Category: Mental Health

  • (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.

  • the search

    The Marina this morning

    Once upon a time, there was a girl who was out looking for herself.

    She looked everywhere. She looked back in time.

    She looked in her hometown.

    She looked in far off places.

    And there was a boy who held her hand the whole time.

    And he reminded her that she was enough, that she mattered.

    And he reminded her, daily, that he loved her.

    And, one evening, holding the boy’s hand at the Marina in the picture above, she briefly snapped out of her fragile venture for meaning to see that it was right there, with her, holding her hand, the whole time.

  • baby steps

    My eating has been trash lately.

    Last night, for example: lots of shredded cheese, some shredded cheese melted on top of Cheez-its. A can of Sprite for the first time in years.

    Night before last: a container of Rebel ice cream.

    For three days in a row, the last night ending with the ice cream night: Beecher’s Mac and Cheese from Costco…. the package said it served 6-9. I ate it in three equal portions over three nights.

    Sometime in that mix, I ate hearty portions of the sour gummies Oliver wanted at Trader Joe’s.

    The days start out okay. Most mornings lately I have been having walnuts and almond flour crackers for breakfast. Occasionally I have a protein bar with them; I am trying to cut back on the protein bars.

    About midday I make my Dunkin’ Decaf coffee, and put in my Anthony’s Marine Collagen in it. And I nurse it for the rest of the day in a Thermos tumbler.

    I had tried to cut out cheese and most processed foods except for the almond flour crackers.

    However, bananas apparently make me sick — I am repeatedly nauseous when adding a banana to my banana/ wild blueberries/ spinach/ almond milk smoothie.

    And so I gave up on the smoothies for several days. I will probably try one again today.

    And I haven’t made egg whites as a meal in several days, either.

    But, despite last night’s junk food, I woke up ready to face the day today.

    I didn’t make it to my church ladies’ group because Liam had a haircut in Sandy Springs with Finch at Aura Salon and I let Jared take him, and stayed home with Oliver instead. While Oliver can stay home for short periods on his own, leaving town with neither of us in town is not a good idea, obviously. Even if I could have called Mama and Daddy to be on standby.

    And honestly, I also needed to sleep in. I slept until 10:39 this morning.

    We’ve got projects I’d intended to get done around the house for Fall Break.

    The bushes need trimming back dramatically, and I have film to coat the windows in to provide more insulation, and I have 4 more sets of sheers to iron and put up because we really need one more panel on each of the 8 windows around the house.

    And we bought an actual old-school mop at Walmart this past weekend, intending to actually clean the floors really, really well since dog pee and poop has become a regular thing (it’s not their fault we can’t keep up since they are getting older, and sometimes they miss the puppy pads).

    But I have been in avoidance mode for reasons I’m not yet ready to talk about. Maybe next week.

    I’ve let the stress of anticipation get in the way of self-care, and all that.

    But today: Today it is 1:44 PM as I write this and I have done my light therapy. I made my gratitude list. I listened to this week’s “The Next Right Thing” with Emily P. Freeman as I did two of my physical therapy exercises.

    I did two of my physical therapy exercises for the first time in weeks.

    Jared wants to go on a walk.

    And my only house goal today is to iron those sheers and get them up. That is not a hard task.

    Baby steps.

    You can read more about me here.

  • when a funk is fear

    So I don’t write when I’m in a funk. Not when I’m deep in a funk, anyway.

    Then I go into survival mode. And I forget to write. And I get caught up in doing what has to be done to function.

    I crochet a little. I do random creative things to distract myself.

    I forget to get out my camera when it would be most therapeutic.

    And when I get like this, it’s when I really need to be writing the most.

    For most of the past 14 years that I have been on SSDI, I have severely glossed over the PTSD bit that was included in my qualifying conditions for SSDI. I spoke of it out loud among friends today. I don’t often do that.

    I don’t gloss over it in my own home. That’s pretty much the only place I don’t gloss over it. I don’t gloss over it in the middle of the night when a noise makes me jump and I send Jared running to the living room to check out whatever the random (nonthreatening) noise I heard was.

    Nevertheless, Jared goes. Jared goes even when he is exhausted, even when it means he will likely sleep out in the living room instead of with his CPAP on in the bedroom. Jared goes even when he knows what the sound was, and that there is no problem in the house.

    I didn’t gloss over it the night that the wind blew open one of the double doors in our living room after dark right next to where I was sitting, and I screamed bloody murder, the most vivid time in my memory that I screamed reminiscent to those awful February nights in 2001, back to back Saturday nights. The boys had never heard me scream like my life depended on it.

    I never told them it wasn’t the first time I’d screamed like that.

    And PTSD….is it PTSD because of assault? Is it PTSD because I was held captive in the night, begging to be let out? That night that I experienced bonafide legit torture?

    If it’s PTSD because of assault, which one? One of the ones I experienced myself, or the one I witnessed at the hands of someone I thought loved me, toward someone else?

    Is it PTSD because of actual medical stuff that had to be done to me to save my life, long before any of that?

    Is it PTSD because I am afraid of pretty much all men? Including my husband, if I am completely honest?

    Is it PTSD because of all that? Or is it something else I don’t even remember?

    The why of the diagnosis is less important. I have a difficult time even seeing that I have PTSD. I have a difficult time understanding that not everyone walks through their lives terrified of everything around them. I have a difficult time understanding that something about my neurological wiring is different.

    And sometimes, I have a very difficult time remembering that love is not supposed to hurt.

    I suppose that is the PTSD, too.

    You can read more about me here, to see how I got to where I am today.