Heart rate: Up

A week of opposites.

Earlier this week I became aware, after a long period of disconnect, of how I arrived back into my body and my life. How all of a sudden, I realized just how far away I’d been in the days/weeks before. Instantly, I apologized to my husband (who always tells me I shouldn’t apologize for this kinda stuff, but here we are).

This is the first time this happened. An accute, painful awareness of how disconnected I can be, contrasted to how present in this life I can and wish to be. I don’t want to disconnect. I don’t want to reside in the dark, no matter how familiar it is by now, or even how much of a friend I consider it to be. (Albeit a very tiring, sometimes even dangerous friend.)

Updated the psychiatrist about this. No meds yet. We continue to track my mood to see how high the ups go, how low the downs go, and their frequency. To make sense of this.

Had an anxiety attack this morning. Woke up with that ‘nothing is good enough’ feeling. Out of the blue, as far as I can tell, though admittedly, my life is anything but stable at the moment and a close friend of mine has similar struggles. We voiced some of that to each other last night. That even though we’re aware you can’t plan for everything, both of us would like to catch a break and figured that at 35+ our lives wouldn’t be so up in the air the way they currently are. (Us and a bunch of other people, thank you, capitalism and covid. I blame the former more.)

I became aware of how fast my heart was beating this morning. That weird, cognitive awareness, while I had trouble breathing. Asked my husband’s watch (one of those tracker things) and turns out I was hitting 140. Time to park my ass, suck on an ice cube, and breathe. We got it under control and back down to 85 eventually.

Now curled up in a blanket, writing this, and poking stories.

The List:

  • Chiropractor: new appointment needed, because I randomly started bleeding last Sunday and you can’t go around pushing and pulling at a body that’s been through surgery recently, when it’s bleeding
  • Psych: continued follow-up. Hopeful about my ups being my normal.. I’d like to stabilize. Very much.
  • Partner: got meds for their stuff, so that’s good. Also being monitored and working on their projects happily.
  • On the list to potentially become a paramedic. Course wouldn’t start until Fall 2021, which gives me time to consider it and get the mental aspect lined up.
  • Nature management course starts in January

Love,
Mal

Psych Visit: done

Alright, so this guy seems a better fit. He doesn’t want to just throw meds at me. Instead he’s going to help monitor the ups and downs, before getting to a diagnosis. Which means I’ll be calling him when I feel particular moods coming on and we’ll take it from there.

It’d be nice to be rid of these terrifying lows (whether it’s bipolar or recidivistic depression), because I can’t seem to gather my energy and focus sufficiently for any length of time to get shit done.

As it turns out, this is similar to my mother, who flew under the radar her whole life and only now, after I opened up about my search/suspicion, says that she believes she has something of the sort. That she used to stay home from work when she just couldn’t anymore. As a kid, I noticed obviously when she wouldn’t get out of bed and I handled my own food/lunch and got myself to school. (Parents are divorced.) After school, I always went to my dad’s, because he works from home, so I never knew she literally never made it out of bed. She’d pick me back up at the normal time for her work to end, which meant it never became visible.

And it likely got worse after the divorce. Or my dad didn’t have his feelers out while they were living in the same house for nearly a decade. He only started working from home near the end of that. Mom lost her mother shortly before they met, which means that either way she was out of sorts. Grief is a mental struggle, so it’s easy to mistake that for normal when you meet someone in that particular state. Your baseline is different.

I was a cheerful kid, which my dad sometimes confronts me with in a reproachful way. Like how dare I not be that cheerful anymore? But if you don’t have that context of how someone used to be, people simply register as they are and it can take a long time to become visible, if ever.

I want to get mine clear, whatever it turns out to be, because the downs I’ve been suffering throughout 2020 have become increasingly difficult and dangerous. I want my energy and focus to remain somewhat more stable, so I can actually consistently get things done and work on my projects. Things I want to get out there.

So, recap:

  • Psych appointment: done
  • Chiropractor this week
  • Job coach next week

Onwards, because where else can I go. Be good to yourself.

Love to you and yours,
Mal

New Day, New… Oh

What do you do when you can tell there are things you ‘should’ be doing, but don’t have the energy for? How do you break a vicious cycle of bad nights, daily head aches, an uptick in ups and downs, and 2020 news headlines that don’t cut anyone a break? (Nice, anyone? The city, I mean.)

Don’t let it get to you. Just think positive.

Hmm, yes, if it were that simple, we’d all be doing in. Instead we like to pretend most of us aren’t navigating life on the edge of a cliff.

The only thing I stubbornly persist in is writing. Though that activity tends to get covered under the blanket of ‘why aren’t you making money off it’. Valid question, as such. Not helpful per se, but valid.

