This is a Really Real Mental Health Post

I’m thankful for Waze, the GPS app, and the fact that even after it gives an approximate arrival time, it updates if a person is arriving late.

I wish there was an app that said “I know you were supposed to meet this person and they didn’t respond to texts, but I promise you, they aren’t dead, they just overslept.”

Logically, I know that’s probably what happened.  Emotionally, anxiety takes control and it takes everything in me not to find a way to their house to check.

But I guess I’m getting better, because 2 years ago I would have shown up, uninvited, and checked.  We won’t count how many times I showed up at Bat Woman’s house because she overslept.  “Sorry, I thought you died.”

Okay, I didn’t quite put it that way.  I found some funny excuse for being there.

But really it was my brain thinking she was dead and I had to check.

Kidlet, clear across the country  will show inactive on messenger for a day or two and my brain goes nuts.

Yes, I stalk those I love by the number of hours they’ve been inactive on messenger.

But I also know that isn’t all that accurate.  Parker kept showing up as active for days after she died, even though I had her signed off on all devices (freaked me out).  Then, one of the worst feelings in the world was watching her name slip further and further down the people I texted with often.

But I stalk them because I know what it’s like to get that shocking news and I don’t want it to be a shock next time.  I want to get ahead of it so I think out those worst case scenarios.

It would be a shock anyway.  I can’t outrun the horror of death.  Instead I spend time worrying about something that hasn’t occurred.

I’m working on it.


This is a Really Real Mental Health Post.

When I come out on the other side, after days and days of fighting my own brain, I’m left with this mixture of energy and exhaustion.

Sometimes it feels like I’m swinging in the other direction because there is such a stark contrast in my ability to get things done.  But at the same time, I’m emotionally and socially wiped out.

I need a break.

As much as I need the distraction of continuing to push forward during my suicidal episodes, I feel like giving myself time to pause afterwards may also be needed.

Time to breathe.

Time to laugh and find the joy in the little things again.

Today I spent time playing video games with the kid who is miles away.  I’m cooking a good meal in the crockpot.  I’m catching up on laundry that went undone.  I’m cleaning my space and organizing my mind.

I’m pausing and staying home and doing the little things here that make me an overall happier person.

I’m staying in warm comfy pajamas and catching up on the adult-ing that went undone last week while I was barely staying afloat.

All at a calm, leisurely pace.

Things that would be overwhelming if I were still trying to run and do all of the things outside of the house that need doing as well.

So today I paused.  I gave myself permission to shut the doors and stay inside.  I’m taking a break and focusing on my space and taking back my time.

There’s a super fine line though.  Sometimes this can become a depression move instead of a self care move, and knowing which is which is important.


This is a Really Real Widow Post.

But it’s also a Really Real Life post.

I want to focus far more on the life part than the death part.

Tonight I’m grateful for the little moments.

Death taught me to appreciate life.  And I know it’s strange to say that days after, yet another, fight with suicidal thoughts, but I can’t control that part of my brain and this isn’t about that.

Death taught me to appreciate the small moments in life.

Tonight I appreciate my just small enough apartment where I get to sit in the same room with the woman I love doing our own things in the same space.

This is my favorite part of the evening.  Together but completely engrossed in our own lives. although sometimes I spend minutes just watching her as she focuses so intently on her game.

It’s not the major events that I think of when I miss Parker.  It’s the little day to day stuff that I think I never quite appreciated enough.

I’m glad I have a chance to be grateful.

I’m grateful for my just small enough apartment that lets us spend so much time in the same space.

I’m grateful for a woman who I love spending so much time with.

I’m grateful for a partner who loves spending so much time with me.

I’m grateful that we can coexist in the same space without stepping on each others toes with our sounds and our interests.  We know how to make it work.

I’m grateful that I am able to appreciate these little things.  I wish everyone was.

I’m grateful for the little touches and signs of affection as we walk through the room.  I’m thankful that we love each other that way.

I hope we never lose this.  I hope I never stop being grateful for it all.

Death taught me to appreciate life.

I’m so grateful for that lesson.

Plan Of a Different Kind

This is a Really Real Mental Health post.

Last night I over reacted to a situation.

I knew I was over reacting.  I knew that there would be a solution and that it would be fine but the chaos in the interim was making me angry and sad and I didn’t know what to do with those feelings.

It didn’t help that I had a plan, a plan that didn’t work out.

Handling change isn’t my super power and things were going to have to change.

All because the table that I had, wouldn’t fit.

In hindsight, I should have waited until I was on more stable ground to try and rearrange things, but I’m running from my own brain so whenever I’m alone I try to find project after project to keep me going, because the moment I stop, the thoughts creep in.

When my whole plan came crashing down around me the thoughts started to get louder and I was stuck.  So I over reacted.

And I knew it was happening.

