Category: health

  • i am not okay

    Jared and I joke about my “sleep emergency” tendency a lot, both to each other and other people.

    But it is a real thing. And it turns really, really dark if I ignore it.

    Last night was one such occasion. And it has seeped into this morning.

    In a matter of minutes I go from feeling relatively okay about my life to feeling like I am a literal waste of space on this planet.

    And, I cry myself to sleep if I am lucky enough to fall asleep.

    And the next morning, depending on things, is not good.

    This morning, for instance, I had my alarm set to take Oliver to school. And I took my morning meds. But I climbed right back under the covers. I did not go check on anybody. Jared was already up and taking care of things because he probably knew I wasn’t going anywhere this morning.

    After tending to me for a few minutes before he left, Jared encouraged me to think of this morning as a “refresh,” not as “hiding.”

    We both knew I was hiding.

    And, I didn’t go anywhere to help get anyone to school. I didn’t leave the bed until about 9:45– about 20 minutes ago. Jared took the car because it is not good to take Oliver to school on the scooter when it is this cold outside, and Liam drove himself to school in the other car.

    And I won’t go into all the reasons my life is sucky right now. I know to a lot of people it wouldn’t make sense that I view it as sucky. But to me, it’s pretty dark at the moment, even as I sit here with my light therapy lamp on.

    I try to clean it up sometimes. Both the state of the house and the state of my inner being. It just always ends up a mess again.

    Because here’s the truth, for anyone who might actually read this besides the internet bots:

    I sit in my house all day, every day, alone. My phone never rings. Ever. Unless it’s Jared or once every couple of weeks, my good friend Dena (who is really one of the best friends I’ve ever had in my life). Or random telemarketing bots. Nobody texts me except Jared, or occasionally Porter, or occasionally every few weeks my friend Sam (also one of the best friends I ever had in my whole life). Or random telemarketing bots. I don’t get emails except group ones related to church, or spam asking me to spend money we don’t have. My own family doesn’t even call or text me, generally.

    And I’m sorry: I generally consider myself a decent friend to others.

    But in the darkest of the darkness, which now apparently qualifies, I sit here in tears and wonder why, what is wrong with me, that I deserve to spend what should be the prime of my life sitting in my house, all alone, with nobody in the world besides my husband caring whether or not I am lonely at all?

    And that, that is why I cry myself to sleep sometimes, saying to myself that life is just not at all worth it. It’s not the severe money problems that I blame myself for because I don’t have a job and haven’t had a good one in over a decade. It’s not the “keeping up with the Joneses” mentality that I have to fight because I was conditioned to be this way from infancy because that’s just how my family of origin is.

    And yes. I could get out of the house. But literally anything I would do would cost money– gas money if anything– and we are in such a shape that I cannot afford even random once a week coffee out right now.

    I wasn’t kidding– if we could afford to sell the house right now, my dream house– I would. It’s that bad. As I sit here: We have a broken garage door opener. We have plastic over the windows because our energy bills are regularly $350 (more than, it’s $350 because I signed up for flat bill) because we need new windows and new double doors in the living room. We have a dual wall mount oven and microwave combo unit that has had chicken nuggets nuked to oblivion for nearly 3 years in the microwave portion because the door to the microwave stopped working, and then eventually the whole microwave itself stopped responding, but the oven works so we just bought a new microwave to set on the counter instead. The flooring we put in is delicate– we need to have someone come in and repair a portion in a bedroom even though we have the flooring. We have a leak in the shower in the boys’ bathroom. The garbage disposal needs replacing. The air conditioning hasn’t worked in Liam’s car in over a year and a half.

    We really cannot afford to fix any of it. And I’m out of expensive toys to sell that won’t harm my mental health.

    And there’s more debt than I will name here that we will be paying on for years and years, which is why we can’t just take out loans to fix all of the above.

    And I stupidly seek out drama as a way to soothe some portion of myself that feels not alive anyway, as I sit in the house and have no life while the world turns outside. And that drama turns into uninvited harassment, which I then blame myself for having invited the drama into my life all over again. And I tell myself I deserve it.

