Joni Mitchell

A few weeks ago a good friend died. Unexpectedly. 

I came into the bedroom, Deb was on the couch, "Honey, Donnie passed away." 

I think I blinked. "What?" 

She said it again. 

I understand the words, just not the combination and order they are in. 

I must have looked at her with a blank stare as she repeated it again. This time more pointed, punctuating each word. 

I sat down. I fought the tears and the need to say 'what' many more times.

The shock. The sadness. The what?

A few days later driving home from work, listening to music, per usual. Joni Mitchell fades in. Because, of course.

If a friend has recently died and you don't want to cry while driving, I recommend hitting the next channel button. 

I didn't though. 

I listened.  

But now it's just another show 

And you leave 'em laughing when you go 

And if you care, don't let them know 

Don't give yourself away 

I've looked at love from both sides now 

From give and take and still somehow 

It's love's illusions that I recall 

I really don't know love 

Really don't know love at all 

I felt the tears come. Because, we all think of Alan FUCKING Rickman cheating on Emma Thompson when that song plays. 

You can't not cry. All the feelings come in. It was like a floodgate. I cried for my friend. I cried for her family. I cried for me. I cried for Emma Thompson putting a smile on her face and moving forward. 

Bad Ass Baby.

I was fortunate to spend part of the afternoon of her celebration of life hanging out with our new neighbor baby. 

You know what helps with being sad? A baby. 

A badass baby that spent some weeks in the NICU. A baby that is going to grow up to be an awesome badass human. 

She was fighting a nap while I rocked her. I tried to convince her that one day, naps will be a very happy and welcome time. Like when she's about 40.

Unsure if it was my pep talk or the rocking but she finally gave up her fight. We rocked awhile and she slept. 

And then I handed her back to her parents and went to say goodbye to my friend. 

And, again, Joni Mitchell came on. Because, of course.

And the seasons, they go round and round 

And the painted ponies go up and down

We're captive on the carousel of time 

We can't return, we can only look 

Behind, from where we came 

And go round and round and round, in the circle game 

And go round and round and round, in the circle game 

This phase of life is not for the faint of heart. We are losing parents and friends; the kids are growing up. 

And there are babies. Thankfully.

Because it's just a circle game.

Write Something

Write Something.

"Why don't you go sit down and write something?"

"I don't have anything to say."

"I'm not buying that," she laughed as she walked away.

In her defense I have something to say 99.9% of the time. Looking at my past posts, it's been 13 months since I've published anything. Which is more 'something to write' than 'something to say'. But, definitely not my norm. 

I'm kind of a loud mouth/typer. 

Turns out I've been working through some shit and I've kept it internal. It's possible that writing would have helped me work through. But, I was so 'in it' I just couldn't. 

I am getting better. My head is above water now. Most of the time. I feel better than I have in years. Two years to be exact. It crept up on me. My happy, easy to laugh attitude got harder and harder to maintain as I sunk deeper and deeper. I was holding so much weight. Fear, sadness, uncertainty - all the current events. Doom scrolling as soon as I woke up. Doom scrolling until I fell asleep. My anger and sadness building. Fuse getting shorter. 

I went in for my annual check up. The receptionist handed me an iPad with screening questions. I sort of laughed as I thought, "Maybe I should answer these honestly." And, I did... which set off a chain of events and appointments resulting in me being diagnosed with clinical depression.

Let me be clear - at no time did I think of hurting myself. My enormous ego won't allow that. My head may be literally perfectly proportioned but it's figuratively GIANT. 

I tried drinking. A lot. Added in eating. A lot. That made me feel better. In the moment. Then made me hate myself. 

Started taking something. It helped. On days that I would take them. Punishing myself felt better. So much better.

Therapy. Blah.

Art therapy. Which sounds so not like me but was actually helpful. I make awesome collages. About feelings. Don't ask me to talk about them. But if I glue a representation of feelings on a poster board from The Dollar Store you can be assured that I definitely have that particular feeling.

Intense therapy. No details. But I've finally learned with some wise words and hard work that I don't have to carry everything. Turns out I can set it down. I had no idea. Some of those things are very heavy. I can put them down. I can drop them. I can take my armor off. I don't have to wear it. It's a pretty amazing feeling. Setting all the shit down. 

Am I back to the 'Old Staci'? 

Nope. 

I think she's gone. 

Probably forever. 

And, that's okay. 

New Coke may have been shitty. Most covers and remakes are subpar. Turns out that I'm going to give my new self a chance. Let's see what happens.