Here's my mantra!

I read this today and immediately thought, “This is so me! This is what I do!” Sometimes it’s to a fault, so I’m still working on figuring out how it works for the best results…

 

If opportunity doesn't knock, build a door.

-Unknown

Wow, what a great blog entry!

I just read this and it amused me so much that I want to post it on my blog for others to see. So visit this site for fabulous advice on how to make friends. I plan to follow this advice post-haste!

http://blog.beliefnet.com/beyondblue/2007/10/12-ways-to-make-friends.html

I’m getting sick. I’ve been getting sick for the last three weeks. I hate when this happens because when I do finally get sick, it’s REALLY bad because I’ve been worn down for ages beforehand. And then I might as well be dead for the amount of energy I don’t have. Alex has a cold-slash-allergies. One of these days I will take him to the doctor and remember to ask if I should be concerned that my two year old snores louder than my husband. And then maybe we will discover that Alex’s runny nose and sneezing at certain times of the year is a result of allergies. Until then, Benadryl works well to get him to fall asleep and not worry about the runny nose. J

Lots of people in my life have/had laryngitis too, and seeing as how my latest self-induced challenge is to see how much I can talk in an 80-minute period (that’s how long I have a group of students at any given time during a school day), not having a voice would be terribly inconvenient.

I am in the process of reading Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. It is a goldmine! It’s so powerful (like The DaVinci Code also was for me) that I can do nothing but read and consider the adjustments I need to make (and even those I don’t need to make) within my life. It makes me think!

***I just realized I have started three sentences in a row with the word “it,” and I think that perhaps my writing is being negatively affected by the oversimplification of speech that happens at my house so that Alex can learn to speak English . I mean, what I typed just a few sentences ago is how I think these days. It is ----. It is -----. I am ---. You are ----. Once again, I am humbled by the far-reaching, life-changing effects of motherhood.

Lyndsey Lovelace-Jarvis, if you read this will you please send me a note so I know that you, Dan, and the girls are okay? I heard from a San Diego friend that Oceanside was not affected by the fires, but I will feel better and not worry about you when I hear from you. Thanks! J

Stuff I think is cool

I’m on a blog-posting roll today. It just occurred to me that I can keep track of all the ideas I want to save by posting them on my blog! Not only will I have everything in one place, someone else might benefit from what I think is awesome…

Disposable panties- awesome idea that means I can throw out my period panties!! http://www.wearonce.com/

Batteries that recharge in your USB ports! http://www.usbcell.com/

Brownie pan that has more crusty edges: http://www.fredflare.com/

Laptop/computer privacy filter: 3MPrivacyFilter.com

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Great quote…comes on a necklace in the Acacia catalog (http://www.acaciacatalog.com/): “Keep the peace within yourself, then…bring the peace to others.” Expressed by German theologian Thomas a Kempis (1379-1471)

Another thought on peace, also found in the Acacia catalog: “Peace. It does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble or hard work. It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart.”

A reminder: Bidden or Not Bidden God is Present

Here’s a book I need to read: A Perfect Mess: The Hidden Benefits of Disorder by Eric Abrahamson and David H. Freedman

Awesome website! http://360travelguide.com/ Lots of panoramic views.

A To Don’t List:

1. Don’t overanalyze or overcomplicate things. Commit to taking the easy way.

2. Don’t become consumed by negative possibilities. Assume a positive outcome.

3. Don’t insist on perfection.

4. Don’t do it alone.

5. Don’t become angry or upset when things don’t go according to plan. Roll with it.

Steps to Forgiveness

Most people have great difficulty forgiving someone, especially if they feel wronged. It isn’t easy to forgive a person who has hurt you and made you feel pain; it’s never a quick fix or an instant happening. But here are four steps to help you learn how to forgive and remove the many layers of pain you have experienced in your life.

1. Accept it. Take responsibility for the happening but feel no guilt or self-judgment. It’s a human response oftentimes to either judge the other person or place self-judgment upon yourself. Instead, realize this experience has a lesson in it for you and your life that will help you grow.
2. Feel it. Feel the emotions of the experience. What are you feeling? Actually name them without censoring them in any way. This makes it real and realness is the only place in which you can lovingly make changes. Once it’s real to you, you can shift the energy into something positive.
3. Surrender it. Drop the need to be right. Understand there is a definite reason for this experience and there is perfection in it. It’s really a prayerful surrender in which you release all judgments and allow humility. There is no right or wrong in this place.
4. Choose peace and harmony. Everything in your life involves a choice, either one you voluntarily make or one that someone else makes for you. So you have the power to choose how you will respond. Understand that God is in the other person just as God is in you, and that they are coming from their truth. Don’t get into the dance with them so that they pull you down. This will happen if you become defensive, add blame, or feel like a victim. If you dance with them into the place of unforgiveness, you create negative experiences for yourself. You could even try putting yourself in their shoes for a brief moment; you might be surprised how you see things differently.

 

The gift that keeps on giving

About eight months ago I was given a gift- a major depressive episode kicked off by a massive anxiety attack. Though I didn’t want it at the time, I am now grateful because of the life changes that have happened as a result of receiving this gift.

 

The biggest change? Everyday I learn to accept myself more. It’s very humbling to realize that I cannot do everything; in fact, I can’t even really do more than a couple of things at a time. By accepting what I can do instead of pushing myself to do more, my stress levels have dropped dramatically.

Just some good ideas....

The door of opportunity won't open unless you do some pushing.

-Anonymous

 

Love truth, but pardon error.

-Voltaire

Big Happenings on Albert Lane

When I looked at Alex for the first time, after over 24 hours of labor and more than 9 months of a difficult, uncomfortable pregnancy, I thought that it was all worth it, just to see my adorable baby boy and to fall deeply in love with him. And I still mostly think that… keep this in mind as you read.

 

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Times are rough for a certain 2.5 year old at 9473 W. Albert Lane. And somewhat tougher for those with whom he resides. On Thursday, June 29^th, war was declared quickly and without much fanfare after the young Mr. Davis decided that no, he would not be taking a nap, and how silly of Mama to suggest one! Prior to the declaration of war, Mama read Toddler 411, a brilliant book that provides hope to the masses of battered parents of headstrong toddlers. It was because of the empowerment Toddler 411 issued that Mama found the strength, deep within herself, to propose a nap, and also due to the book that Mama did not throw up her hands in disgust and lock herself in the bathroom after a failed attempt. Armed with a baby gate and nerves of steel, Mama limited Alex’s mobility to his bedroom and listened as he howled, screamed, and threw things over the baby gate. The young Mr. Davis fell asleep shortly thereafter. Though a similar battle ensued at bedtime, the period of time dedicated to throwing things over the baby gate was considerably lessened.

 

Alas, Alex is not one to go down without a fight…or nine or ten. Neither leaves Albert Lane together very often because of battles waged throughout the day. (For instance, the once simple act of getting into the car for an excursion has now become a hide-and-go-seek game.) Young Mr. Davis, still adverse to nap-taking, behaves garrishly and without regard to the generally-accepted rules of engagement in everything, not just the issue of sleeping on his own bed, which has forced Mama to “fight fire with fire,” so to speak. What could be considered cruel (as murmured by the elder Mr. Davis) has become the norm around the family home, as Alex is mercilessly sent to his room to be “stuck,” (a.k.a. have time out) after any and all infractions and disrespectful gestures. One would think that Alex would gracefully defer to Mama’s clearly more advanced battle-tactics, but one would be horribly wrong. Nearly one month later, young Davis is still as spirited as ever, and it appears that each day he becomes a little more wise about the art of manipulation. Always charming, the younger Mr. Davis has now perfected the maniacal smile one usually associates with charismatic, yet evil, villains and is a master at pitiful pleas for juice. One wonders if toddlers are issued some kind of manual that contains instructions on how to thoroughly baffle and frustrate parents, but especially mothers. Obviously, such a manual is either invisible to grown-ups, or is cleverly disguised as the book that parents have read and re-read 100 million times so that they have either memorized the story (and no longer need to refer to the book’s pages) or they refuse to read it even one more time.

