The Week in Rear View -- July 6-12, 2015

It's Sunday night, so it's time for a rapid fire little post that I'm going to call "The Week in Rear View" where I take a look back at the week and hit the highlights (and possibly lowlights). Ready? Here we go!

1. It was the week of trying to get my head back together. I returned from Boston on June 29th and felt like the weekend and the walk were all a-jumble in my head. I was struggling to process things emotionally and mentally and felt like I couldn't figure out where to begin. My session with Pendragon helped a tiny bit, but that one little hour the day after I got back just barely scratched the surface. This week, I dove into therapy and self-care head first. I had 2 sessions with Pendragon -- a marathon appointment (about 2.5 hours) on Tuesday, followed by a short phone call on Wednesday, and a second appointment Thursday. Friday morning, I met with my spiritual director Fr. B and received 3 of the 4 sacraments I'm allowed to receive multiple times, and followed that meeting with a very intense hour with just me and Jesus over in the main church. After so much talking and prayer (and a fair bit of extra sleep), I feel like things have been set more to rights and that my brain is finally clicking again and processing things that needed it.

2. The big girls and I managed to get through two chapters of Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone. We're reading it as a bedtime story and usually do a single chapter at a time. They are really getting into the story and keep wanting me to read another chapter once I've finished the one we're currently on. I enjoy it almost as much as they do. It's an exercise for my acting muscles as I like to not only read the text with enthusiasm, but with a different voice for each character. I'm particularly pleased with my Hermione and Hagrid voices.

3. Quite a bit of laundry got done this week by my beloved Gray. He has been slowly trying to go through the clothes and pack up the wrong season stuff, sort out the stuff that needs keeping but is too small for the big girls but too big for GB, and toss out the stuff that is stained/ripped/worn out beyond repair. It's quite a job, but he's made a lot of headway in it and I think a lot of that is due to the fact that he's been home a good bit this week -- see #1.

4. Friday, July 10th was the 2nd anniversary of my admission into inpatient care for depression. It's still very very hard for me to say that out loud (I usually resort to various euphemisms) and hard to type it as well. That day changed my life irrevocably due to the trauma that I experienced because of it. The anniversary this year wasn't as hard as it was last year (or as hard as I was expecting), but it wasn't without its difficulties. I met with Fr. B and afterward, spent over an hour before Jesus in the tabernacle (at Fr. B's parish) praying and crying and praying and crying some more. I snuggled a lot with my girls and Gray too.

5. I went out on a mini-date with each of my two big girls, M2 and AB. Neither outing was more than 30 minutes, but it was fun to ride along with each of them in the car, singing songs and talking and just being together one on one. Need to make an effort to do that more often.

So that's the quick roundup of my week! Thought I'd try a different spin on something I started trying to do a good while back. Hopefully, this is something I can get into a habit of doing. Y'all hold me accountable, okay?

Five Minute Friday: Send

Note: This post is my weekly contribution to the Five Minute Friday community that is hosted by Kate Motaung on her blog Heading Home. Click here for more information about Five Minute Friday and how you can get involved! To link up with all the other entries for today's prompt word, click here.

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For all my modern geekiness, I sometimes think that I ought to have been born in a much different era. I started noticing this when I was a young teenager of about 13 or 14. I found myself attracted to a lot of vintage sorts of things. Now understand that when I say vintage, I mean like Victorian era kind of vintage.

We are not amused.

Part of this likely came from the influence of the big sister of one of my best girlfriends. Her big sister had these magazines and they were filled with pictures of lace tablecloths, pretty dishes, elegant clothes, cups of tea and dainty tea cakes, and all manner of lovely things. I remember being at my friend's house and flipping through her sister's magazines and wishing that I could send myself back to that era to live for a while.

Nothing like a cup of tea and a pretty magazine to flip through at your leisure. The magazine featured in this photograph is the one that my friend's big sister subscribed to and it's one I've taken myself in years past.

This feeling of being out of step with my own era continued to grow when I fell in love with Harry Connick Jr's music in high school. I was on a church youth choir trip and asked a boy I admired who he was listening to on his Walkman tape player. He told me who it was and let me borrow his cassette tape. I popped it in my tape player, put my earphones on, and listened as this rich velvety baritone voice and full big band orchestra came through the speakers. It was love after two bars. I was absolutely sent. At the next stop on our tour, I bought a copy of that album with my spending money at the local mall in that area and soaked myself in the jazz, blues, and big band tunes of this gorgeous crooner. Even today, some 20+ years later, Harry Connick, Jr continues to be one of my favourite artists and I still get a thrill out of listening to him sing.

