Underneath my yellow skin

Category Archives: Self-Care

Depression sucks, part four

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Let’s keep talking about depression. Here is the previous post I wrote about it. I’ve had it all my life, and in the past, I had just accepted that it was part of my life. Which it was. Until I had my medical crisis and my depression went away. Not all of it, mind, but 90% of it–which is amazing. For the first year after my medical crisis, I was so grateful to be alive. I felt peace in a way that I haven’t in any other time of my life.

I would look out the window and just marvel at being alive. That’s not something I have ever done in my life before. Every cup of coffee tasted extra-strong, and every weapon form was extra-meaningful (once I could do the weapons again). I’m not being flip when I say that dying puts a different perspective on life.

However (and you knew that I was going to qualify it), that state of mind can’t last forever. It’s simply not possible to not revert to the mean over time. What I’m saying is that, even the miraculous becomes normal over time. Yes, it’s still amazing that I’m alive when I should have stayed dead. Yes, I still feel that in my bones, deeply. But it’s not on the forefront of my mind as it was for the first two years.

Now, for the first time since my medical crisis, I had the thought that maybe it would have been better if I had died for good. It was fleeting, and I was able to dismiss it, but it shook me that it’s happening at all.

Life is hard right now. And with depresion, it’s a slippery slope. For me, anyway. It starts out mild and then before you know it, I’m on the couch and can’t get off it. At least that’s how my old depression worked. Plus, my sleep gets even suckier than normal, and I’m jsut blah all over the place.

Now, it’s different. I’m not on the couch, but I’m not any more productive. My brain feels fracture, and my life is so gray (as I said in the last post).

In the past, depression was just a part of me. There was no rhyme or reason to it. This time, however, there are specific reasons for it. In late February, I had a major tragedy happen to me. It was expected, but still sudden. What made it weirder was that it happened the day (and the day after) the Elden Ring DLC trailer dropped. Which was…a thing. And cast a pall on something  I had been anticipating for literal years.

I dealt with the tragedy at the time surprisingly well. As I said, I was expecting it to happen–just not at that particular time and so quickly. I still don’t want to say anything publically about it, though I have written several unpublished posts about it.

I say surprisingly, but it’s not surprising at all. One, ah, positive of having PTSD is that I’m very calm and cool in a crisis. See, I’m alwayst imagining the worst-case scenario, so when I’m in one, it’s my time to shine. Nothing can be worse than my brain, you see, not even dying. Twice. It’s when the outside matches the inside of my brain, and there’s a certain quietness and solidness to it that calms the fires of my brain.


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The lying lies of depression, part three

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In the last post, I talked about family dysfunction, mental health, and talked about a few more points on my list of ways I can tell I’m feeling depressed. Here’s the thing. Depression is a lying liar who lies. But, it’s also sneaky in its lies. It doesn’t just hit you in the face with its presence (at least not with me). It slowly creeps up on me bit by bit until I realize that I’m depressed.

In a way, it would be so much easier if it did just announce itself and say, “Hey, I’m here, bitch. What are you going to do about it?” But, no. It slides in a toe and wiggles it around a bit. Then, once you’re accepeted that, it shows you a knee. It keeps going until it’s fully in the room, which is when you (I) know it’s going to be a problem.

I get so frustrated when it takes me time to realize I’m depressed. And even more frustrated when I don’t do anything about it. I am glad, howeve,r that I’m more able to talk about it now than twenty years ago. I’ve been messaging with K and it occured to me and–look. It went down like this. She asked me how I was doing. I immediately started to message back–fine.

Then I stopped. I was not fine. Why was I about to lie to her? She is my oldest and dearest friend.She’s been there for me through thick and thin. We have shared the good times and the bad. She’s been by my side through so much. Why was I pretending to be ok?

I took a deep breath and wrote an honest answer. And got an equally honest answer in return that she was struggling, too. And I felt much better in the instant. Not because she was suffering, but because I was frank with her and she with me.

We have always been open with each other. Twenty years ago, though, I just would not have talked to her when I was depressed. Not in a negative way, mind, but we didn’t talk that often, and I could have shined her on if we did talk during that period.


