Well, Week 5 went OK, but Week 6 is going to need some work. I skipped a day last week because I was going to help my sister-in-law move and figured I would need the energy, but in fact I didn't get to load the truck (for various complicated reasons) and I was only able to pick up a couple of things in the unloading process due to the fact that I was driving myself and had to stop to pee FOUR TIMES! So, so much for that expected workout.
This week, though, I haven't made it out yet. I know we're only two days in, but I'm gonna have to step it up tomorrow. I actually got up early today, though, so that's progress.
I haven't worked on the novel outside of planning -- making an outline and kicking ideas around in my head. I have been engaged in a creative pursuit, however. Recently, we were given a bed which I tried to refinish but instead decided to paint and use the headboard of the gifted bed in the guest room. Hubby and I decided to build a platform out of the drawer section of the gifted bed, but alas I had to figure out what to do for a headboard. I decided to take panel from the headboard off our old bed and paint it. I gave it a muted gold over black background and painted a cherry blossom branch on top of that. I have stained it, and all I have to do now is spray some acrylic sealer on it and add trim to the edges and it will be done. OK, so it's not my novel, but I have felt pretty happy with the process and the results. Since my daughter was born, I haven't really had many chances to do anything creative, outside of homemaking (cooking new things and decorating and organizing the house). It hadn't occurred to me how much I missed painting and drawing... honestly, the artistic side of me was really stifled by being in relationships with artistic types. That might sound like a cop-out, but I remember one of my boyfriends and my ex-husband both belittled my artistic endeavors. I'm really blessed to have the husband I have now. He believes in me and supports my decisions no matter what. If I want to work, I can; or if I don't, I don't have to. If I want to take classes, I can. If I want to make things, I can. I know maybe that sounds like how things are "supposed" to be, but I am so thankful to be in a relationship with a man who allows me to be whatever I need to be whenever I need to be it.
Many times in relationships, we humans allow ourselves to become stifled by the relationship. I know I'm guilty of this, but at the end of the day the only person you can't get away from is yourself; and if you can't be happy with that person, you can't be happy with anyone else. I honestly really feel like I'm hitting my glide path in life. I keep peeling back layer after layer and am finding the "real me." Yes, that sounds cliche, but it's true.
Even though I would have given anything to keep the pregnancy I lost earlier this year, I feel I'm a better person for having had the experience of miscarriage. I know I'm more compassionate now, but now that the fog of depression has been lifted I am finding out more about what this life is really about. I listened to the hell out of The The's "Phantom Walls" after I lost my baby. By some crazy stroke of fate, I had CDs in my car and chose to play The The's NakedSelf album. I have had it for years but never really listened to it. I thank God that I came across the album and this song in particular. It literally helped me survive one of the lowest periods in my life. The lyrics of the song (found at http://www.lyricsfreak.com/t/the/phantomwalls_20136207.html) are as follows:
"Phantom Walls"
Sensed but unheard
As the curtain softly stirs
It is not just a memory
But it lives and breathes
Watching over you whilst you sleep
Kneeling beside you when you weep
Hey, don't be afraid
Don't try to run away
Because pain can be your friend
As it explains
The answers to your questions
Consoles you in blue reflections
Listens to your soul's confessions
Then leads you in new directions
So open your heart again
And feel the walls dissolve
Something's whispering to you
It's time to let go
Because the only thing that stays the same
Is that everything must change
Everything must change
Hey, embrace your pain
You cannot run away
And pain can be your friend
As it explains
The answers to your questions
Consoles you in blue reflections
Listens to your soul's confessions
Then leads you in new directions
And all the while that you were waiting
For love to keep the light from waning
It's pain that stops the heart from hating
That cures the mind of hesitating
That helps the soul in separating
From everything that it's been blaming
Everything's changing
You can listen to the song at the following link: The The Phantom Walls on Youtube
I guess I understood before this latest tragedy that pain is instructive. As other humans, I've had no shortage of pain in my life... deaths, difficult childhood, divorce, etc.... but the miscarriage was easily one of the two worst things that ever happened to me. The other was my grandma dying right in front of me after a panicked drive to the local hospital back in 2002. For various reasons that I won't go into right now, I thought I wasn't gonna get over that shit. I'm still not quite over it. Mostly, I just miss that lady, sweet Grandma Betty, so badly.