 

Despite the war, morale is high and Mama looks forward to the days when Alex’s favorite word is something other than “no.”

Wow, this has never happened before!

I have a babysitter tonight because I'd originally planned to make meals at Dream Dinners. I don’t cook, so meal prep stores like Dream Dinners and Super Suppers have become even more familiar than the grocery store! But I've changed my mind, so now I have a babysitter and nowhere to go. I’ve called a few people and left messages, but chances are good that they a) have plans, b) have children and have no babysitter, or c) balk at the idea of doing something that isn’t previously scheduled. What happened to the life I used to have, where I could call a friend and someone would be free and we'd hang out tonight?? Or where I’d drive myself over to Mill Ave. or someplace like that and people-watch? Have I really become one of those grown up women who plans everything and avoids the unexpected?

Thomas the Tank Engine, Dogs, Frogs, Binkies, Prizes, and Mickey Mouse.

Sometimes I wish I thought everything is as mind-blowing as Alex does. He gets excited about such little things, no matter how many times he’s seen them or done them or eaten them, and the enthusiasm is often catching…but I still don’t think everything is amazing enough for my eyes to light up and for my feet to do a happy dance just because I’m getting a snack-size bag of Chips Ahoy.

Lately, there isn’t enough joy in the world to match what Alex experiences when he sees or hears anything having to do with Thomas the Tank Engine. He’s two-and-a-half years old and he knows the names of 99% of the characters, which is impressive because there are quite a few. Just today he was telling me about Bertie the Bus and Mavis and pointing out Harold and Duck. For those of you who are familiar with Thomas and Friends, you know that Duck is not one of the major engines, but Alex knows who he is anyway. I can only keep the engines straight because of their colors, so I assumed Alex was using their colors too, but he has a coloring book full of them not colored in and he can STILL tell me who everyone is!

My son is ecstatic whenever he comes across Mickey Mouse, and every duck is Donald Duck (he always has to stop and say, “Quack, quack,” at that point). We have seen the Disney version of The Three Musketeers so many times that the poor DVD is badly scratched and Alex knows to have something to hold on to once the music starts; he pretends it’s a rapier and jabs at the air in true musketeer fashion. Picture a skinny two year old lunging at you with a pacifier. It’s so hard to pretend I’m scared when all I want to do is double over with laughter! Having Alex has meant turning into a true Disney fan, since he loves Disney so much.

All of it is amusing. But nothing is more remarkable than his latest favorite thing. Alex has been spending a lot more time with our yellow Lab, Honey. I suppose it’s because he’s older and Honey is more comfortable with him; I make the guess because Alex’s being older is the only thing that has changed, and until recently, Honey was terrified of Alex, preferring to be outside instead of being inside and subject to Alex’s squeals of glee as he chased her (it was astonishing at the time, because Honey LIVES to lay around inside the house and be petted and told how wonderful she is!). So Alex still shrieks happily as he chases Honey around (we’ve even had to chat about why we shouldn’t smack Honey on the rump and yell GO!), but she doesn’t always run and hide. Eventually, Alex calms down, gets on all fours, sticks his tongue out, and starts panting. Honey eyes him as though he’s gone mad, so she gets up to move, and he follows her, still on all fours. Long after Honey has gone outside (or found a place to hang out where Alex won’t bother her), Alex still pretends he’s a little doggie. He licks George and me, nuzzling us with his head, as Honey does. He even barks!

As if this were not weird enough, he also likes to pretend he’s a frog. We don’t have a frog, and the only thing I can think of that he’s seen on TV having to do with frogs is a two-second blip in the theme song of the PBS show, Kipper. He also has a frog hooded bath towel, but it doesn’t DO anything. But anyway, he knows that frogs stick their tongues out quickly and make a “ribbet” noise, so he will often hop around, making the frog noise and sticking his tongue out. I wonder if he’ll ever think he’s a sloth. I doubt it, because they tend to sit still and do nothing, and that seems to be out of Alex’s range.

It’s fun times around the Davis household these days. Alex’s vocabulary expands exponentially each day; yesterday he told me his ice cream was “elicious,” which threw me for a loop because I never expected my two year old to use the word “delicious” correctly! He might just sleep in his own bed now, since I informed him he could get prizes for sleeping like a big boy (you should’ve seen his face when I said that- you’d think I told him I was going to buy him a new car!). He may also finally let go of his beloved binky…I keep telling him that Binky runs away to visit Binky’s Mommy, and he seems to think this is reasonable.

I just hope that in all my BS about why Binky has disappeared and why we have to put the trains away (they need to go night-night too to get their restful sleep, you know), I don’t lose touch with reality. Because I read in Toddler 411 today that the more imaginative your child is, the more likely he is to be a top-notch liar through the preschool years. Between the two of us, Alex and I could build a whole world based on Thomas the Tank Engine, dogs, frogs, binkies, prizes, and Mickey Mouse.

If it's in your blood, good luck!

Seeing as how a filling my gas tank now requires my dipping into my savings account, making a decent amount of money matters to me. Gone are the days of honestly not caring that I am seriously underpaid given what teaching requires of me. Gone are the days of insisting that I’d teach for free (though I will most happily do it if I should win the lottery or inherit a tidy sum of money!). It’s time to be painfully realistic. And the reality is that I have to have money to buy gas. I have to buy gas because it makes my car, which is dreadfully NOT fuel efficient, run (but my car does okay on gas mileage- it’s not like a monster SUV- and has anyone noticed how much I love using parentheses?). I need my car to run so it can take my son and me places. We need to go places like the grocery store and to school….you get the picture. Money makes the world go ‘round. (I think I just vomited in my own mouth.)

 

So, now that I have admitted that money is important (and I suppose I will hear about it from some), I will also admit that though I enjoy teaching, I don’t enjoy it so much that I’m willing to lead my family to a gasoline-induced life of poverty. Back in 2003, I jokingly lamented that a part-time manager at QuikTrip, a.k.a. QT, made more money than I did as a third-year teacher. Today in 2007, I am still lamenting, but not joking so much anymore. I seriously considered submitting an application, but as my nearest and dearest will tell you, superficial perkiness isn’t my thing, and those folks at QT are always saying hi and goodbye with smiles on their faces. However, I DID start looking for jobs that would take me out of the elementary school setting. Even jobs that had absolutely nothing to do with teaching or a teaching certificate. I applied for positions with all kinds of institutions, from the University of Phoenix to Citigroup. I interviewed for quite a few and even seriously considered them. But at the end of the day, what position did I take for next year? A teaching position. At an elementary school.

 

Apparently, teaching at the elementary level is in my blood. Because no matter how much I told myself that it was time to do something different, whenever an opportunity presented itself, I wasn’t whole-heartedly sure. At one point in the last four months, I said that I would not take a classroom teacher position next year. And while I won’t be a homeroom teacher (I’ll explain in a bit), I have still landed myself a job in which I will be teaching….. in a classroom. It must be in my blood. Or I must really, really like it. Or I’m an insane glutton for punishment. Maybe a little of all three.

 

I am now employed by Rancho Solano Private Schools as a 4^th grade social studies teacher (I’ll be using a 5^th grade curriculum, so this is right up my alley) and a Preschool-4^th grade music teacher. I think it’s wonderful because I LOVE the 5^th grade social studies curriculum! It was by far the highlight of my 5^th grade teaching days. Plus I never thought I’d teach music in a school setting, so this is quite an opportunity, given my musical background. The most fantastic thing is that the school (the owner, the admin board, and the principal) is willing to work with me as far as the hours I can and cannot work. I’m definitely blessed.

Now here's a thought.

To be wronged is nothing unless you continue to remember it.

