Saturday, September 29, 2001
Guilt
I have a healthy sense of guilt. In fact, sometimes I have guilt for things I haven't even done, or haven't done -yet-. I have guilt for thoughts, for things that are such ancient history that the 'wronged' party probably doesn't even remember.
All of this was brought to light while I was writing the last article for this issue of IQ. I'm doing a series of self-tests based on this great book I found about emotional styles, and I realized that I have waaaay too much guilt and disconnection. I'm wondering if a lot of my depression comes from that now.
On the positive side, the worst part of that seems to be over. I really pushed myself through it this time, and the way that I came out on top is extremely heartening to me. Instead of denying it like I had been, I tried very hard to acknowledge that something was wrong, put a name to it, and then work on Art. In doing so, the depression didn't stand a chance. (That, and I snagged some Paxil. Ahem.)
I can't remember if I told you all about this deco obsession that I'm going through now. I found some great Yahoo! clubs that are doing some really gorgeous things, and I've been inspired. One of these days, I'll put up a page of all the bizarre booklets I've been doing.
And I really want an art car. But H said he won't be seen with me if I drive one. See how he is? Love me, love my proclivities for kitsch, dammit.
------e
Posted by beth @ 11:53 AM PST [Link]
Wednesday, September 26, 2001
A user guide
A USER'S GUIDE TO BETH:
Tell me I'm okay...? Tell me that I don't suck. Tell me that it's a good thing that I've been making books, that I've been doing something, rather than sitting around watching television and feeling sorry for myself. Don't discount the effort it takes for me to get up, to cut things out, to locate the glue-sticks. Don't make jokes about what I do. Don't ride me about what I don't.
It's not good when I can't move. Keeping myself going despite the onslaught, the waves of blue, isn't easy. Yes, I do cry too much. Yes, I feel things too deeply. Yes, I'm isolated.
But I'm not totally inactive, so it's not hopeless. And I'm not doing this to stress you out, despite what your fragile little ego says.
I know there are people waiting. Emails to be answered. Calls to make, letters to write. It's all I can do to type, to wash the dishes, to vacuum the floor. Stop looking at me like I'm a toy, a pet that doesn't behave. I'm angry because I'm sad. I'm sad because I'm angry.
And no, I don't know what the next step should be. Stop pushing, and let me surf to shore.
-----e
Posted by beth @ 11:32 AM PST [Link]
Tuesday, September 25, 2001
contracting
I'm contracting. My world is becoming a little stuffy box, for no reason. And I don't know why.
Things are, for all intents and purposes, fine. In fact, they're good. I'm getting things done, I made a great new journal (offline), and our air conditioning got fixed. (The reason I haven't written in a few days is that our AC was broken, and it was as much as a hundred and seven degrees in the office at its peak. I can't do -anything- when it's 107 degrees, except maybe sweat. A lot.) H and I have been watching movies most of the day (his day off), and I was out running errands earlier and found some great gel pens that I'm loving big time.
Cheryl Richardson, author of "Life Makeovers", has this great mailing list where she sends out periodic essay-type-things that coincide with her book (which I bought, but haven't read yet). A few months ago, at a particularly stressful time in my life, there was one with the subject heading: ANXIETY=INACTION. In it, she posits that anxiety isn't chemical or a stress reaction, it's a natural "call to arms" for your adrenaline in response to your avoidance of something you must do. At the time, it really got to me. It resulted, in fact, in my trip out to Nebraska.
So where's all this anxiety coming from now? I can't think of anything I'm really avoiding. I've got a long To Do List, as always, but even that's being pegged off one by one. (I want to clear my TDList so that I can concentrate on some bookmaking in October...) I can't think of a single, solitary thing that would be bothering me like this.
Maybe it is chemical. Maybe I am crazy. Or at the very least, irrational. I feel like I'm mourning something huge, but there's no face on it. There's no reason for it.
I just don't understand, which is making it worse.
--------e
Posted by beth @ 10:58 PM PST [Link]
