I’m most likely not getting pregnant ever. This was not the original plan. Of course, the original, original plan was to have babies with my terrible ex, so I think we can all appreciate changes. But yeah, no babies coming out of this uterus unless my meds change, I change, or the likelihood of birth defects changes. I like who I am already, so no changing that…and meds help me be my best self, so no changing that, and birth defects are science, with a bit of luck thrown in the mix, and I certainly don’t have the capacity to change science.

There you have it. Next chapter, please.

How, dear reader, did I get to this acceptance and understanding? Well, you know me, I took the hard route. Last month, I met with my doctor and explained that I wanted to taper the meds that are not conducive to good baby-making. I wasn’t feeling particularly hopeful about the idea of finding a likewise baby-minded partner, I felt rushed by the mighty power of time and space, and frankly, I was under the impression that meds were fine and all but not terribly necessary.

Spoiler: I need my meds. I like myself better on meds. They allow for the ability to be sane and happy. Go figure.

In any case, I did attempt a taper and my anxiety, depression, PTSD all flared up and took me down hard. It was not a matter of feeling momentarily uncomfortable and then bouncing back, it was a full meltdown. Thank the universe for providing me with amazing loved ones who took care of me, thank all the gods for an excellent treatment team, and thanks to Whomever or Whatever (maybe it’s….me?) told me to scale back the huge life changes. It took a village to bring down the Monstrous Brain of Unmedicated Jady. There was no full-blown psychosis, but there was definitely something terrible on the horizon if I hadn’t seem my doc, seen my therapist, reached out to the network of impossibly amazing people I love…it was going to be BAD. It was bad, but it was going to be worse.

My APRN, with whom I manage my meds, recommended ketamine treatment. My therapist agreed and was enthusiastically supportive. My friends shared their stories and an impressive wealth of knowledge of ketamine treatment, which, frankly, sealed the deal. I booked an appointment this past Friday and just as expected, it was a damn good one. (that’s a joke for y’all catholics, enjoy)

So what does ketamine feel like? how does it work? What happened when you went to the clinic, Jady, for all things good and holy, tell us all! Fine, calm down, here we go:

1. My APRN is the founder of a ketamine clinic ten minutes from my house, and upon his referral, they scheduled me the same week, actually less than a week, following the meltdown. I saw Austin on Monday, I called the clinic for a screening the same day, and they had space for me on Friday. Nice.
2. I was told to wear comfy clothes, bring a comfortable blanket, my own pillow if I wanted…basically get cozy and feel safe in my skin. My fellow therapist at work gave me playlist on Spotify with music sans lyrics, thanks hon, and the clinic gave me some weirdo eye mask that lets you keep your eyes open without any light in your vision. I genuinely love that mask.
3. When I got to the clinic, I felt immediately at ease…they had a darling little office puppo, the rooms were serene and warm (I loathe being cold, especially when I’m not going to be moving for 2 hours), and the staff was polite, professional, and likewise very warm.
4. The administration of the ketamine was via an inter muscular shot in my shoulder, and they gave me a slightly larger dose than the baseline, since I do take lamictal and apparently it can dampen the effects of the treatment. They said that the ketamine would take effect within 2-3 minutes of the shot, so I got my mask and earbuds, turned on the music, cuddled up in my blanket…
5. God. Damn. It hit me quick. I’ve been high before, for flipping sure, but nothing, nothing like this. I want to describe where my brain went, how it enveloped me in a world of immaculate, indescribable patterns and moving images that were both intriguing and comforting, thoughts of great vision and clarity, moments of joy in and acceptance of myself. You would have to be me to know what this meant to me.
6. They checked on me throughout the treatment, but left me mostly alone, and I was grateful to have no-one to respond to, nothing expected of myself as a human in a social setting. I honestly don’t get how this can be a party drug…no way would I want strangers around me. The staff, however, didn’t provide supervision so much as safety and maintenance of the liminal space while I was on the journey. Very much appreciate that and would fully recommend.
7. Eventually I returned to my body and noticed my feet were cold, my legs, arms, etc. were all still attached, I was a present being in the world. I’m astonished at how well-timed and smooth was the transition towards consciousness. The staff gets kudos for that, too.
8. While I gathered my things and took my leave, the staff let me know that people have varying efficacy of this treatment…some come in every other week, some once a year, it’s unique and very personal. They encouraged me to process my experience this weekend, through my varied artistic endeavors, and when I was ready, with people I know, love, and trust.
9. R was there to take me home, bless his huge heart, and came over that evening to see me through the night. The drive home was blessedly short, the sunlight seemed garish and stark. I spoke a little with R but was not ready yet to describe. I was still absorbing. He made sure I was ok, and gave me space to come down. We spent the evening eating tasty food, watching some very Nicholas-Cage-ish movie, and I fell asleep in his lap feeling comfortable, at peace, and safe.
10. It was about $300 and not covered by insurance…that’s just here so I can have 10 bullet points, and I knew you were curious, my dear reader.

