Cycling Out the Poison

 My emotions have been getting an intensive workout the past three months, and I'm writing this to help categorize what emotions are coming from events in my life, my chronic depression, or my ADHD and resulting emotional dis-regulation.

I finally broke up with my boyfriend, an action over which I have been oscillating agonizingly for far too long. It was a difficult series of conversations, but we both handled it with grace and have been able to retain a friendship. This is helpful considering we must live together until I find a new place or the lease ends in February, whichever comes first.

I pushed myself to become comfortable with getting back into dating rather soon; for two reasons. First, I was having difficulty getting back into shape/getting healthy and I knew the idea of meeting someone new would light a fire under me. Second, I needed something exciting in my life while I improved on the things which wore on me, such as my living situation.

Because I had been unhappy for so long with my now ex, I had already moved on. This was a large part of the trapped feeling I had. I was over it. It was dead. Not fully facing and acknowledging it was hurting me. That said, I did grieve for the relationship after the official breakup, but it did not last very long - maybe a day. I was just happy to be free from it. I was therefore not wary of falling into the pitfall of leaping immediately from one long-term committed relationship right into another, as people do. I wanted to get into dating, yes, but mostly to get the rusty gears going, and enjoy my freedom.

I reconnected with someone I had met a couple years ago, and he immediately asked me out. We have been seeing each other for almost two months and despite having initiated the connection in more ways than one, he keeps me at arms length and claims to be guarded because of past experiences. This kind of thing is always frustrating to me, but it might be just as well, as his hesitation gives me opportunity to continue to enjoy my freedom.

I do, however, have the (perhaps unfortunate tendency) to fall hard and fast for someone who inspires me on a creative level, and he is intensely inspiring to me. Thus I experience a ridiculous high when he talk, when I know that we will meet up, when we are together, and subsequently experience a dramatic crash afterwards. The high and low is crazy, and it's honestly something I haven't felt in a long, long time and thought never to feel again after the end of my teen years. It's been inspiring in and of itself just to know that I have not aged past such intense feelings. I have considered that such feelings, while not toxic by themselves, could lead to toxicity. Fortunately, such intensity is not sustainable, especially when it is one-sided. It burns itself out. Thanks to caution, introspection, retrospection, and many tears, I believe that I am on the other side of this. I won't know for sure until I see him again, and frankly I'm not looking forward to it. Those whole connection feels like the delicate balance of a tightrope; too much slack and it doesn't support its reason for existence, too much tension and it will snap both becoming of no use and even possibly harming people.

I have been attempting to "date around," and to that end I had gotten onto a dating app. Through it I struck up conversation with about a dozen men, four of which I progressed to giving my phone number for texting. I met up with two of those. I will be going on a second date with one of those. My date with him helped to disperse the cloud of euphoria surrounding my first connection. It brought be back to earth. Thank goodness.

Onto the frustration of finding a new home. It is high time for me to once again live by myself. However, the area in which I find myself is naturally a bit expensive and this current market makes things doubly difficult. It has therefore been incredibly difficult to find something.

The dual frustration of a confusing romantic situation and not being able to find a new apartment is serving to saturate me in melancholy. It's been difficult to maintain the sharp focus to better myself and my life that I had been enjoying up until this point.

It's been a whirlwind. I went on a stark diet and worked out mercilessly, losing about twenty pounds in a couple months. I went on dates for the first time in over six years. I feel physically healthy and generally hopeful. Now I just have to adjust my coping to accommodate my more fluid life. That's been good for me, too. Being so stuck in the mud made me miserable and now I'm living life.

Life is pain, though. Life is beauty and pain. The more you get of one, the more you get of the other.

I'm still very grateful for what I have and for what said confusing situations are affording me. Feelings are still feelings. Not being numb and jaded is a gift in and of itself. I am blessed.

Pain and Fear

     Once again, I find myself awakened to a bitter reality from a lovely dream. All at once I faced all of my fears the dream represented while mourning its fiction, and I feel that I may collapse into myself with the pain of it.

    Recently, after spending too much time being complacent and drowning in self-sabotage, I pulled myself out of the pit once again, facing the fact that my relationship is going nowhere and in fact hurts my feelings. For the past three (maybe even four) years, doing this demanded action, and when I faltered I would punish myself with extremely unhealthy coping actions which included binge-eating junk food and escaping into escapist sedentary hobbies. This combined with the frustration and anger surrounding the world's reaction to COVID-19 doubled the depression and created an especially deep and dark pit. I have been successfully pulling myself out nonetheless, facing doubts, fears, negative self-talk instead of falling back into comfortable addictions to silence them. Once again, I told my boyfriend my feelings about our relationship, and to my immense relief (and admittedly, to my shame), he was emotionless in the revelation and suggested a break. It's almost ridiculous in its inaction, since we haven't been intimate in a very long time - however, I shoved down the smug nature of that particular self-talk and turned it into a victory. It is progress; a step forward.

