Not my 300th post

from here

This is my 306th post. 

The PND’s gone. Disappeared. Skedaddled. And good riddance to him! I don’t know what happened; I was at my lowest, desperate for relief, looking into medication options, wondering why no one had stepped in to remove my children from my care when I was so clearly doing a terrible job of looking after them, and then, one day, I was me again – no need for a way out, no need for meds, no need for DOCS. The discouraging mantra (Ican’tdothisIcan’tdothisIcan’tdothis) that had been playing relentlessly in my brain stopped. It was as quick and as surprising as that. 

I’ve been enjoying having me back since then, although I’m still feeling cautious, like I could switch back just as suddenly at any moment (though that fear is subsiding with every passing week). In the middle of stressful or exhausting or sad situations now I watch myself and say, “Look at you, coping with this!” knowing that only a few months ago I couldn’t have, and I feel proud and excited and free. All of me laughs when I laugh now. I no longer panic when people ask how I’m going. It’s awesome. 

The most obvious then-now comparison is my reaction to Katy Perry’s Roar. There was an afternoon earlier this year when I listened to the lyrics and felt the exact opposite of everything she was singing: I was zero rather than hero, I was not a fighter, nor was I lion-like. I was down, and getting up sounded like far too much effort. I was weary and weak and I’d probably never amount to anything and I’d be miserable for the rest of my life. I turned the song up, closed the blind so that my neighbours wouldn’t see me, dropped my head into my hands, and sobbed. 

Not too long ago I put the song on again, and that time it stirred up all the empowered, do-some-martial-arts-moves feelings it’s meant to. I cried then, too, but only because it was such a clear example of how much my head had changed since the last listen.  

Also, late last year when I first wrote this post, I ended the first paragraph with “Alan continued to pursue his dreams, and I gave mine up.” It was with some effort that I forced myself to change it to “and I put mine on hold” a few months later when I put it up on my blog, but even then I didn’t fully believe myself. Life felt full enough just helping Alan, Mo and Hazel do their thing; it felt like there was no space left for me to even think about what my thing might be, let alone do it. 

But I had enough mental energy to see this wasn’t a healthy way of thinking and most certainly wouldn’t be a healthy way to plan my future, so I forced myself to test Parkinson’s Law (“work expands so as to fill the time available for its completion”) to see if everything else of everyone else’s could shrink if I jammed some study into the mix and it turns out it could. And I love studying. I remember that now. Especially theology. And hopefully psychology, too: once this class is over and I graduate, I’m planning (with some apprehension but also a good dose of yayness) to apply for a Grad Dip in Psychology, and (assuming they want me) finally start the process of becoming better equipped at one of my favourite pastimes (psychoanalysing everyone). (My other favourite pastime is using brackets.) 

I’ve no idea where that’ll end me up, but I’ll work that out when I get closer to needing to; for now it’s just nice to have a path ahead, a direction to travel in, and to know that this time it’s my dreams I’m following, and that it’s possible for our family to dream-chase alongside one another. It’ll be hard work, I know, but I think I’ll be okay (because I am a champion, and you’re gonna hear me roar).