal. The figurative is just a personality quirk.) Maybe, possibly, perhaps a little less sodium will make a big difference.

I’m also going back to exercising first thing in the morning. Yes, I exercise most days of the week and exercise is good for the blood pressure, but I think going back to morning workouts will give this whole lifestyle tweak an extra boost. And I need a boost right now.

Hopefully, all of this will be enough to get my blood pressure back to reasonable levels.

I’d like to avoid a splat situation.

The New Day Job

Image by StockSnap from Pixabay

Now that I’ve been working at this new day job gig for a little over three weeks and we’re nametag official, I suppose I can fill folks in on the details.

I’m working as a clerk at the local library part time. Right now the hours are perfect for me. I make enough to pay the bills, but I also have time to write and podcast. Though the job is a lot more than just shelving books and checking them out, it’s not stressful. There is always someone nearby to answer any questions and so far, the training I’ve received has been very good. And thankfully, I’m getting the hang of things. It’s quite the departure from the last day job.

I know what you’re thinking. A writer working at a library? It’s perfect! Well, yeah, sorta.

For one thing, it’s exposing me to books outside of my reading comfort zones (which I’ve been trying to do in the last few years anyway). It’s also exposing me to books that I’d never read, but it’s still good to know they exist. Like Amish romances. I had no idea these were so popular, but let me tell you, we carry a lot. So, it’s definitely inspiring me to read more, which will hopefully translate to me reading more consistently so I can read more.

On the flip side, it reminds me of how much I’m not accomplishing. Processing all of the new books reminds me of the ones that are sitting unpublished or unfinished on my hard drive. I want to say that it inspires me to work, but so far it’s just been a bit disheartening. I see all of those books and I can’t find my place.

Though if there are readers for Amish romances, then I’m sure there are people out there that want to read whatever it is I write. Something for everyone, right?

Sure.

In the meantime, I suppose I better get to work.

So, I’m Depressed. Now What?

I’ve been in denial about it for months, but it’s true. I’m struggling with a major depressive episode right now and have been for a while. I haven’t wanted to admit it because that means I have an actual PROBLEM instead of it just being a bad day or PMS or lack of sleep or stress. But when there are more bad days than good, the excuses run out and I’m left with the truth.

I’m depressed.

What does my depression look like?

Well, from the outside, I look fine. I’m the kind of person that puts all of my energy into maintaining the basic illusion of functioning. I shower everyday, I eat most of the time, I get dressed, I show up to work when I have a day job, I get my work done. And since I’m an introvert anyway, nobody notices that I’m socializing even less than usual and never leaving my house.

Meanwhile, the chemical imbalance in my brain is ripping me apart. I can’t focus. I can’t problem solve. Everything is overwhelming. I can’t do things as well as I did or I think I should be able to and I’m falling behind and I can’t catch up. More and more things get put off until tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. I don’t have the energy to do anything because every last bit I have is going into maintaining the most basic level of functioning. I don’t have the brain space to write blogs. I barely have the ability to tweet. It takes me forever to accomplish a writing project that would normally take me no time at all. I’m miserable and I don’t see how to fix it and I kinda wanna be done now.

What’s truly frustrating is that the logical thing to do, the advice everyone gives you, is to ask for help. However, my brain has every single rational argument why I shouldn’t. Nobody cares. Nobody has time for your shit. They’ve got problems of their own. There’s worse things going on in the world. Your bullshit is insignificant in comparison. You had a good day last week, right? You’re fine. You’re not depressed. And even if you are, nobody is going to believe you. They’re going to think you’re faking. They’re going to think you’re just a lazy piece of shit. They’re going to roll their eyes and do a jerk-off motion behind your back because they KNOW you’re just doing this for attention, for sympathy, so you don’t have to work or be a responsible human.

So, why am I admitting it now?

It was the realization that there were more bad days than good and that the fallout from taking advantage of a good day (thinking I was totally fine now, everything back to normal) was so debilitating that it made me admit that my brain was not of the okay. But it still took me several days to say the words out loud to another human because, hey, who cares, right? I’m just being a drama queen, saying I’m depressed. It’s just an excuse for me to be lazy and worthless. What do I have to be depressed about? I’ve got any easy life since I’ve so successfully avoided being a real adult. I don’t even have a real job.

Man, if only my brain chemistry could relate.

It turns out that it was probably my bout of anemia that kicked this all off. One imbalance triggering another. The depression might have gotten better as the anemia was treated except that’s when I was in the middle of the disastrous day job that had me so stressed out that my hair was falling out and my anxiety was so bad I couldn’t sleep. That pretty much sealed my fate. Quitting might have helped my stress levels (though my hair is STILL growing back), but the damage was done to my mental health. I haven’t been back to that store since I turned in my keys because just driving by can give me an anxiety attack. Quitting just affirmed what my depression knew to be true: that I’m a loser who can’t even handle a little stress at a crappy day job.

And I’ve been simultaneously ignoring it and battling it since.

Why put this out in the public sphere?

I don’t know. Because I’m tired of pretending I’m okay. Because I’m tired of maintaining the facade of a functioning human. I’m struggling to function at this point. The idea of getting another day job right now is so overwhelming that it makes me want to panic. Hell, just leaving the house makes me sweat.

