Anxious As Nails

One way I have always been able to temperature-check my mood is by my desire to paint my nails. I know that sounds silly, but when I am happiest, for some reason, I like to see that reflected in my nails being painted pretty colors. However, of late, I have been painting my nails while still being incredibly concerned about the world around me. I mean, my anxiety is sky high! 

I know that somehow people are able to build their social media algorithms. Many of my friends go to their social media accounts and only see beauty tips and crockpot recipes. I see people building bunkers and talking about how we are going to run out of power and will starve to death unless we learn how to turn our urine into drinking water and preserve peppers. As scary as this sounds, and it sounds really scary, at least to me, I still have been painting my nails, excited about the variety of pinks and reds I have. 

What is the moral of this story? What, am I like happily worried or something? I think that in my old age I am finally digesting the fact that you can't change what you don't have control over. The world could end in a few days. So, I can either go into complete panic mode or pray that God has mercy on us while I oil my cuticles. If I am going to meet my maker, I am doing so with a full, polished set. 

The Session

Today, I had my therapy session, and thank God! I had to unload and let someone know how I am honestly feeling. We covered everything, from my being stressed out to my friendships. She said she could tell something was up with me, which was reassuring and more helpful than someone telling me I am acting weird. The session must have been just what I needed because afterwards I took a long, hard nap and for the first time all week, I felt rested. Of all the great things I have ever done, getting a therapist stands out as one of my greatest decisions, and if I were queen of the world, I would make it mandatory that everyone get a therapist. There is nothing like someone with no skin in the game helping you figure things out. I'm really excited for my next session and enjoying some good sleep. 

Holly Clay and the No Good, Very Bad Day

Long story short, I am losing at life. 

I just started a contract gig and I'm not getting the hang of it while everyone else is being recognized for doing an amazing job. 

I have a toothache that is making my whole jaw warm. 

I had a health emergency and could not reach my doctor. I had to talk to another doctor who, although nice, is not familiar with me or my issues. I'm sure my actual doctor will tell me something completely different when I talk to her in the morning. 

My niece had multiple tantrums that felt like they were taking place on my brain. 

I feel like my whole household is annoyed with me for needing some space today. 

I called one of my favorite people and he didn't answer the phone which made me feel alone, ignored, and stupid. 

At the end of it all, all I could do was lay down and cry. Again. Some more. 

I want to talk to someone but I don't care to spread my misery so I think that I will listen to some Toni Braxton and try to regulate my anxiety. Pray. Nibble on dinner. 

Nights are my favorite but they are also hard. It is when all my life choices come to haunt me. It is also when it becomes even clearer that I will always be by myself and have to tread the merky waters of my life in solitude forever. 

Getting emotional. I think it's time for Toni. 

Embracing the Mental

I have a friend who lost their mind. When it happened in my 20s, I was so sad and confused and shocked. What could happen that young to cause one to lose it? Everyone around me was so optimistic about their futures. When I heard what had happened to my friend, it really felt like there was a fallen soldier that both me and our mutual friends were leaving behind. Today, I see the situation and mental illness a whole lot differently. Honey, we are all one missed crazy pill dose or therapy session away from dropping our baskets. 

Throughout my life, there have been commonalities amongst my peers. There were points where everyone was in a bad relationship, or trying to lose weight, or looking for a new job, or moving. At some point, the commonality became that everyone was depressed. I can not pinpoint when this exact time was because no one was talking about it. Everyone was just getting put on meds and getting a shrink in secret. I didn't get let in on what was going on until I myself got depressed and started talking to people about it. I couldn't believe that the people I love the most, the people that I talk to regularly, were secretly navigating their mental health. If I had not told them how I was doing, I am pretty sure the secret would have stayed under their hats. 

