Pseudotherapy

I want to thank all of you who took time out of your day to post a supportive comment yesterday. You can’t even imagine how much they comforted me. The worst thing about the abyss is that you can’t see your friends in front of your face, and you feel utterly alone in your despair.? But when people care enough to express it in writing, that’s something you can hold onto. I’m sure I was my own #1 visitor yesterday because I kept coming back to read your words of encouragement and understanding. I love you all.

I AM better today. Not dramatically so, but enough that Bret can tell. He was scared yesterday, and called multiple times to check on me. During his lunch-hour call, I cried the entire time. When he called on his afternoon break, I was calm and hopeful. He expressed relief at my improvement, and I explained to him that I’d spent the last 30 minutes of my own lunch hour meditating. I wish I could make him understand how much that helps me when I remember to do it, but Bret just does not get it. If he sits for even 15 minutes focusing on his breathing, he falls asleep. It settles me. I like to say that it re-aligns my ch’i. Thank you, John, for reminding me of the benefit of being still.

Last night I slept. Gave myself the night off from the “5th” stuff and went to bed with a few good friends. No bad dreams starring Dr. Daveorkian. No bad dreams at all.

Today, although still sad, I am at least looking upward at the light above the well. I hope it’s friends with flashlights, not angry villagers with torches.

I am so screwed. Four days until my blogiversary celebration week, and I’m in the abyss. Bottom of the black pit. Actually dreamed last night that Dave2 was helping me commit suicide by showing me the best way to open my veins. Woke up this morning depressed to still be alive.

But I CANNOT flake on this celebration, so the next four days are going to be a MAJOR battle of will over want. Although I want to retreat to fetal position in a dark room, I will keep working on my posts and plans for next week.

It may be the first time in history a blog has literally saved someone’s life.

One misty moisty morning
When cloudy was the weather
I chanced to meet an old man
Clothed all in leather
He began to compliment
And I began to grin
How do you do and how do you do
And how do you do again

Back in the days of my innocence, before I knew my beloved grandfather was a pedophile with a conviction record longer than I was tall, before Silence Of The Lambs brought new meaning to the phrase “clothed all in leather,” that was my favorite nursery rhyme. From childhood I have known the preciousness of water falling from the sky. You don’t get much of that living on the edge of the Sahara, and even here in Southern California it’s special enough to cause people to gather at windows and marvel at the glory of it. In the past five years, I’ve had my office close early on two separate occasions because there was a “severe storm” developing.?Dearly beloved fellow Californians, we do not have severe storms in our fair region. Pretend all you want, it does not happen. Look to the Midwest if you want to see severe storms. Those people, they know severe.

But this morning, that nursery rhyme is humming in my head. Because today, as?I walked to my office, the eucalyptus trees were swathed in fog and mist turned my hair into ringlets. The air smelled of damp earth and the streetlights wore halos. The bougainvillea’s fuchsia blooms glowed like neon in the mist. For a few delusional moments, I pretended I was in England.

A misty moisty morning indeed.

I did it!!! I did it, I did it, I did it!!!

I actually SAT on a post overnight before publishing it. Well, not literally SAT ON, but you know what I mean. I wrote a long, emotional, apologetic post yesterevening, and then forced myself to follow Blog Club Rules #1 and #2. This morning I re-read it and said, “What a pile of sniveling, self-pitying codswallop. Complete and utter horseshit.” DELETE. See how much I love you all, my devoted readers? I saved you the trouble.

I have now come to the conclusion that I am either (a) pitifully insecure, (b) ridiculously bipolar or (c) maniacally menopausal. The correct answer varies from hour to hour, so let’s just go with (d) all of the above. I’ll bet you thought I wasn’t aware of how contradictory my posts lately have been, huh? Yes, I am. And if you think my recent posts are erratic, just try living with me. My mind is a pinball machine, the ball is my emotions and the Hormone Wizard is manning the trigger. Thank God it’s not a gun.

