Work In Progress

This is my February.  Snowbanks created from excavating the pavement that is your driveway now tower above your head, threatening to avalanch down on you at the slightest noise.  It was like I was in a cave, all sound and wind muffled as I walked down the steps from my Sista Perfectionista's house to my van.  Walls of white on either side.  From the window she was going to be able to look down the street and wave if it was safe to pull out of her driveway onto the street.  That's nice. I figured it might help since her house was on a hill and I often had to whiplash my head around several times before pulling out to make sure no one was coming.  I guess I really did not comprehend what a necessity it would be until I actually tried to back out. A WALL of white to my right blocked all view.  Unbelievable.  When I realized I could be sitting there in the car instead of the van....

The sky, dark blue fading to purple, then  pink and orange---in this instant --- it is hard to tell if it is the morning or night.  Perhaps in contradiction to the title, I am up early to write.  This is my playtime.  Writing is something that brings me both joy and a sense of accomplishment.  The Adult Day Treatment Program was my what kept me anchored to reality during the early months of my collapse.  Learning about anxiety, medications, depression, relaxation all made sense tome--had value--and could be immediately applied to my situation.  I took copious notes, I participated in class, I reflected, I did what I know best---see problem---tackle problem. What was difficult for me, was understanding the value of our "recreation" hour (a.k.a. crafts or games). I remember feeling a bit like I was in a movie or on some gag reel and I was the only one not in on the joke as people moved to pick up half painted wooden b...