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Author, Historian, Storyteller

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I just finished a book in which a saying was repeated several times, and each time it really rang true for me, “It’s not my tale to tell.” A person that I hold dear was given an unwelcome diagnosis last year. And despite the fact that it has completely rocked my world and affected me deeply, I have kept as quiet as possible about it, because it is not my tale to tell. It is not my tale to bruit about the internet. If this person wants to keep it to themselves then that is their prerogative and I have to respect that. I’m only bringing it up now because it is a required piece to the tale that is mine to tell.

Ever since I found out about this diagnosis my own health has deteriorated. Which isn’t overly surprising as some of my pre-existing maladies are exacerbated by stress and there has definitely been an overabundance of stress in my life lately. However, the paranoia and worry that has started to border on hypochondria – that every ache, every muscle twitch is a harbinger of doom – is most definitely not normal for me. If I had a dollar for every time I went onto WebMD to look something up over the past seven months I could take a week off of work with no pay. It has grown into the ridiculous.

Then I was talking to a friend and she said something that stopped me in my tracks. She was recounting something from her own past, and I don’t think that she intended to be giving this bit of advice, since it wasn’t the point of her story, but she recalled that someone had once told her, “You aren’t the one who was sick.” In her past, she wasn’t the one that was sick, and right now I am not the one that is sick. I can’t think of a single other thing that I needed to hear right now more than that phrase.

I am not the one who is sick.

Therefore I need to stop acting like I am. I need to stop worrying that I might be. I need to stop fixating on the worst possible outcome. All I am accomplishing is driving myself absolutely insane. So check that off of the to-do list and move on with my day! If only it were that easy . . . but then again why can’t it be that easy? Who says that change needs to be long and drawn out? Why can’t it be more like a switch? Make a decision, have a realization, flip the switch. Flip – new way of thinking. Flip – new mindset. Don’t dwell, don’t hem and haw, don’t second guess, flip the switch and be happier. It’s a goal.

switch

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I recently made the decision to put my dogs on Prozac. They’ve always been high-strung, especially Zoey who has had separation anxiety since she was a puppy. Because of this I have a very set routine for when I leave and when I come home.  I’ve done thunder shirts, calming phermones, blanket over the crate, blanket that I slept with in the crate. You name it, I’ve tried it and kept the things that worked to maintain our precarious balance of momma being able to leave without the puggles freaking out.

However, back in December, for no specific reason that my roommate or I can come up with, they started to howl and cry every morning when I would leave for work. For a while my roommate would come out tell them to knock it off, give them a treat and they would settle. But after a while that didn’t work, and on days when she wasn’t home they would cry for hours annoying all of our neighbors. Sorry! I took them to the vet, clean bill of health. I tried to identify something that was causing the upset, no luck. I tried all of my old tricks and read a bunch of new articles that gave advice to do all of the things that I was already doing. I tried everything that I could think of to avoid putting them on medication, but nothing worked. They were miserable and strung out and so was I.

Election Over

Then one day it occurred to me. Why was I okay medicating myself so that I felt better and could function normally, but I was hesitating to do the same thing for my dogs? Before this realization if you would have asked me about the stigma of anti-depressants I would have told you that I’ve gotten over it. After all, I now openly admit and talk about the fact that I take them and that I have no shame about that. That wasn’t always the case. For a very long time I felt ashamed about taking them or admitting that I have clinical depression. Because of that I wasted years feeling horrible because I felt like I was less of a person if I succumbed to my depression and took meds to lift my mood. I had this asinine belief that I was strong enough to do it by myself. That I was fine.  That somehow having clinical depression made me weak and I had to fight against that. Talk about expending your energy in the wrong direction!

It wasn’t until I looked at my depression from a different angle that I was able to get over this belief.  If I was diagnosed as diabetic, I would try everything in my power to control my blood sugar through diet changes, exercise, etc. However, after trying that, if my doctor told me that it wasn’t enough and that I needed insulin, I would take the insulin. I wouldn’t need to think twice about it, and it wouldn’t make me feel like I was weak or less of a person. It would mean that I had a disease and thankfully there were drugs out there that could help me function normally. So why would I treat a diabetes diagnosis different than a depression diagnosis? They’re both diseases that have meds to help diminish the effects and symptoms so that your body can function normally, so what’s the difference?

