I've decided I have to get back to writing, for my own sake, for my psyche's sake. Several teachers told me, long ago, that writing was to be a path for me. And it really was, but I lost it somewhere along the way, amidst other priorities. But not completely, it has always been present, ever since as I can remember myself as me.
And writing about what I'm going through now, seems like a reasonable way through - a path, if I may.
Today was neither here nor there in the grand excitement of my roller coaster emotions. It just was. Duties were fulfilled, Cora was tended to, the hours flowed by almost completely gracefully.
However, there is a glitch coming up on my radar. Easter. Frickin Easter Holidays. FOUR WHOLE DAYS of HOLIDAY.
Have I mentioned I have a loooot of trouble with non-weekdays? With vacations, weekends, holidays - ever since Cora was born? I mean, I had this sort of trouble when I was a child, too, but then I learned to value free time and it ceased to be an issue. Until Cora was born. Then what happened? Routine became my saving grace - knowing what to count on became central to my sanity, for there is so so so much you cannot predict, at least a routine in a familiar place with familair people, in my safe corner of the world - it helps tremendously when I'm dealing not only with a baby, but with my own mind and its flights of fancy and extreme anxiety. Routine is my pacificier.
I have no idea what is to be of this holiday. I am dreading it, I am trying not to make it worse than it has to be by fretting, but I also want to take preventive measures, realistic measures, to help my own self out, since I'm the one who knows myself best.
We'll see...I'll keep this updated, because I need to, for me! I need to tell my own story and regain my voice, my many voices, I guess...VOICE, I miss you. I've got to stop caring what other people think or don't think, or whatever. This is, in grand part, what the blog is about. But I DO care about people who care and would like to share how they care (rhyme much?). That will mean the world to me.
domingo, 13 de abril de 2014
Mothering with depression. (Or anything with depression, for that matter)
I´ve had a long history with depression and anxiety disorders of many sorts, and ten years of being on on and off again medications of all sorts...and then I had a baby.
And I was able to taper off, to embrace my need to breastfeed her the purest of milks, to not haze my perceptions or days with the meds...
But that didn´t work for too long. Because, let´s face it, I am still me.
And recently, I have been struggling especially hard. The thing is, serious depression, yet non-debilitating depression, is really tough as well, becasue you´re out there, functioning, so it doesn´t really seem that hard, now does it? But there are days when all I wish I could do is sit in a corner and cry, cry, cry. My chest gets heavy, my mind comes to a halt, all sorts of negative voices stir up and emotionally whip me down to my metaphorical knees. And there are days when I can´t believe I got through it, that all was done, that it´s over...but then it´ll all start again in a few hours. Where is the relief?
I am so tired, guys. So tired. I feel caught, I feel misunderstood by those closest to me, I have trouble trusting that I am accepted and loved no matter what, that this too shall pass, that this does not define me, that this is what medication is for, don´t feel guilty...but guilt and negative future thinking is a bloody inherent part of this condition, so yes, I am struggling. There are days, and nights, especially, when I am running on close to empty, next to nothing but faith alone. Thank God faith can take someone a long way.
sexta-feira, 4 de abril de 2014
Flitter, flitter here, flitter flatter there. I have a toddler butterfly around the house. Today she flittered everywhere, between ducks in the park and crayons in the bathroom. Imagination unfolds as I see her in endless chit chatter with herself and the play she is engaged in, hard at work.
Flitter flitter, little girl.
I am less graceful. I am more of the "trying-not-to-trip-over-small-objects-and-toys-as-I-tend-to-ten-things-at-once." Not to mention, let's not trip over the flittering creature going to and fro, oblivious to my ten things all at once.
I know I am becoming quite notorious for saying this - but I can't help myself, forgive me - this mothering thing is befuddling, befuddling! That is why I find myself talking in Dr. Seussian code and rhyme. The mysteries that lie behind this state of procreating, or rearing, of nurturing…I witness love and vulnerability so closely everyday it makes my heart hurt, for the tenderness, but also for the potential for hurt. There is so much potential for hurt out there for the pure of heart. It is this vulnerability that melts me and makes me want to hide away when I look at the world. But she also teaches me about courage, which does come from the heart - the coeur. Vulnerability would be null without the heart that declares, I am here, I am here, beating, give me your starving, your poor, your delights and your butterflies!
quarta-feira, 2 de abril de 2014
No mundo do meio. Olhando pela janela.
Depois de um ano e meio cuidando de um bebê, me dá uma coceira quando observo das margens o mundo dito "normal" seguindo, fluindo. O mercado de trabalho, a tal carreira, e as qualificações, estudos, viagens. Me dá uma confusão na cabeça sobre o que é mais importante pra mim agora. Me dá outra confusão de como equilibrar as várias coisas importantes, ou o que ainda é preciso sacrificar. Tempo é uma comodidade e tanto.
Gosto de fazer escolhas conscientes, pois por mais que sejam não-convencionais, se eu estiver consciente dos meus porquês, eu fico (um pouco mais) tranquila e fortalecida.
No meio desses comichões e confusões, fui olhar uma creche hoje, junto com a tum-tum. Ao longo do passeio fui apertando ela mais e mais contra mim, e ela se apoiava mais e mais contra meu ombro. Nem precisa dizer que sai de lá triste ao ver aquelas crianças, triste em pensar na Cora lá. Não sei se é pela creche em si, ou se é por eu não estar pronta pra deixar minha filha numa instituição. Não sei.
Só sei que voltei mais segura das minhas escolhas, por mais difíceis que possam ser. Fez com que eu a deixasse hoje na casa da avó segura, feliz, em paz. Nós duas, acredito.
Viro e reviro a internet atrás de contatos, de aprendizado, de vagas de trabalho, à procura de um caminho. Tenho acertado e errado na mira na mesma proporção - mas muitas vezes são os outros que me acham no meio desse mundo cibernético, e cada vez me parece um pequeno milagre, como se Deus me dissesse, viu, estou aqui, lembrando de você, tenha fé.
Nunca minha fé foi tão importante, pois sem ela nada faria sentido, tudo seria desesperador. Tenho que acreditar que, do mesmo jeito que Cora tem a mim para velar pelo seu sono, seu desperatar e seu dia, tem alguém fazendo o mesmo por mim quando não tenho tempo nem energia para tanto.
Entrego. Confio. Agradeço. Aceito.