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Waiting it out

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Today, for the first time in a long time, I did not do any weapon form practice. Why? Because the last COVID booster kicked. my. ass. I mean, it happens every time, but I always forget how bad it is. Or maybe it’s the worst this time. I will try to do some weapons later, but I was breaking out int a a sweat, and I seem to remember my teacher telling me that if you’re lightly sweating, it’s fine, but if it’s a heavy sweat , to stop. When you’re sick, I mean. Not in general.

I’ve been sweating profusely the last two days. Alternating with having the chills. I don’t get the chills unless I’m sick, and I do not like it. I like the sweating even less, though. It’s just gross. I feel weird not having done any weapons. I think I’ll sprinkle them throughout the day. I haven’t gone a day without doing the weapons forms since about a month after coming home from the hospital. Intellectually, I know that I’m not going to forget everything I know if I don’t practice for a day or two, but it’s suc a big part of my daily routine and of me, I don’t want to not do it.

But I’m worn out. When I did the stretches and the bagua, I started sweating. Now, I’m chilled. I know that it’s important to get the booster. I was planning on getting my flu shot in a few days as well, but if I do that, then the chances that I’ll be in good enough shape to go to my brother’s for Thanksgiving are slim to none. Here is my post from yesterday about me and shots.

The first time I got a Covid shot, the welt lasted until next time I got the shot. That was three weeks and a day later. Yes, they shot me again on the small bump that was still there. That is not an exaggeration. Today is day four and my arm is still hot, burny, and swollen. I have no energy, and I keep flashing cold and hot. I am actually more weirded out by being cold because I don’t get cold. In fact, that’s how I know I’m sick–when I actually feel cold. Chills, to be more precise. It’s a very strange feeling, and if I weren’t sick, I would actually find it interesting.

I hate being sick. That’s not a controversial statement or even that observant, I know. But I especially hate it when I intentionally did it to myself. I know it’s better to be boosted. I know that I should get my flu shot. But it would help if the powers that be would acknowledge that for some people, it comes at a cost. by powers that be, I mean doctors.

I really feel like it’s worse this time. I wonder if it’s because it’s a different brand. I got the Pfizer in the past, but this time it was the Moderna. Apparently, it’s fine to mix-and-match, but maybe the Moderna is particularly potent.


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My journey in Taiji

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I hated Taiji when I first started studying it. I had a teacher before my current one, and he was terrible. Flat-out terrible. I only went to him because a friend of mine was enamored with him (he has a very cultlike personality, and my friend needed a father-figure desperately as his own had been very abusive). All my narcissist/predator vibes were pinging, but I tamped them down because I trusted my friend. And because I have my own extreme biases against narcissists that made me wonder if I was blowing things out of proportion.

I wasn’t. He was sleeping with a student. They  were in a relationship but as he was the teacher in his fifties and she was 27 and the student, could it truly be equal? In short, no. Not only was he scummy enough to sleep with a student, but he was very sleazy in his interactions with other women. He made a big deal about respecting personal space and not touching anyone without their consent, but that was a big, fat lie.

I gritted my teeth the entire time I studied with him which was probably a year or so, but I did not trust him one whit. That’s not a good relationship in Taiji, but I was young and stupid at the time. This was around the time The Matrix came out, and he raved about what a revolutionary movie it was. He said it was the essence of Taiji and removing yourself from the system. The message I got from him was that he was justified in being intensely selfish because nothing he did could help anyone else, anyway. Or rather, what was going to happen would happen regardless of what he did. It was such self-serving twaddle, I internally sneered even though I hadn’t seen the movie. Just by watching the trailer, I was sure that he was spouting bullshit, and when I watched the movie years later, I had my confirmation.

The Matrix is a good action movie, but unconventional and going against the norm? Not hardly. I watched it in a theater with my then-boyfriend who liked the movie and wanted me to see it. That was problematic in and of itself because I had a boyfriend dump me when I told him my views on Pulp Fiction, so after that, I kept my opinions to myself. While watching The Matrix, I kept thinking how hot Keanu was and how hot Carrie-Anne was. I did think back to what my ex-Taiji teacher had said about the movie and rolled my eyes because the movie had very predictable and conventional story beats. Then, Neo died and Trinity kissed him to bring him back to life.


