Tag: mentalhealth

Active

As I do more and more energy work, it’s clear to me that pain is intimately connected with a sedentary lifestyle. I’m not saying that being very active means no pain, because I’m not even close to being there yet.

But I do know that when I work on moving energy in dark, impacted, or pinched areas, or when the gray “soot” leaves me, something in my body relaxes. Sometimes it’s deep inside my body, sometimes on the surface. The fascia resists and then suddenly glides, and tendon and ligament and muscle and vessels and nerves underneath all suddenly relax.

Being “active” is not sufficient. It needs to be something where you stretch every bit of your body in every way possible. No wonder yoga lifts the spirits as well as making your body feel better. Even just wiggling your spine, pelvis, hip joints, shoulder joints, ribs, neck around. I’m convinced that even just massaging your own armpits for a couple of minutes a day would immediately have an impact on pain, but also a gradual impact on general health.

I’m really happy to see that it can be done with the mind, or at least, with energy clearing. It’s not as efficient when used as an alternative to movement, versus a companion to movement, but that makes me really hopeful for those who have limited mobility.

Done (for today anyway)

Fuck this life. Fuck this life. Fuck this life.

It’s been one of those days… weeks… months.. Years where I honestly frequently wish I could just opt out. Not participate. Not live.  The effort it takes to keep going is more than I can muster so many days.  I feel like I’m just

Avoidance

I’ve been bargaining with myself all day.  Trying to make it through the work day and all the unpleasant tasks that it held.   Stalling all day.  Trying to avoid all the dull things that must be done today.  I managed to kill a lot of the work day putting up pictures.  Now there are 50+ framed and hanged in the apartment.  It’s starting to look decorated.

I’m still struggling to get started on anything creative, but I figure hanging the pictures is a good start.  More inspiring environment or something like that.   I’m planning on filling my hallway with pictures of friends and the happier pictures from my family — mostly ones of my brothers and me. I’ve been going back and forth on whether I’ll put up any pictures of Dad. Part of me thinks I should do it, after all, he did love me and I did love him and I know he cared about me even though he behaved like a monster.  Part of me thinks I don’t need to have any reminders of him in my home. Part of me thinks the omission of photos of him will act as a reminder, still.  Maybe my grandmother had the right idea of just hanging up pictures of people in their coffins.  (Seriously creepy, right?) Maybe I should just focus on pictures of friends and my siblings in the mean time.

Doctors appointments this week made me get nervous again about my longer term well being.  Sometimes I get really afraid for myself with my weight and health.  I can delude myself and tell myself my health is OK, because my blood sugar, chlosterol, etc have usually been OK, so far.  A little high some years, but not enough for treatment.  But I know that doesn’t last forever.  I think my overeating and weight gain is very related to the abuse and how I handle stress.  It’s complicated — it’s not just a coping mechanism, it’s also intended to sabotage myself, I think?  Let’s put it this way: there have been many times in my life where I consciously was glad that I (think I) am unattractive. I pretended it saved me from danger, or at least hassles.  Sometimes it’s good to feel invisible.  But sometimes it doesn’t feel good. It feels lonely.  I would say I can’t remember the last time I had a relationship, but I can. It was in 2004. Since then, the others have all just been “friends with…” or one time things.

That hits a nerve, to type that out.  It hurts to admit that I am the reason for my own unhappiness. Surely, others contributed, even started it, but I’m the one keeping the house of cards propped up now.

Unable-ified

Today, I saw my psychiatrist for the first time in almost two months.  I admitted to him that I stopped taking Abilify and was very surprised that he was not upset.  I told him 11 days, though really it’s been on and off for weeks. It started as an accident, forgetting to take it on nights when I fell asleep very early, but changed to purposeful, not taking it on an evening where I had planned to have drinks.

I feel relieved to be off of it — more than seems appropriate.  No one believed me that it was making me anxious.  I don’t know if that really was a side effect of the pharmaceutical or if it was just my mind, but either way, I feel less anxious now.  I had an unshakeable fear that the anti-psychotic was just masking what is really here.  It made it almost impossible for me to check my own aura and chakras, not to mention having only the most blurry view of other ‘things’ around me.  I hope that stopping this medication makes things clearer… and that clearer is better. It’s possible it will all spin out of control again, but if it does, I know I can always go back on the medication.

More than anything, I think I’ll actually be able to get shit done again.  Even if that just means doing things I enjoy, instead of shutting down and doing nothing.  I’ve spent months frozen and need to be freed again.

 

Should I get a dog? or an alpaca?

Did you know emotional support alpacas were a thing? I know I’d feel a lot happier if I had one…

http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2014/10/20/pets-allowed

 

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