Skating my way to mental safe spaces
I was all set to go to bed, and then I read one too many things on Twitter after eating. I haven’t eaten all day, which is a new weird habit. I’ve been blaming it on one of my drugs, but I wonder if it isn’t more a post-election thing than anything else, and “post-election” for me is a basket catching a myriad of things we’ll gloss over in a second. The bottom line is, I’m supposed to go to bed, but I feel like I want to vomit, so I’m going to blog instead, and drink tea, and listen to the soundtrack to an anime which I have hobbled from YouTube videos partly because I want to listen to the songs but mostly because I am desperate to hold onto my sanity.
So it’s a weird thing to some people, I know, to blog your neuroses, to “air your dirty laundry.” Well, trust me, you’re not even seeing the underwear. You’re seeing socks at best. But it’s a technique I’ve used my whole life, because while there are more than two types of people in the world, there are as far as I can see two in this house: those who bury the things they don’t want to look at, and those who pin the monsters to the bulletin board and aim searchlights on them. I’m a searchlight gal.
I gotta lotta monsters up in here, some I’m not going to share with the entire Internet, thanks, but some are easier to roast with friends. And yeah, the fucking election is one, though it’s only one. I mean, it’s the nightmare that won’t end. And I mean that it won’t end as in every time you shift the glass of the world you get little shafts of light shining on how shit is going to reflect, possibly for a long time, and sometimes that freaks me out. Which gets us to my second and much more pressing issue, the sense that I can’t control any of it. I never could, and I’ve always been aware I’ve been wandering around a world full of injustice, but I feel like we just leveled up fifty levels without warning, or I became more aware of more levels or something, and I’m having a hard time there. Plus there’s the stuff from about six blog posts back, plus I’m worried for my kids, and you know. Sometimes you want to vomit.
Tomorrow morning is talk therapy–second session, which will be more of real one, because first time with a new person is always like first day of school. Second one honestly will not be much better. It takes more than a few minutes to get to the meat of stuff, and I’m spoiled because I had a great therapist for years and I haven’t forgotten her. But I’m excited to go, because I view therapy as throwing acid on the monsters’ faces, and I’m all about that. Sometimes it leaves you raw, yes, but then you get better, and I like getting better. I don’t mind introspection, and talking one-on-one has never been an issue for me, nor has sharing details about myself, even with strangers. Witness me taking to you right now.
In the meantime, though, there is this whole strange new relationship with food and the not eating of it. I mean, I ate Thanksgiving, I guess. And that was fine. I didn’t eat much, and I only had a smoothie and Thanksgiving dinner, but that’s not really unusual. But then there’s today, where I choked down a bowl of cereal (and I mean choked) in the morning then nibbled at a small piece of pie around noon and then didn’t eat anything until half an hour ago when I couldn’t stand it anymore. If you know me in real life you know this is nothing like me, this way I’m eating. It’s slightly freakish. I can tell I’m losing a little weight, but it’s also making my body unhappy at times. So I have to quit that. I’m going to start making myself drink smoothies and then eat dinner, whether I want it or not, even just a small dinner. God just the thought makes me want to hurl.
Yeah, nobody in this desk chair has any issues at all…
Anyway. That’s my problem, and I’m gonna fix it, somehow. In the meantime, I have my drug, and I’m administering it copiously. Sadly it’s not an antidepressant. I would totally go get myself on one, except I’ve learned through attempts to mitigate pain through antidepressants that they totally kill my ability to write. They don’t for everyone. They do for me. And when I say kill, I mean, there’s nobody home. I’m here, and I’m happy as hell, but I can’t write anything. Blog posts and recipes. No fiction. I can do a little, but it sucks. If you go back in my published career and see some weird lulls or where the work gets thin or maybe you even felt like it just wasn’t quite like you were used to? Drugs. Well, drugs and then sometimes also screaming pain, but that’s another story.
