Love

This is a reprint of a post I wrote 2 years ago, on another To Write Love on Her Arms Day.

I saved this postcard from postsecret.com several years ago, when I was first diagnosed with depression. Off and on I would set it as my computer desktop picture, to remind me that there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

Today is To Write Love on Her Arms day, and I'm going to take part. I said I would last year too, but it was more of an "attending on Facebook" thing. This year I think I'm going to actually write love on my arm. Tomorrow also happens to be a youth group night, which is another reason why I decided to participate this year as well. I want people to ask questions.

I'm sure you have plenty of questions yourselves, and though I realize my blog doesn't have a very high readership, maybe I can raise awareness with even just a few of you. TWLOHA is an organization whose aim and vision is to raise awareness of depression, self-injury and suicide. They also support organizations that promote and help with recovery.

One of the things I both like and hate about depression is that it's hidden. People all around you could suffer from depression and you'd have no idea. I recently learned that a fellow-librarian graduate, Elizabeth, suffers from depression too. I saw Elizabeth almost every day for a year and a half and had no idea. Sometimes, you just can't tell.

TWLOHA is all about telling. Letting people know that you support them, that you hurt too, are hurting now, or have in the past. Whether or not you are ready to write love on your own arms, it's OK. I am participating because I want people to know I'm aware, that I'm a "safe person", for lack of a better way to describe it, that I am someone you can come to and talk to. I've been there, and sometimes I still am.

How about you?

Memories

What I've Done, by Linkin Park makes me cry.

Yeah, yeah, I know. It's not a sad song, but it holds a lot of memories for me.
I read somewhere that the sense of smell is the strongest memory you have. That may be true, but for me, songs hold memories. Which is funny, because I don't really like music. Anyway, there are the songs that immediately remind me of high school, or the summer after Geoff and I started dating.
And then there are the songs that remind me of 2007.

In the year 2007 I was happy, truly happy, for about 4 months. One third of that year I was happy. In August I finally went to the doctor and started taking antidepressants. The next few months were wonderful, because I was finally happy. Not depressed. The veil had lifted. Until December, when Geoff's dad was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, and, well...things just didn't go well after that.

So in the summer of 2007, Transformers came out, and my big, geek of a boyfriend took me to see it. Ever since then, the song What I've Done reminds me of that summer, which reminds me of how unhappy I was. So, I try not to think about it.

Looking back, there is a couple years of my life that I try not to think about, namely the summer of 2007 and most of 2008. Thankfully, 2009 was pretty good, and 2010, our first year of marriage was also good year.
I guess I never realized how much my depression still affects me, even after several years, after it's under control and, generally speaking, I'm happy. Last week I heard What I've Done on the radio, (on a day that, for whatever reason, was already not so great) and I was plummeted into memories that I don't want to remember.
At Thanksgiving we went to visit family, at Geoff's old school stomping grounds. I had lived there for a few months after he dad got sick and, ultimately, passed. Driving down those roads, as Geoff reminisced, all I could do was remember. Things I didn't want to remember.

I guess, sometimes, the past doesn't always escape us, no matter how well we think we have it under control.

There's no point to this post, really. No subject I want to touch on, no questions I want to ask at the end. No neat wrap-up. There are just words that I needed to write, because sometimes, I'm still sad.

Hope

There is always hope.
Ashley, at All Things Ashley is hosting a giveaway for a lovely necklace. A necklace that reads, simply, Hope.

I have high hopes for this year, but the biggest thing I hope for? I hope I can get off my medication, and handle my depression by myself. I hope I can do this, but I also know I can do this.

What do you hope for in 2012?

Love

This is a reprint of a post I wrote 2 years ago, on another To Write Love on Her Arms Day.

I saved this postcard from postsecret.com several years ago, when I was first diagnosed with depression. Off and on I would set it as my computer desktop picture, to remind me that there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

Today is To Write Love on Her Arms day, and I'm going to take part. I said I would last year too, but it was more of an "attending on Facebook" thing. This year I think I'm going to actually write love on my arm. Tomorrow also happens to be a youth group night, which is another reason why I decided to participate this year as well. I want people to ask questions.