    Finally, I have money saved up to move out. Finally, I have enough money to live by myself. Finally, I have begun the break-up that is necessary to re-boot my life. In six months, the lease is up, and it seems like I'm waiting forever. Finally, I have the emotional freedom to pursue a new romance, if the situation presents itself. This is exciting and scary. It's scary because of something I am facing once again this morning - the intense and paralytic fear of actually being happy combined with the desperate desire for it. I have not been truly happy for so long.

    Last night I had a dream that seemed so realistic. It had no random and whimsical elements to give it away and anything out of the ordinary was logically explained. It seemed so real. This dream involved a new romance with someone I previously had a bit of a crush on. In this dream, just the flirtation gave me the added strength to formally end things with my boyfriend and give me the boost for a fresh beginning - even though nothing may happen with this person. I would rather be single and empowered than trapped in perpetual stagnation and sadness. The romance did blossom, however, demonstrated in a passionate kiss which further obliterated any cloudiness or indications that I was only dreaming. He revealed that he'd had feelings for me for a long time. The old doubts were present - though I did not voice them -  that he couldn't possibly have had such feelings for me; he was too clever and attractive. We worked together, and I looked forward to seeing him on the occasions when our shifts lined up. Despite my efforts to the contrary, my now ex-boyfriend found out that I was pseudo-involved with someone and became bitter towards me because of this. I didn't let this dissuade me or make me feel guilty. This was an added triumph. I was able to banish the doubts that I was actually worthy of someone's pursuit. I felt so good. I felt like I'd finally made it out of the pit.

    When I awoke, I felt as if I had been away for some time. As I became re-oriented with what I realized was reality, a familiar regret and sadness washed over me. All at once I was faced with the fear that the situation from my dream may never happen and that I have neither the attractiveness or youth to inspire such interest from such a person. Usually this fear, in a muted form, is always with me, but this morning it is vivid and cruel.

    In this moment of visceral pain and fear is still triumph. I cannot be dissuaded from my path to light into the old ways by this torture. I cannot be stunted in my growth by looming mortality. I will forge ahead, and if I spend the rest of my life never feeling the sunny warmth of and excitement of a man's love ever again, at least I will have succeeded in honoring the temple that is my body, and the God who created it.

Do or Don't Do

 At my heart, I am a doer.  However, that is buried beneath a myriad of paralytic obstacles.

I have recently discovered the term, "executive dysfunction." Essentially, this is the brain working against itself to initiate implementation of a task. You want to do a thing, but your brain won't let you. This is a known issue for ADD and ADHD sufferers, but the struggle is not exclusive to them. It has to do with the wiring of the brain, and if there has been emotional trauma or physical trauma to the brain, executive dysfunction can occur.

I also recently discovered the term, "neurotypical," as my work is with an autistic population. I love this term. Instead of having to differentiate an individual on the spectrum, you can go the other way. The opposite term, "neurodiverse," doesn't even have to specifically indicate autism; it's a general term. How freeing! Imagine how different conversations could be, if, instead of identifying specific disorders to describe an individual (or explain some behaviors), this term could cover it all.

Ultimately, you don't owe anyone an explanation, but if you want to offer a succinct exposition bridging the gap of your struggles with a lack of them, describing yourself as "neurodiverse," could be the perfect compromise between allowing incorrect assumptions and providing your entire medical history.

Back to me. I have been diagnosed with ADHD, major depression, anxiety, and bipolar disorder. I don't like talking about these things. It's not that I'm embarrassed by it; it's just that I try to stay positive and I'd rather discuss the things that are "right," with me than "wrong," with me. Learning about executive dysfunction and how it's intertwined with these struggles is both encouraging and disheartening. It's encouraging to know that I am not truly a lazy person, but it is disheartening to learn that it will be with me for the rest of my life and all I can do is learn how to work around or through it using a combination of therapy, medication, and practice.

Because I desire to do many things but I have always had this inner obstacle, many negative beliefs about myself were hammered into me, and now I have those to overcome, as well. It's been nearly impossible to get anything accomplished without a lot of shaming and negative self-talk along the way, and because this has been a pattern for such a long time, it's more comforting to beat myself down than build myself up. The fear that if I believe, truly believe, good things about me, then everything will be revealed to be a lie, utterly humiliating and devastating me, is very strong. Many things need to be unpacked and dealt with in order to combat this fear, but knowledge and awareness are half the battle, and I am fighting.

A new weapon in my fight is this term, "neurodiverse." If I think of myself as neurodiverse, I don't feel disappointed, ashamed, or defective. I honestly just feel like I have different processes and a different perspective - which I already did. Thus, some of my mountains became molehills.

