Baby Steps

Baby steps.  That’s what it takes.

I feel like I’m living the advice from “What About Bob.”

So, I’m trawling the depths again, fishing for whatever it is that will bring me up again. 

 

Yup, crashed.  Again.

I was sliding down slowly, with a few holds on a couple trees and roots and the like here and there.  I knew I was sliding, and was working toward at least leveling out.  And I was on a nice plateau for a bit.  I guess I was closer to that edge than I thought, though.  One email and I jumped and plunged downward to an almost non-functional depression.  

That was on Saturday.  And yes, it’s more crud from the Pastor.  

I thank the dear Lord for wonderful neighbors and friends.  I still had the hymn PowerPoint to do and was planning on bringing it with me to church on Sunday.  Well, got the horrid email on Saturday afternoon, and then called the neighbor, crying.  

“Hey, it’s me.  You planning on going to church tomorrow?”

“Yeah, we were planning on it.”

“Could you bring the hymns in for me?  I’m too pissed off to go to church.”

“Yup, no problem, just drop them by.”

And that’s exactly what I did.  It’s pretty good when you have to take a mental break from church.  Well, let me clarify:  It wasn’t church that required the break, it was my Pastor. 

Neighbor answered the door, just asked, “What’s up?”

She didn’t even flinch as I swore and called Pastor some names that I normally wouldn’t even THINK of calling ANYONE.  Then she told me I have to get out of there as soon as possible.  I knew this, of course.  I’ve known this for nine months, but just haven’t been able to figure out how, or how to really truly break myself from that job.  The job itself I love.  It’s fun, it’s just challenging enough to keep me going, and I feel useful doing it.  Working with the Pastor, not so much.  That man has the ability to suck all the fun out of it and make me feel completely belittled and worthless.  And now let me say, “I’M NOT DOING THAT ANYMORE!!!”  That’s his problem, not mine, and I refuse to be defined in that way by anyone, anymore.  (While I’m at it, should I burn a bra?)

So, with that I spent Sunday doing pretty well nothing, crying off and on and just trying to figure out how in the hell to get myself out of the pit I fell in.  Monday was more of the same, though I accomplished a tiny bit: I vacuumed the dining room.  So I knew I wasn’t COMPLETELY worthless.  I could vacuum.  Any conversation I had was at a minimum.  Just didn’t feel like dealing with any people at all.  Couldn’t concentrate on anything.  Had a rough time eating and sleeping.  Yup, this is a depression episode again. 

Shit.

 

Today, I did dishes and got the living room picked up and vacuumed.  Then I went and picked up Kirstin from pre-school.  I was feeling pretty good when I got back.  Not all the way up to where I should be, yet, but working on my way up.  Still didn’t know what I was going to do about the situation at church.  Feeling rather lost about that.  I know I have to get out.  My mental health cannot take any more of these random attacks. 

Then, at supper, Matt and I were talking it over.  What the heck can I do?  I still want to be able to have my evenings and weekends.   And I can’t quit at the church till I have another job.  Matt mentioned getting a license for subbing that will last for five years.  My teaching license is gone, it’s lapsed.  So now, if I can get a sub license, that’s what I’m going to do.  I need to research it, find out what I have to do to get it.  Then the same month that I get into subbing again, the church job is gone.  I have a few ideas as to how to word my resignation letter.  I would love to come back to the position after this Pastor leaves.  Like I said, I enjoy the job, just not working with Pastor.  

And now with some plan in mind, some of the gloom is gone.  There’s light again.  I’m becoming me again.  It’s good.  I can do this.  Baby steps to wellness….Baby steps to a new job…Baby steps to a clearer mind. 

Character Sketches

I took some time this morning to bring the physical view of my characters onto paper.  I’ve got most of them named, except the men.  One man I have down is tall, black hair, black eyes, and tanned.  Not sure of a nationality for him, and I’m not sure these people really even have a nationality or if it’s needed.  This man is the leader of the men.  He plays an integral role in the coming of age ceremony and training of the young men.  He gives them skills to live in the men’s world.  He’s slow to anger but tough on love.  He doesn’t give praise or show much emotion.  It’s odd because aside from Sam, he’s the most real character to me, and yet I can’t name him.  That will come in time.

The other characters I have imagined are all real to me physically, but not so much in personality.  I think I just need to write them and see what happens. 

One obstacle I’m coming across is the question of procreation and accidental incest.   I’m not sure what to do about that or how it all works out.  If the men and women don’t interact aside from procreation…Very unknown right now.  And once again, it will come in time and I think I just need to write. 

And I probably won’t start at the beginning of the story either.  Right now the coming of age ceremony is on my mind and I think I’d like to write that out first.  Skipping around is more my style.  It’ll keep me interested in it longer. 

I am still surprised by the clarity I have for this story, even if there are some questions.  Now, time to write!  Yay!

Good Food

Cooler weather is wonderful!  Especially when it comes to cooking.  There are some foods that you just can't have in warm weather.  Now that things are cooling down a bit, we're having good food around here.  We didn't have a garden this year, so we're not pulling the bounty from that, but we had some stuff in our freezer from last year yet that we're using up. 
The other night we had grilled steak, squash, and broccoli.  That was really good. 
Then we had a day of very little: Rice for supper.  Add some cheese and butter and Matt adds onions and mushrooms to his, and I use just plain teryaki sauce, and life is good. 
Now today, we're eating a lot again.  Lunch was pancakes made from scratch . Very nice, fluffy pancakes, too.  Now supper is already in the process.  Beef noodle soup with onions, carrots, and rutabagas and homemade egg noodles.  Mmm...
Luckily there will be leftovers. 

