Sunday, 7 May 2017

From Hurt to Healing

"What day is it? I can't seem to hold on to days any more. It's really bothering me." 

My new friend M asks, shading her eyes to squint at me as we pause beside a swollen stream on our spring walk.  Trees reach out to each other above our heads, the path hugged by budding greenery, spotlights of sun dancing on the earth at our feet.

I chuckle softly.

My problem had always been the opposite.  I had a firm grasp on the days.

Monday November 26, 2012 - The day I was admitted to the adult mental health ward.

Monday October 6, 2014 - Returned to work. 

March 11, 2016 - The day the darkness loomed so great I left work again to save myself.

How could I have changed all the moments that led up to those days?  Now that I am unemployed, what will my future days look like?

"It's my favorite day.  It's today," I reply with a smile.  

I can tell she is not happy with that answer.  

Thursday, 23 June 2016

Driving Myself Crazy but Not Knowing How I Got There??

One of the things my psychiatrist noted in her update to my insurance company was that I had been able to spend a few hours a day at my "desk" which seemed like a step forward.  

What she failed to note was that "at desk" time could be interpreted by the insurance company  as "doing something productive/can concentrate".  
The reality is "at desk time" is spent doing one of two things:

Writing here. (AKA brain dump)


Flipping frantically back and forth between a series of websites in an obsessive compulsive sort of manner. 

  • What pets are up for adoption at the shelter now?  (Oh this is how I got three dogs....)
  • Any insurance requests for information?  Refresh, refresh, refresh.
  • Oooo look a 24 hour sale on cruises.
  • Wonder if they have posted any new animals for adoption.....
  • Are there vacancies at the campsite I went to last year?
  • E-MAIL CHECK---nothing ok so ....FACEBOOK CHECK.
  • Ohhh cute kitty video---and look at the puppies/elephants/sloths.  
  • Wasn't I supposed to be doing something?
  • Calendar check.
  • Doctor appointment on...wait where's my phone I might have a text.  
  • What hours is the donkey sanctuary open?  
  • WEATHER---OMG I almost forgot to check the weather.

  • This is a new one for me, and it happens 3 or 4 times a day...jumping frantically from one thing to the next in search of some sort of distraction from having to feel what I am feeling.

Last go round while Life sat on my chest, I found I could read some, albeit slowly (my foray into Brene Brown's Gifts of Imperfection was a crazy exercise in patience with myself--much highlighting and many rereads) and TV was my numbing friend---the computer--pffffffff!  Not so much.

This time, I can't read or watch TV.  I just cannot maintain the attention span.  

I get all settled in to read and then need a drink, and sunscreen and a pillow which is upstairs, oh look my bed is messy and I have an empty glass up here I will put in the dishwasher which is full of clean dishes and dammit that pots and pans cupboard needs to be better organized and 45 minutes later the ice has melted in the drink that I left in the laundry room when, distracted by the dirty dish towel I had to IMMEDIATELY wash before I forgot, I wandered down there mid pots and pans cupboard clean out to put it in the wash. (left my drink but brought something up from the freezer ---oh look, there's my book, but wait how did 3 hours go by---I need to make dinner.  Maybe.  

I also cannot drive---well.  Since last Wed I have run two red lights, jumped the curb once and gotten lost on the way home from my doc office.  Spouse has been driving me places now when he can.  Everything just feels so soft and out of focus and I can't find the edges to get a firm grip.   

I have been "arriving" places without knowing how I got there.  So THAT'S FUN!

The newest thing since the insurance company letter is the Petit Panic (My attempt to make mini panic attacks sound sexy.)  

The fight or flight chemicals fire random pulses of anxiety, flooding my body with ice water and  send tingles to my fingers and toes.   But with no danger in sight,  I am hyper alert; doors opening, dishwasher shifting cycles, my phone; I am jarred out of my body and it takes a few moments to settle back in.  The adrenaline has nowhere to go....

So I am trying to step away from all things electronic and get back to my small world deck life and garden to attempt to connect, literally, with the world and realign my physical energy.   Weird, as it came so naturally last time---finding peace in nature.

I will follow my doctor's advice though. Step away.  Spend time outdoors. Spend time with myself; peeking behind the locked door that is my heart and soul to see how I can find ways to soothe and nurture them.  

Time to find out what they need......

Saturday, 18 June 2016

Smoke Signals from my Brain

Today, when my kids wake up, I will tell them I made  "extra crispy sausages" for breakfast.

