angela_n_hunt: (Me 2014)
The Magician
The Magician - Tarot Apocalyptica - 11-2016

No. I wouldn't fuck with her either.

Serendipity. When it hits, it hits, and you pray to be in the right place, at the right time, with a working camera. This counts as the Arrested Moment.  This is what I was waiting for.

The Magician
Mistress before Gods or man. You do not doubt her mastery or her power.   The suits obey her and her Will is total and complete. Her war rig awaits, the Wheel in her hand. The World is laid at her feet.    
Now.    Pick up what you can carry.   And run. *

*I still don't have a REVERSED meaning, but I'm sure it will come to me in time. For now, this is the card meaning.
 
* * *
Okay, this one is gonna get REALLY long.

Tell the truth and shame the devil. )
angela_n_hunt: (Me 2014)
Magician Crosses
Magician Crosses - Tarot Apocalyptica - 11-2016

I want it put down officially for the record that it was the Mouse's idea to go in the water. I didn't even bring it up. So we went down the embankment and she walked into the shoals of the Los Angeles River.

This was the last shot of the shoot. Daylight dying by the second around us. The sound of the sunset chorus coming from the songbirds. Far away, the distant hiss of traffic from Burbank Avenue and the 405. (Yeah, this place is right between the arms of them. Crazy innit?)
There is such an introspection and peace to this image.  Last light. Last look.

Time to head home.
* * *
So leading up to the shoot we had a Black Moon while all of this was going on. Second New Moon of the month, which happens as rarely as the Blue Moon does. (Imma gonna get all woo woo on you.) Apparently really prangs the energy, and actually made sense why I was feeling so sideways to the world.

In other news, being October with my birthday, anniversary, and Samhain coming, I realized I had no energy to carve pumpkins, let alone decorate. I was just too damn tired and had no motivation or enthusiasm to do it.

Luckily, this is where the Bean stepped in. I let her decorate the house with the regular things to her great delight. Delegating! I can haz!

And I told myself not to stress.

Yeah.

That went as well as you think.

* * *

And currently, as of today, I find myself thinking of my father a lot. Which is normal. We're coming up on his death day. My father tried to teach me so many things that I am only now starting to understand. Gods above know why he thought a six-year-old was going to grasp this shit, but hey, it made an impression and I'm apparently figuring it out now.

He used to play this game with me. He would say, you can make any rule for the game. So, I'd make up something silly, like stand on one leg. Then it would be his turn, and he always said, "I make a rule that I win."

And I would lose my shit, well as much as a six-year-old can. But every time, he'd point out that it wasn't cheating. I had not made a rule that said you had to win by a certain metric. (Yes, I'm quoting.) He never said as much, but I think what he was trying to say to me is/was: we make our own rules. We are the masters of our destiny. Not our churches, not our governments, not even our peers. We decide what our moral or immoral center is. And one of those choices can be, to win. But you have to choose, and you have to abide by those choices. Be willing to take those consequences.

Quite the lesson packed into so small a game. It's up there with his, the sky is red thing that he'd spring on me from time to time.

So.

I make a rule that I win. It’s not cheating. The parameters of the game are that you can make your own rules. One of those rules can be, I rule that I win. Done. No. It’s not fair. But life’s not fair, and anyone telling you differently is selling something.
My rule is, I win.

And you can too.

* * *
You ever have one of those days where you just wonder where you are? Not literally. Not physically. Just...at what point am I in my life? Where am I? Who the fuck am I? The Universe is vast and uncaring and yet...likes Life. Endless life in endless combinations. Infinite diversity.

I forgot my meds yesterday. No bueno, but I also didn’t pass out around three to get a nap. Something to think on. I don't know if it's happening because the Wellbutrin is wearing off and the Prozac takes over, and the Prozac makes me sleepy. I took my regular dose this morning. We'll see what happens. (Yes! I am my own test bed!)

My hand remor was bad this morning too. Thing is, I don't notice it anymore unless I'm trying to do fine handwork, or someone points it out. I've just learned to work around it.

I can't decide if that's good or bad.

What else?

I feel good today, if in a bit of pain, so painkillers before I head out to Costco. Pray for me.

What else?

I’m really not all here today. I am just drifting out of my body, wordless and floaty.

