I’ve been working more on my infamous book lately, and i have to say, i’m getting excited about writing again. This winter has been a tough one for me – and a lot of my friends as well – and so i haven’t had much of a creative bent. It has been a dreary winter with far too much rain, but last weekend, things brightened up and we had reasonable temps and some sunshine. I spent a day out in my yard, raking and digging and clearing branches, and that seemed to snap me out of it a bit. (Isn’t it amazing how much Mother Nature can affect us?) I paid for it for days after, walking like a 90 year old man, but it was worth it. I managed a painting and two chapters last week – More, i think, than i accomplished the whole month previous.

Depression is a bitch. And it makes me terribly unproductive.

But i’m grateful that i have learned over the years what makes me feel better. An enjoyable day outdoors is always good medicine for me. Yard work, hiking, or even just sitting on the porch with a cup of tea and a good book… Just being exposed to life outside four walls is better than any anti-depressant alone. (An anti-depressant with outdoor time is my personal magical mix.) If i really need a boost, a hike with a picnic is unbeatable. A scenic trail full of wildlife and the scents of the Earth followed by a bounty of cheeses, some soppressata, olives, tomatoes, fruits, fresh bread, some wine or Italian soda… It’s like it opens the space between every atom of your soul, and the Universe takes advantage and fills you with positive energy.

When i do this with SiriDog, i actually make her a plate as well. A hard boiled egg, a bit of cheese, a slice or two of apple, a doggie biscuit…. Other hikers sometimes look and laugh at the two plates on the picnic cloth, but why shouldn’t she get to experience that same infusion of God/Goddess/Universe? She is a being as much as any human. She loves a good hike and good food as much as i do. And she has been a steadfast companion. She deserves a picnic too.

Laying on the ground after the meal, staring up into the sky away from the city, the sounds of birds and breeze… That is bliss.

But, no hike today. And no picnic. It is back to raining. Before the cold snap comes this week, tho, i’m on the porch, listening to the rain, watching bluebirds scope out future nesting places, enjoying a cup of tea with Siridog. I have chores and baking to do in a bit, but it will wait until i’ve been soothed by Mother Earth. Watching her drop her miracle liquid onto the moss that has become bright green this week, watching my lawn ornaments spin under the drops, wind chimes tinkling, daffodils and iris starting to burst from the ground… It will keep a smile on my face through the mopping and dusting.

If i’m lucky, it will last me through cleaning out the fridge. But i’ll definitely need a booster after.

****

Fast forward a few hours. The temp has dropped significantly. It’s colder than Machiavelli’s heart out there. It’s still raining, and even the birds have hidden away. It’s ok, tho. I got my boost. I’m ready to tackle the housework.

Side note: I would love to see one of those silly Facebook articles on which crazy-rich people still do housework. Martha Stewart may write articles on the best way to do laundry, but you bet dollars to donuts that she hasn’t done any in a long time!

*****

Fast forward again. So, i did some of the chores. The rest will wait. It was just too perfect of a day for curling up and relaxing. Soup bubbling on the stove. SiriDog curled up beside me. Life is good, folks.  Get some Mother Nature. Curl up with your pet. Or your spouse, if you prefer. (I have better luck with pets.) Make some soup. Don’t spend the whole day being Suzy Cleanfreak. Life’s too short. As long as you have clean undies, the rest of the mess will wait. Live a good life. Enjoy it.

This is a true story, and i share it because i think it’s important for all parents to know that when they have these errant and bad thoughts, they aren’t alone.

Heinlein once said that it takes a human mother to bear a human child. But human children have the uncanny ability to channel the behaviors of animals far less civilized. At various points, they bite like vipers, they get mean like chihuahuas, or they scream like howler monkeys. I have personally seen my children become grizzly bears, wild boars, snapping turtles, and during their teenage years, weasels. And a human mother (Or father) isn’t always equipt to handle these biological morphings. Sometimes, we need help. It doesn’t mean we are bad parents, or bad people. It just means we are human.

