Hiding Spaces

I crave what you have, your unabashed and seemingly limitless store of creativity.
I set goals for myself:
Do this every day.
Do this once a week.
Do this once a month.
Just try. Sometimes. Once. Again.
It's harder than it used to be.
I've let go of some of the things that torment me and find I am anchorless without them.
I've found the things that are still dragging me down and I drown before I can voice them.
Somewhere between the joy and the death there is life worth noting but I never learned the knack of seeing the inbetweens.

Roadblocks

My birthday is on the horizon and I feel just as stuck as ever. I so desperately want to spill all these words out into the ether, pull them forcefully from my head, until the chaos is quiet and I can sleep again. Suddenly I crave all the things that are bad for me. All the things I don't allow myself to indulge in anymore.

Change is harder than I thought it could be, more demanding than anything I've done in my life.

Perspective shifts are painful.

     I've been trying to embrace the notion of treating my mental health in the same terms of my physical health. Well, technically, not "my" physical health. I'm not very good at keeping track of my physical health. I'm struggling with a set of symptoms/problems with no easy answer or diagnosis and it's hard to be diligent and demanding of the medical community to treat me reasonably and effectively. For the sake of this exercise, I'm trying to think of my mental health in the same ways I would encourage others to think of their physical health.
     Now that it's all clear.
     I suffered a relapse of a chronic condition which left me in a state of exhaustion, struggling with insomnia, unable to make new commitments, forced to scale down my usual activities for lack of energy, and generally behind in the majority of my responsibilities. Recovering from this relapse has required that I spend more time resting, allow more time to complete my responsibilities, and accept help from others to maintain the basic functions of my life.
     That sounds so much nicer than: I had a nervous breakdown and am having trouble getting over it.
I know there's a difference in those two perspectives. I know that I hold my personal mental health to a standard I would never apply to others. It's also very hard to make such a significant adjustment to my thinking.
     I grew up thinking that you can do anything if you just point your feet in the right direction and try hard enough. There was no room for the times when the circumstances were insurmountable, though many times in life that's the reality of the situation. Like that time mom got sick and no amount of anything made her better. There was no room for when the things you thought you wanted were so horribly bad for you. I may want to be a social butterfly but I am not by nature and trying to be brings me great distress and anxiety. But all of that is pushed to the side on the face of "Pick yourself up! Walk it off! It will be fine in the morning!"
     Mental health requires care. Some people seem to do it naturally. Some people seem to do it out of enjoyment. Some people seem to need it to remain stable. I would be in that last category. I need to care for my mental health or it will disintegrate into mental ill health. A situation that isn't good for anyone.
     So, my challenge: care for my mental well being in a diligent and effective way. Stop judging the necessity, let go of the "will power" mentality, and move forward in deliberate care.
This is one of those brain processes that requires rewiring. I'm working on it.

I tripped, and fell.

