Tumble Weeds, Frost and Solice in Bed

 It’s been two days since I brushed my teeth. My topknot doesn’t look hip anymore, just a swiped up mop plonked on my head. Winter and relapses just aren’t my jam. But whose jam would they be?

Two years ago yesterday we embarked on flying out to the desert in search of our dream tree-change. It came up in my memories in Facebook – all bright eyed and happily waiting for our flight up from Melbourne to sunny Sunraysia.

If you had of told me of the challenges that we have had to face since we moved, I would have laughed it off. Advanced Rheumatoid Arthritis for one and a Mental Breakdown for the other. Great combo.

I was actually going to try and bury this blog as far into the nether web web as I could and close it all down. The first sign was my domain renewal lapsing. Second was that I had felt no inclining to write in FOREVER. Third, my mojo for this writing gig had dwindled to an ant size poo along with any sort of motivation for much.

 

Hiding under the covers in bed every chance that I have had has been my jam of late. My bio on my insty page talks about my love of sunrises and sunsets. This still is true, but winter cold and foggy mind has led me to forget the nice moments.

Mental challenges suck. And they can suck real real bad. I’m looking at my hands while I am typing this and they shake. They shake bad in the mornings and even when I really really try and focus on them telling my brain to speak to my hands to stop, it doesn’t always work.

I’m getting there though. Getting through the minimum required of me to function. I started this week so hard to not hide under my covers. Man that has been hard. So crochet we begin again. As much as many bag The Real Housewives of Anywhere – they have been my respite from my circling mind of anxiety. Thank you OC and Beverly Hills.

My meds have been adjusted up, only a little. The first week I felt a little woozy but I’m coming good with that. I swing between no appetite and binge eating all the worst foods. Coffee is my drink of choice and because addiction is in my blood, I am consciously not turning to the bottle.

And yes, there are people in the world experiencing much darker and much more travesty than I. I logically know this and can even see how my own demise isn’t helping me.

But at the moment, this is what it is. Two-day-old unwashed teeth, shaky hands and trying with all my might to turn that smile on when required.

No sympathy required.  No messages either. I’m here, going through what I am.

 

Much love to you (if you’re still around, clicking into this little Blog of mine)