But here’s the thing: This is *my* blog. It’s my outlet, a reflection of what I’m going through at that particular moment. If I need to vent about something, I’m going to do so. If that turns out to be a passing mood and I don’t like what I posted, I’m going to take it down. Yes, it will still be “out there” via feed readers and the Wayback Machine, but it won’t be in my face every time I look at Pseudotherapy. On the other hand, I may choose to leave the post up, as a reminder to myself that this too shall pass.

This is the toughest “phase” I’ve lived through, way worse than adolescence. At times it seems like my body is trying to drive me insane. And everyone around me, I might add. Whatever horror stories you’ve heard about menopausal madness, multiply those by ten and you’ve got an inkling of what it’s like. Emotional stability is non-existent. You wanna talk about moody? Try waking up five times every night soaked with sweat from your chonies to your sheets. Try being period-free for 17 months and suddenly finding yourself sitting in a pool of blood AT THE OFFICE. Try coping with tension headaches that strike without warning and lay you out flat. Try having to explain why you’re sobbing about a Sonic commercial. Try dealing with a raging libido when it’s a record high tide on the Red Sea. Try being efficient at work when you can’t remember what was said to you three days ago. It does tend to generate just a few minor mood swings, ahem.

Yeah, I’m emotional and impulsive. Always have been, and now that I’m working on my Ph.D in rapid cycling, I tend to do stupid things and come to my senses later. Some of you may find my fluctuating frenzies too much to take. That’s okay. I’ll miss you, but I understand. Some of you may think it’s all just part of my irresistible charm. For you, there’s a spot reserved in the Paradise of Unconditional Love. Or wait, maybe it’s the Hell of Unconditional Love. Whatever, same thing.

I’ve recently taken a personal vow to be true to myself on this blog. Well, poppets, this insanity *is* me, in all my mercurial majesty. Love me or leave me, your choice. I have thrown open the gates to the mad roller coaster that is my life. You might want to swallow some Dramamine as you step aboard.

[tags]Menopause, mood swings, bipolar[/tags]

Now and then I get to feeling what I call “scattered.” I am right now. I’m stressing about several unrelated things, but there are also a couple of things I’m excited about. My brain can’t decide what to focus on, so it refuses to focus on anything. My mind is like a pinball game, with thoughts ricocheting around and crashing into each other. And yeah, my moods are doing the same ping-ponging.

• We had to take Lynksys back into the vet today ? her regular vet this time. It was clear the antibiotic pills were not doing the job. We’ve made certain she swallowed them, but the vet said she just needs something stronger. She was also in the early stages of dehydration. They gave her subcutaneous fluids and prescribed Clavamox in a paste form, which was a total cinch to get down her tonight. I think the fluids helped a lot, because she’s perkier tonight and her appetite has returned. The vet wasn’t able to get a urine sample to test because Lynksys’s bladder was empty, so I have to attempt to collect one tonight. I won’t go into the chicanery involved, but wish me luck. I’ll need it.
• A week ago, Bret and I started switching over to organic foods. It was supposed to be a temporary thing as part of our detoxing, but now we’re spoiled. I don’t think we could ever go back to non-organic milk. Every new item we switch to makes us more eager to make this permanent. But damn, organic is sure a lot more expensive! Ironic, isn’t it, that it costs so much more to buy foods without the chemicals and additives?
• I moved into my new office last Friday. I’m miserable there. A soundproof office with your own bathroom and entrance, accessible only to certain keyholders, sounds great ? until you have to spend all day every day in there. Then it’s like working in a tomb. I’m a sociable person, and I don’t like not seeing my co-workers, hearing their voices in the halls. Hell, I don’t even hear a toilet flush! They could all evacuate the building and I wouldn’t know. But I have no choice ? the office comes with the position. At least I can have music playing; that helps quite a bit.
• In 17 days, I’ll be 55. That used to be the age which qualified you for a senior discount, but I think most places have raised it to 60 or 65. I’d feel like I was cheating anyway, because I don’t feel even slightly like a senior citizen. Since I owe gifts all over the blogiverse, I won’t be posting a wish list link. But I think it’s totally cool of L.A. Daddy to throw me a birthday bash! What? It’s his birthday bash? That’s OK, I don’t mind sharing.

[tags]FUTI, organic, 55 saves lives[/tags]