A Surprisingly Sane Blog

Yesterday, I made the choice to not let the fact that I barely slept the night before ruin my day.  Seems like such a simple solution, right?

Wrong.

If you have ever experienced clinical depression of any kind, you know that while logically you may make a particular choice, it can be much harder than normal, sometimes impossible,  to make it happen.

But yesterday, I was able to do it.  Which left me feeling comforted and proud of myself.  On Friday, I thought I was stepping back into the dark abyss without any chance of getting out of it.  However, that’s not the case at all, and because of that realization, I am beyond relieved.

It was a momentary slip.  The dosage change led to a bit of a manic 24 hours, but my body and mind seemed to regulate quickly.  I changed the time at which I take the medication to give it plenty of opportunity to get into my system long before bedtime.  I also made a choice to go to a mid-day exercise class at the YMCA to get my ass kicked, get together with friends, reflect on my situation during Mass, and spend some naked time with my soft, warm husband.  I even took the time to shave my legs and paint my toenails a bright orange color.

Sorry if you have a foot phobia.  You just may fall over clutching your chest.

In case you’re wondering why I will never be a foot model, there’s your answer.  Dancer feet are just plain ugly.  Full of calluses and bruises.  At least my toenails are short… and the flower stickers are a nice touch, right?

It was a healthy day.  I was exhausted form the lack of sleep, but I felt pretty good taking the initiative to change my weekend around.

Last night, I slept like a log.  No insomnia.  A few weird dreams, but it was, overall, a good night.  This morning, I woke up in good spirits despite the sunshine pouring in through my window at a comical hour.  I don’t feel like my daily tasks are more than I can handle, and I don’t feel the crushing weight of stress squeezing my psyche.

In fact, I feel like my normal, sarcastic self.

Phew.

Do me a favor and keep your fingers crossed for me, okay?

Current Mood: Cool

It’s 2:00 in the morning, and I could run a marathon with my brain.

I should have stopped breastfeeding and just asked my doctor for the heaviest sleep-inducing drug known to man.

I hate this so much.

Current Mood: Angry

A monsoon storm hits Tucson with billowing anticipation.  The day starts out with perfect blue skies and excessive heat.  In the late morning, a small, puffy white cloud appears above the Catalina Mountains.  Another one pops up over the Rincons.

If those clouds are going to burst into a storm, they build all afternoon.  Huge, beautiful, looming towards the city and darkening quickly.

Then the wind starts.  Sudden heavy gusts.  The crossroads of the storm.

If we’re lucky, the clouds burst.  Rain beats down, and the rumbles of thunder shake the earth.  Success.

On the unlucky days, the wind breaks up the carefully formed thunderhead clouds, and the storm collapses before it ever has the chance to hit.

Today was one of the unlucky days.

The storm fizzled out just as I was waiting to talk to my psychiatrist about some increasing problems I’ve been having.

The insomnia.  Some mild paranoia.  Anxiety.  That hazy, dreamlike feeling when I start feeling overwhelmed.  Nothing constant, but it’s been creeping up on me when I’m feeling stressed.  Lately, I’ve been stuck under an avalanche, but I don’t think it’s because the situation around me is getting tougher to deal with.  It’s because I am starting to pull back into that wicked cyclone of postpartum depression.

Not as bad as before, but still a couple steps back from where I was when I was doing very well.

James noticed it this week and called my psychiatrist to get my antidepressant dosage checked.  Is this normal, or a sign that I’m not responding correctly to the treatment?

I felt like that impending storm that I was looking forward to broke before it ever had the chance to rain down some relief.  Hope was replaced by that familiar tingling fear on the back of my neck when I heard the words, “A different drug in addition to the one you’re on.”

I reminded her I am breastfeeding, and she said that we’ll just stick with the Prozac for now.  But an upped dosage.

I left the appointment with a written prescription and my head hung low.

In the car ride over to the pharmacy, I had a talking-to with myself.  Who cares if I’m a nutzo for talking to myself?

“Dammit, why am I such a freaking mess?”

I wanted to cry, but I had no tears.

Current Mood: Sad

Step One: Ask me to help you with that dance pattern that James and I just taught in the group class.  (Benign enough, I never mind helping people out, so this clearly isn’t the weird part.)