It can also go in the opposite direction. The downside about being friends with a lot of scholars is that they tend to academicize (I thought I was making a new word, but it's a real word already) everything they are going through. For some reason, turning everything into a potential Ted Talk makes it easier for them to digest. Your hard time may be worth it if it gets turned into an Oprah's Book Club selection. My brain doesn't work that way. It's much easier for me to acknowledge that my life is in the sh*tter and try to make moves from there, minus the panel discussion. Sometimes I think of how much less pressure it would be for those in my ecosystem to just say, "Yeah, I got down. Maybe even beyond down, and now I am getting back up" without all the extra fluff. 

With this in mind, I see my "fallen" friend differently. They were not a mess or a disappointment; they were brave and a trailblazer. It must have been so hard for them to admit that something was up when life was coming up roses for everyone around them. They had to be afraid that people wouldn't understand. I didn't, but I totally do now. If I could talk to the youngins coming up behind me, I would greet them with open arms at the gates to Crazy Town. I'd let them know they were amongst friends. No more leaving friends behind. 

Stages

Long ago, I was invited to Colorado to review a winter resort. A family was staying there that I became friendly with, particularly the mother. She asked me how old I was, and at the time, I was 25. She was in her 50s. She said, "You are in that stage of life where you go on Facebook and see that all your friends are getting married. I am at that stage of life where I go on Facebook and see that everyone's parents are dying."

I have thought about that statement over the years, primarily because these stages seemed so extreme. I figured that there has to be a middle stage, and there is. At 40, I am at that stage of life where messed-up, scary stuff begins to happen to you to show you that you are no longer young, and it's not fun. 

Recently, a college friend of mine was diagnosed with breast cancer. Over the years, breast cancer has been diagnosed younger and younger in women. I had a mentor in her 70s that told me that when she started out as a nurse, it was rare to treat a woman under 60 with breast cancer. Now my friend, whom I remember partying with and watching her cross her sorority, is now posting about her doctor's visits and their mental toll. 

I have friends who are navigating separations and divorces. Friends that are dealing with high-risk pregnancies because they are now considered "geriatric". Friends who have seriously injured themselves doing something basic, like bending over or turning their head. It's also supplement time. Don't be surprised if you go to hang out with your girls and the conversation goes rogue, and you all start talking about what vitamins you are taking for heart health and to strengthen your pelvic floor. 

A woman recently went viral for pretty much having a live panic attack because she just turned 40 and felt like she had done nothing with her life and time is running out. This comes with it to, this feeling of feeling like you have not accomplished enough. Even accomplished folks can feel this way, and it's a very haunting and panicked feeling. You start to get antsy, searching for a way to at least have some small success. It's a lot of pressure. 

Earlier this weekend, I had a Clearly Canadian water. Do you remember those flavored waters from the 90s? They are back, and it was amazingly refreshing. The last time I'd had one of these drinks, I was at the stage in my life where my biggest concern was getting my homework done so that I could watch music videos for the rest of the day. Now, when I hear songs on the radio, I don't know who half of the artists are! 

I can be negative and anxious, so for my own mental health, I am trying to brainwash myself into believing that this is the stage that great, beautiful things are going to happen to everyone I know...just a little later than expected. This stage of life can be scary, but I just know that there is some sunshine coming around that bend, and I put that on my fish oil and glucosamine. 

Happy

The other day, I was talking on the phone to Kinfolk. He is one of my oldest friends. Just a little background: I met him in college. He married one of my closest girlfriends. He's really southern and grows vegetables. Anywho, I was talking to him about the weightloss drugs I have been prescribed and depression meds and he goes, "You do seem a lot happier Clay." (insert eyeroll). I then ask, "Uh...was I ever happy?" And he says, "Yes."

Listen, if regular people could get an Emmy, I apparently would have one. Winfrey said something similar a long time ago about my having been "happy", which left me confused and scratching my head. I spend most of my time screaming in my head and gripping my edges. Looking back, my whole life has been riddled with fear and anxiety and functional depression. I didn't know that I was exhibiting these symptoms as a kid and young adult. I was just being Holly: the overemotional fat girl that liked to make mountains out of mole hills. The ho that was COVID revealed to me during quarantine that people around the world who demonstrate Holly-ness are typically medicated. Apparently, crying multiple times a day to "relax" isn't really a thing. 

