Reflections on an Imperfect Time

I am currently in a place I never thought I would be.  I did not believe in the recovery model for mental illness even a few months ago, nevertheless thought I would be in a place in my life where the “recovery” stage would be very real and tangible in my day-to-day existence.

I never thought I would have any extended time of peace, and I never thought I would define peace as the picture to the left does:  “it does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble, or hard work.  It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart.”

I am there, hallelujah, amen, thank you.  There is chaos all around me, but my heart is calm, it is steady, it is beating strong.  All of those thoughts I had of giving up, have vanished.  Those thoughts of giving up that I had almost constantly through every day of the last several years of my life, the ones I didn’t *know how* to get rid of, the ones that kept me cycling through the hospital and the crisis residence and at the mercy of people (supposedly) saner than I on the other end of a phone line…gone.

I have been through months of adversity without losing my steadiness, and there are even more big changes to come.  I am ready.  I know how to climb the mountain and I am familiar with the path and the twists and turns, and I know it will be hard as Hell and that the Devil himself may stand in my way, but I know within myself that I am ready for this adventure.

QoB is moving away, and my contact with her is sure to greatly decrease.  I am learning that my mom is not the young person she used to be, and that it is time for her to turn her thoughts and her activities and her energies into herself, her new relationship, and into being a cherished Abuela.

It is hard to let her go, to stop calling her so often, to not count on her for every little thing, to really *grow up* here at age 34.  I have had my mom by my side my whole life, she has gone to bat for me countless times, and now, I need to go to bat for myself and count on LarBear to be my touchstone.  This doesn’t mean the relationship I have with her will be any less special, it just means that it is time for me to learn to count on other people.

I *DO* have other people I can count on in this life, and she deserves all the happiness available to her, and if that happiness is retirement and open prairies and big blue skies, then I wish all that for her and more.  There is such a thing called a telephone, and it isn’t like I will never ever see her.  It will just be less.  It is only within the last month, I think, that I would ever have been able to accept this for what it is.

With QoB moving away, retiring from the life here, comes the need for LarBear and I to move.  Physically move, that is, into a new home.  Of course, this creates stress and upset and all of the above, but we need to start living within our very own means, and know that we can still be okay.  We don’t have a terrible income, and it is enough that we will be able to find a nice-enough place to live.  Of that, I have no doubt.  I only wish the process were speedier, more certain, less of a time-suck.  I am ready to find the place and get the stuff moved and BE THERE.

The part of the recovery model I am most focused on now, which is also part of DBT, is that I am building A LIFE WORTH LIVING.  The past several years, I have been eking by, and I’m done with that.  I do not want to define myself by my mental illness, and I don’t want others to identify me that way, either.  I am a strong woman and I have a good man by my side, and I honestly feel I can tackle whatever is around me, that needs tackling.

I have even more support outside of my relationship with LarBear, whether it is the constant support of my mental health center contacts, or my Dad, or the Big Dawg.  I have places to turn to.  More than anything, I want LarBear and I to build a beautiful life together, and we are well in the process of doing that.

I don’t want to be “the crazy one” forever, and I tire of being looked at that way by family, acquaintances, the like.  I believe that I am even *more* sane and well-balanced than the average bear, because I am insightful into my life and I *do* examine my own thoughts and behaviors and I also spend great gobs of time practicing DBT and going to therapy and the like.  Practicing my skills isn’t something that anyone should look down on a person for.  Chances are, some of the skills could work for you, or for you, or for my mom or for LarBear or any number of people.

I have more skills in my toolbox than most people, and I think that is wherein the true advantage lies.  I have those skills and I am in touch with different things that help me to feel better, such as writing and making jewelry, and I do not let a single day pass in which I do not create something, anything.  It is so very important — not the product, but the process.  It doesn’t matter if you try a new recipe or build a Lego village or paint a picture…the creativity that dwells within us, heals us, and there is a multitude of proof or evidence out there that healing can happen, no matter how desperate you feel your situation is.  If I can do this, you sure can, too.

#reverb14 Day Three: How to Love an Imperfect Life

It’s all too easy to put off loving where we are until everything is perfect.

What can you love about where you are now?