-Confucius

 

For the longest time, I was intensely angry about the circumstances of my illness. I felt very much the victim, so I blamed others for how it came about instead of focusing on what I could do to get better. It wasn’t until I followed the advice of Confucius (though I didn’t know it was his advice until today) that I began the slow journey toward healing. I share this thought today because I think its value is immeasurable. There is certainly nothing more damaging to our spirits than holding on to that which causes us pain, or grief, or anger- and it feeds hate, which destroys our world. So I challenge myself and everyone else to work on forgetting, and to focus on moving on.

Sometimes life is the therapy.

Here's a thought I'd like to share: I am happy and content because I think I am. -Alain-Rene Lesage
I figured it was time to post another entry. I've wanted to, but life keeps getting in my way, which is my polite way of saying that I am often a hostage to the whims of a two year old boy who is obsessed with trains. The good thing about this is that sometimes he gets so absorbed by pushing his little trains around and making the appropriate train noises that I can get something done (or at the very least, go to the bathroom).

I am still on short term disability, but it ends when my teaching contract ends, which is May 31st. When I saw my doctor at the end of April, she said that I still seemed "down." I have no doubts about that, since it's only in the last couple of weeks that my mood has lifted beyond what it has been in the last two months. Looking back, I see that I was at my lowest in the end part of April/early part of May, and now it's as though I am waking up after a long sleep. My psychologist insists that my feeling better has to do with not being at work, since it was a major stressor, and I'm inclined to agree. Today I am a 7 on a scale of 0 to 10 in which 10 is the best possible mood and 0 is the worst. I have been at 7 or higher for a while! I'm also happy to report that a suicidal thought hasn't crossed my mind in the last three weeks, though I did think about one I used to have and think it was completely absurd.

I strongly believe that my improved mood is because I've been in group therapy (three times a week for three hours at a time) since April 30th. At first I was very nervous, but now I can't believe that I ever thought doing this was a bad idea. It is tremendously helpful to hear about others' battles and triumphs, and it has been invaluable to realize that I can control how I feel by learning to recognize what I think about any given situation. That's why I like the quote up above; I have learned that no one event or person can make me feel a certain way, because it's what I think about that event or person that causes the feelings I have. And as I'm sure everyone knows, our feelings have a significant impact on our behavior. It's empowering to realize that I can have control over how I feel and what I do by changing how I think. Especially because my depression often leaves me woefully unable to control my thinking.

I have suffered from depression for the better part of 18 years. It's only now, after a journey of denial, inadequate medication, therapy, secret-keeping, many concerned people, adequate medication, more therapy, and honesty that I am working on my thought patterns in an effort to combat the depression and anxiety. A huge part of me is screaming, outraged that it's taken this long. But one of the things I have learned  is that things happen within our lives in their own time. Like the message in Ecclesiastes. There's a wisdom in recognizing that sometimes we're not ready for what is best but that if we are patient and we are listening, it will happen. Apparently, I wasn't ready to work on my thoughts until now; had I not worked through the pain of my childhood and being honest about the fact that I am a victim of emotional abuse, I might not have been open to adopting new ideas. Though I've been seeking it for a long time, I'm just now finding the peace within me. It's high time I actually felt what people have told me they perceive me to be, right??

A while back, I wrote an analogy to explain my experience- I described a maze. (Look through March or April entries if you don't know what I'm talking about.) I'm happy to report that the negative soundtrack I described is less powerful, because whenever I hear a negative thought about myself (my self-talk), I work hard to challenge the thought. Is it distorted? Why do I think that? If it is distorted, I have to figure out the truth. And then I have to accept the truth and replace the distorted thought with the newer, more positive and balanced one (not always easy). This tough work is what consumes my energy each day. But the fact is that it's working, and I'm so grateful to even be able to come up with positive, balanced thoughts that I dare not complain.

Joke

> >>>>> Two little kids are in a hospital, lying on beds next to each
> >>>>> other, outside the operating room.
> >>>>>
> >>>>> The first kid leans over and asks, "What are you in here for?"
> >>>>>
> >>>>> The second kid says, "I'm in here to get my tonsils out and I'm a
> >>>>> little nervous."
> >>>>>
> >>>>> The first kid says, "You've got nothing to worry about. I had that
>
> >>>>> done when I was four. They put you to sleep, and when you wake up
> >>>>> they give you lots of Jell-O and ice-cream. It's a breeze."
> >>>>>
> >>>>> The second kid then asks, "What are you here for?"
> >>>>>
> >>>>> The first kid says, "A circumcision."
> >>>>>
> >>>>> And the second kid says, "Whoa, Good luck, buddy, I had that done
> >>>>> when I was born... Couldn't walk for a year."

What "Crazy" Looks Like

One of the definitions of 'crazy' according to the Google dictionary is: brainsick. If I go by that, I am most definitely crazy, and it was confirmed yesterday when I visited the crisis intake area of Banner Thunderbird's Behavioral Health Center. As I walked in, I saw notices on the doors- something about no food being allowed and purses/backpacks being locked up. But there was entirely too much text for me to get it all as I passed, so I didn't read everything. Maybe if I had, my anxiety levels wouldn't have hit the roof. As soon as the door closed behind me, someone asked for my purse and for anything in my pockets. My belongings were placed in a locker to which I did not receive a key. I was given a clipboard and told to sit in the lobby as I filled them out. The lobby had many chairs, a couple of couches, and some of those convertible seats that turn into cots that are often in hospital rooms. Two people were in hospital gowns, sprawled out on the couches with blankets. A couple other people were dressed, but had hospital bands around their wrists and wore pained expressions on their faces. I immediately felt out of place, and the feeling turned to one of near-panic as I noticed the lobby doors had wires in the windows and could be locked to prevent the inhabitants from exiting. Still, I was fairly confident that I could leave whenever I wanted, and that, along with The Learning Channel, which was on the lobby television, calmed me a bit. Now that I think about it, it's a REALLY good thing I didn't know that you can't even access the crisis intake area unless accompanied by a staff member with a badge, because the door is locked. As in, there's no key and only a badge will make the electronic lock open. Yep, that was a good thing. I wa already frightened enough.

In the last couple of months I have had some pretty bad days, and on more than one occasion I've wondered if I didn't need to be hospitalized to get well. So I looked into it, but when I realized I'd go as many as five days without seeing Alex, it ceased being an option. Luckily, Banner Behavioral Health offers an intensive outpatient group therapy that focuses on recognizing and changing self-defeating behaviors (which I believe are gifts of my childhood that I'd like to get rid of now). I'm way beyond the point of thinking that I can do this on my own (in fact, I am starting to panic by how completely unable I am to help myself these days), and my visits to my therapist with George have turned into marital therapy (even if George isn't there), so I figure adding another form of therapy that focuses more on what I need to do to feel better can't hurt.I waited in that lobby-slash-holding-cell for an hour (during which time a lunch was provided, the most exciting of which was the two chocolate chip cookies provided for dessert) before I was called out by a therapist named Melissa with long, blonde hair and equally long electric pink nails. She took me into her office that was labeled an "interview room," and explained that we had half an hour to decide whether the intensive outpatient group therapy program was a good fit for me. We talked about what I like to do in my spare time; I thought it was interesting that most of the time we talked was focused on positive things, rather than the negative things that brought me to her office. She agreed that the outpatient program was a good idea, especialy because if something wasn't done, I'd probably end up an inpatient at the hospital. I had to complete a Safety Plan that stated my stressors, signs that my stressors are getting to me, and three things I would do whenever I felt myself starting to go into "danger zone." Then a doctor had to agree that it was safe to allow me to go home. Oh, and I had to agree to throw out any extra medication lying around and urge George to lock all weapons in his gun safe (there was an incident about two weeks ago that makes guns a VERY bad idea for me). I start group therapy on Monday afternoon and will go three days a week for four weeks, after which time we'll reevaluate to decide if I need individual therapy that focuses more on me, or if I need to continue group, or if I should just continue the marital therapy.

