Patterns

I just realized that my last post was almost exactly a year ago.

What is it about this time of year?  I don’t want to be stupid and assume SAD… just because it’s fucking COLD (real cold.  Canadian cold.  As in even born-here Canadians are going “damn, that’s COLD out there.) and the sun has become a stranger.

Post vacation blues?  I couldn’t WAIT to get away from christmas vacation stress at home.  Fuck, Christmas week sucked, with the in-laws and the stress and the not-resfullness of it.

I need to remember this blog is here.

I’ve been inspired by Ed Sheeran to try to write, to get back to the melodic patterns I always felt in chord progressions, the tension and release that can be found by resolving a minor chord… my last post was part of that, trying to put down my feels and thoughts in words that were more image than form.  I guess that’s poetry, lyrics, some form of art.  I need that.

I need a list of how to move forward.

I need to let go of lists.

Layoffs today… friends I can’t help…. friends I wish I could be closer to… friends I know I need to stay further from or risk my stability…

I’ve been here before.  The layoffs.  The money trouble.  The partner I can’t connect with, but the friend I wish I could…

I need a plan.  I need to take steps.

I need to let go of planning and “be” more.

I need my plans to be sound and not take me down the wrong path.

I need to see where the patterns I’ve followed in the past branched out to uselessness, or harm… fucking good intentions only get you deeper into trouble, it seems.

I need to find joy in my children again, not just work and effort.  Maybe that doesn’t happen though until they grow up.

That better not be it.  I definitely won’t make it then.

Ha ha.

Time for bed.  Wish me luck.

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the downswing

it’s midnight, time for bed, for soothing the hurts of muscles mind soul core

but the swing is low, lower than the bed will cradle

shards of anticipation thin the raw hide ribbon my endurance

lonely boredom with all I have occupying my anticipation keeping me too wound to empty my weights

so many hobbies, interests, projects, thoughts and branches to just reach, grab, they all seem old, unfinished or touched so long they will crack under the weight of my need and anticipation for fulfillment of my potential to be

to be more

to be me, not a fragment on display, crystalline entity benign actions but destructive in true nature, intent restrained with the

shards of anticipation thinning the raw hide ribbon of my restraints

when will the hide tear, the blood spill

feel all the feels, stretch into my wings

it’s too cold outside for angels to fly, ginger bard says, another woman’s hide already torn

what would the moment of release feel like, when the hide shreds finally

dozens of tiny slits to expand the tendons’ reach, a balance of cuts to extend range that weaken the structure

shards of anticipation thinning the raw hide ribbon of my range.

Where could I reach?

Would I feel better than now?

How far would I fall?

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Quote from a movie

The movie Parenthood had a quote about how life is like a roller coaster. My friend Phil quoted it to me in a special book of memories I have, a blue dollar store notebook that I had people sign and write a message in when I felt they were important to me, but I knew they were leaving my side. Times of transition. The end of my Quebec exchange. The end of first year university. Times when my personal roller coaster was on the downside and I wasn’t convinced the ride was going to give me enough momentum to climb the hill I could see looming on the other side.

I’ve since learned that that fear that I’ll run out of momentum is depression lying. It’s the kind of lie that has truth to it. The worst kind. The scary kind. The kind that looks and feels true. Because of you take it as truth it becomes true.

I’m looking at the looming mountain again. I’ve started this blog to try to understand why it is back, why I’m not looking forward to the rush down the hill, the feeling of weightlessness before I feel gravity and the anticipation of the next climb. I’m a fighter. I am stubborn. I am smart and strong. I need to love the roller coaster again.

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Lying is popular these days

Don’t get me wrong.

I’m incredibly happy that depression is finally getting its, well, its time in the sun. I won’t say it can’t bloom in the sun, because that would be a lie as blatant as what depression tells the brain and body it possesses.

I’m starting to see people assuming that they can spot depression from what they’ve seen in a few 30 second ads though. Highly functional depressed people don’t look or act depressed. Sometimes they’re the life of the party. They’re just turned off inside.

I’m trying to come to the core of what I need to do to climb the hill in front of me. While I do this I’ll go to work, kiss my kids, and even have sex with my husband. I’ll smile. I’ll even laugh. But the shades are drawn, my happy meter will max out at 5 of 10, and the whole time I’ll wonder how soon I can escape.

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