To keep from making this post longer than it already is, I will add more information at a later date.
Doctor and books recommend a lot of writing in the coming months to process my new diagnosis and undo distorted thinking. What better thing to do than share it all with the tiny little world we have made.
Write they say. Write every day. What ab00ut? The color of the sky? The pain in my feet? The coolness of a creek? Nothing seems important enough to write every day, except that which everyone already writes about.
Unless of course, I remember that article about how the mundane can become the key to archeological history in a hundred years. Writing about the boring spices on every dining room table could become the knowledge future societies thirst for. And they won’t have it, because I didn’t write about it. When I put it that way, writing seems less useless.
Unless of course, you consider the infinite possibilities of anyone even finding my specific writings, and can read them, or access them, depending on where I have placed them. So when you come full circle again, my writing becomes obsolete and not worth my time again.
But wait, this writing is for me isn’t it? To help me heal and process and all that fun timey-wimey, wibbly-wobbly, brainy-rainy nonsense. Well, when you put it that way – I still don’t care.
Today has been all over the map. I forced myself to take the bath I had been fantasizing about all morning. I know that sounds so contradictory, but I didn’t want to put forth all the effort required to take the bath since the tub is in my children’s bathroom. Not to mention that I didn’t want to take an ordinary bath, of course I wanted a rose bath, decked out in rose water, rose oat milk soak, roses, and candles. If I was going to take a bath, I had to wash my hair, it was long overdue which meant shampoo and conditioner. It was just this whole big ordeal that didn’t seem worth it. But I was determined to have that bath.
Did I mention that my children are teenagers? Need I say more about the state of the bathroom I had to inhabit in order to take this goddess of a bath? Sigh………
Which lead to having a discussion after the bath and ended with them massively cleaning that bathroom. I did really well with that conversation too. Crazy mom was nowhere to be found. Only completely cool, calm, and collected m0m. She’s been visiting a lot more lately, I am hoping I can convince her to use the bottom drawer of the dresser I cleaned out for her. Maybe eventually I can even present her with a key of her very own? Who knows, ya’ll might see her moving in one day.
Then dinner was cooked, it tasted nothing like I expected. Daughter was in a goofy mood and I found my brain reaching overload.
It is so impossible to describe what a sensory overload feels like or looks like or is like. Maybe imagine the worst junk drawer you have ever seen: keys, screws, pennies, pliers, twist ties, bottle caps, a sock, pens, papers, receipts that don’t even say anything anymore, magnets, faded pictures, random measuring cup, lightbulb, a few fuses, you get the drift. That junk drawer in the back of the 65 year old shop you just inherited from your dad that never threw anything away. Someone has just come in, left the door open and all the noise from the street comes pouring in, and they start talking to you. But it isn’t in English, at least, you don’t think it is. You realize half way through whatever they are saying, as you search for something in that drawer, that your feet are freezing, but you are also like really sweating, your nose suddenly itches but you can’t scratch it because your hands are wrist deep in that dusty drawer still looking for that thing. That my good sir, is a sensory overload. Pr0blem is, you can eliminate all that input and the sensation will not go away, it still feels like that. For hours on end. Sometimes days.
I have learned recently that control is the key to managing this. Of course it is important not to let THAT turn into an unhealthy coping mechanism. Dear Lord this tightrope is exhausting. The only relief I can find is having control over the input. Tonight, it probably seems counterintuitive to others, but I borrowed my husband’s noise cancelling head phones and straight BLASTED a specific playlist that I have had to have running on repeat for the last week. And it was not quiet music, in the slightest. But it worked, it calmed the noise, it reduced the “static”, the fuzzy noise itching in the back of my brain. I am still blasting it while writing this and I am afraid to take it off even th0ugh the kids are now in bed.
Tomorrow I see the dr for the first time since starting some new meds.