Christmas Over Easy

I published this journal the other day, sharing years of previous holiday experiences with my parents.  It was important for me to understand, while offering you insight to what it was like.  I don't take for granted childhood emotional neglect (CEN is totally a thing) can be soft compared to others' trauma.  You can't see or touch it and don't often know it's lurking deep down inside... until you finally seek help for why the hurt doesn't go away.  It's still my crucial wound and I see you there, but you're no longer a silent influence.

~~~~~

I couldn't sleep christmas morning, opposite of the reason millions of kiddos can't keep their antsy pants in bed until a decent hour.  ugggghhh, wasn't waiting for "Christmas to start" the worst?  I awoke to the idea of a new boardgame, then the upcoming hosting of our first holiday gathering at the house (or ever.)  It was still early enough to work in an exercise before the fun & anticipation of preparing a big time vegan feastly began.  Since my hair was too cute to go running, I went for a long walk.  I pondered along to christmas notes while the world woke up.  I love being among the quiet in the early hours and secretly hoped I could peek in on others' holiday mornings because I'm a curious human observer.  nothin doin' though.

My stroll took me down a street normally skipped and I ended up meeting a flock of crows, who shuffled alongside me as they pecked a christmas street banquet.  I thought about the previous eve festivities we spent with two people who are the epitome of incredible.  I missed Travis after I could hear his translucent image hovering off to the side, saying we just came across a murder scene {beat/deadpan} because it's a murder of crows. And we'd laugh.

{there were like two dozen more that had just left frame}

I said merry christmas to the few squirrels who dared play chicken with my feet, making me miss Leroy.  I thought about the fact I would actually be spending the entire day with those two boys who mean the most to me.  I realized it's the first christmas in 13 years I wouldn't have to leave Travis (last 3 for Leroy) out of obligation to my parents.

And then I realized I no longer missed the christmas I once knew.

~~~~~

For many years I was caught up in chasing the high out of fear I'd lose even the littlest bits of joy, I couldn't break the habit.  If I didn't watch that movie or start a craft only in the month it was appropriate, or do the things I would always do - the holidays wouldn't be the same.  rubbish.  It hasn't been the same for I can't remember how long, so what was I holding on to?  Finally expressing my holiday intent to the folks back in October (ie not seeing them) shifted nearly everything this go-round.  And while I didn't have a specific outcome when doing so, I realized that's exactly what I needed.   A change.

I was early in putting up lights & decorations, then gave many items previously held onto for artificial nostalgia to charity.  I exchanged hours of watching Christmas Vacation and A Christmas Story (which I love!) for It's a Charlie Brown Christmas (which I usually forget.)  I started little creative projects but wasn't hard on myself for not doing the entire planned list.  We made a proper gingerbread house, complete with landscaping & scarfed snowman.  I skipped cards & presents, but phoned, messaged & saw dear friends to sing them specific squishy notes of cheer.  And I helped a group from work gather essential clothing & food for two local families.  There was other junk, but most importantly I was absorbing the moments around me.

I reflected all this as Travis & I went driving the last few evenings to see lights.  As I watched the neighborhoods of houses through the chilly passenger window, my body wrapped in a blanket & my hands wrapped in a hot mug, I finally said goodbye.  Farewell to the sadness of memories that kept my heart captive.  Adieu to the former traditions that were laced up with the words mum & dad.  I felt each twinkling light cheer me on as if they were regenerating my emotions.  I held Travis' hand as we shared moments of laughter and of silence.


I feel optimistic about this next coming year, not just for the first nine months but especially for the last three.




PS: maybe I'll ask santa for a Total Recall experience so I can start christmas when I want to.  and also pancakes & champagne.

The Holidays Of Me

Awareness is a key element of growth.
And what I need to elevate most is the awareness of myself.
Developing further this quest to help unlock the expressions of my feelings, desires, excitements, drives, beliefs, and even sorrows.  It's not all rocks, but it should be way easier to ramble out this shit because I'm me.  right?  But it's not that easy.  This concept is still one of the hardest, most taxing exercises I go through almost daily.