The miscarriage, of course, was painful in a different way. I was so excited about having another baby, and was already daydreaming about names and my baby girl being a big sister. I was tracking the baby's development on a BabyCenter app and had taken to sleeping with my hands cupped over my womb, cradling the child I would soon know. When I, my mom, and daughter were in the darkened room looking at the screen during the ultrasound, I knew that the baby didn't look right; so, when the doctor broke the news that mine was not a viable pregnancy, I wasn't completely shocked... which is not to say the air wasn't sucked right out of me... which is not to say it did not explode my whole universe.
The doctor told me that I could either wait to miscarry naturally (which could take a month or longer), take misoprostol, or get a D&C. All I have to say is thank God for misoprostol. You can read more about the drug and its uses on the National Institutes of Health's website. I got a paper prescription because I wasn't certain if or when I was going to get it. By the time my husband got home, I decided that there was no use in continuing to be pregnant if my body wasn't nurturing my baby any longer. Prior to actually having a miscarriage, I never really understood that you experience postpartum depression with a miscarriage just as you do after you have a healthy baby. So, you have all the bullshit that comes along with having a baby, only you have no baby. Not only was I grieving, I was experiencing a full-on hormonally induced emotional meltdown.
Though I've experienced depression and required treatment with Prozac years ago, I was very much in denial about being depressed this time. I guess part of me thought if I just kept putting one foot in front of the other, I would eventually feel better; but needless to say that didn't happen. I would feel better for awhile and then worse for awhile, but even when I was feeling "decent" I was not my usual self. Enter Life Version 4.0 Beta. I knew if something drastic didn't change, I was going to have to go on meds. So, here I am six weeks later... running two to three times a week, having nearly completed a painting for my headboard, and having developed what I think will be a very good idea for a novel. All in all, I'd say that's a good first six weeks. I can't wait to see where the next six weeks take me.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Monday, July 16, 2012
Day 28... still at it
Today marks four weeks... and, though last week I only got in two days of running, I am still feeling pretty confident about my ability to stay with my plan. I got up a little later this morning (my mom was staying at my house so I could swing getting out of the house after hubbie left for work), and I remembered why I have been getting up so early. It is hot outside! Once the sun comes up, running becomes a swampass-inducing affair. Having an aversion to sweating is admittedly silly, especially since I live in the Deep South and sweating goes with the territory of exercising; but I would like to avoid sweating and stinking as much as possible. If that requires waking up before dawn, I'm in.
I am beginning to feel ready to embark on a creative endeavor that requires some level of commitment. Last November, I attempted NaNoWriMo, but that effort fell flat... went over like a lead balloon, as my mother always likes to say. In fairness to myself, I'm pretty sure that men chose the month of November for NaNoWriMo. I truly wanted to do it, but I found myself very busy preparing things for the holidays (I cook and serve Thanksgiving dinner for my family each year). As in every other month, I also had to manage my parents' medical appointments, and -- considering the fact that for most of their lives my parents have treated their bodies like toilets -- there are many appointments. It really isn't that time consuming, but they do seem to happen in clusters that make getting any kind of routine down seem impossible. Excuses, excuses, excuses, I know! No writer in the history of writing hasn't had interruptions aplenty. That is life, and just as with exercising I must find my way over, under or around the obstacles life inevitably presents. I think I busy myself with tiny, inconsequential details so I can convince myself I don't have time. If I don't have time, I can't try. If I can't try, I can't fail. What I need to do, and soon, is to take a leap of faith -- a bold step in the direction of my passion. Of course, just as with exercising, I need to select a small goal I feel comfortable with, one that will challenge but still allow some room for success.
One problem I have observed with my current system of exercise is I sleep in on days I don't go running; and, as we all know, sleeping in begets more sleeping in (please note, that when I say sleeping in I mean I wake up at 6:45 shortly before my daughter wakes up, which leaves me just enough time to get dressed and brush my teeth). I am pondering a solution that involves an early wake up time everyday. On days that I don't go running, I can work on a novel. Can I share something? Just writing the words "I can work on a novel" made me nervous. Stating it publicly is a bit frightening and certainly made my heart skip a beat. Perhaps, I should restate... on the days that I don't go running, I will work on my novel.
I feel I owe it to myself to embark on this creative journey. Though I began three separate novels, I never followed through. I don't know what happened but it got very real for me, and I abandoned the projects after a week or two of effort. I allowed myself to get swallowed up by both the drama and the mundane details of my life. If I can manage three days of running, I can manage three days of planning/writing my novel. That is the commitment I am pledging at this time, knowing fully the possibility of failure exists. There will be bugs, oh yes, but I have faith in God and myself that they will be overcome.
