I don’t take photos like this very often. But as I draft this post it is 11:18 AM and I am eating my favorite kind of Kirkland protein bar in the bed. Because it is that kind of morning.
And as it happens, I went to bed in the most awfully despondent kind of mood last night. The kind where I become uber dramatic and morose about the future; I will not repeat what was said.
It was the kind of morning where I did not set an alarm; Jared woke me up long after he’d woken the boys up, to get me to take my morning medicines. He knew he had to do this because if he did not, I might or might not actually take said medications (note: it was my thyroid meds so the likelihood of me taking them was high. But still).
And because Jared loves me and spoils me rotten, for breakfast because he knew comfort foods were in order, he brought me a baggie of Cheez-It’s and my favorite Kirkland Chocolate and Peanut Butter Protein Bar.
And I promptly fell back asleep until after 10 AM.
Because it’s difficult to maintain hope right now.
But, I do have two goals for today:
finish the stitching on my newest jute bag’s liner
Get my jewelry collection back in order, because it is in the kind of embarrassing state that does not reflect my feelings about it.
That’s true, actually, about our house and my body, too; both are in the kind of embarrassing state that does not reflect my feelings about either of them.
Jared told me, as he frequently does, to “be kind to yourself” before he left.
So that’s today’s goal. Even if today is starting at 11:28 AM.
I referred to it a little on the 12th but last week, on the 12th, I had a check-up with my orthopedic PA.
I’m not really sure why I even go. It’s not like there’s more surgery I will ever let them do to me, even if my neck discs are seriously degenerating.
The photo above is my back as it looked on x-ray on Wednesday, November 12.
It’s pretty crazy.
And that whole top curve wasn’t there when I was a teenager or young adult. I assume that is what 4 pregnancies (yes, there were 4 even though there are only 3 boys) and years upon years of laying-in-the-bed-depressed depression will do to me with my brand of scoliosis.
The only real comment the orthopedic PA made was that indeed, there is significant degeneration in the discs in my neck. Such that actually, there was a blank space where there should have been a disc at the base of my neck in front, actually.
That’s probably why my neck hurts when I transition from standing or sitting to lying down in the bed.
And maybe I should feign terror at the utter basic breakdown that is my spine, that is my body.
But to be honest, it’s just my normal. I’ve dealt with this since I was 6 years old, way back in the back brace days.
At least I’ve spent the vast majority of my life without the large lumbar hump that was on the left side of my back as a kid.
My orthopedic PA says she doesn’t measure degrees. She says she’ll know when she should refer me to her surgeon, and he’ll measure degrees then. She knows– rightly– that people obsess over degrees of curvature when– also rightly– degrees don’t necessarily mean a damn thing, especially when there’s rotation or some other such craziness going on.
She didn’t say this time, though, that she’d never see me needing surgery again.
Not sure I would do it though. I’d have to be in an awful– a very awful– amount of pain to agree to give up the mobility I have in my upper back and neck, and that’s what would happen with more fusions.
I’ve had probably 2% of progression in the last two years. She says that’s pretty stable for my particular situation. So much so, that she won’t worry about x-rays when I come back next year.
I did get another referral for physical therapy. I still know a lot of the exercises I was taught last year but I haven’t been super reliable about it since I got depressed and had very bad mental health in the Spring and summer. And of course, I did have a whole hysterectomy in May.
All you people with normal bodies, it must be nice.
When I look at this photo of my x-ray though, it makes complete sense as to why I have mental health issues AND why I have been the object of not-nice men.
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.
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.