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A dangerous time

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I’m full of energy today, which is a change for me. Since I got out of the hospital, I’ve gotten a solid eight hours a night, waking up only once during the night. I’ve woken  up and not been exhausted, but my body is still mending. All that sleep is going into the deficit I’ve carried with me for decades. I know that’s not how sleep works, but that’s how I think of it, anyway. I’ve had a lifetime of not getting enough sleep and then I had a very traumatic day followed by two weeks in the hospital. The first two weeks at home, my body was just mending itself and recovering from the trauma. The next two weeks, the sedation and narcotic meds were (finally) completely leaving my body, which meant I could feel all the little aches and pains that a body has.

Then, I hit a plateau of frustration because I wasn’t getting any better. Intellectually, I know that it can’t always be peaks. There are going to be plateaus, and, yes, valleys. That doesn’t mean I have to like it. Part of Taiji is accepting things as they are, which is not my strong point. I come by it honestly as my parents are both major worriers (in vastly different ways). I used to joke with K that her mother was very much, “Whatever choice you make, you’ll be fine” whereas my mother is more, “Whatever choice you make, it’ll go drastically wrong”. We both laughed at the time, albeit ruefully. In my case, it meant that no matter what I did, I always regretted it and thought about how different life would be if I had done x, y, or z. This is more my mother than my father, but he’s prone to it, too. When I had a minor car accident several years ago, I was clearly in the right. The witnesses and the cops agreed with this. So did the young woman who was driving the other car. I, too, knew there was absolutely nothing I could do. I was going straight on a local road when she suddenly turned left and slammed into my car. I saw her coming, instantly thought, “There’s nothing I can do” and instinctively relaxed. I walked away from it with a massive bruise on my stomach from the seat belt, probably, and nothing else. My car was totaled, but I was fine. Later, my father started questioning if there was anything I could have done to avoid it. I was getting pissed because there really was nothing I could do. I picked up a stuffed soccer ball my father had made in Home Ec and threw it suddenly at my father. He didn’t even flinch as it hit him. I asked why he didn’t try to catch it and he didn’t even register that I had thrown something at him. It wasn’t nice of me and I felt like shit afterwards, but it made my point–at least to me.


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Sleep, but at what cost?

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I hate sleep. I’ve always hated the sleep. I remember when I was very young, I’d stuff a towel in the crack under the door when I was supposed to be in bed. Then, I would read until midnight or later, rinse, lather, and repeat. There were several reasons for this and it set me up for a lifetime of not being able to sleep before midnight. There are other reasons including a mischievous thyroid, but it set me up for a lifetime struggle with Lord Morpheus. In fact, it’s such a big part of me, I really identified hard with The Sandman, a graphic novel series by Neil Gaiman. A friend hooked me up with the compendiums and I devoured them with an eagerness that was almost frightening. I was immediately antagonized by Dream (Morpheus) and wanted to punch his moody lights out. Desire both intrigued me and repulsed me as desire was so oft wont to do. Death was amazing, of course, and Delirium broke my heart. Despair was grotesque and scary, whereas Destruction was hot as fuck. I was so enamored by them, I wrote a novel with them as main characters.

When I was in college, I slept maybe four hours a night. By this point, my thyroid was destroyed so I was hypo instead of hyper. I was also deep in an eating disorder my first year in college, which did not help my metabolism at all. When I went home from college for breaks, I would crash for fifteen hours the first night and get sick. Every time. There was one day that stands out in sharp relief. I had a portable alarm clock that I kept on my desk by my bed. One day, I got up and couldn’t find it anywhere. I looked all around the room several times and it was nowhere to be seen. After ten minutes, I shrugged and gave up, still befuddled. I opened the mini-fridge to grab a Diet Pepsi and there was my alarm clock. I had no recollection of putting it in there. After that, I put it on the sink across the room so I wouldn’t do that again.

In my late twenties, I had nightmares upon nightmares every night. Four or five was not unheard of and they were incredibly graphic. There was a stretch of time where my friends were dying in my dreams on the regular. It became a joke that if you hadn’t died in one of my dreams, then you weren’t really my friend. It was funny in retrospect, but at the time, it was exhausting. I also had a nightmare in which I actually died. I  was lying in bed (in my dream) when a Snuffleupagus-like creature comes up to me. Hey, I know that doesn’t sound bad in the light of day, but in my dream, it was terrifying. It crept up to me as I was rooted to the spot and then it started stealing my breath. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything but lie there. It kept stealing my breath until I couldn’t breathe any longer–and then I died.