I'm sure you have plenty of questions yourselves, and though I realize my blog doesn't have a very high readership, maybe I can raise awareness with even just a few of you. TWLOHA is an organization whose aim and vision is to raise awareness of depression, self-injury and suicide. They also support organizations that promote and help with recovery.

One of the things I both like and hate about depression is that it's hidden. People all around you could suffer from depression and you'd have no idea. I recently learned that a fellow-librarian graduate, Elizabeth, suffers from depression too. I saw Elizabeth almost every day for a year and a half and had no idea. Sometimes, you just can't tell.

TWLOHA is all about telling. Letting people know that you support them, that you hurt too, are hurting now, or have in the past. Whether or not you are ready to write love on your own arms, it's OK. I am participating because I want people to know I'm aware, that I'm a "safe person", for lack of a better way to describe it, that I am someone you can come to and talk to. I've been there, and sometimes I still am.

How about you?

Fall and our love/hate relationship

Source

I love the fall. I love that my birthday is in the fall. I love the crisp air, the fact that I can pull out sweaters again, and, of course, the gorgeous leaves. I just love fall. I especially love and miss fall in New England, because there's nothing prettier than those fall colors. Of course, I may be a little biased.

Everyone loves fall, but sometimes I really hate it.
I don't remember where I was reading this, but someone commented on the fact that fall is the worst for those of us who suffer from depression. They were absolutely correct, I realized, once I thought about it. Every morning I get up before the sun rises, and drive to work by the light of the moon. It's just barely getting lighter when I get into work at 7 am, and I sit at my desk with my back to the window, so I don't see the sun come up. At some point in the morning I will have reason to look out the window and see the sun, which is comforting. We recently moved offices and I actually have light (we're on the top floor rather than the bottom now) which has been wonderful.

And yet...it is so much more difficult to get up when it is still dark out, than when it's light, in the summer. The sun is starting to be out for fewer and fewer hours, and even though daylight saving time is coming, it's still several weeks away, and I know that even then it will still be dark when I get up as we head into November and December.

So, I struggle through the dark mornings, and the overcast days, and try to see beauty in the trees. I know that spring will come again, and then the sky will remain light even when I'm going to bed...at 9:30 pm.
But for now? For now, I both love and hate fall.

Music, part 2

If I love the instrumentals in music, my sister loves the lyrics. It's my sister who pointed out the lyrics in one of my favorite (spoken word) songs. It's my sister who always points out the lyrics to amazing songs, causing me to actually listen closely to the words.
It was my sister who pointed out the words to this song, so long ago when we were first listening to Switchfoot.
I try not to be overly religious on my blog, for many reasons. Recently, however, I rediscovered Switchfoot, and remembered why I used to listen to their CD over and over again. Listening to this song again, Redemption, I remembered why I loved this particular song.


Four A.M. two hours to go
I'm wearing out a lonely glow.
I miss you more than I could know.
Here I am, here I am,
won't you get me?

I've got my hands on redemption's side
Whose scars are bigger than these doubts of mine.
I'll fit all of these monstrosities inside
and I'll come alive.

With my fist down at your feet
I was running out of mysteries
Insecure and incomplete, here I am, here I am,
won't you get me?

My fears have worn me out
My fears have worn me out
My fears have worn me, worn me.

I think, too often, I forget that He is bigger than my doubts. Bigger than these fears of mine, the ones that run through my head over and over. Fears that come from depression, but also from dealing with everyday life. We all have them. Money, work, relationships, His timing vs. my timing. As I sat in my car the other night, listening to this song, I was reminded of this, and reminded that His scars are bigger than my fears. Always.

Not Alone

I'm not an overly emotional 13 year old girl (at least not anymore).

What do you think of, when you hear that someone is writing about their depression? Exactly that; the over emotional teen who thinks no one understands her and no one knows the pain she goes through. Writing out her worries and concerns to the internet, because no one else cares.

When I write about my depression, it isn't because I believe no one understands me, or because no one knows the pain I go through. That is not why I do it. I write simply because it makes me feel good, and in some small way I want to be able to help someone.