That’s when it occurred to me, that a stigma was keeping me from feeling good. The stigma against mental illness and all that that entails was preventing me from living my life to the fullest. How stupid is that? So I got over myself, said screw what anybody else thinks, I’m going to feel good and be happy. Four tries later my doctor and I landed on the right cocktail of meds and I no longer spend my free time curled up in bed hiding from life. It has made a HUGE difference – both my happiness and my productivity. Being depressed is really time consuming! I’ve come to accept that I will probably be on meds for the rest of my life, and I’m okay with that. It’s what is best for me.

So if it’s good enough for me, why did I hesitate with my dogs? The incredulous look that I got from one of my neighbors when I told her about my choice reminded me why. She acted like I was giving up on them and committing them to a looney bin because I didn’t want to deal with them anymore. There it was, the mental illness stigma rearing it’s ugly head, and if she reacted that way about giving prozac to dogs, I can’t imagine what she would have said about me taking meds! Needless to say I ignored her and made the same choice for my dogs as I did for myself, and good lord I wish I would have made that choice a long time ago! My dogs are still their crazy, hyper lovable selves, but the nervous energy is gone. They can actually lay down and fall asleep without waking up and freaking out about every noise they hear. They can meet and say hi to other dogs without getting really anxious. I can leave the house without them acting like the world is coming to an end. It’s amazing, and the best part is that they seem to be happier. So stigma be damned, we’re all a bunch of nuts in my house  and I’ve got the meds to prove it!

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That moment when everything seems to be coming and going all at once and no matter how hard you try you can’t grab hold. Can’t get in, can’t slow down, can’t make sense.

Moment

That moment when responsibilities and commitments and desires turn huge and looming and threaten to crash in all around on top of you. Holding you back, holding you down, holding you from peace.

That moment when you realize that words are lost, thoughts are lost, all that is left is feeling. A feeling that you can’t express. Can’t quantify, can’t qualify, can’t decipher.

That moment when you give up and just be, letting the world sing on around you watching it swirl indecipherably by. Give up control, give up your plans, give up

That moment when you realize that you’ve been pushing and striving in the wrong direction for the wrong things. Which is why you can’t breathe, can’t scream, can’t cry for help.

That moment when you finally breathe deep and shed the bonds of should have, would have, need to. Breathe deeply to stop the swirling, stop the chaos, stop the world.

That moment when slowly gingerly you take hold once more. Find your grasp, find your footing, find your path.

That moment when you realize that that path leads straight up. Out of the milieu, out of the stress, out of the noise.

That moment when you find yourself above.

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The clouds have cleared the horizon

No sign is left of them or the sorrow they brought.

But an apprehension remains,
A hesitation,
As is always the case when facing something new.
Or is it really being faced?
Am I standing proud ready to face the world?
Or am I standing on top of the world with my eyes closed,
Clamped down tight
Facing the future, but refusing to see it?
Is that the way it should be?
Maybe man was meant to stumble through life blindly.
In the dark
Trusting to faith
The only decision given us, is the direction we take.
I choose to stumble forward.

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I take great pleasure in the fact that I can make people laugh. The more they laugh, the more I want them to keep laughing, so I keep cracking jokes. More than one person has asked me if I do stand-up. That’s on the bucket-list. Until then I keep my act much more spontaneous with smaller audiences. I think I’ve always been so drawn to laughter because of the power it has. Laughter is therapeutic, contagious and can diffuse some of the tensest situations. I definitely use laughter as a self defense mechanism. If a mood is too dour, or a conversation begins to drift into unwanted territory there’s nothing like laughter to distract and redirect the focus. My particular brand of comedy is self-deprecating. I generally make fun of myself or my situation . . . or word play, which I’m sure is a huge shock to everyone.

I credit the development of this particular brand of comedy to my father. He is very clever and gets seemingly endless joy from jerking people’s chains. Well as an inquisitive child I would bombard him with questions about anything and everything. Most of the time the teacher in him would come out and I would get a detailed answer. Generally much more detailed than I was actually interested in. However, every now and then, when the mood would strike him, he would answer questions like this:

Kat: Why is the sky blue?

Dad: Because it would look weird green.

Kat: What does the ‘H’ stand for in Jesus H. Christ?

Dad: Henry.

No hesitation, nothing but confidence. Then he would walk away or go back to doing whatever it was he was doing, conversation closed. Now is a good time to add that on top of being inquisitive, I was also very gullible. So I would believe him. After all, he was my dad and 98% of the time his answers were absolutely correct. However for that 2%, his answers were complete bunk and I was left to figure out which were which, and I did figure it out. Generally in a very public, loud fashion.