Step Two: (Stop holding your breath, this is where things get creepy) After I show you how to get into it, proceed to manhandle me, get to count “4″, and throw your… um… package (or lack thereof?) right into my hip.

And hold me there, firm, for much, much longer than you should.

Step Three: After I squirm out of your grasp and shoot you a dirty look, proceed to repeat step two twice more.  Because obviously, this particular dance move requires grinding your dick into your partner on count 4.

Step Four: (By the way, I should have just slammed you into the ground before it ever got this far… did you know I have a second degree blackbelt in Jujitsu and could kick your ass faster than you can say, “Oh shit”?)  Eh Hem, Step Four: Now that we finally move on from count 4, grab my ass on count 5 and hold on until I push you away on count 7.  Then manage to glance in my direction with an innocent look on your face as you ask to try the pattern again.

Step Five: Repeat step four and five 4 more times despite redirection.  Let me tell you, I love having a random member of the swing dance world shove his genitals into my thigh and grope my buns of steel.  Especially right in front of my husband, who was too distracted talking to someone else to notice that his wife was being molested by some pervert right in plain public view.  Maybe instead of redirection I should have just attached a knee into your groin and smiled sweetly.

Step Six: Give me a huge grin and thank me so much for helping you out.  Yeah, I bet I helped you out in more ways than one, you sick fuck.

…

For the bazillionth time, I am way too nice.  I should have just bit his ear off or something.

*shudders*

I feel violated.  And very, very small right now.

I need a hug from someone non-creepy.

Current Mood: Angry

Holy crapamoly, word sure travels at light speed here.  I cannot believe how many people I barely know around town are coming up to me, calling me, and looking at me with pleading eyes while saying, “I heard you’re moving?”.  We’re talking within a day of when I posted that blog.  So either someone has a very, very big mouth, or EVERYONE has found my blog by now.  Aw, I feel loved.  Thanks.

Although I must admit, I feel slightly annoyed that someone else decided to spread our news like wildfire before we even had the chance to.

Whatever.  Doesn’t matter, the word is out.  Yes, we are moving.  As in AWAY from Tucson, Arizona.

I guess that sounds rather snotty, but deal with it.  I’m getting tired of apologizing for making a choice that I feel happy with for a chance.

When we announced to our family that we are taking the plunge and moving to Seattle, we got mixed reactions.  Mostly negative.  A lot of [insert pitiful-sounding nagging voice here] “Well just great, now your kids won’t know who I am,” and “Seattle?  Why there?  It rains all the time.” Same thing with our friends who live in town.

It’s okay, we expected that.

And to be perfectly honest, I would have been a little concerned if everyone had said, “Wow!  That’s GREAT news that you’re getting out of here!”.  So it’s actually a good thing that people have been sad to hear it.  But would it kill our local family and friends to support us in this decision?  Ugh.

So now I’ll answer the next inevitable question,”When?  When is this happening?”  As in: “When are you abandoning your entire family and the Tucson dance community and the rest of your in-state friends?”

As soon as possible.  However, our move is contingent upon two things:  A) April’s positional plagiocephaly treatment needs to be finished, and B) we have to sell our house.

In other words, we probably won’t be out of here until winter or spring.  But unless my husband wants to hire a witch doctor try to reincarnate his wife, who will have painfully croaked and melted from the desert heat onto the kitchen floor next year, this is the LAST summer that we will be living in this place.

We have a number of loose ends to wrap up, and James just formally switched over to the new team from which he will be working remotely once we move.  We have also spoken with our Realtor, and he advised waiting a little more time before putting our house on the market.

Once we sell our house, we will pack up and head over to Washington, where we plan to rent for (hopefully) just a short period of time while we look for a house to buy.

And as for me once we get there?  I can’t wait to decorate a new house, work in a yard that actually has grass, and spend time outside under a patio with a cup of hot tea watching the glorious, peaceful rain.  I’ll still be blogging religiously, designing websites, and taking care of my monsters.  While my husband works from home (!), I might add.

However, I am also thinking of applying for a job working for a magazine.  Or becoming a freelance writer for different publications.

Maybe.  We’ll see.  One step at a time.

…

And as a side note, thank you so much to all of you who have been supportive and/or excited for us.  It means more than you know.

Current Mood: Bored