Chaos reigns. So in an all too human attempt at wrestling back what I perceive as control, the following things are lined up in the coming two weeks:

  • chiropractor to give the body some love after over a decade of struggling
  • brain doctor (second opinion) next week
  • job coach the week after

The only problem is that all I want to do is sleep, so my brain shuts up. Or my heart. Either/or. Both, likely.

Love,
Mal

Reboot 2020 (mood)

That title is a right request. Rebooting this in 2020, as I’m in very similar circumstances. Cute with the patterns there. Lost even more filter, but gained a lotta experience.

Long story short, the past four years put me in a job (any job, say translator at the harbour), because people need to make money. Capitalism. It works. … For a while. It ain’t tenable and we all know it, so I am currently unemployed again, thanks to COVID and capitalist company measures (nothing like a pandemic to cut costs) and back to writing/the drawing board.

A friend and I are working on a book. Deadline is this year. Bold of us, I know. I’m writing a lot of fanfic, because it comes easily to me, it’s good practice and it provides me with kindred spirits to talk to. Very fond of them. It’s also gotten me back into drawing. They also do challenges (or bangs) and charity fics, which is fun.

The current mental health status: Not. Okay. But supported by partner and therapist. Long story short is that I’m trying to find the help to confirm or deny a strong suspicion of bipolar (likely type II with very heavy, suidical downs).

2020 so far: pandemic, abortion, job lost, hysterectomy. (We’ll likely get back to these in future posts.) So I’ve had to come to terms with a lot of shit in a really short span of time and truth of the matter is that I haven’t. Not with all of it anyway. The fulltime, ratrace, make-money-even-if-it-kills-you job is taking a backseat. Financially that stresses me out completely, but it’s been building for a while. The world being on fire doesn’t help one bit, as I don’t need to explain to many of you. Lots of people getting fired, lots of companies closing offices and reopening them elsewhere cheap, leaving a lot of people stranded and a touch hopeless.

The writing is my outlet, my anchor and at the same time, never good enough to turn into an actual job (is what my Perfectionist Chibi tells me). Some people out there seem to effortlessly switch from a job to being influencers or making money off of their daily cooking, their craft, or whatever. It’s admirable.

You can’t make money off fanfic. I don’t, fyi. My dad’s a comic artist. I know how shitty it is when people leech off your intellectual property. I’m working on a WIP that’s been over a decade in the making, which combines LGBT, apocalyptic sci-fi, fantasy and stardust. And on another with that friend. And on a few others. Plenty of projects on the hobs.

Also drawing my characters, because it makes them feel more real. I get to mess with their quirks, their triggers, what makes them ‘them’. If we only talk about that, my life is grand.

The reality is that there is a reality out there, which is impacting many of us heavily. There’s an inner reality that often needs breathing space. So yeah, it’s a tough balance to find or hold or keep, whichever part you’re at. I’m going from reasonably functional highs to terrifying lows, y’all.

Incoming chiropractor appointment post-surgery + psych appointment for the brain. See if we can get a decent diagnosis and take it from there.

Love,
Mal

Adjust My Crown

I think I got scared again, though I cannot say for sure why. It could be that the world around me is going crazy and my lack of faith in humanity is tainting everything else. So many things are going wrong, feel wrong, and I try my best not to let them get to me, but before I can recover from one, something else happens that really makes me question the future.
It could be that my job feels like it’s going nowhere and making me feel like my life is on pause. It could be that the lack of clear intentions in terms of us is making me feel like that too is putting my life on pause. I don’t want to leap before I can walk, but part of the security I need is knowing what the intentions are and feeling/seeing/noticing they’re being worked towards.
Right now, the world feels unsafe and I’m scared that I’m losing.
On the one hand, I don’t want you to be an ocean away. On the other hand, I know it’s temporary and it gives breathing space to feel our way around, to connect and explore. At the same time, it terrifies me, because there’s so much not there, which can be considered a must or normal in any relationship, and I’m afraid it won’t be enough, and that thought can throw everything off course. In seconds. I panic, I stop breathing, and I basically self-sabotage, thinking the worst possible outcomes are the only option.
There is a tremendous need to Be There, while all I can do is Be Here. Even if I do manage to Get There, I’ll probably manage to find a next There within seconds. Which doesn’t mean that where I would like to be isn’t something to strive for, but it shouldn’t make me feel this bad. I don’t want to feel this bad. I don’t want to listen to the voices of the past, of past experiences, telling me that it’s risky and futile, and probably won’t end well. Whatever I do, though, that Past Experience just finds the tiniest signals, the tiniest moments to latch onto and make me believe the worst is happening, history repeating itself, while it is in fact me who’s doing the repeating.
So I rationalize. Then comes the next step. But what if I’m not wrong? What if there really is something off, and I just don’t want to see it, because it’ll mean that history is repeating itself, and things are going belly-up. And I get so scared and tired and fed up, with myself and my lack of trust. Because even if it were to go wrong, I’ll survive. I won’t be happy about it, and hell, there we go again for another round of the same shit, but I’ll survive.
I want to Be There, but all I can do is Be Here. Be honest and real, and not run away from this, because it’ll just keep coming back – possible for the rest of my days, likely for the rest of my days, because this is who I am, this is what I bring to the damn table, so excuse me while I adjust my crown and own this. I Am Here, and you’re welcome to join, if you bring a similar honesty and realness with you. Anything bordering judgment, lies, deceit, manipulation, or anything of the sort, you can pack your bags and leave (that goes for you too, Inner Critic/Monkey-Mind). I have come too far.
I. Am. Here.