A retraction

The stuff I wrote about feeling better and being stronger? Not true for today. I didn't make it out of bed until 2 p.m., and even then, I really did nothing. Does it get worse than this?

To Do

Something awesome from http://www.mayyoubeblessedmovie.com/420.html, which you should visit if you haven't already!

There's an old story about a group of monks living with their master in a Tibetan monastery. Their lives were disciplined and dedicated, and the atmosphere in which they lived harmonious and peaceful. People from villages far and wide flocked to the monastery to bask in the warmth of such a loving spiritual environment.

Then one day the master departed his earthly form. At first the monks continued on as they had in the past, but after a time, the discipline and devotion that had been hallmarks of their daily routine slackened. The number of villagers coming through the doors each day began to drop, and little by little, the monastery fell into a state of disrepair.

Soon the monks were bickering among themselves, some pointing fingers of blame, others filled with guilt. The energy within the monastery walls crackled with animosity.

Finally, the senior monk could take it no longer. Hearing that a spiritual master lived as a hermit two days walk away, the monk wasted no time in seeking him out. Finding the master in his forest hermitage, the monk told him of the sad state the monastery had fallen into and asked his advice.

The master smiled. "There is one living among you who is the incarnation of God. Because he is being disrespected by those around him, he will not show himself, and the monastery will remain in disrepair." With those words spoken, the master fell silent and would say no more.

All the way back to the monastery, the monk wondered which of his brothers might be the Incarnated One.
"Perhaps it is Brother Jaspar who does our cooking," the monk said aloud. But then a second later thought, "No, it can't be him. He is sloppy and ill tempered and the food he prepares is tasteless."

"Perhaps our gardener, Brother Timor, is the one," he then thought. This consideration, too, was quickly followed by denial. "Of course not" he said aloud. "God is not lazy and would never let weeds take over a lettuce patch the way Brother Timor has."

Finally, after dismissing each and every one of his brothers for this fault or that, the senior monk realized there were none left. Knowing it had to be one of the monks because the master had said it was, he worried over it a bit before a new thought dawned. "Could it be that the Holy One has chosen to display a fault in order to disguise himself?" he wondered. "Of course it could! That must be it!"

Reaching the monastery, he immediately told his brothers what the master had said and all were just as astonished as he had been to learn the Divine was living among them.

Since each knew it was not himself who was God Incarnate, each began to study his brothers carefully, all trying to determine who among them was the Holy One. But all any of them could see were the faults and failings of the others. If God was in their midst, he was doing a fine job of hiding himself. Finding the Incarnated One among such rubble would be difficult, indeed.

After much discussion, it was finally decided that they would all make an effort to be kind and loving toward each another, treating all with the respect and honor one would naturally give to the Incarnated One. If God insisted on remaining hidden, then they had no recourse but to treat each monk as if he were the Holy One.

Each so concentrated on seeing God in the other that soon their hearts filled with such love for one another the chains of negativity that held them bound fell away. As time passed, they began seeing God not just in each other, but in every one and everything. Days were spent in joyful reverence, rejoicing in His Holy Presence. The monastery radiated this joy like a beacon and soon the villagers returned, streaming through the doors as they had before, seeking to be touched by the love and devotion present there.

It was some time later that the senior monk decided to pay the master another visit to thank him for the secret he had revealed.

"Did you discover the identity of the Incarnated One?" the master asked.
"We did," the senior monk replied. "We found him residing in all of us."
The master smiled.

Affirmations

It has been 53 days (I know, because I just counted) since the bottom fell out from under me, and I am still alive. I'm proud of this. It's scary to admit this now, but there were some touch-and-go moments. Thank God for guardian angels and little boys named Alex! I am a fool if I honestly think that all of that is buried and gone- but I can hope that the next 53 days are more about rebuilding the bottom than falling through it.

I'm not sure I can adequately describe where I've been for the last couple of months, but I can say that it has been dark. I'm not entirely out of the dark yet, but at least now I can see light for longer periods of time. I'm happy about that.

When I first realized things were bad (like when I had to go on short term disability instead of going to work), I accumulated a lot of reading material that I thought would help me get through my tough time. I'm just now feeling like I can actually read without being cynical and wanting to track down the authors to bonk them over the heads with my rubber mallet (I don't have a rubber mallet, since George won't allow me to buy one, but I think owning one would enhance my life, since no one has ever suffered death-by-rubber-mallet but I would still benefit from the therapeutic act of bonking someone on the head). I don't suppose anyone who hasn't been depressed can understand how much it DID NOT help me when people (or reading materials) gave me logical reasons why I won't be depressed forever. When I was having a really bad time of things, hearing about how I'll one day feel better only magnified the fact that I didn't feel better right now. I once said to George that I wish I'd had the foresight to document my gloomy periods before, because then I would've understood how I got to the happy pictures I see of myself all over the place. When I don't feel well, seeing my smiling face in records of time past also emphasizes how bad I feel.   When I feel depressed, I am capable of logical thought. I KNOW that there is much in my life to rejoice over and embrace. I just don't FEEL like rejoicing or embracing. And I completely forget that I once endured and overcame- and more importantly, HOW I endured and overcame. I made a big mistake thinking that I could fix myself if I followed the steps in a guidebook- because depression isn't like overcoming an addiction or "getting over" an unpleasant experience. For me, it's about finding a way to survive by remembering HOW to survive. I just re-read what I wrote, and it doesn't make a whole lot of sense. I have noticed that I'm not able to say what I mean as well as I have been able to in the past- and amusingly, this still doesn't stop me from saying stuff. I may have mentioned the cognitive effects of my depression before- but just in case I haven't, this particular episode has messed with my ability to quickly process and produce information. I finally get why some of my students with processing issues looked at me blankly right after I gave them directions- it takes a minute for the comprehension to happen.

But anyway, now that I do feel a little better, I'm open to these "pep talks." One of the things I've read about that reminds me about what has worked in the past is making affirmations. When I was in junior high, I somehow came across the same idea, and I made lists of things that I liked about myself- things that made me feel strong. I'm sad that I couldn't even begin to think about creating such a list until now, but what matters most is that now I can, so here goes:

I am a survivor. I have survived a lifetime of feeling inadequate, unworthy, and unwanted.  I can do it.
I am resilient. I can "bounce back" when bad things happen to and around me.
I am strong. I can withstand physical and emotional pain and it won't destroy me.
I am worthy of love. I can give it away and I deserve to get it back.
I am smart. I have good ideas, and even when my ideas aren't good, I can learn from my mistakes.
I am funny. I can laugh and help others laugh.
I have a lot to offer this world. I am leaving it better than I found it by raising Alex, teaching others, sharing, and being kind.

Here's some advice

Here's some advice: don't eat sandwiches that have mayonnaise on them when you've left them in the car for a couple of hours. This is one of those NO DUH pieces of advice that I totally failed to follow. Yesterday I bought a yummy patty melt from Sonic, but then I went to pick Alex up from my parents' house (where he has been spending A LOT of time lately), and I left the sandwich in the car, thinking I'd just be a few minutes. Minutes turned into hours before I found myself headed home again. To make a long story short, I was hungry at about 9 p.m., so I started to eat this patty melt, since it was readily available. And honestly, I'd forgotten it had mayo on it, so it's not like I made a conscious decision to poison myself, especially since Alex had a bit of the sandwich too. WELL, today I couldn't quite get out of bed. I had a horrible headache and my stomach was doing flips and turns and other things it shouldn't have been doing. I hardly ate anything today (two chicken nuggets, a cup of lemonade, some water, and a toaster strudel, which I'm hoping I'll be able to keep down), and my stomach is making those loud growls I'm all too familiar with. They're the growls of post-really-bad-upset-stomach. I'm pretty sure it was the sandwich that made me sick today. Either that or my being really upset that my paper STILL hasn't been written or turned in. Either way, be sure to heed my advice. I hate to admit it, but George may have a valid argument when he doesn't want me to eat stuff that's been sitting out more than 15 minutes.