Whether I do the things or don't do the things, I am still worthy of respect.

The Opposite of Clicking

Man, I don't feel like writing tonight. To be more precise, I want to write, but I can't seem to move myself in the direction of anything I'd like to work on. I spoke to my dear friend (and cherished accountability partner) earlier today about writing an essay. However, when it came to channeling the many thoughts and ideas raging about my cranium, I resisted. Me. After all, that's who lives in me, right? I'm even stubborn against myself, and when I push against that inner resistance, what erupts is anger, anxiety, and confusion.
Why, oh why, must I be such a multi-faceted, multi-dimensional complicated enigma of a device?? Oh, how I wish to be a simple machine of smooth movements and dependability. How can I offer anything to anyone when I can't even depend on myself?
This is turning into a self-indulging, self-pitying diatribe. It's not what I intended or even desire. This is mainly meant to be an exercise of my daily writing and/or journaling to keep those juices flowing.
I have a physical notebook in which I write out whatever, and I did flesh out some thoughts about generational traumas passed down from mothers to daughters, but when I took it out to type it up and work on it, I just didn't....feel like it?
Writing makes me feel amazing when it clicks, and when it doesn't, it's more than frustrating. It can best be described as the emotional equivalent of the sound of unpleasant metallic grinding. I guess that makes sense, since grinding is forced, and clicking is more natural.
There aren't many things that come naturally to me, and it seems that most things are a struggle. But I have come to be thankful for the struggles. After all, it's struggle that builds strength, not ease. Once again, I can only hope - and this hope comes like light through a pinhole - that it means I will have meaning and use. I don't seek it for glory. I seek it for the same basic reason that drives me in everything I do and want; to be essential and to not be a bother. "To not be a bother" is more important; to be essential is more a wish than a priority - part of the fantasy of having meaning.
This is starting to sound self-indulgent again.
I digress.
This is yet another throw-away blog entry; meant only to grease the wheels of the machine instead of feeding it. It's all part of the journey.
"Yes, Lord, yes," is something I say to myself when I'm feeling a little frustrated but I want to thank Jesus for the challenge and accept the challenge - for the exercise to build strength. It also mostly quells whatever flutters of anxiety threaten to shake me.

Yes, Lord, yes. I accept this.

Again with this

I had some darkness last night, during which I felt very strongly and helplessly that there was no escape and it was irrevocably all my fault. I was weeping bitterly, but that barely conveyed the depth of despair I felt. So useless, pointless, empty. So stupid. So wrong. So trapped by by own stubbornness, ineptitude, and poor decisions. Even the thought of death seemed unable to balm my scorching sadness.

Finally the darkness and pain could be corked enough for me to calm down and fall asleep.

Yet again, I dreamed of him. Yet again, his presence demanded more of a narrative structure than my dreams usually carry.
In this dream, he had once again been able to bring himself to forgive me enough to engender a renewed friendship between us. We were both in our hometown. He was riding motorcycles with his dad, saw my car (a certain red car I have long since owned), and stopped down the road, though I had ducked down. I saw in the mirror that he was mouthing words, so I stepped out of the car and approached him. He was asking me if I was planning on attending an event that our mutual friends had planned. I said that I wasn't sure (unsaid was that I wasn't sure that he wanted me there). He smiled and expressed a hope that I would be there.
The events of the dream that followed is not nearly as important as the feelings. Though the setting of the dream was fictional, it felt real enough - I was living at my parents' house, in my old room again, though still working my current job and still with my boyfriend - but the feelings shone through any dreamy haze and burned into me.
I was so happy that he was in my life again. I was so happy that he was trusting me again, but I was afraid. My attraction to him was re-asserting itself and I wanted him, but because I still had a boyfriend, I was scared that he might view any physical overture as validation of his past accusations. Despite this, however, he began to make passes at me as we spent more time together. I liked it, but kept myself in check. We even casually discussed marriage, and the possibility of him taking me all over the country with his naval career. He asked if I would be lonely and miss my family, but I said that if I did, it would be worth it to start my own.
Ultimately, nothing was resolved (neither the feelings nor the events), and the dream once again descended into whimsical nonsense before I awoke.
In the background of this dream, I had admitted to myself that I miss him. It wasn't a satisfying admission, seeing as everything involving his presence in my life remains unresolved. I'm not even sure that I do miss him. It's possible that I mourn what my life could have been if things between us had been different.
It keeps coming back to the same thing; the bottomless regret of my own stubbornness and impulsive actions. There are moments in my life wherein I feel no control over my actions. It's terrifying, and in hindsight it is just as frightening. The thoughts accompanying the past actions are a blank space. I can't recall what I thought or why I did what I did. I do what I can to be more mindful and more present in the moment to prevent such things in the future, but it's not something I can trust in myself because of my lack of focus. So. I can't always control myself, and when I can, I can't seem to force myself to take advice or do what I need to do.