Just imagine, you've experienced or thought of something and you want to share it with your spouse/friends/social media.  It's exciting or scary or observant - doesn't matter.  You identify this thing happened because you were there and saw or could touch it.  Now imagine you've rushed to your person or phone, describing the scene in detail. All the facts come flooding onto screen.  You re-read the entry because you wanna capture it perfectly.  Now you're at the point of writing how you felt in this moment.  and you're silent.  You re-write then erase line after line because it's not right.  you stare.  There are sensations rapidly hurling throughout your body, reinforcing that yes, you absolutely are feeling something.  But the words are stuck behind some doors you can't unlock.  You beat on them, demanding their release... nothing.  just clicks of the motionless handle from both sides.  You try and ignore the strong laugh of defeat because you know you have made progress and some stupid story shouldn't unravel your hard work.  But it takes everything not to walk away, forgetting the whole idea, wishing it didn't happen again.  You think back on all the dumb things you hoped to share, and then all the way more important stuff you needed to share, and somehow seek encouragement you'll try again.  until next time... That's what the other side of me faces.  sucks.

beat.

So now imagine how stoked I am when I get it.  When after all the struggles and doubts subside and I finally understand & can express this manifestation of an idea!  Holly ballz, it's like I baked myself a personal pumpkin relief loaf and went to town.  How delicious the joy of seeing those confined words come out and play and being totally connected to them because it's truthful, real.  Like almost crying because yes, I did it!  That's the other side of emotional hill.  And over the last 18 months, through talking, journalling & more confessions at the puppy park than I care to count, I've uncovered probably the single most personal component I needed to figure out - the relationship between me & my parents.  or lack there of.


"Here, I made you an emotionally neglected sandwhich."

While obviously there is my lifetime of more to share, here is a side of context chips.  My parents have no malicious intent.  They said I love you, taught me practical lessons about money & death and do care I haven't been bothered by demons or whatever.  Sure, there were many lean years, but we always had food, some sort of clothes, and I never faced inflicted harm.  But for as much as my basic needs were met, they were also empathetically inattentive.  These figures weren't the ones who could show me the world, who could challenge my thinking and at all costs protect me from the bad ones.  Other adults in my life were filling that role.  They became more like the nice, but odd folks at the grocery store.  Cool, let's exchange methodical pleasantries for a few minutes, then I gotta go down the cereal aisle because I'm in a hurry.
  

They were the humans that brought me here, but are not the people I depend on.

~~~

Just like the leaves of fall that don't live in southern California, it's inevitable conversations are transitioning from how much Halloween candy did(n't) you eat, into are you traveling for Thanksgiving, to what are your plans for whatever you celebrate in December.  The underlying orchestra playing along to those exchanges bring to mind some random setlist of youth, laughs & cocktail filled songs shared among the people you love most.  Life is a show and when you pop in the cassette is usually reads MY FAMILY.

Which for most people happily means the show you're born into.

But for me, it's delightfully the show I choose.

~~~

"And for dessert, I also made you a seasonal apathetic cranberry tart."

The holidays are clearly defined in Brandi's Almanac as October, November, December.  And despite my views on religion, politics, and conforming to your definition of normal, that will probably never change.  Sure it's driven by a corporate machine, and yes my parents bought into it and to some extent so have I - although don't get me started on the fact that it's way important for me & Travis to celebrate in our own unique way thus not allowing ourselves to become part of the ugly & conventional engine.  obviously.

But c'mon - making foot ghosts & pipe-cleaner spiders, having your pops simultaneously smoke, curse & carve the giant pumpkin you wanted, frequent try-ons of the plasticized face mask/smock thingys that your mom insists you can't wear until the big night, drawing hand turkeys, spending the day propped up on your elbows staring at the Toys-Я-Us catalog, decorating the house with the same tired paper cutouts your mom suggests go in the place as last year, smelling freshly unfrozened pumpkin pies, having your pops smoke, curse & carve the giant turkey when there's only three of you, feasting in a plaid sweater & red corduroys, making popsicle stick reindeer and wreaths made from those weird acrylic triangle beads, staring up at the decorations inside Bullocks, driving around seeing the warm C9 lights, your pops smoking, cursing & actually cutting down the too hilariously tall for the living room tree, listening to Bing Crosby LPs & country Christmas tapes that your mom insists had to run from beginning to end because don't you dare stop/rewind/flip sides... and of course your favorite animated TV specials.


