Back to Work.

Friends!

You all made me weep.  Shame on you!

Thank you for you encouraging words, love and experiences. I am honored.

 I had three days off from work and indulged in an orgy of cleaning and organization, something I find very Zen and in-the-moment to do.  If I can't have ordered inner space at least my outer space is going to be spic-n-span, dammit.

I don't feel any better, but I'm not any worse.  Holding is good.

And I have some most excellent medicine to ingest later...Scott came home with a chocolate fudge cake today!  Just THINK of how many endorphins I'll get from that.

Better living through chemistry!

xx

trish

The Black Dog

Friends!

I haven't written in a while, and there is a reason for that.

Winston Churchill called his depression "The Black Dog".  It's been such a long time since I've seen my particular canine that I didn't realize it was here.  But it is.  I am depressed.

What this means for me is that life has no joy, no savor, no creativity.

I feel bleak.

Living is an effort and takes all my attention and effort.

I'm incredibly tired, yet I can't sleep, or my sleep is haunted by incredibly vivid and horrifying nightmares.

I'm confused and I can't find words, nouns, names.  It's frustrating trying to express myself.  I can't even compose a decent compound sentence, for cripe's sake.

At least I know what this is and what I need to do, and I'm doing it.  I've done it before.  But it takes time to get better, and I'm an impatient perfectionist.  I hate waiting, yet I must.

Winston Churchill said "If you are going through Hell, keep going."

I intend to keep moving.

Thanks for listening.

xx

trish

Vanity, thy Name is not Trish

Friends!

I want to talk about how we women are pushed into thinking we're not that great, after all.

I know what you're thinking--"I'm great, and nobody pushes ME around!"  But think about it.  How much time and money do women spend on having their hair cut, styled and colored?   Make-up, the stuff that inevitably gives you zits and maybe cause you to scrutinize your wrinkles a little more than what's healthy--why do we wear it?  Whe do we starve ourselves, work out insanely, and have plastic surgery?

WHY?

I know that our species is prgrammed to decorate itself.  I get that.  That's what clothes are for.

I also realize that we're all competative, except for maybe the Daili Lama.  So I understand the need to stand out and be better.  But who defines "better"?  Companies that want to sell you stuff.  Often useless, sometimes dangerous, purse draining products.  And we women buy it--their stuff, along with the dream of an ultimate look, body, whatever. 

Ladies, I bought into the dream for years.  I did the hair, the nails, the make up, the starving.  In college at school I barely ate--this was the 80's and waif thin was the way to go.  How was I gonna look good if, god forbid, I weighed over 100 pounds and had bad hair and no makup and nude nails?  All the ads in magazines and on TV said I had to be a certain way to be "right".  Ads that very subtly said that if I didn't look a particular way, there was something fundamentally wrong with me.  If I got a wrinkle or forgot to tweeze my brows, it was a character fault.  If I graduated from a size 3 into a size 8 I was a hedonistic overeating slob.  A person who didn't strive to be perfect.

I don't do perfect.  I do happy.  And I work very hard on happy, every single day. 

My whole life I've been clinically depressed and anxious.  I've had a few tumbles into the abyss, one of which came perilously close to a trip to a room where the doors lock only on the outside.  And a lot of it, I see now, is my own damn fault.  First and foremost is simply being stubborn and not wanting to admit I need medication.  I'm past that.  Secondly, and more insiduously is the constant drone in the background:  "You could be Better!  You could be Prettier!  You could Improve Yourself!" the soul sucking sussuration of society.  Nowadays, I refuse to listen, and strangely enough, I have my job to thank for that.

 Work, along with providing a living, has pared me down and weaned me from self ornementation.  Some of my shedding has been practical; i.e. there's no good reason to get all dolled up for a graveyard shift.  I wear a hard hat a lot...practical ponytail to the rescue.  No fancy nails cause I get dirty sometimes.  Oh, and I wear a uniform, so no clothes worries.  Plus, I work with people who value me for my skills, not skillful make up.  After work?  Hubby loves me as I am, no matter what I look like.  And so do I.

Finally.


I would LOVE to hear your thoughts...please leave me a comment!


xx

trish


UPDATE:  Keep the comments coming!  I want to do another related post and I need your input!
Hurrah for friends!