January 26, 2024

90 Seconds, Still

By Steph

It just hit me that most of the people in charge of The Entire World and all the things we’ve created that could wipe out The Entire World and everyone and everything?

Um, those people are at least as old as I am, so that means older than THE INTERNET. That means hot flashes AND having a period. THESE PEOPLE USED TO PADDLE US WITH WOODEN PADDLES, ANYTIME, ANYPLACE. They didn’t even have to be your parents!

Omg, like, HELLO GENX, I know most of us just got out of prison (#warondrugs I mean fathers) but do you see who we’ve let run this shitshow? And now look. (Or don’t look. it’s depressing and we’ve all got shit mental health and 12 autoimmune diseases.)

I don’t know the rest of the letters, but I need to know how close we are to starting over at letter A. TELL ME! Has the A GENERATION been prepping for this or what?

WHILE I’M YELLING, THE X was a one-off that we EARNED, very disappointed in whoever did the Y, Z nonsense, but then again, it IS alphabetical, and I still don’t know the order so this message could be from the Ambien I forgot I took and the pot I smoked right before I had this epiphany.

*THIS POST MAY NOT BE TAKEN AS AN ADMISSION OF GUILT BY ANY PARTIES, LET ALONE GENX, FOR FS LEAVE US ALONE. A lot of us are still on probation from that time we caught 3 felonies for a fucking blunt roach and a one-hitter.

5 Comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in invisible illness, Just Being Awesome, random bullshit, stuff I made up, thoughts, total chaos, your health is your wealth and this is why I'm poor

December 13, 2023

Full Moons are for Finding Yourself

By Steph

Again.

And again.

Maybe the Universe knows we’ll always need reminding.

Five years ago in August, I was in a really bad place. Sick. Alone. Getting a divorce. Either losing custody of my children or losing them to their own adult lives. All painful in different ways, but that’s not what I want to talk about today.

Today, I want to talk about beauty. How amazingly, awesomely, breathtakingly beautiful it is to be in love…with yourself.

There is no doubt in my mind that I will journey through that dark, hideous place of pain and fear again. That’s the way humans, and this human in particular, are built. So, this isn’t me saying I’ve cured my depression or healed my trauma or that I’m not going to be sick anymore.

This is me saying: I will survive it. Whatever it is that sends me to bed with heating pads or ice packs, with pillows soaking up my tears, I. Will. Get. Back. Up.

This is me saying: It’s worth it. The pain, the hurt, the worry, the fear, the illness after illness after illness; it’s all worth it.

This is me saying: I DESERVE MORE than survival.

This is me saying: I don’t care what people think about me. What I care about is how people treat me.

This is me saying: I lost my health, my partner of 16 years, and my children all in a matter of months, and yet here I am. (Yes, y’all, I’m still me, the “motherfucker” at the end there is silent.)

This is me saying: I’m stronger now than I have ever been. And as someone with depression, I was strong to begin with. You have to be when you spend your life fighting your mind for your life.

I’ve spent a lot of time alone in the last few years, and time alone is time to think. I need it like I need air. I notice so much more now that I can listen. I worry less now that I can feel without judgement.

Our intuition has been shit on for so long, it’s almost like those of us with “feelings” trained ourselves not to notice them. Because when you say, “something doesn’t feel right” or, worse, “I’m getting a weird vibe” or even “what’s wrong” to someone who doesn’t want you to notice any of those things, what do they do?

They tell you that you’re fucking crazy.

What happens when you ignore your feelings though?

I spent a lot of my thinking time out in the woods. When I say “woods” I hope you’re picturing hundreds of acres in the Ozark Mountains, because that’s what I’m talking about. Where people can and do disappear. I figured out that if my gut said, “something isn’t right” that I should scoot my happy ass back to the house where I most likely won’t get eaten by a bear.

Obviously (to me) these kinds of feelings are part of us for a reason. The older guy from town who was cute but who I always, always, always avoided? In prison for violent crimes against women. That look some people get when you accidentally make eye contact? That glimmer of meanness that makes your skin crawl? The feeling that you’re being lied to, or manipulated, or that something just isn’t right?

