I Declared the EP a Bummer-Free Zone in September...

This has been a rough week. Lots of hard news, lots of scary happenings, lots of people I love in dire straits. (Jooj and W and I are all fine, though, so don't worry about that!)

I know that everyone else seems to go straight to the scriptures and to fasting and praying when times are tough and overwhelming. For me, though, it feels like if I start feeling anything spiritual right now I will not be able to close the dam. (Damn.) And I can't go there right now, because I have a kid to take care of, a kid who, herself, is teetering on the edge of a meltdown because she misses her father, and anytime I cry she worries herself sick. (Sorry, W. I know you didn't want to hear that.)

What do you do when you reach that point? When you are so filled to the brim with worry and sadness that even a bit of hope or goodness will tip you over into messy, sloppy, anguish? Knit? Watch Gavin And Stacy? I am running out of options.

PS Guess how long a carved pumpkin will last in EP? Three days. Then it melts into itself and ruins your new table runner. And the mold covers every single inch. And it smells. Stupid EP.

I thought I had mono once; it turns out I was just really bored.

About seven years ago I was working for a mega shoe conglomerate that once featured designs by Star Jones (pre-bypass). I was also getting my Master's Degree. And I was commuting to Salt Lake City for both. And W was gone somewheres. Probably Kuwait. Or Georgia. Or UVSC. Somewheres.

I was really really tired. A lot.

Let me back up for a minute:

I have clinical depression. And panic attacks. Not like Donny Osmond where I can't be Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor DreamCoat because the walls are closing in on me (although I get those every now and then when I think about Jooj not wanting me to be her mother but deciding that she would be better off with her "real mother"), but ones that are almost seizures. They are generally in response to over-stressing and over-stimulating, and sometimes just in response to whatever. Nachos or Target or sitting in the living room. I have had these things since I was in seventh grade. (Not the seizurey attacks, those have escalated in the past fifteen years or so. Thanks, W!) I can remember my first panic attack, in YL (Home of the Richard Nixon Library), in my room, and thinking that I was going crazy. I even checked out a couple of books about crazy people so I would know what to expect. I never once thought of telling anyone about it--who would believe me? And I spent a lot of time being exhausted, hating myself, and crying. Because I was depressed. Get it?

Anyhoo, I had an AMAZING caffeine tolerance in those years. I would go to Denny's and drink about fifteen cups of black crappy coffee at night while I did homework and then go home and fall asleep. Easily. I had about five Super Big Gulps a day, starting at 5:30 am on the way to seminary. It was what was keeping me functioning. It was self-medication. It was delicious.

Back to the shoe conglomerate:

I cut back on the caffeine a lot because I was at BYU and was trying to be better at following rules, and caffeine is bad for skin, and makes you retain water. I was a lot more sad, a lot more panicky, and a lot more tired without it. But I thought that was just from being married and working retail. (Not that marriage isn't awesome. But it can make one cranky and tired, at times. So I have been told.) I would drink one or two 20 oz Cokes a day, at the most. But this one day I drank, like, five in two hours. Because the shoe conglomerate was breaking me down, man. It was back to school time. And snow boot season. And I had this guy who called once a week, like clockwork, and tried to be obscene over the phone. ("I like to wear women's shoes. I get the heels scratched when I drive. Does that shock you?" "No. Because you call me every week and say the same thing.")

That night I could not go to sleep. I was at the point where I was praying for just three hours of sleep. Just two hours. Just 45 minutes. Just 20 minutes of REM. And I realized that I knew better than that, that I was being ridiculous by asking for Heavenly Father to counteract a natural consequence of something I knew better than to do, but did anyway. So I told Him that I wouldn't drink anymore caffeine, because I knew better.

A year or two later I got medicated, and realized that I would always be on medication, and would be a much better person for it. I wish I had had it in the womb. I maintain that I would have been a Rhodes Scholar if I had been on them in college. I love my pills. I woke up the first morning that they worked and thought "This is how other people must feel every day! This is how I am SUPPOSED to feel!"

Fast forward to 2007:

I haven't had any caffeine since that fateful night, but once a quarter or so find the need to take a little tablet that contains, among other things, caffeine. (It starts with a Mi and ends with a Dol.) And when I take it, I get SO MUCH DONE! The floors get vaccuumed! I am patient with Jooj! I am happy! I don't fall asleep at three pm! And whenever I take this little dose I think "Maybe I should drink Caffeine again. Maybe I am not depressed, just lazy."

And now I am wondering if I should rethink my standing on the caffeinated beverages. What do you think? Am I weak? Am I just a sucker?

Taking a breath

I am trying it out again, the functioning thing. We'll see how it goes.

I guess I have learned that I can't hide out and wait for things to get better--they probably won't. Instead, I have to learn to cope with the good and the bad.

Frickety-Frack.

Because I hate having to cope. Especially when things aren't really all that bad. I'm not a leper or anything.

It is just the little things on top of little things on top of little things.

How do you cope?

And while you are coping, look at this:
What is the adult-emotional-equivalent of bubbles? Because that would help me cope.