My middle daughter, who turns 21 today, was born when i was living out of the country. Our area of the multi-service base was rather small, and we were a tight-knit community. The fenced in arrangement of identical cement block duplexes was a safe haven, and our children could roam and play with a freedom that few neighborhoods afford nowadays.

When she was still an infant, my daughter caught an ear infection. Up til that point, she had been a fairly easy baby – Mostly happy with very little screeching. However, anyone who has ever had an ear infection knows that it is misery. My poor little weedling had a crazy high fever, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t nurse, and was in terrible pain… As was evidenced by the incessant, ear-splitting screaming that cut through every part of my body straight thru to my heart. I’m talking the kind of high-pitched siren that shatters glass, cracks dental fillings, and makes dogs wince and run for cover. Medicine, iced teething rings, cool baths, soothing music, rocking, walks… Nothing made it stop. And i’m not talking a couple hours here. This went on for days. Literally days. I knew it wasn’t her fault, but I got closer and closer to the edge of my sanity. The passing vision of my head exploding gave way to more realistic pictures of me taking a hammer to my head. Or putting a muffler over her mouth. Anything to make the noise stop.

I ended up reaching a point where i could feel my internal switch begin to flip. I was shaking and almost in a panic. Thankfully, something in me spoke up. It was like  a pair of hands were guiding my own as i put my possessed, screaming daughter safely in her crib, pulled up the side rails, turned around and walked out. Walked out of her room and out of my house.

Four doors down was one of my closest friends on base. Her husband was the unit’s corpsman (Medic, for you non-service folk). And she had two teenage daughters.

I walked in her house, sat down at her kitchen table, and said, “Can one of your daughters please go to my house?”

She later told me that i was white as a sheet. She immediately sent one of her daughters over.

Then i cried. I cried because i felt like a terrible mother. I cried because i couldn’t take the screaming. I cried because i was so afraid. Afraid i was going to lose it. Afraid i was going to snap. Afraid i was going to hurt my daughter out of my own frustration.

At some point, she had called her husband, but while she waited for him, she listened. She made me a cup of tea. She told me i had done the right thing to come get help. She empathized. She calmed me. And then her husband came home and gave me the most wonderful gift.

Foam ear plugs.

He explained that they would not drown out everything, but would take the edge off. He echoed his wife that i had done the right thing to get help. He asked me some questions that i now know to be a screening, to determine if i needed further care.

An hour after i had walked out, i walked back. I found my friend’s daughter rocking my baby, who was still crying, but less so. I was renewed enough not to need the ear plugs yet, but i was glad to know they were there just in case. I hugged the teenager who came to my rescue. I packed my daughter up in her carriage, grabbed another set of plastic keys (The little monkeys in the area were forever stealing those and sippy cups out of carriages and strollers) and set off for a walk.

That was the one and only time i ever felt the need to leave. But i am grateful that i could. That i had friends to call upon who would help without judgement. Because we have all been there (If you haven’t, you will be). It might be an ear infection, or the terrible twos, or it might just be you –   Short-tempered from a bad day at work. We all get near that switch. It’s important to know what options you have in those situations. To know how to keep your children, and yourself,  safe. To know where to find professional help if it becomes a recurring problem. And to know that recognizing those moments is crucial and doesn’t make you a terrible person or mother. In fact, it means we are paying attention, and hopefully it makes us more sensitive to the moms that come after us so we can offer help before they get to that point.

In any case, if you are a mom and you are close to the edge, reach out. To friends, to a counselor, to your pediatrician… Someone. And don’t feel badly about doing so. It is better to ask for help than to cross that line.  Your little heathen animals will challenge you ever chance they get. That is part of their job. Take the challenge.

And don’t hesitate to call in reinforcements when the challenge is too great.

*** If you are needing help, google parenting  groups and / or social services in your area. If you are in crisis, dial 911, call your local hospital or mental health facility , or try 1-855- 4A PARENT (1-855-427-2736) to reach the Parents Anonymous hotline. There is help out there. These are only a few of the options. 