This is an excerpt from my story, one of 37 presented in this book, Not Alone. I haven't read it yet, but from the reviews I have read, it is amazing. I encourage you to read this book if you struggle with depression, or if you know someone who does struggle with depression. It won't make you depressed, but it will help you understand, or realize that you aren't alone.

I love the subtitle of this book: Stories of Living with Depression. It's always going to be there, depression. I'm always closely followed by this foe, but it doesn't mean I can't continue to live. It doesn't mean I can't live with depression. That's what this book is about. People living with depression every day. And they're all amazing for it.

This post is linked up with the amazing person who was behind this book, Alise Wright.

Uninspired

I've been feeling uninspired lately.
I've been uninspired by cooking. Uninspired by reading (I'm back to rereading a series I enjoy). Uninspired by blog posts and writing. Uninspired (or maybe more discouraged) by debt and money savings. Just generally uninspired.

I need help. I need blog post ideas (what do you want me to write about??) and I need to get out of my job. That's probably the thing I'm most uninspired by. My day-to-day life seems to lack the excitement or something that it once did.
All day I dispatch and do the occasional filing, printing and faxing. There is nothing rewarding or satisfying about my job and I hate that. I do have plans in place for something else, and I constantly apply to new jobs, but that doesn't help me as I stare at a computer screen, day in and day out, criticized for every little mistake I make (and some non-mistakes).

Sure, I do things outside work that are a little more rewarding. I volunteer with a local cat shelter, I volunteer with our church youth group, I have a bible study, and I'm adding in regular yoga classes and banjo lessons. So why do I still feel so uninspired?
I have no idea. Help me out here, give me something interesting to talk about, or at least bear with me while I muddle through this funk.

Not Alone

Back in January I guest posted on an eclectic blog for a series called Not Alone. The series focuses on depression, and the many many forms it takes in everyone. It was, is an excellent series, and I encourage you to read more of Alise's posts.

To be honest, I can't remember how I came across Alise's blog, or how I came to guest posting on it. At the time I assumed that was it...until Alise emailed me and other bloggers who had posted, asking us if we would be contributors in a book she was putting together; the Not Alone series put together, bound, in one place that I can read any time I want.

I'm excited to announce that Not Alone is available for pre-sale. I encourage you to consider ordering this book not just because I'm a contributor, but to support Alise, and all the other contributors. I encourage you to read it because...well, because these stories need to be told. People need to know. You're not alone.

On why I'm afraid of airports

I've never really done well with goodbyes. I cried every year of college that I had to say goodbye to my parents except the last year. The only reason I didn't cry then, was because I was going home, to the family with whom I'd lived the year before. I cried when I moved out after I graduated.

When Geoff and I started dating, we only saw each other every 4 months or so, sometimes more, sometimes less. I was living in Massachusetts, working as a reporter and Geoff was living in Idaho, finishing up school. It was then that I started to hate airports. The excitement of seeing Geoff again couldn't override the anxiety I always felt leaving him.

Even now, after just over a year and a half, I still can't stand the airport. Of course now I'm leaving family behind, which is a completely different feeling, but causes pain nonetheless. This week I said goodbye on 3 different occasions, since our family left at different times throughout the week. The last goodbye caused a complete meltdown, despite the fact that Geoff and I really are happy to be alone in our house, getting back to our routines again.
At least when I said goodbye to my mom, I didn't have to see the airport.

Do you have any completely unreasonable fears or dislikes?

Stigma

The good news is that attitudes are improving toward mental illness. The bad news is that 1 in 6 people still believe that mental illness like depression is still caused by a lack of willpower and self-discipline. Can you imagine? If you've ever been depressed you know that it's certainly not a lack of willpower that makes you feel like crying all the time. It's not a lack of self-discipline that makes you hit snooze over and over again because you just can't get out of bed.

The stigma around being depressed frustrates me like nothing else. Do you think I like being unhappy? Do you think that I enjoy it when the littlest thing makes me burst into tears? That I love it when a simple comment at work that is slightly critical forces me into the bathroom to compose myself, lest I show my manager that I'm about to cry? Definitely not.


