Missing my lawn and basking in the sun

I thought about taking a lawn chair out into the backyard today and sitting in the sunlight for a bit. It might have been nice for a little while, too. But that would have meant watching out for poop, and sinking up to my knees in wet, pebbly snow, and my weight would have pushed the legs of the chair down until my butt was touching, at which point my body heat would be melting the surface and I’d end up wet.

Maybe I’ll try it tomorrow. Oh, no, wait — it’s going to be -3C in the afternoon, with flurries.

I may be crazy, but I’m not quite that crazy.

I woke up at 3 am this morning, welling up with anxiety over this Ottawa ComicCon trip. I’d sent out an email to several male staff members I thought might be interested in chaperoning, and at 3 am, that suddenly felt like an enormously ridiculous thing to have done. Laid and obsessed over that for a good half an hour before I managed to fall back asleep. Then I woke up again at 6, and the pattern repeated. I ended up sleeping in until around 11, and because hubby was making a lovely breakfast of eggs, bacon, and hash browns, the scent of it cooking on the stove made me dream about stuffing my mouth full of bacon before I actually woke up.

Despite my great list of things to do — finishing edits, marking, cleaning — I didn’t do much today other than sleeping and self-loathing. Got a bit weepy. I blame the long winter and my own laziness. Cuddled much with hubby and children, though; played with Bridget’s hair, trying out some braiding, and did some knitting. But the house is even more cluttered now that Bridget chose to rip apart a cardboard box while playing with her Barbies. The dolls gained a house, while the living room gained a new layer of messiness.

Hoping tomorrow is better.

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Feelings, Logic, and Christmas

I did not attend my staff Christmas party last night. I think I should have gone, but I can’t change the fact that I stayed home.

I told myself that I was staying home to save a bit of money. We’ve had some unforeseen expenses this month, so it seemed like a good decision at the time.

I told myself that I am a socially awkward penguin and it would be better if I avoided my peers again. (I’ve been eating most of my lunches alone, quite content to not engage in conversations with anyone.)

I didn’t want to risk hearing about our current job action, and knowing that my husband is sometimes uncomfortable around my colleagues, I didn’t want to have to worry about that.

When he told me I could have gone alone, that just felt…weird.

I think what is bothering me the most — in my attempt to look at my feelings logically — is that the staff Christmas party is an annual gathering, a ritual that is part of the season, and by not participating in it, I have skewed some of the balance in my life. (Well — what balance there is.)

Some of my best memories of Christmas as a child have to do with going to see people. I love certain Christmas songs because I remember sitting in the back of my parents’ car, snuggled warmly in coats and blankets, travelling the highway either to relatives or on the way back home. That security of knowing I was loved, protected, and at peace with the world — it seems to come more rarely these days.

We won’t be seeing much of our family this year. Maybe that’s also what is bothering me.

We’ll be able to see my parents on Christmas Day, since they’re only an hour and a half from here, but to go another five hours and visit our in-laws and my brother — it’s just not going to happen. We managed it, very last minute, last year, after telling ourselves we weren’t going to go anywhere. But this year we are definitely staying home.

It hurts that no-one has offered to come up and see us. I know that some members of our family are just as cash-strapped, but the ones who could probably afford it haven’t offered or said they wished they could come.

To me, Christmas is a time for gathering with your loved ones, enjoying their company, catching up and just being together. I hate the pressure to buy things, so I often make gifts if I give myself enough time. (I haven’t made any this year, as yet.) But I love watching someone open a gift I have chosen or made for them. I love feeling welcomed into someone’s home, or having someone here. We don’t often have guests in our little house, but I like it when we do.

So maybe my bad feelings today are linked to that knowledge that we won’t be seeing our extended family at Christmas. It’s too expensive and the distances are too far this time. The big family gatherings I remember from my childhood are happening less and less. I know this hurts my dad and my mom, too — this is one of the reasons why they’ve given me a hard time over missing my cousins’ weddings in the last few years.

I also tend to feel the weight of the world at this time of year. I am acutely conscious of the suffering that happens in so many places. I get torn over what charity to donate to, and the barrage of pleas to help suffering children tears at my heart. I feel most vulnerable at this time of year, as fragile as one of the ornaments on my tree. I also tend to get physically sick when I get my break from work, and I’m already feeling the most recent virus getting its party on in my body.

