Not So Much Drifting as Trying to Find the Shore

Today has been, on the whole, not a bad day. At least, not objectively. And yet, I am floundering in depression, mostly because before today (or at least last night), I didn't realize I was in depression.

It started, I think, with a call about having to go do a random drug test and breathalyzer. Neither of these were problematic from the stand point of me worrying about not passing. I don't drink (it's been over a year since I have), I don't smoke (which would be legal, as long as it was tobacco), and I would be the least likely person to do any actual drugs (I dislike needles, I don't like the idea of snorting anything, I barely tolerate taking pain reliever, and I am against the idea of smoking anything, which rules out most forms of drug intake). The call came about 3 hours before I was likely to get up. It was almost 2 hours before I would finish my actual (legally required) break (it didn't hurt me nearly as much as it could, but it did screw up my work day later that day). And then I spent the rest of the day overly tired, but unable to convince myself to take a nap.

So, despite depression usually sneaking in through bringing insomnia, it snuck in when I was distracted with work-based, forced insomnia. And then I just thought I was tired, because of hormones/time changes/somebody screwing with my schedule for a day.

Instead, I was apparently sinking into depression.

The sign that tipped me off was my lack of actually feeding myself on my own. I didn't buy food, or make a sandwich, either of which I could have done and it would have been better for me. Instead, I just decided I should make a sandwich, and then didn't make one. Because we ended up somewhere it was snowy, which required a little bit more effort when going in to go to the bathroom, and coming back out to relax, while waiting for a load. And then I would remember, after sitting on the bed, that I was going to make a sandwich, but I didn't want to climb back down. So, I just didn't really eat.

This, by the way, is very unhealthy and not a coping mechanism. My body was still telling me, screaming at me really, that it was hungry. I just couldn't get myself to do what needed to be done.

Last night, I confessed this to Ace, while eating a ham and cheese sandwich he bought me before bed. We were switching who was driving, and I knew I'd enjoy the ham and cheese sandwich, so I asked him to get me one, while I went to the truck and pulled down clothes for us and made him the active driver. He reminded me that I can buy something for myself to eat, including Lunchables, if I need to. That it's okay, and even budgeted, for me to spend that money. It was a good reminder. It doesn't necessarily help me if my brain tries to claim the lines are too long, but the better thing there is to remind myself that I don't have to talk much to buy my food and that feeding myself is important.

So, I'm back to trying to find the shore. Finding out about Stan Lee's death did not help today. It brought about the feelings of sadness, but the depression was really already here, lurking. Keeping me from doing the bare minimum of taking care of myself.

Tomorrow, we have a load again. Tomorrow, I focus on driving and listening to Terry Pratchett's Moving Pictures (and some preaching on marriage). Tomorrow, I do my best to keep my head above the water and keep searching for the shore.

But tonight, I give myself permission to just breathe, if that's what I need to focus on. And to eat some dinner, because food is good and good for me, but that I won't be upset if I don't eat much because I'm just not up for it. And that I can buy myself a Lunchable, if need be. Tonight, we make it through, minute by minute, hour by hour.

A Wrinkle in Time

Ace and I watched A Wrinkle in Time this evening. And now I want to talk about it.

It seems that Meg is depressed. Which might be why she doesn't care that she doesn't really seem to have friends. But, as Mrs. Who tells her, "The wound is the place where the light enters you." (Original quote by Rumi.) And a vast majority of the movie is Meg dealing with her wound.

Along the way, she has to learn how to find a middle ground, how to be afraid but find out the answer anyway, to trust that her flaws have good things, and ultimately to love herself as she is.

As someone who occasionally battles with depression, this movie speaks to me. Meg fighting for Charles Wallace seemed to me to be Meg fighting with her own depression, to make it through to love herself and save her brother. And her stubborn nature got her to rescue her father and then save her brother.

I won't pretend that the movie doesn't change things from the book, it clearly does. The only time Aunt Beast shows up is in a vision between the Happy Medium and Meg. They drop the twins. Charles Wallace is adopted.

That said, it is still a good movie. And it is worth watching.

Tiny Living

I admit that while I generally try to not judge people, I can't quite help but wonder about people who decide to live in tiny homes. The people who, willingly, decide that living in 134-ish square feet is for them. I wonder if they realize how difficult it will be before they start.

I live in a truck cab, so I know tiny living. 134 square feet would actually be an upgrade for Ace and I. We have bunk beds and storage cabinets and, as a treat, a fridge (we aren't sure if the microwave will work now, so we will have to test that soon). There is no where to really cook anything more than canned foods really. All our clothes stay in bags, because the storage space is taken up with food, drinks, and other things that make life easier on the road (like DVDs, apparently). The only time Ace and I are apart is when we take showers, unless we share one, or are in a hotel room. We have about 3 weeks worth of clothes that we haul around, because that is easier than trying to wash them weekly, but that is more of a trucking thing than a tiny living thing.