They aren't stupid though. Half of the package are burned black on one side.

Here they are:

I know how this will play out:
"These look burnt"
"Extra crispy!" I will insist, but I am already imagining the raised eyebrows, sausage crumbling to charcoal on their plate when they stab it.
"Fine! Don't eat them then."
See, look.  Now I can actually skip the whole conversation because I have lived it out in my mind.  This is how depression works for me....I get a preview of my failure and then get a live show!  Two shots for the price of one.

Now you might be thinking, why not just imaging that the kids say, "Wow these are great crispy sausages".

The Bloggess - Jenny Lawson
Really?  False bullshit like that just makes the crushing reality of their scorn feel worse by a factor of ten.  If I berate myself before hand, it just hurts less when small children do it later.

Ok, so you are thinking, throw out the burned ones.  We all make mistakes.

When you are depressed, burned sausage is a visual reminder of your inability to get your shit together and for some reason, looking at it helps you justify your misery.

See, I am a screw up. Jenny Lawson says, "depression lies".

And she is right.  It whispers in my ear:
Come on now....really....if so many people make it successfully, no wait, brilliantly through the day, juggling family and work and home and self-care, as evident by their postcard perfect Facebook really really have no worth unless, at the very least, you can do some shit at home since you are off work you broken, weakling.  
So I water the lawn, have a coffee, put sausage in the frying pan well before anyone in the house is awake (because I have been up since 5 AM)  and then wander out to the yard to sit, and make a few sentences of the first book I have tried to read in months, actually stick in my head.

Then my stomach rumbles.  Something smells good.

OMG the damn sausages.

Which are now "EXTRA CRISPY! "

And it is one thing to have a slip up now and again.  We all do it.

But my mini gaps in memory have graduated to chasms and each one feels like a not too gentle reminder that I am fighting this depression/anxiety  and the sense of value I have superglued to my sense of self worth.

If I do, I am.
If I do it well, I have value.
I DO forget things and mess up a lot ...therefore I am a screw up and can't do anything right.


Yesterday I did some paining of our deck. For me, painting is very therapeutic or numbing---as it occupies my body and my mind allowing me to hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm out for a while.  Doesn't matter what I paint---wall, picture, works like meditation or yoga and I crave the peace it provides.

But at some point, I walked away from it and left everything out there. The brush might as well be a trowel now, and the pudding film layer on the can of open paint was testament to how long I was gone.  What happened?

I cleaned it up and continued---freaked out I had totally forgotten I was doing it.  New brush in hand I zoned out for another hour until the sun became too much.

My intention was to go inside, get a drink and then come back out to clean up.  But something distracted me---I don't even remember what---and  several hours later, I found myself staring at the pudding film/trowel combo again.

What the hell?????

Over the past week examples pop up everywhere ---conversations with Oldest I have no recollection of, driving home from the doctor's only to realize I was driving in the general direction of my house but had lost track of where I was exactly, not knowing if I had taken my morning OR evening medication because I can't trust if what I remember was from that day or another day....walking out of the house and leaving the back door open....driving to my son's baseball practice at a field he practiced at last year, being unable to make a phone call because I can't remember what buttons to push on my phone.

I think my brain so enjoys the hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm that unless I am specifically chanting something I need to do:

Put laundry in to dry, put laundry in to dry, put laundry in to dry...... defaults to the hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm in self defense of having to face whatever the hell is going on in there.

It's a bit like the "fingers in ears la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la I can't hear you" thing.


...and to top it all off...I got told on Wed of this week, that my insurance claim is closed and work will be expecting me to return on Monday, full-time.


Sunday, 12 June 2016

Sorry It Has WHAT?

As a former English teacher, and native Anglophone, I am perpetually annoyed at the improper use of the language.

Let's take much vs. many.

I have MUCH time and I have MANY minutes.
NOT I have many time and much minutes.

It's just regardless people.

Supposibly ---It's so wrong I am not even sure how it exists.


If you don't have no time---that means you 

When someone speaks like this I cringe, but I don't actually SAY anything because it's not really hurting anyone.

But there was one exception......  

A couple of summers ago, my local Library was hosting a family reading session that explored the theme of "under the ocean".  

I live in a very multicultural community, and the staff reflected in both the customers and staff of the Library.  I don't go often, but on a trek home from the mall, Youngest and I swung through to take advantage of the air conditioning.  The story time room you see was in the basement.  The nice, cold, basement.