So, yeah, the adage that you can’t die in a dream isn’t true. It wasn’t fun at all. It wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t fun, either.


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How to deal with my broken mind

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I have a broken mind. This has been true since I was a kid. Or rather, I’ve always been different. I loved to read and always had my nose in a book. I devoured them rapidly, moving from one to the next the second I was done with the first. A part of the reason why was because I hated life with every fiber of my being. I can’t remember a time when I thought it was a good thing to be alive and is it nature? Is it nurture? I don’t know. Or, more to the point, it’s a complex mixture of both. By my mother’s account, I was a happy and cheerful toddler–though she is an unreliable narrator. She looks at things in the past through rose-colored glasses, mostly so she doesn’t have to deal with the negative ramifications that linger.

I am pretty sure this is one of her coping mechanisms in dealing with my father because he’s pretty unrelentingly negative. I also know that her childhood wasn’t the happiest and that she never felt like she was loved by her mother. Who, by the way, was a real piece of work. Probably shouldn’t have been a mother, but it was expected of women of her generation and culture (Taiwanese). She definitely favored her sons over her daughters and for whatever reason, my mother was her least-favorite.

All that is to say that my mother came into parenting with some faulty ideas as to what it takes to be a parent and what it meant to be a parent. More specifically, a mother. I also think one of the reasons she decided to have children was to have someone to love her unquestioningly, which was destined to fail. You don’t have kids for what they can do for you–ideally, that is. Many people do, much to their own detriment.

Ever since I can remember, I was not happy in my own skin. My mom made dresses for me, which is so not my jam. I like a long flowy skirt and I wore a dress now and again in my twenties, but it never felt right. It wasn’t a gender thing, but a sensory thing. I hate clothing and try to wear as little as possible. Dresses generally cover more than other clothing and is restrictive to boot. I liked to climb trees when I was a kid–which was also something that I was told I shouldn’t do as a girl–and that’s really hard to do in a dress. I was considered a tomboy and frowned upon for being, well, too much.


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I am a delicate flower, damn it

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The heat has finally broken–somewhat. It’s 75 right now, which is still outside my comfort zone, but it’s way better than 107. My parents were shocked when I told them because it’s actually hotter than where they are–which almost never happens. They asked how I’ve been dealing with it. With AC, a fan blowing on high directly on me, iced water, and ice packs. Also, taking off my shirt when the sun goes down. I’m a less is more kind of gal in general when it comes to clothing in part because of hating clothing on my skin and partly because I hate being hot. Oh, also constrained. In my idea world, I would  be naked all the time in a 50 degree world. That’s not gonna ever happen, though, because that’s not the world I live in.

My energy has been sapped even for the few minutes I’m outside when I’m taking a few puffs. It’s just so oppressive, especially when you’re not used to it. It’s similar to how the South deals with an inch of snow–it’s no big deal unless it only happens once every five years or so. We get over a hundred on occasion, but not for a solid week as we did this time. We’re supposed to get back up in the nineties this week, which is just not right. I mean, yes, it’s June and yes it’s summer. But this is Minnesota! We’re not built to deal with sustained 100 degrees.

Even though I’m inside most of the time, I’m still affected by the heat. My sleep has been worse than usual and my brain refuses to think. I’m grumpy, which, admittedly, is my normal state of mind, but it’s also extra with the heat. I feel like a dope for being so susceptible to heat, but it’s the way I am. I love the cold with all my heart and feel alive when the temperature is around zero. But anything over sixty is not fun for me and past seventy, I want to throat-punch somebody. Eighty? Grrrrr. Ninety is unfathomable and a hundo is personally hurtful.

I’m drinking iced water and iced coffee like they’re going out of style, which is helping a bit. But mostly, I’m just mad. I know it doesn’t help, but it’s how I feel.

In better news, my left thumb is roughly 92% right as rain. That steroid shot was a miracle worker, but I’m glad the doc clarified that it might take up to two weeks to work. I had been expecting it to be like magic and work instantly. Knowing that wasn’t the case meant I didn’t freak when it didn’t get better right away. It took a few days for it to improve at all and by the one week point, I was at roughly 60%. Now, I can bend it with very minimal pain and it’s only slightly sore when I touch it. To be honest, I’ll be happy if it stays like this and doesn’t get any better. I’m just so relieved I can use it again.