I have a very underdeveloped filter – okay, it’s not underdeveloped it’s overworked keeping me from swearing like a sailor at all times – which means that thoughts tend to jump straight out of my mouth. I don’t pull punches. I also say stupid things with full confidence because I learned them from a “reliable” source. So on more than one occasion growing up, I would announce things to a gathering of classmates like, “No, the ‘H’ stands for Henry. Jesus Henry Christ.”

Then they would all laugh at me.

You’re probably laughing at me right now. In retrospect, it’s pretty funny. So I was faced with a decision. I could either get really embarrassed, hate my life and slink away to hopefully never show my face again, or I could laugh with them. After a couple of these incidents it occurred to me that maybe this was my lot in life, so I should go with the flow. I started to laugh with them. That’s when I discovered that not only could I laugh with them, I could make them laugh more. I really liked that feeling. I could transform from the butt of the joke, to the joke, to the joker. It’s a powerful feeling, and there is nothing like the rush you get from brightening someone’s day and putting a smile on their face. I am completely addicted to it. They’re all gonna laugh at me, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Laugh

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I didn’t realize it until later in life, but there were quite a few influential people in my childhood who spent a large amount of their time judging other people. Judgements like:

You’re fat, you must be lazy and not care about yourself.
You have tattoos, you must be a delinquent and do drugs
You’re children are running around the restaurant, you must be a bad parent
You didn’t go to college, you’ll never amount to anything

And so on and so forth. They had an opinion about everybody and everything and the good opinions were few and far between. So obviously, hearing this as a child I believed it to be true, and worse yet I learned that it was my job to pass judgement on other people as well. Which I did. However, as I got older and was exposed to more people with varying ways of thinking and approaching things, I discovered that this was not how everybody went through their days. There were actually people out there who would see people and instead of instantly leaping to what was “clearly” their shortcomings, they found something good in the person. Or gave them the benefit of the doubt if they were acting poorly. I instantly liked this way of thinking much better and felt uncomfortable and mean whenever my brain would automatically start judging people.

So I began to attempt to change the way that my brain thought. If I saw someone that was out running but going really slow, I would instantly say to myself, “With how slow you’re going, why are you even running, just walk and stop pretending.” Then I would feel bad that I had thought. Then, for the first time in my life, I would actually let myself feel bad instead of squashing that emotion down. Then I would correct myself and say, “No matter how slow they’re going, at least they’re trying. Good for them!” Despite the fact that no one else knew that these thoughts were going through my head the very act of calling myself out on it and consciously changing my thought made me feel better. After a while I started to get better at this, but every so often there would be a bad day and the judgments would come out in full force. By the end of the day I would feel dirty inside and not like who I was. So then I would spend the next couple of days trying to repair the damage.

It was like a constant war going on in my head. I’m sure that at times I must have either looked like I was completely crazy, or that I had a migraine because I was so busy arguing with myself. Luckily, most of this was going on in high school and at that point I was so depressed that if I wasn’t actively engaged in school, work or theater I was usually alone. Actually, now that I think about it, that probably made it worse . . .

Any who, it’s been a battle that I’ve fought for a long time, and I’m now almost exclusively on the winning side. I find that I’m happier when I look for the good in people instead of the bad. However, I slip up some days more than others and Judgey McJudgerson rears her ugly head. That’s what I call her. I imagine she looks something like this.

Judgey

Recently I’ve discovered a pattern for when I slip up the most. Whenever I’m feeling bad about myself, Judgey McJudgerson has a lot to say. A LOT! It’s almost as if she pops up to put everyone around me down in order to make me feel better. Why do we do that? Why do we think that pushing someone else down will pull us up. In reality it just sinks you down further, which causes you to pull others down more, which sinks you further, etc. It’s a vicious cycle, and it’s certainly not a good way to live. I for one feel significantly worse at the end of the day when McJudgerson has held sway in my head space for most of the day.

I just finished reading, The Gospel According to Biff, Christ’s Childhood Pal – which is a fantastic book by the way – and one of the chapters that stood out to me the most was the one in which a woman is being drug out of the city to be stoned and Joshua stops the guards, picks up a rock and says something to the effect of, “Let he who has not sinned, cast the first stone.” Now I’m not the least bit religious, which I’m sure is abundantly clear from the fact that I’m quoting Christopher Moore instead of the Bible, but there’s really something to be said for that sentiment. Who are we to judge others, and doesn’t that judgment really say more about ourselves than the person we’re judging? Maybe it’s our own actions that we should be examining before turning our eyes and thoughts onto someone else. It’s a work in progress.