The lady presenting the event introduced herself a Svetlana, her Eastern European accent evident in her English.

"He-lo every-won!  Pleese, we will stat wit a game to ghess the sea creature. I vill gif you clus and you ghess."

I figured it was a good time for me to scroll through my email on my phone while he sat, heard a story and got cooled off before we hit the road.  

Svetlana began her clues, the kids started shouting guesses and I started to tune them out and zone in on my screen.  Much clapping ensued when each sea creature described was guessed, and I stepped to the back of the room, grabbed a chair and sat.

By the forth e-mail, I was aware of the noise, or more accurately, the absence of it. The room had gone still. I could hear Svetlana talking animatedly at the front of the room, and tried to tune into what she was saying.

You know! I know you do!
It is soft, and very long and wave around in the water.
It does not have fins but some people do eat them!

I was confused.  How hard could this be?  

And then I heard it....

It has 8 long TESTICLES and waves them around in like this!  She wiggled her arms like seaweed over her head.

These TESTICLES can be as long as a football field! 

More waving.

I scanned the room.  

Looks of horror and confusion.  

"Come on keeds, you know this."  Still more waving.

"Their TESTICLES can grab you and...."

Parents started to raise their hands, and I suspected a few cell phones sat at 9-1- at this point.

I shot from my seat.  


Now I was waving MY arms.

Her eyes found me at the back of the room, arms waving.

"I'm sorry, were you guessing?"

I whipped my arms behind my back. 

 I think you mean TEN-TA-CLES!

"What was I saying?"

"Not TENTACLES, that's for sure,"I  heard a mother mumble a few rows ahead of me.

Svetlana laughed it off, blaming the English language for its "quirky intricacies" and story time continued. Most of the kids remained oblivious.

As I exited, Svetlana stopped me.

"Tank you for correcting my English.  It is not my first language.  I never knew this word in English before and so now I do."

(Aaaaaannnnd now so does a lot of small children who are probably having very interesting conversations with their parents.)

When I asked Youngest what he thought of our Library time, he replied with:
How do you make an octopus laugh?
I dunno honey, how?
You give him TEN TICKLES!
Oh the quirky intricacies of the English language.....

Friday, 10 June 2016

Rage Pretzels

Brené Brown talks about being vulnerable, naming your shame, sharing your stories with people who have earned the right to hear them...... which takes a lot of courage.

Sista is that person for me.  We can be brave and courageous with each other!

We name our shame, pick at the vulnerable parts and lay them out like a picnic on a blanket and invite each other to sit and share.  

We name the shames, explore the tender spots  and  find places where love fits instead.  Then, we toss the garbage and end with a hug, smile and we might even laugh until we pee a little. (Damn you age and babies...)

I feel the need to say, if it was a real picnic, Sista would have the super healthy one with lots of greens and legumes, no meat and delish sugar free, wheat free snacks! She works hard to provide a good dietary foundation for her family.

Mine would be brownies and licorice.

Last night Sista texted me from evening swimming lessons with her kids:

It read:

Today C broke me this morning with another epic tantrum.  I'm still broken  

I just want to climb into bed and not get out. But I am at swimming lessons and then I will battle showers.

Bought kids huge pretzels at Farmers Market and called it "dinner".  I'm 100% serious.  But as I type this, I see the humor in it.  I did it out of RAGE. 


Unbelievably, they never asked for more food.

Rage Pretzels.....
I love it!!

Tuesday, 7 June 2016

Please Be Patient While we Tweak the Medication - A Moment Inside My Head.....

I spend a lot of time writing about all the stuff that goes on inside my body, mind, heart and soul as I dig through messy me to try to find something that I can hold on to, wave in the air,  and call "joy" or "happiness" or much more desirable, "peace".  

Each day is another chance to practice digging deep to find it.

The best place to look is often in the "small world" of my deck, or at my tiny trailer in summers, or even within the yellow orange walls of our backyard tent. I can be still, and I can find calm and peace in these small places.

And yet, some days the smallest physical place I go is the one that most routinely dumps me soundly on my ass.  

With a late spring, no trailer or tent or gazebo in sight, I have been seeking the smallest of physical spaces to call my own---my mind.

The problem is....that is not the safest place right now as my doctor and I tweak medications to assist with the roving landslides that have been occurring within.

In my head--I have made up conversations about how things should be where no one interrupts me and I can stop, rewind and edit as I go.  I sound perfect and no one can argue.  They sit and listen and look thoroughly humbled.