We have very little mystery in our lives at this point. At least from each other. The good news is that we figured out how to share small spaces without fighting before we started living on a truck. And we quickly realized that having our own computers was a must, otherwise violence might ensue. We are both fairly calm people, but a lack of privacy (we usually only have a curtain separating us) and constantly being together can still get any two people to fight. And after a certain point, you know what your spouse/partner/whatever sounds like when waking up or just breathing when you spend this much time in tight quarters. My husband knows all those things that women usually prefer to pretend don't happen with their husband, because it's not like I can really hide anything.

Small spaces can easily be overwhelmed with bad smells (sweaty socks/sweat in the recirculating air/burnt food/farts/whatever other bad smell), because there is only so much room for them to dissipate. We use Fabreeze to help, but that requires us to be able to spray it and let it sit for a bit sometimes, which we can't always do (and it doesn't really help the recirculating air much). Air fresheners can only do so much. And if we go to any dirt/gravel lots (which happens), the inside of the truck gets dirtier than usual. It's bad enough with no dirt/gravel lots and just food particles.

I understand the pull of simplifying your life and getting rid of stuff, but after living in such a small space for so many years, I want multiple rooms and a few hundred square feet (minimum) of living space. I want to be able to have room away from Ace, so we can both grow and then come back together.

I'm not trying to talk anyone out of living in a small space, there are benefits to not having much stuff, and Kindle is a good way to have a mobile, portable library (with lots of free or inexpensive books, as my laptop can suggest). Realizing how little you need to have a happy, comfortable life is not a bad thing. But keep in mind there are downsides to tiny living. And one of them is that not having much stuff means not being able to always get more stuff as you want it. You have to keep your stuff fairly pared down to stay living tiny.

Carrying On

Lately, I've been reading ebooks from the library system like it's going out of style. I found that I can, when we have down time, read like crazy and enjoy myself and I am re-finding my love of reading (that wasn't really lost, just slightly misplaced).

Currently, I am reading Carry On, Warrior by Glennon Doyle Melton. It is beautiful and brutal. My heart soars and my heart aches with some of these stories.

And it's reminded me that I need to be my authentic self. People seem to like that person. She's nice and caring and admits mistakes and loves all sorts of things that make me so very happy. She's a bit of a mess, but she's trying. And she has opinions, which is something I've usually tried to avoid expressing unless I am sure about other people's opinions. So that I'm safe from arguments or disagreements or people yelling or just talking loudly.

I wish I knew what exactly started my hiding my opinions about things. I think it had to do with my mother. I don't want to make her a scapegoat for all my problems, but she did seem to cause quite a few of them. It wasn't safe to have opinions other than hers around her. She didn't like that, and I wanted her to like me so that maybe she might love me in a way I needed loving. But it didn't happen. That, of course, did not stop me from keeping up that habit, in case it might start working (and yes, I know that's insane, but you do insane things when dealing with insane situations).

And by the time I was around someone (Ace) who I could be completely free to share opinions with, I had stopped forming many opinions. What was the use, if they weren't going to be able to be expressed? (This terrible habit is one that annoys him still, because sometimes he wants an opinion, and I don't have one to give him. Some habits are harder to break than others.)

But, lately, I have been realizing that I need to start having opinions again. And expressing them. That I need to be able to express myself, even if I'm slightly broken and dented, because I do have opinions and I need to be okay with the fact that people aren't going to agree with me all the time. I need to be okay with the idea that I'm not supposed to please everyone.

I like Glennon's writing, because it pushes me to think about my faith. And to grow, mostly closer to God, but sometimes closer to myself. And it's nice to remember that I'm allowed to mess up and be messy and the world will still go on. I'm important to God, but I'm not the center of the universe. And that's good.

I don't really know where any of this rambling is going, just that I'm working on carrying on, forgiving myself, loving myself, and not just stalling out because things don't go how I expect them too. Life is messy, even when I'm together. And things have a way of working out, generally for the best.

So, I invite you to carry on too. And maybe if we practice the things we want to see in the world, it will get better.

Double Standards

I know that in my last post I was wondering what women were protesting on International Women's Day, (I never have found out.) and this post is probably part of the answer.

I am tired of the double standards for women. I am tired of the implication in the world that I am never enough if I try to please the masses. There is no right weight or clothing style or whatever to keep me from being a prude or a slut or at fault for being assaulted in some people's minds. I can't make people happy, and I am finding out that collar bones are somehow too sexy for schools these days (I would be completely lost at finding shirts that cover my collar bones, and I wear pretty plain t-shirts. Collar bones are pretty high up on the chest. Why are they supposed to be covered?).

Part of the problem, at least in some schools, is that teachers are probably finding their students attractive. I'm not saying that none of the boys might find shoulders attractive, but I doubt that teen boys are too distracted to focus in school because of girls wearing sleeveless shirts. And if girls should wear sleeves, so should boys. If the teachers are having problems focusing on teaching because the girls are showing shoulders, the teachers need to figure out how to be an adult.

