I’ve been having a hard time lately.  This may be depressing.  Be careful if you choose to read.

This solstice has been harder than any other solstice for me.  I’ve done a lot of crying, sometimes not even knowing why.  I’ve spent a bunch of time just sitting in the dark.  Sometimes that is healing, and sometimes that is hurtful, and it’s hard to tell which of those I’m going to get on any given day.

Gehenna is still with us, and she’s still walking around and meowing, demanding to be pet and held at varying intervals.  She’s also still losing weight, and her bones are becoming easier to feel through her fur, which is distressing.  I’ve spent a lot of time with my nose in her fur just smelling her, and crying because I know that someday I won’t be able to remember what she smelled like.  Smell is super important to me, and the idea that I am going to lose this thing that I find so precious….if I could just hold onto the smell I think I would be okay, but I know that I can’t, and I just have to accept that.  She falls sometimes, and I so worry about her breaking a leg or a hip…she falls out of the cat tree onto the desk, bounces to the chair, and then bounces to the bottom half of the cat tree before falling into an area between the tree and the desk.  It’s frightening because it happens so fast and it’s hard to catch her.  But we do what we can, and put pillows down or whatever so if it happens again she won’t hurt herself.

I joined a group that directly addresses cultural appropriation in a clear way, so there’s a bit of readjusting my thought in some places, and a bit of opening my eyes to my own pain in others.  As a bi-racial person brought up to present as whyte, there’s aspects of me that have been systemically silenced, and as I look at those things I feel anger and resentment at things I didn’t really notice before.  It’s kind of like if you’ve had a whole life of abusive relationships, and then all of a sudden you realize that it’s not just getting hit, that even being called names is abusive.  You have to deal with all these smaller aggressions that you didn’t notice before because you were just surviving.  So there’s that.  It’s hard, but it’s also cleansing and purging and other things.  Mostly it’s giving me words and vocabulary to talk about things I always knew bothered me but I didn’t have words for.

I haven’t had a haircut in a long time, and because I have super thick super long hair, it becomes really heavy.  My stylist thins it out for me using special scissors, and I haven’t had that.  So it’s not only unattractive (to me.  Rob still likes it), it’s become so much work I sit and cry about it.  I had to get a special detangling brush to use in the shower because nothing else would work.  I was getting knots at the back of my neck that I couldn’t untangle without ripping hair out.  Maybe I should just buzz the bottom half of my head….I don’t know.

In addition, I started selling Color Street, which is a good thing, is fun, and provides a little extra income, and that’s all nice, but it also requires some organization, and some maintenance…time that I would usually spend on myself needs to be put into maintaining that a little.  It won’t always be like that, but right now, under covid, self-maintenance time is precious.

So because all of these things are happening at once (you know, add in covid, and 45, and racism, and all this other stuff) it’s put me under enough stress that other things are breaking down.  When you are under stress if you have a mental illness, whatever your illness is is often exacerbated because they often manifest as ways of handling stress.  So if you’re a control freak, you start trying to control things that you didn’t need to control before.  If you have OCD, suddenly the need for order becomes more extreme and you’re organizing your paperclips.  For me, the fear is always that you (giant impersonal “you” because I have no idea who is reading this) are being nice to me to be polite, but you really want me to go away.  So that voice becomes really loud, and I withdraw from people.  I reduce my posting.  I’ve been kind of doing that for a year now, I think…just posting memories without adding anything new.  Everything becomes some sort of a message that boils down to, “I have to leave before they ask me to leave,” which is stupid and ridiculous, but it’s there all the same.  My face is reacting to the cold weather, so my rosacea is acting up and my cheeks feel constantly inflamed.  I’m getting a rash on the back of my hands which I believe is from all the hand washing and the dry skin.

This is darkness.  It is the darkest time of the year.

All of these things have hope and light behind them.  I can get a haircut.  Color Street is bringing me money.  45 is out, and diversity is happening.  And right now I have Gehenna, and the idea that she’s still running around and meowing at me when she’s almost 21 is insane.  I can just be grateful for the time I have.  I can recognize that the idea that people want me to go away is PROBABLY all in my head, and if I can wait out this mood it won’t bother me any more.  I’m learning more of my own voice, and that is good, even if it is painful in the beginning….the first sound any baby makes is usually a cry, and that’s okay.  The new couch comes in February.  My new tooth will be implanted in February.  I have medicine for my face, and moisturizer for my hands.  Good stuff is coming.

Like all solstices, it isn’t static.  It’s the darkest night of the year, but that’s because all the days that come after it (for at least six months, anyway) are getting brighter, bit by bit.  I’m having trouble believing in The Light right now….but I don’t have to believe in the sun for it to rise.  It’s gonna come up whether I believe in it or not.

I…you…me….we….we don’t always have the strength to turn to the light, but we don’t have to.  The Light is coming.

All we have to do is hold on.