Monday

Stupid Monday, marching in at the beginning of the week, all Meh, and Meh, I’m Monday, Ha! Monday can kiss my ass.

So…I’ll fill you in on some things because Monday has me all miserable like a menstruating bear with a chapped vagina and someone said “Write about the things that make you happy”. You know what? Nothing makes me happy on Monday! NOTHING!

As to my absence from this dusty blog (My God, someone should vacuum this hell hole) I shall now attempt to explain. We live in the country and for 3 years have had high-speed internet and phone service provided by a company that rhymes with Snodgers. (I hereby release myself from all litigious action because you know what you did, you stupid dickwads, and I didn’t use your name so bite me.) (That’s legal, right?)

I am convinced that there is a built-in life span for all electronic products. Right around the time the warranty wears off, let’s say a couple of days after, all hell breaks loose. So for the latter half of August, our internet hub gave us sketchy phone and internet at best and finally stopped working COMPLETELY about a month ago. Dear Hubby, in all his masculine beauty, caressed my panicked forehead, deepened his voice an octave, grabbed the phone and said “I shall take care of this, my gorgeous and darling wife, as I know how important the web is to you.” You buying that last part? Yeah, me neither. *sigh*

But what should have been easy ended up with the said company sending us the wrong  $150 dollar part (that you can’t get anywhere else. Clever.), charging us for it plus shipping AND signing us up for another 2 years WITHOUT our consent. Oh boy. To top matters off, when Dear Hubs called 4 times to rectify this bullshit, he got YELLED at by the senior v.p. in charge of this fuckery. Hence no internet and no home phone. Does anyone know what this sort of thing does to a blogger? I’ve taken to writing things on paper in longhand and shoving it in the faces of frightened strangers saying “Can you read this? And comment? Tell me I’m funny, nice stranger! PLEASE!” How I haven’t been arrested is beyond me.

Wait. I’m supposed to be writing about things that make me Happy. Okey dokey.

One good and grand thing happened this summer that I haven’t had the chance to post about, what with the above, the dead dog, depression, what not. Ready? Are You Ready?

I got invited to be in an e-book. AND I got published in an e-book! Squeals! Joyous armpit farts!

It’s called All Cracked Up and is a collective of bloggers that are some of the finest humorists and story tellers EVER! Seriously, I read it and tears rolled down my face. I actually felt out of my league, that’s how good these folks are. Here’s the link.

                    

If you do yourself one favour, buy this and snort laugh along with me. You’re welcome.

You know what? I do feel kind of …well, not happy, but less Monday-ish. But Monday can still suck it.

Oh and we got a new puppy but that’s a post for another day, which will happen soon because FUCK YEAH! We have internet again!

And don’t use any service that rhymes with Snodgers. They yell when they think they’re right.

Family Vacation (Now With More Snakes)

I have so many posts I have to write but due to absolutely craptastic internet connection and rampant depression I’m behind. To catch you up on my summer, I’ll use three words:It sucked shit.

I took forever to heal from my appendix surgery, as my stupid body is getting old and cranky about such things as being cut open. I remember the days I could fall down a flight of stairs or get in a knife fight and be up and around in a week. (Only one of those is true, surprisingly.) So I mostly laid around and gained weight. I also had to put my old dog down and that was terrible. And I ended up with bronchitis. The end.

Kidding. But yes, I have been battling an epic case of depression. To the point I just felt like giving up, laying my head down and letting it all go on without me. But that’s not who I am. The anger sets in and I get furiously busy being furious at my mood. Then I start making lists. Lists of what I’m afraid of, what’s holding me back, why I never let this depressed me win out. What I would say to myself if I had the chance to step out of my head and give myself one hell of a good talking to. It goes something like this:

Smarten the fuck up! Life is for the living! You have a child! Get on with it! Look at this place! Clean it up! It could be so much worse! You could live near snakes!

Snakes? My primal fear. I will repeat my feeling on snakes for you. Ahem.

The only good snake is a snake that eats another snake, feels guilty about it and then commits Hara Kiri.~Leanne Moffat (Yes.You may quote me.)