Christmas feels like such a lonely time to me. I can feel myself beginning to spiral down into depression, and though I’m taking steps to try to stop it — walks with my dog, attempting to keep my house clean, sending cards and wrapping my children’s gifts every night — it feels like a black hole has opened beneath me and is slowly pulling me in. I am unhappy. Over the last few days, I’ve just wanted to cry all the time. I wonder whether knowing we were going to have visitors would help… Certainly, it would add to my stress, but it would also give me incentive.

Last night, I watched a holiday episode of “Community” in which Abed was having difficulty accepting that his mother wasn’t going to visit him for Christmas. I understand that very much. The feeling of wanting to just shut down, shut everything out, because numbness is easier than pain…

That was another reason why I didn’t go to the party last night. I long for numbness, and I think I would have had way too much to drink. My husband went to work at 4:30 this morning. I didn’t relish the thought of being alone with my kids with a wicked hangover. And I know that drinking is not the answer to my mental illness.

Christmas, Yule — the celebration of togetherness, of working our way through the darkest nights of the year, blowing off steam, glorying in the purity and beauty of winter — is both pleasure and pain to me. I love it and I hate it. I want to indulge, and I want to withdraw. I want to make my loved ones happy, and I want to be surprised by someone I love, to spend time with them and yes, maybe even be given a token of their affection. Knowing that the latter is not going to happen — that I won’t see my big brother (with whom I have only recently begun communicating with, on a regular basis) and his family, my sister-in-law and her family, etc. — it hurts a lot.

And I know, in the grand scheme of things, that I have a lot to be grateful for in my life. I also feel what I feel. And right now, I feel…miserable. Christmas songs make me feel sad. Seeing trees lit up through the windows of my neighbours make me feel sad. I want to take to my bed and sleep through the holiday. It’s not the first time I’ve felt this way. Won’t be the last.

So if there is anyone out there who feels like this at Christmas, or whatever holiday you celebrate — or if you know anyone who suffers with depression at this time of year — please, leave a comment below. Sometimes knowing I’m not alone in this is incredibly helpful. Sharing coping strategies would be good, too. I’m told frequently that I put too much pressure on myself, and this time of year it’s particularly strong. Leave a comment, and I’ll consider it a hug of support.

Love,
Tori

Post-NaNo, Pre-Christmas/Yule, with Injury to Boot

So. I feel great that I met my writing goal for November, and now have a second completed book — to which I must now devote time in editing and revisions. Meanwhile, I have three weeks of marking to catch up on (that’s actually kind of normal for this time of year, for me).

My daughter’s birthday is this week, and her party approaches on the coming weekend. I haven’t done any present shopping as yet.

Nor have I decorated for Christmas/Yule. The house is still in its disorganized, jumbled, frightening state that it was in October.

I have held off my seasonal affective disorder for 30-odd days, but since I sprained my ankle badly over a week ago, it’s looming in the background like a great shadowy cloud. Not being able to move is definitely contributing. I recognize that there are many people who sustain worse injuries and anticipate being off their feet for much longer. What concerns me is how mine might potentially impact my mental health.

It’s not for lack of trying. I obediently took to crutches for four days after the incident, and then attempted to move without them for a day. It was a mistake. I had a number of colleagues tell me with great delight (haven’t heard so many “I Told You So’s” in a long time) that it was too soon to try walking solo. Returned to crutches. Took a day off work. And then had someone tell me, “You’re still on crutches?”

Yes. Yes, I am. Although I have much more mobility and much less pain, I’ve been told and have read all about how sprains — especially bad ones — take a long time to heal, and if you’re not patient, are never really the way they were. So instead of cleaning the mess of my home, shopping for Christmas cards and Christmas lights, going with my children and our dog for some lovely walks in the fresh snow, I’ve been sitting. And sitting.

And sitting.

I’ve attempted some writing. After 30 days of daily writing, I’ve taken about a week’s break, and now I think I am ready to get back.

But what I really want is a clean house, decorated for Yule, with room for yoga and wrapping presents.

Santa, can you hear me?

Also, some help on how to make my children pick up the slack — that would be nice.

I do have to say, though, that my adoring husband has been doing what he’s able, on top of his 12-hour work days driving taxi, to stay ahead of the dishes and laundry.

What this experience has brought home to me (um, yet again) is that I need to turn a deaf ear to whines of not wanting to do things and engage my children in helping with the upkeep of our home. That will require training, patience, and consequences.

And motivation on my part. Motivation is something I lack in the darkest part of the year.

Santa, I repeat — can you hear me?