Oh yes, I'm the great procrastinator...

I have a paper to write. I've known about it for almost a month, but I still haven't written it. Luckily, I know I can do this- the paper needs only be a couple pages long. I even have an idea what I will write. I just haven't written it yet. I started the first class in my Training and Development Leadership doctoral program a little over two weeks ago, which is the class for which I need to write the paper. I am REALLY enjoying the reading I have to do, because it's all about considering human potential and recognizing and developing natural talents…all stuff I am interested in anyway. I'm overjoyed about getting to think about personality and development AND earn a doctorate too- it's one of the most wonderful things to happen to me in the last six months. It's lucky for me that I can work at my own pace, since the "class" takes place online. Plus instead of panicking about turning a paper in a week late, I can just work twice as hard for the next couple of weeks and get back on track- all without having my grades suffer negatively. Except for the cost (it'll be close to $50K by the time all is said and done-yikes!), I couldn't be happier about my decision to earn my doctorate. I worried for the longest time that it is a frivolous endeavor, since I can most likely accomplish all of my career goals with a shorter (and cheaper) masters program. In talking with the dean of the College of Teacher Education and Leadership at ASU's west campus about it, I even learned that many women question the need for a doctorate- especially because the process by which one is traditionally earned is less than family-friendly. I can only shrug my shoulders and say that it's something I want to do; something for which I am truly proud of myself. I don't know why, but more than ever before, being accepted into the program has been the most compelling proof to me that I am smart and a hard worker who is worthy of joining the ranks of amazing professors and organizational leaders. Up until I was accepted into this doctoral program, I often thought that many of my accomplishments were somehow the product of really good luck. Sometimes I look back at the things I've done and I'm truly awed…like I'm reading a book or seeing a movie about an undoubtedly fictitious person. In my "everyday" moments, I certainly do not feel smart or amazing; for instance, when I'm stuck in traffic, I don't feel brilliant. But now, as I work toward this huge goal, I feel that a seed has been planted within me, and it's starting to sprout- I'm starting to really believe that I'm responsible for the good things that have happened to me.

I am a functioning mass of numbness when it comes to most everything else in my life at the moment. I say I'm functioning because I don't sit on the couch all day- I actually put some of Alex's laundry away today! But I'm definitely numb, which I suppose is better than feeling a sad rage. I've noticed that I have an emotional cycle- or spiral. I'll feel fine (my medicine works as it should), which puts me at the top of the cycle/spiral. I'll feel a bit on edge, which is a downward motion. If I'm on edge for a while, or things are particularly stressful, I keep "going down" until I get perilously close to "rock bottom." If I am at the bottom, I'm not functioning anymore, which is what I have experienced off and on since the beginning of March (and at other times in my life, like senior year of high school and 5th grade). I can start moving upward again, which is what I think it happening now- and that means I function (I actually get out of bed and take care of myself and others), but I feel emotionally bland. Hopefully I'm going to continue going up. Sometimes it seems that I slipped into this depressive episode and I can just as easily slip out of it (especially because this is all due to wacked-out hormones). When I do feel well, I get my hopes up thinking that my hormones have fixed themselves and I will start feeling normal again. But I saw an endocrinologist on Tuesday who ordered all kinds of tests and asked me a bunch of questions- so the reality is that the hormones are still not as they should be.

This morning I visited a Sonora Quest Labs patient care center (why aren't they just called locations anymore??) to have blood drawn. From what I could understand in doing my Google research, the doctor gave me dexamethasone to suppress my adrenal gland function in order to test my pituitary gland, but also to find out if my adrenals have changed in their output since my last round of tests in February. I felt AWFUL after taking the dexamethasone. It made me feel sleepy and a bit grumpy- in fact, I couldn't really wake up today until well after 11 a.m. Now I have a bit of a sore throat (apparently, this medicine leaves you a bit vulnerable to illness) that I'm hoping will go away. I have not felt that exhausted since the early part of March, which tells me that making myself take several million supplements is helping somewhat (I'm taking multivitamins with heavy emphasis on B and C vitamins and DHEA, as well as a large dose of omega 3 fatty acids, or something like that). In a few weeks, I get to go back to have a butt-load of blood drawn to test all of my hormone levels- if it's a hormone, it's listed on my lab paperwork. My doctor is definitely experienced and wise, but unfortunately, he also has a thick Chinese accent that makes him a bit hard to understand. From what I gathered at my appointment, he wants to make sure there are no abnormal pituitary growths (hence the blood test this morning), and determine the extent of the adrenal fatigue. He wasn't too worried about my irregular periods or my polycystic ovaries, since I have been pregnant and I am still ovulating (hence the periods). For the first time since I started feeling yucky (in November/December), I actually am hopeful that a true diagnosis will be made. Plus I'm glad that I've listened to my instincts and not followed the advice of doctors that wouldn't have solved any of my problems (like the naturopath who wanted to treat polycystic ovarian syndrome or the OB/GYN who told me I most likely had chronic fatigue syndrome). I have another appointment with the endocrine guy in mid-May.

I suffered from severe abdominal pain in my lower left side on Easter weekend. I was worried it was an ovarian cyst (if you know about Eara's experience, you certainly understand), so George took me to Urgent Care. Curiously, the doctor asked me all kinds of questions, did a pelvic exam AND sent me for a CT scan of my abdomen to try and figure out what was causing the pain, but everything appeared normal and nothing suggested my life was in danger, so he finally (and reluctantly) gave me a prescription for Vicodin. But not before he asked me if I'd ever considered visiting a homeopath (doctor who practices homeopathic medicine). I shared that I'd already seen a naturopath, but he insisted that the homeopath experience would be different and possibly more enlightening. Given my adventures through health diagnosis navigation, I agreed I'd give a homeopath a shot. So I'll see one on May 21st. Supposedly, the remedy they suggest will be one that addresses all of my issues, from the depression to the mysterious side pain, to the crazy hormones. Here's hoping.

If I have learned anything in the last six months, it is that I should listen to my body more closely and act based on what it's telling me instead of putting off the inevitable "breakdown." I know now that I probably could've felt better sooner (and possibly have avoided my major depressive episode all together?) had I taken the time to realize that my level of exhaustion was not normal, even though I'd been sick quite a bit and I have a two year old. Ever the teacher, I have to point out the lessons here! I must encourage others to listen to their bodies. Listen to what your body tells you! Pain means you need to stop. Exhaustion means you need rest. Tension means you need to eliminate stress. And be aware of your instincts. Doctors are people who are trained in medicine and caring for us, BUT they are not always right, just like we're not always right about whatever it is that's our line of expertise. Had I not listened to mine, I might be sitting around, thinking I am doomed to always feeling so tired.

Hi, my name is Darna, and I'm a complainer.

I'm a complainer. I've been in denial about this, but I can't pretend any longer. I'm a complainer, and I'm most likely comfortable when I'm complaining. I'm pretty sure I haven't always been such a complainer, but I won't dare announce that I have been a non-complainer in the past. Although I do remember days when I wasn't so quick to start whining. Those days are gone.

I have a lot to complain/whine about these days. I wish I could say that I rise above it and only think of pleasantly positive things, but I don't. If something seems difficult, I have to wonder if it's because of my depression, or if it's just because it's a hard thing to do. But either way, I'll complain about how hard it is. Often, since no one is around, I'll complain to myself. How sad. In my head I'm constantly complaining about the state of my house. I've never been freakishly neat (a trait I've adamantly avoided), but I'm pretty sure my home has never been so…..cluttered. I don't have enough energy, and when will the energy come back? I start projects, but then I can't finish them because I get bored. Except that's a ridiculous thing, because I have so many things I could do that I don't really have enough downtime to be bored. So I complain about having so much to do, even though I do very little to accomplish anything, and I feel ashamed about my complaints because I know other people have much busier lives than I have. I don't like feeling this way- disjointed and cognitively fuzzy.

