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. 

Having More.

I wrote this at the top of a page of my journal. I don't remember the significance or what I expected to write.

Unless one lives in poverty, I think that having more is largely a mental and emotional setting. What do I have? How will I use it? Why do I still want more?

I have been walking through illness and trauma for years. However, I am wildly blessed. I have a precious family. I have more books than I can read (probably), more notebooks than I can fill, and (maybe) more pens than I can drain. That feels great. It's part of the barricade I constantly build to shut out sickness and hopelessness.

I can be greedy. But sometimes, a beautiful object can distract me from my flaws and struggles and let me rest in faith, family, and that glowing trickle of light inside me.

Tools and Strategies.

My terms don't necessarily match the popular or even correct definitions, but the terms helps me navigate the world inside and outside my head.

• Tools: something I find or fashion to deal with certain symptoms. It needs to be deliberate, and others should know about it. Thinking of it relaxes me.
• Crutches: something that temporarily holds me up in chaos. It may be somewhat secret. Thinking about it may makes me feel both thrilled and uncomfortable. This could also be an old habit that is no longer useful or an extreme version of a tool.
• Strategies: actions that I put in place to help me with mood swings, panic, and such. Not everyone will necessarily understand the strategy, but it is healthy for me.
• Mechanisms: automatic and often unhealthy. I probably don't want to talk about them. I don't like the use of mechanism as a positive. It's a thoughtless reflex. But I do like for strategies to become consistent, reliable, and safe as mechanisms sometimes appear to be.

Examples

Tools

• Pen and paper. I think everyone knows what powerful tools those are for me. A gift of pen or paper is a gift to my mental health. Having them around me makes me feel calm.
• Medication. Some aspects of taking medication are a major bummer, but I know it helps me and probably keeps me alive. People close to me know about it, and I let them know that I'm still compliant.
• Music. It helps me get ready, and it helps me while I'm driving. Right now, I'm listening to Michael Ball in the car, especially "Lift the Wings" and "Tell Me on a Sunday."

Crutches

• The Internet. It an be a great tool, but often, I do too much window shopping, clicking around on Wikipedia or IMDB, or watching funny videos. It takes up time and metaphorical bandwidth. 
• Soda. I love it and don't want to give it up though I have for short periods of time. Right now, I'm trying for moderation. I love the feel of the cold aluminum and the crack of opening the can...I could drink soda all day (and I often have).

Strategies

• Reading. If I'm not reading, I'm not okay. That's a cycle. I need to be deeply into books. They refocus my brain and give me a break from my symptoms.
• Putting on makeup. If I'm not wearing any or much makeup, that's a bad sign. I like to play with colors and finishes. It's a healthy sensory distraction. 
• Drinking water. I love not having to worry about drinking too much water. I get dehydrated easily, mostly because of lithium. But I can chug water and know that it's good for my body and mind.
• Writing. The more forms of writing are the better. My journal is first, and it covers ideas, blog post material, to-do lists, and more. Next is the blog. The blogs. Writing quiets my mind, and with the blogs, I have a chance to connect with others in a controlled manner. 

Mechanisms

• Shopping. Sometimes, I'm in great control, seeking and finding a special object or some basic tees. My fingers twitch now, probably because of some medication, and they sometimes place an order when I'm still pondering. That works pretty well as a metaphor too. I keep track of everything I buy so that I can appreciate and use it and take notice if I'm being indiscriminate. 
• Excessive cleaning. This is good is some ways, but it's a clear sign of mania and often anger. I clean doors and the inside of the trashcan. I can't stop until I'm completely exhausted
• Sleeping too much. Some days, sleep is all I want. I can fall asleep anywhere. Some days, my brain feels burned, and sleep is like water.

What terms help you understand your actions and experience?

Sensory Distractions.

Two nights ago, I broke down. Oliver challenged me beyond my coping ability, and I started to cry and think dark thoughts about myself. Perhaps the scariest part was that the dark thoughts weren't scary--they were soothing. Josh got home from an errand, and I told him I might need to go to a hospital. Bruce was on standby too. Josh found information for the local crisis center.

Hoping to get stable on my own, I decided to try sensory distraction. Back rubs or tickles from Josh almost always help me, so I experimented. Josh had brought home a root beer, so I drank that while taking a bath with Epsom salts. Then, I read poems aloud. I didn't exactly feel better, but I felt sane. Bruce also wrote me an E-mail that reminded me that in many ways, I am who I want to be.

The next day, I kept up the sensory distraction. I saw my therapist and talked about my word of the year. I got a cherry Sprite from Sonic. I was driving a lot, so when I had a one-hour gap before I could pick up Josh, I stopped at Michaels. I pulled in the colors to paint my darkened mind. I looked at planner stickers and pretty boxes. The night was too cold for walking, so Bruce and I went to Barnes. I spent a long time in the journals and in the children's area. I liked that Barnes had a shelf just for Newbery Award winners. I flipped through Seventeen to look at articles on makeup. I looked at Victoria magazine (which I couldn't reach. Luckily, Bruce is 6 ft. tall). I sort of bathed in comforts and in reminders of my self.

I have to make good choices for my well-being. I need ways to combat the disease when it reaches to choke me. Bits of strength can change everything.