Will the effects of treatment continue? Will I be able to move forward with a greater knowledge of who I am, and on much better terms with my Brain? I think so, actually. Pretty proud of the ol’ wrinkles grey bastard for reacting so well. Very proud of myself in general, in fact.

So, short story long, I’m feeling much better, and the universe might just be benevolent and majestic.

I’m taking the weekend to myself, I will visit with a few people but nothing drastic. Thanks, as always, for reading and caring. Oh, and happy easter!

My sleep is terrible, my mood is irritable, my feelings are constantly hurt (in my brain)…it’s springtime! Hypomania season! And I am feeling edgy.

I’m going into the usual doctor on Monday to discuss my meds (namely, raising the dosage), and I’m having a video chat with my sleep doctor on Friday to discuss how I keep thrashing around in my sleep and tearing off my cpap face mask. I am in several ways very glad that I’m not having a baby right now, or anytime soon. My body is a high-needs little princess right now and I would like her to settle down and be a chill queen. I’m very anxious and I’m getting lots of support but always appreciate a text.

I’m glad my family is around me, virtually and otherwise. Thanks you guys.

I know, I know, loyal reader. When I’m doing good, I forget to write. When I’m doing poorly, I can’t handle writing, sometimes. Lets try to catch up a bit, shall we?

Bought a car! I traded in my 2012 Subaru Forester for a 2019 Hyundai Ioniq hybrid. This is not only the newest car I’ve ever owned, it’s also the first time I’ve even handled the ins and outs of shipping a car to Utah, setting up a loan, setting up a trade in, and arranging it all to buy the car over a 5-hour stress marathon last Saturday. I’ve driven the car to and from work in Tooele four times in the past week, and I still have a half-talk of gas…which is at least double the mpg I was getting with the dearly departed Subaru. With all I drive, and considering the amazing mpg, I’m essentially going to make my car payment every month in saved gas money. It’s an amazing feeling to have accomplished this all with minimal (but notable) help/hand-holding. This must be what grown ups feel ALL THE TIME, such ACCOMPLISHMENT.

Of course, the Sunday following my car purchase adventure, I was riddled with anxiety, because I had made such a big life choice on my own. It’s funny how my brain will just latch onto big events and attach meaning that really doesn’t align with the facts. You just put yourself in debt for a car that might not even be PERFECT, Ms. Jady. You dumb idiot. You clearly cannot handle this thing you have just done, and mush suffer henceforth. Etc, ad nauseam, blah blah blah.

My anxious brain is a little punk sometimes, loyal reader.

Following the weekend of the car adventure, we have the holiday last Monday, which I took and ended up cleaning the apartment for a few serene hours. It’s interesting to me how people can have very different perceptions of ‘self-care’ (way overused jargon); what seems a delightful mental detox to me, like cleaning my sweet apartment, sounds stressful and unhappy to someone else. On the other hand, I have a friend or two who swear by nice long baths, and that’s just not my jam. There’s something for everyone.

In the same way I’ve quested for a group exercise I can tolerate more than once in a great while; I’ve attempted a few things to see if self-care might happen with me:

1. Meditation is not my favorite, but mostly I get impatient and let my brain flood me with worry that I’m wasting my time, and obviously peace will forever elude me.
2. Massage works pretty well (as long as I don’t have to maintain a conversation with the masseur)
3. a Glass of wine, although often touted as the lighthouse to relaxation and stress relief for middle aged, ‘sassy’ ladies (‘it’s wine o clock’, ‘stop whining and start wining’ ‘a day without wine is like…j/k I have no idea’) but somehow it just makes me feel vaguely useless and drowsy.
4. Obsessive attention spent on pets? Yup. that’s good medicine.
5. Exercise is often not worth the prep work and nearly-every-time injuries, but I am aware that it’d be good for me. I. Am. Aware.

In any way I attempt self-care, I worry that I’ve been educated to the point where I analyze my self care, dig into it, and tear it apart. It’s kind of like EMDR therapy, for me, once I did the training to do it as a clinician for clients, I’ve become a terrible EMDR client myself, since I know what the end result is supposed to be, and I people-please, even in therapy. THAT, we could unpack all day. See?

(On that note, if you lie to your therapist, or your doctor, it’s entirely possible they won’t have the knowledge to give you proper care. I’ve definitely lied to my therapist AND doctor, and believe me, I know)

Ok, lets see, what else…I submitted an application to the SLC Library for their arts festival, for my old short story-in-progress, Kept. It’s a creepy story and needs some solid editing, but I’m almost nearly kinda somewhat comfortable sharing it if they chose me to do a reading. Maybe.

I’ve been attempting an artistic project at least once a weekend, sometimes even weeknights. I’ve been getting into dreamcatchers (very popular craft at my workplace), and for a second attempt, I’m pretty happy with my work.