I would like to add that it is all to easy to put off LIVING in the space we were meant to be if things are not ideal.  We may have a hard time fulfilling our desires of ABC because XYZ is not going well.

There is something in life that I personally must accept and reevaluate and remind myself of every day — everything is not ever going to be perfect ALL AT ONE TIME.  This has been so true for me as of late.  When my (non-existent) romantic life was going perfectly (in that it was not existing ever-so-quietly and I was very happy with being single), I was not able to fully appreciate it because there was stress and imperfection and strife in other areas.

Something Goddess of Mindfulness has been saying for years — “this (XYZ) is not just a bipolar thing, it’s a HUMAN thing.”. As in, my reaction to a certain stressors is not because of my history with trauma or because I am bipolar — it is an average human reaction.  It is important to find these and sort through them, because failing perfection means failing to truly love where we are in the moment and guess what, Rosa… not a bipolar thing, when I had always thought that the case.

So what can I love about where I am now?  I have the strongest relationship with my mother, my dad, and my sister than I have ever in my life.  There was a lot of pulling together that came from the stress of the past few months.

I can accept that I am not “perfect” and still love where I am, who I am, because the people I care most about have made it so very clear that I am not broken, something to be fixed.  That I am human and deserve love and attention and empathy and support and assistance.  After building our relationship up very carefully over time, I honestly love that I feel as if I can call my sister up anytime, whether I am doing well or am in crisis, and that she will be there to listen and problem-solve with me.

And its the same with my dad.  We have painstakingly worked on our relationship, and while it isn’t perfect, I still love it, still treasure it, sometimes revel in awe of it.  And Mom — we’ve always been close but I feel like I have been able to be there a bit for her like she has been for me for so many years.  Not in the same way, but I can be supportive…I have that capacity now and it is nice that I, at times, feel like I am able to encourage her as she has encouraged me for my whole life.

So yes, family and family relationships are what I think of for this prompt.  Many areas of my life are imperfect in some way, even flawed and miserable.  What keeps me loving where I am at are those three beautiful people.  Even without this so-called perfection, my family makes my life sparkle and shine even in the spots that are dark and cobwebbed.

Those Who Suffer Around Us

I have really been rolling around in the muck, feeling all sorts of sorry for myself. I can and anyone could  easily get caught up in the stifling desperation, lose all sense of reality and what is real and fair in the world.  Simple enough, you can be oblivious to the world around you, and the people in it — some who are going through their own private hell right now.

Depression makes you appear selfish to others.  It keeps you from loving fully, pass by quickly you whisper to loved and strangers alike as it can render you unable to speak or to even be in the presence of others..  Your ability to naturally happen upon the feeling of compassion for others is nonexistent, thanks to the fact that you just do not see those people.  They are standing there, but if you are depressed enough you can sit or stand or lie very still, and you will not glimpse even a shadow of the people quietly (and at times desperately) living their lives around you.

When you are deep, sunk into depression, you are not as helpful to others; in fact, making contact can be like creating a physical wound, sometimes shallow and able to be ignored, and other times the contact makes your heart stop.  And start.  And stop.  And start.

My mom and stepdad are in the middle of a divorce now.  I have moved past the stage of trying to fix it, to trying not to internalize all of the muck.  My mom and stepdad, especially my stepdad, are the ones I think of when I wrote the above.  So many emotions, most very strong, a whirlwind that can secret you away if you don’t pay close enough attention.

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I spent today with QoB and it was nice.  She cooked and I played Dee-jay  and she danced around the kitchen just like it was old times.  We talked about many different things and I spent a lot of time being silent, as did she.  We have always been like that, since forever and a day, able to sit near each other for long periods of time in comfortable silence.

 

Come Meet the Infamous QoB

My mom, Queen of Bisquits, Queen of DaNile, whatever you want to call her, has graciously agreed to “guest post” tonight.  Has been a bit of a trying day and she has always been a giver, this time being giving me a little time to decompress.  Without further ado…

As a guest, first We say gracias, elder Mija. As a blogger… well, for QofD ‘tis been done for years, rarely in the public eye.

