Underneath my yellow skin

Tag Archives: anxiety

More (you know) about mental health

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I’m still trying to get my shit togetehr and my sleep back on track. I managed to go to bed by 2:30 a.m. last night–well, a quarter to three, which is miles better than what I’ve been doing in the past few weeks. I god a decent amount of sleep, but I’m still so tired. Oh, we got two to three inches of snow last night, but only an inch or so stuck around. Winter is not leaving without a fight this year. So, once again, I’m including a video of Prince singing Sometimes It Snows In April because homeboy (he was from here) knows about winter in April. It’s such a beautiful and melancholic song.

I don’t know if I–well, let me put it this way. I’m so tired. Physically and emotionally. I feel defeated and like there’s no reason to live. What’s the point? This country is fucked. Even if there is a country after this president is gone, it’s going to be unrecognizable. The first time he was president, iI had a bad feeling, but nothing like this time. Why? Because he has a chip on his shoulder and nothing to lose. He can do whatever he wants with very little consquences. Yes, the Supreme Court is doing some checking of him, but it feels very much like they’re slowing the bleeding–not stopping it.

This election showed a really ugly side of this country, and it has just broken me. I have never been a patriot, especially not since 9/11 and the aftermath. But I have never despised my fellow countrypeople as I do righrt now nor have I wished so much ill on them. I want them to feel the pain of all the shit this president is doing, even if they will never admit/know/acknowledge it’s his fault. He doesn’t care about them in the least, which is such a maddening thing. He’s like a cult leader in that they would do anything for him. He accepts this as his due and does not care if they get hurt in return.

My empathy has run out. I want his supporters to hurt the way he’s been hurting minorities in this country. I hate that I feel this way, but I can’t deny I do. I know they will be affected by many of his batshit decisions, but it’s not enough. I want them to know he is the reason for their pain.

It heartens me that there has been pushback by both Dems and Reps, but it feels like too little too late. Because here’s the thing. In order to have a reasonable discussion, both sides have to agree as to the parameters of said discussion. That’s not possible with this president because he’s in a world of his own. If the Republicans are willing to try to put a stop to some of his ideas, well, then that’s a step in the right direction.

It doesn’t help that the family dysfunction is what it is. I talked to my mother tonight, and I realized that I’m back to feeling depressed every time I talk to her. This was actually a not-bad converastion (in comparison to several other talks we’ve had recently), but I still brace myself every time I talk to her because there’s a chance that something will come up that I have to brace myself for.


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Mental health and more

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I am really working on my sleep, which has gone haywire since changing the time. THis is one of my pet rants, but can we please stop changing the time? I don’t care which we choose, but let’s just leave it the same all year round. My god. We have fake lighting. We don’t need to be beholden to the whims of the sun any longer. For fuck’s sake.

On the bright side, I’ve been getting a decent amount of sleep. On the not-so-bright side, it’s been at all hours of the day/night/morning. I am concerned. I am trying to drag my sleep schedule back to going to bed by 2 a.m. and getting up at 10. It’s not happening, though, and I’m just not happy with myself.

Let’s talk Taiji a bit. And Bagua. I’m focusing on those because they are my lifeline. Without them, I don’t know if I could .

Side note: There’s a new game out called The First Berserker: Khazan (Neople). It’s a soulslike, though the combat is likened more to Sekiro. I tried the demo for an hour, and I quit before even getting to the first boss. Hm. There’s an easy mode (someone mentioned it in the Discord), which I had not known. But I did play the demo, and I presume there was an easy mode in the demo? If so, wouldn’t I have chosen that? I don’t know.

Anyway. I am so sick and tired of soulslike relying on the parry and having bosses taht are brutal. It’s like they took the least-interesting thing from From games (to me) and made them the focus of the game. When I tried the demo, the scrubs could kill me in three hits or so. It took three hits to kill a scrub. This is actually something  people mentioned about the game–that the enemy difficulty is badly calibrated. Andy Cortez from Kinda Funny said that he dumped all his points into Strength to get the max with as little health as he could get away with, but it still took him two or three hits to kill the scrubs.

I found the combat to be grueling and not satisfying. I think I went with the greatsword because the other options are dual-daggers and dex. As we all know by now, I don’t do either. So it’s greatsword by default. I don’t know if there is any kind of magic in the game, but my hunch is no.