Because by saying it out loud, I’m admitting it’s real and by admitting it’s real, then I have to deal with it. Time to drag myself out of the pit. I know how to do it. I’ve done it before (though, thankfully, this time is not nearly as bad as it’s been). I just have to remind myself to be patient while I put myself through the paces. Depression doesn’t go away overnight, which is bullshit.

Because by saying it out loud -I’m depressed- I am showing people what depression can look like. I look perfectly fine right up until the minute that I’m not. And that’s a disastrous minute. It’s the minute that everyone refers to when they say, “We had no idea anything was wrong.” You don’t. Because I can still laugh and crack jokes and have a good time and function well enough to fool an audience. I can have good days. And I can still go to sleep and hope I don’t wake up. I can still wish to fade away so I don’t have deal with all of this anymore. I can still feel miserable and utterly hopeless.

Neat, huh?

So, please be patient with me while I right my ship because laws knows I will not be. Fixing this is always the worst because I have always struggled to be kind to myself. I never feel like I deserve it and the depression just amplifies that. Right now I’m coasting on the kindness of others and I’m going to be needing a lot more of that kind of help. It’s going to take me a little while to get back to what I consider normal, so.

Hang in there.

Make It Fat, You Cowards

Some time back, Twitter user @emilybadly posted the question: “Question for my fellow fat babes: what’s a trait or personality type you wish fat characters were allowed to be more often/at all?”

It’s all linked, so check out that thread and the responses. Feel free to fall down that rabbit hole.

But if you haven’t got the time, allow me to sum it up for you.

We wish fat characters were allowed to be…people.

Fucking wild, right?

It turns out that fat people like myself are looking for the kind of representation that seems only available to thin people. We want to see fat people experience a wide-range of emotions. Let them be allowed to be happy, sad, angry, lazy, indignant, annoyed, ecstatic, depressed, etc. independent of their weight. Not happy in spite of being fat; they’re just happy. Not angry because they’re fat; they’re just angry.

Let them be desired without other people getting grossed out and being all judgy. Let them have sex, good sex. Let them be the object of someone’s crush. Let them hook up with the hot lead. Hell, let them have a long, healthy relationship with the hot lead. Particularly in the case of fat women when it comes to opposite sex relationships. It seems like when it comes to fat men (and their bodies are still played for jokes most of the time), they’re allowed to hook up with thin, beautiful women, but the vice-versa doesn’t play out with the same frequency.

Let there be more than one fat character and not just because you’ve got two of them in a relationship. Fat people are everywhere. You can have more than one, doing different things, having different personalities, relating to different people.

And there’s more than one kind of fat. We come in all shapes and sizes. Big bellies, big boobs, small boobs, no boobs, belly rolls, back fat, flabby arms, stick arms, no butts, big butts, big thighs, skinny legs, thin faces, double chins. Mix and match! And don’t cover those bodies! Let them wear shorts and mini dresses and tank tops and bikinis if they want to. Let them want to.

Let them be brave and adventurous and athletic. Let them be villainous and selfish and greedy. Let them be vain and pedantic and sloppy. Let them be stylish and smart and successful. Let them be actual human beings with a wide range of personalities and moods and issues. Let them be anything. Let them exist without the sole motivation of losing weight or being the butt of fat jokes or eating constantly or getting winded walking anywhere. Let them just be regular people or extraordinary people or anything in between.

I’ll formally throw down the challenge. Make it fat, you cowards.

I am more than happy to offer up my services in this endeavor. If you need a skilled, experienced fat person to assist you, I can be that person. I can be your adviser. I can help you make your fat characters representative of actual fat people.

My rates are very reasonable.

Where Has All My Mojo Gone?

I started off this year busting some serious tail. I got things done, man. I read four books in January alone. I was finishing projects and feeding off that accomplishment. I was even getting into the groove of starting Book ’em, Danno.

And then my mojo failed me.

Sometime around the end of February, it all started to dry up. This month has been hard. The productive days have dwindled from above average to bare minimum. I’m getting just what I need to get done to keep the train rolling, writing-wise. Podcast-wise, that train has come to a halt. I’m struggling to even write a blog post once a week. I don’t have the energy or the motivation or the interest for it. I’m tired more often than not.

Now, obviously, I’m looking for a solution. But to find a solution I first have to identify the cause. I’ve been having some trouble with that.

Is this a byproduct of some recent insomnia? Is it my depression acting up? Has my anemia returned (I was given the all-clear to stop my iron pills and have been off of them for about six weeks)? Is it PMS? Menopause (hopefully)? Something new? I don’t know. I haven’t been able to nail the root cause of my malaise down. Believe me. It’s frustrating.

More frustrating is that I now have to use the cooked spaghetti method of finding something to help me get my groove back. Just throw a bunch of possible solutions at the wall and see what sticks.

I’m getting back into my meditation, which I had slacked off on, so that should help with my sleep issues. I’m going back on my iron pills, just in case. I’m digging into my depression-managing toolbox to see if there’s any tricks in there I can try.

I’m also trying to conjure up some productivity by working on one of my half-assed resolutions. In trying to figure out something to do with the art I did last year, I’m starting a new art project. I’m hoping that getting those creative juices flowing will open up the dam for the rest of my creativity.

Pray for rain and get a flood of mojo working again.