Yet, to Kinfolk's credit, I was able to camouflage these issues in college with parties, study sessions, optimism about my future and excitement about being away from home. I know longer party. I have nothing to study for. I'm about as optimistic as a man in the electric chair. And my future...don't even get me started! In my defense, it was easy to laugh and smile in my 20s because I didn't see the avalanche of BS that was coming my way. Seem a lot happier. Give me a break. When I meet people my age who are grinning like they are 22, I assume that they are either drunk or that they have accepted the fact that they have lost their minds. One thing I don't assume is that they are happy, and as glass half empty as I am that makes me sad. 

Depressed

I am depressed. 

This really shouldn't be news, because I am pretty sure that I have been functionally depressed my entire life. I remember being so, so sad all the way back in kindergarten and just being told that I was overly sensitive. I remember sitting at the club in college, wanting to cry for seemingly no reason, and being told I was just a drag and a downer. However, this depression feels different. 

I trace this surge in my unhappiess to the beginning of the New Year when I decided to go on this diet. Well, what was supposed to be a positive move to improve my health has plunged me into all day, every day negativitity. And as you have probably guessed, it is not going well. I am pretty sure that I have not lost so much as an ounce. This of course makes me feel like a failure, which is not exactly good for my already plummiting morale. Quite honestly, I am about two seconds from giving up completely. It is too much. It is a trial. And I am not good at trials that are too much. Anyway, I will never be as small as I always dreamed of' anyway; small enough to where a bikini to the grocery store or nab my dream man, so what's the point? Oh, I forgot. Life. 

Wow, I really must be depressed. I don't even feel like whining anymore. Okay then, until next time. 

The Slump

I woke up the other day and realized that what I had felt in the middle of the night was true: the heaviness of the holidays had found me and wrapped itself around my body like a blanket that I couldn't take off. 

"Great," I said rolling over on my side, defeated. 

Silly me, I had thought that seasonal depression had given me a break. But if anything, it has become more cunning over the years. It totally snuck up on me, causing me to remember that we were in the holiday season. We obviously are, but I had somehow forgotten. 

My holiday depression is a real blast! I can zone out for hours, staring into space. I become incredibly forgetful and absent-minded. It takes days for me to complete simple tasks. And I can sleep hard and heavy for hours. 

This go-'round, there are no tears. No sadness, or at least not the sadness that I am used to. I just want to be left alone to sit in the dark and do nothing. Really guys, I consider this a win compared to holiday seasons past. 

Man, I need to be back in therapy. I would look for the referrals I was given, but I'm too tired. 

Homecoming Post 4: Anxieties

I am so happy that I went to my 15-year college reunion, but I had a lot of anxiety about going beforehand. Right until the day that I was supposed to leave to go, I was thinking about staying home. Something about seeing the people that I came of age with after not seeing them for a long time makes me want to roll under the bed and hide. I have an issue with comparing my life to that of others, which is truly a recipe for failure. Luckily, I would not have gotten a refund on my Air B&B if I hadn't gone or I would have missed out on a good time. I hear that other people have anxieties too. They have the dignity not to talk about them. Luckily, that's not me. Next year, if you are considering missing out on your homecoming because of your anxieties, just take a gander at mine, then pack and leave, knowing you are not the most neurotic person in the room. 

My Weight

I am fat. I was fat when I started college at 18. This is not news. What may be news, however, is how fat I have gotten since. It's a bit ridiculous. And embarrassing. And dangerous. And shocking. And incredible. These are the adjectives I am choosing, so I was very nervous about what my judgemental ass peers were going to say. Thank God fakeness is real. I knew that no one would say anything to my face. That didn't stop me from daydreaming about arriving at the school only for everyone to point at me and scream.

