Relapse, Relapse, Relapse, Relax Relax (Ba Ba Ba Ba Da Daaaaa)

Got Panic! At the Disco in your head yet? No? Because you've never even heard of that band before?

Well, that's your problem because they're wonderful.

That's not even my point. I'm just being a smart-ass because why not?

I haven't been posting a lot lately simply because things have, at least in my mind, settled down. I've been getting used to juggling work and home life, getting a new routine into play, sorting out things with T so that we can work as a unit... I was feeling really good.

Was. See how I used a past-tense verb?

These past couple weeks, I've been feeling flustered. Overwhelmed. Exhausted. Emotional. Yes, certain female issues played a part in that. But not all. I've been having trouble adapting to different situations, I've been requiring actual moments of "close your eyes and breathe" at work as well as at home, and other obsessive habits have kicked in again (rearranged my bedroom while the kids were unattended upstairs).

I've been trying to pinpoint why I've been feeling like this, and a friend of mine pointed out that maybe it's the fact that a year ago at this time, we were going through the hellish experience of Mr. M being so small and sick in the hospital. I feel like I've got some residual PTSD over this, simply because I didn't really deal with the emotional turmoil at the time of everything happening. I pushed it aside because I just didn't have time to be upset; I didn't have time to break down and curse and sob. I had to be strong and pulled together because I had people who depended on me.

Now? Those same people depend on me, but in a different way. Mr. M is growing up so much and from what we can tell, there aren't many lasting effects of his hospital stay. He will still have appointments with a pediatrician as well as his family doctor; he'll meet with the urologist until his inevitable surgery and go through different diagnostic procedures to determine how his organs are doing; at some point he will probably have to go through some developmental testing and/or hearing tests to make sure that everything is still going okay. But he's alive. He's alive and he's thriving and god-fucking-dammit it is such a relief that all of the emotions that I bottled up a year ago are coming through all at once.

We've been told by doctor-friends that the outcome that we got with Mr. M was a likely one. A ballpark 60% positive to 40% negative outcome. I can only thank the fact that we believe and trust in our healthcare system here, not to mention be thankful that we get our heathcare covered by the government. I can't imagine going through all of that ... and then being devastated by what would surely be a $1 million hospital bill.

That's beside the point. The point is, I feel out of control right now and it, itself, is getting out of control. I don't like it. I don't like that I can't tame it back and control it. I don't like that I can't just tell myself to stop and relax. I just plain don't like it. I'm not willing to take more meds because honestly, I don't want to take them for the rest of my life.

I just need to find my zen. My simple, basic, inexpensive zen.

Money

You want to know what's making me really anxious and depressed lately?

Money.

I know that as an adult, everyone is worried about money. Most people are worried about paying off their crippling student loans, or dealing with saving money to buy a house.

Me? I'm worried and anxious and depressed about surviving week to week.

Somehow, me going back to work has actually made our money problems more pronounced. I don't know how, seeing as we now have two incomes. But shit is just bad.

I'll write a full post later. There's a lot more to it.

I Worry

One of the (many) downsides to being an extroverted introvert is introspection. I spend a lot of my time thinking, and a lot of my time thinking about what others think of me. I alternate between getting down on myself for being a hot mess - honestly, you should have seen the disaster I was at the grocery store today - and trying to say that I give no f's what other people think of me. It's kind of exhausting, now that I have it out in the open.

But why do I worry about what others think of me? Why am I constantly comparing myself to others? Why can't I just go about my business and move on?

Honestly, I have no clue. I'm so concerned about outside opinions that I can't even begin to find an opinion of myself that I like and can build on.

The struggle is real, folks. And golly, am I struggling.

Is it me? Am I aiming too high?

Every time I start blogging, or have some magical push of creativity, I always say that I'm going to blog more. That I'm going to do it with relative consistency.

That has happened zero times.

I don't know what it is. I mean, I like to write, I like to talk... I like to talk on the internet (aka writing) a lot more than I like talking in person, so one would assume that a blog would be the perfect medium for me.

It's not like I don't have time to do it - I have a relatively fast typing speed (although it could be improved seeing as I haven't really used it as much as I used to), so churning out a blog post once a day or once every couple days should be easy.

Maybe I'm just lacking in subject material and/or I don't want to bombard the three people that read my ramblings with stories about my kids or my husband.

I actually think that the problem is that I'm just aiming a little too high. It's like every time I say I'm going to start a weight loss plan. Rather than starting small and giving myself little goals, I'm like "OKAY ALL THE EVERYTHING STARTS NOW" and then two days later I'm crushing a pack of timbits in my car en route home so that it "doesn't really count"

Shut up, you know you've been there.

