Analyze This

Since my post yesterday, and after reading the link in its comments, I’ve been thinking of how to describe, for myself, what my mental status is like.

Depression seems so black and white.

Anxiety seems so alarming.

Let’s see…

I am the kind of person who is unable to hear or remember or absorb much of anything other than the negative comments made to me, about me, within me.  I will obsess for weeks over a grammar flub or a misplaced giggle during someone’s venting.  I can’t turn that off.

So, then I try to turn it out.  I focus negativity on those around me, people on the road, at the grocery store, my husband, my kids.  But that just makes me feel even more like a horrible person, and so I just retreat altogether.

Through reading, writing, drinking, watching TV or movies, sleeping, eating…  Anything that will blank out my own thoughts and feelings.  I’ve always had an elaborate fantasy life (and I don’t mean that I play RPGs or that I have a closet full of fetish gear).  I mean that since I was a little kid with imaginary friends, I’ve been taking day dreaming to an art form.

I think that’s what most writers do, and it makes so much sense to me that so many writers suffer depression as well.  It’s escapism. 

This doesn’t mean that I don’t find enjoyment in those things, because of course I do.  This doesn’t mean that I don’t put on my best Scroogy Face and interact when necessary, even doing a fairly passable job at socializing.

It’s just a shell.  An act.  Like I’m on autopilot.

Soon, I look around and realize it’s been a week since I’ve swept or vacuumed and my laundry remains unfolded in the basket and my kids are running rampant and my husband barely says a word to me.

I realize that I haven’t been there. 

That’s what I mean by dark, lost, shapeless.  Undefined. 

Unreal.

I know that this too shall pass, that there will be brighter days.

But in case yesterday’s post was less than clear, there ya go…

 

 

I’m tired

I’m tired of being…  of being…

Um…

I am tired of being…

Yes, that’s it, I guess.

I’m just tired of being.

No, I’m not suicidal (I’m WAY too nosy to kill myself).  I’m just not sure how to end that sentence appropriately.

My brain mind soul psyche sits ready to unleash a stream of vitriol to end that statement- words that feel right, but are just wrong.  I know LOGICALLY they are wrong.

Mental health is so puzzling.  I was feeling pretty good just this weekend.  And now, I feel so lost and dark and shapeless. 

Yeah, shapeless.  Undefined.

I’m tired of being undefined.

 

Mommy Finished

This past weekend was significant in Scroogyland, not just because it was Mother’s Day, but also because my daughters saw me cross the finish line of my first 5K.

It brings tears to my eyes to think of it, Peeps.

Me, Scroogy- far from athletic- finished a run.  (Well, more of a walk/jog- heavy on the walk, but still…)

Lala and Loopsy waited for me, with their grandparents and their Daddy, at the finish of Saturday’s Color Run here in Baltimore.

They witnessed their Mom -television addict, usually found reading novel after novel on the couch or spending hours on the computer writing or playing Candy Crush- finish something she’d set out to do last summer.  Mommy got ready for, and ultimately finished, a 5K.

Without having a heart attack or passing out or spraining anything.

I’ll never forget how proud I felt when I saw them and heard them calling for me as I jogged under the inflatable Finish arch, covered in layers of colored dust, sweaty, and a little red in the face. 

Girls, if you read this one day, this is what I want you to remember:

Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t or that you shouldn’t.  Not even yourselves.

Don’t let people judge you for your size or your looks or your past.  Not even that voice in your head.

If you work hard, if you stick to anything, you can finish what you start.  You can do or be anything.  You can beat any odds, meet any goals you set for yourself.

I love you girls.  This 5K was for you.

The next one is for me.

 

6 years?

Today is the 6th anniversary of our wedding.  Aww, you guys…

At the reception, my Matron of Honor (Bestie), said that she hoped that our wedding day would be the day we looked back on in our marriage as the day we loved each other the least, that our love would grow with each day.

Well…

Look, I love Hubby today more than I loved him on April 28, 2007, for sure.  No doubt.

But…

I mean…

Marriage is hella complex, Peeps.

Hubby and I were thrown into a bunch of HUGE life changes right away- he moved from NYC to Baltimore, so we went from Long Distance to Live-Ins, his parents followed soon after (in their own apt), we got married, got pregnant, his mom was diagnosed with cancer, we found out we were having twins, his mom got sicker and sicker, we started looking for a house, I was put on bedrest due to an “irritable uterus”, his mom passed, the twins were born, we moved into a house, I quit my job to be a stay at home mom, then his dad passed…

Seriously, we went through 10 or 15 years worth of life changes in two or three years.  It was, shall we say, taxing.

Taxing on us as individuals, and taxing on our marriage.