I'm Broke

So many of the people I went to school with are rich or on the bus to get there. I would get on the bus too, but I don't have enough change. 

The Old Me

Once upon a time before life happened and before I decided to try to be more like Jesus, I could have been perceived as somewhat of a jerk. It depends on who you ask. I was the worse kind too. I was the kind that could dish it but could not take it. I would not be surprised if there was still someone out there with an ax to grind that they would so beautifully chop my head off with at homecoming.  

Chin Hairs

I am scared that I will soon be growing a beard. I see the tiny pores under my chin that look like they are fixin' to sprout hairs. This keeps me awake at night. I spent most of my spare time as a child plucking my grandma's chin hairs. I am too young! 

These are just a few of the anxieties that pollute my mind. Do you feel better? Thought you would.  

Therapy

Well cool cats and kittens, I am finally in therapy. 

And not in a cute way like athletes or celebrity racists that get caught doing something bad. I mean really in therapy doing work. I always thought that I needed to be in therapy, but when you begin crying multiple times a day and losing it over minor things, you kind of don't have a choice. So my therapist is helping me to get my anxiety under control, anxieties that were on their way to becoming phobias. This is a good thing, because I was only a few days away from going completely nuttybags, yelling obscenities at people from the roof of my neighborhood grocery store.   

The thing is, I thought that anxiety was new for me, but after talking with my therapist, I realize it has always been there like an ex-boyfriend that can't take a hint, waiting to get on my nerves. I remember being at a reggae club in New Orleans with my friends and having to excuse myself to cry in my bestie's Honda while everyone else ponned the replay inside. Thinking back, my anxiety journey has been a literal trail of tears, having private crying fits before, after, and even during events in my life. 

My whole life I have been branded as dramatic and emotional because I am dramatic and emotional. So when I would get so worked up over things in college that I would race back to my dorm room, fall face-first into my twin bed, and cry into my bedspread, even I figured I was just being emotional and dramatic again. Feeling sick when I had to be around folks. Wanting to hurl at the thought of going out. It has been anxiety this whole time. Who knew?

I have to say, talking things out with someone who actually knows what they are talking about has been BEYOND therapeutic, and I would recommend it to anyone. Life has been stressful and we are finally seeing a possible end to a pandemic. If you need to talk to someone, do it. 

Rona Stress

I know that we all have experienced varying levels of stress and even mania during this seemingly never ending quarantine. Who didn't see the live videos in the beginning of folks fighting over toilet paper and cleaning wipes? At that point, I was waking up in the middle of the night and disinfecting the door knobs and toilet seats. Now, with threats of a third wave of crazy infection numbers on the rise (How did I miss the second wave?), I find that my Rona stress has increased to new heights of nutty. 

A friend of mine got Rona earlier this summer. His roommate gave it to him and the other three boys that live in their apartment. He didn't get outrageously ill. He didn't end up having to go to the hospital or anything like that. But he has lost his ability to taste and smell. I hear that this is a common symptom. But his roommates have gotten there senses back and he has not. It has been over a month. 

After hearing this, I found myself licking seasonings off of my hands to make sure that I could taste them. This was followed by a banana, blueberries, a teaspoon of BBQ sauce, and a protein shake. Once I was sure that my sense of taste was in order, I found myself nose first in the dryer sheets, trying to make sure that I smelled those. Then I sprayed Lysol and perfume to smell them until I almost made myself puke! 

This is life in RonaWorld. You either have spazz outs like me or you go to bars without your mask on as if it is 2019 and you can still party like it's 1999. Some people fall in the middle. All of us are over it. 

Well. Until next time. Those jalepenos in the fridge aren't going to lick themselves. 