Every fucking review talks about how brutal the bosses are, but how they came to love the drutality. Here’s one from IGN that typifies that sentiment. Meanwhile, I’m summoning humans for Shadow of the Erdtree because I do not want to struggle for hours with a boss. I did that with the final boss of the DLC the first time around. Five hours over two days after getting the boss down four or five hits on my second try. Did I feel exhilirated after beating the boss? Yes. But it was so fleeting and then exhaustion set in. I was so numb by that point, I was mostly just glad it was over.


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The good and the bad

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Here we are at two in the morning once again, and I’m just starting this post. I have gotten into a bad rut with my sleep (and awake time), and while I know what the problem is, I can’t make myself change it. I end up frittering away so many hours during the day, and then only when I should be sleeping, do I buckle down to do what I should be doing.

Sigh.

I know this is part of my depression. I know my mental health is really shaky right now. I know I should be doing something about it (therapy), but I just can’t make myself. Much like the other issues in my life. I know what needs to be done, but I have such a hard time making myself do it.  Even when I know each step, I can’t make myself do it. I’m fighting myself, and it’s so hard.

Plus, my brain is having intrusive thoughts. Nothing too bad, but just thoughts that make it harder for me to sleep. The last thing I need is to have my sleep be more difficult than it already is. Oh, we did hav an inch or two of snow yesterday. That was nice. It was so light and fluffy. Most of it didn’t stick, and it’s all gone now, but it was a nice respite. We’re supposed to get flurries tomorrow, too.

I just feel like the weight of the world is on my shoulders. And that no one loves me. I know the latter is not true as I mentioned in yesterday’s post, but it’s still in my brain. Again, I know it’s lies. I know it’s the brain weasels. But it doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel real.

I just looked at one of my issues with Comcast. And how it could actually be something I’m doing. Sigh. The solution (if it’s truly what I think it is) isn’t that big a deal, but it’s still a shift in my thinking and behavior. And it feels burdesome, even if it doesn’t end up being so. I’ll have to wait and see because it’s a billing thing, and I won’t know for sure for at least a week.I need enough time to gauge whether my efforts are working or not.

I am still working on my weapons, and it’s the one good thing in my life on the  daily. I mean apart from the people I love. It’s so damn hard, though. I just have this voice in the back of my head berating me for all sorts of things. It’s not as bad as it used to be, and I know it’s talking shit, but it’s still diffifult to ignore.


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Hanging on by a thread

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I’m tired. And depressed. And anxious. I know that I am in a bad way for several reasons. One, my sleep is terrible. I mean, it’s nearly the worst it’s ever been, and that’s saying something. I am trying to claw my way back to not completely off the rails, but it’s so hard. Here is my post from yesterday, meandering all over the place.

Another thing is that I’m wasting too much time not doing anything productive. It’s fine to spend some time playing video games, but not as much as I’ve been doing. I know that’s one way I self-medicate, so to speak, because it’s easy to numb myself out by doing another run (Balatro) or going a bit farther (Shadow of the Erdtree) and taking on one more boss (ditto).

By the way, I’m pleased that there are still people playing the DLC. I mean, I should not be surprised as there are still people playing every other From game I play. I can summon for any of the games, though not for every boss. And I get invaded with some regularity as well. Today, I was able to summon humans for most of the bosses I fought. This has been the case for the past few days as I’ve been cleaning up the DLC. Today, there’s only been one dungeon boss I’ve wanted to summon a human for and could not, but I do not blame people for not wanting to be summoned for that boss.

I am surprised that there was a summon for a boss I consider really blah, and it’s not easy to find. I’ve only had trouble with this boss on my melee character–none at all with my casters. It’s an interesting storyline, but, sadly, the two places you have to go to blow whistles in order to get to this boss are shit.

Briefly, there are these snake-like creatures that fall from the sky. One is a mage who can freeze you in place for several seconds while the others spawn and munch on you. The range is insane, and it homes so you have to ride/walk/run out of its reach. Which is impossible to do for me because I can’t gauge how far it’ll go. What did I do instead? Use the invisibility spell, Unsseen Form in order not to be seen by them. I’m wearing an armor set that muffles my footsteps so I don’t have to waste a talisman slot on the muffled footsteps talisman.

I zipped by all the munchy snakes, got to the whistle (eventually. It’s a maze and difficult to navigate), and blew it. Then I teleported back to the NPC/church so I could take on the boss. I got a human summon, and we managed to do it in one try. The human summon died right before the end of the fight, sadly, but I got the last blow as they died. So, once again, this was an easy fight as a caster.