For the first time in a long time this past week I had PMS. I recently switched from Prozac, an antidepressant to Lamictal, a mood stabilizer. For the most part, I'm happy with this switch, but I discovered this last week that my PMS, which is usually under control, was a little over the top. It was nothing out of the ordinary for regular people, certainly nothing like the PMDD that I used to experience, but it was enough to make me unhappy throughout the week.



This week made me remember what it used to be like before I went on the Prozac, and I hated it. Couldn't I have "snapped out of it" though? Not exactly. There were undertones of stress and anxiety I felt throughout the week that nothing could really help. The only thing that kept me going was the fact that I knew it was temporary and that in a week I'd laugh at the fact that I cried over the fact that Geoff didn't get to go to lunch with his friends on Friday because he was too busy. (Yes, I seriously had a meltdown over that)


Unfortunately for people who regularly suffer from depression, there is no light at the end of the tunnel. Not only that, but if their friends or family members are one of the 1 in 6 people who think they are acting like that just to bring attention, and that they can definitely help it, they must feel so alone. I'm lucky in the fact that Geoff understands, and lives with my occasional meltdowns. Others aren't so lucky.


Depression is real; it's often chemical and often the only way out might be medication. So lets ditch the stigma, realize that some people just can't help it, and offer our support rather than our criticism. Then, and only then, will people realize that it's OK to feel this way, and there is a light at the end of the tunnel.

On being happy

Have you ever met someone who loves to be depressed? Bear with me here while I explain. I used to frequent Livejournal a lot (don't judge) and I noticed a pattern with my fellow "writers" (a term I use loosely). Many of them were depressed, anxious, in terrible relationships, on many different medications. I tried to help them, comfort them, give them suggestions, but so often my advice fell on deaf ears. They didn't have time to see a therapist, they didn't have the money, no drugs worked for them so they didn't want to try something else.

Don't get me wrong. I know that there are many people who struggle with many different medications (my best friend being one of them) before settling on one that works for them. I understand not having health insurance, so being unable to see a therapist or a doctor. What I don't understand, however, is how people seem to enjoy being depressed.

I sometimes think of depression like a bad relationship. Many people who grew up in an abusive home will, in turn, either be abusive themselves as an adult, or continually return to an abusive relationship. For these people, that's all they know, but they are so wrong. Depression is the same way. If it's all you know, why take the risk to change it? And yet...there is something about being depressed. There's attention in having "issues". There will always be someone there to stroke your ego, tell you things will be OK, that you are an amazing person. Always someone who seems to care about you. Coming out of your depression you will lose this, and many people, whether they realize it or not, don't want to let go of this.

How very sad for them! Don't they realize what is out there for them? Life can be so much better. The day the Prozac started working for me was one I will never forget. It was like a veil was lifted and I could finally feel and be happy. Until that moment, I hadn't realized how unhappy I really was feeling. Sometimes you don't realize how bad you feel until you actually start to feel better.

I remember one time visiting with my psychiatrist when we were trying a new medication. I sat there and teared up while talking about Christmas...a month later. He looked right at me and told me the medication wasn't working, because I shouldn't feel like that. I could feel better and I had no idea. Up until then I assumed the medication was working, and that was how I was supposed to feel.

Humans are not meant to be unhappy. We are social creatures and, as such, should enjoy our lives and each other. Sometimes our bodies need a little help chemically, but that's acceptable. What isn't acceptable is just taking your depression in stride when you could feel so much better. It takes a lot of work to be one of those people who likes feeling bad. I know, because back in high school I was one. But it takes a lot less work to enjoy your life and feel. Which one sounds more appealing to you?

Homesick

This is my home.

Well, actually this is Harvard Square. But it's part of Boston, and Boston is my home. Where the Red Sox play, where Red Sox Nation began. Home of Fenway Park, and Sullivan Square, where we park the car to go into the city, and Haymarket, and the red line, and the green line and all the history. This is home.