I decided we needed to salvage some of the summer, get away from our grief, me to get over myself. Here in Alberta there is an interesting place called Drumheller. They’ve found many dinosaur skeletons there and have a wonderful museum. It’s also home to a place called Reptile World that has all manner of nightmare inducing reptiles. Destroying primal fear and dinosaurs? Can you say two birds with one stone? Off we went.

The World’s Biggest Tourist Trap, I mean Dinosaur.

We paid $29 to climb 100 steps in 30C heat. We took a picture to prove we’re idiots.

RAWR! (I just wanted to type that once in my life.)

I managed to hold him still for a moment.

A good perspective. Mildly interesting for the boy. For 6 seconds.

He’s good here and happy, because I had to tickle him to make him smile. Miserable little bastard.

Look at the sunshiney joy in his face! All because I said something like “Get the hell away from the canyon edge!”

“Hold it? Okay!” Notice my hovering, ready to grab it and kill it.

Now this, this is COOL!

At this point, I had a nice convo with the young, sweet snake man. He said “Would you like to hold her?” I asked him if red made her pissed off, like a bull. “Um, no, they can’t see colour.” You’re certain she won’t get all bitey with me? Because of the red? “Um, well, she’s 18 and she has bitten anyone yet.” I’m certain he’s lying but go ahead. Primal fear, be damned!

Oh Dear God! I’m about to hold a fucking snake!

FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST, DON’T PET THE SNAKE! YOU’LL MAKE IT BITEY!

I’m alright…I wish it would quit fucking moving.

Okay, it’s been 2 seconds. I think that might be enough now.

I did it! I held a SNAKE! Yay me! I actually even watched them eat. I learned. Fear now over.

That’s this one for now. Oh wait. One more.

Signs all over telling you not to crawl on or hump the fake mini dinosaurs. Hello? Dangling candy in front of an immature woman!

A good fun trip. It helped. Broke the funk.

I am getting happier, sillier day by day.  Fingers crossed.

Love you all.

Simply Tricky

I’ve been having wild anxiety lately, to the point it’s almost crippling me. I find it hard to leave my house. My stomach feels as if a cobra is fighting with a … well, another cobra.

Sorry. I couldn’t really come up with anything else that is quite as horrifying to me. I HATE fucking snakes. Don’t even say snake, always say “fucking snake” around me. I’ve said before that the only snake I like is a snake that eats another snake, feels really guilty about it and commits Hari Kari. I don’t hold that god or satan created snakes. I think they fell here from some strange alien planet where the people freaked out and said “Jesusmurphy, those things are scary motherfuckers! Lets get rid of them!” and herded them all onto a meteor that landed here.

Even as I write this, my stomach is churning. Remember my craptastic adventure? Turns out, nothing was wrong. Nothing physical. I phoned the hubby to tell him the results. He said “That’s good, right?”.

No. It’s actually bad. Really bad. An illness would be simple. If this is emotionally related, mentally related, anxiety related, it becomes tricky.

Trickytricky.

With the anxiety comes the depression. With the depression comes the anxiety.

Trickytricky.

I know how it works. I also know that unless I buckle down and buckle up, do the work and tear the shit I’m carrying away from my psyche, I will get worse. That is unthinkable.

I’m ready. I can do this. It’s not going to be that hard.

Some people will have to be purged from my life. Others (my Soph, my Kathy, my Mary) I will hang onto for dear life. And my hubby. I’ve really never met a better man. He doesn’t pretend to understand. But he gets it. And he believes in me like no other.

I’ll share with you folks what I feel comfortable with as I go through this, in trust that just maybe some of it will help you or someone you love.

And don’t worry. I haven’t lost my sense of humour. I’ll still post my nonsensical bullshit to make you smile. I really love it when you laugh. It distracts the snakes. Well, that and rabbits.

I’m ready. I can do this. It’s not going to be that hard.

Be kind to each other.

p.s. As ever, I’m here if you need to talk. lgmoffat@gmail.com, twitter @gustyduck.

 

 

 

 

A Magical Red Dress

This life.

So tricky sometimes.