On the left, the picture and album that won my heart. On the right, Mr. Connick today. Still crazy talented and crazy gorgeous too! Did I mention that he's my celebrity boyfriend? Yeah, Gray laughs at me for that one :)

As I got a bit older, I discovered calligraphy, fountain pens, and dip pens. I especially grew fond of dip pens and at some point in college, I bought a very pretty blown glass one that I still enjoy using. There's something about writing a letter by hand (in any pen) and sending it to someone else. Its one of the reasons I signed up for the #fmfpartysnailmail and am looking forward to writing notes of encouragement to others using my dip pen and sending them out. I might even use my pretty stationary!

This is very similar to what my pretty glass dip pen looks like. There's a learning curve to using it, but it's so much fun and sends me back to a bygone era every time I use it!

I'm a nerd and a tech geek and love my computer and gadgets and all, but there is something special about another, simpler era gone by when people sent invitations to tea or long letters to read by candlelight that just appeals to me. I suppose I was meant to be born when I was, but I wouldn't mind being sent back in time -- if only for a little while!

Join the Five Minute Friday party at Kate Motaung's blog!

A Further Update: Finally Home!

I've wanted in the last few days to write something terribly profound in my blog, but the last few days have prevented me from writing anything at all because I've only had my phone to use. I can blog from my phone (and my last post Update was written and posted from my phone, but it's much harder since I'm limited to my smartphone's keyboards which are not very conducive for speed of typing. As it is, I think faster than I can type, but it's nice to be able to at least keep up with my thoughts a bit better using the conventional keyboard on my laptop.

Day Thirty (part 2): Swingin' and Swayin' and Gettin' Merry Like Christmas

Note: This is a continuation of a 2 part entry. To read part one, please click here. To read the entire 31 Days series, just click on the tab above.

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Later that day, Balinda and I go fabric shopping at my favourite shop and a couple of others and by the time we are done, it is almost dark. We stop at a local grocery store and pick up provisions for making tacos for dinner, but for me, tacos will have to wait until much, much later. I have plans with Sarah and my other sister in law, Olivia (who is married to Gray's little brother Andrew) to make good on my desire from earlier this summer when I was at the beach. I am going to get a tattoo. I have been thinking about this ever since this summer and the idea just won't leave me alone. I've looked at designs and local shops back home, but haven't done it yet. I know what I want and even have a picture on my phone of it but that's as far as I've gotten until now. Tonight, we are all going to get inked. Both Sarah and Olivia already have tattoos but they are eager to get another one and to come with me for my first one.

Day Twenty-seven: Fighting to Leave and Stay

Note: This is a continuation of my story of my journey through depression in my 31 Days series. This entry takes place in October of 2013 and because it wound up being so long, I have split it into two parts. This is part one. Click here for part two. To read the rest of the series, click the 31 Days tab above or click here to go straight to the Day One entry.

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Fall leaves are everywhere now and the weather is cool enough that jackets or long sleeves are necessary for most mornings as we send the girls off to school, although the afternoons are still warm enough for shorter sleeves. The weather doesn't really affect my clothing choices though. They have been the same for months. Black. Black. More black. I really have about two outfits that I wear pretty much every day and they are both black shirts and pants. The only break in my parade of black is Sunday mornings when I wear a long floral printed maxi dress with a solid yellow shrug over my shoulders. To be honest, it is another reason that I hate Sundays lately. I don't want to wear flowers or yellow or any other colour. I have always dressed in colours that are reflective of my mood and as my mood is rarely brighter than perhaps a dark midnight blue and is usually rather black, I don't feel like dressing in anything else. I have tried to wear other colours in an effort to lift my mood, but they just wind up irritating me and pulling me down further. The only other time outside of Sunday that I wear anything except my black is when I absolutely must in order to pretend that I am feeling happy or at the very least, normal. I even have a black cotton nightgown that I wear a lot of the time. The black not only fits my mood, but it is, in an odd sort of way, comforting. Lately I feel so on edge and irritable that the least little thing seems to overstimulate me and makes me want to run away and hide. I am normally very comfortable in crowds and around strangers, but all of that has changed too. My normal extroverted nature has been swallowed up by the darkness of depression and the black that I wear seems to help insulate me a little when I must endure those situations that have a tendency to overstimulate me.