And last night was rough. I had a whole raft of difficult and painful emotion come up that I kept trying to process on my own and that was rather stupid. Then the light bulb went on and I thought, how about I just...sit with the feeling. Stop trying to fix or resolve it. Just let myself feel the pain, the hurt, and the disappointment, and let myself grieve. And eventually, all the pain and hurt processed and drifted away.

I wish I could retain this lesson better. It keeps getting taught to me and every time, I act so damn surprised. Gah.

And that's it.

What's next?
angela_n_hunt: (Me 2014)
Magician
Magician - Tarot Apocalyptica sides - 11-2016

Okay. Yeah. I can kinda take a pretty damn good photo.

Another accident, sorta. I was trying to get detail of the hair and crown and the Mouse just stayed in character.

I had a shred of light left from Golden Hour when I shot this and it shows.  I have cropped and done some burning, along with the usual color correcting that I like, but other than that, that's it.

This one is going in a frame and going over my desk. I think it's the best photo I've taken of her in years. The Husband's comment was, "Ooo, yeah. That's Arya Stark."

Fuck yeah.

* * *

Continuing catch up...

Along with the relapse of really bad depression, I also caught both a horrid cold AND an ear infection. No, I don't know how I managed it either, other than the fact that depression literally depresses your immune system. I'd just never experienced it before. Holy fuck, that SUCKED. And dude, I haven't had an ear infection since I was a child. I will not regale you with TMI of what I had to do to get over it and clear that eustachion tube, but fuck sticks, that was awful.

The rest of the time, I just felt in limbo.

Never mind that September the 27th rolled around, the day that my Uncle-in-Law, Albert "Bud" Wheelon died, two years ago and some change. It hurt this year more than last. I'm hoping that someday others will illuminate his legacy as things de-classify. Maybe it will be me. I don't know. I just know that he shouldn't be forgotten by history or America. I don't want to see him suffer a Hamilton, and get forgotten for two hundred years. It's not every day that you find out that you are related by marriage to the first Mayor of Area 51.

Then October hit. My birthday month. And then the long slide into the holidays. This year flew by. They keep doing that. But whatever. I keep working. I keep writing. I keep making cards.

During all of that, my self-talk was pretty poisonous.  Sub thoughts rolling around in my head about how I was nothing and haven’t amounted to anything in my life. How everyone I know is more successful than me and doing more than me.

Which is bullshit.

And then I started to improve healthwise. I had moments of feeling moderately happy and content, even if the poison thoughts ran in the background. I got my skull rivets back, (someone had walked off with them) so I went back to work pounding rivets on the Magician's belt and corset.

I was working.

But I was fighting myself every Gods-be-damned inch of the way.

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Fool's Progress

I just like the quiet contemplation of this one. It was my other choice for promo image.

* * *

Actually slept…ten hours? Or something like. Got up a couple of times to go to the bathroom, but still slept like the dead when I was sleeping. So clearly the bad neurochem yeserday was at work. I have some mild anxiety running this morning, but I’m working at breathing and staying present before I resort to the Klonopin.

Today is warming up hot. 91′ it projects, but it’s 83’ by 10:30, I’m going to call that bullshit and set out to water a couple of times today, or my pots are not going to survive. HIgh surf advisory too. Everything is fucked. Humidity is already at 54%. Where the fuck is the monsoon? UV Index is through the roof too. Fuck’s sake.

I am tired and sad though still, mentally. Reading Warren Ellis’ weekly newsletter and gods, the fury and grief rolling off his words. I don’t have half his skill, but whatever. He’s been doing it longer. Things are ugly in the European Union, and uglier in England.

Where is my Lionheart now?

Ares

May. 30th, 2016 10:47 am
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Ares

I gave her my card. She’s leaning up against war rig #2 and even if I don’t use this one for the Magician, I am definitely hoping to use both of them in one of the other cards. She was nearly six feet tall. QUEEN.

* * *

Memorial Day.

I sat outside with Colette and yelled at her for going all predator on the squirrels and birds. Her prey drive is insane. Pain in the ass dog.

Line edit on Strange Weather continues. Man, I’ve clearly leveled up as a writer.

In other news, I am angry with the world, which points to the irritability/anger version of my clinical depression. Not so much being in the hole as wanting to set the hole on fire while I sit in it. I don’t recommend it. But saying it out loud seems to help. So. Another rest day. Tomorrow should be better. *knocks wood*

* * *

You know the drill. Tell everyone! 🙂

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Badlands Duchess

The Badlands Duchess Herself, Dianna Condon, leader of the Wasteland Badlands Tribe and Circus. Yes. Circus. LOVED her look. Also turns out we know a lot of the same people, as she is a sister bellydancer! Color me not at all surprised to have found this out.