That was a replay of my 80s Childhood Holiday Spectacular.
Some of it was spent with my parents doing things they liked.
Most of it was spent alone doing the things I loved.

~~~~~

I've spent many years closely gripping those childhood impressions that deep down I still wrestle with leaving behind.  Seems odd, given the history huh.  What about it?  Why do we keep this romanticized curtain in front of youth?  I wish I had that answer because if I did, I'd totally win the helping others jackpot.

But guess what, I let most of that go this year.

Well before I started understanding my relationship with them, I started feeling more and more like I didn't matter.  I wasn't thought of, they weren't curious or seemingly interested in getting to know me.  Either then or now.  And for the holidays, for too long there was an implied obligation when it came to the time I spent in their presence during gobbles and red suits.  They never once offered to come to me, I had to ask.  They didn't want to spend time experiencing newer traditions I enjoyed, it was about their legacy ones.  I'd made exceptions to my happiness in order to appease someone else and that took me away from my dude who means beyond the moon and eventually the puppy that stole my heart.  And that's not ok.

So I was kind, but direct when I told my parents I wouldn't be seeing them for these events.  Halloween no big deal, in 2015 I told them no for Thanksgiving so I'm sure they expected it again, but this year I put the boundary I needed a Christmas for myself.  I'm done playing to this imaginary audience that insits I'm supposed to just accept this behaviour because they're my mum and dad.  You wouldn't allow that from a bunk friend, would you?  The powerful act of declaration was one of the most trust-in-myself presents I've ever given myself.  And having trust with yourself is fucking incredible.

I get to create my own memories with people I love.
I get to make things alongside people I choose. 
I get to say what I need.
I get to be happy.


Now if you're excuse me, I'll be listening to my fucking random playlist of Christmas albums with my two favourite boys and eating my delicious vegan treats.

Untitled Park

A couple or many weeks ago, Travis was in Las Vegas hosting shows at the Laugh Factory.  Leaving me to life devices such as puppy, work and uninteresting activities.  Oft mornings, I'll chat with our next door neighbor as we're both leaving to exercise.  She knew Trav was away and wanted to keep me company, so we agreed to cash in the Saturday night meal we've talked about for years.  Bring on the Lebanese dinner & wine.  and then more wine.

After a lovely evening with these proper quirky folks, I took Leroy on a walk for us both to expense some stored and stumbly energy.  I strolled down the middle of our neighborhood with nowhere in particular as my beacon, consumed in a hazy orange streetlamp glow.  I ended up running into a neglected closet full of my fierce independentism.  You know the kind that only reveals itself when time, temperature, and the right amount of lady-autonomy collide.  I certainly wasn't looking for it, but immediately fell backwards into my youth.  I drew a slow, deep breath and held it there - the significance bumping into every memory.  It was like getting a whiff of that thing you deprive yourself and suddenly needing a fix.  I no longer needed booze to perpetuate the feeling.  I was inspired.

I needed to create, but not at home; that simply wouldn't do.  I needed to be among the feeling, the experience, carrying illuminated umbrellas from the entire pumpkin spectrum.  I needed to be where I found the portal, although that exact spot would get me run over so... to the park!  Despite heeds from a friend, it was perfectly suited to support my habit of choice for the evening, especially at 11p.  When you enter that mindset you're not thinking about being scared, or hurt, or that ok maybe it's not the best idea to actualize when you're drunk.  none of that matters.  I grabbed a laptop, spare key, and marched silently towards my mission.

Here is that story: unedited, unapologetic, and 100% unread.


let's enjoy this together, lovelies.
~~~~~

I haven’t done this in a long time.  Wander the streets of my neighorbood, the liquid courage of alchol behind me.  Just picked up and walked put, because that in someway is abandoning my rsponsibilites. I wish the technology was to the point where I could walk and talk and record all my thoughts, but we’re not quite there yet.  So as Leroy pulls and sniffs and does his thing, all I think about is writing mine.  The smells that remind me of this, the feelings that envelops my body, the time and place that im transported to another time because of how I feel.  None of that will stay if I don’t come back here alone, with my electronic words, capturing it all.