Day Twenty: Home Again

Yes, I am a total geek. :)

Gray turns the corner and suddenly we are driving down our street. Less than a minute later, our house comes into view with the stately oak in the front yard and the juniper tree's branches moving gently in the mid-July breeze. We have just come from a late lunch at a local Mexican restaurant and my belly is full of delicious food, but more importantly, my heart is full from time spent with Gray and our girls. It is Monday afternoon and I am home at last. After five days of unspeakable pain, I am free. It is a bright sunny day and oppressively warm for this part of July, but I am not bothered by the heat or humidity. I am free. I am home. I am home!!! Tears spring from my eyes as we pull in the driveway and I swallow several times and sniffle a little bit. Gray reaches over and squeezes my hand and we get out of the van. The girls are chattering away and are halfway up the curved sidewalk to the front door before I can get out of the van and shut my door behind me. As I walk toward the back of the van, I see that they have, as usual, left the side door open and I slide it shut and stand staring at it for a moment. It is habit for me to check behind them and shut the door, but today it does not feel like habit or something that just has to be done. Today it feels like a "welcome home, Mom!" from my girls. Everything feels like it is welcoming me home and I am glad to finally be here.

Day Nineteen: Dearest Gray

18 October 2014

Saturday

Dearest Gray,

As you know, today hasn't been the easiest of days for me and that what I'm feeling as I type this and try not to cry (not that I don't feel that I can, I just don't want to have to stop now that I've finally started to get a tissue from the bathroom and wipe my nose) is the weight of all of this that I've been writing about of late. These memories that I've been sharing with the world have been even more sharply in my dreams the last several days which, as you also know, has caused you to waken me from nightmares. I told you today that I don't want to continue this writing of this. It hurts so much and I've cried so many tears over it. I told you too that I was starting to feel something akin to hope, only to have it smashed to bits this afternoon and evening. That is the way of this disease though and why I have learned that it is an exercise in frustration and pain to tell myself that I might be getting better or that things might be changing in some way because there is something about saying it aloud (or writing it) that seems to signal an ill wind to come and knock me back down into the darkness again. Two steps forward, two steps back again. Maybe not a whole two steps back, but enough that whatever infinitesimal amount of progress I am making is so miniscule as to be completely unrecognizable to my senses. All that said, my darling, you have encouraged me and lent me your strength and I am trying. As I said, today, I am writing this for you.

Day Eight: Of Water, Wine and Siren Songs (part 2)

******Note: This entry contains more intense mentions of suicide and mild alcohol abuse. Please read with caution if you are triggered by these things. 
 

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When we arrive home, there is barely a moment to spare as the older girls and I are due at the airport very shortly to pick up my mother-in-law, Balinda, and our niece, E-beth. The older girls have no idea where we are going or that their Nana and cousin are coming to visit. I just tell them that I have a surprise for them and that we have to leave soon to go pick up the surprise. They are delighted with this and after a quick trip to use the bathroom, we head out. Our ride is uneventful and they are over the moon when they catch sight of their Nana and cousin waiting by the baggage claim. 

I drop a kiss on E-beth's head and pull her into a hug before turning to embrace Balinda. It is always wonderful when she comes to visit and I count myself very blessed to have her as my mother-in-law. We have always had a close bond, so it is unsurprising that she sees through my smile and asks, "so how are things?" I know that she isn't just inquiring as to the general state of everything and everyone. I would like to be completely candid, but there are three little sets of ears nearby, so give her a half smile and say, quite honestly, that I am tired. We head to the car and after deciding we'll get some dinner to take home, I tell her in a roundabout way (because of the ears in the backseat) that things have gotten worse, but that I had some good moments at the beach. She is glad to hear this and tells me that we'll have some good moments this week that they are here too. I suddenly feel the urge to cry, but the tears are still absent. Instead, I take several quiet, but deep breaths as we ride along home.

Day Seven (extra content): A Mindful Drive Home

If you are in any way familiar with the concept of therapy, then you are also likely familiar with the concept of coping skills or tools to help you get through the challenges of your particular mental illness or life struggles. Since there have been a number of folks who have said they are reading for insight to help someone else or help themselves or just because they have experienced depression too, I thought it might be good to occasionally post some extra content that is helpful for coping or helpful in giving assistance to those you love who are dealing with mental illness. To that end, today I'm posting something on mindfulness.