     A few weeks ago, I was functional. Sure, things were hard. Life has been full of stress lately (more than usual) and we were all beginning to crack a little under the pressure. Tensions were high, emotions were cartwheeling, and we all had our own demons to wrestle with along the way. But I was managing. Not very gracefully but somewhat effectively until I just wasn't anymore.
     I've been depressed at times in the last 20 years. I wish it wasn't true. I wish I didn't have to accept it to get past it. I wish I could mark progress along a straight line and celebrate all the success until we are overcome by all the beauty of life. Though I wish all those things, I also know my reality isn't a reflection of those desires. Sometimes, I just have a hard time. Sometimes I can't sleep. Sometimes I over eat, or don't eat at all. Sometimes I'm so sad I just sit and cry.
     Not all the time, or course. But more than I'd like to admit in polite company.
     Depression, for me, has been a part of my life that I've needed to adapt to, work with, overcome, and accept. It is not the end of the story, but rather an important component. I have spent time and money voluntarily seeking professional help for these moods. I've taken medicine and I've learned the warning signs. Most beneficially, I've learned a whole new set of skills to deal with my emotions in healthy ways. Having accepted that I was incapable of just willing myself into better health, I've worked hard at achieving it.
     Except that a few weeks ago the whole system broke down. I got up in the morning, tense and struggling, but getting by. And a few hours later I had fallen into a hole so large and so dark I couldn't begin to see a way out. While the "event" didn't happen in a vacuum - there was a specific experience that broke my hold on my peace - the sudden and complete nature of my descent into depression has been shocking to me.
     I've worked so hard to know my personal warning signs and create timely intervention to help myself.
     I've worked so hard to learn how to react and interact in positive ways that will short cut the cycle of shame, fear, and anger that locks me in a depressive state.
     I've worked so hard to accept the patterns of my mind so that I can begin to reset them into healthy pathways.
     And all that work seems wasted in light of how thoroughly and completely lost I became in the space of a few minutes.
     The hole is deep, dark, and wide. I'm no longer lost inside of it but I'm still there, waiting for the light. I know it will come. It will come towards me, and I will move towards it, and then I'll be free again.
     For now, I am surrounded by fear and shame. This sudden descent into depression has made me feel so fundamentally broken. I feel basically incapable of maintaining a normal existence. The mere routine of going to bed and getting up again in the morning seems insurmountable - I must focus just now on the closest upcoming thing to do - and I wonder how I am fit to survive my life or my lifestyle. I feel lacking in the skills needed to do the things I am responsible for... though I am doing them. Some of them. Some of the time. I'm doing each proper thing as I can, even if it takes me hours longer than it did before, because it's one way to move to the light. But this point of lacking, the basic incompetence, this sense of brokenness; I am ashamed. In the fierceness of my shame I am overcome.
     This experience has broken all my understood and accepted rules of my madness. I had put trust into my ability to recognize the descending signposts. I had created a list of things that leave me intensely vulnerable. I had created a place of safety where I could act preemptively and protect myself - and the people I love - from such an extreme place. For years I have told people that since I recovered from a depressive episode in 2000 it hasn't been "that" bad. Work, skills, tools, relationships, health building - all of it had created an environment that allowed me to stop the descent before the blackness is all encompassing. Until now, 14 years later, when the blackness swallowed me whole in one bite, with no consideration of all my work. And now I am so afraid. How do I work through the day knowing that my hold on peace can be so abruptly lost?
    Of course, paired with the reality of my illness is the reality of my success. It remains factual that I have worked hard to become better. I still have all the tools I've learned, though I may not always have access to them. My work has not been wasted, no matter how much my mind tells me otherwise. And in the middle of it are the people I need, the ones who love me. The ones who love without reason or fear. The ones who love me, not in spite of or because of my illness but for myself. The ones whose love takes wing and soars into the sky.
     I'm trying a number of things to move toward the light. I continue to work with a professional. I confess my true state of mind to my supporters. I continue to reach for and use the skills that come to me. I try to soundly reject the lies of my depressed mind and believe the truth of my heart. I need to keep going, and I'll find my way out. I don't believe, but I'm borrowing the belief of trusted others.
     In the meantime, I'm a little slower. A little quieter. A lot more afraid. A lot more lost. And I keep going, one step at a time.  

Usefulness

Sometimes I am so very angry, and it is a good clean burn that straightens my spine against the world.

I will not sacrifice it to correctness or feel guilty in my selfishness.

I have worked too hard to be here where I am.

Sometimes I am so very angry it beats like a drum between my temples pulling my heartbeat along in time

Marching through the crap being flung from all sides.

And I will not give up and I will not be beaten and I will not be held down

Anymore.

Sometimes I am so very angry it holds me hostage until I cannot breathe clean air and am stung by the bitterness of it.

Even so, sometimes it is a good clean burn that straightens my spine against the world.

Thoughts on Christianity and Brokenness

Sometimes, Life is really hard. We get a glimpse of this all the time. It seems so obvious. Sometimes, though, it sneaks up on you and breaks you in ways completely unexpected. And when you're broken, where do you go?