I found myself driven to relive something that I can’t pput a finger on.  Whims of memories envoeloed my mind; experinces of dropping acid, and being high in a park and the innocecent naitivy of your teens.  I don’t know why walking my dog at 35 ½ on a june night xxx years later brought that on, but it did.  Aagain I said maybe the liquid fueld of wine has helped bring me back here, but I’m ok with it.

It was just after 11pm.  I told a friend I was headed to the park to write and I hope he kicked ass as his Pheaonix comic panel talking about something I don’t know.  He said yu’re there with a laptop?  And I was like dude, it’s like the most innocent part I know, I got here every morning.   But that’s just it – I visit iduring the day, or morning, whatever.  If it’s nighttime I’m walsk morving with my dog or my hugsband, never stationary.  So with every step I take closer, my teenage confidence faulters a little.  So as I type this, I’m sitting in the driveway of two people I know that live next to the par and it’s weird.  I’m a chump who is pretending, or am I.  many people I know would NEVER even sit here, but I am.  I want to hear the sounds, the noise, the tension, the curiousity, he seedynes.  Is that what I need as a jolt?  I want to continue towars the benches and swings and the familiarity o fmy youth, but that’s another time.  I shed a little emotional tear.  Ihave too much experience to let myself into a potentially dangerous stiuaton and somehow, sitting here on a sidewalk maybe 100ft away is protiective.   Maybe this is my transition into being a grownup.  I want to be that adventurouds youth I once was, but im scared.  I’m not her anymore.  I’m not the rsik taker, the ignoramous, the wont’ happen to me.  I sit here on the sidewalk with my laptop on low, street traffic close, assuring me it’s ok still but now it’s on gornw up terms. 

 The people now don’t mean another juman, it’s someone who can potentially hurt me or whatever.

I sit here with my laptop and my hoodie and my shoes and think how the fuck were all those adults right.  I hate thme.  I hate they knew something I would find out too, but need to experience myself.

I think I’m done for the moment because I need to hurl.  Ok cool, at least I have some form of my youth left inside.

The alcohol makes you invincible to rantionale, the driving, to problems.   Makes you love more or relize tmore the things you have.  Makes you sit in front ofyour neighborads house feeling totally ok with the fact that it’s kinda weird, yet would offer them a joint or drink if ou could..  I need to live more.  I need to feel more.  I need to exist.

Thank you noise, thank you couage, thank you experience.

Ants sitting, glow of the screen / carry laptop. Poop bag inmy pocket. Need to wa;k to feeli do feel safe in my neighborhood as long as im moving

As I navigate away from my temp home, I walk closer & closer towards reality of hime. The puke seems more present

Cornbally

I don't totally know what I want to write this morning.  I slept in a whole hour and got up at 7, fed the pup, stretched, them came back to bed out of some sort of Sunday obligation.  I wasn't tired so I grabbed my laptop and started plunking.  I thought about finishing a bunch of posts that have been saved in draft far longer than seems acceptable for the thing I was talking about, but decided against it.  Leroy is sleeping on my feet now, Travis is gently snoring, I notice our bedroom needs more art and the number of things I want to accomplish today is large.  But none of that can take my brain away from the fact it is February 14 - Valentines.  I don't even care to know the traditional origins, let alone the evolution into what we understand now.  Laughing, thinking of all the bottles of champagne poured with perfectly cut strawberries lining the rim; the rings who are hidden in fancy brioche buns, the sender hoping not to break their lovers' tooth; the people getting together for scheduled sex; and a bazillion cheezy souls hoping their woo plans worked.

I wasn't dumped when I was 14; there was no traumatic event; the childhood papersack never sat empty on my small desk.  But my parents invested a lot on massly worded cards to express their feelings on what for me, are meaningless holidays.  And so while nothing physically happened to turn me into a spiteful bird, emotionally I have never liked the high expectation, demand & pressure they cause from someone you're supposed to care about.  And when each one comes around, my holiday justice kicks in that I must declare again in case you missed it.

