My next class will instruct you on where to place funny ceramic animals.
(Hint: nowhere close to your boss' ass - tempting though that might be to some.)
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Lesson 1
Colored plastic paper clips are a simple way to brighten up a dull office.
My next class will instruct you on where to place funny ceramic animals.
(Hint: nowhere close to your boss' ass - tempting though that might be to some.)
My next class will instruct you on where to place funny ceramic animals.
(Hint: nowhere close to your boss' ass - tempting though that might be to some.)
This One is Heavy
I've only written briefly about this once before, and seeing as there are very few people who read this site regularly, it feels somewhat safer to be writing about mental illness, depression, specifically.
For as long as I can remember, it has been a part of my life, and while on the surface I think it's great it's being discussed more openly by people in all walks of life, it also makes me very uncomfortable and fidgety to hear it being discussed so candidly. A contradiction, yes, but I can't help squirming with the beginnings of an anxiety attack as yet another segment appears on tv celebrating this "cause du jour". For the most part, my experience has always been a private suffering so that to see it 'out there' leaves me feeling dreadfully exposed and vulnerable.
And yet, here I am, writing about my own very personal experience...
It's a beautiful September day - blue sky, cool, crisp weather - exactly my favourite time of year. This morning, I could sense the tentacles of darkness reaching for me, trying to grab hold and sink in. And with every fiber of my being, I am desperately trying to not let that happen, all the while knowing I'm standing right at the edge of tumbling over, ever ready to retreat inside myself for days and weeks on end. It is this trepidation, this knowingness of what's just ahead that tires me out most easily. In short order, though, there is a certain relief because when the monster arrives, it's just there. No more wondering when or how. It just is.
I have been medicated periodically for over 15 years, and have yet to find the magical combination that works for me. Most of the drugs I've tried have left me zombie-like, numb and foggy. I hate that feeling even more than the melancholy and hopelessness that swirls constantly amid the crippling self doubt; the hours spent inside my own head as the devil on my shoulder whispers a constant barrage of horrible, nasty, self-defeating expressions; the certainty that I will never measure up - all of this combined leaves me feeling like a ghost. One little gust of wind and I will quite literally just drift away in tiny particles of dust. There are moments when I stamp my foot against the ground to check that YES, I AM STILL HERE.
I guess by writing about this I'm trying to feel less shame about this disease.
It's a work-in-progress though, because I am quite discomfited by the idea of clicking on "Publish post"...
For as long as I can remember, it has been a part of my life, and while on the surface I think it's great it's being discussed more openly by people in all walks of life, it also makes me very uncomfortable and fidgety to hear it being discussed so candidly. A contradiction, yes, but I can't help squirming with the beginnings of an anxiety attack as yet another segment appears on tv celebrating this "cause du jour". For the most part, my experience has always been a private suffering so that to see it 'out there' leaves me feeling dreadfully exposed and vulnerable.
And yet, here I am, writing about my own very personal experience...
It's a beautiful September day - blue sky, cool, crisp weather - exactly my favourite time of year. This morning, I could sense the tentacles of darkness reaching for me, trying to grab hold and sink in. And with every fiber of my being, I am desperately trying to not let that happen, all the while knowing I'm standing right at the edge of tumbling over, ever ready to retreat inside myself for days and weeks on end. It is this trepidation, this knowingness of what's just ahead that tires me out most easily. In short order, though, there is a certain relief because when the monster arrives, it's just there. No more wondering when or how. It just is.
I have been medicated periodically for over 15 years, and have yet to find the magical combination that works for me. Most of the drugs I've tried have left me zombie-like, numb and foggy. I hate that feeling even more than the melancholy and hopelessness that swirls constantly amid the crippling self doubt; the hours spent inside my own head as the devil on my shoulder whispers a constant barrage of horrible, nasty, self-defeating expressions; the certainty that I will never measure up - all of this combined leaves me feeling like a ghost. One little gust of wind and I will quite literally just drift away in tiny particles of dust. There are moments when I stamp my foot against the ground to check that YES, I AM STILL HERE.
I guess by writing about this I'm trying to feel less shame about this disease.
It's a work-in-progress though, because I am quite discomfited by the idea of clicking on "Publish post"...
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Rollin', rollin', rollin'.....
We went for a bike ride after dinner last night and herein lies FANTASTIC news to share!
My legs were not as jelly-like pedalling, my bum hurt less sitting on the very narrow seat provided, and this time? I PEED BEFORE WE LEFT.
I think you'd agree...I'm growing as a person.
My legs were not as jelly-like pedalling, my bum hurt less sitting on the very narrow seat provided, and this time? I PEED BEFORE WE LEFT.
I think you'd agree...I'm growing as a person.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Sanctuary
Words cannot describe the experience I had last night at my first yoga class in over 12 years. But I'm going to try...
To start with, who knew that an old chicken coop could be turned into such a beautiful and peaceful studio? (It even contains a bathroom which I was happy to have an inaugural pee in because I cannot go anywhere in public without finding out first and foremost the location of such facilities.) Honey-colored floors and soft lighting, a lovely bronze gong hanging on the wall, a few lit candles, and the pleasing scent of burning incense, not overpowering in the least, just...soothing.