So here we are on the other side of a meltdown caused by the belief that my life is not what it should be, and the feeling that I'm a failure of every dimension of my existence. And in the wake of that meltdown, I received a visitation in a dream to hammer the concept home. And to bring to surface a fear which, until now, I didn't want to put into words. This is the fear that in the future I could only experience any kind of vivid feeling or emotion in these dreams of fiction, and that in my waking state, I would continue to barely feel "ok" enough to function and that my existence would be just survival.

I do feel actual joy slowly ebbing away in my life. Feelings of true contented happiness, joy, excitement are becoming fewer and farther between as I go on. What's worse is that I don't even know what can make me happy anymore.
I don't know how to sustain myself. I do know that I have to, though, and I can at least do the things that I have to.

Feeling Grateful

I'm feeling very grateful this evening.
I'm grateful for my job, my family, my friends, my boyfriend, and my situation. This feeling is a stark contrast to my emotions about a week ago. I can at least mostly attribute those to an especially severe episode of PMS. As usual, that is both a relief and terrifying. It's a relief to know what it is and to be able to somewhat predict its intrusion. It's terrifying that I am vulnerable to this every month. Unfortunately I'm usually unable to logically identify that my feelings are being caused by chemical turbulence while I'm in the the throes of the worst of it and must instead rely on my own dogged stubbornness to get me through it.
Why is it that stubbornness would get me through it?
Why must I be stubborn? What must I keep from quitting?
...
Life. I must keep from quitting life.
In the worst of my lows, PMS-caused or otherwise, everything about life seems an overwhelming struggle and I seem hopelessly inadequate to the task. I have never considered this to term me as, "suicidal." I have never seriously considered killing myself. That is a threshold I hope never to cross; mostly because as with other psychological thresholds, once crossed the barrier virtually disappears and it its place remains just a memory of what it was to fear the thing. I have crossed such thresholds.

I have only half-wished to cease existing. Though it sounds mild in comparison to actual suicidal ideations, the half-wishes are always wrought with astounding pain.

I don't want to disappoint or hurt anyone, and I don't want to miss out on something down the road. When I'm feeling like this, I can forgive myself and hope/work for progress.

And in the Middle of the Night

I count myself lucky to be blogging right now on my beloved Chromebook while I'm working an overnight shift at my job. I impulsively agreed to work a second shift, partially hoping that I would get some writing done during the graveyard shift.
There's wi-fi on my unit, but the password is a ridiculously coveted secret, and one of the supervisors (who likes me and knows my work ethic enough to have confidence that I wouldn't abuse the wi-fi and would still do my usual diligent work) entered the golden password into my Chromebook one evening, and voila! I have access in order to transform my boring downtime into valuable productivity. Huzzah! I'm not being sarcastic. Having that possibility opened up to me seriously felt like Christmas morning.
Thus.
Having it with me tonight ended up being the deciding factor in my staying for third shift.
Here I am; I finished my paperwork and am now freed up to work on my novel.
Aaaand nothing is happening. I brought my outline, and I even began a brainstorm and list of characters. I was ready to dig in, and then all of a sudden my accumulated fatigue came upon me like a heavy blanket, and I can't stop thinking about blankets and pillows.
This is why I stopped picking up overnights for a while. I love the quiet and the downtime (I can basically watch Netflix the entire time), but holy crap I'm just so tired the whole time. I'm hoping, however, that my recently shifting sleeping habits would aid this. Lately, I can't even sleep until almost 2am, I usually wake up anytime between 4:30 and 6:30 and I'm unable to go back to sleep for at least a couple hours, and then I can easily sleep until at least noon. It's random, inexplicable, and frustrating. Because of this, I have decided against picking up first shifts as my extra shifts and try overnights again.
Also.
Administration just raised the differentials for second and third shifts by seventy-five cents, so that will be helpful to my financial goals.
I'm honestly just rambling in this blog post to both get my writing juices flowing and to stay awake. It's 3am. I'm only halfway through. If I'm not able to get right to sleep when I finally get to bed, I'm gonna be super pissed.
If I worked harder on my self-discipline with working out and writing, would I be less likely to fall into my depressive lows, I wonder? Would I be further less likely to fixate and hyper focus on my romantic life because I would feel more self-satisfied?
Do I need to be on my own, or do I need to push through everything and finally settle down for real with my boyfriend? I like how close we are and how well we get along, but I want to be single. I miss my independence. That's the truth.
I'm developing a headache from fatigue. I'm wrapping this up and I'm going to force out some words for my novel. Here's to more overnights and writing sessions!
You read this for some reason, and I thank you. God bless!