Mal

Monsters Under The Bed

I used to fear the monster under the bed,
I used to fear the dark,
I used to take precautions
Against those creatures of the night

I used to draw a circle
To keep a vampire out,
I used a nighttime ritual
To survive the dark hours of the day

Not anymore

Because why fear the monster under the bed
When there is one inside?
Why fear the dark
When drowning on the inside?

Why draw circles to fend off the imaginary
When the tangible in your mind
Takes you on an ever-darkening spin?
Why use rituals when nothing seems to play by the rules?

There is nothing to fear anymore
Aside the strength of my own mind
And what strength it possesses,
For better or for worse

I will catch you on the other side.

One Thing At A Time

Imagine people with a heightened sense of criticism and perfection. A never-ending string of inner monologue, which tells you you are never enough, you will never be or do well enough, and you are always dropping the ball, no matter how hard you try.

It is sneaky, because after some introspection those people often realize the issue, but the tendency is so deeply ingrained in their nature, the best they can do (which in itself is frustrating enough) is maintain permanent vigilance, and hope they have the presence of mind to eventually pick up on what is happening. After that, they can try to curb it, slowly, patiently, not always equally elegantly.

So let this serve as a reminder, these words from Aldous Huxley. One thing at a time to the best of your abilities in that moment. Tomorrow is another day.

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Rest

Rest is a commodity for some. So rest assured, I’m well aware of my privileged position to clear my eve and weekends, if I feel the need to do so. More often these days than before, and simply because I can, I do. There is charm and luxury in that moment, in that decision where you go “Nope, I’m not doing that.” and draw the line.

Just because I can doesn’t mean I always should though. The hermit runs strong in my family, at least on my father’s side. The needy runs strong on my mother’s side. Basically that makes me a cat.

“Attenshon!” *runs off*
“Pet me!” *claws*
“Luuuurv me?” *twirl around legs and make you fall*

Also, I’m an anxious cat.

“Do you love me?” *ask for pets, then runs off, then peeks out of her hiding spot, mewling loudly for attention*

Trust me, it’s a tiring for me as it sounds for the other guy.

What I’m trying to say is that it’s all about respecting your own limits and not isolating yourself (unless that’s really what you want to do, then by all means.. but never forget, we develop through and by our contact with others). Because what happens when you’re always on your own, you have to fill your time.

I do. Netflix is terrible. Really.

There’s also reading, writing (there has been a lot of writing on a project with a friend, hence the delay here – because when you’re on a roll, you’re on a roll – and then you lose momentum, and we end up here), drawing, cooking, and worrying. Because who am I kidding, hm? Yes, this is an update, to keep it very real. No shame, no apologies, and counting my blessings at the same time.

Delicate balance, right there.

I’ve established that a) I’m fairly healthy by now (physically, I mean) and b) I really do need what I’ve lovingly started calling ‘my happy pills’. Skipped a dose yesterday, and even though I’m only on half a pill a day, there was an immediate effect. Which makes me wonder if it’s real or psychological, y’know, but then most of the mental issues are psychological so there you go.

It’s making me gain weight, but upside: the yoga is working for me, even though the commitment is sometimes difficult. Again, keeping it very real. We do what we can when we can. Lest anyone forgets, this struggle is still happening.

So maybe that is mainly what I just wanted to put out there. So I am good, while I’m not entirely good. It’s an interesting mental place to be in.

I hope all of you are allowing yourselves to be where you’re at today.
Love,
Mal

Dreaming, Still, After All This Time

Rejection, despite best efforts,
Never comes easily.
There is no wallowing,
Just a sting.

A deep sting, that touches
Desperation, self-doubt, fear,
So many layers,
And then, of course, the questions.

If it will ever turn out alright,
If there is a place for you,
In this world, where we
Work, walk, wander, hope, love, live, dream.

Dreaming, still, after all this time?

Yes, to echo Snape, Always.