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Little things mean a lot

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I never thought about my thumb before it started being a problem. It makes sense. Why would I think about my thumb? I have two of them and they do what they’re supposed to do. Period. That’s good enough for me. Until my left thumb started twinging in pain. Nothing big. Not often. Just once in a while, it would tweak. And the joint would pop and lock when I bent it. This was perhaps two or three times a week. The clicking didn’t hurt; it was just annoying. Then, about a week ago, things escalated dramatically. The base of my thumb started hurting more regularly. Again, not in and of itself, but if I touched it or moved it in an odd way. Not hurt, but more like ached. The clicking was deeper for a lack of a better word, but still did not hurt.

It was highly annoying, however, and I knew I did not want it to get worse. I Googled it because that’s what I do. It’s rheumatoid arthritis also known as trigger thumb in this particular case. There are stretches recommended for it, which I’ve been doing every day. In addition, I have picked up a splint for it that I am wearing most of the day and night. Is it helping? I think so? It’s hard to say.

I have to say, before I got the splint, the pain increased dramatically. the base is painful to the touch, though not inflamed-looking. The clicking is more often than not, ranging from a quick, barely-audible click to a deep, grinding click. Bending the thumb is painful at the base and the clicking itself hurts sometimes. Once in a while, the bending pain is excruciating, but it’s bearable most of the time.


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The more things change….

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I gave up coffee. Again. Maybe not for good, but I switched back to green tea for my caffeine. Why? Because my sleep has been terrible since I started drinking it again. Green tea didn’t seem to have that effect and it’s delicious, especially with pomegranate. I haven’t had this bad of sleep in some time and it’s really messing with my head. Yes, my migraines have been kept at bay, but is it worth it? I don’t know. With the absence of the migraines, I would say yes. But, in the middle of a migraine, I would say no. It’s the duel of the conflicting health issues!

On the weapons front, I loaded up today. I did the beginning of the Double Sabre Form, sword drills, the whole Sabre Form, the Karambit Form, and spear drills. Oh, I forgot to do the one row of the Cane Form I know, so I’ll do it tomorrow. I’m still thinking about about a music/form mashup and we’ll see if I have the energy for that. One thing about going to the demo is that it fills me with possibilities–much like a kid with her nose pressed to the window of a candy shop. I want everything I can see and all at one time. My teacher likes to say that there’s a lifetime to learn things so there’s no reason to rush.

She’s right, but that doesn’t stop my brain from whispering that I’m behind and need to catch up. Not that kindly, of course, as my brain is really mean to me most of the time. Actually, I have to check that. It used to be horrid to me. I had a constant tape of negativity that looped in my brain and it just felt normal. I called him (and it was definitely a him) The Dictator and he was a cruel master. He had so many rules and regulations, it was impossible to keep them straight and not mess up.

Side note: Quick background about the Dictator. I grew up being constantly told, mostly by implication, that my feelings were not valid. They constantly got minimized and ignored, and I was not allowed to show any kind of negative emotion. Negative meaning anger, sadness, depression, etc. Only my father was allowed to show anger because he was king of the castle and allowed to do whatever he wanted. The rest of us had to tiptoe around him and catered to his every whim.

I internalized those messages to such an extent that even now I have difficulty showing human emotions in a natural manner. It’s one reason I prefer writing because it’s easier to mimic through written words than through speaking. I’m better at it, but it’s still not something I can do without thinking. In the past, I’ve been able to mimic the emotions because I’m observant and I used to do some  acting in my youth.

I want to be clear. It wasn’t that I didn’t feel the emotion on some level. If a friend told me they, say, got a great new job, then I felt happy for them deep down inside. The problem was that I had wrapped my emotions in multiple layers of cotton that I could no longer feel them. Not only that, I couldn’t even access them.

I had a flat affect at the time because I was in a deep depression and I felt as if I could never get out of it. Now, I’m still not as emotive as ‘normal’ people, but I can more easily  pass. And I have access to my emotions, albeit muted versions.


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