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I saw a spider this morning while washing the dishes.

I had my shoe half off when something made me pause.
Some force, some hesitation. I took the time to pause.
Within that pause I saw something that I had never taken the time to see before.
That spider wasn’t invading my home,
He was making one of his own.
Nimbly he swung from one surface to the next.
His silvery, oh so faint, thread swaying in the breeze like a road map of sorts.
Each thread showing where he’d been and where he’d arrived
Until there were so many, that here and there became indistinguishable,
And all merely existed for the one common goal and destination.
To live.
To exist.
To have a place where you belong.
A place called home.
I slipped my shoe back on and returned to my chore,
Only this time I felt the warmth of the water,
The slip of the soap,
The edge of the knife with it’s brilliant point.
I took the time to pause.

Spider-web-1

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When I was younger I always assumed that I would eventually grow out of torturing my older sister. Stop pressing her buttons and annoying her simply for the pleasure of getting a rise out of her. You know maturity and all that. Thank goodness I was wrong, because let’s be honest, being a pain in her ass is one of my favorite past times! I think I will forever enjoy holding my finger an inch away from her and saying, “Not touching, can’t get mad.” True, I get elbowed every time I do it, but it’s worth it! Especially since now that I’m five inches taller than her, the elbow lands in my stomach instead of the ribs. Huge improvement! Recently I put a picture of the two of us up on Facebook which presented a lovely opportunity to drive her nuts, and since the exchange occurred over text messaging I can now share my mirth with you. So with out further ado, I present to you:

The Torture of Jen

Jen: What picture did you post of the two of us today?
Kat: You realize you could just go onto Facebook and look?
J: That’s so difficult when I can just ask you to send it to me. 🙂
K: Now why would I send it to you when instead I can tease you about having it and you not knowing which photo it is?
J: Cause you’re not a bitch.
K: I’m fairly certain that I’ve lost track of how many times you personally have called me a bitch. You’re argument is invalid.
J: I was hoping you’ve changed for the positive. Once again you dash my hopes.
K: Hey, change is scary. I don’t like to upset people.
J: 🙂 The real reason you should send it is because if you don’t I might actually go on Facebook and that’s not tease worthy.
K: But then you could catch up on all the fun memes I send you!
J: No
K:Then what’s the point in sending them?!?!
J: Because someday I will and then laugh historically for hours till I cry.
K: Well that day could be today!
J: No
K: And by the by, how does one laugh “historically?” Do you have to wear one of those powdered wigs while doing it?
J: Damn auto correct on the phone.
K: I bet you could laugh historically though. Set up some candles in a nice tableau. A couple of old timey costumes, then probably an overly formal polite laugh. That could be laughing historically. Or maybe just laughing at things in history. Maybe that’s laughing historically?
J: 🙂 You certainly seem busy at work today.
K: Swamped, how could you tell?
J: I just got a feeling.
. . .
J: Send the damn picture.
K: But I’m busy.
J: Lol.
K: Maybe I’d have time to send it if you stopped texting me.
. . .
K: Hello?
J: I was giving you the time you need to send the picture since you can’t read and send a text at the same time.
K: Oh! Well clearly that didn’t work since I was preoccupied thinking something had happened to you. So whatcha doin’ tonight?
J: No plans. You?
K: I have an article to write and an episode of Criminal Minds! 🙂 To watch. I’m watching Criminal Minds, not writing it.
J: 🙂 I figured that’s what you meant.
K: Well, just in case.
J: I assume if you get a job as a staff writer on a major TV show, I’ll hear about it pretty quick.
K: That’s a pretty safe bet.
J: Picture.
K: What picture?
J: You are a bitch.
K: See, there you go again!
J: You know you laughed.
K: Well that’s true, I did.
. . .
K: You realize that I sent the picture half an hour ago right?
J: You are a brat.
. . .
J: That’s a really good picture.

Jen and me

Yes, yes it is Jen. Now who’s sad that I’m not their little sister?

