SevenFootGeek

You're welcome.

I feel like there's a challenge theme in this statement. There's a lot to be said for an adventuring party being properly equipped before heading into the wilderness.

Ah, the mid-challenge slump. What fun. Baring my soul has its own complications. Talking openly about what I wrestle with sent me spiraling pretty badly. Two weeks ago, I did not go to class at all. I told myself it was because I was tired and had other things to do, but the truth of the matter is that I wanted to curl up in a ball and forget the world. That's just not good for me. Last week, I forced myself out of the house and got to class both times I intended to. Miraculously, my mood improved. Hapkido truly is a major component of my mental health landscape. Plus, sword fighting is fun. Do the things that matter to you. It's important. I have been keeping my sleep on track. I only missed on one day last week, which is an enormous improvement. I generally feel more alert and it's easier to get up and start my day. These are the obvious things that people who get enough sleep already understand. Sunday, I came down with a pretty vicious cold which I am currently in the middle of kicking to the curb. I went home from work early on Monday because of the environment of paranoia covid-19 has produced. I was also feeling incredibly shitty, so it wasn't without merit. I don't get paid sick days at work, so it's a bitter pill to swallow sometimes. I am currently dosing myself with DayQuil on a timer to keep myself moderately functional, but I still feel like trash. I am hoping this does not affect my training schedule, but I also don't want to spread this around. And, of course, the brain-meats. Something that is attributed to Robin Williams is this quote: "I think the saddest people always try their hardest to make people happy. Because they know what it's like to feel absolutely worthless and they don't want anybody else to feel like that." When I talk to people about my mental health and struggles with depression, I often come back to this. I consistently hear the cliched responses from people. "But you're so happy" or "I don't understand. You're wonderful to everyone." That quote is the facade that I, and others like me, live with. I hate myself with a passion and vitriol that simple words cannot express. Nothing I do or say moves the needle on that. Paradoxically, at the exact same time, I recognize and aggressively advocate that no one else deserves to feel like that. Some may recall my early days on the NF forums and my very shouty responses to people who spoke ill of themselves. This is where it comes from. I will actually pick people up and hold them, make soothing noises, and remind them of how loved they are. I will do it a thousand times if I have to. And every time someone asks, "aren't you tired of this? Of putting up with me?" my only response is to hold them tighter. Never. I am never tired of it. But me? That's just my lot in life. My demons are very real and I deserve them. Now, before the avalanche of "NO, YOU DON'T" starts, let me amend. I stared at that last sentence for ten whole minutes turning it over in my head. There is some clarity to be had with it. I am aware of the ratio of deeply faithful nerds that are following me, and the belief in forgiveness that fosters. In the depths of my depression, I have done things that make me ashamed, that are reprehensible, and that I can never take back. No matter what position in my illness they occurred, they were still me. I have not, and cannot currently, forgive myself for them. I used to believe that I could not and should not be forgiven. Faith is not something I possess, you see. As I dig deeper into my health, I am coming around to the idea that with sufficient effort, it is possible to be forgiven. Intellectually, I understand that. Emotionally.... well, there are obstacles. I'm working on it. My first step, and the scariest one to me, is saying these things out loud.

I genuinely don't know what to do with all this. This is why I broke down and took the better part of two weeks to recover from Camp Nerd Fitness. It takes a lot of effort for me to process, well, other people caring. Went to bed on time last night. I didn't make it to class, but that's because I had an appointment with a framer to have the custom jersey I had made for my supervisor who retired at the start of the year mounted. I was there for an hour and a half, going over details that are confusing to me (I do not art), but in the end, put together something that I'm very happy with to showcase how important this man was to me. I will accept the strike against my goals in order to have achieved this.

Stahp. I'm too emotionally fragile to deal with people caring... In seriousness, though, I do appreciate it. I've got a couple of people that do check in on me for these and other reasons. While I can't say I'm "okay" by any normal definition, I am stable right now. I have a few things in the pipeline that will help my health. Being accountable here is definitely one of them. It is easier to face the demons when I have feedback lit up in neon saying things like, "You're not as horrible as you think you are!"

