Worth Writing

Signs of life

I’m feeling a little different these days.  There are signs of a return to Steph, if not exactly Life, “Life” as in “bursting with energy, creativity, and celebration.”  It may be the result of new medication, but it may also be the result of a new bra.  No, no!  Don’t “pshaw” me!  You have no idea!  I read an article stating that a remarkable number of us are wearing the wrong bra sizes/shapes and wondered about myself.  I had myself all figured out (sorry for the pun there) years ago, but have since gained much weight and changed shape a bit.  Upon redoing the proper calculations I was stunned by how much I’d changed.  Off I went to the store and for a few days now I have been lounging around in the correct bra size and shape marveling over the lack of physical discomfort and wondering how it was possible I ever got so used to it that I never even considered it to be a sign that something was very wrong. 

The only answer I can come up with is that as the changes were accruing around my chest area, discomfort was becoming the norm in my heart and mind as well.  Gradually, it just all blended together and I could no longer identify the sources of various and sundry pinches, pulls, pokes, pushes, or note whether they were mental, emotional, or physical.  Mental and emotional distress always becomes physical. 

Besides alleviating a long-present ache n my back, I have divested myself of another physical irritation in this past couple of weeks: hair rubbing my neck.  Do I hear you laughing at me?  *smile*  S’okay.  Even I have to laugh at the wonder of what small annoyances can do to me given enough time.  Simple, my hair has been too long for too long and I wouldn’t cut it because (1) I believed it was more womanly, and (2) it was the first time it had been long since my mother chopped it off without my permission when I was young.  I felt that the long hair was like having something back that I’d lost, both because of my mother and life circumstances that had recently attacked my womanhood.  The long hair was an act of self-love and of defiance.  However, the feeling of hair constantly rubbing around my neck and shoulders was making me nuts.  I put my hair up in a pony tail every chance I got to spare myself the irritation (not an attractive look for my broad face).  Finally, I had to admit it was only sane to relieve myself of what discomfort I could considering how awful I’ve felt for so long now.  Against the protestations of my hairdresser I got the cut I wanted and I love it.  A week later I still love it.  Most importantly, I sit here with my journal wearing the right bra and smiling as my hair does not constantly fall in my face while I try to write!

But there’s bigger stuff afoot.  It’s a sign of life that even those who have never been depressed can relate to.  It shocked me when it happened.  Right out of the blue!  I had a chill I couldn’t shake and so I went into the bedroom to grab a towel for a quick hot bath, looked around the room and thought, “I’d like to change this.  When I get out of the bath I’m going to rearrange the furniture.”  Just like that!  LOL  Since I was small and figured out I could move big stuff by sitting with my back against big-heavy-thing and pushing with my legs against another big-heavy-thing, I have been The Re-Arranger.  Everyone who comes into my home knows I’m not well when things have sat in one place so long a great blanket of dust has been allowed to descend like a death shroud.  When there is no Life in me there is not Life in my house.  But last night something moved me to move something!  Woo hoo!

I like the new arrangement well enough to be sitting in the room now on the dog’s couch/bed writing in my journal and consoling the couch’s owner who does not like the new arrangement at all.  Okay, so it’s a long way from returning to my artwork, but re-envisioning anything is starting down the path toward it. 

I can try to make this sound exciting or funny, but I have to admit to myself that I’m basically saying, “I got a haircut, I bought a new bra, and I re-arranged my bedroom furniture.”  Big flipping deal.  Well…here’s the way it is: I can choose to compare these signs of life (where there were none at all before) with what an energetic, healthy person does every day including working eight hours on top of the bra shopping, hair cutting, and furniture arranging and let it push me back onto the couch under the enormous invisible weight of hopelessness, or I can try to stop worrying about looking pathetic and put my energy into getting better.  I can choose to point to these signs of improvement and shout, “Land ahoy!  Land ahoy!”  LOL  I have been, after all, forever and ever adrift. 

Last night my mate drew his fingers sweetly along the length of my arm and the sensation made me shiver with delight.  I mean just OUT of this world YUM!  This is not some new move.  We’ve been together for twelve years.  There are no new moves left.  For such a long time, however, that same move that used to make me shiver with delight left me totally underwhelmed.  Most people don’t know that being depressed means often not being able to feel physical pleasure anymore. Many people know we simply no longer enjoying activities like reading or gardening, but how many of you know that food often loses its flavour, that hot showers and other acts of care which used to bring physical pleasure only highlight how numb the body has become to fine sweet touches.  Last night, however, I shivered for the first time since god-who-knows and I was so surprised I blurted out, “I’m gonna live!” and laughed, but I wasn’t laughing because it was funny.  I was relieved.  I was really beginning to wonder.