Returning to momentum

I have not been writing much lately. Well, that is not true. I have been writing, but journal writing. The writing I mean is the non-journal writing. Most often, I tend to have items I want to write about pop up in my head while I am in the shower, or on a walk, or driving. I will tell myself to write about those items when I make it to my computer. When I do get in front of my computer, I end up forgetting what I wanted to write about. Or, I lose the interest, the focus to do it.

Then I play variations of solitaire for thirty minutes.

This bit of writing here? I started this a week ago, perhaps two. I cannot remember. All I can remember is that I started it during the month of February (I saved the document with the month and year).

Thankfully, at the top of this saved document, I put together a list of items I wanted to write about. I suppose I will readdress this document now, one topic at a time, and post as I go along. It is time to blog again. I have been ignoring this for too long.

Let us see where my ramblings started: Social Media. Ugh. Right. Ok, let us do this.

Social Media. I hate it. I absolutely hate it. I hate how it consumes my time. However, I do not feel comfortable getting rid of it permanently. I tried that last year. Perhaps I will make a go of it this year, again. When I tried last year, I deleted a lot of people. And it felt good. I also logged out for several months. This also felt good. At one point, I had my account ready to delete. I paused. I truly wanted to delete it, I did. But, as I had my mouse cursor over the “Delete,” I found I could not do it.

So how does this relate to Social Media and keeping my account? Social Media is the only way I can interact with some people I want to keep in my life. It is easy and it requires minimal effort. I am not very good at communicating with people. I tend to be one of those “out-of-sight-out-of-mind” people. Unless people are directly in front of me, I might never talk to anyone outside my main comfort zone. There are a small amount people in my comfort zone. Everyone else is sort of outside of that, by degrees.

I do not like texting. I prefer emailing – long form works better for me. Unfortunately, I need to be in the mood to sit down and compose and email. As for phones? I do not like to talk on the phone. I suffer from low self-esteem when I email or text someone and I do not hear back in a timely manner. I become anxious. I start running through all these scenarios as to why they are not responding back. I question myself: Am I being a bad friend because I am not more adamant about getting in touch. Is it that I am choosing the wrong form of communication? So I be reaching out more, via more avenues? Am I the one in the wrong? But friendships should go both ways, right? They should at least acknowledge me as well, right? I am not wrong. At least write a quick reply, that they will get back to me at a later point.

When they finally do, I calm down, but by that time, my desire to talk is gone. I am drained, either from feeling anxious, or I am doing something else I need to focus my time on.

So, Social Media remains a part of my life, to ease my need to quickly communicate.

This is a good point for me to stop, for now. There are at least five more items I want to get out there, but not today.

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When a brain does not operate smoothly.

For a few weeks, braining has been hard. In particular, this week has been a really tough week to brain. Each morning started off alright. However, as the day progressed, my brain would give up the driver’s seat, letting the Bad Thoughts take the wheel. Never good. Never good at all.

Over the past two mornings, I have been working out what is going on in my brain. Why is this week so hard? Why does my brain have a hard time this week? What is my brain having difficulty processing? If referring to my brain as a machine, what is it stuck on? What broke? Where are the faulty parts?

Initial diagnostics found three problem areas: “Time. Being Scared. Being Lazy.”

Time.
Time has always been faulty. In the past, I have never found a good solution for fixing Time in relation to my brain. It is finite. It goes by quickly. It always sits there, tick-tick-ticking away, one second at a time.

Being Scared.
No, I am not talking about being scared of spiders, heights, or anything of that sort. What I am scared of is starting new things. I am terrified of starting new challenges. I am afraid of failure. I am not afraid of others considering me a failure. I am afraid of considering myself a failure.

Being Lazy.
Being lazy means sitting around all day, playing computer solitaire, goofing off on the interwebs, or not doing anything that I consider productive. I feel this most in my office. I have a mental association that my office is a place where I should be productive, doing productive tasks and projects, and making something of myself. Instead of doing productive tasks, I sit around, visit the same web sites, play the same games, tell myself to be productive, beat myself up for not being productive.

My husband thinks being lazy could be considered procrastination. Perhaps, it is a symptom of procrastination, which stems from Being Scared, which stems from Time. It always comes down to time for me.

I could ask myself why is this so hard to do? Why is it so hard for me to address/work on my own tasks/projects/problems? Maybe because when I look at my items, I feel bad. I feel afraid. This is a problem, because life is good. My life is really great. I am in a place where there is stability, support, and I have to ability to be who ever I want, do what ever I want. And I don’t. Instead, I hide away, behind errands, behind chores, behind little things that I feel are more important to take care of, right away, which leads me to looking at the clock, seeing how little time I have left (there is plenty of time), and I sit down to open up a Solitaire game which I will play for the next 30 minutes to an hour. And I have wasted an hour now. I have wasted an hour where I could have been productive. I beat myself up, I feel exhausted, and I give up. But tomorrow will be different.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

So, how do I fix the broken parts? Are there replacements? What do I need to do allow my brain to run, effectively, on all cylinders?

