Posted this bad boy on FB the other day, after a particularly long work-and-bad-hair day...not sure what I was going for, other than satirical sexy ;)
In case you haven't heard of her, the Bloggess is a delightful woman named Jenny Lawson who wrote a memoir of her slightly odd life, who probably doesn't even realize the good she's done at demystifying mental illness. She has generalized/social anxiety disorder and a fairly bipolar/borderline personality, which is handled with meds and still occasionally knocks her flat. She handled her book tour for the memoir with the aplomb of a seasoned author, and then had to take a month off because her brain said in no uncertain terms, "STOP!" I know those days, where getting out of bed is a struggle, where you reach a point where it's impossible to fight what's going on in your head...and there doesn't have to be any tangible reason beyond "my body chemistry is having a bad day/week/month..." It's a royal bitch, and society still isn't that great about accepting it.
Those whom it afflicts have trouble accepting it too. As someone who craves tangible answers for everything, to the point that it's practically made me an atheist, the idea that I'm down "just because" was unacceptable for years and years. Getting back on lithium has been a godsend actually; Hubs noticed the difference right off, said it was like I was giving myself permission to just chill, rather than bounce off the walls on the weekends wanting to get EVERYTHING done. I agree for the most part, but sometimes, it's still hard to reconcile that it's OK to let that happen. Particularly when you're trying to move in 2 months with only 1/2 a career option ready and stock options that refuse to stay steady...
Spent yesterday playing game after game of Mah Jong on the Kindle and beating myself up emotionally for not doing something else. There's plenty of reasons why my brain's taking a sabbatical, the not-at-all irrational fears associated with moving; being back in Florida where a cold snap means it only gets up to 65, but it doesn't feel that cool because the damn humidity is still 90%; i'm off my exercise regimen, which creates self-loathing, since i know damn well I'll only feel better if I go expend a few calories SOMEHOW...and for a topper, we're basically sitting vigil waiting for word about Les's 92-year-old grandma, who's in the ICU with sepsis, praying both for her recovery or alternately that the gods decide she's had enough pain. That one hurts, and brings with it the concerns about using paid time off for bereavement when I've been stockpiling it for move stuff. Selfish as hell, I know, but these thoughts come up and threaten to overwhelm...
So when I woke up this morning and realized the fog hadn't lifted yet, I told myself it's OK. Gave myself permission to feel rotten if that's what I need to feel, and treat myself with kid gloves today. No being pissed about what doesn't get done; instead just focus on what I can get done...a very-little grocery shopping, dropping off the recycling, and processing some of the apples from last weekend for an apple crumble. Nothing earth-shattering, but if I can be kind to myself, maybe this week will be better.
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