This is from the Wasteland Weekend Car Show this past Saturday. It was so much damn fun.

* * *

Have unfortunately read a few depressing author blogs talking about how they’re not going to bother with trying to have a writing career anymore, because they didn’t/don’t sell. They’ll write for themselves. But no one will see it. Something about that really bothers me and makes me feel so fucking sad.

And then there was a comment I saw on a photographer who I admire, on his Facebook, from a fan who chastised him for using smoke in a shot because it was “pollution” and why didn’t he have more respect for the Earth? The photographer in question is a huge environmental activist and supporter. I just can’t even.

Color me crazy, but one photographer’s use of smoke in a shot is not the reason the world is dying. Talk about aiming the ire in the wrong direction. But that’s just it. People don’t feel they can be heard by those in actual power, so they turn on each other like rats in a too small cage.

Yeah.

I see posts from my peers that mean in varying degrees that things are shit today. Which is okay. Some days are shit. Pretending they aren’t doesn’t make them go away. Bad days exist. Refusing to acknowledge them, again, doesn’t make them go away. It just dismisses lived experience, which I’m finding is a super bad idea for mental health.

I feel beaten today. I have to get an additional gig as fast as possible. There’s the bare bones of it. I don’t like being desperate, and I’m not? Because it’s not desperation so much as urgency and I don’t handle stress and pressure very well right now. Depression is telling me I’m alone and no one wants to be my friend or even wants to know I exist, and really no wants me, period, which I *know* is bullshit, but there it is.

I turn 46 this year. I’m not rich and famous. I’m in process. They don’t tell you that all of life is being permanently In Process, or maybe that’s just me.

This is scattered and all over the place and that’s okay too. So I tell myself what I would tell my friends. Hang in there. This too shall pass. Get present. Breathe.

Just breathe.

* * *

The Magician cruises along at 37% with 12 days to go. I know we’ll get there. Please spread the word!

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Night Garden II

I love that this looks like a shoe ad out of Vogue Italia.

Speaking of which, if anyone at Vogue Italia wants to hire me for an editorial, holy cats, am I your girl.

* * *

Things are up in the air again, here at Casa de BiGJAM.

*shrug*

It is what it is. We always land on our feet. This happens, it keeps happening. I’m working to change it.

Had a really good and productive session at therapy today, but it’s stirred up a lot of shit. See things being up in the air.

It’s hard not to think that there’s something wrong with me, except that there is something wrong with me, I have a mental illness and it’s eating my head. So I breathe. It doesn’t make me easy to live with. I wish that it weren’t so, but there it is. At least I’m working on it. I’m able to dredge up a thin shred of compassion for myself because of that.

I am working on it.

In the meantime, I’ve got availability for photography slots or any of my other skill sets, so if you know of a gig for the next month to two months, let me know. Ideally, I’d like to point a camera at things, but I wear a lot of hats. If you need something sewn, or tax related, or written, I’m (again) your girl.

In other news, the campaign rumbles along. We’re at 31% with 23 days to go. Not too shabby. But as always, if you can only spread the word, please please please do. It helps so much.

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Mirror Mirror

Actually, a glass of wine would be lovely right now. It’s five o’clock somewhere, right?

* * *

I’m doing better today. Yesterday was spent in the hole for most of it, though I managed to pull myself out by the evening. Art and tequila will do that for you if you let them.

C sent me an absolutely hysterical photo this morning of himself in his utilikilt with a lace petticoat. Trust me, it’s funny as shit, because of a thing he said to me last week and helped me start the day off with a giggle and a gigantic smile on my face. I am really blessed in my friends and chosen family.

Props continue. I’m stalled on the Fool’s staff until I can get my ass to Home Depot for eye hooks to screw in to hang bits off the staff. Trust me, it makes sense in my head. Man, I’m asking you to trust me a lot today. I will do my best to be worthy of it.

The Fool’s bag though continues. Most of the trad embroidery is done (I realized I want to satin stitch the nose and need to go back and do that), and I’ve gotten all the leaves on and one of the vines. Then it will be all the ribbon roses, montees, and rhinestones I can eat to stick on it. Honestly, construction will probably take the least amount of time for any of these pieces. It’s taking the time to do the embellishment that’s really taking these props from meat to holy crap. I’m very happy.