When I am not doing that, I list at the next five things, at least, that I need to do, repeating them over and over so I will not forget them--which makes the list feel very long.  Instead of five, it feels like 5+5+5+5 etc.  

It is just me trying  to find a way to control things in the larger world my body occupies while I go about being mom and Spouse and house keeper and cook and dog keeper.  

On the worst days, when my mental list is long (most times I also carry around Youngest's list and Spouse's list to remind them of all the things they need to do as well), all it takes to drop me flat is hearing....

"Do we have garbage bags?"  


It's like I've been interrupted at the most important moment of a of a VERY important conversation---with myself---and/or real people who have annoyed me with their fuckshittery......and I have to catch my breath to rewind the real world to actually hear the words that were said to me.

Spouse is sitting watching TV and has hollered.  What did he say?

I am upstairs trying to put more towels on the teetering pile in the too tiny cupboard while the pasta sauce simmers in the kitchen and dogs stand outside barking to be let in and I am berating people in my brain.

Youngest should be doing homework, and where is Middle--I could use some help and they know it so are hiding out somewhere quietly.  If I don't go find them they won't appear until dinner.  I need to redo this closet.

"Hey!  Do we have gar-bage bags?"


And the safe, small space in my mind cracks open....

Yes perhaps I would have known the answer to that some other day, but NOT TODAY! I am UP STAIRS--not near the garbage bag place--and really---WHY do you want to know?  Is it relevant to know this--- right this minute?

The towels teeter and fall---my list of to do---tumbling with them as I struggle to hang on to them---one, two, three, four, .....damn I forgot one....

And WHY do talk radio sports programs have a TV show so not only do I have to HEAR their annoying monotone loudness I get to SEE them sitting there wearing sweatshirts and sunglasses inside... 

Wavering on my left foot as I knee-balance the remaining towels, one tucked under my chin, my right foot kicking at the escaping bed sheets. I look down the stairwell at the top of Spouse's head as he ferries chips from bag to mouth.  

"Did you look to see if we have any?" I ask through gaping mouth, trying not to drop the chin-tucked towel.

"No--just wondered. I might go out later.  Do we need any?"


And then my smallest of safest worlds---the one I have been so carefully managing, is blown wide open as it abandons any rational thought patterns and chore list chants to consider the possibilities of WHY someone would ask such a question at this time---twice---when clearly I am doing mental gymnastics here to remember the one, two three...DAMN!!!   


Not only do I have to add "redo laundry cupboard" to my list of one, two,.......DAMN YOU TOWELS!!!   Ok so WHATEVER.  

Redoing the towel/bed sheet closet has just become my new number one goal...YES RIGHT NOW BEFORE I FORGET.

"So...should I?"

"Geeze, I am just trying to help...."

YUP. Some days are just, 

Monday, 6 June 2016

Rage Against the"Find Your Purpose" Machine

Everywhere you look--on posters and bumper stickers, blogs and bookshelves...
practically shouting at us, is the call to arms  to "FIND YOUR PURPOSE". 

(Which without your glasses on could be mistaken for find your PORPOISE which got my 11 year old excited).

Frankly, I think he had it right.  

Finding a porpoise is a hell of a lot easier (and more exciting) than finding your purpose.  If I open a book or check on the "Interweb", I can actually be told where I can locate a porpoise and go see it.


(Vancouver acquarium has two named Jack and Daisy.  Here is their schedule. Go nuts.)

Every book on finding your PURPOSE? One disappointment after another.

Fair enough, most of them tell you straight out that your answer will not be found among their pages, which then makes me think:

"Ok so your purpose is to publish books and drive people crazy.  Good job assh*le.  You accomplished your purpose."

But once in awhile, one title actually does promise that the illusive answer to "what is your purpose" is among these pages, if only you can sit still and listen and decode them for yourself.   That's like hoping a porpoise comes into your house if you just sit still and listen for it.....

This was a horrible tease for me in 2012 when, being released from a three week stint in an adult mental health ward,  they set me lose, wide eyed, into the towering self-help landscape of colorful titles and promises of peace. 

Armed with my diagnosis of major depressive disorder with anxiety, still buzzing and loopy on my meds I searched for the right book to help me figure out what to do next.  

Of course someone with anxiety feels the need to pick the RIGHT book, and the social anxiety of being out in a bookstore when you really should be back at work like a "normal person"---not off on long term diability.....