Speaking of work…I participated in my first sweat ceremony, and I got so much support from the clients! It’s a very intense thing to do, based in prayer…and you know, loyal reader, faith is not my strong suit. I was honored to be invited and included, and I did my best to enter into the event with an open and peaceful mind (also not my best skill). The steam was fine, the heat was pretty epic, but sitting on the hard ground is increasingly difficult as time goes by. I had to readjust over and over, since my tailbone is still bruised by a skating injury. Eventually, childs pose was the most comfortable way to situate myself. I was able to stay in the inipi for 3 of the 4 rounds, and I was celebrated with kind words when I got out.

I’ve done hot yoga before, with similar difficulty adjusting to the heat and uncomfortable positions. It’s actually GREAT that I’m so uncomfortable, because eventually the discomfort is too much to spend your mental energy on anything but how you feel in your body. Somehow meditation/introspection gets easier when you’re not feeling comfy. this probably means that my ‘Life begins at the end of your comfort zone’ canvas print for my office is accurate. It was a positive experience, but difficult. I’m definitely doing it again.

(Note: if you hang a canvas print, stating ‘Life begins at the end of your comfort zone’, hang it JUST a touch crooked, and see how much it bothers visitors…put it just a touch too high to adjust comfortably…it’s a great conversation starter. Also, I’ve evil.)

There’s other things I could discuss…in fact, I could just keep writing…and I’d like to spend this energy on actual, written stories that I’ve neglected for far too long. Keep on keeping on, dear loyal reader. Hopefully I’ll be around.

Well, it’s that special time of year.

My doctor and I met this Saturday to discuss my medications and making adjustments of the same. I usually see one of The Two Brothers, (the family practice I go to, two of the doctors are VERY CUTE brothers, which only sucks when you’re discussing things like daily diarrhea…as I have had to do), but this weekend I saw the third doctor at the practice. He’s also fairly cute but doesn’t know me very well, so the appointment went longer than usual and felt more invasive. I completed the PHQ-9 and GAD-7; questionnaires regarding current symptoms of depression and anxiety, and scored pretty high on both. What can I say? I’m an overachiever. Doctor #3 was concerned, although I answered no to the question about suicidality, and I took the time to explain to him that this happens every damn year around this time, no biggie, just need adjustments.

Doctor #3 agreed I did in fact need changes in the dosages of my meds. Instead of changing both my psych meds, (bad idea), he raised my Lamictal and kept my Abilify the same for now. Lamictal is more for mood regulation and depression, and he’d rather boost me up to baseline before messing with Abilify. I was disappointed because Abilify can make me a zombie if I’m taking too high a dosage for the time…but being tired all the time is temporary and lamictal is my safety net against depression, so I agree it’s safer to raise that dosage before lowering Abilify. Barely. I agree barely.

He also asked how often I take clonazepam, and I told him honestly only when there’s no other option…I hate Benzodiazepines. They knock me out and make me essentially useless for the rest of the day. They’re also very likely to become addictive for the poor anxious person taking them, it’s easy to build a tolerance, and frankly I’d rather not. I think it’s idiotic and indicative of the arrogance of the medical profession to even suggest benzos to someone who’s not severely anxiety-struck. I, however, am pretty severe, but I also have a busy life and I can’t check out every night even when anxiety is raging. So I appreciate the offer, but I have so many unused clonazepam that I’m pretty much covered until spring. I really would rather have something else for anxiety, but Utah has stupid laws regarding what I would prefer to use.

So I took my new dosage of lamictal last night, slept in this morning, and I feel WEIRD. I honestly can’t identify the feeling, but it’s there and perturbing. Literally ever year I go through this process. Med adjustment, feel weird for a few weeks, eventually level out, feel moderately better. Every year it’s uncomfortable as hell. Every year I’m in an emotional/physical/mental pit of darkness at the start of autumn, and every year my loved ones and my doctors work to pull me out into the light. So feeling as if I can’t put my finger on the emotion and general feeling of the med change is frustrating as can be.

Don’t you recognize your own brain by now, Ms. Jady? Well, sure, I know we’re going into the dark forest, but every time the path has overgrown in a new and confusing way. Sometimes I stumble, discombobulated and unsure of myself. I have family and friends to cheer me on, but no one can walk for you. So my machete (meds) and I are navigating the underbrush (depression) until hopefully I get to a clearing (clarity and acceptance), and find myself knowing who I am. Every damn year. Every time.

The trick of this whole adventure is I have to maintain sanity in the world of work. I’m a goddamn professional, and even with my few years as a therapist, I know that giving therapy while you yourself are going through things is very, very hard to do. Of course, we manage, because giving up and giving in to depression is not a reasonable option. I work in the life-or-death world of substance abuse, and I matter to a lot of people. My work is important to me, and to my clients and coworkers. I want to avoid burnout (been there, not fun), I also want to feel as if I’m not constantly failing, and that’s a trademark symptom that lamictal will address. So this weird feeling following a dosage increase is worth it. I love my job, I want to do well in my job, and most of all I don’t want to feel like a fake and failure. It makes me anxious all day, every day, but as we have discussed my baseline anxiety is pretty high.

