Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Train is still at the station. I am not.

A few days of calm and zero responsiblity (well really, really close to zero) has enabled me to exit flight or fight mode and take my foot off the damn train. I feel better. Not great, and probably not even what normal people might call good, but better. And in my world, that is good.

The weekend was actually great in the true sense of the word. It was full of great. I feel renewed and recharged. I even feel like I almost communicated in a way that may make more sense than words. In any case, I'm plugging away at this love thing and hopefully pounding away at the anxiety thing. I even went completely med free yesterday, which may have had something to do with having an ART day with my son. Painting has always relaxed me, especially when I don't have anything else hanging over my head.  This morning, however,  brought some unexpected drama that called for some artificial calming. Not even my drama, but that doesn't matter. My heart still starts beating too fast and my head still feels like it's going to explode. It probably won't. I know that, I think. But what's the harm of one little anxiety pill just to be sure?  No need to answer that.

One of the ups of the weekend was this coming in the mail.

It was written by Jenny Lawson aka  TheBloggess .  A friend recommended her Blog and Book and holy shit is she hilarious. Seriously fucked up, I'm sure, but the funniest person I've ever had the pleasure of not meeting. She's also inspiring. (I've found, not one ,but two inspiring blogs in a matter of weeks and that shit makes me happy.) I've always wanted to write a sort of memoir that kind of focused on the Alcolholic/Anxiety aspecs of my family, childhood etc...but I kept getting locked into the "this is going to be the most depressing book ever" mode, and would give up. Who wants to write a book that's going to make people want to kill themselves?  But what Jenny does in her book, although the topic is different from what I can tell so far, is she sprinkles the ridiculous with hilarity. I know not everyone can do it as well, but still, it got me thinking...I used to be funny. Sort of. In a sarcastic/pesimistic way. I can do that again. In my writing and in my life. Just because Anxiety is serious doesn't mean I always have to be. Just because serious shit happens doesn't mean we can't find the humor in it. It's there. It's always there. I suppose the same could be said for finding hope in a seemingless hopeless situation...but I suck at that, despite my name. So...funny it is. In addition to my road to coping (I don't dare say recovery), a new goal is to find the funny when possible. In just reading a few pages of this book, I actually felt the muscle tension in my neck ease up. I think I'm on to something here. I really do.

Hope, who honestly can't wait to be done with work today so I can get back to reading on the couch, while R keeps asking me "what's so funny?"

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