Maybe, I need to detach. Maybe instead of assignments or To Dos, I make them challenges. Or as the kids say, make it a game. Shit, even my organizing courses/books suggest making it into a game. Make it fun. I should try it out. Keep it simple to start. Already my brain is trying to break down and organize how I would make it a game. What would be the reward system? Is there a category breakdown? Levels?

I cannot go that far. I need to keep it simple.

I need to say, “if I _________, I can ________.”

Let us see if I can do this. Let us see if this “fix” can stick.

Assorted Inner Self-evaluation

Last week, I found I had to address some inner battles that have been occurring in my brain for quite some time. It left me rather exhausted, exhilarated, and lighter. One inner batter stemmed from the main inner battle. It is this main inner battle that I need to return to therapy for. But not yet. For now, it is under control. I am aware of it. I made a lot of progress in moving past it. However, I am not quite ready to talk, outwardly, about it. I apologize for being vague, but I know we all have these inner battles. You each have yours, and you understand that the timing needs to be right to bring it and release it into the air.

Soon. Just not yet.

An Annual Afterthought

If I were to place a percentage of good versus the bad in the span of a year, I would have to say that the year is 90% good and 10% bad. The bad, as always, seems worse than it is.

With regards to that 10% bad, it can be further broken down to 7% during the holiday season (that being November to December) and the other 3% being this past week. Most interestingly is that it is this past week that tends upsets me more than the other 7%.

You see, this past weekend, was my birthday. I received one card from my family. I got birthday texts, but two of those felt like last minute “oh right, it is your birthday.”

It is how it has been for the past several years. At this time of year, I feel like an afterthought.

Sure, I can say that this year it was because of my grandmother’s death. However, every year, it is not one thing it is another. It is always something.

It hurts. I admit it does hurt.

Also, it is alright. I am okay with it. It is only one day. Sure, it is my birthday, but I have already had 41 birthdays prior to this one. I will have many more.

I am not really convincing, am I?

When brain and body are not in alignment.

My body is reacting. My brain is not. My body is going through the motions of an anxiety attack, making sure I pay attention (love those sudden heart palpitations). My brain? It could care less.

My body is screaming “YOU HAVE TOO MUCH TO DO WHY AREN’T YOU FURTHER ALONG WHY ARE YOU STILL SITTING HERE DOING NOTHING CANT YOU SEE I AM TELLING YOU TO GET OFF YOUR ASS AND GET SHIT DONE?!?!?!?” (Ok, this might be what I assume it is screaming since that is what it usually screams at me. My brain usually does that).

My brain seems to be shrugging and saying “meh.”

While I appreciate that my brain cares about as much as a nonchalant cat on a sunny window sill, it would be nice if it sent a few nerve impulses to the rest of my body. You know, tell the rest of me to settle down and relax?

Or maybe I am having an adverse reaction to my morning cup of caffeine? Is that it brain?

Brain: “Maybe. This all started up when you switched the roast. Right”

Me: “Oh. Right. Well tomorrow this won’t matter because new coffee is arriving via the Bestie Bestie this evening. So, whatevs.”

Brain: “Great, but doesn’t that roast have a little more punch than what you are currently drinking?”

Me: “Right. I think? Crap.”

Emotionally speaking…

It is raining rather hard right now, and it is distracting me. I want to stare out the window and watch it. However, I have an entry to write, so let us focus, shall we?

Last week, I came across a test question that resonated with me a little more than I had anticipated: You see yourself as emotionally stable.

Do I see myself as emotionally stable? Yes, but not in the way you would normally think. I am emotionally stable because my emotions make me who I am. This is only a recent self-discovery moment for me.

Even the emotions that frustrate me. Like the ones that cause me to cry. I cry a lot. I cry because I am frustrated, or angry, or sad, or anxious, or stressed, and when I am happy. In the past, this bothered me. I would cry more.

Now, I realize that my emotions are what guide me through the harder moments of my life. Yes, also the easy ones. My emotions are my “gut” – they make sure I am listening so I make the right choices.

<side note – ever have on of those days where typing seems really foreign? I am having one of those right now.>

I tend to fight my emotions and consider them a sign of weakness. In truth, they are my strength and I should rely on them more. More good has come from situations where I allow my emotions to be in control. Yes, even the bad moments. My emotions are there to aide me.

I might not be emotionally stable. That might not be the right thing. Emotionally aware?