I'm sure friends have setup little silly things for their partner, a sea of red & pink candies or cards or presents.  Maybe there is opportunity an inside joke to be re-shared for a morning laugh.  Maybe you go out for pancakes because it's an excuse to treat yourself instead of being like it's Sunday yo - pancakes!  All of these things are totally possible and cool if yer into.  And yet I wanted a quick & witty "I'm better than you" twitter snap for knowing my dude is rad every day of the year.  But that seemed generic.  I debated about reposting a former declaration on facebook to show my friends I don't care.  for why?  I would assume most of the people on that list know I'm incredibly over the moon with my husband and I'd slash anyone's tendons who would threaten that.  So as I looked, scanned, read and took in all the predicted love junk, I innocently thought more about Travis.  I found my brain or heart or whatever in a mini-battle over who was right: lameness vs. not totally scoffing at the idea I could share a bunch of our silly together photos because they aren't cornbally and like I'd have a joke with it, taking what today is down a notch.  This made participating somewhat ok because they are a reflection of us in the most awesome way and not because I'm buying in, I'm only observing.

Which then I'm like oh gawd, I'm not into this but maybe hate is a strong word for the distaste associated!!

And then I kinda reset some shit because I'm a fucking grown up and understand more about experiences.  Where-as I started off the morning fixated on mentioning today sux, like it was my moral obligation or something, I look at my family - Travis and Leroy and think so what it's Valentines day, I don't have to buy in to your idea of what that is.  I can continue to be incredibly lucky to share everyday with them.

So how ever or where ever or with whom ever you are in the presence of in life, remember to make an effort to do something kind, nice & caring for those who matter on February 15 (National Gundrop Day,) May the 4th Be With You (because Star Wars,) and drink up to all yer matey's on September 19.

It doesn't fucking matter today, it matters all the time.


~~~~~
ok a little cheese.

Travis texted me this.

Kicked Off The Eyeland

I have been driving myself a little batty trying to recreate all the things I'm thinking and feeling and sharing in therapy.  It's so fucking empowering to finally have a glimpse back into my own psyche, where over the years those ideals were slowly boarded up and I kinda stopped looking for a crack in the wood.  Now with a little more discovery, I wanted to write through my experiences here; a chronicle of sorts so I don't lose another two decades to fuzzy memories.  But my new found muscles are still new and removing the nails takes time, so today I write something I am aware of.  go me.

~~~~~

My body is breaking down, isn't

I used to think the correlation to a numerical age was rubbish.  It was this fantastical concept drummed up by my husband, friends and the medical industry gremlins to sell pills.  Now I find myself kinda freaked by the subtle changes.  Because that means there are things I can control, like consistent physical activity, and then there are slow degenerations I can't.  Whether I ignored what was already in the works OR replicant witches have just cursed me using a fallen lash, I think my body is listening to their chants of change.  First one teetering on the brink of collapse - the eyes.  ok it's not really dramaticaville, but these blue iris' have always been 20/20 and now, not so much.  In fact, after a 2002 major car accident where my head became BFFs with the drivers side window, my eyes were better than 20/20.  didn't know that was even possible.

As a kid, eye ate carrots obsessively to the point my fingers were orange.  Eye liked them, still do.  Eye'd bring them to school in a plastic bag, along with a small orange tupperware filled with red catalina dressing.  Eye ate them under the pretense it was for sight, which for whatever reason grownups in my family insisted on telling me the benefits of most things they never ate.  bullocks.  When, err ummm, really it was because eye was the first in my class to experience the joy of acne.  Eye desperately wanted natural Vitamin A to be my cure all, a solution to make the teasing stop - when in reality eye could never eat that many.

Also as a kid, eye saw the optometrist every few years where he wrote in his little booklet how eye'd need reading glasses around 40.  pfffft, 40 was like forever from then.  But ballz - Eye'm 35 & hearing that dude whispering in my ear (which is a positive since eye have a decent case of indistinct tinnitus too - but that's not new so it doesn't count!!)  Eye feel like pleading before the Eye Council; Don't kick me out, eye still have so much to give!  Eye'd beg and plead and do anything to see it through till death.

So now - tiny print is a little fuzzy; license plates a bit scrambly at night; the computer screen brightness ticked a bit higher.  If only these changes were related to like fluffy kittens or something, it wouldn't seem so crappy.



booooooooo weirdo agey things.