I’ve been feeling so awful lately. About myself. January. Winter. Life.

Chug/groan,chug/groan,chug/groan. Hear it? Sounds like the noise anti-lock brakes make on an icy road. To me, it’s the sound of my depression creeping up. I can hear it. Doing everything I can to keep it at bay. But the snapping of its jaws, its hot breath, I feel it on the back of my neck.

Doing everything I can.

Today? Well, I have this blog hero. An inspiration. Someone that without her even knowing kept me from slipping into the abyss for the last couple of years. Jenny over at www.TheBloggess.com. She has made me laugh, cry, feel good about life when there isn’t much else that can do it.

She has her battles. But she gets very creative about her sorrow. A while ago, she did this. www.thebloggess.com/2010/05/the-traveling-red-dress

How awesome is that? Then she did this: www.thebloggess.com/2012/01/the-traveling-red-dress-revisited

The Traveling Red Dress took on a life of its own. It started traveling around the U.S., touching women, making them feel pretty and special. What an idea.

Today, in the midst of  my gloom I started to look for a dress. A cheap lovely dress. I know a few women that could use it, just to forget real life for one day. To be a princess, a prom queen for one day. To leave it all behind and just be glamorous. I couldn’t find one that wasn’t horribly overpriced or too small. I started to get down, but then, this happened. http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Traveling-Red-Dress/150889871693313

I ‘won’ it! I won the red dress!!!!! I get to share this magic!!!! I burst into tears. But, I tell you, this Canadian Red Dress will be matched with one I will purchase on my own. Because I want women out there to feel alive and special and lovely and silly and fun and happy. Just like I’ll get to be for a couple of days. How I feel is indescribable. It may seem strange, but there is power and love in an unknown sisterhood. There is magic in this.

Thank you Jenny, for starting this all. Thank you for making me laugh, keeping me going. You really have no idea what you mean. Some things can’t ever be paid back. But they can be paid forward.

Yes, there will be photos. Yes, the dress will go forward. Yes.

With a little bit more magic in it.

Not Invisible

This is not what I had intended to write. Not at all.

But, I keep getting notice on my stats (bloggy thing) of people finding my blog using the search term, “Am I invisible”. And my friends, every stinking time I read that, my heart just breaks a bit. So, here goes.

No. You are not invisible. You might feel like that from time to time, or maybe you’re feeling it a lot. But trust me. You are not.

Because I see you. I noticed you. Right away. I know you are here. And believe or not, I care that you are here.

You may not believe this, but someone loves you. Likely a few people. Do you think for one second that your presence isn’t noticed by them? Or your absence? I’ll bet in your absence, they miss you. You just don’t notice.

Maybe the world feels against you, no one hears you calling out in your pain. Trust me. That’s a lie. Your brain is very good at lying to you when you are in pain. Don’t believe it.

Not invisible. 

Tell yourself that everyday. Yell it if you have to.

We, all people, are honoured to have you here. We don’t want you anywhere else.

I know sometimes it’s just so hard to get up in the morning and you wonder to yourself ,”Why, why, why do I feel so alone?”

I’ve been there. Mama duck has had her moments, to be sure.

Not invisible.

Even the simple matter of reaching out to your computer renders you visible. If you’ve got no one else to talk to, talk there. Look until you find it. You will.

I see you. And you can do it, Honey.

Hold fast. Hold fast.

This life is beautiful, if you let it be. You can do it, Honey.

This life is easy. And you are not invisible.

If you need me, you know where I am.

I see you.

Not invisible.

I Want More Laughter For All The Ducks

Five days of yoga, some new herbal remedies and some supplements. I finally feel like myself again!!! Guess what? Today, I actually smiled. For real. It hurt like a bitch, but I couldn’t help myself.

I gathered some wisdom about myself while standing on my forearms and trying not to break wind. I’ll share what I can remember which may not be much, because both of those things required almost all of my concentration.

I forget sometimes who I am and what I like. We all do. We are so busy being so many things to so many different people and if you are like me, you do your damnedest to make each and every one happy. I’ve realized that for me it’s an absolute bullshit way to live. I’ll explain.