In the meantime, we hold steady. It’s Wednesday. We’ve got a month to go.

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Night Garden

This is from the shoot I did May of 2014? 2015? Gah, no brain.

I’m in the hole this morning. Again. Only one way to go. Up.

But I have gone to the bank and I have taken my meds. That right there is good. So. Yeah.

My desk is buried under paper and embroidery supplies. You’d think I was working on a giant art series or something.

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So. Campaign for the next trump in Tarot Apocalyptica is up and live — The Magician.

It’s funny, but this is harder than the first.

I’m in the hole right now. Anxiety brain is trying to eat me and depression has me low. I’m still functional, just slow today. I’m figuring out how to make all of this work. Even while bits of my brain wind themselves in knots of self-loathing.

The Fool is coming along, I dare say brilliantly. The staff is almost complete, and I have the materials for the Fool’s pack to cut. I found a piece of faux leather left over in one of the work bins from a while back that’s perfect. Embossed peacock eyes. Small scale, so it won’t read that well in the image, but I know it’s there. I cling to the work and bury myself in it while I wait to see my shrink at the end of the month. Art as treatment modality.

Which is good. Isis (one of the cats) pushed a bowl off my desk and it shattered. That was how this morning started. I feel somewhat like the bowl. The day got off to a very rough start.

So I shall paint my face like Furiosa and fang it.

There’s still seventy-eight months of work and some change ahead of me. The Magician awaits.

I need your help. I’m hoping you’ll keep riding this war rig with me. Please support directly by pledging to the campaign or spread the word. Just the last bit alone is a huge thing, as getting heard is sometimes the hardest part of these things.

I am really looking forward to riding further with you. It’s a doozy.

Witness me!

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Waiting for the Stars to Align

Yeah. What can I say here that I haven’t already said a lot of times before?

So.

Yeah.

* * *

I’m doing better than I was first thing this morning, but only just.

I should be driving to Utah right now. I should be running tomorrow in Zion.

Instead, I am here. It just didn’t work out. It never seems to work out. Any time I want to do something for myself like this, it always bankrupts us or is done at so low a level as to be almost unpleasant because I can never afford really nice accommodations and really excellent food. I’m sick of living a low rent life. This is why I’m so aggro about the Not So Sekrit Projekt. Why I’m refusing to do it on a shoestring. I’m done with that. I am sick and tired of cutting pieces of myself off to be small enough to be comfortable enough and unthreatening enough to people around me.

Tired. I’m just fucking tired.

I hurt, heart-hurt.

Yeah, that would be the hole. Hello.

If I could do anything, I would be getting on a plane right now and heading to Zion. Staying at the nicest place I could get and renting a jeep, toting all of my camera gear and then some. And I would stay for a week, because I’d have someone here to take care of the Ant and the girls.

Fucking hell.

Oh well.

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5 A.M.

I know.

What am I supposed to do? The Mad Model gives you a fringe vest and says put it on the Amazing A. What? I was gonna say no?

Nope.

Glorious, isn’t she?

* * *

Turned on David Gilmour first thing this morning. I need more of Rattle That Lock. I swear, when life is hard, it’s his voice that gets me through. Back in the day, it was A Delicate Sound of Thunder and A Momentary Lapse of Reason. Learning to Fly still lifts my soul up. One Slip always makes me drive faster. On An Island leaves me wistful for travel.

Poison in the brain this morning, which is why the immediate application of prog rock. I’ve been thinking about promises and a Not So Sekrit Projekt. I’ve been thinking about how we have to Save Ourselves. And how that can hurt like hell at times. Especially for someone like me.

It’s House. It’s Everyone Lies.

It’s from the very beginning of my life and my father never keeping a single promise he ever made to me that was important. Stupid shit like never taking me to Disneyland specifically to take me and not paying for college after he swore that he would take care of it.

That’s the ultimate first betrayal. If you can’t trust your parents to take care of you, who the fuck can you trust? Certainly not the rest of the fallible human world. I loved him, but I could never trust him. I love him still. But look, he couldn’t even stick around long enough to see his grandchildren.

*sigh*

See previous statement about fucking poisonous brain.