I haven’t been writing much lately. I can blame it on any number of things: The holidays keeping me busy, wrenched my back again, transitioning to a new job at work, too tired, too cold, too too… But i’m not sure if any of those are the reason. Or maybe they are all-added-up-together the reason. It’s hard to tell. Winter is always harder for me. For all of us really. And in spite of taking my extra Vitamin D, i’m having a hard time forcing myself to be thoughtful and productive.

Granted, having spent most of the last month treating yet another back injury hasn’t helped. Momentum creates momentum. Energy creates energy. So laying on heating pads, or even dangling from my inversion table, is hardly likely to give me enough get-up-and-go to get thru more than the bare essentials of the day. But things did start to improve once i realized i was defeating myself.

I had painkillers left over from my neck surgery, so i was using those in conjunction with all the usual fixes: Rest, ice, heat, aspirin, muscle relaxers. But the problem was, when the narcs wore off, the pain seemed worse than when it started. (Yes, i already knew that was how it works, but when you are in pain, you forget everything you’ve learned that might keep it from going away. ) So after a few days, i stopped taking those. Within 24 hours, the pain had leveled itself, and i was able to move around some… Which has spawned improvement ever since.

But even physically doing better, my brain is still aching. And tired. I would say that the things which usually bring me joy aren’t working, but in truth, i haven’t had the will to try them. It’s an odd condition, to be honest. It’s like being confined by one of those electronic dog fences. There is no leash, no gate, no gunman manning the exit, but you keep telling yourself there’s no way out.

And of course, i sit here and intellectualize it. But even still, chances are, i still won’t break for the door this evening.

Many don’t understand the need to be self-confined. The old saying, “Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer…”  When you are your own worst enemy, self-confinement is often a necessary treatment. Unfortunately, like chemotherapy, the treatment causes its own problems and sometimes makes you worse.

I’ve been living with this wasp nest of a head for a long time, and i have amassed some amazing friends, so in my silver years, i am lucky enough to be called out before my self-imprisonment becomes a death sentence. This time, i was able to call myself out before they did it for me. (There should be a scout badge for that or something. For reals. The slippery slope of isolation is a real bitch.) I forced myself to a birthday gathering that i was ready to make an excuse for. And while i am sure that i was not the best of cocktail company, i am still proud that i went, instead of canceling and spending the night in bed with sudokus and a couple of melatonin.

And i am writing today. Tho this won’t make it to my Top Ten Posts Ever, it was effort and gets me closer to the other side of the fence. It is my hope that others who are also fighting the brain maggots get caught up in solidarity and take a step of their own toward the door, figurative or literal. If i can do it, so can they. Or you.

We’ve got this. One move at a time. Fake it til we make it, yes; but more importantly, make it for real after a while. I know, I know. It’s hard when it’s too blasted hot or cold (Depending on which side of the equator you’re on) to walk more than a quarter mile outdoors. When you’re broke from the holidays and feel fat from all the extra eating. It makes it worse. It sucks. But it isn’t going to win. You know how i know that?

Because we’ve got shit to do. We’ve got friends to meet, sunsets to see (I accidentally typed “sinsets” at first… And i’m thinking we could use some of that too!), trips to take, and impacts to make. Too many things ahead of us to give in to the mental Ice Man. It is so hard sometimes, tho. That alarm goes off in the morning and you think, “If i called in and knocked myself out, i wouldn’t have to deal with life for another 6 hours…” That is me. Every. Damned. Morning. Only my fear of falling back into that black cave, one i’ve been running from for years (How does it follow us? Is it really the mouth of a beast?) forces me to get up. But i do. And so do you. Yeah for us!

Like, for real. Yeah for us! We beat that beast!

So fuck the winter. Fuck pain. Fuck bills and scales and frigging Valentines Day on the way. Fuck all those things. We are our own army. We will slay it all in due time. One step at a time. And if we see a low point in that fence, lets jump it.