I think that’s why I’m handling the pandemic better than a lot of people. The world ended, but it was NOT my fault, and that’s weird comforting. When you run hot with anxiety, everything feels like your responsibility and every mistake feels like your problem. But ‘feelings’ don’t own you. You own your brain. She’s a little brat sometimes…but just like a difficult client, you have to approach her from a place of curiosity and love. Yelling at a challenge will never yield results (except for a hoarse throat and madness), being in a place where you are accepting and loving makes all the difference. It makes times like this tolerable. It keeps me from ticking off that ‘suicidality’ box. It’s the answer….because there’s no cure for what I have…and I don’t like any other option.

This weekend, being shockingly proactive, I accepting an invitation to visit a friend and decorate for halloween. I asked a friend to come over for dinner and a movie tonight. I want to curl up in bed and forget everything I have to get done, but charting will happen too. I even cleaned up the place a bit, and for that I feel I earned a big damn cookie. Hell, I might even fold a few pieces of the overflowing, clean but not folded, stacking up to the ceiling, pile of laundry. These things help. They are difficult, but they are helpful. It’s Sunday and I want to feel accomplished and ready for the week ahead. Having good memories of friend visits, having clothing ready for the week, and having my work in a manageable place, all important steps.

Of course, I blogged instead of immediately starting with work this morning. Because my brain deserves a bit of attention too. Maybe she won’t throw a tantrum daily if she gets love and care. Maybe. Or she will continue to be a brat and I will handle her bullshit, because I own her and I’m used to owning a little monster (thanks, Oscar).

In any case, I really am fine. I’m actually competent at this. I wouldn’t say no to a brilliant idea of how to calm down and relax. Right now ‘relaxing’ isn’t comfortable, it would be an unusual concept that I’d struggle to accept. However, ideas, well-wishes, cheerleading, and companionship help out a lot. I have to walk the path by myself, but that does not mean I am alone.

Lastly, please send good energy to my family, in particular the member headed into surgery today. What a wonderful human, and what a scary thing to do. Bravery and healing, please. Peace.

Summer is ending, and the brambles of sunflowers along the highway to work and back will soon be a sweet memory. To celebrate the Feast of Mabon, (technically tomorrow but I’m in a place to write tonight), here’s a smattering of my bountiful harvest for the year!

1. Fulfilling career: New job, which allows me to work with clients in a residential setting, in the world of substance abuse recovery. I love the people with whom I work, both clients and staff. It’s a bit of old (substance abuse), bit of new (working with women), and it’s a spiritually based program…which works for me, agnostic and all. I’m learning about a culture that always interested me and a faith structure that makes sense in a way Judeo-Christian ideals never have for me.
2. Fortune: In my new job, I can actually support myself and save money, something both comforting and exciting. I’m not very skilled at handling money just yet, as this is the first time in my life when I wasn’t consistently broke OR paying for someone else’s bad habits. It’s a wonderful feeling.
3. Familiars: Not the first year I’ve had Oscar, but we celebrated his first birthday, he’s full grown (physically, his brain is still mostly puppy skittles) and I’ve been able to take him camping and on visits out of town, which makes me so very happy! Dante Is also 16 years old this year, and still loud and insistently cuddly.
4. Self reliance: Camped in California with old friends, didn’t go overboard with the ‘fun’, and drove there and back on my own. Now I have a massive supply of camping goods, see also: not good with money. Still, the entire trip was impressive to do alone, and I’m proud of myself for handling it on my own.
5. Home: I’ve made a beautiful home for myself, if I do say so. It’s cozy, unique, filled with my art and things that allow me to enjoy them both alone and with loved ones who visit. I made myself a deal that whenever possible, even buying a new set of plates, my purchases would be items that I think are pretty, functional, and interesting. Im proud to show off my place to my friends and family. I’m proud I paid for it myself, too.
6. Friendships: I’ve talked about the incredible effort it takes to maintain a strong social network/ support structure/ coven. I’ve definitely reaped that harvest, and it keeps on blooming over and over…
7. Self-love: I quit dieting AND giving myself room to hate my body. That particular version of crazy brain is no longer welcome in my life. There’s no space for that shit now. I buy clothes that suit me and look good, I get rid of even the cutest piece if it’s too small or it makes me feel gross. My hair and my clothes, my jewelry and my tattoos, they all make me feel good, not too fat, not too big, not too much anything. And that decision…it was a choice, and a hard one…to love myself, is long overdue and wonderful.