I am beginning to feel ready to embark on a creative endeavor that requires some level of commitment. Last November, I attempted NaNoWriMo, but that effort fell flat... went over like a lead balloon, as my mother always likes to say. In fairness to myself, I'm pretty sure that men chose the month of November for NaNoWriMo. I truly wanted to do it, but I found myself very busy preparing things for the holidays (I cook and serve Thanksgiving dinner for my family each year). As in every other month, I also had to manage my parents' medical appointments, and -- considering the fact that for most of their lives my parents have treated their bodies like toilets -- there are many appointments. It really isn't that time consuming, but they do seem to happen in clusters that make getting any kind of routine down seem impossible. Excuses, excuses, excuses, I know! No writer in the history of writing hasn't had interruptions aplenty. That is life, and just as with exercising I must find my way over, under or around the obstacles life inevitably presents. I think I busy myself with tiny, inconsequential details so I can convince myself I don't have time. If I don't have time, I can't try. If I can't try, I can't fail. What I need to do, and soon, is to take a leap of faith -- a bold step in the direction of my passion. Of course, just as with exercising, I need to select a small goal I feel comfortable with, one that will challenge but still allow some room for success.
One problem I have observed with my current system of exercise is I sleep in on days I don't go running; and, as we all know, sleeping in begets more sleeping in (please note, that when I say sleeping in I mean I wake up at 6:45 shortly before my daughter wakes up, which leaves me just enough time to get dressed and brush my teeth). I am pondering a solution that involves an early wake up time everyday. On days that I don't go running, I can work on a novel. Can I share something? Just writing the words "I can work on a novel" made me nervous. Stating it publicly is a bit frightening and certainly made my heart skip a beat. Perhaps, I should restate... on the days that I don't go running, I will work on my novel.
I feel I owe it to myself to embark on this creative journey. Though I began three separate novels, I never followed through. I don't know what happened but it got very real for me, and I abandoned the projects after a week or two of effort. I allowed myself to get swallowed up by both the drama and the mundane details of my life. If I can manage three days of running, I can manage three days of planning/writing my novel. That is the commitment I am pledging at this time, knowing fully the possibility of failure exists. There will be bugs, oh yes, but I have faith in God and myself that they will be overcome.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Day 21... The Big Day
I did not realize I had stumbled upon that crucial point in this little plan of mine... three weeks plus one day ago, I decided to embark on this journey. I told my husband and my self that I would give exercise three weeks (starting Monday, June 18) to lift the cloud of depression that was hanging over my head; and, if I wasn't better in three weeks, I would go to a doctor and get myself on some Prozac. There's nothing wrong with Prozac or any other drug that improves or even saves one's life; but, if I could get better without the use of pharmaceuticals, I was certainly in favor of that.
Now, last week didn't involve running, but I did move an awful lot of heavy furniture and boxes last Tuesday and Wednesday. Also, Saturday and Sunday, I about killed myself sanding a bed down the bare wood. It's Monday now, and it still hurts to put my hands on my hips... so I'm thinking I can chalk that up to a workout. Tomorrow, I'm going to get back into the swing of the running thing. For many reasons, I now know it is worth the investment of time and effort. For instance, I continued toward my time of wrath with very little actual wrath... a little grouchy on the day it began but mostly I've been pretty pleasant. Also, while it may sound like a small thing, my nails look fantastic; see, I used to let out all my nervous energy on my cuticles and nails. I'm not proud of that and know it's a nasty habit, but ya know I'm here to be real. I didn't even notice I had stopped that until my mom mentioned how good my nails looked, and it occurred to me that I had been leaving them alone because all that crazy energy I had was being exerted productively.
So, I'm thinking I can call my efforts thus far a success. I no longer feel on the precipice of some cliff of grief and doom. I still have my sad moments, especially when I think of the baby I lost and the fact that that may have been my last chance at another child; but it's the kind of grief that is healthy -- the kind that comes and then goes instead of lingering about like a fog. I have to live for the life I have... not the one I imagine I want. God knows, if I had what I imagined I wanted while in the depths of depression, my life would be one big mess.
I hadn't realized the date I had set for determining whether or not my efforts were a success coincided with my birthday. That may be mere coincidence, but it is rather a cool one. I am 34 today, one of millions on the planet who came into existence this day in July. Young and old, we are all officially 365 days older than we were 365 days ago. One more trip around the sun, and probably more of us than not feel we haven't quite accomplished what we've been put here to do -- even if we haven't yet been able to put our finger on what that is. We were all born with this exceedingly precious gift... life itself... and now what to do with it? I still grapple with this, yet I realize that I am closer to the answer when I am doing something instead of pondering what I should do.