You may have gathered that at times my life has been a bit strange, if not difficult. I hold my tongue and let certain things slide because I’ve forced myself to learn to tolerate behaviors and speech that I find hurtful and damaging. No more. I will be as kind as I can, but I am not going to live my life harmed because I’m trying to be placid and a model of a ‘good woman’. While I can always see all sides, some things I just can’t abide. And if I continue to bite my tongue, I am going to chew a piece off and choke on that fucker. So, some boundaries are in order.

One of the other gems I took away from yoga, besides a nice under-boob rash from all the sweating (the fuck?), is that life is funny. It’s hard and mean, and my heart bleeds for my fellow man’s suffering. But there is so much funny, happy shit out there. I had the grand fortune to be surrounded by thirty sweet souls, who more likely than not feel as down as I do once in a while. And every last one of us laughed, at ourselves, each other, all in the midst of a very difficult practice. Where there is work that we choose, where there is unity, and joy, there is laughter. Just listen. See?

Whoof. I got all profound there. Scared myself. I wouldn’t want to set a precedent!

To all of you that have read and commented, I just want to tell you how grateful I am. You odd ducks in the ether have shown me that I do have a tribe. I feel less alone, knowing you are there.

“I used to think I was the strangest person in the world. But then I thought, there are so many people in the world, there must be someone just like me who feels bizarre and flawed in the same ways I do. I would imagine her, and imagine that she must be out there thinking of me, too. Well, I hope that if you are out there and read this and know that, yes, it’s true,I’m here, and I’m just  as strange as you.” Frida Kahlo

I could not say it better.

John Boy Walton And My Soldier Shoulders

I feel the need to do a little clarifying. I want you all to know that I’m not thinking of anything drastic, and I’m not in a horrible state of being. I’ve been down the slope before, and always pulled myself back up. I know how to self manage. I just need to kick myself in the ass a bit. Get back to who I am. So first off, quit worrying!!!! Christ, I can hear you fussing from all the way over there! You’re  giving me a headache. And a small piece of advice: if worry did anything except cause grey hair and alcohol problems, don’t you think the world’s issues would be solved by now?

But. I thank you. I know you love me. And I have had some AMAZING support and dialogue with absolute strangers. And that is why I wrote what I did. That is why I am honest here. Because not one of us confused, lonely, sad, broken little souls is alone. Never think that. Ever. There are beautiful people out there in this world that are strangers one second, friends the next. And you folks that reached out to me? God bless you. Or Satan, whatever is your bag. Thank you. I will pay it forward.

Anyway. Day4 into a balls ass, week-long yoga intensive, from the women I took my first classes  from. Kundalini and Ashtanga. Chanting, singing, topped off with singing crystal bowls to cleanse the chakras even further. For me, it’s a no makeup, no chemical whatsoever, clean eating week. Okay, maybe I stink a bit, but hey.

So this depression deal? I can’t say when mine started. Probably in childhood. So much legacy I was handed. So much baggage that wasn’t mine. That and the fact that I was the odd duck. I didn’t look like everyone else. I had a big brown John Boy Walton mole on my cheek. Can you guess what the kids called me? Yup. You got it! First try! Kids can be sonsabitches, can’t they?

I was taught to hide very early on. Hide your feelings. Hide the truth. Hide who you are. Hide what’s going on. Hide from the pain, the embarrassment, from the wrath. Hide from God. Hide who you are. Quick! Hide!

Well.You try being 5’10”, skinny as a rail with a big mole on your face. (I always wished I was a petite blonde. Still kinda do. Anyway.) Can’t hide. Too tough. Still stand out.

I felt like everyone knew everything anyway. They most likely did. I was taught two things that stayed with me.Totally affected who I am.

Shoulders back, tits out, stomach in, chin high. Soldier posture. Soldier on. Shoulder what is thrown at you, don’t bend or sway. Buck up, Soldier!!!

Consequently, I’ve ‘pretended’ I could handle a lot of what was shoved on me. I’ve dusted myself off, when what I should have done is lay there for a while, and cry. Ask for help. But not me. I can handle it. Soldier on. 

