Archives for posts with tag: mental-health

As I walked in to the office this morning I tossed today back and forth like a very inexperienced juggler…’make the best of things?’…’vent?’…’find the silver lining?’…’be real’…’focus on the positive?’…’find greater understanding in my experience?’… Yeah. What the hell? Can’t life and love be simple, and easy once in a while? I guess that’s not something to count on, on the bumpy road to menopause.

Friday morning was pretty great, then a couple random-but-predictable-if-I’d-thought-to-predict-them events ground my emotional balance to a fine powder then mixed it with a sudden shit storm of hormones. I believe the household remodel now includes a padded room… My very supportive, loving partners did the best they could, and frankly an effort well beyond the ordinary on their parts, but any real lasting peace for the weekend was laid waste by my moody outbursts, volatility, and despair. Despair. Fuck, what an ugly emotion. The overall outcome of the weekend seems to be, on one hand, my increased respect for my partners’ ability to provide any measure of emotional support to me, at all, under such trying circumstances…and on the other hand…the ever widening gulf that is my own inability to feel connected to either of them. Wow. Bummer. I’d rather not dwell on that.

The weekend was also nicely productive. We all got a lot of things on our individual to-do lists done. I worked on getting more moved in, myself, hoping that increased order in my space will result in increased order in my thinking. I started a ‘time-based art’ project for myself, too, something as much as tool to reflect on perspective in my life as it is art.   It’ll be a busy week ahead, too… time for a physical. The VA knows more about making a person feel diminished and valueless than any other agency I know of… preparing for that is like putting on emotional armor.  Then Friday… a more important appointment, and I’m bravely pretending I am not afraid, that life isn’t overwhelming me with the intensity of my experience, and that ‘everything will be ok’.

Oh, seriously, I could come up with some words, on topics… they could be important…to someone. I have thoughts. Musings. I wonder stuff. I ponder. I contemplate. I query. I even recall having something on the order of a good bit of writing sort of mapped out in my thoughts as I walked to the office this morning; gone now.  It’s a nice day, too, overcast and wintry looking; feeling mild and a little damp, and promising more rain to come. I could be inspired to paint or write or…

I meditated this morning, after feeding pets and tidying up a bit. Shared a latte and some quiet moments with a partner a bit later, while another slept (we are each on slightly different schedules with our lives). Today is chill and good almost to the point of encouraging me to think, for a moment, there is really nothing at all amiss with life, love, my wiring… I allow myself the luxury of the moment in a more honest way today; recognizing there is work to be done, improvements in self and habit to be made, and things to ‘deal with’ more appropriately than I have… but I have ‘right now’, and it feels good, so I’m feeling that. This, too, is my experience. My now. My life. In this moment, I am and it is enough.

My thoughts are suddenly crowded with ‘things to do’ that are on my list – both mental and written. It seems like a very long list.  I give myself a needed moment of compassion and recognition (new for me) and remind myself that I make lists because I so easily forget small important details and that life generally moves along pretty simply with the occasional glance at a list and a quick update.  I feel less driven and anxious.  Treating myself well, too, not just other people, is a big part of having a good experience. Lesson learned. Today I am enjoying my experience.

I walked to work with my coat unzipped this morning. ‘Winter’, sure, but 40F (that’s about 4.4 C, for the rest of the world)  isn’t really ‘winter cold’, and menopause being what it can be the cool air felt good.  I walked with a smile and a feeling of freedom – ‘light-hearted’ is actually a real feeling!  What is different about today? About this morning? I did sleep almost through the night, and never actually got up, and there were no nightmares. I woke feeling rested. Sleep really matters, I know it does in my own experience, at least…but was that it? Part of it… but… there’s more. I ‘got something I need’ over the course of a lovely chill evening of warmth and fellowship with my partners last night… I don’t know exactly what, or how to describe the nature or value of it.  I retired for the night feeling safe and warm and loved… wrapped in it, nurtured by it… my partners are wonderful people, and I am well loved. The healing power of affection and touch and simple closeness and acceptance can not be over-stated… I would write love poetry or send a Hallmark card, or buy large chunks of rare crystal wrapped in limited-availability metal of some kind if I thought any of that could be enough to demonstrate my appreciation for their love, support, and all that it means to me.

Good sleep brings relief and perspective and greater understanding… but it can not replace Love in my life, it can’t meet my need to be touched and held and cherished, and it can not adore me, or accept my love and adoration in return. Love matters on a whole other level.  I hope I spend the rest of my life learning to love well from my partners; I’d like to love them back with skill, openness and vulnerability, to be really good at love.  What could be a more awesome quality of character for a human being?

I had an eventful weekend.

My Friday was pretty emotionally intense, and wonderfully promising. It was also a sort of ‘pampering me’ day, as it turned out; I got a great haircut and style from a new stylist at a cool shop, and a little more ‘me time’ on the personal aesthetic front later in the day. I wish I could also say that those elements of my weekend nurtured and restored my soul, but that’s not what it was.

My Saturday was strange, moody and productive, sort of detached. I worked at this and that to ease my anxiety and my emotional fatigue; pruned the roses, baked some shortbread. It was a decent day – it had, in fact, all the elements of an actually good day, but I felt like I was ‘going through the motions’ most of the day, and the challenges offered by every day life and the ebb and flow of other people’s experiences and emotions pulled at my heart. Evening was good in spite of the effort the day itself required, and the day ended well, really well. So… ‘no complaints’?