Guys, we’re not all crazy. Some of us, okay. Me? Probably, but I LIKE IT.

Actually, I LOVE IT. I’m 44 years old, and I fucking LOVE myself. I’m hilarious, often unintentionally which makes it even better. I’m brutally honest, but I never intend to hurt anyone with my words. I’m smart sometimes and some ways, but also hardheaded and can be incredibly stupid and so, SO naive. I’m frequently oblivious because I’m so caught up in living. LIVING, do you understand what I’m saying? What you are doing RIGHT NOW IS YOUR LIFE!

The full moon was a while ago, but that’s when I lit some candles and watched the shadows of flowers dance on my ceiling and then danced with them. I’ve been thinking this post since then. I had come to a point where I felt like I was moving backwards. I’d been so at peace and then my peace shattered, and I felt like I would too. But I’m not made of glass, and neither are you.

Life isn’t a straight line. People say that about grief, but I think it applies to life too. We’re always going to be picking up the pieces of ourselves, and we’re always going to be putting them back together in a better, stronger, more beautiful way.

11 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , | posted in chronic illness, CPTSD, Depression, disability, invisible illness, joy, kids, love, Mental Illness, random bullshit, thoughts

February 6, 2022

Is Everything in Question?

By Steph

If I post this right now, I will never need to stress about sharing anything because I will have already posted the most irrelevent and ridiculous shit. If I was you? I might skim this one. (But say hi or something, damn.)

I just heard a song called Loner by Maggie Lindemann and seriously, it would be my anthem if it wasn’t so…exposing.

So, here’s what’s up with me, let me know what’s up with you in the comments. I can do that because I expect two people to have accidentally read this far, but it’s also totally possible that tomorrow I won’t remember that I have a blog.

Shit, I just remembered that I came here to write a music review because I have to post something, submit something, do something (but did I really, doubtful) and I want to talk about Our Current Reality? Because what is even happening right now. I cannot with everysinglething. I mean I was more capable when I was publishing things. Now, all the things seem insurmountable. Or are insurmountable. Is it unlikely, or have I convinced myself I’m actually terrible?

There’s a Halsey lyric that doesn’t go “…need someone to come along and tell me ____ all right, is this okay?” That’s not it, but you yeah. (I should probably tell you that I use the wrong words a lot now. If I end a sentence with “so.” then you should know the rest and I gotta conserve my energy, and I don’t know the word.)

I need someone to do that but I don’t trust anyone so I probably wouldn’t believe them anyway.

I have questions.

How was I relatively ok when the kids were little? Was it that everything was so immediate with children that I didn’t have time to have a breakdown? Taking care of them gave me some sort of structure in my life? That’s funny, because I can hear myself saying, “Kids need structure and routine!” Was that part of it?

Well, this fucking pandemic definitely didn’t help anything, right? You’re supposed to stay home, you know, and my body wouldn’t handle a serious illness, so. Also, I don’t drive anymore and live on the edge of the forest.

Shit! My back is killing me, of course my neck always hurts, and I keep getting distracted. This is what happens with anything I try to do, I either get sick or get distracted with something else and then forget what I was doing or I suddenly realize that I’m just sitting here with my head in my hands again.

I initially was going to punish myself for not…being better/submitting literally anything/doing one normal human thing by writing a music review (which isn’t punishment even but it’ll make me feel stupid so). I had to stop and think about what I came here to do.

Okay, so I guess I won’t tell y’all everything right this second. Or even anything.

10 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , , | posted in Blogging, chronic illness, Depression, Mental Illness, never take my advice, random bullshit, thoughts, writing, your health is your wealth and this is why I'm poor

July 10, 2020

My Muchness

By Steph

Hello, is anyone there?

I’ve been pondering my blog-neglect. I worked so hard on this, why would I abandon it? I’m writing, so why aren’t I posting? I’m not writing, why am I not writing?

