Tag Archives: depression

I need to just cut myself some slack.

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This has been a busy busy month.

Of course there’s christmas/yule, and there’s trying to get my act together.  I’ve completely gotten caught up in taking care of our cat, Gehenna, who is 21 years old.  We’re trying to value the time that we have with her, but she’s starting to lose weight and lose weight and not eat, and it’s very distressing.  She got kidney disease a couple of years ago, and we’ve been giving her a subcutaneous drip every night to help take some of the pressure off her kidneys.  She’s been super good about it, and she takes all her meds without too much drama.  She’s adorable, really.  She’s hard to get good pictures of because all-black kitties are notoriously hard to get photos of because of lighting, but this is her:

(I had to edit that top photo and turn up the lighting on it so you could see her.)

So anyway, that’s a thing, and I’m also doing more cooking.  So that means that I’ve had less time for self-care….and I have a tendency to self-neglect, so my self-care is usually the first thing that goes.

I’ve been working from home, too, and Rob has been switching back and forth from days to midnights and back, so figuring out what day of the week it is has been challenging.  I’m focusing on my job, getting and keeping it organized as I go back and forth to work, but it’s hard and I need to be innovative for that, so that also subtracts from my self-care.

Honestly, I considered it a win when I bought a wet-brush and just detangled my hair.  I need a haircut so badly I’ve literally spent time crying about it.  But it feels like there’s no time, each moment of my day is spent caring for us as a family, or caring for the cat like a child.  Gehenna wants to be held all the time, and it’s like having a toddler.  Sure, I don’t HAVE to hold her just because she’s climbing all over me, but if I don’t, how badly will I feel when I don’t have her anymore?

I feel like I just have to accept this is where I’m at and work with that.  So I’m trying to fit myself in sideways.

I’m also trying to deal with myself as an artist.  I have issues with the fact that most of my art isn’t “original art” meaning that I didn’t draw them from scratch from pencil to finished product.  Often I’m taking pieces of ideas from the internet, whether that’s photographs, or clip art, or whatever, and putting them together to make something else.  My friend Risa says that that has always happened, and as long as I’m not taking the original art and claiming it as mine, as long as I’m crediting the original artist, getting their permission if I can, and putting it together in an entirely new medium, then it’s just art because my combination in my medium is something that never existed before.

I don’t know how I feel about it.  I’ve been beating myself up because my art isn’t realistic enough, and then I see images like this by other artists that are beautiful and NOT realistic, and are definitely, DEFINITELY, Art.  (This was on pinterest).

So I’m kind of struggling with the idea that I don’t know what my own art style is because I don’t do enough original stuff, and then I sit down with something to do an original thing, and I just stare at the blank wood and do nothing but hate myself.

I mean really.  I sit there and hate myself and my lack of ability to move forward.

So I’m struggling with that piece of acceptance….just accepting that ALL of this is art.  That it shouldn’t matter as long as it brings me joy, that I should just keep going no matter what, and who and what I am as an artist will take shape on its own.

It’s hard.  I feel like I have a skillset, but not the ability to design.  I guess that’s it.  And no one can be good at everything, right?

And I DID design this thing, even if it’s not very complex.

I should just cut myself some slack.

This is me, learning how to do that.

I have to start taking my own advice.

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When I was younger, I was angrier. There were a whole bunch of reasons for that. But I think one reason in general is just hormones, rebellion, teenage angst, etc. I went to protests and gatherings and yelled and danced and held signs. I did many things.

When I got older there was a Pagan Pride march, and there was a woman who was pressuring me to march. I told her, “I did that stuff already. That’s not where I’m at anymore,” and she got angry and started yelling at me. I don’t think she knew she was yelling. She said that everyone had to march, everyone had to be active, Pagan Rights were violated every day,” etc., etc. And I can’t argue with the latter, they still are.

But I’m thinking now that there are so many ways to be active. There are so many faces to activism…there’s microcosmic, like working with the people in your neighborhood, or even just on your block or street, and there’s macrocosmic, where you try to change governmental policy, or the world.

For me, the marching is best left to younger people. Youth has an idealism and a belief that things can change, while I become tired and frustrated that they never will. Youth has a strength and endurance, while I have a lack of faith. Youth has fire and anger and their lives depend on the future, while I’m in what must be the latter half of my life. (I’m not living to 100 I don’t think. Most people don’t.) When the future happens, I’m only going to have to live with it for a short while.

But there are other things, too. Letter writing, standing up for injustice whenever you see it, discussion with people who are able to listen to reason, even if it won’t change their minds it might open them a little, or expose them to an alternate point of view.

I’m trying a little bit to have internet discussion, but it’s so draining. It’s hurtful. It’s like constantly parrying attacks and coming back with open arms. It takes patience, and an ability to step back and not take things personally that I’m only just learning…I shouldn’t have tested it so early. I’m doing okay on the surface, but I’m waking up with anxiety, I’m crying, I can’t even finish (and this is pretty telling) ONE cup of coffee in the morning without starting to have my body react really quickly with my hands shaking and my heart beating quickly like a caffeine overdose. It’s not the caffeine, it’s me. It’s my PTSD.

I tell other people that not everyone can do everything. That there are many jobs. That we can’t all be good at everything. Last night I was crying on Rob saying that I want to be able to express myself better, I want to be clearer, I feel like I’m failing miserably, I want to make a difference in the world, and I feel like I can’t, like I’m powerless, like I can’t make a difference at all, no matter how hard I try.

Rob said, “You made a difference to me.”

“Look at all these people you helped,” and he listed a few from this month. “You made a difference to them. And you made a difference to me. You changed me and my life.”

I said, “And you love me anyway, even if I CAN’T change anything?”

“Yes. But you can. You do. You have.”

I have to take my own advice. I have to withdraw from these conversations and leave them to other people, they hurt me too much. And I have to stick to the smaller things. I have to do what I can, and stop judging myself for being unable to do what I can’t.

So to all you people that are doing those things, judging yourself for the things you can’t do, fighting things even though it hurts you more in the long run…I just want you to know that I do it, too.

And I’m going to stop. You can too.