Author: Kathy Nida

artist, teacher, furry beast manager

I Get Tired

When people start to worry about me because of what I say or what I write here, I always tell them that they shouldn’t worry unless I’m NOT talking or writing. That’s when you know it’s bad. That’s when you know I’ve gotten out of control. I couldn’t write last night. There was too much in me, bubbling up to the top. I couldn’t process any of it, and that’s what this blog is at the moment…it’s the place I process all the thinking and feeling into something I can handle. I was also too tired, but there was just too much emotion rolling around. I couldn’t talk when all of this first happened, back in July. It took me a few days to be able to write. I couldn’t communicate. Even now, it’s hard to talk to people sometimes. I can’t talk without getting emotional, and there’s only so many places that’s appropriate. The counselor even brought that up yesterday when I was talking about it…she said, but you cry here all the time! But that’s your JOB…I can handle doing that here, in this enclosed space, because you’re not judging me (well, maybe you are, but I don’t care) or deciding if I’m fit to work here or if I’m someone you can’t talk to any more because I’m such a mess. I can cry here safely. (It’s OK. She knew that. She was giving me shit…she likes to challenge my assumptions.)

Thursday. Thursday was bad because I gave a test. Normally at school, my brain is so full of trying to deal with teaching and lesson plans and kid behavior that it doesn’t have time to wander off and get into trouble…and this week, it’s had lots to think about that is getting it into trouble. When I’m giving a test, it’s actually a quiet day. I’m not doing much. I was logging assignments into the gradebook and paroling the classroom for cheaters (yup, got some of them, but minor offenses), but my brain by the end of the day had dug itself a giant hole and was wallowing in it, because it had free time and that’s how it wastes free time. My gut was tied up in knots. I went to the gym to try to work some of it out, but some of the stuff that happened in the evening honestly made it even worse. I was too tired to even meditate. Even though the storytelling was good, it reminded me of what was not good and how far I have to go to get to good again.

Friday was even worse, not because I didn’t have to manage a lesson…I did. And the first class was awesome…I was excited that they were progressing so well. And then the second class hit. The wall. Of nonwork. Of just not working because? Oh hey, welcome to middle school. Welcome to the brain not realizing consequences for actions (or nonaction in this case). I went upstairs at lunch to check with my team and it was everyone. Every class. A giant pile of not-work. So I made it through the rest of the day fighting this nonwork, but it was incredibly frustrating, and my real problem at this stage of my slow recovery is that I have no buffer…I have no mental resources for dealing with anger, sadness, frustration. I just get more depressed. So as the last kid is walking out of 8th period, I’m thinking, “close the damn door…I appreciate your putting all the chairs up, sweetie, but I’m about to lose it.” And I did. I stood there and cried (unacceptable).

I can’t ignore the damn hormones in all this. PMS is getting worse and more often and longer (thank you, perimenopause), and it doesn’t help on days like that. But I don’t cry at school. I make it to the parking lot (semi-acceptable). I got most of it under control, because I had to go lock the computer cart up. I did that. I managed a brief verbal interaction. I went back to my room and made it to the car, where I lost it (acceptable). I wiped my face enough so that I could drive out of the lot, because my students are walking past the driveway, waving at me. Waving back. Trying to smile. Trying not to leak salt water (unacceptable). Made it to the counselor and cried in the waiting room (semi-acceptable, more so in a therapists’ waiting room or even like oncology or radiology). Cried through counseling (acceptable). Cried out the door, into the car, in the driveway (all acceptable; no one was in the waiting room when I went through).

I wish I could say the day was a done deal at that point, that I could have gone home and put on my pajamas and eaten dinner with the kids and watched some TV show with them, but the girlchild and I finally had an appointment to deal with hair (I couldn’t get the brush through the last 3 inches of mine at the time). The problem for me is that the person who cuts our hair has a connection to the cause of all my grief, and I was hoping she would be a mature person and handle it all appropriately, but it could go badly. I had an exit plan, but I’m such an emotional mess at the moment that it might not matter.

We get there. My brain’s a mess. I had decided against taking grading with me (I have waiting time while girlchild is getting her hair cut…I like to use waiting time for grading so I don’t have to use other personal time for that). School-related stuff has been part of the problem…it makes me think, “So this is your life?” and get upset about it. So I leave all the grading and take my sketchbook. I draw.

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Really. I drew. I know. Of course I drew. My art brain is much better at taking care of me than any other part of me. And I realized that as I was listening to her talk to the girlchild that she was being kind. She was being respectful. She was avoiding the bad bad, but still saying good and nice things about depression and stuff related to being a woman going through shit, and she spoke carefully. And at some point, when she got to my hair, she realized I wasn’t in a place to decide anything about it, and she just did what she thought would be good, using her years of experience (which is why we like her), and she kept saying how this would be better. And she gifted me some product (not a full container, but sweet nonetheless) and we left…and as we walked out, I told the girlchild, “She was nice to me. She was kind.” and started to cry. Because I didn’t know if she would be. Some people are just good people. Some people are nasty selfish bitches, but she made me feel OK for a bit. And my hair does look much better. She’s always going to be right about that.