Okay. I have been putting this off, because it still scares the shit out of me to this day. I suffer from PTSD, mild to moderate anxiety, and severe depression, with suicidal tendencies. In 2002, I ate an entire bottle of Tylenol 3. That bottle was expired. In 2016, I had a plan to take my life after my cross-country road trip. That was the year I went to Camp Nerd Fitness. In 2018, I sat down and decided that best thing I could do for myself was to drive my car into a light pole. A close friend called me while I was sitting there thinking about how to do it. Obviously, I wasn't successful. But these events, and the time between them, are what make me realize that I am not one of the people that can see a therapist for six months and be done. This is a lifelong effort. There are demons that live in my head and they want horrible things of me. I wake up most mornings and have to make a conscious effort that I should stay alive. It sucks. It is exhausting. I have days where I am so tired of fighting against myself, that I just want to let go. Those are the days where I can't even talk to the people closest to me because I don't have the energy to. I get to work. I get home. I sleep. That's all of my spoons. These days, I am taking steps to get work with a benefit plan so that I can afford medication and therapy. It's a long road. It's an ugly road. But it's the road I have to walk.

And why would you want the character name spelled correctly? Madness...

The key to dating as you approach 40 (I know you're not there yet, but you're getting there) is shared interests. Having a social connection is the first thing for introverts like us. It takes time, but connections follow.

Now, this whole week 2 thing. Sunday night, I had a migraine that kept me up until 4 am. Contrary to my impulses, I stayed home from work and let my body recover. I did follow that up with being tucked in and ready for sleep by 9, which I am happy about.

Okay, late week 1 recap. I missed only a single night getting to bed on time. I call that a win. I went to both classes I intended to. Saturday was all sword sparring in full armour, which is super fun. I have talked here about things that very, very few people know about and that I downplay and push away at all other times. Week 1 summary: Good start!

It was all technique and flow work. There's a lot of syncopation in the rhythm of our attacks, so building the patterns is important before trying to apply them.

No post last night because I crashed super hard. I went in to class and, to my surprise, we got to play with knives. My master has been focusing hard on sword training for the past couple of weeks, so it was fun to take out the smaller blades and work through the applications of motion. Sleep was better than the previous night. No acid reflux. Turned the lights out at 9:58 because I am trying to do too much, but still got to sleep. Now my work day is starting and I need to do my rounds.

Things that frustrate me: Getting to bed according to my schedule and then waking up an hour later with an acid reflux attack that keeps me awake for the next four hours. Fun stuff.

KOOOOOOOOOO!!! *cue high-pitched squealing*

I didn't update last night because @Shogun messaged me as I was getting into bed to harass me that it was time to go to sleep. I'm generally terrible at responding to people directly in my threads, so if you haven't seen me in a while, just know that I do read everything and I appreciate it. I'm not @Starpuck with the capacity to keep track of quote trains longer than she is tall. *** So, back to the venting. My home life was basically garbage and I had one refuge, which as a nerdy, introverted kid, was obviously going to be school. Fun fact, though. Kids are basically animals and they ostracize and punish any difference, real or imagined. At one end of the scale, I was a weird nerd that knew the librarians by name and read every novel available in my school. At the other end of the scale, I was a gangly scarecrow of a boy, towering over my entire class with my matchstick limbs. It would not be inaccurate to say that I was like Jack Skellington in many respects. So on both ends of the "different" scale of the schoolyard, I was something to mock and ruin. And, oh how they went after me. My family moved around a lot. Not military brat levels of a lot, but 7 public schools before high school is still quite a bit. Being the constant New Kid, I was the target of bullies. I put my hand up in class, I got bullied. I finished a test and read for the rest of class, I got bullied. Pushed down in the mud, my locker vandalized, my notebooks and pencils stolen, books destroyed. All the fun stuff. 80s movies always seemed perfectly normal to me, even with the bordering-on-homicidal bully antagonists. Because that was my life. *** It feels selfish to me to be using this platform to talk about being a nerdy kid in the 80s and 90s. It's my brain still trying to compete in the Tragedy Olympics and insist that I don't deserve a place. This is a hideously uncomfortable process, which is why I'm only putting a little bit down every day.