So tonight, and tomorrow, I will encourage my loved ones (and clients) to dig deep and appreciate the bounty of months of hard work. Surely, there’s a difference between pride and being proud, and I hope to lean toward the latter…but hell, it’s Mabon, enjoy what you’ve earned this year!

oh, and if you’re struggling and finding it difficult to discern the harvest from the weeds, please remember to be kind to yourself. You’re not alone on this. Accomplishments, for me, are very hard to enjoy. The enjoyment, when it comes, is fleeting…especially after the days start getting shorter and the night are so cold and long. I think it’s worthwhile to give yourself a break. Even if the only thing you feel like you accomplished and earned this year was middling moments of joy in a sea of sorrow, you survived.

I’m grateful you’re here, Loyal Reader.

Happy Sunday, loyal reader! I’ve got the spoons to write, if you can believe it. Hooray!!!

Sometimes I go back a year or two in my blog to see where I was at a particular time. There were some months where I blogged daily, which sounds like a hefty job for anyone, but remember I wasn’t working, at least not full time. Today, however, I went back in time a bit farther….all the way back to 2012, my first year blogging out of college. I was living in Oakland with the shitbag ex, spending my nights drinking and doing god knows what. I got a few amazing friends out of the deal, but admittedly I was in a bad place. I was young, and in love, and exactly how stupid you would imagine. For heaven’s sake, I was 27, and out of my mind. Ah, the roaring 20s.

There is wisdom, however, sprinkled in between fawning over the husband and feeling extremely anxious ALL. THE. TIME. These are the words of the late great 29-year-old Jady:

“Now I have a few hours at home alone, and I think I’m going to watch a movie and work on crafts. I am trying hard not to be particularly judgmental of myself, and although I have great ability to criticize myself for the way I feel, I have no interest in it. I used to feed the negative side of myself because I was depressed and angry and grieving. Now, I want to feed the side of myself that inspires great work, that encourages my creative and loving mind. My better side. When I’m alone, it takes work to make sure I stay positive, but its worth it.”

So now, this is what I started the blog to do, give myself guidance, and I’m literally talking to my future self. I guess I could have waited for the 10 year mark of my online writing experiment, but have you ever thought I was a particularly patient person? Me neither.

I might skip September 23, which is the Ex’s birthday as well as our ‘real’ anniversary, the first time we had an actual date. I tend to use my writing to express my great love for people in my life, but honestly, I don’t want to read about how I used to feel for him. Old, old news. I will, however, enjoy watching myself pull myself out of the fire and into a real life, eventually. The story is pretty interesting, if I do say so.

Now, just so I don’t offend anyone, I want to point out that the poison in my life had nothing to do with Oakland and had everything to do with my ex, whom I allowed to shape me into a person I really wasn’t happy being. Keep in mind that my bipolar had been diagnosed, like, 2 years prior. My mechanisms of handling a manic or depressive episode (and don’t forget that tricky little guy, Hypomania) were not the greatest, but then again they were in their infancy. I was not as skilled as I am now. Not saying I never get blindsided by bipolar, but my reactions are healthier, most of the time. I know my brain a lot better than I did 9 years ago.

Yet, reading what I wrote then has a certain flavor of sweet nostalgia. I think I’ve gotten better as a writer and a human, but still, my passion existed back then, it was just focused on the wrong things. I really wish I could have changed my mind about The Way Life Should Be, or at least understood that nothing will ever be what you expect. Sometimes it’s totally different than the life you’d hoped for, and still ain’t bad. I also wish I’d fostered my relationships with the strong women in my life, more than mooning over a mistake relationship. It’s really difficult to accept that.

But if 2020 taught me anything, it’s that the relationships that last (and nurture you) are repairable and get even better with age. I have been extremely lucky to keep my friendships alive, but it wasn’t an accident. I wanted to make sure I had and was able to give support to the ones I love. Hell, one of my best friends moved to Savannah, and we still talk almost daily, even if just a text or two. I may be a bit too attached to my phone, but it’s somewhat of a lifeline.

I just wish I had talked more about the relationships that saved my life. Of course, I suppose those who saved me know who they are, and most of us still talk today. I feel a really big stone in my belly thinking about how long it’s been since I visited Oakland, and I love Utah, but I deeply miss my Oakland friends. I almost took an extra day or two in California when I went camping over the summer, to drive down and visit, but I had Oscar and I wouldn’t make myself anyone’s houseguest with 5 hours notice, with a dog. So I drove home. I really should have gone. I saw fellow campers from Oakland, and it was amazing, but there were a few notably absent friends.

In any case, I think I’ll put down the computer, pick up the phone, and connect with a friend. Do the same, Loyal Reader.

Sometimes, I don’t get the energy or time to write to you, loyal reader, and I have mentioned this time and time again, but still feel bad about it. I honestly am only cheating myself, as I’m keeping this online journal for my own sanity and, of course, memories.

I’ve just discovered ‘Anchor’ a platform for making podcasts ON THIS BLOG, which is super exciting and helpful if I’m too tired to type. Let me know which “episodes” (blog posts) you’d like to hear on audio and I will see if I can record a few new stories too. Might be an interesting project.

So. on the topic of me.