Whilst busy sweating over the bed I was attempting to refinish (alas, I will have to paint the thing), I let my stream of conscious flow as it would. My major epiphany was that there are some people that I haven't really forgiven and that I have no interest in forgiving. Now, I guess in the process I might have actually done some forgiving, which is strange but true. Basically, I came to the conclusion that the people who have hurt me and my loved ones suck as human beings, and there is no changing that fact... they suck and will continue to do so... so there is no point in me worrying about them anymore. I guess I exorcised a lot of the demons of my past, just letting the thoughts come and go as they pleased. I certainly feel lighter now. Perhaps the difference between this and all the other times this stuff has come to mind is I am typically either interrupted by something external or myself. There is something to just letting yourself ponder something until you are done pondering it... sounds simple and obvious really, but I have had a bad habit in the past of either trying to divert my attention from or direct my attention to that which gnaws at me. I suppose this is what meditation really is... just giving your mind the opportunity to do what it needs to do.
So, 33 was a big year with much to do and many precious gifts hiding around corners. I am so interested to find what 34 holds in store. Whatever may come, my heart is now blessedly open to receive.
Now, last week didn't involve running, but I did move an awful lot of heavy furniture and boxes last Tuesday and Wednesday. Also, Saturday and Sunday, I about killed myself sanding a bed down the bare wood. It's Monday now, and it still hurts to put my hands on my hips... so I'm thinking I can chalk that up to a workout. Tomorrow, I'm going to get back into the swing of the running thing. For many reasons, I now know it is worth the investment of time and effort. For instance, I continued toward my time of wrath with very little actual wrath... a little grouchy on the day it began but mostly I've been pretty pleasant. Also, while it may sound like a small thing, my nails look fantastic; see, I used to let out all my nervous energy on my cuticles and nails. I'm not proud of that and know it's a nasty habit, but ya know I'm here to be real. I didn't even notice I had stopped that until my mom mentioned how good my nails looked, and it occurred to me that I had been leaving them alone because all that crazy energy I had was being exerted productively.
So, I'm thinking I can call my efforts thus far a success. I no longer feel on the precipice of some cliff of grief and doom. I still have my sad moments, especially when I think of the baby I lost and the fact that that may have been my last chance at another child; but it's the kind of grief that is healthy -- the kind that comes and then goes instead of lingering about like a fog. I have to live for the life I have... not the one I imagine I want. God knows, if I had what I imagined I wanted while in the depths of depression, my life would be one big mess.
I hadn't realized the date I had set for determining whether or not my efforts were a success coincided with my birthday. That may be mere coincidence, but it is rather a cool one. I am 34 today, one of millions on the planet who came into existence this day in July. Young and old, we are all officially 365 days older than we were 365 days ago. One more trip around the sun, and probably more of us than not feel we haven't quite accomplished what we've been put here to do -- even if we haven't yet been able to put our finger on what that is. We were all born with this exceedingly precious gift... life itself... and now what to do with it? I still grapple with this, yet I realize that I am closer to the answer when I am doing something instead of pondering what I should do.
Whilst busy sweating over the bed I was attempting to refinish (alas, I will have to paint the thing), I let my stream of conscious flow as it would. My major epiphany was that there are some people that I haven't really forgiven and that I have no interest in forgiving. Now, I guess in the process I might have actually done some forgiving, which is strange but true. Basically, I came to the conclusion that the people who have hurt me and my loved ones suck as human beings, and there is no changing that fact... they suck and will continue to do so... so there is no point in me worrying about them anymore. I guess I exorcised a lot of the demons of my past, just letting the thoughts come and go as they pleased. I certainly feel lighter now. Perhaps the difference between this and all the other times this stuff has come to mind is I am typically either interrupted by something external or myself. There is something to just letting yourself ponder something until you are done pondering it... sounds simple and obvious really, but I have had a bad habit in the past of either trying to divert my attention from or direct my attention to that which gnaws at me. I suppose this is what meditation really is... just giving your mind the opportunity to do what it needs to do.
So, 33 was a big year with much to do and many precious gifts hiding around corners. I am so interested to find what 34 holds in store. Whatever may come, my heart is now blessedly open to receive.
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