The difference between being in a bad headspace and a good headspace is night and day for me.
Yesterday afternoon I updated A and H with what my therapist had said about not recommending hospitalization, and they were glad to hear it. I asked them to still periodically check on me until the 20th, just in case.
A promised to send pictures of cute, wholesome things if they hadn’t heard from me in a while. It turned out she was joking (because she knows I’m not the type to seek out cute, wholesome things as a way to lift my mood), while I assumed that meant she was going to send me more fan art and small fictions involving Crowley and Aziraphale.
I told H he could still send me terrible things, because videos about Ben Shapiro won’t drive me to self-harm. H said he’d never send anything about Shapiro that wasn’t making fun of him, to which I responded that watching anything with Shapiro, even if it’s making fun of him, probably counts as self-harm. H agreed.
A then sent me a bunch of fan art and small fictions about Crowley and Aziraphale, which put a huge smile on my face. (For those of you unfamiliar with the names, they are the demon and angel protagonists of Good Omens, a book by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman that was recently adapted for Amazon. Both book and adaptation are delightful, I highly recommend.)
Instead of spending my time thinking about all the terrible things that could happen, I was able to notice the good things that were already happening.
In addition to banter with friends, I could listen to upbeat music and draw additional positive feels from it instead of having it jangle intrusively in my psyche.
I could remind myself that even if I’m at risk of losing some community and friends down the road, due to my husband and I knowing many of the same people, that this has happened to me multiple times in my life already, and that I’ve eventually bounced back, found new friends and new communities.
Some of these exiles have been involuntary, like when I was a young teen and our church community rejected us, and some have been voluntary, like when I realized that the conservative Christian, anti-feminist bloggers whose community I’d become a part of were toxic as fuck. (This was years prior to joining wordpress. I formally declared that blog dead in 2013 and set it to private this year when I realized it was still showing up in google search results and drawing comments from misogynistic assholes.)
When I’m in a good headspace, I can believe in myself. I can believe in my capacity to enjoy life, whether I’m alone and engaged in solo hobbies, or with friends and engaged in community hobbies.
I can believe in my continued resilience, my continued growth.
On Wednesdays, we go to the library for a couple of hours, and then I usually wait in the van with our girls while my husband and the boys handle grocery shopping. This time, I had an idea for how I could still have time to get my walk in before bed – so I took the girls and our younger son with me for a walk through the park and home while my husband and oldest son handled the shopping.
My youngest has been asking for another walk with me ever since I took her to see the fireflies, anyway.
It had been a very hot summer day, but now that it was twilight, it had cooled to a perfect, breezy evening. There were still many fireflies sparking along our route, and just enough light left to provide a beautiful silhouette of trees on the horizon, against a blue and gold sky. The moon was brightly visible, just over halfway to full, adding to the air of summer serenity.
We arrived home at the same time as my husband and son, but I didn’t mind given that the walk had been far more pleasant than either waiting in the van, or grocery shopping. I cut up strawberries that weren’t much to look at but that turned out to taste much better than they looked, and settled in with my laptop for a little before bed.
I pulled up wordpress and scrolled through notifications, realizing this was another small thing bringing me happiness – I saw names I recognize and appreciate. People that return and read, comment or like, voluntarily. No one has to take the time to read these posts and interact, but they do – and I appreciate that. These tiny points of repeated contact might seem small, but they’re lovely bright spots for me.
Yesterday, I joked about getting a cow thrown at my head sometime in the next 10 days. Because the universe loves throwing shit at people when they’ve already got enough crap to deal with.
My oldest got kicked in the testicles at the pool yesterday, and today he’s experiencing a lot of pain, and some swelling. I’m pretty sure, based on what I’ve googled, that we need to get him in to see a doctor, just in case. Of course my husband is at work with our only vehicle, and while I’ve sent him messages via text, messenger & email, I have yet to get a response.
I guess I may get to practice that deep breathing my therapist recommended sooner than I’d hoped. Figure I’ll finish this post, though, because there isn’t really anything else I can do yet.
Update: got in touch with my husband and a nurse from our PCP’s office and my husband is now on his way home to take our son to the ER. Because, you know, life. -.-
Second update: he’s been cleared and released after having an ultrasound; it wasn’t testicular torsion or anything else serious, thankfully.