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Life, liberty, and the pursuit of contentment

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In the last post, I was talking about some of the difficulties in my life creeping back in like depression and anxiety. I am fully aware that much of my negative feelings aren’t real, but that doesn’t make them any less painful. This was something I talked about with my last therapist. Some people think that if you know you have issues, that’s half the battle. I get it. You can’t do anything about your probelms if you don’t know/don’t think you have them. However.

On the other hand, it’s furstrating as fuck to know whtat my issues are, but not be able to do enough about them. I’m well aware that my brain is broken, for example. That doesn’t mean I know how to fix it.

I know I’m depressed. I know that my brain is fucking with me. I know that it’s lying to me. It matters not a whit. I still feel like shit and that nobody cares about me. Even though I know objectively it’s not true.

My brother was here today for a chat and dinner. It was nice to see him, and it reminded me that it’s not good to be completely isolated. I mentioned in the last post that I wanted to find a group of queer/genderqueer Asian people to chill with. It’ll probably have to be online, but it would be cool to find an in-world group. Except I can’t drive any longer–at least not to any great distance. I can drive to the grocery store, but that’s about. I have no peripheral vision any longer, which makes driving on the freeway fraught.

I also need to get my shit together in general. As I say that, though, I shake my head because what does that really mean, and is it even feasible? I have a general idea about the former, but not about the latter. I get overwhelmed when I think of everything I’d like to do to make my life better. And is it even worth it?

That’s how I know that I’m depressed. I no longer think being alive is a gift. I am back to thinking it’s a burden and that I’d rather just not be. It’s hard to explain that I do’nt want to die, exactly. I’m not suicidal, and I have no intention of taking my life.

I just…don’t have ambition to improve myself or my life. I feel a numbness in my soul that I recognize as deepening depression. I cringe at everything I saye or write because it all sounds/looks inane, boring, or bland to me. And that’s at its best.

I’m also not being able to sleep well at all. I haven’t been getting enough sleep, but admittedly, that’s partly because I’ve actually had to get up at certain times the last few days, but did not manage to go to bed any earlier. In other words, my sleep is fucked.

This was how my selep used to be before my medical crisis. I barely got 6 1/2 hours of sleep. Then, high on drugs in the hospital, I slept a solid eight hours or more a day/night. That continued after I went home for the following year.


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Firm writing goals for this year

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Goals. That is what is on my mind right now. In the last post, I started actually talking about my goals for this year. I delved into the issues I was having, including the fact that my fiction writing has dried up.

I don’t think this means that it’s gone completely, though. I think I just have to rethink how I actually write now. It used to be so easy. I would get the idea in my head–

Side note: I don’t use outlines. I may have to in the future, but I haven’t up to this point. Yes, I know that this is the accepted way to do things, but it never worked for me. What usually happened was that I would get an idea in my head and let it percolate for days or weeks. I write murder mysteries (or at least mysteries. Usually murder was included), and I would start with the main character. Not a private detective, but a normie who stumbled their way into a situation, much like Jessica Fletcher. I usually wrote trilogies because that seemed to be the right amount of time with a protagonist.

Once I had the protag, then I came up with the victim. In doing so, the perp usually sprang to mind as well. I doen’t think I’ve ever changed the perp as I was writing, but I have changed circumstances, relationships, and almost everything else.

As I wrote yesterday, I know my strengths and weaknesses as a writer. Strengths: characterization and dialogue. Weakness: descriptions and transitions. I don’t like the latter two in part beacuse I can see everything in my mind, so why couldn’t everyone else?

I can be super self-indulgent about dialogue or world-building because those are the things I enjoy. I can write for pages about psychology and relationships, and I have to take a sterner hand with those. On the other hhand, I struggle with describing physical things other than in a “She has black hair and large brown eyes” kind of way. I envy people who can make the descriptions flow, but I just cannot.

Side note: I have to start considering that the reason I can’t write fiction the way I used to is because of my medical crisis. It didn’t affect me much in my day-to-day, but there were things that were affected that maybe I wasn’t able to see until later.

Such as: I have almost no peripheral awareness now. My eyesight is not as good as it used to be. My reflexes are shit(tier). All of these could just be because I’m getting older, but I think at least two of them (peripheral and reflexes) are a direct result of my medical crisis. Obviously, I can’t say for sure. I am not a doctor. I know what I experienced, but I don’t know what it actually did to my body.