I spent hours hiding in corners, skimming introductions.....

Each opening chapter sounded like me....
Each one dangled my peace of mind in front of me like yarn for a cat....

Yes, yes, this all sounds familiar, can you at least tell me what CHAPTER my purpose is in???  Is it math?  Is there a formula?  I'm not good at math but at least let me see that there is a formula!!!!!

Each time I would flip the book over and flip to the final pages....

 ....OH come ON why is "purpose" not listed in the index!!!!  

But it was never there.

Or anywhere else in the least, not in a way that held any concrete solution for me.

Each time I would find myself flipping pages, thinking, clearly, I missed it.

Wait, I am at the end of the book....and all I got was "sit quietly and it will come to you?"  That's it???  

Like that damn "Monster at the End of this Book"  Sesame Street Kid's book (see post I did on that here).  Grover is terrified of the monster at the end of the book and it turns out to be him, and he is mortified at his gullibility. Everyone has a chuckle at poor Grover's expense, and he goes away feeling like a loser for being so stupid.


If we are on this earth, at this time, in this place and body to find our purpose---I am almost 50---did I find it and not know?  Did I find it and it is over?  Or worse, is this it???  

No pressure people.....
Or is it still out there?????

What if I never find it?  

Just give me ONE DAMN clue on where to look!!!

Hmmm I did want to become a marine biologist in my last year of high school, until I realized it meant a lot of classes and then opted out to take a LOT of spares and hang out with friends.  

Maybe I WAS supposed to find my porpoise......

Ok so I KNOW it is incredibly arrogant to be criticizing all the Oprah Winfreys, and Echart Tolles of the world who do truly inspire and create and have found a calling that fills them with so much joy and love that they want to share that with the world. I know that.  Huzzah for them.

But for the less blessed, it only fuels the fire that we are not TRYING HARD ENOUGH.

Either that or we are too stupid to see that we had it and let it go, or we are living it and aren't using it or....are just oblivious to it.

The reality for me is, that I don't think I have one GRAND purpose in life.

I think we have different purposes at different times in our lives.  And I also think I am doing pretty damn good with finding those.

When my husband left me 7 months into our marriage, me 5 months pregnant, my PURPOSE was to not fall totally apart, stay healthy for my baby, get a separation agreement that got our unborn child's university paid for and move from part-time to full time at my teaching job.   And THAT is exactly what I did. THAT was my purpose --at that time.

When I had my very first dark spiral crash into depression, my purpose was to ensure my son was looked after (my sister lived with me at the time), go to all my appointments and do a big "redirect" on the "career path" by going back to school to get my masters---far away from my toxic job.  

It meant being a single mom with huge student loans, losing my house and moving across the country to live with my mom for a bit.  But once I found that purpose, for THAT time, the rest just felt right (not every day, but at my CORE).  
Glennon Doyle Melton
And in 2012 when my dark spiral crash came around again?  I self-helped myself and went back to what I know,  got some excellent help, and eventually went back to work to face my demons --- this time around with a tool box, loaded to the brim to help me manage.  

But the best thing I have done is is stop reading "self-help" books and start reading self-acceptance books!

Books like Hyperbole and a Half, by Allie Brosh, Furiously Happy, by Jenny Lawson,  and Carry on Warrior, by Glennon Doyle Melton--these  amazing women all have a story to tell, and by telling it, make it ok for the rest of us to accept our own story as valuable, truthful, flawed, amazing and real.  

Maybe that is their purpose. To put themselves out there so that people like me don't feel like Grover---ashamed and embarrassed by their struggles and challenges as they face their fears and keep on keeping on.  

Allie Brosh
We all have a story to tell.  The troubles come when the stories we tell ourselves are clouded by our illness and we forget how "brutiful" life is and how most of the people out there are doing the best that they can too.

We are all in this together. 

I don't need to FIND anything.  

My purpose is to get up, face the day and be the best me that I can be---which some days means I will feel like Grover.  That is just my reality.  

Each day is a new opportunity to practice being "flawfully" human.  

When it comes to me though, practice will never make perfect.

(You don't hear about the "Perfection of Medicine" or "Perfecting Law"....if doctors and lawyers only have to practice---people who hold other people's future in their hands---then why do I have to be the perfect me? 

I don't.

I can just be me---a human.....being.  

Deliciously, awkwardly...practicing human...... being.

Or Grover.  

I can always be Grover.  

