Finished Object Friday!

*drumroll please* 

Aren't they PRETTY!!!???!!!

Squee, Swoon, all I want to do now is knit a lot of socks...

My very first pair of socks!! *SQUEE!* I used a faux cable pattern from "Terrific Toe-Up Socks" (I love the instructions in that book, but the title makes me think of nails on chalkboard.) I used Alpaca Socks, from Classic Elite (I think?) - it so so soft and squishy. Love. Love. Love.

The only thing I don't LOVE about toe up construction is the ninja star of death (pictured below) that is the first 20 or so rows. It's making me think about figuring out this magic loop thing. But hey, knitting socks was on my to-do list for this year, and the year is not even half done! What's one more scary thing to conquer...

ninjadeathstar *shudder*

So I was tired and punchy last night, and as they were drying it occurred to me that they look like a mustache sitting on the sill...

She Loves Them, which makes me so freaking happy.

Returning

How things have changed in six months, and my, how they are still the same.

Divorce is a long, ugly, painful process. I am still getting divorced. It is a soul-sucking process. Some days I wake up and marvel that there is still any light in my being. But then I think that fire is a purifying element. I am walking through hell, and will emerge stronger, distilled, free. Even this, as awful as it is, is better than what I was living in for years.

But I don't want this space to only be tears and woe. I am multifaceted, and there is much joy and beauty in my daily life. So I will still post about food and knitting and yoga and school (I am finally back in school - my life on my terms!!) and kids and politics and triumphantly crow from this soapbox.

So pull up a chair, let's brew a pot of tea and chat. Welcome back.

The Big Thing

I am getting divorced. How strange it feels to type those words. This was not my intention. No one gets married thinking they will do this. But I need to. Things got fucked up. So much messier than ever possibly imagined. I do not understand how this came to be my life. How is it possible I put forth a polished exterior but continue to fuck up at every turn. Disaster. Walking. Breathing. Incredulous. Help. Me. Oh how this hurts. Impossible beautiful pain.

The BIG THING

I'm going to make this blog private. For a time. I need to be able to put words out into the cosmos about the BIG THING that is happening in my life. If you want to still read my blathering, facebook me an email, or ask to be invited. Otherwise I will still type, and cry, and pray. Into silence.

Almost Three

Yesterday Bridger got to hang out with his Uncle Mike for a little bit in the morning. They watched 'The Best of Michael Jordan'. Bridger was a pretty quick study, particularly in the fancy footwork before the throw.

There is no baby left in my baby. He's lanky, a little boy. Sweet and smiley and mischievous. I look at him and hear Puck, from Midsummer Night's Dream. But still snugly, and cuddly, sometimes. He starts preschool on his birthday, next week. Little by little we let them go. Knowing it's what must be done, it still makes for a wistful mother waving as they walk away.

A letter to the Peanut Gallery

This blog offers snapshots, vignettes into my life, mind and soul. Part of any journal is the ability to be honest, with yourself, and even though a blog is a public journal, I will not censor myself. The last post was an honest snapshot of that moment in my head. Getting those emotions out of my head and into this journal, raw and ugly and uncomfortable as they may be, is in fact one of the healthiest response mechanisms that I could have chosen. My therapist is in agreement that my fear of returning to the darkness that I have lived in (many many years ago) is very healthy, and gives her no reason to fear for my safety, or general mental health. In circumstances such as mine, to be handling this stress, without medication, this well, is admirable, especially given my history.

There are however, those who would read that post, and use it for fodder, as weaponry, to claim moral and mental superiority. Which is only showing just how small they really feel. 

So how am I feeling today? Strong. Scared. Brave. Too nervous to eat much, but loving all the full fat cheese I am eating right now. With jam. A little angry. Thankful for the support and love of my friends and family. Grateful for the kind comment that was left on that post. Very sorry for the small small people who think that a history of depression, and honest assessment of the pull of negative coping mechanisms, and the will to function differently, even if it's hard sometimes, makes me a terrible fucked up person. Pretty pitiful.

Bringing light to the darkness. I will not be shamed.

Old familiar friends

I have a really colorful mental health history. I have spent this half of my life constructing different paradigms, learning appropriate coping mechanisms, being on various medications, learning to live without those medications, because detoxing too fast while your insurance runs out really fucking sucks.

But, at the end of it all, and first in my mind, is that these shadowy ways are my first line of defense. Life gets difficult, the pressure mounts, and I. Cease. To. Function. Too much intensity. So much FEELING. Too much. Can't. Feel. All. Of. This. Can't. Can't. Fuck. This. Need. To. Feel. Something Different. Need to put the feeling somewhere else. Compartmentalize. Give the amorphous nebulous web of flying thoughts a definitive place, a home, something physical to label it, make it real and definable. Beg to have some control of my mind, my life, the shit storm that has exploded.

I, without trying, have lost a noticeable amount of weight. But it feels really good. To have spaces that are absent of flesh. To be negative space. To see the cage below my collarbones. It feels familiar, comfortable. I find myself enjoying the gnaw of hunger at 3 in the afternoon, the buzzy feel of faintness. That scares me.

It scares me that I have put an elastic on my wrist to snap it, to make it hurt. Because all I want to do, all the god damn time, is to cut something. Somewhere. That my kids can't see. To give all the hurt a certain undeniable location, form, cause.

Now, before the choir begins to sing concern, or blame, be quiet. 

I AM SCARED. 

And that is very good and very healthy.

So shut the fuck up. 

Let me flounder. I will figure my shit out. I take responsibility for my part in allowing my life to become this cesspool of blame, cause and dysfunction. I pray that those close to me try to understand what part I didn't have in it. That there is a greater evil; Addiction ruins wonderful people - doesn't matter what the substance is, it's the behavior that breaks down the living. That there are multiple victims. That I am not completely to blame. That I am broken down (4, 11, 12, 19), and need to find a way to grow out of the muck. I do not need concern, or pity. I need compassion. And understanding.

That is all.