Ugh

(Or, is this rock bottom?)

Today was … not good.

The cough continues. The aches continue. Nothing is resolved. I don’t meet the criteria for Covid-19 testing here, so I could have it… and we’ll never know. Stuff like that can mess with your head.

I’m a step away from falling into the blahs. Which I won’t tell my mental health professionals about because they’ll want me to go on an antidepressant and – just nope. The last one was a disaster, I hate feeling like a guinea pig/lab rat “ooh, let’s try this one, poke poke, see what happens”… nope, I’m over that. If I’m significantly depressed, I know which antidepressant has worked in the past. I’ll be willing to take that. But I’m not anywhere near there yet.

We’ll all just keep singing happy little songs until this passes, huh?

Remember your social distancing and wash your hands

Love

Caity

Since it’s still my birthday week

(I started writing this ages ago…)

and I was going through my computer today…

(it was “today” when I wrote the bulk of this post….)

I found some slides that had been converted to a usable format. All of my childhood is trapped on slides, little yellow topped boxes, hidden away. Stuck in a cupboard in Mum and Dad’s house. Somehow I got a few scanned, some… I couldn’t make any sense of, I didn’t know the story behind the photo.

But some I did.

I’m not going to apologise for the image quality, I could have tried to edit it, but I wanted to leave the authentic slide film experience.

Obviously my love of pointy party hats goes back a long way!

I was four. My Mum put so much effort into this whole party!

I think I count 8 kids? Maybe 9? And this with my sister still in a high chair. All that special party food, and the very special “Old Woman Who Lived In A Shoe” birthday cake, which needed extra decorations.

Mum helping, me being imperious…

Nana was also there, so Grandpa must have been (photo to follow, I need to upload) and of course Dad was taking photos.

My childhood birthday parties were amazing things. I remember Mum going to so much trouble every year – not just the cake, there was the new dress, (which she made), and who would come, and some years I remember I insisted on themes….

Now I don’t do much for birthdays. It’s mostly a new book. I wonder what happened to the kid who loved birthday parties so much? Do we all just lose that joy?

Maybe tomorrow I’ll make something nice and birthday-ish, anyway.

Take time to remember, maybe cook something nice…. and wash your hands

Love

Caity

Caity, oh Caity, where have you been?

(ummm… not out?!)

Most definitely, not out.

Sigh.

This cold. Or flu. Or whatever it is. I’m tired of having it (and of it making me tired!) I’m sniffly and coughing and weak as a kitten, although the last day or two have been better, so I’m hoping I’m heading towards recovery.

I did cook, with lots of hand washing and appropriate hygiene, another big stew/soup in the slow cooker:

Mmmmm soouuup

But allll that pumpkin had… well, let’s just say it’s disagreed with some of us. Oops. Luckily, there’s other stuff in the freezer, so one person can gradually eat this lot up, while the other clears up other food. And we know pumpkin is now off the menu.

I’ve missed everything this week. Haven’t called people, haven’t exercised, haven’t done any art, just slept a lot, ate a bit, read a bit, then collapsed back into bed. The highlight of the week was getting clean sheets on the bed.

I had a couple of days where I overdid it on reading the news. There’s so many conflicting numbers. “This is the only number you need to know”, says one source, trumpeting that the R-0 is dropping, thanks to most people behaving decently. And yet: “Be prepared for Level 4 social restrictions, and this is what they may look like”, and “police impose record fines for bad behaviour”…

I try to let all that go, and wait for Dr Norman Swan and ABC health reporter Tegan Taylor to tell me the fair dinkum stuff on the Coronacast Podcast (and I miss them on the weekends).

The other podcast I listen to during the week without fail I can’t find a way to link to, but here’s a screenshot of their logo. It’s an offshoot of another podcast I listen to, but this is a daily one, and is as the two hosts say, “here to provide comfort so we don’t all go bananas in this crazy time”.

be wary, they’re sometimes sweary.

They may be sweary sometimes, but they’re also honest, and compassionate, and real. (And privileged and white, sure, but still, I’m not going to hold that against them right now.) The amount of work that goes into producing a podcast is huge, and to do it daily with kids at home even if you do have access to great equipment etc is a significant commitment, plus they’re keeping up their other podcasts.

Me, I’m more…

Yup. Sums it up.

Meanwhile, poor Mr Beloved has had to do rather a lot, apart from making sure that Ms Emmalumpdogg goes out for her walk

Smug Doggo will insist!

He’s also been the one tasked with venturing out for groceries and the dreaded chemist run. The chemist is the worst, we reckon that it’s the biggest pathogen palace around. Last night I realised I’d somehow run out of lip balm completely. Not a skerrick left. And of course, I only wear red lippy – not a viable substitute. Neither, it turns out, is hand moisturiser… yuk!

Oh, and it’s Easter Saturday as I’m writing this. It feels very odd, still, after all these years, not going to church for Easter. I miss the traditional hymns and service of the Anglican Church, although I suppose my memory of it is like an insect in amber now, and nobody even does it that way anymore. I’ll potter about the house with Easter hymns ringing through my head tomorrow, no doubt, but mostly the church left me long ago. I feel sorry for those who have true church community and are missing out this year, for who knows how long.

