Tuesday, December 8, 2015

Despair. Hope. Yarn.

In the past four years, my life has fallen apart. I lost my joy. I lost my hope. I alienated my loved ones. I can easily say that it's the fault of depression. But I don't know if that's true. Frankly, I don't know what is true for me anymore. Still trying to figure out my place in this world, but on some days, like today, it's hard to grasp what is real, and what is depression talking. It's a horrible feeling. You don't have control. What will set me off today?
After being in therapy for most of my adult life, I feel less sure than ever. I take medications. I was hospitalized two months ago, and the cocoon of that made my reality worse. You could say I hit bottom, I guess. I lost the ability to detach my feeling from action - and lost the ability to care. Am I doing the right things to alleviate my depression? No. It is a struggle every day, right now. I'm still "in crisis", I guess. Once the structure of the hospital recedes, your brain starts right up again. According to the hospital, I'm Bipolar II with a Borderline Personality Disorder. What does that mean, anyway? It means that I'm a mess. At least, I am today. My therapist keeps saying that feelings aren't facts. I know that is true, but your mind tricks you. The feeling overwhelms until you break. I can't break.
I have some touchstones, but sometimes it doesn't feel like enough. Google "despair" and there are many entries about it being a complete lack of hope, and incidentally, a sin in the Church. So I have that to look forward to when I force my lapsed ass back to the Church.
Sometimes it's hard to even let yourself have positive thoughts...but this is not you, I tell myself. This has been simmering in me since I was a kid, and presents itself in my life in the most unwelcome of ways. Don't let the little things that gave you joy disappear from your life. If you need help, say it. Don't waste our gift here - even on days where you completely lose touch from the gift. Don't give up. I'm thirty six years old and feel like I have to start over. I will. I have to. I have a precious boy. I have family. I have friends. I have a sweater to knit.

If you're having a hard time, please talk to someone. Anyone. And, read this.

Sunday, November 9, 2014

It's Sunday

I haven't been around for a while. I don't know why. Here I am again. No knitting accomplished - but for one feat: my sister and I made the journey to Rhinebeck. It was quite overwhelming. After threatening to go for years, I decided it was time. I called Kir a few days before the event and stated, "Rhinebeck is this weekend. I got a sweet room at the Quality Inn in Hyde Park. We're leaving Friday." Kir and I had done road trips before. Our family drove from Westport across the country. It was rather uneventful, if that means jumping off the edge of the Grand Canyon to get mom's hat is uneventful. That was rather exciting. I'm not saying anything really insightful or anything. It's most likely that I'm quitting smoking and completely going mad. Hey! Maybe I should knit?

Thursday, January 30, 2014

You bought a heartache

Or so the saying goes. Hunny, my family's beloved Hunny, went to the happy hunting grounds yesterday. My family and I have been in and out of crying jags since. Hunny was a sweetheart. Border Collie mix, she was 16 years old. The last year or so has been rough for her, but the last month was the hardest. She lost weight, hearing, and most of her sight. I said my goodbye to her Sunday, as she struggled to turn, and turn, and turn to lay in her bed in my parents' dining room. Her bed was a fuzzy rectangle, covered with pictures of bones. When she came into our lives, she was a pup. Training her as a pup was a trial. Newspapers, cursing, saying it wasn't their turn to clean up after her...but still. Lovable Hunny, with her little white snout, and her white "frilly cravat" was impossible to be mad at. Even when she ran into the swamp, came back smelling like garbage, she was never not loved. Her heyday was in Virginia. My parents had 5 acres in Clifton, two pastures in the front, one in the back. Hunny could run, and try to herd us all as much as she wanted. That's how I remember sweet Hunny. Running to her heart's content. We loved her. She was a wonderful dog. I always claimed that I wasn't a dog person, but Hunny was my exception. I love you Hunny. Sweet girl is at peace.