    And I’m sorry: therapy just will not help loneliness. I need more than just the professionals in my life. I need a sense of purpose. I need a decent income. I need a miracle, honestly. I’m not afraid of hard work.

    And so I sit. And I cry. And eventually the despair will pass.

    And when you see me in public, I will have a smile on my face, and I will say I am better, when you ask how I am doing. And that part won’t be a lie, because I will make myself better in order to even be in public.

    And maybe I will be better. Or maybe I just will publicly deny that I know I am headed next time I go home to sit alone while Jared works, while I have nothing to do while my relatively brilliant mind rots away doing nothing except making hand-type crafts which nobody really wants, and typing into the ether that nobody probably reads, either.

  • the project

    Caroline Ellison Price

    It’s been a really interesting life. 

    I don’t say that from a despondent sense. It’s true: last night, when we got home from taking Porter back to UGA, I hid in our bedroom, just after dark, telling Jared I was going to bed at about 6:45 PM. That it was a sleep emergency ( I have those). 

    But by about 7:15, I called for him, telling him I was hiding. He said he knew that. 

    I do that, too: I hide. Even in my own house. I retreat to the bedroom, to my bed, which is my haven when the world is too overwhelming.

    Jared was able to coax me out from hiding about an hour later. 

    Back to the “interesting life” bit… Several weeks ago, I bought a fresh copy of Scrivener.

    I had Scrivener several laptops ago, but I never did a whole lot with it the last go ‘round.

    This time, though: there is already the pages for thirteen different chapters…

    I’m going to write a fictionalized memoir. 

    My life would make an excellent fictionalized psychological thriller.

    So anyway, that’s a thing that’s in process. 

    And maybe it will be an income-generating project eventually. But that’s not the primary purpose.

    The primary purpose is therapeutic writing. I can pound out my heartache, my trauma, my life observations….all in fictionalized memoir format.

    I can say things through fiction that I cannot say via a publication in real life. 

    And someday, it will be done. Probably someday sooner than later, if I can properly focus well enough this winter. I desperately need a project to channel my energy into, and writing has always been one of my stronger suits. 

    And goodness knows, my life story, drama-filled as it has been, is the perfect fodder fuel for a highly fictionalized work. 

    So yeah. That’s a thing. A thing I can sink my teeth into since gainful employment is elusive, to also vent my anger, heartache, hurt, grief, and trauma all at the same time. 

  • security blanket camera

    Here’s what I don’t talk about with my photography gear…

    Probably half the time I have my gear out, I just hold it, sitting in my lap. Not for pictures…. It is my security blanket.

    I did it last night at the Marina when I snapped the selfie with Jared, with the X-S20.

    This morning on the way out the door to church, I knew I’d want to hold the GFX after we dropped Porter off at UGA this afternoon, so I threw it into my purse. So here it is, now in my lap as Jared drives us back home to Carrollton.

    I’m sure I’m not the only person in the world with security blanket-type object.

    It’s just that mine have doubled as professional and hobby-type tools at the same time.

    I’m feeling fairly anxious this week. I stood up for my 18-23 year-old self on Thursday, and also my 45 year-old self as well.

    And then I drove to Athens for my oldest.

    And I spent a good portion of the weekend hiding. Because that is what I do.

    And I’m probably going to spend some more time in the next few weeks hiding while I try to get my mental health back in some semblance of equilibrium.

    I’ve lost my laundry routine since before October 20.

    Dishes sit undone for days on end.

    It’s been rough.

    I’m determined to turn a corner, but for now, I hide.

    And I hold my security blankets: my cameras.

    Read more about me here.

  • (sort of) falling apart

    I have been quiet about this, only telling really family and my ladies’ group at church…

    But I have to have a diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound next week. I’ve known about it for over a month but the appointment was this far out.

    I have a weird skin spot. And I had a dermatologist appointment yesterday and she confirmed that the spot is concerning. It is possible it is just a rash and she gave me some creams to try for a month for that. If the creams don’t work, depending on what the diagnostic mammogram shows, I am to come back to the dermatologist in a month for a biopsy.