Well, that’s it. I’m in no way caught up, I have other posts waiting here, but my eyes tell me I have to stop.

Remember to call someone you need to talk with, cook something yummy, and wash your hands!

Love,

Caity

Not much today…

I feel like I’ve washed my hands a hundred times, the skin actually started to split, in the little webs between my fingers.

Does she really need a caption?

I watched Her Majesty’s speech (online, I didn’t get up at 5 am to watch it live) and thought she was very inclusive. And even though she didn’t say

She could well have. Her “we will meet again” was a beautiful touch, I thought, well done to whoever wrote the whole thing.

And now I’m tired. More tomorrow. But at least I wrote something.

Remember, sleep is healing, buy some more hand cream, and keep washing those hands!

Love

Caity

Vulnerability is not a dirty word- or, yoga for the left/right dyslexic

Tonight, I went back to doing yoga. Something I’d been meaning to do for a long time, but this week’s email from Adriene resonated… and I showed up.

And it was tough. There were tears. There were moves I couldn’t do, (but I kept going as much as I could) and a long way to go. The class was 35 minutes of yoga for vulnerability and as I worked, with Emmalumpdogg helping (sometimes by blocking areas of the mat) I was grateful for Adriene’s gentleness. And her sense of humour. I didn’t think the end of the thirty five minutes was ever going to come and then there I was…and I’d even held two full planks (not for long, but I’d done it!)

Obviously, this is how I look while I’m relaxing. Obviously.

It’s taken ages even to write this much, as the pain is starting to kick in and I’m tired.

And did I mention I’m left/right dyslexic? So when she says things like “now take take your left arm and point that elbow down, down, down past your right knee, nose to the sky” I’m still saying “wait, my left is THIS one, it’s going THERE, and where’s my nose… what, you’ve gone where now?” But she’s so calm about it all I try anyway, and keep going, and do things I would never do if this was a yoga class full of people who could see me.

I might do more (a shorter class, one I’ve done before) tomorrow- or I might call it a recovery day.

For now though: get some exercise, talk with someone you love, and wash your hands!

Love,

Caity

 

 

Swings and roller coasters …

Yesterday was my birthday. I’m now (mumbletysomething) years old. And I’m grateful. There were times when I didn’t think I’d reach anywhere near half the age I am now, or thirty, or forty, let alone pass fifty. There have been bad moments. Bad days. Bad years, even. There have been weeks where I haven’t seen the sun, haven’t wanted to get out of bed, haven’t looked after myself.

And those times could come again.

I live with brittle bipolar disorder. Which means I get the usual highs and lows of bipolar disorder – but I get them hard, and fast. Imagine being on one of those deranged, loop-the-loop, high adrenaline roller coasters at a theme park, when you’d rather be on the kid’s level roller coaster, gently trundling up and down. I’d love that, just… that’s not how it works for me.

It’s managed. Mostly. I get a lot of help. I was very late in getting a diagnosis. And my life probably would have looked different if I’d known sooner, but hey – here we are. Another year older. I tend to stay quiet on my birthdays because I miss people who haven’t made it this far. So, apart from a little photographic silliness, I had a quiet day – read a little, binge watched some stuff, listened to some podcasts.

Today I managed a little more – while Ms Emmalumpdogg was out for her walk with her Daddy, I dragged out the vacuum and got the worst of the front room done, went back through the lounge room and kitchen, at least at floor level. (It’s best to vacuum while Emm is out, because she’s still convinced the vacuum is The Enemy. She has become reconciled to the necessity of brooms and dustpans, but I don’t think we’re ever going to win the vacuum war).

Then later I got some more exercise (it all counts) using the pear corer so I could make pear crumble for pudding. We were lucky enough to get a big bag of Packham pears on sale so we’ve been eating them up, but they’re much better cooked. My arms are very weak (actually, all of me is very weak, I have wasted muscles as a result of anorexia and that’s one of those things I need to work on – it’s not just psychological recovery, it’s long term physical recovery as well) and I get tired and injured so easily.

I was looking back at some photos earlier tonight, comparing how I used to look to how I look now. And I really prefer the way I used to look. Not just the longer, natural hair (I miss that, too) but the face shape, the healthier look. I feel like my new face belongs to someone else, not me. I want my proper face back. Hair that doesn’t break. Muscles that don’t scream when I try to do something simple like close a window. I want to want to eat. Some days… are easier than others in that.

Sometime after April 2018
April 2020

There’s probably… 15+ kg difference between those photos? Could be more. I wasn’t in the habit of weighing myself before (and I’m only allowed to weigh myself once a week now) so I couldn’t say for sure. I’m working towards an initial goal weight but so far I can’t get back up there. I’ve been stable for a few weeks now, so at least that’s one roller coaster I’ve stepped off, even if it’s just for a while.

I’m tired. Enough of the roller coasters for now.

Enjoy the ride. Walk in the sun (a socially safe distance apart). And wash your hands!

Love,

Caity