Funny, it is, how the older one gets the less and more angst fills one’s world. Ya know… that tiny little space in the continuum one calls “life.” How different one’s own perspective is, let alone seeing it in different eyes as the cycle goes forward.

Spent a day, today, first Pricillatating (yes, that’s a word) a necessary trip to the local homebigbox place to score schtuff for the store, and elsewhere. Then stopping in a parking lot, realizing one’s beloveds from a different time span were linking up with a “grandpa,” who was never much of one. Realizing if SOMEONE didn’t make this prettier, ‘twould perhaps not be very pretty for the young eyes of youth.

It went well. ‘twas chaos, in a good, though confined way. On toward reality of the day… what was really supposed to be happening, rather than a hella long sidetrack. Small children who used to be terrified of dogs greeted three of my dogfamily, with joy. All of them (dogs) much bigger than the “kids.”

Noticed, the one child seemed so much like a younger child once known very.darned.well. His father. Heartbreakingly similar. Really? How can lack of environment still have those same looks, twitches, and compassion?

By end of day, we’d fed goats tortilla chips, caught snails from the aquarium to send back with small boys, cooked some hella good “birthday” supper for the birthday boy… who had a “cold” and couldn’t participate much. Ehh, a tired old story that gets re-told. Over, and over, and over again.

The bestest part of this day was spent with my Rosa, today’s hostess with the mostest. We always can talk, and talk, and sooner or later maybe figure out world peace… or not.

After day is almost done, ‘twas a good day. Fraught with small boys, too cold the weather to be outside, and the yearning to have more time with their beloved momma who I think of as a true friend. It makes me think of time spent, with all… and wonder how life keeps up this constant churn and turn.

At end of day, I wonder… was I a good friend? A good mother? Am I still a good mother? Can I be a halfassed good grandma? Have I DONE enough with my life to put a small piece of it forward?

Funny, how we all seem to have such angst at living our lives. Coulda’ Shoulda’ stinkin’ thoughts. If I had one wish, I’d wish away the second-guessing many of us live with.

At end of day, ‘tis best to be very thankful for life. We choose to live it. We have the ability to embrace it, and just call it good. ‘til tomorrow. Then we’re given another chance to try again. Therein lies the way of way of a more peaceful existence… as one gets older, ‘tis hella easier to say it was a good day.

 

 

I Need Ear Plugs

I’d just about give up my left big-toe right now to have a little silence.  I’m even thinking of going and sitting in my car.  Between DSB and his obsession with the TV, and the dogs going sideways because the neighbors happen to be hanging out in the driveway, and DSB’s phone ringing incessantly, and my blood thumping in my ears, I’m about to go a little haywire.

It’s been a busy week, a busy weekend, and I am still running on a sleep deficit.  I don’t feel very good physically, due to the lack of sleep, and the neighbors are about to not feel very good physically get an earful if they don’t get out of my yard.  I’m starting to feel more than a little cranky around the edges.

Really, why must there be such noise?

I almost took a nap today, but QoB called and I ripped off the ol’ CPAP, invited her over, and went off to find some pants.  It really turned out to be a good thing that she came over, because we got quite a bit done.  Or rather, QoB cleaned like the madwoman that she is and I helped do a few things, but otherwise sat around feeling ill and guilty for not helping much.

And I have ants.  Hopefully we took care of them, but mercy, there were quite a few.  When I told DSB, he was unimpressed and told me that he had advised me of such over a week ago.  Somehow I doubt that, but we must choose our battles, so I said, “Ok, hon,” and went back to doing dishes.  I really did do a lot of dishes today.  That I know as concrete fact, whereas it is remotely possible that DSB had already advised me of the ants a week ago.  Like I said, you pick your battles.

Another battle that I did not end up picking with DSB was that of the “miscellaneous computer crap” that has been piling up in my dining room over the last month.  QoB nipped that one in the bud and tucked it all away, nice and neat.  On a not-so-lovely note, DSB did not notice that it was all gone when he came inside.  Apparently chaos only drives ME insane.

My apologies that this post is all over the place.  I am suffering severe brain fog that I am hoping will remit, say, tomorrow, because I am positive I am going to get a good night’s sleep.  Cross your fingers and toes on that one.  I know I am.