My huge complaint these days is about how I feel. I'm miserable sometimes. Truly. Today I felt such despair so quickly that I once again was tempted by the big sleep. It's scary how tantalizing the idea of not having to deal with anything anymore can be. I know I'm supposed to call someone when I feel this way, but I'm often at a loss when the feeling hits; I don't want to call George because he gets anxious, and I don't want to bother Eara, because she has a lot on her plate, and I don't want to unload my burden on any friends. My parents would be the last people I would call when I feel this way….and the idea of talking is exhausting anyway. It makes it worse that I don't want to call anyone, though a small voice in my head keeps telling me that there are people in my life who would much rather I call than hurt myself. I isolate myself, and I'm not sure how to quit doing that. I need help, but I don't want to bother anyone to help me. It would be a lot easier if I could not be myself…maybe I could make some progress.

Since I didn’t call anyone, I decided to hang out on my bed. Alex wasn't entirely happy with that, as he wanted me to play blocks. (He says, "Play blocks? Okay, play blocks," as he pulls on one of my fingers AT LEAST TEN TIMES A DAY.) This time I didn't move or respond. We had a tough day, and there were times that I'm horrified to admit that I wanted to yank his little arms off so he would stop throwing things. I considered locking him in his room, but that seemed cruel and I'm pretty nervous about doing anything that could leave him with mental/emotional scars, understandably. Not to mention my fear that he would figure out how to climb his dresser and jump off of it (he did a lot of leaping off the couch this afternoon, much to my dismay. Is that gut-wrenching fear when it comes to his safety ever going to go away???). Our day was tough because he was tired but refused to nap (did I mention he was up at 4 am?). Couple that with my agitation, and it was torture. But we survived. At about 6:30 pm, he finally agreed to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich after turning his nose up at other foods I offered for dinner. What he really wanted was cake, but I refused to give him some of George's birthday cake (he's consumed enough sugar between Easter and today that he could go without sugar for the rest of the year), so he threw a five-minute tantrum. Eventually, he calmed down and became agreeable. Then we read some books, and by 7:30 he was snoring away. He's so sweet when he's sleeping. And he was adorable as he brought me book after book about trains and when we talked about circles and he pointed out that his drawer knobs are circles. We even counted them, though he kept insisting nine came after three and had to count to ten even though there were only six knobs. I'd planned to give him a bath tonight, but there was no way it would've gone well. He likes to throw water out of the tub….and that might have sent me over the edge of the edge I'd gone over earlier in the day. I'm a horrible mother because my son went to bed with horrendously dirty feet from running around all day barefoot. And I'm also a horrible mother because he doesn't bathe every day. Doesn't that count as neglect?

My complaints and general negativity have taken their toll on George. He's never been one to focus on the positive, so now that I'm not my idealistic, optimistic self, things are pretty dreary. Instead of being grateful that he doesn't tell me to go away and come back when I've gotten my act together, I rant and rave and make him listen to my complaints about how little he does around the house and how he must not love me because he doesn't gush about how much he loves me. He rarely yells at me, and even when he does, he is good about having issues with my actions, rather than with me. I don't mean to paint him as an angel, because he has major issues with expressing himself and his emotions, but the fact is that George really is trying. He tries to do everything I ask. I've been a witch (replace w with b). He's still nice to me, even though I'm probably laying the foundation for a stress-induced stroke. Someday I will make this up to him. I just am too exhausted to figure it out right now. In the meantime, I have realized that I was holding him to unfairly and unrealistically high expectations. I'm humbled now by the fact that I have to see him for who he really is and what he really does and not keep yearning for everything I want exactly as I want it whenever I want it.

George and I went to a parent/teacher conference at Alex's school on Monday. Apparently, Alex is wonderful except for his constant need to run around the room (can anyone say ADHD?? But I'm joking about that….kind of). He is even exhibiting leadership and social skills, since he can get all of the boys in his class running around the room with him. I can't help but be proud of my little ring-leader. It is really nice to hear someone else say that my child is delightful and funny. I can totally understand why some parents dread conferences now- because they haven't had a teacher point out their child's wonderful qualities. If I ever find myself on the opposite end of the table again, I'm totally going to emphasize the terrific things about my students, no matter how devious or lazy they can be, if only because I think that compliments about our children stroke our egos and make us realize that there must be something right about us if it has come out in our children. Or something like that. When I consider that who I am is reflected through Alex, I can't help but cry because I'm so grateful that the happiness and the impulsive hugs and kisses and the singing and the creativity are there. There must be happiness somewhere within me, but I've lost it now. Oh, how I wish it wasn't so hard to find it again. I have a feeling that if I hang out with Alex enough (on days when he's not gotten up at an unusual hour AND has had a proper nap, of course), it'll come back.

growing bladder + 10-20 oz.=3 x (leaky diaper+wet mattress)

Before I started feeling really miserable (I'm thinking it was back in September), I think I was truly starting to accept myself. I was developing an understanding of my limitations in a way that allowed me to feel at peace instead of feeling like a victim; I held on to the fact of the amazing power of my body and the miracle it produced (Alex) as a way to combat the inner desperation I sometimes feel about my body; and I was no longer afraid of sadness or anger, because they were controllable. I wish I could say that I know exactly when things started to change, but I don't know, and I think that's because the deterioration of my health has been a gradual process.

For me to even acknowledge that my health has deteriorated is a major step for me. Up until Friday, when I visited my primary doctor and heard a brief account of my health over the last year, I think I honestly believed that what I'm experiencing right now is a minor setback, like a cold or the flu; something that will be gone quickly and then I can get back to living my life the way I used to with the range of emotions I used to feel and the capability to multitask (I'm woefully unable to do it now, since doing more than one thing will result in 1- frustration and potential shut-down on my part and 2- any tasks I'm trying to do simultaneously being done poorly, at best.). I finally get that something is really wrong with me that left unaddressed could limit and shorten my life, and what's more, it has sunken in that fixing what's wrong will take a couple months at the least. It's going to take a major paradigm shift (I use that word at the risk of regurgitating all the Stephen Covey stuff I studied my freshman year of college in Leadership class)- and the thought is so overwhelming that I wish I could just go buy a new brain at Target. They'd probably have a better deal than Walmart, as far as quality for price goes; besides, Walmart would probably end up unethically taking down smaller brain stores/factories in third world countries to achieve their amazingly low price on brains.

I almost didn't go to my doctor appointment because I was so afraid that she wouldn't believe that my depression is so debilitating. How ridiculous is that? Somehow, I've convinced myself that people will automatically think that I'm not really depressed and assume I'm trying to cheat the system. Where is this paranoia coming from?? Especially because so many people have been wonderful to me about this, including my doctor yesterday. (I had to see her for my short term disability paperwork to get filled out because my psychiatrist doesn't do paperwork, which caused me to shed a lot of tears when I heard that.) Anyway, the rest of the day was fairly uneventful until Alex woke up from his nap and decided to "help" me with putting stuff away by throwing a ton of cards EVERYWHERE. I can't explain how I crumple when Alex makes an amazing mess that will take more than a minute to clean up. I know he's a little boy who is experimenting and experiencing and learning….but the fact remains that I already feel overwhelmed by life most of the time, and when Alex gets into one of his "messy" moods, it pushes me over the edge. Luckily, instead of flying into a rage (as my mother used to do), I shut down. I usually go numb and sit on the couch until the numbness goes away, and then I either leave the mess (no energy to clean it up) or I start to clean up a little at a time. If Alex is agreeable (meaning he's had a proper nap), I can get him to help me. Otherwise, he can very quickly make the mess worse than it was in the first place. It doesn't ever seem that I'll accomplish anything significant around the house, which I guess is okay since Carla, our fabulous angel-disguised-as-a-cleaning-lady, insists on doing more than I ask. For instance, this past Wednesday she brought all kinds of books and toys over for Alex. And she picked up dog poop and cleaned off my patio; things which are totally unrelated to cleaning the house. But anyway, since I've become a mother I've had to accept the fact that any plans I make are indefinite until they actually happen, and there will always be something on the floor- blocks, cards, Legos, cars, paperclips, whatever…if Alex can get to it (and sadly, he can figure out a way to get to just about everything), it will end up on the floor.