    But the dermatologist was glad I have the diagnostic mammogram scheduled.

    Also: I have reason to believe that a pilonidal cyst I had 25 years ago is coming back. *sigh* I never had it excised 25 years ago because at the time, I was coincidentally on Accutane for severe cystic acne and the Accutane dried up the pilonidal cyst. The dermatologist gave me something for that, too, and told me to seek out a colorectal surgeon if what she gave me doesn’t clear the problem up.

    I’m a little worried the other spot is inflammatory breast cancer.

    Most people I’ve told have been supportive. One, predictably. said, “Wanna show me?” I should have known better than to tell that particular individual. *double sigh* At least I know that distancing myself from that particular individual has been the right decision.

    So yeah. That’s what’s going on in these parts.

    Nobody would give me Accutane these days. 25 years ago I was not under any form of psychiatric care.

    Incidentally, in addition to the acne, and the pilonidal cyst, the Accutane was also apparently responsible for the disappearance of at least 5 lumps in my breasts at the time, too.

    I never had them checked, they’d been found in a gyno exam, and mysteriously at the next exam they were gone, a year later.

    I’m trying not to be afraid. But I won’t lie: I am.

    I am more afraid of having to have a potential cyst excised than I am about cancer though, whether I should be or not.

  • more beauty navel-gazing

    ***This post contains affiliate links***

    So I wrote a hair post the other day, and I didn’t mention that pigtails are the newest hairstyle, just because it’s finally long enough for doing that. This is probably going to be my go-to hairstyle for the Fall 2025 just because it’s been a long time since I could and it gets it off my neck and it’s comfortable when I’m driving or sitting with my head leaned back against the car headrest or the headrest of the recliner.

    One thing that was not a thing the last time I had hair long enough to put up in any way, shape or form are hair coils. The Scunci ones in the link are probably going to last me a lifetime and pretty much satisfy all my hair styling up-do type things I will need to do for the foreseeable future. When I don’t put my hair up in pigtails, I’ll usually put it up in a weird little but type thing that I don’t know how to explain in writing but it’s not quite a messy bun– I don’t have enough hair for that– but I don’t worry about whether it’s nice looking or not. But it ends up being cute regardless.

    That last photo I posted in the last post, from summer 2021 when I was completely bald….it has been a severe process getting to pigtail-appropriate length. I’ve been a compulsory hair trimmer at home here for years at this point. Luckily, I’ve had a “put the shears down” moment and don’t feel so much like trimming every other week anymore now that the length is more interesting.

    In other self-care news, being 46 means that I have to pay attention to my neck because it is becoming wrinkly fast. I’m not doing anything drastic, but I do use Trader Joe’s jojoba oil on it, sparingly, to delay crepey skin. I use the jojoba oil after the shower in the morning and also at night before bed. I use whatever Costco cheaper face Korean liquid treatment stuff is in stock for my face, but I do like the jojoba oil for my neck.

    As for the glasses….that’s a thing these days as I age too. I opted for gas permeable hard contact lenses when I got my last eye exam to err on the cheaper side for my contacts. But having used soft contacts literally my whole life to now, it’s been a not-so-smooth transition and now I can’t wait to get home from being out so I can get my contacts out of my eyes. Some days the contacts don’t go in at all.

    When I had my eye exam last winter, I got Costco’s optical department to put new lenses in these Warby Parker Holcomb frames I had from years ago. It took a couple of weeks longer than ordering a normal pair, but it was totally worth it.

    And also….my thyroid issues or my psych meds one make my eyes drier than they used to be. Which makes the contacts rougher for long wear, too.

    Back to skin stuff though…. when I do wear makeup, I only use two things: this Bayfree Multi-Glow Balm is great both as a blush and as an eye shadow. And I keep at least three of these Neutrogena Moistureshine lip gloss tubes around the house at all times.

    So anyway, yeah….this is beauty care at age 46 for me.