The rest of the issues are still plaguing me. I didn’t write last night because I was still mired in sad (still am today as well, but I’ve had a decent amount of sleep at this point). I exercised, I watched TV with the kids, I meditated. I read. I didn’t make art…I was too damn tired, more than tired, it was emotional exhaustion. I have so much to get done this weekend that I have to start focusing on it soon, or things will fall apart (they won’t really…but it will feel worse if I don’t get some of these things done). I’m feeling all those “should’s” in my gut right this moment. I’ll be better if I can get some of them done and move on to the stuff that makes me feel almost human: drawing. Wonder Under. fabric. I don’t know what else today brings. I haven’t planned beyond about 2 PM. That could be a problem, but it’s certainly an indicator that I’m having issues this week. I do the stuff I have to do, but my brain then shorts out and freaks out and I start crying again.

I’m crying right now. I get tired of it. I get tired of feeling this bad. I get tired of thinking about it. I get tired of being sad and angry and feeling like I’ve done everything wrong. Or trying to persuade myself that I haven’t, that it wasn’t me, that I couldn’t have predicted this or fixed this. This is the maelstrom my brain wanders in at the moment. Think of it as a blinding sandstorm. Hopefully I will find a way out of it this weekend…somehow.

I appreciate her kindness. It doesn’t fix anything, but it made a small difference for a short period of time. And at least I know I can get my hair cut without trauma.

Seesaw Days

The worst days are those where there is some good news and then something rocks me backwards into the muck. I keep thinking the good will buffer me from the bad, but it’s not quite working that way yet. I can’t seem to hold on to the good long enough. It’s so easy for the bad to take over. Yes, I guess that’s depression…just like it’s depression that keeps shoving the bad feelings away, putting them in a drawer somewhere for me to deal with later, whenever later is. I feel like I’m building armor over me to protect me from those bad things. I don’t know if that’s good either. I already have a lot of armor up from the divorce years ago…I let some of it down, and now here I am. But you can’t be in the world without letting some of it down.

I did biometrics testing yesterday at work; it’s part of the health insurance program that provides me with my health coach, whom I’ve never met. This is my second health coach…the first one was older than me, I think, and had been through grief and death and at least had some concept of the aging perimenopausal woman’s body. This one is young, mid-20s probably, and thinks everything is simple…are you over your grief yet? You can eat this many calories (no I can’t…look back at the notes from the previous health coach). Anyway. She tries. It makes me be accountable to someone besides my sad self. Anyway, the biometrics was basically BMI, skeletal muscle, fat/muscle ratio, measurements etc., and some stuff for me will never be great just due to genetics, but the numbers were really good compared to 18 months ago. If I’ve done nothing in the last year, I’ve aimed myself at being a healthier old lady. I’m close to all my goals on that. That was good news. It made me smile, even when I think about how I got there.

Because my weight loss plan? Well for the first year, it was healthy: eat reasonably, use an app to track calories, exercise regularly. Lost 20 pounds. It was hard, but worth it. Good deal. For the last 3 1/2 months? Experience extremely traumatic event, stop eating normally, exercise lots, and lose a shitload of weight. Lost 27 pounds. Seriously? And even this week and last week, little things throw me off and I get back into the not-eating mode, not because I’m trying to punish myself (I’m not…I’d really LIKE to be able to eat sometimes), but because I just can’t stomach it. The psychological pain is enough to make me gag and the nausea makes my stomach feel like a roiling sea of acid and those two things combined means I can eat a handful of peanuts or a spoonful of cereal, and then that’s it. I’m done. Not the healthiest diet plan in the world.

In my life, this is what I’ve found that helps me lose weight: really horrific traumatic personal events, stomach flu, and pregnancy (because I throw up for 40 weeks straight). All the things my health coach says should work? Don’t. None of those other health plans really work…try one of these (don’t…it’s not worth it).

OK. Whatever. So from here on out, I know I’m going to be one of those scary old ladies at the gym until I die. I’m OK with that. As far as the emotional crap goes, I know it’s going to take me a really long time to get past all this depression and the trauma and the trust issues, which are beyond huge at this point. They seem to get bigger every day. Not good. This is what counselors are for. I’m going to keep making art and at some point, I will get a rush off it again. I hope. It’s a lot of just doing at the moment. The just-doing doesn’t feel bad, but it doesn’t feel good either. Hopefully some day, it will feel good again. Hopefully lots of things will feel good again. People keep telling me they will, but believing them means I need to trust them. Yeah. I know.