Sometimes, when you’re being chased by a beast, it is worth it hop the fence and outrun it for a bit. That interim between the jump and when it catches up with you is bliss.

“Writers aren’t people exactly. Or, if they’re any good, they’re a whole lot of people trying so hard to be one person.” ~F. Scott Fitzgerald

How much truth there is in that statement! There have been  a lot of articles out lately about the fact that some of our most creative individuals have been decidedly nuts. As if this is a new concept. Those of us who live in that realm would tell you that it’s our predilection to wayward thinking that makes us be able to see, paint, play, design, write things in a different way. It enables us to see the beauty in unlikely things, and also to see the pain behind the beauty. It gives us the ability to make comedy out of things that would otherwise be tragedy. Creativity is our way of dealing with all the unfairness and ugliness in the world. Because we can’t take that ugliness and unfairness. It hurts us. Deeply. Because part of us is the neglected child, the abused spouse, the dehumanized minority, the aching Earth. Those all live within us. A strange type of Empathy that causes us to seek out and create for those phantom persons within us. And the spoils of our labor make us happy, even in the face of the world’s sorrows.

In other words: We have to laugh, because if we didn’t, we’d have to cry. And that’s no way to spend a life.

It’s true, few of us are going to start a revolution or lead the charge of the light brigade… We count on our logical, pragmatist friends to do that. Mostly because we are too unorganized to run anything. (Have you seen our desks?  Seriously, if you have, let us know… We haven’t been able to find it in months for all the mess atop of it…)

Granted, very few of us are Picassos or Einsteins (Yes, he was a creative sort, too. Science and math is an art for those who can see past the numbers. Einstein didn’t stumble upon his theory of relativity. His roundabout way of thinking knew it was there long before the math could prove it.) Most of us are points on a spectrum. Creative versus rational thinking is often an inversely proportional graph. The more your creative mind blooms, the more you are thought to be nuts by the rational people.

What they don’t get is that, when we turn the graph to have ours be the primary axis, they are the ones who are outside the curve.

An aside:  When i say “nuts”, i am talking about the benignly nuts. The quirky weirdos who fight their feelings and poles daily. You might not know what to make of us, but you know we aren’t going to hurt you. The malignantly insane, however,  are on a totally separate graph. Serial killers, Genocidal dictators, Deacons of the Westboro Baptist church… These are people aren’t nuts. They are medically insane. Which is a different issue altogether.

Back to the topic at hand…

To people who are benignly nuts, the rest of the world doesn’t always make sense.  The fact that some other people don’t have a child, or a madman, or a person of a different color or persuasion living within their psyche… No wonder those people have such a hard time seeing things from another’s point of view! They can only see what they know. They can’t see beyond. And they will never be able to see anything from a totally new perspective. They aren’t nuts enough to see beyond their own reality. Which pretty much precludes creativity.

Empaths and visionaries… That’s what we are. But i personally prefer the term “nuts”. Firstly, because it is taking back a term, claiming it for ourselves, and someday, hopefully, removing some of the bad connotations associated with it. Secondly, because it makes people smile. And, in the end, that is what most creativity is about. Making people smile. Smile, feel, wonder, and find peace.

It’s a worthy goal, and not really crazy at all.

So to all my fellow nuts, whatever it is that you do to bring newness and art to the world: Whether you draw or dance or garden or quilt… Keep doing it, even if others don’t always get it. Even if after they examine your work, they sometimes look at you with pity and fear and pat your head like you’re a cat who brought home a dead mouse to his master. Keep on. All God/Goddess/Universe asks is that you make a joyful noise. She never said you had to be Paul McCartney. Not everyone can be a Beatle. But use what She gave you. She gave you that special case of nuts for a reason. It was a gift. A true gift. Use it.

As Robin Williams once said, “You’re only given a little spark of madness. You mustn’t lose it.”