Someone Else's Depression

I realized while fumbling along and eventually seeing this journal come together, it is a parallel for my experience of 2015.  Confusion, frustration, safety, lows, highs, discovery and optimism.  what a trip.

~~~~~

In therapy, we spend a fair amount of time working to unravel nearly 3 decades of fully locked away shit.  Friends, parents, relationships, and oh did I mention parents.  But more importantly & more personally, it's finding a way to unlock the root cause of my inability to consistently identify & articulate what I'm feeling, thinking, want, expect, and need.  I truly believe that is the missing key for my entire scrambled puzzle.  Talk, talk, talk by question and answer so I can arrive at a conclusion.  It's simple in principal, complicated in practice.  Imagine trying to describe a Picasso painting, with its individual abstract pieces.  You know it's a beautiful image when it comes together, but it's not so easy to explain.  It's not every time and I certainly manage for the most part, but moments beyond a surface emotion can take hours, days, if not weeks putting to voice.  Luckily none of it crosses into the workplace or I'd really be screwed, because then I'd never know I am capable.  So why me?  I have important things to say (and ok some are silly,) but we all have a point of view to share and I fight hard for mine.  Internalizing this build up nearly every damn day, I just want to fucking scream so I can control something.  anything.  Even writing this entry, I walked around the house randomly thunking down the laptop hoping a change of scenery would help.  But I get distracted, so I daydream of a beautiful sun-lit patio that would easily carry my thoughts or the perfect modern artist studio, where I can be alone & create.  Would it be easier then?

the silent wails are longing to speak free.

Lady Therapist reminds me we're unraveling years of conditioning and it takes time to shift a psyche.  That the process will totally be messy, bumpy and uncomfortable, but in the end it will be ok.  It will be positive.  I know that, but it's still nice to hear.  I draw on that realness when reflecting on the minimal progress of some areas, because I have seen progress - decently on a few even.  And that's rad, more rad today than I thought could be achieved 7 months ago.  I felt alone then, not so much now, and know it'll be even less in the future.  Each week I embrace the time needed to fully work through the caverns because it's worth it.

~~~~~

I've witnessed depression: many friends share their experiences openly; my husband has had it nearly his entire life; I've even understood what those cheezy commercials for pills were saying.  Others' application of the label seemed effortless.  And yet I never saw those same behaviors in myself.  It was someone else's sadness I tried to comfort, never mine.  I always saw their depression, not mine.

December especially, I bounced around vague's bandwagon more so than other months.  Joy to lowly-low sadness, generous to maybe next year, productive to who gives a fuck.  And I'm talking near instantaneously having the pendulum swing violently from one side to the other.  The physical manifestation of something I couldn't pinpoint, resonating in my chest and back, shoulders bearing the weight of 1000 index fingers furiously jingling about all the things I'm working to understand.  The electric like fury attacking the most innerly sensitive parts of my heart & mind, not giving a shit.  The only thing I could do was sit on the floor, hold my head, shut my eyes and wish it away...

I spent so much time focusing on someone else's anything, I never understood depression was happening to me.  Understanding how far back it goes is still TBD.  But for whatever reason, Sunday December 18 the right combination of neurons & atoms made the connection.  I was alone, just as I was 24 hours prior, but it was a totally opposite experience.  Saturday had been productive, making jam & listening to christmas music classics.  Frank, Bing, Burl... the digital jukebox spun.  The doors were open, letting in the crisp air while Leroy played with his toys in the yard or slept in the sun.  I was fully enjoying the day, excited to share yum things with friends.  Then Sunday happened, and I was alone again, but productivity went undercover.  I found myself extremely overwhelmed by christams, unmotivated to really do anything.  I didn't want to make gifts, I wanted to write through the feeling but as usual didn't know what to say.  Music seemed pointless, I missed Travis, the yard needed tending to, the list of stuff to get done seemed 12 stories tall and I wanted nothing to do with any of it.