So. I went to the gym. Pounded the crazy out of the brain. I need to get boxing gloves, or MMA gloves, so I can work one of the heavy bags.

Sometimes you just need to hit things really hard till the world makes sense again.

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Ill Met By Moonlight

Prints are available HERE

* * *

Well, woke up feeling angry this morning and ruminating about a person I didn’t need to be renting brain space too, which is just ridiculous, because who fucking cares? It’s a situation where the person in question is so fucked up, nothing I could do or say will ever punish them as much as their own actions.

So why am I fucking renting them space in my brain?

How does this pay my fucking rent?

Didn’t know what was going on with my brain chem this morning, but it was not productive or helpful or healing. Leave people to their own hell as Pinhead would say. I’ve got my own.

So.

I woke up angry.

What the hell?

And out of nowhere, an old friend asked me what it would take for me to shoot my own deck of Tarot cards.

Oooookay.

I hear you, Goddess. I don’t know what is going on, but I hear you.

I get it. Will keep breathing.

And apparently start taking notes for a tarot deck and a series of seven highly inflammatory nude Sins.

When in doubt, make moar fucking art.

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Titania Considers

What it says on the tin. Oberon has made her offer. Will our Queen take it?

* * *

Was really in the hole last night. Numb. Insomnia.

I eventually managed to get to sleep, but it took work and hugging a pillow to death.

I don’t know where the fucking rent is coming after this next paycheck. I’m beginning to think that I’m not going to be able to go to the half marathon at this rate because I don’t know that we’ll be able to afford it. Which makes me furious.

So we’re struggling. Husband’s in the hole too and I can’t send him to get therapy and I’m just looking around at all the people I know who fucking need medication or at least talk therapy and how none of them are getting help because they can’t fucking afford to get it.

When did the United States turn into a third world country? And can we please get it back?

If I could do anything today, it would be leave. I would get in the car, drive to the nearest five-star hotel, and sleep for a week. In between, eating room service. I’d pay for everyone to go see a fucking shrink. I’d buy a fucking house and a studio. And I would buy a day bed with all the most beautiful bedding, climb in it, and not get out for another week. While looking at beautiful things in my studio.

I fucking hate this.

And that’s enough of that. Have a pretty picture. When in doubt, make moar art.

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Originally published at Curse & Quanta. Please leave any comments there.

Yeah, the Page seems dubious about Oberon’s offering…

You can buy Quick Bright Things HERE

* * *

This week is slammed with things from gills to tail and I am making an effort to not get overwhelmed and that means, of all things, slowing down.

It’s a hard thing for me. Slowing down. But it’s slow down and breathe or watch my neurochem tank. It’s literally an act of self-preservation, an effort to continue my survival. I don’t like that it’s that severe, but it is.

I’m still not used to it.

In the meantime, I wrote a paragraph on the novel and am listening to music to help keep the brain balanced.

“Small moves, Ellie.”

angela_n_hunt: (Me 2014)
Salamander

I love when the fabric looks like coherent physical smoke...

* * *

Today is a rest day, which means I meander from thing to thing, rather than focus down. I am incapable of doing nothing. I just can't. The anxiety makes me twitch.

That being said, I am FULL of ideas today. Like crazy. Like dear gods, oh look, my Creative Brain is back and I had forgotten what it was like to be consumed by the energy to DO ALL THE THINGS. That being said, I am being very cautious. I'm just allowing the feeling and not throwing myself into anything. Taking a lot of notes.

Like, for instance, finding my microphone and figuring out how to lay tracks of my flute. And I also have to take my guitar to McCabe's. One of the winding gears has slipped and needs help. She also needs a new bridge. The 1E buzzes like hell if it doesn't have a piece of stuff stuck in the bridge and that's bothering me now. So. Time to figure out if they can repair it too.

And all of this appears to be spawned by the fact that I got my ass out to belly dance class on Sunday. Apparently dancing makes me want to Do All the Things. It shakes out whatever's clogged. Shimmied the cobwebs out of my brain.

Which is a tl;dr way of saying that I feel really good today.
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Salamander

I love when the fabric looks like coherent physical smoke…

* * *

Today is a rest day, which means I meander from thing to thing, rather than focus down. I am incapable of doing nothing. I just can’t. The anxiety makes me twitch.