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Dear Kat,

I know that you’re frustrated with yourself and feeling down. You haven’t been able to string together more than 4 days in a row of feeling well since before Thanksgiving. Because of this you’re falling behind on deadlines and don’t have time to spend on the things that you want to do because all of your extra time is spent sleeping. You’re sick and tired, both literally and figuratively. However, you’re still going, you’re still moving and you’re still getting things done. You have not given up.

Not only have you not given up, you’ve set up appointments with specialists, you’ve cleaned up your diet – what little was left to be cleaned up – you have explored every avenue that you can think of that could be causing the malaise. You have taken an active role in trying to feel better. You don’t yet, but you will. So give yourself a break.

dog-nap

Don’t begrudge yourself the nap, enjoy it. Realize that while goals are important, they are actually detrimental if looking at them causes large quantities of stress instead of inspiration or motivation. Realize that goals can and should be changed if they no longer fit your current life. Maybe instead of beating yourself up over not being able to accomplish 3-4 workouts a week, you change your goal to 3-4 meditations a week and use that time to center and find peace. Peace is more important than toned abs.

Do what you need to do for yourself and forgive yourself of everything that falls by the wayside. Things that fall are not lost, they can be picked up and carried once more when you regain your strength. Forgive what you perceive to be short-comings. Forgive what you perceive to be weaknesses. Forgive that you are not perfect. No one is and trying to live to that standard is as futile as Sisyphus and his rock. Forgive yourself and focus on what is good.

Focus on what you have been able to accomplish thus far. Focus on what you will accomplish, in good time. Focus on all of the people that love you. Forgive yourself and focus on what is good.

Forgive yourself and focus on what is good. If you can do that, then all will be well.

Love,

Mom (Okay, not really from my mom, but what I hope she’d say right now.)

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I had a little mini panic attack yesterday because it occurred to me that my car registration expires in either March or April, but I couldn’t remember which one. If March, then I’ve been driving around on borrowed time. A frickin’ parking ticket in this city starts at $60. I can’t imagine what an expired registration ticket costs. So as soon as I got home I raced to my desk, dug through the “Important, Don’t Lose this Shit” pile and pulled out my shiny new registration sticker. I breathed a sigh of relief – April. I also silently called myself a dumbass because it occurred to me that I could have simply looked at the back plate of my car instead of stressing until I got home. Live and learn . . . and stop calling yourself a dumbass, dumbass. Damnit!

Sophistry Quote

Now I know what you’re thinking. If I already had the sticker, why hadn’t I put it on my car already? Well that’s simple. I paid for my registration back in February, when I got my tax refund, but it doesn’t expire until April. Therefore, by putting the new sticker on in February I would be cheating myself out of two months that I paid for on my old sticker. What kind of sense does that make?!? Truth be told it raised my hackles a bit when I put the new sticker on there today with 20 days left on the old sticker. But since the rest of my month is really busy I was afraid that I’d forget and I figured that losing 20 days on my old sticker was cheaper than a ticket in May for expired registration.

Yes, I am well aware that this line of reasoning is absolutely asinine. If I truly followed this thinking to the letter I wouldn’t pay for my new registration until the end of April. However, I am waaaaaay too type A for that. In fact I’m pretty sure I’d be in a permanent flop sweat waiting for the new sticker to get in at the end of the month if I tried. So I pay for it in February which makes my head happy, and I put it on the car in April to stick it to the man! Okay that’s totally not sticking it to the man in any sense whatsoever, but it’s as close as I’m willing to get in this particular instance as I’m really not overly fond of parting with my money unnecessarily.

Unless of course it involves getting out of paying for parking. I can’t stand paying for parking. I will show up places 30 minutes early so that I have time to drive through every nearby neighborhood on the off chance that I can find free parking. I have boycotted places simply because there is no free parking anywhere nearby. I blame this on growing up in a tiny, backwater mountain town where a parking lot with painted spaces was considered fancy, and the only reason you had to pay for parking was if you ran over somebody’s beer and had to go buy them a new one. Therefore, I would rather spend $5 at CVS on random junk/food to get my parking validated instead of paying $3 for parking.

parking

Again, I am well aware that this line of reasoning is absolutely asinine and true, that is more expensive, but it’s the principal of the thing! I would rather pay more for something tangible, than pay less for the privilege of having my car take up space for twenty minutes. Think about it. Paying for parking is essentially paying for the privilege of your car taking up space. That is asinine! Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go drive around for ten minutes trying to find another two-hour free parking spot.