So. Summer has almost passed and it has been pointed out that I have not posted since Spring. This blog was once my therapy and I crafted my entries with care, but now it feels like such a chore to have to think and then write but let me see what I can do.
After a couple of years, my depression is settling back in and my world is becoming more overwhelming each month. I literally do not leave my house except for meetings, which I still have, since I am on the board of the Chamber of Commerce, the Extension Office, and I am president of the Arts Council. I go to doctor’s appointments. I get groceries. I walk the dogs. (So, re-reading that, looks like I leave the house more than I think.)
I feel controlled by obligations. I feel anxiety and dread about my own abilities and lack thereof. I have 3 plastic tubs of items I have made to sell, with no plan to sell them besides Etsy. But to sell them on Etsy, I have to take a nice picture of every item, write a description, figure out mailing costs, and keep everything organized. I have sold 2 pair of earrings in a year. This is not cost effective and I feel like a failure. Also, I went through a bin a few weeks ago, and I had forgotten about some of the things I made and saw how wonderful and delightful they were. Some pieces were shit, though, and so what to do with them?
I am not feeling sorry for myself. I recognize my feelings and behaviors, with almost a clinical eye. However, beyond medication, I am not sure how to change these feelings and behaviors. I went back to my therapist in July with the idea of seeing her weekly, but her rates had increased to $60/hour, (cash, no insurance,) and I wondered if it would be worth it.
One thing in my life that makes me happy is Marie, who cleans for me. Last September, I engaged her to come every two weeks and so every two weeks my carpet got vacuumed, floors were mopped, and my house smelled better. It didn’t take too long before I asked her to come every week. My bathroom was clean, my furniture was dusted, and my kitchen was scrubbed. After seeing my therapist, I decided that instead of paying her, I would get Marie to come twice a week instead. Not only does it cost less than my therapist, I don’t have to leave my house and drive 50 miles. Marie says she really likes to do housework and I think that is the only thing she has done since her daughter left home. I find housework futile and never-ending.
Now that it is Fall, I see another year almost ticked off and another birthday looming. There is a sense of urgency and panic that I keep damped down. My inner voice says, every day, “In another year, you could be dead. In nine years, you’ll be almost 70. That is almost dead.” Not that the thought frightens me; some days I would welcome death. But I am not going to do myself in, so please do not intervene.
My health is shitty. My heart stills thumps too erratically at times. My feet are still neuropathic, while the diabetes and high blood pressure are well-managed. I am on blood thinners and so I have the maroon splotched arms of an old person. I’m gaining weight. I have dizzy spells and feelings of weakness, and some days I am almost too tired to move. But I have good day, too, where I feel good and get shit done.
Everything seems too much.
And you wonder why I don’t write more. (happy face emoji.)
So, on the other hand, I do get up every morning and take care of the things I have to, such as dogs and my medications. I am knitting socks for Sweetie, and I’ve made three pair using leftover yarn, and that makes me feel happy. I bathe occasionally and keep my hair in order, having cut it short makes that easier.
I am doing a little bit of natural dyeing, with the sights set on enough yarn for a sweater. So far, I have done 2 batches of pokeberry and 1 of coreopsis from my garden. Goldenrod has just come into full bloom, so that’s next along with onion skins, which I just found 3 gallon-sized zip-loc bags of, and there are also walnut trees in the vicinity. I am thinking of setting up my little loom for the first time in a couple of years, which has come about because I recently moved all of my yarn and fiber to one room, (well, most of it,) and I was fairly stunned at the amount. Knitting is slow, whereas weaving, once the loom is warped, is fast.
We’ve had the house painted and a new roof put on, and that makes me happy, too. Except for those people who say, “Well, as long as you like it…” Fuck them.
Dick Man approves.
