Another 24 Hours.

I'm still here. Josh noted that when I am ill, my eyelids are smoother. This seems very strange, but I noticed it in the mirror. Are they swollen? Do I not open them normally? I don't know. 

I told Bruce that none of the seeds I'd planted over the previous twenty-four hours had seemed to do anything, but I'm still planting. Bruce said it will grow into something that can help me climb out of the way I'm feeling. I told him that most of what I did was really basic maintenance, what I have to do to be okay on a daily basis. I said I was looking for more I could do. So, I tried to do more. Intensive care.

• I asked Josh to make me Ramen instead of skipping dinner. It's not great nutrition, and I may have swallowed the noodles without chewing them, but I ate something.
• I hummed "Waltz for Eva and Che."
• I thought about the lyrics: "How can you be so short-sighted/to think no further than this week or next week/to have no impossible dream?" or something like that. It reminded me of the time I saw my thesis advisor at the college where I worked (he had come for a reading). I told him I was teaching full-time and I was pregnant, so all of my dreams had come true. He gave me a serious gaze and said, "Never."
• I sent my blog post to those three people again.
• I listened when Josh said that writing is who I am, and that to destroy my writing would deprive the world, and that this blog should be a book...even though I didn't believe it. 
• I asked Josh to rub my shoulders and talk to me.
• I grinned at my son and spoke sweetly to him, calling him by his little love names.
• I showed Josh the sticker books I ordered with Amazon Christmas money from my grandparents. Mermaids and pink and purple self-care.
• I drank Glacier Freeze Gatorade Zero.
• I cut my toenails even though I really didn't want to, and I hate the word toenails. But I also didn't want to see my uncut toenails.
• I took a shower and washed my hair with philosophy Pumpkin Icing gel. I could kind of smell it.
• I spent a few extra minutes in the shower, the water against my lower back, where I carry most of my tension.
• I opened a new deodorant instead of scraping my armpits with a nearly empty stick. I also hate the word armpit. 
• I fixed the blankets. This may not sound like much, but the blankets are heavy, one had fallen all the way to the floor, and I had to run around the bed a few times. But I can't stand messy blankets.
• I didn't make myself dry off (seriously? Too hard) after my shower; I just got in bed damp. Pajamas later.
• I started another blog post.
• I typed S into the tags space and saw so many topics I've written about on this blog.
• I looked again at the Studio Strand merch and filled a dream cart with bookstore shirts, magnets, stickers, keychains, and notebooks. Of course, I didn't check out.
• I reminded myself of the Studio Strand tote bag wedged between Josh's desk and the rainbow nonfiction bookcase. It holds my Christmas presents.
• I thought about the presents I will give Josh.
• I thought about our trip to New York City a couple of years ago. Josh described the memory, today in a long E-mail, as a magical cloak.
• I looked at the Cinderella print I love: Cinderella just transformed, still sparkling with magic against a dark blue night, on blue-and-white-striped matting in a white wooden frame above my dresser. I remembered that I found a tiny love note taped to the glass last week.
• I tried not to clench my teeth.
• I looked into my closet at all my pink tops and my three pairs of shorts with stars on them.
• I looked at my Madame Alexander Cisette doll Violette, who looks as if she just stepped out of the flagship Sephora on her way to a Broadway show. She probably has a swanky apartment. Her gray jacket is trimmed with faux fur and purple ribbon. Of course, she has a silver silk blouse and a gray brocade skirt underneath.
• I smiled (just a little) at the leaning tower of books, journals, and magazines by my bed, which Josh stacked in his attempt to vacuum my She Leaves a Little Sparkle Wherever She Goes rug. I'm messy, and a week ago, I had dreams.
• I did not feel like dumping all my pretty things in the foyer to gather dust.
• I remembered how Josh once said "The Perfect One" by Lit reminded him of me.
• I tried again not to clench my teeth. It's a real problem.
• I thought about Christmas. I'm still kind of looking forward to it, even if I'm still too physically sick to travel.
• I graded student journal entries, which didn't exactly put me in a good mood but was a good distraction.
• I took a bath--with Eucalyptus Spearmint bubbles this time.
• I messaged with Megan, who is also dealing with terrible illness and terrible timing. And she's hilarious and good at getting mad (or not, depending on my mood) on my behalf.
• I showed Josh a meme that made him say, "That's fantastic," which is one of my favorite things to hear. I ignored the fact that he was 90% asleep at the time.
• I took my night meds, NyQuil (I snore less), and Trazodone.
• I cleaned and wore my nightguard for the clenching.
• Though I could have done so much more, I turned off the light at 10:30.
• While I tried to fall asleep, I had a sad thought that wouldn't help me. I whispered, "I'm not going to think about that."
• I got up at 6 and sat with Josh. We rewatched my current favorite Key and Peele sketch. https://youtu.be/hhfHu6IHBiI?si=BIY_3Bw7bhzZZrA2
• I took ibuprofen, Sudafed, and my morning meds.
• I smiled, watching my cat, Starry, pawing Josh's leg for pets.
• I drank the iced peppermint mocha Josh brought home.
• I ate the last donut.
• I opened the shutters, positioned myself so the sun was in my face, and took a sunshine nap with Josh.
• I got a call back from my PA's admin and left an actual message for my PA.
• I watched the Key and Peele sketch again.
• I scribbled while Josh worked out.
• I showered before noon (this is a goal on my daily chart--remote worker stuff).
• I ate the turkey, gouda, and pesto sandwich Josh made me.
• I lay across Josh's lap while he tickled my back with both hands.
• I did marriage counseling with Josh.
• I spoke more than usual in marriage counseling. 
• I ate a Christmas tree cake and drank Dr. Pepper.
• I got back in bed with Josh and snuggled (Thursday has been our day together this semester).
• I set up an appointment with my PA for 10 a.m. tomorrow. 
• While Josh went to pick up Oliver, I lit three candles downstairs: Spiced Cinnamon Vanilla in the living room, Merry Cookie in the study, and Vanilla Bean Noel in the foyer, all so that the house would smell good when the boys got home.
• I scribbled in my Italian, black and gold, celestial journal while sitting on the pink velvet loveseat with Josh.
• I opened a new ink (#14--I'm actually on the right day!) from my Diamine Inkvent calendar: Rainbow's End, a chameleon ink that is purple with pink glitter.
• With Josh's help, I found 18 photos in which I'm truly happy (not just smiling for the camera--in some, I'm not smiling at all). They span the last 18 years. In many of them, I'm holding Oliver. In almost all of them, I'm smiling at Josh. He took every photo but one.
• Though my self-regard has not (yet) recovered, I haven't had any self-destructive impulses.

