Not Never, But Today

Yes, I did. I did tell my sister that I was never going to blog again. I meant it, too. I have had very little energy for doing things beyond the bare minimum. And honestly, if you come look at my kitchen, you will see that I have redefined "the bare minimum" to a shocking new low. That's fine, really; I can live with a certain level of slovenliness. Honestly, I think that the mess isn't as bad as it has been, it's just getting on my nerves. I guess that's a good thing.

Here is where I tell you that this post has some language issues. If you are offended by the f-bomb, you might want to quit now. I think I use it twice. Maybe 3 times. You have been warned.

So what brings me back? I'm so glad you asked. Today is World Suicide Awareness Day. It has been a long time since I have been suicidal, but I still battle depression. I use the war metaphor advisedly. I battle that mother-fucker. Sometimes depression battles me, gives me a sucker punch to the gut and while I am gasping for air and squeezing out a few tears, it boxes my ears and pulls on my hair, twists my arm around my back and plunges me face first into the floor. I lie there for a while. The floor is a nice place to be when you are depressed.

Except I pulled up all of the carpets (as in a very dear friend pulled them up, and I watched) so at SOME point, I get a crick in my neck. At some point, the world comes in, and I might as well get up and do something. Getting up from that floor is quite often the hardest thing I do.

Most of this is figurative. I very rarely actually do a face plant on the floor. Usually when I am depressed, I am able to go to work. I am able to parent (sort of). I'm not very good company, and I think that has cost me some good friendships along the way, because it's hard to be a very good friend when you are figuratively face down on the floor. (True story: when I was in college, people used to say that I had a black cloud of despair over my head. These were my friends. I don't know if they knew I knew they said that, because it was only repeated to me, not said to my face. But they were right.)

What helps me is to figure out one thing. What ONE thing can I do today that will make me feel less of a waste of oxygen? What ONE thing can I do that I can point to and say, "See that there? I did that." The point of my one thing is that it has to be completely within my reach. None of this exceeding my grasp or what's a heaven for crapola. Nope. My one thing can be putting in a load of laundry. Unloading the dishwasher. SOMETHING that will take my downward death spiral of negativity and put the brakes on.

Every day, I try to find my one thing. Every day, I try to find something else to be grateful for. Because the thing is, that mother fucker depression? She's a lying whore. She will tell you that you can't. But trust me, you can. You just have to do whatever it is one manageable thing at a time. And if you should think to yourself that the one manageable thing is harming yourself, please don't.

In the United States, the suicide hotline is 1-800-273-8255. When I just googled it, I got 3 more local ones. There are bloggers out there who want to help you. The Bloggess speaks out about depression, and recently someone posted a comment to her blog they were suicidal. Within minutes there were messages of love and support. You matter. I promise you do.

Patience

The word in the title is this week's writing prompt for a kickass group of women singer songwriters. You can find them on Facebook or on their youtube channel. Fourteen women. One song a week. 52 weeks. You really should go meet them now. The group of women are varied in age, style, and geographical location...but linked by love of song and the community spirit. I am so very much looking forward to seeing and hearing what they do in the upcoming year.

I had thought I might try to jump start my blogging (AGAIN) by using the weekly prompts. I didn't really think that the first one would be quite so timely.

I resigned from my job today. It hadn't been very much fun for a while, and things became unbearable over the past 10 days. The reasons aren't much fun to rehash, so I will refrain from doing so. However, it leaves me at loose ends (AGAIN) as far as what I want to be when I grow up.

There are a number of jobs that I think are more than jobs. Jobs that help define (to greater or lesser extent) who a person is. I don't just work as a nurse. I am a nurse. I was out with a co-worker some months back, and we were introduced to someone. In the usual way of small talk, we were asked, "What do you do?" I answered, "I'm a nurse." I indicated towards my friend and said, "She is a creative, free spirit, but she pays the bills by working in the administrative side of our practice." I didn't even know which words were going to come out of my mouth, but I knew that introducing her as "whatever-her-actual-job-title-was" would have been incorrect.

So, what does a nurse who isn't working do? I suppose looking for a job is priority number one. I will begin that process again over the weekend. It has now been two years since I returned to Atlanta from Houston. There has been little of that two years when I felt that the job I was doing was what I was meant to do. I'm really struggling with that. I know that I will land on my feet. I know I can get another j.o.b. I'm more frustrated about the fact that I'm not doing what I am supposed to be doing. I keep finding things that aren't quite right...for one reason or another.

I'm really, really patient when it comes to waiting in lines and sitting in traffic...this patience as I find the right spot for me to be the wonderful nurse that I know that I am is quite a bit more difficult to manage...but I will get there. In the meantime, if anyone has any patience to spare, I'm accepting.