But I am tired of the idea that women can only be extremes. They can only be prudes or sluts. They can be butch or girly. They can be too masculine or too feminine. They can't just be, well, themselves. That maybe my haircut (currently a pixie cut, which looks awesomely cute on me) is a reflection of my life and my preferences, rather than some other, random statement about me.

So, I am ignoring any opinions about my style (which is actually a pretty casual and conservative style) that isn't mine, my husband's, or God's. As long as we are all satisfied, you can worry about your own style. (This is not particularly a new thought process for me. I've been wearing what I want for years.) And I'll not say anything about your style (I might tell you if your zipper's unzipped or you have toilet paper on your shoe or your skirt is not lying flat.). After all, my opinion shouldn't matter to you (unless you are Ace).

And maybe, someday, society will stop trying to judge people based on what they choose to wear. Maybe school dress codes (which I somewhat understand the need for) will be less restrictive (after all, shoulders and collar bones should not be scandalous). And I look forward to that day.

International Woman's Day

To start off, I want to proclaim that I am for women. I am for men. I am for equality among genders. And I'm happy to spend a day, a week, a month, a year, a lifetime dedicated to honoring women in history. We should honor all the people who have made advances in things and made our lives better. If they only made one life better, it's enough for us to celebrate their life.

Having said that, what was the point of women protesting today? That is a legitimate question. Why were they protesting?

As a woman in a male-dominated field (truck drivers are mostly male), I can honestly say that I have never been discriminated against because of my gender, except in one specific spot (and I don't know that gender is what caused the issue, so I can't fully feel comfortable blaming that). In fact, I've mostly had good reactions to me being a female who drives a truck. Probably because I don't seem to fit the stereotype of a female truck driver.

I've never had someone act like I couldn't do my job because I'm female. They've been impressed and surprised, but not demeaning. I've never been paid less than my husband, which is more impressive because he's got a longer history of driving than I do. (This is mainly because of the fact that I came in as an owner-operator, which got a set pay no matter how long you had been driving. And the truck we currently drive gets paid x per mile and we make y% of that amount.) This is an industry that does not care what your gender is, as long as you can drive. Most pay is based off of experience, unless the company pays a set amount per mile for anyone.

Trucking, while not exactly female friendly in terms of cleanliness, is an equal opportunity for all, regardless of race, gender, or religion.

If it has to do with the government not helping to support the purchase of birth control, I'm not personally overly concerned with that. I might be willing to protest about not being taxed at a higher amount for hygiene products, as that is not something women just buy for fun. (Seriously, most of us would be happy to skip having periods, if that were an option without removing the option of having kids. Periods are not fun, but should be at least minorly understood by all.) I have options besides pills for birth control (including condoms, an IUD, and abstinence). I don't have a lot of options about having a period.

Anyway. Congratulations on being a human! I hope you make things better in the world! And please, explain what women were protesting today by "not showing up to their jobs", because that would just get me in a world of trouble with several people if I had done that (the trucking company and my husband, at minimum).

Grieving Is Not a 5 Step Process

Today, I want to talk about grief. Not for any particular reason, other than it has been on my mind.

There has been some popular idea, put on tv and in movies, that grief is a 5 step process and once you go through those steps, you will have successfully grieved. And it's based on a misunderstanding of what that 5 step process was about. It is the steps someone who is dying goes through. After all, it's hard for me to argue that Carrie Fisher didn't die when it's obvious that she did. I may say to myself, "No, this isn't real," when I first read about a celebrity's death, but that's more shock than denying what is true.

Grief, from the side of the person who survives, does not come all at once. It doesn't hit you just once that you lost someone. It comes back to haunt you, over and over. And then the loss is new again. And slowly, there are less things that bring the pain back as badly. You find ways to deal with the hard times and life continues, as always.

And sometimes, you grieve the loss of things instead of people. I've been dealing with a potential loss of my dream of being a parent. I've been dealing with this idea for a while, but recently it hit much harder and at a terrible time for me to even try to deal with it emotionally. I have to face the truth, at 36 it is unlikely that I will get to have my own kids and adoption isn't an option right now, and may never be a viable one. And it hurts so bad. As much as I know that it's a good thing, as any children would not be able to be with us right now, it hurts.

I recognize that I haven't faced much loss in my life. Not really. Both of my parents are alive and in seemingly good health (for an odd definition of good). One of my grandmothers has died, but the other is still alive. My siblings are both healthy. I haven't lost many extended family members, and most of those were through divorce, not death.

But that doesn't mean that I've never grieved. My junior year of high school, I knew 4 people who died. One of them was a classmate, one was a teacher. The other two were relatives, both old enough that death was less surprising. A year ago, my grandmother died. And I couldn't go to her funeral, because by the time I knew when it was, I was not going to be able to change where I would be in time to do anything. I lost the relationship with my mother, as unhealthy for me as it was. And I had to mourn the loss of the relationship I wanted and deserved. I still mourn that loss. Not as much as I did, but the pain is still there.

Grief is not a 5 step process. And we insult the grieving every time we pretend like it is.

Now, if you need me, I'll be over here, mourning my losses and trying to find my equilibrium again.