We moved, and we are here. The move itself was long and hard and is blessedly already fading into memory and the edges of it are becoming fuzzy. We arrived in the city, and stayed about 6 weeks with David's mother, which was also very challenging for everyone. And then we signed a lease for a very tiny apartment, and we moved here. Some of our stuff is here. Much of it is not here and I still feel like we're camping out a bit with mattresses on the floor and such. It's slow.
I've been at my job for about 2 months now. It's fine - I don't love it but I don't hate it with a passion or anything. I do my work, I come home, I get paid.
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A few years ago I had a bout with agoraphobia. For a few months it was almost impossible to leave my house, and even within my home I felt unsteady, unsafe and uncertain. It was a deeply unhappy time for our whole family, and although I got better, it left its mark on me.
I feel that same unsteady, uncertain, unsafe feeling these days as well. To some extent, this makes sense; after all everything in my life is completely different than it used to be a short time ago, and the pressures on me are fairly intense. Especially intense for someone who lives with an anxiety disorder. I have had brief, fleeting moments of wanting to hide, wanting to run away, wanting to curl up and not answer the phone or the door or the emails. They have passed, but they might return. I've also been very sad and depressed and overwhelmed these past two months - feelings that have been increasing as time goes on. Some of this is likely my over-extending myself, some of it is my own perfectionism, some of it is probably forgetting to take medications on time, the extreme heat and humidity that make sleeping almost impossible, the lack of access to my counsellor, my current convenience-food-based diet, and any number of other factors.
I've lived with my anxiety and depression for decades, and I know my brain and body very well by this point. I don't **think** I'm heading for another downward spiral, but I know the signs to look for if I am. Some days I feel like I have some space, some margin still there on the edges, and some days I feel like I'm moving around covered by a wet wool blanket. It will pass, but it will pass like a glacier, leaving lots of potholes behind it.
What does a Christian do in this sort of situation, you wonder? It's probably easier to say what a Christian SHOULDN'T do. Or perhaps what I shouldn't do. I shouldn't berate myself for a prayer life that has been stripped to the bare bones of "Lord, help, help, help". I shouldn't refuse the small, insignificant step towards the light because it isn't the big, impressive one. I shouldn't feel guilty for realizing that in every relationship, even one with the divine, a time comes when one party is completely coasting. I am coasting. God knows this, and I know this, and it is okay. Eat the food, even if the food is a spoonful of cheez whiz. Drink the liquid, even if the liquid is flat diet coke. Sleep, even if you sleep in the clothes you wore all day. Live the next day, the next step, the next breath - and do so, if necessary, cranky, unshowered, ignorant and tearful. Coast, dear friend - it's okay.
All the same, I'm not quite so mired in shadow at the moment that I can't feel a desire for joy. I've been trying to grasp tiny slivers of it as I see them. I've been walking the dog, because exercise and sunshine are good for me, and walking down all the hidden slices of the city. Today I found a secret garden, and this evening I went to it as well. I have no idea if it's allowed, but I dug my hands in the dirt and weeded the beds and straightened the vines. We'll go back tomorrow and do it again, breathing in the dirt smell, until someone tells us not to. Considering the neglected state the vegetables were in, I think it's more likely they'll return to clear the beds in October and discover with amazement that 'fairies' were there before. I might even hang up a bird feeder.
And I find joy in writing, so there may very well be more blogging around here for the next little while, as I process all the changes and come to a new equilibrium.