That being said, I am FULL of ideas today. Like crazy. Like dear gods, oh look, my Creative Brain is back and I had forgotten what it was like to be consumed by the energy to DO ALL THE THINGS. That being said, I am being very cautious. I’m just allowing the feeling and not throwing myself into anything. Taking a lot of notes.

Like, for instance, finding my microphone and figuring out how to lay tracks of my flute. And I also have to take my guitar to McCabe’s. One of the winding gears has slipped and needs help. She also needs a new bridge. The 1E buzzes like hell if it doesn’t have a piece of stuff stuck in the bridge and that’s bothering me now. So. Time to figure out if they can repair it too.

And all of this appears to be spawned by the fact that I got my ass out to belly dance class on Sunday. Apparently dancing makes me want to Do All the Things. It shakes out whatever’s clogged. Shimmied the cobwebs out of my brain.

Which is a tl;dr way of saying that I feel really good today.

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Ragged Heart

So here’s another from the shoot back in 2013.

As meds and therapy get me to what I would loosely call “stable”, I’m finding that I’m slowly beginning to clear the back log. I’ve thrown out or burned I don’t even know how many journals and papers dating back to when I was in freaking *high school*. For the love of small gods, I know I felt a need to preserve the truth against my biological mother’s insanity, but…

I don’t need it anymore.

I know what happened. A lot of my memories are digitized now. I don’t need the daily log of every bad day that I had or what I had for breakfast or how much I hated whatever dead end job I was in at the time.

Yes, there are diamonds amongst the swill…

But do I really want to drag all of this with me forever and ever, amen?

I have been feeling like Sarah in Labyrinth as she wakes up after the peach spell and the trash ladies are trying to entrap her. That moment when she wakes up and goes, “It’s just junk.”

It’s just stuff.

I don’t need it.

And as long as I’m dragging this shit along behind me, nothing new or good can come into my life. I desperately need the new and good in my life.

So it goes.

And I find I’m not even remotely sad about it. Wistful. But not sad. I let my “things” define me for so long. But I am not my stuff. I’m me. And I don’t need those pieces of paper anymore.

Mad Model

Jun. 28th, 2010 09:50 am
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Mad Model, originally uploaded by quennessa.


Really, do I need to say anything?

Yeah.

* * *

It's Monday. The dayjob waits.

I am apparently depressed again, which pisses me off. One of the recent tasks in The Artist's Way (which I'm doing again with the Ant) said to list 20 things I like to do.

It took me an hour to make that list.

Yeah.

That's fucked up.

But the reality is that I don't have tons and tons of things that I like to do or that make me happy right now. Everything leaves a taste of ash in my mouth lately, which I don't notice, until something like this and makes me look around and go, "Damn it! Depressed again??? FUCK!"

I don't have the kind of depression my mother faces or that my great grandmother faced. I can dig my way out with minimal work, by applying vitamins and sunlight and exercise. I don't even know how to describe falling back into the grips of a mild depression. How you being to slack on things like the vitamins and the sunlight and the exercise, because you feel fine!

Until you don't.

Doesn't help that I have some real world stressors as well that are contributing to the down cycle. Doesn't help that the depression has a predilection to convincing me that I'm trapped and worthless. It's not real. It's just bio/neurochemistry. But oh, it is compelling chemistry. It would rob all color out of my world if I let it. It is a demon that I can only keep contained in its bounding circle through eternal vigilance.

Which is exhausting.

Which lets the demon out of its circle.

So, I'm back to faking it today. Telling myself that things matter, even though my chemisty says that they don't. Telling myself to get up and go outside today at lunch. To do push ups. To do ballet plies.

Eventually, it'll become true.

self-care

Jun. 2nd, 2010 08:54 am
angela_n_hunt: (Default)
or: that thing I totally suck at doing

I don't take care of myself. I flat out suck at it. I'm not proud of it. I know now how bad I am at it. I can't always seem to stop.

I need to stop.

I need to take care of myself.

I've had a low grade headache for over a week now. I'm seeing the doctor today. This is out of the norm, even for me. It's not one of the hormone fueled ones. I don't know what's causing the pain. After I see Dr. Schneider, I'm going to schedule a session at Dr. Berlin's. See if it's chiro related (a very high possibility) and if nothing else, ask to get a session with their acupuncturist.

I learned long ago that pain was no reason for stopping. It took me longer to learn that pain didn't need to continue.

Minimal spoons today. Please hold me in the Light.

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angela_n_hunt

April 2017

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