I picked up the Babygirl quilt last night and my trophy for 2nd place…

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There’s nothing like a Pussy Trophy to make you at least smile for a moment. When I picked it up, I had a conversation about whether people should be in long-term relationships at all, whether it makes any logical or biological sense (I don’t know that the word logical should be hiding in biological, and it really isn’t, if you look at the meaning, but it just creeped me out, because biology isn’t logical in many ways). She is considerably more cynical than I am…not trusting any relationship to last for a long time. She’s been through more than I have, though. I guess I am more idealist than that…I do think that with mature, responsible adults that you can get through most of the trying times, as long as both people are behaving appropriately to the relationship…there are dealbreakers, of course, and I guess this comes down to how we treat other people…do we sit down and have a conversation about our concerns, our worries, and try to work it out, or like so many relationships I’ve seen fall apart, do we just careen around like bulls in china shops because we don’t know how to handle our own emotions and difficulties, trying to blame other people for how we’re feeling and not dealing with that? And not telling people what we’re feeling and thinking? I’ve seen too much of the latter…maybe this is how we’ve socialized people to be…maybe this is just in our genes. I hate to think it’s the latter. So yeah, I do believe, despite my own personal experiences, that people should be able to hang on to each other in a healthy way for a good long time, and maybe that makes me stupid, but I also know that if it doesn’t work, that there’s at least one person in the relationship who isn’t doing the work of paying attention to other people and themselves. And that’s how people get seriously hurt. Are we genetically built to be selfish assholes, or can we consider the big picture? Is it all about me me me? Or can there be an us that allows both me’s to exist? And let’s not even put the kids in the mix, because my kids HAVE been negatively affected by all this…and I regret that. I can’t do anything about it, because none of this has been under my control, divorce or other; I can just do my best to mitigate the after and show them that it’s not the end of the world…even though it feels like it.

I don’t know if any of that makes sense, and it probably dooms me to loneliness for the rest of my life. Whatever. People are shitty towards each other in general. If there’s no one else out there who thinks like I do, then so be it.

I did go out last night and hang out with total strangers…hang out is probably the wrong term, because although I was in the room with a lot of people, I didn’t interact. I somehow feel better in those situations, at least for a while, because no one there knows my background or my issues, so I don’t have to explain them or talk about them or wonder if they’re wondering if I’m OK, or worry about getting tearful, because I don’t care what any of those people are thinking…they’re total strangers and I don’t have to do anything but BE. And for a few hours, just BEING is easier than a social event where I would have to introduce myself or be with people who know what’s going on, or worse, with people who know me but DON’T know what’s going on and ask painful questions. It’s hard when there’s a break in the event and everyone is standing around socializing and I’m not, but hard is where I’m at right now no matter where I am, with friends, at school, in the grocery store, driving in the car, at the gym, at home…all of it is hard. Every day is hard. Some days are hardER, but they’re all hard. And I guess that is a testament to how much I had invested emotionally…and how little was invested in me.

More drawing tonight? Maybe. I’m already tired and I have a busy day. I’m glad my health is a positive thing despite all the shit. I’m glad I went last night (will write more about that later). I’m glad I can make art and give myself moments of peace in the shitstorm that surrounds me. I’m glad my daughter randomly texts me at night when she’s not here and tells me she loves me and that she’ll always be there for me (she won’t. she’s got to go to college and have a life and that’s OK.). I wish for a lot of other things, but there’s no point in dwelling on them (tell my brain that). And I guess I’m going to continue the daily crying jag for a least a while longer.

Pushing Back the Swamp

I seem to have pushed back at least a little of the swamp from yesterday. It’s still there, pokes its ugly head up, makes my guts clench, makes me feel nauseous, gives me this headache, and then leaves me alone for a while. I’m exhausted…didn’t sleep well last night. Waking up with chills and then night sweats. I’m not sick. My body did this early on…for the first three weeks on and off. I just figured it was psychological. I’ve had a few since then…problem is, I’m used to the night sweats. Had them for years. They actually seemed better in the last two months, but these chills, they’re awful. I’m so cold I can’t get warm. I pile all the blankets on me, including the down comforter, and then I wake up an hour later sweating to death, and then I get the chills again. Don’t Google it…it’s just freaky. Quite honestly, it could be anything from stress to low blood sugar to something to do with my current meds, which are probably all out of whack with the massive weight loss. So I’ll wait until I go to the doctor next month and bug her about it…try to document when and if there are any triggers…nothing much else to be done.

I’m tense today. Body is tight and about to jump out of its skin. And tired. Not a good mix. But better than yesterday. Yesterday sucked. Really really bad. There will be more days of suckitude. I know my triggers and I try to deal, but there’s only so much talking the logical brain can do until the emotional brain just shuts it outside and turns the music up loud.