So my short term little goal is to write another post this week. Here's hoping I can finally follow through!

For the Love of God

For once, I'm not using that phrase blasphemously.

I'm honestly confused and confounded by those who have a relationship with God. It's not that I don't believe in Him, I just don't understand the innate love that some people have for Him.

I was brought up a Roman Catholic. A "only practicing when we have to" Roman Catholic, but RC nonetheless. I attended Catholic schools, went through all the sacraments, even got married in a Catholic church. But that was more about just following the path, less about choosing it myself.

I have friends - good friends - who are Christian and proud. They shout it to the world - both literally and figuratively - about their love for God and how he has set out this plan for them. How can they know? How can they just blindly believe that "everything happens for a reason" or that their faith is being tested or, or, or.

It's not that I'm trying to argue with their faith. If anything, I'm proud that they believe in something/someone so fully that they will tell everyone and anyone about it. Maybe I'm mildly envious that I don't have that same sort of belief system in place.

Or maybe, just maybe, this is my call for help in understanding.

Self-Love Month - Week 1, Day 1

Finally I'm following through with blogging! Everybody say hooray! 

Today is day 1 of week 1 of both the month where I find something to write about (hopefully positive). It's also day 1 of week 1 of my 21 Day Fix round. 

I didn't realize that in a month off from working out, I'd be starting back at the beginning. I basically was at the same point of disrepair for the first workout as I was at the very first time I worked out. I couldn't one move entirely, I bowed out halfway through of a couple of them. I couldn't do the ab work because of my back. So I have learned my lesson that I shouldn't stop exercising, I should just keep plodding through. Or at least don't take a month-long break. 

I'm actually, legitimately, at a loss of what to talk about. Hopefully tomorrow I can think of something, but today all I can think about is relaxing in my bed and zoning out playing the Sims. 

Fatboy Slim Reflections

"We've come a long long way together,
Through the hard times and the good,
I have to celebrate you baby,
I have to praise you like I should"
-- Fatboy Slim "Praise You" released 1998, from the album "You've Come a Long Way, Baby"

I know that it's been awhile since I've posted, despite all of my promises and intentions of posting more. I've been in a rocky place mentally & emotionally, so I haven't felt like writing much. Although that in itself is a lie because I keep thinking of nothing BUT writing. I just can't seem to drive myself to do so, which in turn makes me upset that I'm not writing more... It's the most vicious cycle and I hate it.

When I sat down tonight, I had full intentions of turning on Sims 4 and making my puppets dance.

What's that? You want to eat? Maybe you should finish studying cooking first!

 But then I got the above song by Fatboy Slim stuck in my head. And things just kind of starting rumbling and rattling around in my brain, and I felt the actual urge to write a blog post.

A few days ago, at a very low point in the week, I posted on Facebook that I was having a rough day and that PPD was kicking my ass. Up until then, I think I've posted maybe once about my PPD issues and it was most of the same people saying how "brave" I am for talking about it and how they're always there for me to chat with/to/at. The thing about my version of PPA/PPD is that I really do not want to burden other people with my problems. I know that they're my problems, and I don't really feel like dumping them on other people.

 "But we're friends!" they say "That's what we're here for!"

Sure. That's true. And when you've cultivated online friendships (a lot of them, in my case) it gets even easier to chat with them because you're hiding behind the anonymity of the Internet. But honestly, at some point, they're all going to get fed up with me complaining and/or sadding (is that even a word? Can I turn an emotion into a verb?) about the same thing all the time. And that's where my PPA/PPD kicks in. I'd love to talk out my problems before they turn into me being a lump of sadness. But the little part of me, the part that is clinging to the Zoloft, is telling me that it's not fair to expect people to listen all the time.

And I kind of believe it.

I've been a lump of sadness for too long, and where I would love to say that I'm going to do better and I'm going to change myself... I can't really guarantee that. Once I start putting definitives down, then I'm just setting myself up for disappointment and failure. That sounds harsh, I know, but honestly I think I know how my brain works. This happens every time I set out to lose weight. I'm sick of disappointing myself because I always assume that I'm disappointing others at the same time.

February 1st, I start a new session of 21 Day Fix. I'm going to adhere to the food plan this time instead of cheating pretty much daily. I'm going to push myself in the workouts. I'm going to start writing again. I'm going to start praising myself for what I have done each day - maybe that can be my February writing goal, to write a post daily (even if it's just a little short one) - and accepting that I am flawed, but that's okay.

Paige, we've come a long long way together. Through the hard times and the good. We have to celebrate us, baby. We have to praise us like we should.