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Would a diagnosis be worth it?

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In the last post, I talked about how I had basically found ways to work around my own brain. I don’t know if I have autism and/or ADHD, but the signs are there. Or at least they would be if I let myself react instinctively rather than  how I have learned to deal with them. I have so honed my reactions that they are almost instinctual to me. That makes it difficult to say what my real response would be.

For example. I have a constant commentary in my head that I would never voice out loud. I learned at a very young age that no one was interested in what I had to say. Not really. Well, i shouldn’t say that no one was interested, but that most people were not interested. I would actually go further and say they were upset/offended/bothered when I did voice my opinion.

Wow. I’m reading a list of things that a non-male person with autism–well, ok. It’s about women. I’m AFAB so it relates to me, but I take issue with the fact that the article I read pathologized AFAB people who did not feel that they were women.

That aside, holy shit, I fit almost all the ‘symptoms’. They even include hyper-empathy as a possible trait. Also, hyper-focus, naivety about social interactions, and an uncommon interest in sex. By the way, I felt like some of the traits/symptoms were laughable. They said that someone who was straight, gay, transgender, or nonbinary could be autistic. Um, that’s basically saying anyone can be autistic. They also said someone who was asexual could be autistic as could someone who was hypersexual. In other words, come the fuck on with covering all the bases.

The point is, I am fifty-two years old. I have been on this earth for over a half-cetntury. I have found ways to deal with my weird traits and issues, but I never considered that I might be autistic. I knew it ran in my family, but I never once thought it could be my. Why? Because the symptoms/traits were foreign to me. “No empathy.” Well, nope. I have an overflowing of empathy. It was fornced upon me, but it was there.

Another was “No eye contact”. I didn’t like eye contact, but I knew that it was expected. I could do it, but at a cost. “Self-stimulation”. No way in hell I was going to do that. I knew better than to even try. I was a girl* and I had to sit quiet as a mouse. My father believed that children should be neither seen nor heard, especially a girl child.

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High risk; higher reward

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I want to write a self-help book because I have found one easy trick to curing depression, anxiety, and body dysphoria. It’s called dying, and I cannot recommend it enough. Twice is even better, to thoroughly cement the teaching. I jest, but not really.

Ever since dying twice, I’ve mulled over how to talk about this. I know it sounds like a humblebrag to say that I suffered walking non-COVID-related pneumonia, two cardiac arrests, and an ischemic stroke within twenty minutes without a scratch, but it’s basically true.

There is no way for people to relate to what I went through. I know that. It’s why I rarely mention it. In addition, I know how it sounds when someone peddles something that isn’t relevant. I know how impatient I used to get when people said to look at the bright side of life or that life was precious or that we only had one life to live. I hated that bullshit because it sounded so sanctimonious. “You don’t know me or my life. Don’t tell me to be grateful!” That was me whenever I heard anything of that ilk.

But. Here’s the thing.

They weren’t wrong.

Here me out. The one thing that I’ve learned from my medical crisis–well, the biggest thing. I’ve learned plenty–is that life is really fucking short. I can’t say we only have one life to live because I’m on my third, but in terms of relative time, 50 years is a blink of an eye.

Before I had my medical crisis, I suffered from depression, anxiety, and body dysphoria. I had an almost-crippling depression that made it dififcult to get out of bed in the morning. I had anxiety that made me almost paralyzed with indecision. And, I hated my body with an intensity of a thousand suns. It started with my mother putting me on a diet when I was seven and nagging me all my life for being a fat cow.

Taiji helped with all three of these to a certain extent. Before I started it, I could not be in a crowd of people for many reasons. Too many emotions pouring into me; too much physical contact; too much noise. My depression told me that everyone hated me, and my anxiety told me that no matter how I talked to people, I would get it wrong.

As for the body hatred–I refused to look in a mirror. Even when I was doing my grooming, I would studiously ignore it. I hated my face and my body, and I refused to let people take pictures. My mom used to complain about that, too. That I would not let her take pictures. Well, geez, Mom. Youv’e told me in not so many words that I am hideous and grotesque because I’m fat. You’ve done this my entire life. I can’t imagine why you would be shocked and surprised that I don’t (didn’t) want my picutre taken.