And I felt like a toddler digging my heels in.  I didn’t know which way to turn to find my way back out of the hole I was in.  Nothing seemed like it would really fix the problem.

And that’s because part of the problem was my inability to change the plan I had in my head.

I’m thankful that I have a partner who lets me feel these really big feels without fighting against me and making it worse.  I knew I was over reacting, and she didn’t point that out or make me feel childish.

This morning I was still angry at the world.  Still fighting against my own head and my own plan and nothing seemed like it would work.

I fought to get out of bed, I fought against the wave of thoughts that told me everything was wrong.   This stupid inconsequential thing was pulling me back under.  It didn’t help that my space was in chaos due to the rearranging that I had done.

Everything in flux, which is the worst sort of space for me.

I knew that my routine would be off, my desktop is in a million pieces and that is my writing space.

I didn’t want to get out of bed.

I stayed in bed too long and everything hurts.

Handling change isn’t my super power.

I cussed at the coffee maker and cussed at my updating laptop and totally forgot about the ipad with keyboard that I could have written on because I was stuck on some plan in my head.

Handling change isn’t my super power.

I’m sure that I could have found another table that would have worked.  Or, like happened, we found a way to move the living room for this one to work as it is.

It just took a little time, and didn’t turn out quite the way I planned it to.  I just needed to be a little more patient.

With myself.

And give my plan a little wiggle room.

Handling change isn’t my super power.

Even when I initiate the change in rearranging the room.  Even when the change is because of a falling apart desk that needs to be replaced.  Even when the change is to a plan that just won’t work.

I’m learning all of these skills in DBT, but sometimes when I’ve had a really rough week, it’s hard to put them to use.  I had a really hard time pulling out my book this week and doing the practice on my skills that I’ve been so great at working on up till now.  This week I’ve needed them the most, and I’ve used them the least.

Change in the skills I use is another form of change, I guess.

And handling change isn’t my super power.

But I’m still learning.


This is a Really Real Mental Health Post.

TW: Suicidal Thoughts

The other night I had a meltdown right into Wonder Woman.

I was emotionally and physically and socially exhausted and then I listened to a new song with lyrics that tore my heart out.

I had no idea they would.

And they released the flood waters.

They opened the gates to the conversation about all the thoughts in my head, all the dark spirals and the places my brain had been going.

The things so dark I can’t even get them out on the screen.

I cried.

I felt like there were no tears left to be cried and then there were more.

And then I finally relaxed into her for the first time in a week.  I finally relaxed and felt the tension lift.

Now, even though the dark is still there, it isn’t quite so dark.  It isn’t quite so loud, it isn’t quite so hard to contain.

It isn’t so scary.

I feel horrible though.

I feel guilty.

I feel like it wasn’t fair to dump that much dark on her.

It’s not fair to make the person that loves me more than most, really wonder if they are going to one day live without me.

Wonder if they are going to be in my shoes.

Fear the fear I never thought to have.  The fear that I make too real just by existing in my widow status.  And then by being that dark, that suicidal, the fear becomes even more real.

And I feel like it’s not fair that I unloaded my dark on her and I felt better afterwards.

I already sucked the life out of someone.  I already relied on one person too much, and while I know it wasn’t solely the only thing that killed Parker, our reliance on each other too much when we were hurting so much didn’t help.

I know better.

I have other supports.

She shouldn’t have to stare into the face of my darkness.

I have other supports and I should use them.

But sometimes I can’t control when it happens.  Sometimes it’s just ready and conditions are right and she was there and it came out in a wave of dark.  A wave of horror that had been locked inside my head for too many days.

As tsunami that I couldn’t hold back.

She got caught in its power and I’m sorry.

But I already lost one to the wave.

I’m so afraid of taking another out.


This is a Really Real Mental Health Post.

Sometimes I wonder, where’s the line.

Where’s the line in what I write.

Where’s the line in what I say.

Where’s the line in what I tell people.

Radical vulnerability.  Public Journaling.  Letting people into what it’s really like to live with an asshole brain, day after day after day.

But sometimes, I feel like I let too much out.

Sometimes I have conversations and let people know what’s in my head and I watch the after effects of what I have to say.

Sometimes those effects are immediate.

Sometimes they come in the form of messages years later.

Where’s the line?

Are trigger warnings and content notes really enough to burden others with what I go through.

Should I keep it contained.

It it better off wrapped in a neat little box in my head, only spilling out to contaminate my own brain and no one else.

Therapy once a week and stay quiet the rest of the time.

Maybe there’s a reason no one talked about this stuff.

Maybe the ones who stay quiet have it right.

Maybe I’m not supposed to color outside of the lines and make such a scene.

I don’t have a choice but to live with it, die with it.

Plans swirling around in my head, thoughts of death and what comes next.

But I don’t have to keep spreading it around the world.

