But first a confession.
Despite this very public forum, and despite the fact that I am usually putting everything right out there for the world to see, I am actually a very introverted, shy, and pretty "guarded" individual. I loathe talking about myself, or how I'm doing, or what I'm feeling, etc etc, even though this little blog of mine seems to be one continuous hurricane of every bit of crazy in this pointy little head of mine.
(I also have a very bad habit of getting around Miss Charlene and my guild buddies and I suddenly want to tell them every single thought or feeling or experience I've had since the last moment I saw them and have a terrible propensity for blurting out the most non-relevant fact or comment right smack dab in the middle of a conversation. It's like I'm a four year old that has been allowed at the big girl table and I have a lot to say while I drink my juice from my sippy cup and play with my toys.)
But that's another embarrasing problem for another embarrasing day.
I've always been of the opinion that a simple "Fine, thank you. How are you?" is the appropriate response to anyone asking, but this here blog has put me in a much different head space. (Seriously...you can ask my friends from childhood what they know about me, and they will tell you that emotional intimacy is not exactly my strong suit. I always thought of myself as the quiet confidant...sitting in the corner nodding sympathetically while the world told me its problems.)
I suppose it's the age we're living in, but who knew I would be capable of spewing out every single thought I've ever had on a daily basis? I'm still trying to wrap my head around this whole TMI culture of ours, yet here I am...TMI'ing my brains out day by day under the banner of stitchy blogging.
I also come from a long line of very strong, very stoic peoples who didn't talk about anything that was ailing them. That's not to say that I was told to "Suck it up, Buttercup"... quite the opposite. My mom and dad were very kind and loving parents who gently brushed the world away when I didn't feel good. But we didn't use the "d" word. Or the "c" word. Or any "f" words much for that matter.
(The big three, kids...depression...cancer...feelings. You know...anything remotely having to do with one's "insides".)
As with any family, I'm sure the history of mental health problems is long and varied. And I know that my own mental health history is chock full of all of those very scary, very serious, very troublesome episodes of...taking a deep breath here...depression, anxiety, trauma, agoraphobia....all of the things that I have stuffed right down into the bag along with the physical stuff in the hopes that somebody somewhere figures out a way to fix me.
Many of you have been kind enough to write to me offering the loving suggestion that I seek help with this. And while I've addressed it casually before...I figured I would just put it out there once and for all so that those of you who care will know that I am heeding your advice and am taking care of myself.
I see a therapist.
I take medication for depression.
Holey Schmoley. In 51 years I never would have expected me to have the capacity to say those things out loud. But enough is enough when it comes to me trying to pretend that all is well, tomorrow is another day, la dee da, la de dee da, ad nauseum.
The truth of the matter is that the last 15 years or so of my life have been bloody difficult. Fortunately for me, my family doctor recognized this and sent me to a woman who specializes in treating people with serious medical challenges, and over the course of the last year she has given me some life saving tools to handle this mess of mine.
I have also been blessed with angels that watch over me and make sure I don't completely fall down the rabbit hole, and then there is this entire thing of ours that continues to awe, delight, and humble me on a daily basis.
So. Dear friends. Thank you thank you thank you for your loving concern about my health...physical, mental, emotional and otherwise. I promise you that I have a wonderful team, a drawer full of meds, and the mindset that I can't do this alone. I am being a good patient and love you very very dearly for your concern.
Now...having said all of this...we're going to resume our regularly scheduled programming of a portly spinster careening her way through this crazy world of ours, armed with nothing but her wits and needlework.
Stay tuned...the hapless adventures of Yours Truly continue!