To Sink, Float or Swim. The Doggy-Paddle of Despondency. Who Wants Lemonade?

I’m sitting on a fence of indecision.  On one side is a sunrise, full of possible promise, yet uncertainty and the unknown.  On the other side is a sunset, full of vagueness and disquiet and yet also the unknown.  Oddly both sides have their appeal and it feels as if both sides are pulling at me and I’m fighting to stay balanced on this thin line.  I need to make a decision but even the thought of doing so makes me uneasy.
What if I choose wrong?  What if I’m not ready?
Yet if I wait, I might just get sucked into the unknown and the disquiet. The inner turmoil is crushingly overwhelming and more than a little daunting.  I am in a place where rationale does not exist, doubt and skepticism run rampant.  I know what the next steps should be, but seem to lack the motivation to take them.  It really is a confusing place.  It’s like being caught in a web, if I thrash around it secures my predicament; if I stay still, it ensures my predicament. Where is the happy medium?

I was cruising along at a forward pace, unhurried and sluggish, but forward nonetheless. Then out of nowhere comes this wave of emotions that I am not prepared for, that drag at me and pull me down.
I have only enough energy to doggy-paddle to keep my head above the swell.  Blindsided.
I’m left feeling like a bystander in my own life. Fully aware of what needs to happen, of what path I need to follow, yet unable to take the needed steps. Not from inexperience or naivety, I’ve been down this road before; more from a feeling of despair, misfortune and adversity.

I know I’m strong, I know I can beat this because I’ve done it before.  I have a much better arsenal now so I know I will be fine.  The last time I was displaced like this, I allowed myself to be sucked down to the bottom and there I wallowed for far too long. I wasn’t strong enough, I didn’t have a strong enough foundation built up and wasn’t able to keep it all from crumbling and I was too proud to reach out for help.  This time is different, so very different.  My foundation is solid, I have the strength of those around me to draw on and the self-respect to do so if needed, I am aware of the resources at my disposal and I know that I have so much still to look forward to in this life.  I will persevere.
I just need to remember that some days the fog obscures my sight, muddles my thinking and tempts me with shiny things.  I lose sight of what’s important.  Sometimes life throws me a lemon the size of a bus and my juicer is ill-equipped to handle it.

This time is and will be, different.
This time I can identify it for what it is, as unwanted as this ‘feeling’ is, it is not unfamiliar. Knowing is half the battle, as the trope goes.
I am on a voyage that I definitely would not have chosen for myself and certainly not at this time, but I will make the most of it.
This will not be my undoing.
It will take time and most definitely patience, not just on my part but on those I love as well.
This is not a means to an end, in fact I am enlightened enough now to know that this is but a stepping stone in the thoroughfare of life and only I can choose which direction I need to go.

But for now I will find a comfortable position on this here fence, take the necessary steps toward healing, do my best to not get stuck in the muck and the mire, try to think positively and be thankful it’s not electrified.

Well, I’m off. But not running, ‘cause stuff jiggles.



Hate Mail, Hopes for Happyness and Here’s Feelin’ Mid-Blue

Hate Mail – undelivered; undeliverable; but oh so full of hate.

Oh Fibro, how I hate you.
You make every day a new adventure, and not of the fun kind.
Forget who you used to be, this is the new you:
Forgetful, spacey, feeling lost;  losing your train of thought and falling silent not realizing you were even in the middle of anything; the list goes on.
Fibro doesn’t care; it can take a sharp mind and render it blunt.
It strips you of the qualities you once took pride in and leaves you a shell of your former self.
You can fight against it and even think you’re succeeding in moments of clarity, when you think you’ve raised above and can finally breathe; but don’t worry, the evil fingers of fog will pull you back under.
There is no escape.
There is no ”getting better’.
There is no permanent fix.
There is only getting through each day to the best of whatever ability you are granted at that moment. It could change in an hour. Heck, it could change in 5 minutes.
Not a fan of change..? Too bad. You have no say any longer.
This is the new reality.
Oh Fibro, how I hate you.

The Hopes Part…

I wrote this as a Facebook status two days ago.  I find it odd that it didn’t even receive one single comment or ‘dislike’.
Well, I don’t really. Find it odd, that is. No. Not really.  I think mostly because I understand how it could come across as whiney, or self-seeking, or something along the lines of  ‘Oh pity me, look at me, feel sad for me.’
Which is so far from the truth.
However, rewind 10 years (do we still say ‘rewind’ ?)  and were I to read this from someone as a status I may think the same thing.

I was having a flare-up day; a sad, sad day. A ‘wish I could crawl into the back of my closet and hide, hide until I feel better able to face the mirror, hide until I can do people’ day. They happen.

Ha. I was going to write more there, as in a frequency quantifier, but there isn’t one. They just happen. Boy, do they happen.

So yeah, I made it through the day though. So there’s that.

The Light, Mid, Dark Part…

If I were to classify how I feel in shades of colour, { I’d prefer to use purple but blue is so much punnier so it will have to do and easier to rhyme with too.  See what I did there? } Today I would say I’m mid-blue heading toward light-blue. Which is good. Today was a good day.

The day I wrote the above was a dark blue day, most definitely.

So there’s that too.

Well, I’m off. But not running, ‘cause stuff jiggles

My Name is Blurry Face, and I Care What You Think

Foggy Brain, Forgetfulness and other Fun Facts.