I detested my body and face. I thought I was just too disgusting to live. Fifteen years of studying Taiji (at the time of my medical emergency) got me to studiously neutral. Meaning, I would say I was neutral about my body and face, but I didn’t really mean it.


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How my anxiety manifests

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I’ve had depression, anxiety, and body issues for most of my life. I realized I was going to die when I was seven, and that did weird things to my brain. I wav both fascinated by it and repulsed by it–which probably isn’t that weird, come to think about it. When I got my MA in writing, we had to write roughly a hundred pages of fiction around a theme. Mine was death. I was emo goth, which is who I am at heart.

I wrote roughly 150 pages of death-related stories, and the one I remember the most was about a Taiwanese American female serial killer. I remember it because it was basically a revenge fantasy in which I went to very dark places. My advisor said I should make her white because people would get fixated on her race–in a negative way. They would think it was representnative of all Asian women. He was Mexican American, and I understood his thought process.

I rejected it, though. I hated the whole model minority bullshit (especially because it was used for Asian people as a way to poke at black people) because it still didn’t acknowledge the humanity of the person. Real people are flawed and complex–neither wholly bad or wholly good (for the most part).

It’s a weird kind of pressure. Asian kids in college kill themselves at an alarming rate because of it. They get it from their homes (East Asian cultures are very big on education) and from American culture (which promotes the idea that Asian people are preternaturally smart. There was one time when I was in my twenties and doing one-person performances. An Asian group did a book of themed essays every year and one year, it was focused on sexuality. Then, we had a reading, and it was really fascinating. At the end of the reading, a white dude walked on stage and proceeded to trash us all. He started by saying he had an ex-girlfriend who was Korean (not Korean-American), and any time a white dude starts like that, it’s not going to be pretty.

Yes, because he had once fucked a Korean woman, he was an expert of all things Asian. He pompously said that he wanted to talk about Eastern spirituality, which was very common for white dudes, too. They always want to talk about how mystical ‘The Orient’ is. Which, I mean….there are a lot of venal assholes in Asia. I’ve been there. But that’s another kind of racism–thinking all people of any one race or even worse, a continent, were all the same.

Who the hell was this asshole to dictate what we were allowed to talk about? He took what had been a lovely evening and shit all over it. Several people went up after him to rebut him, but it still left a sour taste in my mouth.

Back to the story I had written. It was about a Taiwanese American woman who was disatistfied with her life. She was watching the news when there was a report of a sexual predator (white dude) who had had sex with a woman and then killed her. Then did it again and again. The protagonist became obsessed with this guy and other serial killers who disposed of their victims in particularly gruesome ways. For one reason or another, each of them eluded justice, so she deicded to get all of them back with the same method they had used to kill the women they killed.


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Survivor’s guilt

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When I was in the hospital, I had a chat with the chaplain. I was not asked if I wanted to have this chat beforehand, but I did not mind. At that point with all the drugs pumping through my veins, I would have talked with anyone.

He told me that I may feel survivor’s guilt at some point, which I didn’t while I was in the hospital. Wait. That’s not exactly true. One day, while I was lying in bed as I was for much of my first few days awake, I overheard my care team talking about another patient. She was a young woman in her twenties and had just died from COVID. I felt survivor’s guilt then because she was so young and had died. More info came out such as she had not been vaxxed, nor had her entire family. And it turned out her mother died as well.

Later, I realized that the whole thing probably did not happen. I hallucinated a lot while I was in the hospital, and this was probably one of the delusions. It just did not make sense that they would all be talking about this patient and that they all knew her outside of the hospital, even though the family were ranchers with a website. Yes, this was what my brain was telling me was the truth. I don’t think any of it happened, but it did make me feel guilty that I had survived while this mythical twenty-two year old had died.

When I went home, I was mostly profoundly grateful to be alive. I was amazed at how brilliant everything was. Well, not everything as I had to deal with the family dysfunction, but apart from that, everything was awesome.

I didn’t think about much of anything, to be honest, for the first month. I was just resting up and regaining my strength. I started slowly with my Taiji, only doing stretching the first few weeks. I did try the sword on day three, just three movements. That was way too much, but it also showed me that I would get it back again eventually.

That was the important part. I needed to know that I would still be able to do my weapons. I didn’t care about anything else, really, in the first few weeks. I could not see properly, so I could not do much online for the first week. My brother made the font larger so I could read websites, but that was for very brief amounts of time.


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