Proof of Life.

So, here's a current pic of me just trying to get by. I am still depressed. My head still feels like there's a committee arguing in it, but they shut up when I tell them to. Or at least get quieter. 

I'm not doing well, to be honest. I try to sleep at night but I keep waking up around two to three times. When I do sleep completely through the night, I don't wake up rested. I stumble around as I get dressed and then make breakfast for the kids and I. I manage to stay awake long enough to see them get on the bus and then I pass out on the couch for an hour and a half.

After which, I stumble around making Beloved's lunch for work or just trying to figure out what the hell I'm supposed to be doing. I haven't been doing creative writing. All of my writing has been focused on therapeutic work. I've been having lots of memories from my youth coming up witnessing this war in Ukraine. My parents told us things like the Russians were going to enslave us and that we were going to have to fight off people like our neighbors to keep the farm safe. 

I had a nutball teacher when I had to repeat kindergarten (because the first time around, I didn't play with the other children and I talked back to the teacher when they said something that made no sense, I set an early precedent for myself) and she had us to nuclear raid drills. Her version of nuclear raid drills was to have the short students hide under their desks and the tall ones stand beside their desks. Theoretically, if the building collapsed, the taller students would ensure the survival of the shorter students by holding it up. This is exactly what this nutball teacher told me when I asked her why. I then got booted out of the classroom to sit in the hall for talking back when I asked why I had to stand when I was literally the shortest kid in the room. The more I learn, the more it becomes apparent that this particular teacher wasn't playing by the same rule book as the rest of the school.

It was special growing up during the Cold War. The windows of that bus were extra clean. I have been dealing with 10 different parts of myself. My therapy work has been focused on cross communication between them and my conscious mind. I've learned to recognize when I space out and wander that one of them is partially 'out' or completely. It's been hard because they don't generally trust me because they expect me to ignore them/abuse them/reject them. Basically, a repetition of the way I grew up. That sense of dread has ratcheted up higher with Russian bullshit happening.

I'm pretty sure that Vladimir Putin has lost his goddamn mind. That or he thinks that Covid has weakened the rest of the world enough that he can go and start steamrolling his way through places to get what he wants. I'm real worried about how his forces hold Chernobyl. I'm equally concerned about how they're fixing to get the other power plant, the one that's one of the largest functioning nuclear power facilities in Europe. I fear that he's going to turn them into dirty bombs before exiting. A way to start a nuclear war with out having to fire something at somebody.

As you can obviously tell, my train of thought is off the rails and my ability to focus is impaired. It's kept me from blogging and writing for the last month. It's kept me from doing my tarot reading thing. I am not doing great.