So let me get to the newest gift of motherhood: leaky diapers. But not leaky diapers like the ones when Alex was born and we had to find a diaper that fit well; oh, no, we're talking diapers that get so full that they can't absorb any more so that urine flows freely from baby to bed. Would it be a big deal if Alex slept on his own bed? No, not really, because he has a waterproof mattress. But does Alex sleep on his own bed? Actually yes, but he gets up in the middle of the night to come sleep on mine. THAT is the big deal. It happened three times before George suggested we get a waterproof mattress cover. George is brilliant! Why didn't I think of that sooner?? I suppose some day we'll have to limit Alex's drinking liquids after lunchtime, since it seems like he saves all his liquid from the afternoon for peeing while he's sleeping, but in the meantime, Alex seems content with the way things are. Oh, and he has found a new place to pee: my shoes. Yesterday he took off his diaper, ran around the house gleefully due to the free feeling, and then ran into my closet and peed on my new shoes. Isn't motherhood glamourous?

I have something to say.

Earlier this evening, George asked me for a list of Dos and Don'ts because he felt at a loss for how to deal with me right now (we had a major discussion this morning about all of my frustrations with him). I was frustrated by the task at first (I even had one of my inner tantrums….maybe I'll explain those later), but after putting Alex to bed and thinking a little (and also by some miracle), my heart opened up, and here's what came out. Some of it applies to anyone in my life, but for the most part, I thought I'd post it here because it is part of my truth for right now:

Everyday, tell me you love me. And mean it. Don't wait until you are leaving the house or on the phone. I know it's awful, but I automatically assume no one loves me.

Everyday, make an attempt to touch me. Hold my hand or give me a hug, or pat my back or stroke my arm- whatever. Don't expect it to lead to sex.

Everyday, remind me why I love you.

Everyday, tell me a joke, or try to make me laugh. I love that about you.

Every now and then, kiss me (not just a peck on the cheek). Don't expect it to lead to sex.

Every now and then, show me that you're glad I'm your wife. You will probably do this by telling me you love me and touching me, but there are other things, like saying you're glad I'm your wife or smiling at me, or reminding me that I'm more than your son's mother.

Every now and then, remind me why we're together. Help me remember the awesome things about our past and encourage me to think about the good things in our future. Make it clear that you believe there's going to be a future no matter what because I often can't even think about tomorrow.

Every now and then, acknowledge that you are working a lot, but that you would rather be home with me or with Alex.

Call if you're going to be late. For whatever reason, whenever you go anywhere. (So you need to have an idea of when you're going to be home.) But if you go out (either by yourself or with friends), after work, call me at least once so I know you're okay. I don't care when, and if I don't answer, leave a voicemail telling me where you are and when you think you'll be home. And please try to call before you start drinking, or while you're drinking, but before you get too drunk. I'm sorry I'm so demanding about this, but there have been too many times I've woken up and freaked out.

Every now and then, talk with me about the plans you have for us, or the thoughts you have about us. This will show me you actually think about us on your own without my prompting or my questions.

**I will make an effort to do these things more too. But some days, just breathing is a little overwhelming. So please keep doing them, even if I'm not doing my fair share. I am grateful in advance.**

On a more depression-specific note:

Please do not ask me what's wrong. I often don't know and the question ends up frustrating me because I feel like I should know. If you want to know something, try asking a specific question, like "Are you upset about _________?"

Please do not point out that things around the house are bad. I know the dishes haven't been done and the laundry hasn't been folded, and I feel terrible about it. Instead of saying anything, or announcing that you will take care of it (which makes me feel worse because I know I'm causing you extra work), encourage me to help you take care of things.

Please do not expect me to cook. Or make jokes about it. Same goes for exercising and eating and my weight and my hair…pretty much anything about my physical appearance. You can still encourage me to do these things, though.

Please be explicitly clear about how you feel, no matter how good or bad it is. Otherwise my very negative imagination will make things worse than they are. I'm probably going to cry, whether you say something bad or not. But that doesn't mean I'm going to fall apart or that you hurt me. If you feel like it, just sit with me or give me a hug until I stop crying. I usually hate that I cry so much. You are not a bad husband and it is often not your fault that I cry.

Please do not let me sleep too much. Be kind about getting me out of bed, though. Please don't suggest that I'm lazy. I already think I am.

Please understand that I will take care of Alex, but that some of the ways I go about it are completely unconventional. For instance, when I don't feel that I can fight with him, I let him stay up with me until he falls asleep on the couch or on our bed. Or he may not take a real bath every night because I'm so exhausted. But I tell him I love him every chance I get and I hold/cuddle him as much as he'll let me. And I do try to play/read with him several times a day. If you don't feel like Alex is getting something he needs, please don't get mad if I'm not doing it the way you would- but feel free to do it yourself. Please believe that I will never let him go hungry or get hurt (if I can help it, of course). Please trust me with our son, because when I feel that you don't trust me, it only proves my theory that he would be better off without me.

Please do not ever give up on me. I want desperately to feel better, but if you don't think I'll feel better, I'll believe you.

If I call you because I'm anxious or frustrated, please do not ask me what I want you to do. I don't have a clue; I called you because I thought you might help me feel better. Definitely never tell me there's nothing you can do to help me. Remind me that everything will be okay. I always believe you when you tell me, even if I don't seem like it right then.

**I know I'm asking a lot, and as I have said before, if you can't handle it, I will understand. I love you, and I believe that you are the most important person to help me feel better. You can't fix me, but you can help me fix myself.**

Love,
Darna

Ask and you shall receive; knock and it shall be opened unto you...

When I was a kid, my mother would often drag Eara and me to funerals because attendance meant indulgences to keep us out of purgatory. We didn't always know the deceased (but I'm hoping my mom did). We participated in countless novenas and prayed the rosary together at our house and the houses of her friends. We went to mass in the mornings when we didn't have school. I can't fathom how many times I've heard the words, "…ask and you shall receive; seek and you shall find; knock and it shall be opened into you…" Let's just say I've heard them a lot, and spoken them in prayer many a time. There are some really good things that came from my mother, and the gift of God and prayer is one of them. God has answered so many of my prayers, and not answered just as many, and I'm grateful.

That said, I had a major revelation about God roughly four years ago, mostly because of the Catholic Church. It's one of the issues I deal with that makes my depression a little more…difficult. My close childhood friends can probably attest to the church time I logged in my early years; I sometimes attended two masses on Sundays because we were so early for the mass Mom wanted to attend that the previous mass was still happening. We went to church EVERY Sunday, because if I dared suggest to my mother that I didn't want to go, I was assured a seat in Hell. Now that I think about it, I feared God's and the Church's wrath and thought of myself as truly unworthy, mostly because my mother made every mistake, no matter how innocently made, seem like one that disappointed God and the Church. (That changed around the time I was 11, which also happens to be the age when I first attempted suicide. But that's not such an issue anymore because I finally dealt with the post-traumatic stress and accepted that it was something I'd done and…well, I've dealt with it and "embraced" it. It's actually a critical piece of my history and probably explains why even though I often think about suicide and ways to achieve it, I would really have to be out of my mind to do it. Life is bad sometimes and I feel such pain that I'd like it to be over, BUT there are people for whom I care so much that I don't want to be the reason for their distress.) When I met George and told my mom I thought he was the one, she asked if he was Catholic, to which I explained that his father was, but he'd converted to marry George's Mormon mother. She stared at me blankly, probably hoping it would go nowhere. When George came home and we lived together, my mother often lamented, claiming she'd failed as a mother because I was living in sin, and she was having to lie to my uncle, the Catholic priest (though I seriously doubt he would've cared too much). When I married George in a civil ceremony, she was crushed that it didn't happen in a Catholic church. And when Alex was born, she was devastated by George's and my decision to not baptize him in the Catholic church. As you have probably figured out, the Church and my mother are practically one and the same; she is still an avid novena participant who goes to mass every chance she gets and pushes for a homecoming between me (and thus, Alex) and the Catholic church.