There were days when I considered packing my bags and moving to DE with Bestie.  Sometimes I considered bringing the twincesses too.  (bah dum dum…)

Sometimes I looked at Hubby as the enemy and/or felt that he considered me as such.

But we never gave up.  Never.

I truly believe that a marriage has its ebbs and flows.  A marriage is a relationship where you fall in and out of love with the same person for the rest of your life.  Some days are bliss, some are hell, but they are all yours.

Hubby…  My true love.  My sweet babu…

I can’t wait to spend the next 60+ years falling in love with you over and over…

The Summer Camp Conundrum

Apparently, Peeps, I have been hindering the development of my children and giving into my own social anxieties by not enrolling my five year olds in multiple activities.  Meh.

Okay, so my therapist didn’t say those exact words, but that’s how my Mommy brain translated them when she suggested it would benefit me and my kids if I signed them up for summer camps before sending them off to the big bad world of Full Day Kindergarten this fall.

So, I started the dreaded internet search for proper programs for Lala and Loopsy.  What the fudge, you guys?  The mind, it does a-wobble….

Why are day camps so expensive?  Or is $250 to $350 per week normal?  For half days?  I mean…  Ugh.  Hubby is not going to be pleased about this.  Neither are my plans for us to either join a pool or take a real week long vacation this summer. 

Anyway, besides the cost, there’s the whole decision of what kind of camp to choose.  I’m looking primarily at an Art Camp and a Gymnastics Camp.  My little twincesses are very crafty and tumbly.  So, that should be a perfect fit, right?  Gah, I dunno.  Should I be more focusing on music or sports?  Would those skills prepare them better for school?  I mean, I know it’s just a week or two and it’s just camp.  Why do I make these decision so much harder than they need to be?

Then I start to think, “Hey, Scroogy, the kids will be away for 3 whole hours for 5 straight days!  You can get so much done!”

Then I feel all Mommy guilty and the “what-ifs” break out… 

What if Lala has one of her infamous melt-downs and I’m at Planet Fitness without my phone?

What if Loopsy shows how she inherited her grace from her Mommy and falls head first off the balance beam?

What if one twin makes a ton of friends and they ignore her sister?

What if either of them get an attack of explosive diarrhea?

*sigh*

Me thinks my therapist is on to something here…

Abrakadoodle and Little Gym…  here come the Scroogy twins…  You have been warned.

(about me, that is…)

 

 

I missed the Nerd Revolution and I’m bitter about it.

Another blogger posted a thought on FB the other day which is one that has been percolating in my brain for a few years now…

When did it become cool to be a nerd? 

Nerds rule the world and they are the new cool kids.  Sheldon and the gang never have to fear rejection from the masses.  The Doctor wears a friggin bow tie and makes it look cool.  Because they are cool, ya know…  bowties…  There are entire weekend long conventions across the nation for nerds of all kinds.  The internet is their domain, for sure.  Chris Hardwick has not one, but TWO television shows and a podcast dedicated to nerdom.  He even coined his own term for today’s nerds- Nerdist.  Because they are elite now. 

I mean, yeah, I get it, nerds are awesome.  I’m one of them.  (Although, I might classify more as a dork b/c I was never asked to join the National Honor Society, nor was I ever in any academic clubs or anything). But whether one is a nerd, a dork, or a geek, your time is NOW.  You have permeated pop culture.

What’s bugging me, I guess, is that I was a dork before it was chic. And that blows.

I never got asked to prom.  Didn’t have my first kiss until college.  Had glasses and braces and loved Anne Rice before it was en vogue.  In my formative years, in the height of my own geekhood, I was invisible, a non-entity, and I’m bitter about it. 

Why couldn’t nerds have come into power about 20 years earlier?

Gah.

 

 

If Scroogy wrote for Soaps

This month marks the epic 50th anniversary of General Hospital, a show near and dear to my heart.  As I watch the events of the 2013 Nurse’s Ball unfold, I can’t help but want to write my own versions of these story arcs.  (Note: I have not watched today’s episode yet, so…)

Ahem:

1. After Duke’s and Anna’s sexually charged tango performance, we find that someone has again been impersonating one half of one of GH’s legendary supercouples.  Except this time?  It’s Filomena impersonating Anna!  She’s been alive and obsessed with Duke all these years and has come back to PC to claim him.
2. Richard Simmons reveals the reason for his angry outburst…  He is Sam Morgan’s father!  He blames Lucy and her vampire delusions for the danger Sam & Danny had been in at the hands of Stephen Clay and vows his revenge on everyone who has hurt his daughter and grandson!  It is Richard Simmons who will finally take out Heather Webber after he is taken to the same psychiatric facility for the criminally insane.
3. Frisco, heartbroken over Felicia’s rejection, turns to his old pal Rick Springfield for solace…  and finds true love!  He serenades him with a rewritten version of Lady of my Heart entitled Laddy of my Heart.  Springfield follows up with a new version of Jessie’s Girl called Maxie’s Dad.
4. Shawn Butler, jealous that he was left out of the Magic Milo number, storms the stage and goes Full Monty.  The entire place buys a round of congratulatory drinks for Alexis.  She is named the new Mayor of Port Charles and her first order of business is to declare that Shawn must be shirtless 80% of the day.
5. Sabrina and Patrick, having finally professed their love, are shocked when Britt reveals that her parents, Faison and Evil Dr Obrecht secretly created both Sabrina and Patrick in a genetic superlab, and their offspring will be born with the blood that is the only cure for HIV/AIDS.  They will then reveal that Robin is alive, but she is succumbing to the virus and the only way to save her is for Patrick and Sabrina to procreate.

I’ll be waiting for ABC’s call…

Haha.

Medicated Mommy

*sigh* You guys.  *sigh*

I’ve been in therapy for a couple of months and my therapist suggested I see a psychologist for a medication evaluation.  I knew this day would come.

Part of me is like, “Sweet!  Finally!  I can be a functioning member of society again!”

Another part of me is like, “Nooooo!  I am Scroogy!  I can handle this ON MY OWN!!”

A third part of me is hiding under a blanket and refusing to acknowledge it.

I’m trying to just let the idea sink in a bit.  Trying not to have unrealistic expectations for pharmaceuticals.  Trying not to feel like I’m surrendering to the big, bad, Dark Side.

I have an inkling that I’ll have more motivation to get out of the house, off the couch, to step away from the TV or my laptop and really live.  I hope that I’ll be a better, more present and focused Mommy.

But what if I don’t, Peeps? 

What if it’s NOT clinical depression and it’s just that I suck as a human being?

What then?

First Blogiversary!!!!

One year ago today, Peeps, I entered the wonderful world of blogging.

Last year I was yearning to find myself again, feeling hollow, lost, alone, and scared.  I knew that my mojo was out there somewhere, waiting to be reclaimed.

I’m glad to say that thanks to the soul searching and creative lift I’ve found here that my mojo is back.  It could also have something to do with being free of that terrible Mirena and its evil hormones.  Or because I finally am seeking treatment for my anxiety and depression.  Or that I made it to 38 after all.

But thanks, my faithful Peeps, for being there on the other end of the interwebs.

Cheers to my second year of blogging!!!

Growing old gratefully (and gracefully)

Many thoughts rambling through my noggin today about aging.  I hope I don’t bungle this blog post.  Feeling a cold or something coming on.  So foggy, you guys…  Apologies in advance.

My high school/college friends on FB are all turning 39 in quick succession.  Yes, it’s true…  We, as the class of 92, are on the brink of 40-dom. 

Within the next 12 months, we will officially be too old to be a character on that show Thirty-something.  Do you guys remember that show?  They were always so dreary and depressed or drunk.  So old and boring.  Could it be that we are older and more boring?

Shut yo’ mouf!

We are taking up new hobbies- running, roller derby, painting, belly dancing… 

We have regular exposure to the newest music, the latest trends, new ideas and themes all through the magic of social media.

We can access the latest breakthroughs in wrinkle erasers, hair dye, teeth whiteners, and 24 hr gym memberships.

40 is the new 30.  I do believe it.  Stop laughing.  It’s true.

I begin to feel like this “getting older” gig ain’t so bad after all, Peeps.

Then, I see this AOL article about a grandma in the Guinness Book of World Records for having the tiniest (surgically altered) waistline.  She looks like Jessica Rabbit, but with wrinkles.  I don’t know why she was so concerned with her mid-section, but didn’t go for botox or a face lift.  I don’t get plastic surgery at all, though.  Whatevs.

It made me confused.  I felt sad for her.  And worried. 

I was beginning to think this next decade would be a peaceful easing into finally accepting ourselves the way we are.  At last, we could be comfortable with our bodies.  I mean, we’re 40 something…  Shouldn’t we know by know that it’s our souls that matter?  Shouldn’t that poor tiny waisted lady have known that way before now?

I dunno, you guys.  I’m not saying we should all let ourselves go.  Not by any means! But shouldn’t we be more focused on feeling good, being confident and accentuating the positive?  Aren’t there more important things in life than our belt size?  Am I being hypocritical by endorsing going to the gym and whitening our teeth but looking down my nose at radical plastic surgery?

Growing old, as they say, is a privilege denied to many.  We should grasp these middle aged days with both hands and squeeeeeeeeze all the goodness out. 

So, if goodness to you is looking like Jessica Rabbit with wrinkles, then, I guess, more power to you.  As weirded out as it makes me.