For a long time, my memories of my childhood were vague and felt very, very distant. In part because I actively shied away from fully remembering. I’ve spoken of being raped when I was nine years old. However, as I approach 50, I find myself remembering happy times and a loving family. Memories of great adventures with cousins, large family gatherings and celebrations, church family, friends at school and in the neighborhood; all crowding forth in my mind lie whispers. It has moved me to look at the one family photo album that I managed to salvage after my mom’s death. So many great snapshots that made me smile and laugh. I want it back. I want it all back: the fun, the struggle, the pain, the love. All of it shaped who I am today.
I have reached out and reconnected with some family and friends on social media and will continue in my efforts. I’m enjoying seeing these amazing people and learning about who they are now. I really hope to return to NC sometime in 2018 to see them in person.
I feel like I was missing a part of me and now I am working to reclaim it. To make myself whole. Yes, it includes some really painful and sad parts but it also includes some really amazing, happy and loving parts as well.
To my friends and family, please share stories with me. I may not remember them all clearly but the more I hear, the more I remember and the more I feel myself.
On my rollercoaster ride of depression, I’m currently at a very, very low point. I was finally able to connect with a therapist and my first session is tomorrow. So there’s that. I’ve been either sleeping too little or too much. For the past several days, I’ve not been able to talk myself into getting out of bed until the afternoon. I feel so useless. Like why bother going through the motions. I’ve been eating either way too little or too much of the wrong things.
Still waiting on a decision on my disability. Meanwhile, I need food, gas, pet supplies. All of my bills are overdue. I have no answers for the nice folks that keep calling me about them or sending me letters or email. Many of my clothes don’t fit anymore. It’d be nice to have a pair of orthopedic slippers for around the house. It’d be nice to go to a movie.
I’ve been trying to read or listen to music but that’s not really working on my anxiety. It helps for a little while. And I guess those small moments will have to do for now. My dreams are full of all kinds of anxiety induced monsters.
I am hoping that therapy will help. Except I am anxious about the added expense on top of everything else. But I know I need the help. But I will continue to fret.
As always, if you can help, here is my YouCaring page: A Helping Hand
And my PayPal
Over the past few days, I have received so much support and generosity. I am humbled and frankly stunned to see how much my community, my chosen family, my tribe truly cares. Not just about me. I have seen beautiful expressions of support and love. I have teared up many times.
Y’all keep my hope a living, breathing thing. I am deeply grateful to each of you.
I am depressed. I haven’t blogged about it or really written very explicitly about it in quite some time. It’s because I’m in a truly dark place and depression lies. It lies and tells me that no one cares, no one wants to hear about my feelings/struggles. It tells me that people are tired of my constant struggles with depression and finances and my whining about my life when obviously I have many good things.
I am worried and stressed and my depression lies and tells me that I’m being stupid/silly. Any problem I have is my own fault and I should just *fix* it already. I’m not sleeping or eating well (this is very bad due to my eating disorder past and I know it but my depression tells me that it doesn’t matter).
My depression tells me that everyone around me would be better off if I disappeared from the world entirely. That ceasing to exist would be a vast improvement to my current state of uselessness.
I’m wrestling with it, the darkness, my old friend, my depression brain. I’m trying a new antidepressant but it hasn’t had a chance to kick in yet. I’m applying music therapy and playing silly games and trying, trying, trying to shut out the noise, the lies. I’m mostly managing to get out of bed everyday so there’s that.
A Helping Hand fundraiser
Paypal donation link
I’ve written about Project Semicolon a few times.
The founder, Amy Bleuel, died on March 23. Yes, it was by suicide. However, do not lose hope. The struggle goes on. For you and me and everyone. Please reach out and do not give in!
“If anyone is struggling right now, please take care of yourself. Please talk to someone about it. Please make use of the resources we do have. You can text the Crisis Text Line at 741-741. You can call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255. You can call The Trevor Project at 866-488-7386. Or, consider donating your social media data for suicide prevention research at OurDataHelps.”
Hold onto hope!
ETA: I just found this amazing piece on Medium written by the founder of Other Lives a peer support group for trauma survivors. Please go read it.
Made it through 2016. Barely. It was a difficult year in so many ways. Both personally and politically (societally). I had a few really, really good moments:
And many not so good moments. My depression is…well, as up and down as it goes. I had a good therapist before moving back to AZ and that helped so very much. I haven’t yet found one here. My energy is being expended on my physical health plus external stuff (relationships, finances and the like). The election, the numerous celebrity deaths have also had an impact.
I have to make changes or I will die. Not kidding. My health needs to come first. Self-care has always been difficult for me. I invest so much in caring for others. I have to do it if I want to continue on in this life.
Part of self-care is writing, writing, writing. So I will make a greater effort to blog more regularly.
Help support this blog here: https://www.paypal.me/CherylMartin
Knowing that I am not alone helps more than I can express. I ran across this and though I cried, it made me feel a little less hopeless.
Honest Facebook Photo Captions