As a Christian, I feel like the answer should be "God." It's so obvious! Give it over! Let it go! Trust in Him! He takes in the broken! He heals the heart! And yes, in my head, all those statements do come with exclamation points. Because I have heard them so devoutly and joyously spoken, so fervently declared. Because the True Believers all speak in exclamation, overwhelmed  by the glory of God. I have a vague envy for such vehemency. It is a type of devotion that I lack.

You see, the great secret is that I am always broken. Some days I can give you a list to justify such a statement. Other days I can't begin to understand it. But this is my reality: I always feel broken.

Always. Take that in for a minute. I know I have to consider this carefully. Is this the statement I wish to make about myself? Truth: yes. Caveat: Some days the brokenness is less. Some days it is more.

As a Christian, I feel like the explanation should be simple. I am broken because of the disconnection between myself and God. I am broken because this world is broken and I cannot be whole inside of it. We are all broken. We all seek healing in Him.

But, again, take that in for a minute. Consider this carefully. Are you always broken? Is that your truth? I'm sure for some people it is their story. I'm equally certain that for others, brokenness is a temporary state that comes and then goes again. And the difference isn't in someone's Faith or Belief or Stricture. The difference lies in each individual.

Perhaps in my current broken(more) state I am casting inaccurate characterizations upon the world. An interesting assignment would be to review these thoughts again at a future broken(less) state. Or simply to take the plunge and really put all this out there and see what other people have to say. Fear often limits me, however, and I suspect this will end in nothing more than private musings.

I digress.

The point I am wandering around is that "giving it over" isn't a productive process for me. I am so broken all the time that there is no simple "let it go." That in my brokenness I am before God at all times. There is healing there, make no mistake. But the desperate desire to try to survive brokenness is not always served by Trust or Faith.

So, here we are. A day of broken(more) by things that are as equally unexpected as they are innocuous. A day of broken(more) that isn't healed by the divine. Gripped by the intense need to get through now to a day of broken(less).

I could tell you that the strain we have been facing is taking its toll. I could tell you that the sleepless nights cost more than you might expect. I could tell you that all the old problems came into play today and chipped away at my resolve. I'll settle for being broken(more). I think it's far more accurate. A broken shorthand for an always broken person.

I'm drowning so thoroughly in the banality of my existence that I can't even express the emptiness adequately.

Hidden in the Spaces In Between

And when I can’t sleep the demons begin to beat me down;
I become smaller and smaller with each passing day. 
Each thought is a starburst inside my brain; 
behind my eyes I go blind. 
This is a lost place, an in between place, a place of fury and fear, of confusion and relentless clamoring.

The Pendulum

And all the sudden the balance in my brain tips precariously the wrong way and I instantly become a liar and a fraud.
Though it isn't sudden, I've been fighting for days, weeks, years, forever to feel the truth of reality.
Reality hurts, cuts more deeply than any knife I've ever wielded against myself, and I bleed.
There is no relief.
I tried to warn everyone, or at least those that matter the most to me,
I cried out in fear.
Love and reassurance have lost their power as I become a liar.
I cannot or do not know where I am in this whirlwind and
Am so horribly bereft at being caught again.

Symbols and Structure

I am preoccupied with my hair.
I have been conditioned to consider it:
Beauty
Power
Statement
Color
Vitality
Lift
Life.
I once wrote about my hair as a handle. The sore scalp. The fear.
I didn't write about who used my hair that way. I didn't want to level accusations.
Now I scream:
It is MINE.
I once wrote about my hair as a secret.
Keeping the length hidden away. The luxury.
Now, I say,
This is me. All of it.
I dream of writing about my hair as an asset. A treasure. Adored and precious.
I will have this
Beauty
Power
Statement
Color
Vitality
Lift
Life
I will do it
My
Way.
My way will be better than any of you could have conceived it to be.
My way will be better than I can believe.
My way will be bigger than I dream.

Dithering

I wonder sometimes what people will say when I'm dead.
Which eccentricity will be remembered and repeated?
How many bits of paper will surprise?
How many secrets did I manage to keep?
Then I remember: it won't matter to me. I'll be gone.
Still, I'll work harder to tell the truth, because lies will poison everything.
I have dreams, visions of these things, all blurred together and confused
As I grow old.