Maybe they’d be better off without it.

Maybe I need to stay inside the lines.


Is this life?

This is a Really Real Mental Health Post

I feel like “Here we go again.”

My emotions are taking me for a spin, and I wake up with the best intentions and plans of how today is going to be different and by 9am I’m in tears.

It all feels like it’s too much and I’m tired.

I keep trying to hold my head up and look at all of the positives and look at how well I’m handling all of this but day after day of my brain telling me I’m better off dead and all of the reasons start sounding better and better.

I’m tired.

I don’t want to go walk in a parade today, but I don’t want to sit home alone, again, either.  I feel like the toddler who is stuck with no good options and instead I just want to lay on the floor and kick and scream because right now this sucks.

And instead I sit here and cry.

Trying to cry silently because she’s in the other room sleeping while at the same time wanting to scream because I’m tired of feeling this way and if I can’t get it out of me I’m afraid it’s going to win.

What did I do to deserve this.  What can I try that I’m not trying, how can I out run it.  Why haven’t I done enough.  I’m working so. fucking. hard. to get better only to be knocked back down to this blubbering mess at my keyboard, unable to see through the tears and barely able to get the words out fast enough.

I’m tired.

And it’s not the kind of tired that any amount of sleep will fix.

I can’t sleep enough and any amount of sleep seems like too much because my dreams hurt my eyes and the back of my head and in them I hear gunshots and ambulances and fires and in them I see death coming to take me into her arms.

And would that really be so terrible?

How long has it been since I was like this last time?  What did I get, a month, maybe two since the last time I was crying my eyes out to a keyboard about fighting to stay alive?

Is this really life?

I’m tired.


This is a Really Real Mental Health Post.

I’ve been really proud of my ability to be alone the last couple of years.

Prior to that things were so bad that being alone just wasn’t a thing I could do.  The depression was too bad.  The thoughts were too loud and too dangerous.   I sunk too low when I was alone.

One of the problems with my depression this winter is that I feel that sort of issue coming back.  I handle the darkness a lot better, but it gets so much darker when I’m alone.

Part of my depression is that I can’t really figure out what to do, so occupying my brain becomes nearly impossible.  Nothing holds my attention, nothing seems interesting.  My thoughts race and it’s very hard to stay grounded.  I have the materials for diamond painting and chainmaille sitting right beside me, but even once I pull them out I can’t stay engrossed.  I’ve tried video games, but there’s just nothing holding me to one game.  I can only work out for so many hours in a day.  Writing only takes so long, and there’s only so much to write about.

And when I’m alone I’m just not sure what to do with myself.

Sometimes I can get into a project around the house but other times that takes more energy than I feel like I have.  Sometimes I just want to crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head, but while I’m there all I can do is ruminate over and over about why it would be easier to just disappear.

Why everyone would be better off without me.

And why it’s ridiculous that at 37 years old I still can’t really handle being alone without spiraling.

I hate this.

I feel like the years where I thought I was doing so much better were just a fluke, just a lie my brain told me to help me survive Parker’s death and that this is the reality, this is how it is going to be.

I don’t want to have to make plans with people to minimize the time I spend by myself.

I miss the times when I actually enjoyed the quiet down time.

I’m so tired.


This is a Really Real Mental Health Post.

TW:  Suicidal Thoughts.

My brain is kind of an asshole.

I’m doing better, and depression doesn’t like that, so of course, it finds something to latch onto.  Some topic that seems upsetting.

This topic becomes the end of the world.

This topic involves conflict and conflict is my greatest fear (well, that and being completely broke again) so of course, the easiest way out is death.

Which is dumb when you really think about it, because death is far from easy.  I don’t even currently have a workable plan.  Not that my brain hasn’t been working it’s ass off on finding one.  (Believe me, if it finds one, I’ll do the same thing I did with the meds, things will end up locked up, or somehow, seemingly out of my reach, so that my brain at least thinks that’s not a viable option).

My brain is obviously still trying to kill me.

It’ll pass.

But in the mean time, this topic is unsettling.

I’m not ready to talk about it, but yet it needs to be talked about.  It’s one of those things I need to love through and grieve through and work through, but I haven’t found the strength to do so yet.  I know that eventually I’ll find the strength and realize it was there all along.  I’ll eventually feel like this wasn’t that big of a deal and it’ll eventually seem like I’m making a mountain out of a molehill.

But for now, I can’t see it that way.  For now, it seems life altering and therefore it is life altering.

For now, I’m fighting to stay out of bed, fighting to keep from pulling the covers up over my head.  Fighting the darkness that wants to take over again.

For now I’m struggling to find something to occupy my time when nothing seems interesting and everything just makes me want to crawl back underneath my warm covers.

But I know that’s the worst place for me to be.

My brain is kind of an asshole.

Is it bedtime yet?