I was also taught shame. I know shame like the back of my hand. Shame is the heaviest legacy I carry. Shame comes to me as a birthright. Handed down from both sides of my family for generations. I was born shamed.

This shame has made me rebel, and say fuck this. I do what I want.

This shame has made me hurt myself.

This shame has made me keep others away.

This shame has impaired how I love.

This shame has kept me from you.

No more. 

I have nothing to be ashamed of. I stand before everyone as I am.

My depression is not shameful. It’s a part of my life I didn’t ask for or deserve and I will KICK IT’S MOTHERFUCKING ASS!!!

You can watch. And I’ll help you do the same, if I can. I’ll hold your hand if you’ll hold mine.

The world is a pretty lovely place.

I’ll see you soon. We’ll have a laugh.

I Live in the Shadow of Depression

I think one of the worst things I’ve done is to use my( kind of) real name on this blog. I have friends and family, madly reading away, many of them judging. And as I am a thinking feeling individual, who really doesn’t want my parents to hurt for any reason, now I wish I’d used a pseudonym. Because I want to be honest here. I want to be safe here. And yet I find myself censoring my words and trying to keep everything pretty and middle of the road, so you won’t feel the need to discuss it with my mother, who then phones me embarrassed because you’ve given her your unwanted opinion on my writing. So this is for you: If you feel in the least sensitive, don’t read it anymore. If you feel like you could do better, start your own blog. If you think I am only writing this for you, think again. And if you feel the need to comment to someone, comment to me, not my mother. Or fuck off. I really don’t care. And if you think I’m not doing your name justice, no one knows we’re related, and again, fuck off. You don’t own it.

This is mine. I own these words. This is my knowledge. This is not politics. I do not get paid to write this. This is creation. All of it is me. And today I am tired. Tired of hiding.

The gloves are off. The mask is off.

It’s time to talk honestly about that sneaky little bitch that is my depression. I’ve been toodling along, hiding all my shit in happiness and humour, and she has reared her ugly head and tried to cover me her blackness. My kid’s been gone a week, should be time for me to refresh, but as I’ve realized, yet again, my days are formless without him. I don’t have much to do, keep me going. He does indeed, give me a reason to live. I have to get this out. At times, I have been so depressed I’ve thought about ending it, just  not being anymore. It’s been that bad. There was a time in Montreal, where the tube rail looked so inviting. I started taking the bus. A time when I was with an abusive cop up north (more on that nightmare later) where I thought a bridge may do. Sometimes all I can do is weep. Like, for hours. In my head, all I’m telling myself is “It’s too hard. This is so hard.”  Mostly, like this week, I just feel apathetic and confused. And I want to hide. Not come out of my house. Not let anyone ‘know’.

Stupid. I guess now everyone knows. Well, okay. Good. Glad that’s out in the open. Phew. I am relieved.

So what I need to do is force myself out of my comfort zone as much as possible. If I have any advice for anyone else who is depressive, it’s just do one thing. Doesn’t matter what. A walk, clean house, see a friend. That one thing leads to more things. Keep doing them. Don’t sit there, like I do and get worse til it’s too difficult even to bathe. Do it. I am. 

I’m starting with yoga again tomorrow. You may not believe this, but I was one of those yoga bitches. Like heavy into last fall. Reading the Sutras, trying to learn Sanskrit(!) so I could become an instructor. And yes, I even did hand stands and arm balances. Proud! But, I fell off my mat. Haven’t been able to climb on yet. Depression does funny things. Strange part is, yoga helped. A lot. Took me out of my head. Took me to spirit. Not too sure why I quit.

But, I’ll start again where I am at. Ten pounds heavier, a bit sadder. I’ll get there.

I do all the other things I’m supposed to. I take my pills. I do what I can. But she is sneaky. This life is tricky business, happiness is even more so.

The mask, well, it’s off. No more hiding.

I’ll keep you posted.

Yo! Yoga! Here I come.

p.s. If you want to talk, contact me at lgmoffat@gmail.com. I’ll help as much as I can. I’ll listen. I know. And any advice, oh yeah, fire it my way!