So I have to find other ways to get my brain through this speed bump, ergo the not passing go and directly moving into therapy. It’s not enough, though, and so there are other things. One is music. That’s always been there anyway, but I’ve cut out podcasts and news and started playing music instead. I mean, I still read Twitter and Facebook for news–I follow a bazillion news networks–but I don’t listen to NPR or any of my podcasts, though I miss them all the same. The other thing is I’m consuming story. Weirdly, though, it’s not coming the way it usually is. Usually I read when it comes to moments like this. Except this time I can’t.
I keep hoping this goes away. I can’t explain it and I don’t get it at all. Any second a book I really want to read will come out and that will break it, I hope, except I have about six books I really want to read on my kindle and they’re just sitting there. So who knows what’s going on there. Audio books have been okay, somehow, and I’ve been listening to favorites. I’m going to restart some Pratchett soon. But I can’t even read Pratchett yet, and that’s like a four alarm fire. I’ve wondered if maybe this is finally the moment for The Shepherd’s Crown, which I’ve been saving (still). But not quite yet, I don’t think. No reading, not yet.
Anime, though. Anime is all up in this house.
I was already watching anime with Anna as post-election therapy before the infamous Yuri on Ice infection began, but now I’m a habitual cruiser of Crunchyroll and Funimation and a subscriber of both. I also started a trial of a “learn Japanese” online thing because it was one afternoon’s wild hair and it was the kind of thing that seemed good to give my brain to chew on. Trying to figure out how to ask for directions from the train station I’m unlikely to ever get to seems more productive than making myself so ill from worry I can’t keep food down. Plus then I too could argue with the translators someday.
Mostly, though, my brain is stuck on one drug and one drug only right now. When it encounters something it doesn’t like, when it reads one too many tweets, when it thinks about too many horrible things that could happen, when the straps that hold everything in the world it thought it knew begin to come too loose for its comfort, something curls around my ears and whispers, “play the gay skaters again, okay?” Sometimes I feel like maybe it’s been a bit too many times, that we’re spoiling the show, and my brain is okay with this, because it knows about Tumblr. I’ve gone from someone who doesn’t really get that place to a manic dashboard refresher inside of a weekend.
Then there are the songs. I’ve had “History Maker” for some time now, but this isn’t enough. My brain will occasionally put out a call for a new song, and once it saw that translation for “Stammi Vicino” it had to have it, and today it got it. It’s a good thing I know how to capture audio. This would all be easier if everything were simply released for purchase, but never fear, I’ll be buying it all the second it is. At this point I owe these people a shrine stateside.
If I were younger, this obsession would be different. It would be hotter, whiter, more feverish. It would feel more close to my heart, more real and personal. I’ve been to enough rodeos to see this for what it is: a mix of professional wonder and a dash of mild psychosis, a brain seeking for something, anything to cling to in order to create order amidst chaos. I don’t see any harm in letting it have its gay skaters. At this point when the gay skater sign goes up I know it’s basically a bat signal, Little Heidi saying, “things are not okay in here, we need some comfort stat,” and so to Tumblr or the YOI playlist we go. I just hope it keeps working long enough for therapy lady to help me get some more adult sized tools or the country to get its shit together.
Yeah, I know. I’ll be working on those tools as fast as possible.
Anyway. If you’ve been wondering why we downshifted from “hey I’m kind of freaking out here” to LET ME TELL YOU ALL ABOUT THE GAY SKATERS, now you know. Kind of the same thing, just different sides of the freak out.
Still going to tell you all about the gay skaters. I could pretty much strap in every night and talk four three thousand words about them, honestly, and I’m definitely going to keep doing recaps and possibly the occasional “this is what I just thought about” posts. But starting tomorrow I’m back in the fiction word-making game, because I have my own boys to write about.
Brains are weird, man. I definitely have an octopus on mine right now. Kind of works out I’m writing about the guy who knows all about how to dance with one, I guess.
Anyway, thanks for letting me put a few pins in this part of the monster. Going to listen to these songs a few more times, cruise just a little bit of Tumblr, stay the hell off anything with news on it, then go to bed. And not gonna lie, I’m probably going to watch an episode.
Or two. Or as many as it takes until Little Heidi says it’s okay to go to sleep. I like her. She gets what she wants right now. And hey, I like the gay skaters too.