I don't know how well I'm doing on my quest to remake my life in a year. I am making progress but you know, it's still a struggle every day. A young friend asked me last weekend why I wasn't working with my horses every day. She asked if it was just a lack of time. I told her that part of it, this time of year, was the heat. It's true, I haven't been able to take the summer heat for years. It started at perimenopause. Although fair skinned I and the sun have never been close friends, it got much worse as I aged and my body went through changes. I became so intolerant of heat and the sun that a few minutes of sun exposure would break me out in an angry, itching and painful rash on any exposed skin. This first occurred after I'd been diagnosed with malignant melanoma which was, thankfully, caught in early stages and completely removed with surgery. I thought the rash might be my bodies way of protecting me from myself. lol Then, as I entered perimenopause, I discovered that just a little exertion in a warm environment would send me into heat exhaustion. Several times, I've collapsed and come very close to passing out after doing something that at one time would not have bothered me. I imagine that my weight has a lot to do with that. It's like insulating an oven so much that it nearly explodes. But despite my problems with the summer sun and heat, that's really no excuse. The real reason is, despite good intentions, I can never get out the door during the cool hours of the morning. Another excuse comes to mind and it's one I use quite often, I haven't been sleeping well for some time BUT neither that nor the heat are the real reason. I think this is a lot like an alcoholic who has to admit that they have a problem before they can address the problem. So, confession time, I've dealt with clinical depression for years. I've known that's what it was but didn't get it diagnosed until a few years ago. It was after my friend Huston passed. I'd lost too many friends in the years before and many more in the years since but, despite the fact that his death at 90 was not unexpected, it was like all of the pain of those many losses piled on my heart at the same time. I think I couldn't live in denial any longer. I had shed many tears but still I'd pushed the grief down. Suddenly, it was staring me right in the face and I couldn't deny it any longer. I finally went to the doctor about my depression. She put me on a medication that I thought would solve my problems but all it did was numb my emotions. It was like my soul was this fish pond where the schools of fish are visibly in a wild, confused flurry of movement right below the water but the water's surface remains as calm and unmoved as a sheet of glass. Since I'd never taken an anti-depressant before, I had no idea that this wasn't how I was suppose to feel. I realized something was seriously wrong when my oldest sister passed away and although my heart was aching with loss, by all outward appearances, I was unmoved. Still, I didn't do anything about it until a health coach that our insurance company had signed me up with finally got me to admit why I was making no progress with my diet and exercise program. He immediately assigned me someone to talk with and that person immediately sent me to a therapist where they changed my medication and started me on talk sessions to help me deal with my long hidden affliction. I think I have made progress, this whole project of trying to get myself involved in my own life again in the next year came out of it. And it is helping but, as with talk therapy, sometimes the uncovering of one trigger and becoming aware and dealing with that problem seems to stir up those battling fishes all the more. A friend of mine once said that therapy is like peeling an onion, each layer only reveals another layer and it's often stinkier than the last. That might explain all of the tears. lol I joke but it is sometimes true but the tears are cathartic. They show we're headed in the right direction and allow us to let go of that tiny chunk of hurt. So, back to the question, why am I not working with my horses...Danny is eight years old for heaven's sake!....? Why am I not living my life? Why am I not creating? Why am I not making better progress on this house? Why am I not losing weight and getting in better shape even though I know the path to take to that goal and all it takes is starting? Why? Because, I hide away like a Hobbit. I hide like all of those good things are threats to my life instead of rewards. I stay in the dark instead of walking out into sunshine. And that is where the struggle lies. I need to break lose of this prison that's held me captive for far too long but I find myself just digging deeper into this dungeon that I've placed myself in to protect me. I am trying and some days I succeed while other days, I try and fail and other days, I don't even try. But this isn't all gloom and doom and I sincerely do not believe this is how my story ends. I've tried to change for years and just keep sinking back into the familiar no matter how badly it stinks. It feels safe to me even though, in reality, it is killing me. But here is what I hope is the key, by casting off the shame and stigma that depression places on me and confessing to all of you what a coward and failure I feel like for letting this condition steal my life from me, I hope I am taking the first step toward the life I want and deserve, the life I thought I'd lost. It's still here, I'm still here and there is still time.
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