hey y’all. checking in after the weekend.
i have asked this before and will probably keep asking it, but – sheesh, can two and a half milligrams of anything really make much of a difference? damned if it can’t.
i tried backing off from the lexapro this weekend as promised. i thought well, if i try when things are pretty stable in the rest of my life (relatively speaking) i’ll get an objective look at what happens when the pharmacological input changes. so i did. after 48 – 72 hours of fighting it (it being borderline hysteria, unrelenting anger and an inability to function beyond the basics of breathing and changing diapers) i said, “you know, is this really worth it? no. not just no, but hayall, no. not worth it at all.” and bumped back up.
the shift back to stability took another twelve hours or so. so much for the experiment. good to know, anyway. although i have to say it sometimes frightens me that my ability to function is so dependent on pills. when happens after the apocalypse – you know, the one where societal functions break down and they stop making my particular cocktail? will i be one of the people in the stand who just didn’t make it after the superflu?
ahem. let’s not go too far down that road this morning. it’s only monday.
i’m also making every effort to avoid going into friday’s nest of scandals. for a nice rundown, check out shakespeare’s sister. she does this on a regular basis and apparently avoids the looney bin. can’t say the same for myself – this shit tends to threaten my stability.
brian and i have come to some meeting place on the humor of it all. i spoke to him yesterday afternoon during his weekly social hiatus, and he said, “did you hear about cheney? he shot somebody.”
“really?” i said, with some interest, and no surprise at all. "is this a joke?" you can imagine the punch line.
"nope, no joke," he said.
“wow. was it scooter?”
he laughed. “no,” he said, “but that was my first thought, too.”
sam’s back, by the way. her blog was the original inspiration for this one – a way to connect with the people who give a shit and let them know what’s happening in the ten-ring circus that constitutes my head. her pictures are wonderful, her writing is fantastic, and her honesty is sometimes frightening. but always precious.
the quote i have above my computer this week is from pema chodron’s places that scare you. i might have posted this last year, i can’t remember.
do not set up the target for the arrow.
connect with the heart.
see obstacles as teachers.
regard all the occurs as a dream.
the first two lines are new to me, again – if that makes any sense. sometimes you can read things once and it doesn’t really register. then months or years later the metaphor somehow works for you, like fitting in a puzzle piece that you were trying to force in before. that’s the first line, this time.
the arrow, for me, is usually anger. but after this morning i think it’s really any extreme, excessive reaction to something.
maybe it’s hysteria because i’ve just spent two hours with a petulant toddler in a grocery store and then had the hundred dollars of groceries i had shopped for taken away when i went outside to get my debit card (which was in my pocket the whole time).
maybe it’s a sickening, debilitating drop in my stomach when i find there are things about me that have been left unsaid, for a long time, for whatever reason – things about how i have hurt someone or not lived up to someone’s expectations.
maybe it’s the door that slams shut when i’m told i’m not hearing right, or speaking right, or acting right. (it’s one thing to notice these things myself – something totally different when someone else tells you, no matter how much you love that person.)
these reactions are not appropriate responses – they’re knee-jerk shit that has gone on for a long time. i am the target (whatever you like to call “i” at any rate), and these emotions are the arrows. if my sense of “i” can be flexible enough to dissolve and let these emotions pass through, instead of grabbing onto them and shoving the arrow in myself, i have a better chance at maintaining some equilibrium. which is important to me right now.
a strange thought. that letting go of the illusion of identity might be a piece of the puzzle for maintaining stability.
then again, to be true to the metaphor, ideally you wouldn’t “set up the target” – so there would be nothing to hit in the first place.
oh but i do like to ramble on.
duckie’s two year molars are coming in.
yoga practice last monday was slightly different. moved away from the mindset of "geez in two months i might actually be able to do this pose right!" moved deeper into the present tense during the practice. then missed most of the last week. not good to ditch one of your primary coping mechanisms while reducing your antidepressant. just... not good.
i was secretly envious of the two feet of snow dumped on the northeast this weekend. people were cross-country skiing through central park (and through what looked like greenwich village.) we got maybe an inch. enough to get duckie outside in her snowsuit, but not enough to justify a snow-induced three-day hermitage. i know, i know, there were people without power, people freezing on the street, it's just that... well, it wasn't all bad.
i haven’t read much more of teachings on love yet. still digesting the first chapter. one of the concepts floating around in my head is about compassion to one’s self. about how you can’t love everyone if you can’t love yourself – because you are a part of that “everyone,” too. and maybe the hardest thing to do is to love yourself.
we never seem to live up to our own expectations, do we? to our friends and family, we say, hey, whatever makes you happy is great. but we always have to be a finer, better person than we believe we are. kiki said it a couple of weeks ago, that i seem to be a little hard on myself. i am, and i’m not alone in that. we all seem to struggle with a lack of compassion for our own broken hearts. it is, however, an act of sharing to realize how widespread that struggle is – and that just about anyone you meet is harder on themselves than you could ever be.
speaking of digestion, brussel sprouts give me toxic gas. there's only so much you can blame on the cat.
i’ve really got to start posting more than once a week. these long entries are a bitch to read. plus i forget what i wrote the week before and probably repeat myself.
here’s to all of you who hang on to the bitter end!
hot toddies to you,