Promises of something else,
Deeper, heartfelt, together,
True in its truest sense,
A resounding YES!

To all you were, are and will be.

Only one path to follow,
And that’s your own, your own, your own,
We don’t share stories enough,
To know how hard this is.

Assume it is clear, it is easy,
Yet the struggle always
Behind closed doors,
And smiles for the world.

Dreaming still?

After all this time?

Always and forever.

My Kind Of Adulting

My own kind of adulting.

By definition, we are convinced that ‘how we handle things in life’ is unique, that each of us has his or her own special way of handling what life throws at us, and in many ways it is likely true – when it comes to the execution of how we do something. Everyone has a different way of making their bed, of doing their evening ritual, of cooking, and so on. However, at the core of our motivations, I suspect we often use the same kinds of reasoning. More often than we expect. After all, we’re all individuals (note the sarcasm).

Over the past years, I spent a lot of energy on finding the underlying issues of how I got myself into a burn-out/depression, and how the hell to avoid it happening again in the future. In my case, it had everything to do with drawing the line (or complete lack thereof). We are raised in a certain way and we grow up, exposed to ideas and beliefs that don’t necessarily coincide with what we, as individuals, really need. Adding to that my empath and people-pleaser tendencies and you’ve got a recipe for burn-out right there. For years, I tried to function at a pace that wasn’t mine, bending into shapes and roles that didn’t fit me, and all the while wondering I felt so out of place (I still do, mind, just less so).

There is a lot of ‘wanting’ going on, based on media and advertising. “I want that brand of car, because it expresses I’m like such and such.” – “I want to go skiing, because it’s what people who enjoy life do!” – “I want three hobbies and a social life, because it makes for a normal human being.” – “I need more friends, because it expresses how likeable and successful I am.”

Everyone’s so busy adhering to the external social rule set and no one seems to wonder whether or not what they’re doing is also what they need. All the ‘wanting’ and none of the ‘thinking’ to discover the ‘needing’. I’m channeling Brad Goodman from the Simpsons here. (When you stop being a human being, you become a human doing! And what comes next, people? A human going!)

Back to the point. On the road to uncover our true needs, we encounter our pitfalls. That which we do to avoid confrontation, disappointment (in ourselves and from others), anger. That which we do to please others and believing it will also make us happy. (To an extent, it is possible. There is a lot of merit to altruism.) We do so to hopefully receive praise, confirmation, support and admiration. To varying degrees: each of us experiences all of that in a different way, but the motivators are probably more similar than we realize. A lot of these are very human motivators. Nobody likes rejection, so we’ll always strive to do something that keeps the balance between what we want and what (we think) others want. It’s called compromise and it’s necessary.

Just not to the point of self-denial, loss and further down the line burn-out and/or depression. And herein lies the ‘secret’ (it’s no secret, damnit, it’s a journey, and a long, slow one at that).

I’ve been ill for the past three weeks, due to a bacterial infection being wrongly diagnosed as viral (by another doctor than my GP, because holidays), and consequently I’m only now slowly getting out of a month of bad sleep, persisting fatigue, coughing fits galore, and too much phlegm. Since I didn’t run a temperature for more than two days, I continued working – feeling not entirely miserable but not feeling okay at all either. Finally getting there now, barring some puffy eyes and dry skin now that I’m taking the antibiotics and still tired. My godchild of 17 was supposed to come over tomorrow eve for a sleepover.

Her mother texted me a few days back, saying that the kid had fallen ill. Today, I finally had the balls to pick up the phone and discuss how ill she was, and say that I did not feel comfortable having her over. Self-care! I felt guilty and scared that they’d get angry at me for doing this, even though I’ve known these people for years and they are some of the most flexible, understanding people I know.  When I explained the feelings I had prior to contacting godchild’s mom, he asked: “So you’re feeling guilty, because you want to take care of yourself and you’re scared they’ll get mad?”

Yes, sir, I do. I do exactly that, despite knowing full well both the pitfall and the line I need to draw, it is still an effort to make myself do the Self-Care. It is not an easy task to draw lines, because it means having to say “no” and on average, people aren’t fond of NO (unless you’re rich and can throw money at a problem to make it go ewee). NO implies you have your own space and protect it.

In an unguarded moment (read: leaning head on hand and staring at nothing), a sense of tremendous relief came over me, realizing that I had in fact done what I needed, rather than what I think others wanted. It is a proud moment of adulting, which doesn’t just consist of paying bills, cooking healthily and running your laundry in time. It has everything to do with Self-Care, and I’m glad that my kind of adulting is slowly but steadily taking shape, and I can feel myself reaping the benefits. The relief, the personal space, the shaping of my own life.

So, I implore you to try as well. Try and find the answers. Try and find your space.

Loads of Love,
Mal