Planner Goals

• See and understand my existing schedule (sleep, wake, "on" times, "off" times.
• keep track of every new thing added each day
• keep track of accomplishments
• track time sensitive goals
• keep appointments and have a system to easily access them at a glance
• keep track of money going out
• shopping lists (stuff, daily groceries, costco, mail order)
• plan meals
• keep track of shows, tickets, timing
• important family and friend stuff (birthdays, holidays)
• remind myself to take care of things that I need for myself (blogging, exercising, downtime)
• be able to show any of these things at a glance
• keep this up in a practical and sustainable way, daily
• make it cute

I'm really not using this blog to it's fullest potential.  I never needed therapy before, because I just rattled endlessly to my blog.  I sorted out my brain and thoughts from the big emotional stuff, to mundane.  I hide if I think someone's 'reading' it.  Jake had been stalking it for awhile, and I was using it partially as a way to communicate to him, or just explore deep feelings.  I need it for journaling.  Like this. 

So let's write.  Last night Irv and Luiz and I went out to the Count Basie theater.  We got tickets for a free double feature of Resoirvoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction.  The place was mobbed, the popcorn was cheap, and everyone was SO into it!  There were no hordes of teenagers being annoying.  There were no phones out.  People cheered, clapped, and laughed out loud through both movies, and the applause didn't happen at the end, it happened with great scenes, great one-liners.  Cheap ass date night!  We're going to see the documentary Amy there next.  I love movies so much, I used to go to the second run movie theater for $2 movies two or three times a week when I was a kid.  Then I met Irv, he hates movies, and that part of my life dried up for awhile.  We had so much fun, now Irv himself is telling me to pick up tickets for the next showing when I'm in Red Bank.  So, fun!

Today is the first day in over a week that it's not 90+ degrees in the house.  With my newfound energy, I've been dying to clean the bedroom and make it 'right'.  Today sort of became that day, in between writing this.  I realize, in my life that productivity is like working out.  Something that I can do, I enjoy doing, but it takes some doing to make it happen.  Productivity and organization does not come naturally to me at all.  Clearly, based on what my desk looks like right now.  Foodstuffs, spilled weed, hair products, candy, perfume, lighters, wires, makeup, tarot cards, crayons, shot glasses... um, no pens.  No paper.  Seriously.  When I looked at my "workspace" just now, I was like "it's impossible to work here.  Just getting to paperwork is a huge hurdle to climb.  It's time to fix this.  I need to not make hard things to do any harder.

I'm looking at the ruin of my desk right now.  I gotta figure out how to put pictures in here again, because I would love to have a before and after.  Good for motivation.  I just got distracted to try to figure that out.  I got distracted from cleaning to write a bit (ok, that's ok) then I got distracted writing to add apps to my phone.  Then I got dicking around on my phone, and 10 minutes go by.  My desk is in ruin.

I will take pictures and figure it all out after.

Last night I started my planner.  It's blooming like a flower.  It's all making sense to me, and I'm falling into it perfectly.  I need this.  I can't run this house, my business, the House Stuff, and everything else that our particular situation needs from me, without some sort of navigation and set of my own books.  

What I've noticed:  Sleeping more makes me want to do more.  Doing more makes me think more about how I do things.  Thinking about how gets me thinking "how can I be more productive, more efficient?"  These are not questions I've asked of myself since...college?  Since the house burned down?  I just go and do.  Now I'm re-evaluating everything.  Efficiency, value, productivity, mental health, physical health.

There has been a recent shift in my life.  I could mark it from the Jake thing, but it was long before all that.  And maybe why I handled things the way I did.  Anyway, that friend-ship sailed (ha) and I am quite ok with it.  I didn't realize for a long time that it was already heading that direction.  Years of wasting illness, and a peaceful death.

But this shift is happening on a larger scale.  I'm mired in depression, I have lost sight of my giant goals.  It takes every ounce of effort just to get up in the morning, get dressed, and do things.  I avoid people that truly love and care for me, and have been too involved in some weird approval seeking behavior from people who obviously don't give a fuck.  I have been sick and sore and sad and sleepy for months.

I wake up every morning feeling the same way.  Except that I'm not.  First, we conquered a lifetime of insomnia.  Up till the beginning of July, I had been averaging 3 hours a sleep a day/night often taken in 45 minute naps.  I'd collapse from exhaustion at 4, then Irv's alarm clock would get both of us up at 5.  I'd lay awake for an hour and try to fall back to sleep.  Then I'd sleep from maybe 7-8:30, and Luiz would come to bed, and I'd wake up and we'd have sex, or talk, or cuddle.  Sometimes, I would go back to sleep, sometimes, I would just get up and have my day, then have maybe an hour nap later.  If I could sleep.  In the beginning of July, my doctor diagnosed me with sleep deficit disorder and put me on very mild sleeping pills.  Things. Are. MUCH. Better.  I sleep 8 hours.  I wake up feeling energized.  I haven't woken up feeling energized since I was a teenager.