I guess the creativity is coming out in many ways.  What will be next?  Maybe pasties?  I've got a lot of the stuff right on hand for them.  And they are oh so good!  I also found a recipe for popovers that seems easy.  I may try them, too. And we haven't had egg rolls in a long time, either. Too much good stuff!

Ideal clarity

Wow!

I almost never get this much clarity for an idea!

I've been reading H.G. Wells' "A Modern Utopia."  I haven't been making a lot of headway with it, because I mainly read right before bed and it's a doozy.  Some sentences I have to reread about ten times before I can finally get what's being said.  And then, because I read right before bed, I have other distractions, like the TV.  Matt likes to watch all kinds of good shows before he sleeps, and I usually wind up sucked in to learning about how the Blue Angels fly or something like that. 

Anyway, I've been thinking about what my utopia would be. 

I've come to the conclusion that there is no utopia.  And so, my idea for a story came about.  A world run by women.  Men are banished from this world aside from the purpose of procreation.  And the story will be told from the point of view of a boy about to commence into the world of men after his "coming of age" ceremony. 

It won't be a "women are better than men" type of writing, nor will be it be the other way around.  There's a lot of thinking to do, yet.  Thank goodness I have a nice big white board on which to write random words.  Though, when Matt sees the words, "men banished" he may be a little frightened.  I'll tell him it's all for a good story.

Some of the tough stuff

There is something on my mind that I’ve been mulling over for quite a long time.  I didn’t want to write about it at first because I wasn’t sure if I could do so without going too far into personal matters that are not my own.  Now I think I can write about this without any problem.  It’s all a matter of finding the correct words. 

This past summer, in the beginning of July, I think it was, our Pastor’s son died.  He committed suicide. 

(An aside: what powerful words-commit suicide.  They are so final, which I guess is because they are final.  It’s not like a person DOES suicide.  A person COMMITS suicide.  It’s an all or nothing deal.  Anyway, back to the original post.)

This was a shock within our congregation and within the synod circles.  You can never really understand what drives a person to commit suicide (there it is again!).  The only explanation given was that he was “too enamored with the ways of the world.”  He was 30 years old.  He died on his 30^th birthday. 

This post is not necessarily about that, though.  Not long after the news got around to everyone, the daughters of our previous Pastor posted bible verses on their Facebook pages.  Which was nice, and I know where they were coming from with that.  It was a way to show from whence help can come and to not despair.  The issue I had was the younger one added, “If you’re having a problem, TALK to someone about it!”

Good words, I will admit.  However, they’re too simplistic.  There’s so much more to it than just “talking to someone about it.” 

I wasn’t able to explain that to her.  She’s now a freshman in college.  She still has the rosy outlook of a teenager.  I’m not willing to be the one to take that away from her.  Unfortunately, for most people, life experiences do that anyway.

I will begin this next portion with the explanation that I have never been suicidal.  Let me repeat: I HAVE NEVER BEEN SUICIDAL. 

Okay, now that’s out of the way.

Knowing my own background and struggle with depression, I know some of the thoughts a person can have.  I also know how difficult it can be to either voice those thoughts or to express that one is even having those negative thoughts.  For me, there are three main reasons for this:

A.     I don’t want to burden others with my problems. 

B.      I feel no one can understand my issues, so I don’t even try to explain.

C.     I’m not sure I can even find the correct words for what is going through my mind.

A lot of the time, I try to just muddle through on my own when I feel the depression coming back.  I go through good times and bad times.  Because of the three aforementioned reasons, I don’t tell people right away what is going on.  Why should I be the downer?  What good would it do, anyway?  How can I accurately explain what’s going through my mind?

And, now, knowing those difficulties I’ve had with mental illness, I can understand better what a person may go through.  

So, saying, “If you’re having a problem, TALK to someone about it” just doesn’t work all the time.  It’s an easy platitude for those who have never experienced depression/other mental illness to say.  It makes the people saying it feel better, maybe.  It’s like finding a leak in a dam and sticking your finger in it to make it stop: You may think it’s working, but it ignores the bigger issues that caused the leak. 

I also need to say that I’ve had wonderful people around me to help me through.  My most awesomest husband, Matt.  He helps me by taking up the slack around the house when I just don’t feel I can do anything.  He doesn’t judge.  Or, if he does, he doesn’t voice it.  He knows I do enough of that for myself.  He also doesn’t pressure me to say anything.  He just waits.  He knows in time it will come.

Also, I have my Minda.  She’s had her own battles and made it through.  She knows some of what I’m feeling and also knows how difficult it can be to explain.  Again, there’s no pressure from her, like Matt, she just waits.  She understands that with every emotion I have there’s always the underlying: Is that really me, or is it the depression again?  While everyone experiencing this crud is different, she is also able to say, “Well, in MY experience…” and luckily, I’m able to value that as it is.  (Go liberal arts education! WHOO!)

And I can’t forget Mary, who has cheered for me (whether she knows it or not), and prompted me to write about the experiences.  She knows sometimes saying something is difficult, but somehow writing it out is easier.  Maybe it’s the connection between the brain and the hands that aids that.  And when something is written, it can be erased, edited, etc.  When you say something, you can’t UNsay it.  You’re committed to the oral process, the written process is made to be edited. 

And now, if you made it to the end of this, I applaud you.  I’m happy I’ve made it to the end of this writing.  It explains many thoughts I’ve had.  I’ve finally been able to process them, and get them down.  In a nice, edited way.