I'm not sure if it's because I lived and breathed Catholicism for so long or if it's because I'm a natural mystic, but I believe strongly in the existence of that which cannot be explained with logic- so much so that I approach life with a heavy reliance on my intuitive and emotional feelings. I believe in magic, fate, destiny….all of those things, like religion, that aren't tangible and have little, if any, tangible proof to support their existence. And because of my childhood, I have no tolerance for knowingly allowing suffering to happen or going to great lengths to keep the suffering hidden. It's because of this (and the parade of child molesting Catholic priests) that The DaVinci Code by Dan Brown rocked my world, as I mentioned above. I realize that as a work of fiction, The DaVinci Code isn't a good reason to throw out all of your faith in your church and suffer a few years before you figure out what it is you REALLY believe in. But as a work of fiction with several compelling themes that happens to include factual items/places, the book prompted me to do research. It was what I learned through research that gave me lots of good reasons to lose faith in my church and suffer for a couple of years while I tried to decide what I believe in my heart.

There are some crazy concepts out there. But I have to point out that everyone thought Galileo and Columbus were insane for a while. That said, some people believe that because Jesus Christ was a human being, he could've been married to Mary Magdalene, or at the very least, romantically involved with her. Then there are ideas that Mary Magdalene is the Holy Grail, or she gave birth to a child who was the Holy Grail, or Mary Magdalene was the author of the 4th Gospel in the New Testament. I've read books, spoken with others, searched the Internet, and read scholarly articles- I really attacked this research project like my life depended on it. I asked and seeked and knocked. Here's what I received, found, and opened:

First, if we are all created in God's image, then who's to say that God is exclusively male? My belief is that God is an entity that cannot be humanized easily. God is me and you and the folks down the street…..each of us carries a piece of God, which is why there's power in numbers and "no man is an island." God is more than our father- God is mother and sister and brother. Since this is what I believe, I have made a conscious effort for the last couple of years to refrain from using masculine pronouns when referring to God- not always easy. I'm not saying that God cannot be a father figure- just pointing out that God is more than a human male, so when we talk about God, our speech should reflect that.

Second, I believe that Mary Magdalene is a very real part of the history of Christianity, if only because her presence provides proof that our male-dominated notions about Christianity are not necessarily true at face value, especially when we consider that through much of Western civilization's history, men have been so insecure that they have seen fit to eradicate women's contributions from the records. I do not know if Jesus and Mary Magdalene were married or involved, and it doesn't really matter to me. In fact, it's comforting to think that they were because it makes Jesus that much more human. There's a really good website that presents several perspectives on Mary Magdalene: www.magdalene.org, including a link to a well-written paper on why Mary Magdalene is in fact the author of the 4th Gospel, which is commonly attributed to John.

Third, it makes total sense to me that the Catholic Church would make every effort to cut Mary Magdalene (or any other woman) out of its dogma. Mary, the mother of God, is revered, but mostly because Catholics feel she will put a good word in for us with her son and his father (and honestly, when the Church was pushing the Magdalene-as-prostitute agenda, it created a striking contrast to the purity of the Virgin Mary, emphasizing "purity" all the more). The Church is now notorious for keeping things hush-hush (how anyone could willingly keep the actions of child molesters secret is BEYOND me!), and I personally have witnessed suffering because of the Church's law. That's nothing compared to the grand-scale suffering the Church has caused historically- think Spanish Inquisition, etc. The Catholic religion came at a time when a way to control the masses was necessary for empires to be successful- and also, I might add, at a time when a common Greco-Roman belief was that pure love could only exist between men, since women were just for breeding. As a result, I'm pretty wary of any organized religion, though I find myself missing the predictable flow of a Catholic mass every now and then. I just don't think it's a good idea to sit in mass angry and think angry thoughts.

All of this makes my depression more difficult because I'm a heretic, essentially, and that feels a bit isolating given my background. I sometimes wonder if God is mad at me for not staying true to my Catholic faith, and that's why I suffer from time to time. And most significantly, if I can realize that the Catholic Church isn't for me, can I do that with my mother? I'm asking, but I don't necessarily want to receive. All I know is that the idea of disappointing God, the Catholic Church AND my mother is a huge pill to swallow (and I have a strong gag reflex).

Rating: 5 (sooooooooo tired today)

Amazing Grace....and Nicole and Teresa and Lyndsey and Loretta and Eara and........

I've felt good the past two days- definitely an 8 yesterday (except for a few minutes when I was upset and couldn't get over it easily), and more of a 7 today. Something is going on with my hormones because I've noticed a major change in my ability to fall asleep and I'm breaking out more than usual- so I attribute the feeling well to that, since I have my hormones to thank for my bad days. It's only fair….

Anyway, this particular entry is written to send heartfelt gratitude to my friends, and especially my friends who I didn't realize were such good friends until now, when it really matters (interestingly, I have also learned that some people really do not care about other people's well-being and they don't ever consider that someone's "problem" could be helped by a kind word or two….reminds me of another quote I've read somewhere- something to the effect of being kind to everyone you meet because he or she could be fighting a major battle).  It is an endless source of comfort to know that there are people in the world who care about me- and it makes it impossible to say that no one would notice if I wasn't around.

I've made it out of my maze before and seen the light, so I know I can do this. And when I forget, I thank you for reminding me.

An Analogy

It has not been a good day. But I came up with one way to help people understand what I'm going through. Visualize as you read:

You've been placed in a poorly lit maze- a labyrinth, if you will. You've been given simple instructions to follow the arrows, as they tell you exactly where to go, and they will lead you out of the darkness. No one mentioned how long the maze is, but they made it sound like it should be easy and take no time. But you are tired, and the walking makes you more tired, so you have to stop to sit a lot. You're wearing the wrong shoes and your clothes don't fit well. You forgot a flashlight and sometimes your glasses fall off, so you can't always see clearly. Even when you do walk and follow the arrows, sometimes you misunderstand the arrows (even though they're simple) or they seem to disappear, and you end up off the right path. The tangent paths are sometimes very short, or they can be long and it takes a while to find your way back, so you get frustrated easily. Sometimes you seem to know exactly where you're going and you can even see the light at the end of the maze, but that clarity doesn't always last. There are arrows and you should be able to follow them, but you can't always, and it makes you feel dumb and inept. You sometimes lose hope of ever making it out to the end, and you sometimes think it would be better to just quit walking.

As you walk in the maze, a soundtrack of people saying things to you and/or about you plays on loudspeakers. Oddly, everything nice or encouraging is said very quietly, and it seems like those pleasant thoughts aren't played as often as the put-downs and discouraging thoughts that blare constantly. Even when you go on a tangent path, you can hear the loudspeakers clearly. You strain to hear the positive words and when they're gone, you try really hard to remember what they are and to believe that they are true, but the bad words and ideas are so much louder and constant, and they're mostly in your own voice, so you get tired of trying to remember. Sometimes you just can't remember, or the loud, mean messages are all you can concentrate on- and you really start to believe that maybe they're the loudest because they're true.  You'd like some quiet so you can think, but it never comes, so you're jumpy and anxious. Every now and then, there are mirrors on the walls. Sometimes you stop to take a look, but mostly you shut your eyes as you pass them. You don't want to see how tired or frustrated you are, and even when you do look, you don't recognize what you see. You marvel at how someone who looks perfectly fine on the outside can be suffering so much on the inside. But then you focus on your eyes, and you see the sadness and the anger and the confusion.

You wish you didn't feel so alone in the maze. You really want someone to hold your hand. But then again, they might want to talk, and you don't want the talking to take away from your journey. Besides, you don't have anything interesting or intelligent to say.