I went to visit my little sister just outside of Boston, over Labor Day weekend. I didn’t even bring a computer, I was that much on a vacation. I finished up my notes before I left on Friday, and didn’t have to worry about work (mostly) for the entire trip. I say mostly, only because I still checked my work emails and the work chat, which is codependent and not great boundary setting. I tease, I tease, but honestly, you need to get any from work sometimes. Especially in my industry, there’s a LOT of burnout. It was something I talked about with my supervisor, often, at my first two jobs post graduation. It still stresses me out.

Anyway, getting back to the topic of my vacation with my sister, I spent minimal time worrying about work, and I was happy with that. It was so nice to see her and her animals and her very pretty house, she really puts together a lovely home. Her last place in New Orleans was also beautifully decorated; both have great art on the walls, unique and elegant furniture, an amazing cozy couch, a nicely set up kitchen, and very cool design and decor details. She really knows how to make her space warm and welcoming, and so serene. She also has a huge backyard and deck with grill, chairs, and an outdoor sofa/futon thing that is so nice for coffee in the morning.

Her cat died quite suddenly this summer, which broke my heart. What makes me happy is her two new kittens, named after subatomic particles. Her dog, who’s got to be over 10 now, is also doing good, and it’s alway great to see her. She’s half French bulldog, basically a baby bat with a barrel chest and very emotive eyes. She’s around 20 lbs, same as Oscar, but totally different style of little dog. I adore her.

We went to the beach on the Saturday before Labor Day, which is what everyone else decided to do too. We listened to true crime podcasts and made our way through a few tangles of traffic, but the ride was pleasant and the ocean was worth it. We brought the pup and a blanket, and made our way down some seriously steep stairs to the beach. It was a bit rocky, so we kept on our sandals and searched for seagrass and shells. I finally took off my shoes and made my way to the water’s edge. I stood in the water to my calves, and let myself sink in the sand with the waves on my legs.

After the beach, we went to a supposedly famous, very popular restaurant. I waited in line, halfway down the block, while she and the pup grabbed us an outdoor table. Once inside, I got her sweet potato fries and a lobster roll. I ordered fried oysters, the house specialty. When they called my number, they handed me my food, and the lady behind the counter gave me two extra paper bowls to cover our food. “since you’re sitting outside.” she explained, “Seagulls.” I took our food outside without getting attacked by birds, but apparently it happens.

We ate outside and I discovered that fried oysters are just fine, but fairly forgettable. The lobster roll was pretty tasty, although I don’t swear by it as *The Best Food Ever* as it was explained to me in the past.

I really don’t want to cut this short, but next blog I’ll tell you all about Salem, MA and the witch tour. Tonight, I’m fading fast.

Good evening and hopefully, it won’t be long before I write, again. To be continued!

Happy Beltane, my dearest reader!

Beltane, for those of you not in the know, is the spring festival of fertility and renewal, and it’s May 1st, so always a gorgeous day. I’m not a particularly devout member of any religion or faith, but I definitely feel a connection with holidays based on the season, the earth, a badass mother goddess, etc. Oh and familiars, got some of those. Oscar’s still in training but Dante is a pro at helping out with anything witchy.

My seasonal bipolar pretty much seals the deal that I’m awake early and asleep late during the spring heading into summer. I’ve established a weekday bedtime of 9pm to keep my head in the game with work….but I definitely cheat sometimes. It’s just unspeakably nice to wake with the sunlight pouring in my window, I feel alive and amped up for ANYTHING, but it has gotten me into trouble before. Its hard too focus on work, for one. I just want to be outside running across lush meadows and drinking in the sunlight. I want to do all the projects and crafts. I need sleep. But who could nap on a day like today, really? Come on.

So work is hard right now. I’m really struggling to maintain focus. I enjoy my company and the benefits of working in an office (thanks for the vaccine, seriously) and yet my wanderlust is strong. Had I a million dollars, I would take a long break…but I have a damn job, I don’t do it for free, and a life for which I enjoy having finances. I am going to take a break, mind you, but a shortish one. Longer than I’ve ever given myself since I started working as a therapist, but still fairly temporary.

The week of memorial day, I’m going to California to camp with friends/chosen family. I’ve been stocking up on gear and squirreling away extra money for the trip for months. I’ve confirmed my safety friends, just in case someone I don’t need to see is there. They actually reached out to me to ask me if I was coming, and promising me I didn’t have to talk to anyone I didn’t want to. They set me up on the Facebook page for the event as well as a side group for planning camp details. I’m very grateful, because I’m going alone on the drive, and seeing them at the end of a 12 hour trip (yes, I know it’ll be hard, but rewarding) will just be the cherry on top.