Adulting is hard. Seriously though, being an adult can be quite tough for some people or for most people some of the time. Sometimes we ARE given more than we can bear. Sometimes it’s NOT fair. Sometimes I’d give anything to pack up my crayons, my teddy bear and colouring book and retreat to a blanket fort in my mom’s living room. After I reverse time about 40 years, first. Oh gosh, what I wouldn’t give to be without responsibility; for someone else to take the reins.

Sure, I’m a subscriber to ‘That’s Life’, and I received the ‘suck it up and deal’ issue. But what if sometimes you just need to withdraw and lick your wounds? A battery recharge; a re-evaluation, if you will. Describe it how you like, it does happen. I’ve noticed it seems to happen to me fairly often of late. I’ve been evaluating the new and re-evaluating the old and I’ve discovered some truths that have been hard to admit and even harder to accept. I’m not the me I was ten years ago, hell, I’m not even the me I was a mere five years ago.  Now before you get all “Well honey, who IS..?”  at me, give me a moment to get to my point.

I think I can sum it up in three words: I have declined.
My physical abilities have declined; I am no longer able to take an exercise class or perform physically demanding activities, medical issues and general whole-body pain prevent that.
I didn’t have that ten years ago.
My mental abilities have also declined. Boy have they. I don’t find I’m as sharp as I once was. I prided myself in my memory; in being able to remember odd facts, numbers and why I got up and walked into the kitchen. Those days are becoming more rare. I know it’s a side-effect of some medications for the issues alluded to above. That doesn’t make it any easier to accept.

My health too, has declined. I guess it’s called ‘middle-age’ for a reason. I’ve reached the middle-point in my time on the planet, rather like cresting a hill and now all that’s left is to go down the other side.
It’s greatly upsetting to see in what way this decline affects my progression forward. Onward and upward have been eliminated and now it’s more like forward with an ever-increasing decrease.

However, to be a bit more ‘glass-half-full’, I’m the one who gets to decide the rate of descent. Or at least have large amounts of input and family support during the adjustment process.

I’m sure there will still be moments when I’ll feel I really need the blanket fort. Of that I have no doubt.

Well, I’m off. But not running, ‘cause stuff jiggles.

How to Not Act Your Age, Even With Middle-Age Woman Face

I don’t know when it happened.

It didn’t so much as creep up on me as it did chase me down and toss an ice cube down my back. Well, maybe not quite that alarming; more like a smooth wave lazily rolling over me.  The SO and I were having a conversation about something or another and during which, he said  “Honey, you’re a 45 year old woman.”
And that’s when it reached out and caressed me; that slow, lazy wave of  Holy. Shit.  I AM a 45 year old woman. Forty. Five.   Well goddam.  Like, seriously.. . god-DAYUM!
I actually stopped in mid speak, lips slightly open ready to share my thoughts, instead I paused, cocked my head to the side and took a mental assessment.  Previous topic forgotten; I evaluated.  I certainly didn’t feel like I was forty-five.

That’s where it began, right there.

I can’t stop thinking about it. Age has never been a ‘thing’ with me. I’m growing older, so what.  I mean, sure I colour my hair when I see the light blonde highlights rearing their ugly roots. I make sure to take my multi-vitamin daily and drink my milk.  However, I don’t wear makeup to cover the wrinkles or have a ‘night regimen’ or whatever to stave them off. In fact, short of washing my face with soap and using the occasional lotion when I notice dry skin, it pretty much just does what it does.  Which I’ve noticed lately is wrinkle, get brown spots and sprout the occasional hair (read: several of the vile buggers that show up ever so very prominently,  especially on my chin and neck,  when the sun is shining just right or under intense light,– but that’s a topic for another time; wicked little bastards.)

It was like reality slapped me in the face.

I was getting my roots tamed last week and as I sat in the chair, waiting for the colour to marinate or whatever it does under all that foil, I had a good, long look in the mirror. The face looking back at me was my sister’s (sorry sis, I love you!)  The one I noticed years ago when she was in her 40s. (Heh)!  The same face I remember seeing on my mom years before that, when she was my age (right about the time she put a hex on me concerning those chin hairs).  It was middle-age woman face.  When the hell had that happened?  It’s not like I don’t look at my own face in the mirror every single day. But it’s usually a quick glance while brushing my teeth or combing my hair. I’ve never had time to just sit and stare. Which is what I did, sitting in that chair.
I really took in my face, with all its lines and imperfections and *ahem* age-spots and chin hairs. I am a middle-aged woman. I have middle-aged friends. Leaning in closer, (‘cause you know, I didn’t have my glasses on) I have middle-age woman face.

I’m pretty certain I missed a few or 10 years. Maybe even 15. How could I be middle-aged?

I’ve been thinking of nothing else, since. Thinking back over the years about my life and the routes I’ve taken, the pathways and the alleyways.  The last five years have been the oddest of them all; a lot of discovery went on that explained some stuff. With more stuff yet to be explained, I’m sure.

So. Middle-age. Here you are. You kinda snuck up on me. Not like I was expecting fanfare or a parade. I guess I thought there would be a sign. Like, I’d go all matronly or something. Isn’t that what’s supposed to happen?  I guess, if this is what I’m to face now, bring it on. I’ve made it this far.

Well, I’m off. But not running, ‘cause stuff jiggles.



Definitions and other explanatory paraphernalia:

SO ~ Significant Other – means the hubs.