I discovered that I'm working out more.  Walking more.  Being more physically active in subtle ways.  My body is just craving activity, and I have started belly dancing again.  I take tons of selfies (that I never post) because I am appreciating my body.  I accidentally lost 40 pounds.  I quit my doctor when he said "you're doing everything wrong".  All under this miasma of depression, this fog.  Doing things subconsciously.

Reaching out for the right people.  Avoiding the small, sick, toxic types.

I've been going out more.  Having more fun.

In 20 minutes, I'm going out planner shopping.  Then to the bank. Then to therapy.

I mentioned this a few weeks ago, and it's truer now than ever.  I've been focusing too much energy on a friendship.  I find myself repeating this to customers and not enough to myself.  People don't change.  I have to remind myself that no matter how bad of a story they tell, how miserable they seem...that it's a choice.  If you tell the same tragic story your whole life, and continue to expose yourself to the hardship and abuse, with that level of self awareness, then I can only honor it as a choice.  And, that frees me from worry.  Like, I can love someone that doesn't love themselves, but I can't force them into self care. I can only passively offer support.

I generally stay uninvolved, but when the drama lands squarely in my lap, usually feel like I have no choice but to react, or empathize, or help. I realize now, that even though people will bring the drama right to my fucking front door in the middle of the night, they're not looking for empathy or help or support.  I don't exactly know what they're looking for.  That's where my stress comes from.  Not knowing how to help, not knowing if it's wanted, and generally being in the dark.  I think the "being in the dark" thing is the real kicker.  I can only react to what I see and hear.  I keep that very specific, because I do have the ability to pull cards, and see things, but I respect my friends well enough to not do that, and take everything they say at face value instead.  If the face a person shows me isn't honest. then "face value" is valueless.  That's where I'm at now.

I used the word "best friend" and treated this friend the way I would treat anyone I regard that close, and I realized weeks ago, before all this current drama, that I am propagating a lie in my head, and if I simply look over the years, I've never been treated that way in return.  It's been troubling me for over a month.  He's not only not a "best friend", he treats me like the enemy often enough that it's taking a toll.  This friend has gone out of his way to disclude me from his life, keep me separated from the rest of his friends, and keep me in the dark about his life in general, to the point of constantly and actively lying.

In the past year or so, it's gotten worse, and it's making me feel like this ship has sailed. The whole thing is thrown into juxtaposition when I spend time with people that actually call *me* their best friend.  My actual friends want me around.  My friends seek me out and invite me places, and make plans with me.  I don't have to beg to hang out with my actual friends.  I don't have to constantly ask them to go places, or hang out, and understand that they will only fit me in if they have absolutely zero anything else to do.

I am throwing way too much into this, and I have been for years. I'm getting literally nothing.  Literally. Nothing.  Not even the simple truth in return.  I feel like by keeping this "best friend" thing alive, I'm just decorating a dead tree.  No matter how many pretty things I drape on it, it's still hollow and dead.  I'm the queen of hard truths, and I'm not exempt from my own medicine. It's fucking hard to type all that out.  This all basically means I've been lying to myself for years.  But when Irv and Luiz see it.  When Michele sees it, I feel like everyone has known it but me, and now I do too.  Irv said, the other night "he used you for free rides and food when you were kids, why do you think anything's changed now?".  He's not wrong.                                                                                        

Some people can't change.  Or some people have already done all the changing and this is what we're left with.  So, problem solved.  I have to accept that people choose their lives.  I've spent the weekend mulling this over, and on Friday I was losing sleep with worry about a friend's abusive situation. I went out to a huge fun thing Friday night, and it was tainted by all this.  Like...should I be there for him?  Should I call and see?  I hope everything's ok.  I hope he's ok.  All night, like stampeding horses.   I feel like maybe I was the only one feeling that level of pain, about all this.  I'm pretty much done worrying and agonizing.

I don't know why I stopped writing.  I re-read what I wrote, that one thing I stress about is that I don't want to burden my friends with my fucking problems.  Well, that's why I write.  I had my old blog Epiphany to get me through the rough years, why not write more?  I'm not making myself any promises, but just writing that previous entry was good, and it made me want to keep going.  When I get writing, I always feel like I have so much to say, that it's just bubbling out of me.

So, with the tank and armor thing, Nancy nearly quoted Irv.  When I was younger, I was that tank.  Just going and going fully armored, nothing could hurt me.  I drank and fucked and fought, and went around filled with anger.  Irv was the first person to get inside those walls.  Like, he was the first person that didn't take me at face value.  He called me "little girl" and "sweetie" which...in those days I definitely was no sweetie. He still calls me those things. Something between him and parenthood had me take the walls down entirely.  And now I'm reverting to that old behavior "armed and armored".  I somehow think I don't need anyone, and people fucking suck anyway.  Which...is not untrue. But it's also not healthy.