Now, Dante is not a camping cat, and Oscar is a baby….but he has to learn sometime. I’m taking the pup, while R watches Dante for the week. Oscar is going to be absolutely spoiled by the campers, I’m sure of that. He’s pretty damn cute. He also still nips a bit, so I’m bringing a muzzle, a crate, a little popup enclosed playpen for him to eat and chill in peace, and both leashes (retractable and not). Oscar is very good at staying with me when we go off leash. I’ve taken him to the park oodles of times and he always stays near. He also always gets weird around kids and pushy strangers. No, he doesn’t want pettings, back the hell off. He’ll check you out when he’s ready, thanks. My friends at the campsite are incredible with dogs, so I’m not worried about them. Frankly, Oscar only gets really nervous when I am, so it’s up to me to remain chill. He doesn’t like fire, either, so he gets to hang out in the tent for the evenings.

Which reminds me, I’m bringing his blankets, tons of blankets, too. He’s not very insulated with that glued-on handful of barber-shop clippings he calls fur. Remember how fluffy Cormac was and Oscar isn’t? Yeah, I chose a very weird second dog. Guess I’m stuck with his skinny ass now.

Ok, so I have a tent, mattress (thanks parents), cot, stove (birthday gift), Yeti cooler (another amazing gift), crate, pots and pans, dishes and silverware, so many helpful camping odds and ends, clothes, a spectacular wool coat (Thanks R) a Pendleton blanket (Thanks little sis) pillows and towels, and a few very nice knives. It’s car camping, and I’m making myself very comfy….so I’m aware it’s damn close to Glamping, but it’s MY vacation and ‘ll be as extra as I please. I’ll get food and drinks on the way from Reno, where I’m spending the night after the first day of driving. I wanted to go past Tahoe on the first day, but that seems like a recipe for worn out Jady, and I want to enjoy myself when I finally get there. So the first day is about 7 hours, and the second is about 5. Not too bad, really. Oscar is a very good car dog, and he’ll be in the back with his (did I mention) TONS of blankets. We will take as many breaks as I want, and since I’m going alone, that’s entirely up to me. I’m going to stock up on podcasts, audio books and music.

I’m going to drive some beautiful landscape, and I will have time, fucking finally, to think and absorb my feelings after these last two years. It’s something I very much need to do. I will be off my damn phone for DAYS, in lovely surroundings…I just can’t wait. 26 days to freedom.

So maybe it’s a bit late, but I’m celebrating Beltane on Memorial Day weekend this year, dammit. The season of renewal and the fertile mind is upon us, and I’m not going to waste a minute. Well, unless I’m sleeping, which is not technically a waste, but pretty damn boring compared to LIFE and SUMMER.

Blessings this season, loyal reader.

Good morning, loyal reader. I feel I should warn you, this is a hard blog to write, and it may be hard to read.

Two years ago, I was informed by my former husband that we would be getting a divorce. It was not a mutual, caring discussion. It was not said with kindness or compassion for the years we were together. It was basically, as were all things, a command.

I cried myself to sleep that night, alone in my bed, and so many nights after. Because I was in love, still in love after everything, and my heart was broken. It was also the day I finished all my master’s classes, and a week before my graduation, and two days before my birthday. For someone who didn’t care about significant dates, the former husband sure had impeccable timing.

Maybe it was the ending of my masters program that finally cracked him. Maybe the woman I had become, was becoming, scared the hell out of him. He couldn’t control me the way he did when I was sick. He had been cheating on me for about 9 months, with that particular girl. He knew that I suspected something was going wrong, and he didn’t have a leg to stand on.

That was the spring of 2019. Over the Christmas break of 2018, he had assaulted a family member during our visit to Montana for the holiday. I’ve never written about this, because it’s not my story to tell, and I didn’t break it off immediately, and I was so deeply, deeply ashamed. How could I have let this go on?

That’s my brain talking. My brain, soaked in societal expectations of the abused. Why did I LET this happen? Why was I still around at all? It pains me to say I still doubt myself sometimes. I still wonder what memories will resurface and take me down the path of self hate. I still have nightmares, so often, so potent in their horror.

He wasn’t just emotionally abuse. I’ve kept this to myself, but I can’t anymore. It was sexual abuse, too.

Don’t try to find him, loyal reader. Don’t attack him, don’t kill him, let karma and the universe do their jobs.

I don’t feel as if going into detail will help anyone. Suffice to say the last time we were together physically, it was deeply unpleasant, as it had been so often before. I protested, for once, and he stormed off in a rage. It was a terrible, terrible experience. I tried to make up, because that was what I had been trained to do. I tried talking him down. Funny, how we discuss the aftermath of abuse, we never bring up those times we tried so hard to make it work. Despite the horrible things they would say, and the gruesome things they would do to our bodies at the most vulnerable moments of supposed intimacy, we tried to make it work. No one mentions that part, because it hurts to admit that we tried so hard to fix someone that was hurting us. It hurts to realize how brainwashed we could be.

He was unmoved. He was not the man I married. He had gone somewhere dark and evil that I cannot fathom and won’t try to do. Later on, late May, when he was with his girlfriend in Portland, I gathered the courage to send him my divorce lawyer’s contact information. He told me to call him immediately. I texted him the info again. He replied,

“you can choose to call me now, or I’ll contact my lawyer tomorrow. this won’t be a temporary thing. I’m saddened by your choice here, and will abide…permission to access the house can only be given through my legal representation. from the time you leave, until the end of this.”

