Ice Pack Hat lives on my head to help ease my constant migraines. My blog readers live in my heart. Both my heart and head still hurt, though, a lot.
It’s hard to reveal such a sad picture of myself on here but it’s an accurate portrayal of my life at the moment. I feel terrible.
I have a confession to make: I haven’t been writing in my Good Things Jar for 2015 because so far the year is not going well.
I know that I “should” be writing good things for my Good Things Jar, because doing so literally makes me feel happier, but I can’t be bothered. My jar is surrounded by dishes that I have to wash, medication bottles, and craft supplies. I can’t even approach my counter without hating myself for being so disorganized and overwhelmed.
This year has been so hard and I’m being so hard on myself about it. I’ve turned 30 and suddenly I want to be fucking done with my depression. I want my life back.
I am doing all the things I can think of to fight depression harder than ever. I’m eating real meals with fruits and vegetables, having less caffeine, and making art every day. While I feel a little better physically from these things, my mood and migraines are still terrible.
So what’s the deal? Why do I feel so awful? Here’s my understanding:
I was really triggered a few weeks ago because my childhood abuser came back into my life briefly. The encounter reminded me of how he’s got away with being a sex offender while I feel broken and scared of the world.
It’s hard to have something so huge on my mind and not tell you about it, but I just hate the whole situation so much I don’t even want to bring it up. If my uncle ever Googles my name, I want him to see a blog that’s never been touched by him.
But I’m so stressed out. I can’t relax at all. I really want to listen to my self-hypnosis recordings again, because they helped me so much before, but I don’t want to let my guard down. So I clench my teeth and hold my breath and keep my shoulders tense in self-protection. None of it helps.
It feels like everything is falling apart but I’m still here. I’m still fighting.
Shitty stuff is happening in the world but good stuff is still making its way into my life, even if I’m not writing about it for my Good Things Jar.
For example, I got new neighbours over the weekend. Another pug now lives a meter from my door. He is black and his name is Bernie. He loves to give kisses.
What are the chances of that? Of all the tenants in the world, of all the breeds of dogs, of all the terrible shit in this world, a little three-year-old pug arrived at my door stop. Pugs are the happiest little weirdos to ever exist. They make everyone feel awesome, no matter what.
My past, my traumas, may have a grip on me, but I have a grip on the good things.
The universe can be cruel but it can also be kind. I am not losing kindness, no matter what has happened to me.
My arms are outstretched, palms open. Let it rain.