Peering down, I pitied the person I was at that moment.  I didn't bother reconciling how different a day makes.  I didn't care, I just knew it existed.  Another bout of well I guess this is normal.  However, there were commitments and bummed on the couch or bummed finishing them, was still bummed.  So I harnessed what little motivation was inside and swung my legs to the floor.  They say taking the steps towards doing something is the hardest part.  I less than enthusiastically dialed in the christmas music, because at least it could drown out the void.  I started prepping the blackberry basil jam that I can happily say, is divine.  I wasn't very far into the process when I stopped to review the recipe.  At that moment, staring at the computer screen, my eyes & brain went fuzzy.  Like when an analog TV station would fine tune its signal, it kinda skipped and buzzed and jumped around, landing on a fresh new picture.  That's when it clicked, "OH MY GAWD YOU'RE DEPRESSED AND THAT'S WHY YOU'VE BEEN FEELING THIS WAY."  And like the opposite of clouds parting, that moment of clarity made way for the pouring of tears.  I'm not weird, I'm not off, this is normal and I just now realized it!  grrrr x 100 - why had it taken so long?  it probably needed to.

A set of mixed emotions flooded my body.  I was sad, scared, yet suddenly optimistic & a little joyous.  I was certainly teetering between the two like a tight-rope walker.  on one end of the pole: you're depressed, you can't be happy VS. the other side: no I got that, but I have this sticker now and have assigned it accordingly.  I found out the relief of said descriptive tag is quite common.  Which ever way I wobble, I'm just grateful for finally experiencing the association.  And as I discover more about this thing through talk & read, standing together with others' who may be more versed, we don't face anything alone.

When I told Travis after he got home from his comedy show, I mentioned this strange desire for peers to acknowledge it before I could apply the term.  Like is the act of saying mean it's a thing or am I stealing a badge not yet earned.  I know that's daft, but it's a sensitive subject & one that can't be taken lightly.  And I'm sure people use the word to explain all kinds of behaviours away and I don't want to ever be lumped together with tools.  Here's to therapy helping me understand more, but I can only assume, among other things, depression is why I entertain the following notions: that I'm not as good at this or that, or as so & so; why I question my choices, my statements, my opinions, my voice, my body, my mind, my heart, my perception, and my emotions.  Why I judge myself so harshly; why I'm so mean to me; talk cruelly to me when I make a wrong decision; find it incredibly difficult to ask for help; shut down when you think my idea is no good; cry at a poor choice I made 16 years ago; why I set unrealistic expectations no one could live up to; why I repeat you'll never be pretty enough to that same junior high face that stared in the gym class mirror; refuse the notion it's ok to do something for myself; and why my parents are just these people I know.

~~~~~

Doom and gloom it would seem - yes, there is that right now.  And if you're thinking dude, you've written words I totally understand, even though I may not identify with - what you're reading has taken weeks to prepare and hit more stop signs I care to quantify.  But in the spirit of exercising my atrophied kind to self muscles, there are swell things to celebrate around me and of me.  I make a mean cake doughnut bread pudding, will go out of my way for a friend, can say "what the fuck do you want" in thai, sing off-key like a beautiful turkey, immensely dig running and hiking, have a ridiculously lame cupcake joke at the ready, enjoy making art, reading, mmmm dear friends, I am an intrinsically solid bird, am an advocate for all animal rights, look fantastic in a backless gown, am supportive & loyal (just don't cross me or I'll slash yer tire,) love walking to take photographs, can smile with my eyes, and am a healthy ball of flesh.  Of course there will always be tweaks & adjustments, reminders and forgetments, new finds and goal achievements, plus others I'll keep for myself right now.

Then there's Travis. my Travis, who is the one person that can inherently make the day better just by existing, no matter how I'm feeling on the smile scale.  He himself has also started therapy and working to discover a happy he's had locked away - which in turn, makes me incredibly stoked.  We help each other through our own sessions and are better partners because of it.  And Leroy, my 100% certified sweet boy.  Whose little face & ears I never want to stop squishing & hugging and kissing... and no matter how stubborn that 22lb body gets, he is an incredible being that makes my family complete.

I took a proud step of therapy last year, that act of kindness I hardly show myself.  I've unwound a lot from my past and through my own capability, connected it to now (both the obvious and obscure.)  I challenge myself daily on the things I continue to work on because it's all an opportunity to learn.  I will use this to progress forward through my verbal challenges.  I'll try new-for-me techniques, because the definition of insane...

No matter how often a setback tricks me into thinking I've failed, I am always moving in the right direction - it just may not be how I saw the path yesterday.

I am depressed, but I won't let it define me. (thumbs up.)