I had already packed, and I called my dear mom that night to bring Cormac and Dante to my new apartment, set up and ready to go. I told my shitty roommate (we could go into detail about her compliance with the abuse, but why bother? she’s a shitty roommate) that I was headed to my mom’s house to stay the night. I left Moro. I wish she was able to understand. I took my things and pets and I left.

The former husband and I never talked again. The divorce went poorly, because he made minimal money on paper (he just used daddy’s credit card for his booze and things he wanted, but that doesn’t show up as an asset), although he took on half of my medical bills, which were pretty small, and he took on half my debt to the government, for the SSDI he had collected as my payee when I was sick. I never saw a dime from him, I never mentioned abuse in the divorce. I never spoke to his parents again either, which is a blessing, since they had been told lies upon lies about the way things went down. I was cut off from anything resembling true compensation/reparations for what he did to me. Because I didn’t tell them everything. I didn’t have the mental vocabulary to describe or understand what was so wrong. I didn’t know how bad it had been. I thought that was just the way things had to be. With him, they did have to be that way, I suppose. To love something like that means you get fucked, literally and so on, and afterward you feel seemingly endless regret.

So now, loyal reader, you get to make a choice. You can decide if you believe me or not. You can ask me for the gory details if you need to hear them to understand, it’s a bit tacky to need details, but sure. You can also turn a blind eye, because I can’t force you to acknowledge what he did to me. It’s truly your call. I will be ok, either way. We may end our friendship, but I don’t wish you ill. I’ll just be sad for you. Because allowing a person in your life like him is detrimental and dangerous to everyone you know. Especially the women. Especially them.

Forgive me if this post isn’t the joyous celebration of my freedom that I’d like it to be. Give me time to move forward, even with so much holding me back. Let me heal.

I hope some of you that are struggling see this and know that it’s NOT OK to be treated the way I was by him. It’s not your fault, and it’s not ok. I’m working with my therapist, and my doctor (for medication management including a med that makes nightmares less traumatic) and I talk with my family and friends. Please take care of yourself, and please forgive yourself. Resources below. Thank you for reading. It can’t be an easy thing to hear…But it needs to be known.

https://www.raperecoverycenter.org/if-you-have-been-assaulted

I got my IUD removed today, and I’m not handling it great.

BECAUSE:

1. The original plan. The plan was, more or less shortened for the sake of brevity, to get my IUD removed and start trying to have a baby. With my former husband. Back when I was in love and I thought he’d be a good father. A few things: No he wouldn’t. No, that was a bad plan to begin with. 2 years ago, we were amping up for my birthday, graduation, and apparently a separation and divorce. Now, none of that, no matter how logically a very bad idea, makes me feel any better about NOT having a kiddo of my own. We could unpack that all day. Let’s move on.
2. The actual removal. It hurts. it hurts in your very core, and the pain was so great that I simply couldn’t handle getting a new IUD inserted. I’m pretty stoic as well as not a wimp, but damn, that “little pinch” was terrible.
3. So I’m on the pill now (progesterone only, since I smoke sometimes and it’s safer) and that scares me, because it’s a whole new ingredient in my pill buffet. I don’t know if I’ll have a period at all, since that really varies person to person. I’m not looking forward to finding out what happens when I switch up my birth control. It could be bad.
4. Did I mention that I wanted a baby?
5. I took the day off because crying in front of clients and coworkers doesn’t seem particularly fun for me. That’s always stressful. I have so much work to do, always, and I feel awful when I don’t perform.

Well, it’s done, and I’m feeling ok physically, and awful mentally. I hurt. I am grieving.

On top of everything, the shitty icing on a crap cake, is that memories are surfacing about the sexual side of the abuse. Things that seemed impossible to avoid? turns out that coercion is a form of abuse. It’s been two years and I’m just now realizing that things that happened were not ok. I won’t go into details because triggering my readers isn’t cool. But suffice to say, laying on my back expecting pain is something I’m familiar with, and something that sucks, and a big reason why I haven’t gone to the OB/GYN for a long long while. It doesn’t feel good. It’s scary. it’s a trauma response.

So how am I coping? Well, I took a muscle relaxer to make my uterus a little less uncomfortable. Also, I took the day off. I asked for domestic abuse support group info at my clinic before I left. (I was crying a lot and they were happy to offer some help)

Furthermore, I’m writing about my experience, and sharing with you all. Sometimes that helps, sometimes it just makes me anxious about who reads this. However, I keep it public, because I’m not ashamed and maybe someone else is where I am, or has been there, and maybe they feel a connection with my story, and maybe it helps.

that’s where I’m at. Thanks for making it to the end, loyal reader. Love to you and hoping this does some good.