There were 11 women in the class and each of us laid out our yoga mats; blocks and cushions were pulled close and there was chattering among them before the class began. I sat at the back of the room wondering if I'd be able to quiet my mind from a constant stream of internal dialogue and also worrying about gurgling noises coming out of my stomach, or worse, a fart escaping. BECAUSE THESE THINGS HAPPEN.
The moment arrived with the gentle and comforting bonnnnngggg of the gong. Our instructor, Judith, mentioned that it was perfectly acceptable to smile during the next hour and a half. That we shouldn't worry about holding any one position, that the most important thing to remember was focusing on our breathing.
Goosebumps appeared on my arms and tears filled my eyes as the sound of OMMMMMMMMM was intoned through 12 pairs of lips. We did this with a specific breathing exercise and it was truly one of the most exquisite, stunning songs I've ever heard.
Several sun salutations, warrior stances and goddess poses later, I felt lighter, stronger, and happier within than I have in a very long time. Taking this time for me was, and is, invaluable and I felt much more peaceful this morning. Next week's class can't come soon enough.
Namaste.
To start with, who knew that an old chicken coop could be turned into such a beautiful and peaceful studio? (It even contains a bathroom which I was happy to have an inaugural pee in because I cannot go anywhere in public without finding out first and foremost the location of such facilities.) Honey-colored floors and soft lighting, a lovely bronze gong hanging on the wall, a few lit candles, and the pleasing scent of burning incense, not overpowering in the least, just...soothing.
There were 11 women in the class and each of us laid out our yoga mats; blocks and cushions were pulled close and there was chattering among them before the class began. I sat at the back of the room wondering if I'd be able to quiet my mind from a constant stream of internal dialogue and also worrying about gurgling noises coming out of my stomach, or worse, a fart escaping. BECAUSE THESE THINGS HAPPEN.
The moment arrived with the gentle and comforting bonnnnngggg of the gong. Our instructor, Judith, mentioned that it was perfectly acceptable to smile during the next hour and a half. That we shouldn't worry about holding any one position, that the most important thing to remember was focusing on our breathing.
Goosebumps appeared on my arms and tears filled my eyes as the sound of OMMMMMMMMM was intoned through 12 pairs of lips. We did this with a specific breathing exercise and it was truly one of the most exquisite, stunning songs I've ever heard.
Several sun salutations, warrior stances and goddess poses later, I felt lighter, stronger, and happier within than I have in a very long time. Taking this time for me was, and is, invaluable and I felt much more peaceful this morning. Next week's class can't come soon enough.
Namaste.
Monday, September 8, 2008
On The Road Again
We went for a bike ride yesterday. I haven't ridden a bike in, oh, 15 years?
Five minutes in and my legs were tired from pumping, my feet tingly from poor circulation, my back was getting stiff and need I mention how sore my ass had become? I do not have a tiny bum by any stretch of the imagination and yet all the padding in the world wasn't going to soften the blow of each and every little pebble I ran over.
Feeling the wind cooling my head through the slats in my brand new bike helmet; seeing the open trail ahead of us, waiting for our exploration; hearing cows mooing in the fields as we pedaled past them made it worth every little twinge of pain I'm feeling today.
The best part though? Gulping down a glass of cold water upon our return home and then realizing I still had enough leg strength to make it to the bathroom before peeing my pants.
Little blessings everywhere...
Five minutes in and my legs were tired from pumping, my feet tingly from poor circulation, my back was getting stiff and need I mention how sore my ass had become? I do not have a tiny bum by any stretch of the imagination and yet all the padding in the world wasn't going to soften the blow of each and every little pebble I ran over.
Feeling the wind cooling my head through the slats in my brand new bike helmet; seeing the open trail ahead of us, waiting for our exploration; hearing cows mooing in the fields as we pedaled past them made it worth every little twinge of pain I'm feeling today.
The best part though? Gulping down a glass of cold water upon our return home and then realizing I still had enough leg strength to make it to the bathroom before peeing my pants.
Little blessings everywhere...
Friday, September 5, 2008
Cranky
1. I am wishing so very much I could ram into your car because you have been ON MY ASS for several winding, twisting kilometers and now you've cut in front of me. Do you really the metal grill of my truck in your backseat?
2. I'm having an "Ally McBeal" moment in which I'm dreaming of punching your lights out and giving you an atomic wedgie just because your cologne reeks and it's making it difficult to breathe in the elevator. Can anyone else hear Elton John's 'Rocket Man' or is it all in my head?
3. If you leave the toast crumbs and blob of jam on the counter ONE MORE FUCKING TIME, I'm gonna go all Sarah Connor on your ass. I think the men in our lives either understand this whole PMS-ing thing or, at the very least, understand the need to pretend they understand it. Either way, clean up the god-damn crumbs. I say this with love, of course.
2. I'm having an "Ally McBeal" moment in which I'm dreaming of punching your lights out and giving you an atomic wedgie just because your cologne reeks and it's making it difficult to breathe in the elevator. Can anyone else hear Elton John's 'Rocket Man' or is it all in my head?
3. If you leave the toast crumbs and blob of jam on the counter ONE MORE FUCKING TIME, I'm gonna go all Sarah Connor on your ass. I think the men in our lives either understand this whole PMS-ing thing or, at the very least, understand the need to pretend they understand it. Either way, clean up the god-damn crumbs. I say this with love, of course.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)