Sunday was hard to call, initially… was it a good day? A bad day? A difficult day? I was moody, tense, anxious, and working my ass off to shrug it off and avoid negatively coloring the weekend for my partners; it was their anniversary. I could not allow myself to blow that, and I probably put a lot of extra pressure on myself over it that I could have done without. This ‘human being’ thing is a more difficult puzzle than it appears from the vantage point of youthful daydreams.  As it turned out, though, Sunday was… amazing.  I did a few chores and ran some errands in the morning, kissed my partners and headed out into the world, and… wow. The World was right there waiting for me.

I had a pretty powerful moment in the Portland Art Museum, which has quite a good modern art collection for a relatively small city museum. I added the museum to my agenda as an afterthought, actually, and arrived only a couple hours before they closed. None of that matters.  What matters is running into old friends, and what matters is this.  Right? Maybe that’s not obvious… It’s “Untitled”, 1987, Peter Schuyff.  Seeing it yesterday was an experience. I saw a lot of paintings, and sculpture, and glass work that I enjoyed a lot. “Untitled” really got me on a different level. I sat in front of it, just looking and feeling it – letting my body feel how I would position the canvas, set up the layout, work the piece to get those effects – and as I relaxed into the moment and felt that painting ‘become’ part of my thinking and understanding, it became more real and more whole and I saw more and more of it. I felt – taken beyond myself, somehow revealing an inner core ‘strength of being’ I have been unable to feel for a while. I understood what I saw, and I experienced a feeling of confidence and certainty and a secure sense of self that couldn’t be shaken by some moment of pain, however ancient, however evil. No harm could come to me through the strength I had revealed to myself, from within my own being. I am still pretty wowed. It was quite…  something, and I needed it. Like slaking a days old thirst in the heat of the desert with cold clear spring water, like the ‘a-ha!’ moment at the front of the classroom, like the last punctuation mark on a moment of literary wonder… that moment in time, with that painting, meant more to me than words can capture here. I hope to keep it, as safe and precious as a lover’s photo in a locket, and look at it often and feel my soul restored again and again. Art has power so far beyond mere words.

My elation lasted much of the evening, and lingered in my thoughts when I dropped off to sleep, satisfied with the day, and the weekend.  I was still smiling and thinking thoughts of Art and feeling inspired to paint, and more than just pain and woe, too… and the smile deepened and remained my companion throughout the morning, after spending a few minutes on Love, and coffee. The things that matter don’t have to be things other people find valuable or important, I guess I just have to know what they are, for myself, to keep them high on my list of priorities.  So far a good week.

I’m hurting. I don’t mean to. Tomorrow is the last day that the apartment we’ve moved from is ‘ours’.  Although we haven’t actually lived there since before Thanksgiving, it hurts so much to let it go.  I feel, too, a huge weight of guilt on my heart, feeling perhaps that I diminish my lovely new home, or the love of my partners in the home we share, or the loveliness all around me in this new place, by aching with longing to continue to hold on to this apartment.  I’m not unhappy to move out, either.  It isn’t actually ideal. It isn’t actually perfect, hell, as it turns out – it isn’t actually habitable in any healthy way (mold issues).  So… moving, and moving on. I’m still hurting. I love the home we live in now. I love my partners and the life we’re building together. I’m excited about the future… and yet, I’m hurting. I don’t want to feel this hurt.  Why it hurts isn’t even a mystery to me.  This apartment has been my first experience with long term happiness and stability, my first experience with an everyday feeling of utter safety in my romantic relationships, and my first experience with living in a home that really ‘feels like me’…surrounded by my art, tastefully and carefully hung, and my lovely porcelain, and glass paperweights, listening to music I love every day, seeing the books I like on the shelves, and exquisite objects on display from far flung journeys…hours of happy conversation about dishes and curtains and furniture… leisurely mornings in the arms of Love… I have loved that home, and loved it with my whole heart, and allowed it to be my entire experience of ‘home’ for awhile.  Yes, it is hurting me to let it go. Doesn’t it seem reasonable that it would?

There is a new home in my present, and in my future, too, perhaps. New choices to make about how it looks, and feels, and what goes where. A new life, new potential, new experiences all awaiting me as each step of each day takes me just a little farther down life’s path.  I can do this, even do it happily, but damn – yes, I am grieving what felt so good there, in the insecure moments transitioning from one to the other. I don’t know how to feel differently; I’m happy to have had the wonders of life in that apartment, rich with love and laughter, in the arms of a Love indescribably precious to me, finally starting to really heal from some of life’s bigger hurts. Healing doesn’t stop because of an address change. Love doesn’t end because I’m in a new zip code. And hurting stops, eventually, in any place and time where there is healing and love. I know I can count on that. It will all be ok…but…

Tonight I will go to the apartment, finish the work remaining there and say good-bye to what is already gone. I will cry. Maybe a lot. Then I will go home to life and love and the future at home with my dearest Loves, and all the family and warmth and healing and love that I need to be ‘at home’, again.