The Grieving Posts 1: Mood Swings

I have been having some major mood swings lately. As my true readers know, I am not that emotionally stable as it is. I am assuming that all of this is connected to the fact that my mom died in August and I have not even begun to deal with it. I am pretty much refusing to cry and acting like everything is business as usual. I am fully aware that this is not healthy, but I decided that this was the best way to proceed when I woke up the day after she died and realized that the world had had the nerve to go on.
Not long after her death, I reached out to a friend of mine who is a shrink. I hit her up about what I have been experiencing and the mental health fat that she gave me to chew on was the equivalent of you can't out pizza The Hut. 😕You would be giving me the same face if you knew the HOURS of advice I have poured into this girl since I was 19. Here is my advice to you: make your core strong, so when shit happens, you can look within yourself and self-soothe. As you well know, my core is about as strong as damp Ramen noodles, so I'm screwed.
I don't know if you have experienced the passing of a parent, but I will explain to you how it feels to me: like I have forgotten something. Like I left something. Like I can't find something. It dawned on me recently that this must be what true incompleteness feels like. Is this going to be the way that I am going to feel the rest of my life? Like something is missing?
I don't know. For now, my moods are just 'a swingin'. I have flashes of sadness mixed with long periods of tiredness and irritation. I have great anxiety when it comes to me having to leave my house. I don't know what that's about.
Sadly, I am fully aware that this is just the beginning. This sucks because I am about at the end of my last good nerve.

Shrink of my Dreams

As many of you know, I have been wanting to see a therapist now for about ten years. So many of my friends have gone into therapy and I have gotten to witness the positive differences that it has made in their lives first hand. But sadly, I have never been able to afford it.
Fast forward to three months ago: I was walking into the office building across from my job when I literally ran into a shrink! She asked me what I was going into the building for and I said that I was wondering if there was a psychologist in the building. She said yes, that it was her, and she walked me back to her office to do a free assessment.
I immediately liked this lady. She told me that she had just graduated and that she'd just started her practice. She is also in her 30s which is great. I don't want to be an agest, but the idea of telling all my problems to a 20 something makes me want to croak.
I have to tell you, that ten minutes was the most relaxing ten minutes of my life honey. She just asked me general questions about myself, and if she hadn't have stopped me, I could have talked for hours. She told me that she wanted to get more info and run some tests and blah blah blah and that session would be $500. Afterwards, each session would be like $200.
Okay, so that sounds like a lot and it is a lot. But I think of that fee as an investment in myself and my sanity. So, being uninsured, I am dropping pennies in my piggy bank daily to get to my session with my shrink. It may be next winter before I get in to see her, but I am looking forward to getting to the root of my COUNTLESS issues.

Sometimes you feel like a nut...

The best, meaning the worst, thing about watching a loved one suffer from Alzheimer's is witnessing yourself crack.
Lately, I've found myself forgetting things which of course sends me into a panic similar to the ones that my grandma has when she can't remember my name. So now I find myself giving myself little mental quizzes and if I don't pass them, or if I don't feel I remembered a name or place quickly enough, I want to cry.
When I was younger I watched a documentary on ETV on Vivian Vance, the lady that played Ethal on I Love Lucy. Apparently, her mother lost her mind when she was young, so when she got older, Vivian carried a note card with her name and address in her purse so that in the event that she lost her mind, whoever found her roaming the streets would be able to return her home. The documentary was scary to me then, but its horrifying to me now. Funny how you take little things for granted like being able to know your own name off hand.
So the other day my mother tells me that my great-grandfather, my grandma's father, had Alzheimer's. I do not remember him, but oddly enough, I do remember spinning in circles outside of his hospital when I was younger. Nonetheless, hearing this tidbit of info was bone chilling. This means my mother could get this disease and I would have to watch this Hell all over again. Then I could get it, and get to watch myself waste away. I could get to watch myself not know my children, get my ass wiped by strangers, and overall lose touch.
The whole thing sucks to say the least. It sucks that I have to deal with this with my grandma, it sucks that I may one day have to deal with it myself, and there's nothing I can do about it now to prevent it.