Interestingly enough, so is Seattle, now. I love to make jokes about living in Seattle and loving coffee, or being green, like I've been here forever, not just a year and a half. I have a feeling, however, that Seattle will never quite be home like Boston is. Of course, everyone feels this way when they move away. Where you grow up is always part of your, whether you live there when you become an adult or not.

I moved 3,000 miles away from my home. If I was from Florida, I could have moved farther, but just barely. I love it here, but I miss home.
Usually my homesickness for Reading, where I grew up, is a dull ache that I often can ignore. Like the headache that isn't bad enough to take medicine for. But sometimes it's a migrane, and it hurts. Any mention of home, Boston, Red Sox, even the Bruins brings a sharp stab of sadness. That's my home, and someone else is there, enjoying it. Someone who isn't me.

For some reason this pain is hardest when people who are not from Boston go there. When they post pictures of familiar sites, my pain grows. It's a welcome sight, but a painful one. They are there, walking the streets I want to walk, seeing the things I want to see, the sites I long to see more than anything else, some days.
They are in my town, watching my team, enjoying, but maybe not appreciating things that I took for granted for 24 years.

Selfish? Mean? Maybe. Or maybe, just maybe, I just want to go home.

That's just (blog) life

I seem to have come down with a case of writer's block. I've been staring at this screen (figuratively) all week and I've got nothing.
In searching online for some (any) tips, however, I came across one that wasn't what I was looking for, yet still perfect. Don't write. Why write for the sake of writing? Why say someone just to generate traffic, or readers, or comments? I feel guilty for leaving my blog hanging (not that there are many people who read!) but why should I? So instead of trying to think of something meaningless, I'm just not going to write. I'm sure something will come up.
Meanwhile, I'm doing good. I'm happy, my depression is under control and I've even had permission from my doctor to cut out one of the less favorable medicines I'm on. So often my blog is an outlet for myself, but when I don't have a need for one...well, there's no need to blog.
So excuse me, I'm going to visit my thrift store because it's been a couple weeks and Home Depot to try to get some unknown weed under control and some black paint for a used, free bookcase we've had since we moved in. Pictures of that project to come, because I'm excited about it.
I'm going to enjoy the day alone (Geoff is out for a few hours) even though there's no sun. Why don't you do the same?

I'll find strength in pain...

The following is a guest post that my sister wrote on her own blog. It was so good, and exactly described my thoughts about the song she writes about that I asked her if I could use the post for my own blog.


Nearly every song on Mumford and Son's album (Sigh No More) expresses everything I have ever wanted to express about the world and my life. Especially The Cave.

I love The Cave so much I am deeply, seriously, undeniably considering getting the line "I'll find strength in pain" tattooed on my foot. I chose my foot (in case you're curious) because of the first stanza: "the sun it rises slowly as you walk / away from all the fears / and all the faults you left behind"

Whenever I listen to The Cave, I hear two voices. I hear myself--talking to my depression and telling it to back off, go away, because I am better, stronger, a fighter. ("So make your siren's call / and sing all you want / I will not hear what you have to say / cuz I need freedom now / and I need to know how / to live my life as it's meant to be...")

But most of all... I hear God. I hear him saying "I will hold on hope / I won't let you choke / on the noose around your neck." And suddenly nothing has ever mattered except for this moment, because God is telling me it's going to be okay.

------
The Cave (Mumford and Sons)

It's empty in the valley of your heart
The sun, it rises slowly as you walk
Away from all the fears
And all the faults you've left behind

The harvest left no food for you to eat
You cannibal, you meat-eater, you see
But I have seen the same
I know the shame in your defeat

But I will hold on hope
And I won't let you choke
On the noose around your neck

And I'll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I'll know my name as it's called again

Cause I have other things to fill my time
You take what is yours and I'll take mine
Now let me at the truth
Which will refresh my broken mind

So tie me to a post and block my ears
I can see widows and orphans through my tears
I know my call despite my faults
And despite my growing fears

But I will hold on hope
And I won't let you choke
On the noose around your neck

And I'll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I'll know my name as it's called again

