that I'm just going to write here what's going on in the inside of the Bear Maiden, no matter how weird or "private". Too much shit rattling around in my pretty little head, but unlike most other people it doesn't seem to dissipate. It rattles around and around, and bubbles and percolates and if I'm not careful it erupts in weird places because it really needs to come out. But one of the reasons I never started a blog until now was the internal debate: "OK, so if I write shit down... it's good for me but nobody sees it. I could keep a diary like I used to as a kid, but somehow writing something every day led me to make all kinds of structures about *how* it was supposed to be written instead of just concentrating on writing--do I report on what happened during the day? Or do I write how I felt? Suppose weeks go by and I have nothing to write, but then I had a big mental day and what I have to write takes up more than the one or two pages that the diary allowed? I could get a diary with no dates, but that's no fun. Besides I tend not to write in those. But if I write a blog and people see it, what will they think of me? I won't be able to write what I'm feeling without people really knowing how nuts I am."
You see what I mean? And the internal debate went on for years. I know what you're thinking. Yes, I'm a little nuts. OK, a lot nuts. And a little narcissistic. But as I've crossed over into my '40's I've decided I'm really OK with being nuts and what's wrong with having a little self-esteem? I have, on occasion, debated the necessity of say, Welbutrin or Prozac as I do tend to depression (and it seems a family trait) but my mother taught me a useful mantra: "Depression is anger turned inward." So whenever I feel really down in the dumps, I try to figure out what I'm pissed about. I can usually figure it out.
And I get pissed off about a lot of stuff, too. The world sucks. People suck. What people do to their children and each other and small animals and the ozone layer REALLY sucks, and since for the most part whatever you could do to change anything is really ineffective, it's enough to make you suicidal. But once I've figured out what I'm upset about, life is good again and I can move on. Plus, generally I like my life and there's lots for me to feel good about. It's just the "dark days" kind of suck.
The other reason I didn't pursue Welbutrin or Prozac is, it takes the edge off, but I like my edge. It lets me know I'm alive. I did therapy for about two years, but the problem with that was that as much as I liked my therapist it was too easy to not "go there". Ironically enough, once I stopped going to therapy I'd replay all the sessions in my head, and actually got a lot out of that. And to be fair, I probably wouldn't have survived my pregnancy without therapy but I'll leave that story for another day.
So I'm back to writing, because that's what helps my mental state the most... that and showers in the dark. There's something very womb-like about being in a shower in the pitch-black and you can really "wallow" without anyone hearing or seeing. You feel great when you come out.
But here's the deal. I invited several people... mostly people I know and love to read the blog, and I don't mind sharing the good the bad and the ugly. But I ain't discussing it in real life. You hear that, MAMA???? Don't talk me no questions. I ain't answering.
So now that we have the groundrules established.... lets begin.