I touched on how when I met Irv, I was in pretty bad shape, but he was stable and good.  She asked if he was the one that influenced me to clean up, and...no, that was Tom.  So, we talked about Tom a bit, and I fucking lost it, because I never talk about him. Ever. I lost it because of where the world is now, and whenever I accidentally remind myself that he's not in it, I cry.  He would love smartphones, and look where we're at on the transgender issues?  He'd be thriving.  I miss him, a lot.  I miss his wit, and his smile, and his voice.  I miss his companionship. I miss his hugs. I am writing this, now, having a good old selfish sappy cry.  Just, I fucking miss him.  I haven't seen him in dreams lately either.  I usually get a good one every few months, and it's like seeing and old friend.

Therapy

I've been going to therapy, this is my third week.  Every time I get home, I feel like writing, expanding on what I've covered.

So, overall it's been helping.  It's nice to just talk.  To just have someone that seems interested in helping me...like that would be enough.  I don't talk to anyone, really. I constantly feel like no one gives a shit about what I'm going through, and I don't say that with bitterness.  Everyone's going through something. I digress.  But she's qualified, and professional, and I feel like with the slightest nudge, I'm making breakthroughs.

The first week, we talked about spontaneity and my ability to be functional and get out of the house.  She had me write my whole routine, and not only did I do that, but I wrote down the things that derail me, or keep me from being spontaneous, and since I just outlined and examined why and how, now I'm getting out of the house in a much timelier fashion.  It seems like a small thing, but for a first session, it was a big change.  So far, I can count about half a dozen times since that exercise that I got out of the house quickly, with no long drawn out routine.  This morning, included.

Last week, I had just stuck Alden on a plane, had a huge fight with Meredith, a huge confrontation with the house people, and a huge meltdown with my mother, and a nice fight with Luiz to boot. When I got to therapy, I was 15 minutes late and all over the damn map.  I couldn't settle down, I couldn't talk about any one thing.  Nancy suggested a book for me to read, and a song to add to my "get out the door" playlist.  The song was a little saccharine, but pretty, and the book...it's called Mean Mothers, and it's just what I need. Just the forward alone got me crying, and it's a whole world I never really thought about.  Like, I thought all mothers were kind of assholes, and that what you see on TV, or the nice relationships my friends had with their mothers was just like mine...fake.  Like a rotted apple.  Shiny and inviting on the outside, but rotted on the inside.  Turns out, no.

This week was the first real actual therapy session.  She has a sand table, and she prompted me to select three figures (she has huge bookshelves crammed with all sorts of little chachkis)  one to represent my past self, my current self, and my future self.  I chose a cute squeaky toy cartoony bull, as my past self, a nursing pig with like a dozen little piglets, as my present self, and for my future I picked a tank.  I chose a tank, because in that moment I felt like it was a representation of my ability to rally and plow through anything, and just get through things unharmed and...

 Then she asked what resources I'd need to help me get to the future self.  I added more pigs, I need help.  I need more people that empathize and understand, and that I can share my burdens (the dozen or so nursing piglets) with.  I also added a house, which is obvious.

Then she had me re-examine my future self.  Tanks are isolated and heavily armored.  We talked about what I do to relax...I play shooty video games, for catharsis.  I smoke pot, and I read.  I spend time in the garden.  I read a lot.  I paint.  She was like, ok, you want more people in your life to empathize and help...I don't see you making room in your life for people.  So.  That's a thing.

But then, I have to wonder, do I let the wrong people in?  This may be something for next week.  Am I shutting out the right people?  I spend tons of energy thinking about, preserving, and maintaining certain relationships, but are they the kind that will add to my burdens, or will they help relieve me?

I'm ok at home.  I'm ok at work.  I'm marginally ok out in the world, socializing.  I figured out where I'm not ok.  Driving to and from work.  At home my brain is always engaged, from the minute I get up to long after I go to bed, and pass out from exhaustion, I always keep mundane distracting things front and center so I am not alone with my thoughts.  Cooking, cleaning, shopping, gaming, reddit, reading, writing, tarot, focusing on my customers and helping them work through their problems, studying, crafting...  But as soon as I slam that car door, it's just me and the road, and music.  And then I burst into tears.  Like fucking clockwork.  My car is parked in the driveway, so as I'm backing down the driveway, I'm staring at the insurmountable object of pain and heartache.  Every fucking workday.  I am getting sick of showing up at work all puffy and snotty.  I've taken to keeping eye makeup in the car, for the inevitable repairs.

I am so not ok, these days.  It's a struggle to get out of bed, every day, then more of a struggle to accomplish anything.  If I have to leave the house or otherwise socialize, I need at least 3 hours to mentally prepare, and I mean stupid shit like going to the laundromat.  Seeing friends is hard, I feel like I have nothing to ever talk about, and I've been such a downer lately, that I can't imagine anyone wanting to hang out anyway. I've become fragile.  Today, after a good car-sob, I mustered my shit and got to work.  Susan was here, and I haven't seen her in over a month, she asked me how the house is going, and I tried, I swear, I tried to hold it together, and tell her the latest very bad news, just the facts, no emotion...and I burst into tears.  Right here in the shop, in front of customers.  I just went from composed and chatty to a fucking snotty crying mess. Nothing is good.

I feel like I'm losing myself.  I feel like I've already lost it.  Whatever "it" is.