Category Archives: Mental Health

Driving Maybe. Sinking Definitely

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I shouldn’t tell you. It’s too much information maybe.

I feel like I’m sinking into a murky abyss.

Nothing is going right and it affects everyone around me.

I’m sinking and dragging everyone down.

I hit a telephone pole. Everyone is fine. The telephone pole is still standing

At some point, I will have to drive again. The boyfriend said I can’t afford a chauffeur.

I almost can’t spell chauffeur or write a single post because the abyss is taking over.

I’m sinking.

Is it too late to learn how to surf?

 

 

Kidney Chronicles: Let’s Do Our Nails Again

Nail Salon

My friends, my mom, the doctor all want to know, “How do you feel?”

I’m supposed to say fine. Fine. I feel freaking awesome.

It’s all a lie. The only good thing I could say to the doctor was that my nails look great. Really, they do. I’ve had nothing but time to spend on my nails. It’s good that I’ve had so much time because I still can’t sit still long enough to let the topcoat dry. So I have to start all over.

I swear I can hardly move. How do I keep messing up the topcoat? Lucas says I don’t have the patience to be a nail jedi. I’m going to keep at it  until I have succeeded.

I do not feel fine. I feel like I have a foreign object in my body. Oh wait. I have two foreign objects in my body right now. Namely two stents. One in each ureter. You know, the place between the kidney and the bladder.

I had one surgery last week and scheduled for another one in two weeks. The nurses at the doctor’s office thought I could still work until I told them what I do for a living. Then it was “Oh yeah, I guess you can’t work then.” They still think I can go back to work the day after surgery. I think those bitches are crazy with a capital C. Crazy.

I haven’t worn pants for at least a week, unless you count pajamas as pants. I’ve been wearing pajama pants every where. It’s not my thing but it will be my thing for two more weeks since I can’t wear pants that are pants.

On top of that, they gave me a diet plan because my kidney stones are made of calcium oxalate. Peanut butter, chocolate and blueberries are on the “don’t-eat-this-or-else” list. My daughter, who can be a bit dramatic, said that I have to stop eating peanut butter or I will die. Honestly, I love peanut butter so much that I might die without it. What am I supposed to eat now?

Yeah, I can’t sit at the computer for very long. So my NaNoWriMo novel has been put on the shelf. I haven’t totally given up on the novel. I’m still thinking of plot and character.

I feel like it would feel better if someone was taking out my kidney with a dull spoon. It would be so gross. But I really think I would feel better. Eventually.

In the meantime, who wants to come over and get their nails done? I won’t make you join a nail polish cult or remove my kidney or anything.

Am I Going to Lose My Way Too?

http://creatingaquietmind.tumblr.com/post/66202831460
http://creatingaquietmind.tumblr.com/post/66202831460

As a writer, I lump myself into the category with confessional poets, like Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton. Plath and Sexton both committed suicide.

As a regular person, I lump myself into the category with other friends that have mental health issues. Mentally and emotionally, we have all lost our way at some point. Some of us have gotten back on track. Other friends are still walking that fine line of stable and trainwreck. A few of my friends have committed suicide.

Although, my emotional state is fine at the moment, I worry that all of my triggers will come over for an extended visit and will break me into pieces again.

Six years ago, I stopped going to therapy and taking anti-depressants. I don’t want to go back but I will if it’s necessary.

All of those feelings have to be kept in check. I do a mental health inventory on a regular basis. Am I depressed? Is it time to go back to therapy? Do I need anti-depressants again?

Depression is a slippery slope. Before you know it, all of the feelings are too overwhelming and we’re back to the breaking point. Then we’re begging our therapist to come out of retirement because she was “The One.”

I love the Project Semicolon slogan, “Your story isn’t over yet.”

It’s true. Our story isn’t over yet.

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