That is more accurate. I am emotionally aware.

note: if you were curious, the “You see yourself as emotionally stable” statement comes from the Myers Briggs test. If you are super curious, I am an INFJ-T

Today is my Rebirthday.

Today is my Rebirthday. No, I did not hear the calling and declared today my rebirth to spiritual enlightenment. Not at all. Today, I celebrate my rebirth as a woman, enjoying a life with no complications, or pain, or “accidents,” or fear that yet another pill will cause me to physically and mentally go awry.

Today, I celebrate my first year of enjoying life, without the discomfort. A year ago, today, I had a LAVH, or Laparoscopic Assisted Vaginal Hysterectomy if you dislike acronyms. I briefly wrote about it last year, about 10 days post surgeries (I will get to that) talking about feeling detached at the time. Kind if funny that I would day that, considering I detached parts of my body, internally.

Because I am my mother’s daughter, I inherited her genetics, including the fun part of every woman’s life. Since the first day, I woke up to “discover” I am a woman, to the week before I went in for the surgery, my menstrual cycle was something I was cursed to endure. Since a very young age, I knew that I did not want to have children of my own. I never had the calling, ever. I never changed my mind, I never had doubts. I had enough trouble dealing with my own mental state, trying not to let depression take complete control. I could not imagine having a child on top of that. I have a short temper. I love extended periods of quiet. I am exhausted by people who constantly need my attention.

But really, I do not need to justify my lack of desire to be a mom. I am just aware that I am not the mothering type. I am a great aunt, but that is it.

Now, imagine, you have this girl, who does not want children, is “lucky” enough to have the genes to enjoy the worst menstrual cycle each month. Even in the early years, it was heavy. I had several occasions where I feigned illness because I had accidents at school. One time, a classmate was nice enough to ask me if I had sat in grape juice. I am pretty sure that day was when I decided that I was wearing nothing buy black from that point further. Fortunately, I was also a goth, so it worked out well.

I use to be incapacitated with the cramps that went along with it as well. Also, some pretty intense headaches. It finally reached the point where my mom and I agreed that it was time to regulate it some, with birth control.

Birth control, for me, was a band-aid. It stopped the blood flow, sure, but every now and then, you need to change the band-aid out with a fresh one. In the 21 years I took birth control, I think I tried maybe 15 different types of birth control. So, I stopped taking birth control. When I did that, my old friend, the evil blood flow returned. Each month, it got worse and lasted longer.

When I started dating my now husband, we both agreed, to keep things safe, I would give birth control another chance.

It made things worse. Birth control failed me again.

Back off the birth control. And the nasty cycle continued, worsening each time. My flow lasted two weeks, cramp severity increased, headaches returned, there was ovary pain, and a new one, I was extremely lightheaded due to the excessive blood loss. We decided that it was time to look at other methods of birth control to handle the increasing chaos down there.

I went in to visit my new doctor (new part of the world means a new doctor), told her my troubles, as well as what I was looking for. She set up a bunch of tests for me, including ultrasounds, cultures, and the worst, a biopsy.

Just a brief side note here: the WORST pain I have ever felt was when the uterine biopsy was performed. And the discomfort lasts for days. FOR DAYS.

Okay, so, the various test results showed that I had a fibroid on my uterus, the uterine lining was thicker than it should, and I have the cells hanging around that, while they might never evolve into cancer, there is that chance they could. The best option, for me, was to remove the troublesome pieces and never again worry. Option two would have been more biopsies.

No thank you.

My ovaries were in good shape, so I kept those. But everything else was to be removed, even the tubes (which we learned afterwards were covered with cysts).

I cried. Of course I cried. Not because I had “the cells” but because finally, all the discomfort thru the years, about 25 of them, were about to end.

Fast forward to one year ago, today. I went in for my procedure. According to my doctor, the surgery went better than expected, with minimal blood loss (maybe the first time in my life?). As with any good horror movie plot, you know this is foreshadowing to future horrors.

My outpatient surgery turned into three days and two surgeries. The second surgery was to removed 1.5 liters of blood that decided to stick around (hooray for a hefty hematoma).

Recover was fun. Details do not matter too much about this part. The key is that yes, I was still bleeding, but it was the last “period” I would ever have. And that made me smile. It was two weeks later, when I realized that I would never have a period again, that I really understood that the decision I made was the right one.

Back to the present time, my quality of life has improved immensely. I still have my moments (I still have my ovaries which means I still have PMS symptoms, only not as severe as they once were), but they are far less frequent. Now, I get headaches from sinus pressure. The best part is when I have those moments in the restroom, and I realize that I will never have accidental bleeding ever again.

So yeah, Happy Rebirthday to me.