So come out of your cave walking on your hands
And see the world hanging upside down
You can understand dependence
When you know the maker's hand

So make your siren's call
And sing all you want
I will not hear what you have to say

Cause I need freedom now
And I need to know how
To live my life as it's meant to be

And I will hold on hope
And I won't let you choke
On the noose around your neck

And I'll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I'll know my name as it's called again

Alternatives

When I first began to think I might be depressed, the idea of going to the doctor hadn't occurred to me. It was also the late 90s, so while we had the internet, of course, it wasn't as important or used as much by me as it is today. It seems funny to think about that. So while going to the doctor did not seem to be an option for me, I did soon realize there were other things I could do aside from prescriptions to make me feel better.


Mini side-note: Some people need prescription drugs. Not everyone can treat depression without them, and that's OK. That is how I get through my day to day life. Better living through chemistry, as my grandmother always says. However, I do want you to know that there may be other options, and that either drugs or natural remedies are both acceptable. You just need to find something that works for you.

Herbal remedies

Anyway, at the time I worked at CVS and I was fascinated by all the different products out there. Products I had no idea existed until I was forced to wander the store and straighten, or put new shipments of products out. This is when I discovered the vitamin aisle. Today I simply take a regular multivitamin,  but there are so many different types out there that at the time I was overwhelmed and fascinated. However, I did find one called St. John's Wort. This particular plant is known for treating depression in other countries. I used it for a bit, and it seemed to help, though I wasn't monitoring my feelings quite the way I do now. It does interact with birth control, however, so it's best to avoid it if you're taking birth control and using it for...well, birth control!

Sunlight 

Up here in the Pacific Northwest sun is, well, a scarcity. Especially in the winter. As a result, I've taken to trying to absorb as much sun as possible. It may sound ridiculous, but the truth is, humans don't naturally get enough Vitamin D themselves, which is why it is often found in milk. I'm not sure if the fact that Vitamin D is found in UV rays (the sun) or that the sun's warmth just makes you feel better, but whichever the case is, sunlight is a very natural way to boost your mood.
Like I said, out here sun is a little less available than I would like, but I actually think that's better. It means I appreciate every little bit of sun that comes out of our sky! So soak it in, because, depression or not, it will boost your mood.

When all else fails, I enjoy petting my cats. Don't laugh, it's proven that people with pets have lower blood pressure! Something about a small, warm, furry body on my lap just calms me.

What do you do to naturally lift your mood, or ease depression?

Pieces of the puzzle

I was reading a friend's (private) blog post which happened to mention mental illness.
{Side note: mental illness is defined as any disease of the mind; the psychological state of someone who has emotional or behavioral problems serious enough to require psychiatric intervention. This includes depression.}

Anyway, this particular friend was discussing her own mental issues, and the problems she was having with a particular friend who just didn't understand, which I get. One of the comments her friend made that this friend took offense to, was that "nobody considers mental illness to be a part of their identity."

At first, I agreed with my friend. Mental illness is my identity. My depression is my identity...isn't it? Then I started thinking. Depression is part of my identity, but it isn't my whole identity. It's a piece of me, just like the fact that I'm a girl, or that I have brown hair and blue eyes. It's always there, it's not something I can change.

I feel like depression is like that, too. I can cover it up with therapy or drugs, just like I can cover my hair with dye. I can't change it permanently, however...and I'm not sure I want to. My depression is there, just like everything else that is part of my identity. But I refuse it let it identify me solely, and that is where (I feel) many people go wrong. They allow depression to win, to identify them completely, and it shouldn't. It's only a piece of the whole puzzle that makes you, well, you.

Part of the puzzle that makes me Megg, is my depression. But it's also my brown hair, my blue eyes, and my feminine wiles. (Well, maybe not the latter...) I refuse to let the depression win and define me completely. And while this is difficult, I like to think that I'm making progress...a little bit at a time.

Not just a girl

I have so many ideas and thoughts in my head right now, but I'm too tired to even think clearly. So tonight I leave you with this, a very special guest post by yours truly.
I want you to read my post, but then I want you to read the other posts that readers have done relating to depression and Alise's You are not Alone series. They are very moving and touching, and enlightening. Whether you struggle with depression or not, I encourage you to read these, because they will open your eyes...they did for me.