Saturday, 4 June 2016

Damn You Insightful Talk Doc!

This week I had an appointment with Talk Doc, my therapist/psychologist.

All this research about personality types and radical acceptance had me feeling purrrr---it----tteeeee goood and even as I drove to her office I was thinking: 

 What will we talk about?  

The last time I had seen her was early March, feeling like a wet dog, soaked in self-doubt, dripping fear and self-loathing about my inability to manage my new job role after the IT manager quit and I needed to pick up his tasks. She assured me I was NOT crazy and that the expectations work had set were indeed, unrealistic.  

It had been two months since then, so I caught her up. 

The first two weeks I cocooned and watched a lot of TV.  Then.....

...I bought a new van,  painted  and redecorated almost all the rooms in our house, (built a LOT of IKEA furniture), refinished our deck, donated two dozen bags of clothes and misc 'crap' to local charities----emptied, fixed, painted and refilled our shed----painted all the outdoor furniture, bought a new van, started and abandoned three online courses, researched several vacation possibilities, GONE on two short vacations and one baseball tournament weekend away, searched for new jobs and volunteering opportunities, dyed my hair blond, seen my naturopath a few times, had acupuncture, had massage therapy, gave up yoga and morning meditation, got up early every day and researched for and wrote a dozen blog posts and spent quite a bit of money.

I was busy!
I was tackling self-discovery!
I was productive!
I was valuable!
I was talking REALLY REALLY FAST.....!!!!!!

Waaaaaiiiit a minute.  

Was I reading? 
No...I can't focus that long. I keep jumping up to do stuff.

Was I eating well?
Sure!  Lots of green smoothies---no time to cook!

Doing Reiki?
Yup! Only a bit.....I get distracted.

Quickly--in the shower---sometimes.

On the Internet?
Yes---all day on and off throughout the day...and night....looking for travel deals, checking emails, looking at the pound just to see what animals are there, stalking Facebook....but mostly looking at places to travel!

Where do you want to go?
Doesn't matter really--just away--to see cool things and do fun things and live life!

Do you have to go away to do that?

Can you do cool fun things here?
...i guess...

So why do you want to go away?'s away...(shrug).  There is no laundry "away" and no cooking or dogs or painting or pressure to do and be things.

Ok.  So at home you are too busy.

And you like to go away to be busy doing fun things.
So when do you slow down?

I don't...really.
Why not?


...slowing down is scary.... 

What is scary about it?
What if I crash?  What if I lose control of it all?  

What I hear you saying is that you are scared if you slow down you will lose control.....control of what?  I will crash and be a mess....I can't be a mess....I can't do that again....I can't...

Why not?

Here's what I think K....

Your job was soooo busy before you left.  Crazy busy!   And you were running at super speed to answer emails and phone calls and attend meetings and juggle two roles.  I think, K, you still are on the treadmill.  I don't think you have stopped.  You are still on super fast forward, the adrenalin rush feels so much better than having to feel all the feelings that come with you choosing to step away from work before it broke you this time.  

You are busy and doing things and it feels good to be in control, so you keep doing...instead of just being.



I have been so busy burying myself in busy-ness and intellect and research and logic and physical work ....

When I first left work I felt lost and defeated; confused and sooooooooo disinterested in everything.  


There was no tomorrow to be better. There was just the fuckshittery of today...

A never ending avalanche of fuckshittery......and I let myself get buried in it.

And then I didn't.  

Not one to live in the half-way----I suddenly found myself looking around my house and feeling totally dissatisfied with what it looked like---agitated, unable to sit still---like a veil had been lifted and I suddenly saw all the CRAP of my house, followed up with a body slam of guilt for living that way for so long.

Who wants to feel that?  

So I started to dig out from the fuckshittery and clear some space. 

It felt good.  Fixing the outside world felt great actually.

I could see the results.
I could feel the results in my tired and sore body and brain.  
Tired body and brain meant no thinking.
No thinking meant just more doing.

Holy circle of alternative fuckshittery!

Dr. B, my psychiatrist has prescribed me some "helper" medication (I am painfully reminded of "helper dog" acquired to help "simple dog" of Allie Brosh's Hyperbole and a Half fame....a book that includes not only the best way to describe depression, but the most hilariously painful self-exploration EVER her for sharing herself with the world....).

It is supposed to help with my fast talking wave of mania that Talk Doc and I have just started to poke at---which is sure to draw out some unexpected the book.

Go read it...right now.  

I'll wait.....