Today was better than yesterday. 

I'll Feel Better When....

I've lived much of my life in a state of almost perpetual dread. I didn't think anything else was possible for me. Every class, shift, table, drive, test, visit, restaurant, discussion, new outing...nearly everything, even what I loved, set my heart wild and twisted me in chains, sometimes days in advance. Some days, it was like someone pouring hot gravel into my abdomen.

Recently, I was preparing for a parent-teacher conference. I felt fine talking to Oliver's teacher every morning, but the relative formality along with the difficult news I was expecting brought on the dread. But for perhaps the first time, I forced myself to look past the meeting. How would I feel when it was over? I might feel sad, worried, or overwhelmed, but I'd also feel relief, and I'd have some time to myself in sight. Now, I tell myself, "I'll feel better when this is over," or some such hopeful thought.

Sometimes, too much comes at me at once, and I can't see a path. My inner voice is silent, and I know I'm alone. But I can seek out companionship. I can write my way through. I'm not wired for dread alone.

Amazing Occurrences.

• I went to a psychiatrist, and with the psychologist's notes and about 20 minutes with me, he arrived at my diagnosis. I could believe something like that could happen so immediately. But with a couple of diagnostic codes, my life made more sense, both for my past and my future. I felt fear but also liberation.
• Josh. Just everything.
• When the NICU nurse brought Oliver to me hours after his birth and my surgery, Oliver looked at me with amused love, as if he wondered why I got so afraid. 
• Lying on my side when my blood crashed again, I was sinking from the air mattress to the hard frame beneath. I felt sure I was going to die. I'd done all I could for Oliver, and he seemed to be okay. Josh would have Oliver. I didn't tell Josh or my mom--I didn't want to scare them. I prayed to God, "Remember me." But I didn't die.
• I can go right back to the L&D room. So many vivid memories.
• I'm mostly stable. How? How long will it last?
• I walked into a deep friendship and haven't tried to escape (lately).
• We've been slowly getting Oliver everything he needs to deal with autism. So far, the seemingly impossible has somehow happened, so I'm trying to hold onto that.

Craving Consistency.

This is probably important for most people with mental illnesses. I didn't realize how much I needed to know exactly what to expect even though I know details or the whole situation may change.

I sometimes want to be outwardly spontaneous and adventurous, and I may want to attract those kinds of people. But in reality, I often want to be left alone for hours with my solitary activities like reading scribbling, and various forms of scrapbooking. I like to know when I will have this alone time.

I'm similar with relationships. Spontaneity can be great as long as it is in addition to regularly scheduled quality time. On a bad day, anticipating a walk with my friend the next evening can be a great help. I need to be able to count on certain people, places, and activities. They help me gear up for the inevitable shocks and disappointments that will come.

To create consistency, Josh has made family schedules that account for each hour. Bruce and I walk on Thursday and Friday, watch a movie on Sunday, and sometimes see a show on Saturday. I think it's made our friendship stronger. It has certainly made me stronger and, I think, more reasonable and calm.

I'm thinking about other ways I can create reliable structure now that I know how important it is.

Resistance.

I'm sure I am resisting so many ways my life could be happier and more functional. But I'm also resisting constricting expectations.

I resist the typical stay-at-home mom role. My child and I both have challenges that may require a radical approach.

I resist the common expectation that couples don't like each other much. Josh and I have gotten comments like "You must be newlyweds" and "Just wait. That won't last." Some people don't seem able to bear our mild show of affection, and it's not even a PDA complaint.

I've resisted going out with Josh when we have a grandmother to care for Oliver. It's unnatural to us now, but we'll get better, and Oliver doesn't seem to mind at all.

I'm resisting buying new clothes after my medication-fueled weight gain. But I want to be comfortable and appropriate when I meet with the people who are helping Oliver. Today, I'm going to look for dress pants at Loft.

I have resisted friendships most because I doubt my ability to keep up. But I need all the support I can find.