This weekend, hopefully, I will get these thoughts out of my head. Until then, enjoy your Friday!

Holiday blues

It has not been my intention to completely ignore my blog over the past week or so, but I have felt like I've been pulled in so many different directions that simple tasks like planning dinner and cleaning out my email inbox was so overwhelming that my blog was pushed to the side. All around me I have been reading Thanksgiving recaps, seeing people put up trees and Christmas lights and it's overwhelming me. It's stressing me out because I feel like I need to be there too...and I'm not.

If I was to be perfectly honest with you, I would tell you that I'm just not feeling this Christmas season. Due to a combination of non-consumerism and a lack of money, we don't have very many Christmas decorations this year. We have stockings (hung by the fireplace with care, of course) and a table runner, both thanks to my mother-in-law (I do so love when she visits!) and the Christmas tree that Geoff bought his first Christmas out here. I'd love to blame the lack of decorations for my lack of Christmas spirit, but I don't think that's it.

I'm trying to remain upbeat, I really am, but to be honest, I'm missing my regular routines...a regular routine that I haven't had in years. Do you ever wish you could just go back and relive a year again? If I could I would relive 2006. It was the year Geoff and I started dating, the year I started working at the newspaper and the year that I was happy, before my depression set in for the long haul.

It's not 2006, however, it is 2010. It is the year I got married, the year we bought our house, and it's been almost a year since I graduated with my masters. It has been a good year, even if I can't always see it. So this year I'm going to put up our tree, return the phone calls I've been avoiding, enjoy my job and the creativity that I am discovering in finding frugal, yet thoughtful gifts for my friends and family. I'm going to curl up in bed with a warm kitty between my feet and a husband to cuddle with. And I'm going to enjoy it, because one day I'm going to miss the simplicity of my life right now.

Windows, doors and sledgehammers

No, this post isn't about another household project (though I do have a couple of those on my to do list!) but rather a quote you may have heard: "When God closes a door, he opens a window."

I was thinking about this quote the other day. I believe that God has both closed and opened many doors for me, especially in the past couple of years. I've lead a very transient life recently, packing up my VW Beetle and moving far too many more times than I'd like. This last move was my sixth move in 2 years. For a girl who, aside from college, had moved three times in 24 years, this was definitely unusual.
When I was thinking about this quote, however, I was wondering if I actually was supposed to move six times in the past two years. Maybe God opened a window for me but I kept staring at that door, waiting for it to open again. When it didn't I took matters into my own hands, taking a sledgehammer to the door that He had shut on me and going through anyway.
I seriously hope that God has a sense of humor, or at least can accept that I can be an idiot at times. For example, moves one and two. While I will never regret moving across the country for a man I was dating, I wonder if this is really what God wanted me to do. I put myself into a lot of debt, put unnecessary miles on my car and all for what? Because I was bound and determined to go through that door, sledgehammer or not. Consequently, I ended up driving that VW Beetle from Massachusetts to Washington...twice in 2 years. In retrospect it doesn't seem like a good idea, though at the time it was about the only thing I could imagine doing.

All this came about because I'm still unemployed. Ten months ago, heck even 5 months ago I was still looking for library jobs. Today, I head down to Peets Coffee to turn in an application. In my paranoia/over-thinking mind, I'm scared. Scared that I made a mistake. That I went plowing through that closed door because I was bound and determined to get my degree in Library and Information Science. A degree that is now preventing me from getting any job, library or not, because who wants to hire someone with a masters degree for a receptionist job?
And yet...God provided for me to go to school in Alabama, through an amazing assistantship for all three of my semesters there. While I, on the one hand, don't understand why I can't get a job to use my degree, I know and understand that I was supposed to do that...right?
It's hard to understand God's ways when I am unemployed, laden with $30,000 in student loans, stuck at home and stressing about money. I know He has a plan...but why can't He be a little more obvious about it?
Life shouldn't be so complicated.