I found this today, and it’s very good. And definitely a large part of my problem.

That’s not the whole of it, of course.

Partly, I’ve felt like I can’t write about much that’s happened in the past two years. I can write about the things I’ve done, mistakes I’ve made, pain and joy I’ve felt, but I can’t say anything about anyone else or what they did. That’s frustrating because yes, some of this is my fault, but not all of it. So that’s one part–I’ve always been very open here and now I’m limited to half-truths or less.

Then there’s this: Obviously, I started a blog to share my stories. But somewhere along the way, as I learned more about blogging, writing, social media, submitting to places, sharing, groups of bloggers helping each other, the world of bloggers and editors etc., I stopped writing what I wanted to write. I tried to make my posts more general, to appeal to a broader audience. I tried to organize my writing into the proper bunches of words–three or five paragraphs, TITLE, ending. (Titles are the hardest part of writing for me.) And of course, every post had to have one or more images.

I’ve always abhorred the “technical” side of blogging; code, links, images, sharing.

So I think the combination of all the above, and wanting my work to be perfect (in the eyes of editors and other writers, anyway) helped make telling my stories more of a job than a joy.

I hope you read the piece I linked to; it’s really very good, and explained my feelings before I could put them into words.

I don’t know what this blog will be now or in the future. I know it once brought me joy and a sense of accomplishment and community that I miss.

I also know this isn’t formatted in any way, I haven’t read through it even one time, and…I wrote in on my phone in 10 minutes.

Here’s hoping you’re all as okay as you can be right now.

Going hunting for my muchness.

Steph

7 Comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in random bullshit

January 28, 2020

"You're A Break in The Code"

By Steph

Holy shit.

Wait…you can love the messy parts of yourself?

It should be at like 4:12-4:38. Just listen. (I’m so fucking specific, but not totally committed to the idea that I did that correctly.)

Admittedly, I’m a pretty obsessed Halsey fan and also a bit high. But I’ve listened to that 30-second statement at least six times now and I still don’t know quite what to do with it.

Clutch this brazen, tantalizing idea tightly to my chest, hold my breath, picture myself laughing too loudly and talking too much; writing blindfolded or on my skin, in the dark or in a bathroom; dancing because I have a body, singing because I like it, listening, really listening to music all day long, stopping only to make my own?

Or drop it before it burns me, this foreign thought, forgiveness, appreciation even, of a chaotic mind, a rollercoaster ride, a river of tears; give back this moment of not-wrongness that is not mine; apologize (again) for being crazy, broken, volatile, for being at all; try not exist too brightly, feel too hard, want too much?

It took me 40 years to even like most of me. I’ve never thought that I could–maybe should–love the side of me that is impulsive and inappropriate and creative and damaged and yes, passionate, about so many things. The side that cries as easily at the beauty of a sunset as at the coldness that crept into love’s voice. The part that needs to “calm down.” The unreasonable side; the “crazy” that I make jokes about because it’s easier than trying to explain what mental illness feels like. The side that feels everything, all the time.

I can love…my temper, my inability to stop saying, “fuck,” my awful dancing and worse voice, my nervous talking, oversharing, failed parenting, broken heart?

What I really want to know now is:

WHO TOLD ME I COULDN’T?

No piece of me is perfect. But I am not in pieces.

I am not a broken thing to be discarded. I refuse to only love and cherish my shiny best-self, the self that’s seemingly so easy to love. Because THAT me couldn’t exist without THIS me. I don’t get to pick one or the other, and neither do you; it’s all or none, my best and my worst, my past and my present, my heart and my mind, my laughter and my tears, my opinions and my insecurities.

All this, this mess, this disaster, this madness, this me? It’s not what I ever thought I ever should be. It just is. It’s me. The whole damn thing. Brave and fearful, weak and strong, obnoxious and honest, funny and ridiculous, hideous and beautiful.

I don’t see any reason to start using my head now; generally, that fucker is trying to take me out anyway.

5 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in Depression, joy, Mental Illness, random bullshit, thoughts, total chaos, writing