I went to a school meeting today about teachers and technology and the law. It was helpful in some ways, but remarkably vague in others, because quite honestly, the law hasn’t caught up with reality. It’s amazing though what teachers are held to that the rest of the world doesn’t need to care about…we live in a culture where a high-ranking government official can be sending pictures of his penis to random women, and teachers are supposed to still be living in the Dark Ages of morality. My art has always been an issue…if someone complains, there will be an investigation. The question I had was is the password I use necessary? I instituted the password about 4 years ago because a parent complained about my website anonymously (hence, no investigation) to the superintendent. I freaked out (like you do) and put the password on there. That said, if you Google me nowadays, my images are all over the web. They’re published in books that you can buy at the local bookstore. If someone is going to come after me for my art, the password on the website isn’t going to protect me. Nothing will.

That said, the lawyer I talked to suggested that art is not the same as my posting nude pictures of myself (wow, wouldn’t that be scary), that art had certain protections…and when it came down to it, if there was discipline against me, I was probably talking to the guy who would handle it. He did advise caution, but I get so many complaints that people can’t get into the site because of the password that I’d rather just get rid of it…and he basically said I could. That I was in so deep with the art at this point that it wouldn’t matter.

So did I come home and remove the passwords from every post? Heck no. First of all, I’m still thinking about it…paranoid daughter of a lawyer here. Second, it would take hours to remove all the password protection, from what I remember from the last time I did it. I could just not use a password from here on out.

I’m still thinking. I already know which of you will urge caution and which will squeal hallelujah.

So it was a long day, nonetheless, but I eventually made it to the tracing table…

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I’m about 1015 pieces in (although there are 10 missing? Maybe? I certainly can’t find pieces 986-995), 9 1/2 hours in…about 200 pieces left…nearing the finish line…at least on this step. I think I’m up to 7 yards of Wonder Under…not sure. Too tired to check. Need to take my headache to bed.

We’re getting new teacher computers at school next week, after 4 years of using that ancient beast…it won’t really matter to me, because I usually leave it at school anyway. I have three computers in the house…it seems like enough, although now I’m totally paranoid that something is going to go wrong that I can’t fix (or that the boychild can’t figure out). I hate being vulnerable. Did I tell you that? I need an Ironman suit that also is capable of dealing with everything breaking and going bad and falling down and shooting water into the sky and trees falling down and cars breaking down and all that shit. I’m so tired of being the only one dealing with it all and not having anyone else you can depend on for help with getting it done or packing it up or cleaning it up or any of that. It just gets old.

The wonder of being a single mom. If I weren’t such a mental mess, I’m sure I would be able to get them to tidy up a bit more, but I just don’t have the energy.

Tomorrow…tomorrow is going to be interesting. I don’t know if it will be good or not, but that’s the thing…you never do know. Taking the sad person to sleep. I’ll tell you, if one more person says you just have to CHOOSE to be happy and it magically fucking happens, I may have to launch myself at them. I’m sure that’s possible if you aren’t carrying around biochemical markers for depression, but right now, happiness is not something I can just magically choose, and if I did, I would be faking it. You have to get through the grief and make sure that what was cracked is at least mending, that whatever caused all the issues in the first place is actually gone or going or at least well understood. Otherwise you’re just going to be doing it again at some point in the future, and if you’re lucky like me, you’ll do all the healing and mending and then you’ll get to do it all again because someone ELSE didn’t do it and you get to pay for their dumbass maneuvers.

Yeah. So hopefully none of THAT angst will wake me up in the middle of the night. I need my rest.

Roomies Reviewed

I read enough that reading books for reviewing sites seems to make sense…so I signed on to NetGalley. Recently I read Roomies, by Sara Zarr and Tara Altebrando. It’s the story of two future college roommates from across the country emailing each other in the month before they go off to college together. Each author writes one character’s emails and life story, which is interesting in theory, but I’m not sure I could actually tell that was going on.

Roomies

It wasn’t particularly obvious that there were two different writers.

The two girls have drama in their lives and that affects their communication with each other. It’s an interesting take on what happens in technological communication that is less likely to happen in real life, face to face. Misunderstandings are more common; we read so much into short or long answers and vocabulary choices in email and texts and FB posts when we can’t see what else is going on. There is definitely much more depth in the storytelling of the girls than in the email, and they spend so much time stressing over the email communication…I think that’s a good thing to point out to the YA reader. I thought it was well-written, although definitely on the light side of fiction, but it is a YA book and not meant to fully engage my old-lady brain, except as a reminder of my ancient past. I do remember sending actual PAPER letters to my future college roomie…we don’t talk at all any more. We weren’t particularly well-suited. My 2nd-year roomie was a better fit, purely by luck.

This would be good for a girl in her senior year getting ready to go off to college…it’s a good story and keeps your attention. The actual book will be released in December.