Mindfulness is, in short, being really and truly present in a particular moment and noticing everything you can about it. It can be helpful for calming anxiety and getting yourself out of a dark mood by way of focusing on the present instead of the past, the future, or the flood of emotions you are feeling. It's a great way of sort of disengaging yourself from your illness, even if only for the duration of the exercise. Obviously, if you are (or someone you know is) in a crisis situation, that is not the time for this. The time for this is before you get to that point and can be a means of helping you avoid getting to that crisis point.

There are many ways of practicing mindfulness, but when I employ it, I like to write about my surroundings or what I am experiencing in a mindful way.  To that end, I am going to cut and paste something I wrote after driving home one evening this past April (2014). The back story is simple in that I had gone out to get some sandwiches and fries from a local fast food place for our family's supper and was driving home. I don't really know what possessed me to start noticing everything in such a mindful way, but I did and wrote it down later. Without further ado, here is my unedited mindful drive home.

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The smooth plastic cylindrical signal lever slips easily between my fingers and I deftly flick it down with practiced facility as I apply pressure to the brake pedal beneath my right foot to bring the car to a halt at the traffic light. The light changes red to green but I don't see it and instead move forward with the rhythm of the cars in front of me. Hand over hand, the steering wheel moves beneath my palms in a fluid motion done almost without thought and turns the car easily left across the intersection and onto the main road. The smell of the food in the bag on the seat beside me pricks at my nose and although objectively, the smell is pleasant, it does not tantalize or excite me into wanting to eat. It is simply a means to an end. I glance at the sky as the car moves beneath and around me, propelling me forward along this stretch of road I know so well. It is painted thick with clouds that hang heavy and pendulous, full of unshed raindrops and darkening the early evening sky. The sky on this late April evening would normally be almost fully light because of the shift of the earth's revolution toward the sun, but it is muted, an ashy dark grey tinged by palest blue. I look toward the south as I roll along and see the barest peek of pink near the horizon's edge, obviously the edge of the storm that is closer to clearer skies and brighter sunlight. As I drive, my speed increases a bit too much, so I lift my foot from the accelerator and coast, letting the downward incline of the road both slow me down and keep me moving forward. I feel a small swoop in my stomach, almost akin to the sensation of flying but it is mostly in my imagination and passes in a blink, further obliterated by the application of the brakes as I again come to a stop at another light. The light changes quickly and this time, I notice, the bright green of the arrows urging me to turn left seems brighter, more electric, almost as though the lights are possessed of some ability to compensate for darker skies and storms. I am through the intersection before I know it and feel the rumble of the train tracks beneath my wheels as I continue the drive home. It is only the first set of tracks I will cross as there is another yet to come. Over and over, I make the motions that move the car in the direction of home, nearly all of them without any conscious thought as they are contained quite fluently within my muscles' memory and well-worn neural pathways that need precious little to fully engage them. Outside the windows, the trees sway in a heavy wind, leaves dancing and branches waving. The colours of the trees, grass, and even flowers seems somehow less vibrant, less green, less bright, possibly indicating that spring is at an end and summer is fast approaching. Perhaps the lack of colour is a reflection of the tenebrous nature my own inner thoughts or simply the fast fading light. The second set of tracks approaches and as I cross, my mind flashes on thoughts of dark nights and even darker thoughts. The thoughts are gone in a moment, but they have succeeded in unsettling my mind. Another application of the turn signal lever and the familiar sight of our neighbourhood comes into view. Houses built when I was born, various designs and nothing the same about any of them. Some have one level, some have two, some, like our own, are a split level design. Some lawns are meticulously tended, some need mowing. There are flowers planted and shrubs here and there, but nothing consistent except the trees. Lining our street like sentinels, each house has trees in its yard - junipers, dogwoods, Bradford pears, and stately oaks reach their branches into the sky, greeting me along the final stretch of my journey. As I near our home, I see our oak tree, very old and very tall standing proudly in its place, so sturdy and determined to withstand anything. I love that tree. It is beautiful in any season and in any light. Although we have not lived here long, I already have many memories of it - our children playing beneath its branches, pictures of them in front of it on the first day of school, the beauty of a sunset filtering through its leaves, the lovely shape of it against the sky on a cold and snowy winter day. It is a beacon and a symbol of hearth and home. I park the car and get out to go inside. The warmth of the air and its humidity are ominously oppressive, almost syrup like and in the distance I hear a low rumble of thunder as I open the front door, home once again.