On Just Being Ok

Most of the time, I am only ok. If you ask me how I am, chances are high that my answer is, "Ok." Some days it's an enthusiastic, surprised, "Ok," because I am surprised and pleased about actually feeling alright. And sometimes is a strangled, "Oookay..." because I barely made it to ok that day.

I can't remember the last time I told someone I was "Good" and meant it. Because most days it's hard to even make it to ok, much less anything better. Those days are the ones where I am extra sad or extra tired. The days where I have to dig deep within myself to care enough to get into the shower. Because sometimes that's hard. Sometimes the motivation and energy is not there.

And then there are some days where I hit ok pretty easily, but I realize that "ok" isn't enough. Ok doesn't get my chores done or get me to the gym or run my errands. And while this makes me feel a little hopeless and inadequate, it also gives me hope. On these days, I can see past ok. And part of me feels that I will never get there, the logical part of me knows that one day I will feel good, or even (heaven forbid) happy. And I miss happy. My crying session the other day revolved around me waking up in the middle of my day (the equivalent to the normal person's middle of the night) crying about wishing I could be happy again. Yep. This is my life.

I have been listening to an audiobook called Furiously Happy by Jenny Lawson (which I am really enjoying, by the way) and she had a chapter about her friend's "Spoon Theory." The idea is that, every morning, you wake up with a given amount of spoons to spend for the day. 

 

Why spoons? I don't know. The point is, that some people have more spoons than others and that doing anything takes at least one spoon. And people who are sick or have disorders or for a plethora of other reasons have fewer spoons than most people. Well, right now I don't get many spoons everyday. And I wish I could get more spoons, but right now that seems impossible. 

 

That also means that I have to be selective about spending the spoons that I have. Which usually amounts to me not going to the gym. Because it takes all my spoons just to get up, shower, make my lunch and breakfast and go to work. And I plan ahead and try to have extra spoons for days when I need to, for example, clean the rat cage, or run errands. I need to prepare even more spoons in advance if I know I have to talk to someone (like me not yet filling my prescription because I actually have to talk to a real person or not calling someone back the same day because calling them back tomorrow seems easier). 

Reading this book came at a pretty good time, obviously. I thought the spoon theory felt like my life right now. I may be mildly depressed (OK, I'm depressed, sue me), but it isn't serious and it is certainly situational. And I know I need to move forward in my life if I am going to get out of this depression because depression has a way of holding you back and holding you in place. But I can only fight with as many spoons as I have. And sometimes, I barely have enough spoons to make it to "ok." One day, I hope I get past ok. Because I miss happy.

Growing Up

Growing up can be difficult in so many different ways. I feel like I am constantly dealing with and adjusting to the idea of growing up and being a grown up.

If it isn't about money, it is about jobs, if not that, then relationships, or chores, or learning more and understanding better, or letting things go, or watching my health.

When I graduated with my Bachelors, I got pretty depressed after a couple months. First of all, I had no luck with getting a job in my area. Also, I didn't know how to not be in school. It was a pretty scary adjustment for me.

After the years passed and now that I have finished my Masters, I feel like I understand better and have a little more preparation, but I still feel like I don't always want to be a responsible grown up. Sometimes I don't want to work and do chores and pay bills--OK, no one really WANTS to do these things, but you know what I mean, right?

What triggered this post? Well, in my process of trying to grow up, I really need to clean, consolidate, and reduce the amount of stuff (dare I say "crap") that I have. I was trying to organize and clean the spare room (and I always start one place and end up in a hundred other places) and ended up going through boxes in my closet. I didn't even know what was in most of them.

During my excavation, I found an old shoe box which I had used to hide away some of the most negative and hurtful things from several years ago. This was around the time of my parents' divorce and the horrible falling out with my sister. It was a long time ago and things are so much better now, so I am not going to dig up too many details.

I put away letters, pictures, cards, notes, whatever hurt or made me angry into this little box. I don't even remember who suggested that I do this. I was in such a bad place then.

But it had been years since I have seen or even thought about this box. So I opened it up and opened everything inside up. Some things were pictures and cards that my sister had drawn or made for me, as well as some pictures my family. I used to keep all of these out in my room and then my dorm rooms as mementos and happy reminders. When it got to the point that it hurt to look at these things, I wasn't willing to throw them out (because I am insanely sentimental--to the point of it being a fault, actually, it can be almost debilitating). So when someone suggested a box, I put it all in there. Separated. Then maybe I could separate myself from what was hurting.

I pulled out several pieces of art Kema had made for me. She's quite the artist, you know. And I'm glad that it doesn't hurt to look at them (though it does make me sad--our relationship has never been the same). I found a rough draft of a letter I had written her for her Psychology class. Yes, I kept a copy. It was kind of funny, reading back through that. I know I was trying to show her that I cared and loved her (and I sure hope some of that came through), but man, I was pretty naive, I think. And probably a bit selfish. And I also realize that much of my relationship with my sister seems to center around a weird selfishness that I imposed upon her. And maybe a little jealousy. Despite feeling like I was a horrible sister, at least some of the time, it's funny to look back and see where I tried to show that I loved her. That one made me laugh a little.

I also found a series of notes that I had written my (often very angry) feelings out on and stuck in the box. I had to get the feelings out and keep them separate, you see. Some were about Kema, some were about my mom and the divorce.

I read through the ones about Kema and thought, "I am definitely over this," and I threw them away. It was time. Past time, I think! That was a relief.

The ones about my mom and the divorce actually still hurt though. I think that I have come to pretty good terms with the way my family life has turned out. It was hard and it took a long time, but things are pretty good. But I cried when I read one because I still have dreams that my family is together or just starting to fall apart. It's always my family, my parents, but scenery and scenarios vary. I didn't really realize how often I still dreamed about these things until I read the letter. Some of the hurt is still so close to the surface. And I was actually pretty shocked. Even though I am OK with things, I think I had a really hard time loosing my family and my home life like that and, apparently, it still gets to me.

I had also forgotten what a complete mess I was. Good grief. I am glad that is over. At the same time, though, I can see how much hurt and anger I had. I guess that would make anyone a little crazy.

I'm older now, and hopefully wiser. I was sad, yes, but I think I can look at things a little differently now. At least while I am awake, since I can do little about my dreams.

Growing up is crazy.