As I sit here on New Year's Eve in my fleece onesie unicorn pj's, I am reflecting on the past year. This year of 2017. It seems to have been a tumultuous year for many people. I can't say it was especially cruel to me, personally, (nothing died under the house) but it was a growing year in many aspects of my life. I feel like I back-pedaled on personal progress, however, if I look back and give the year the credit it is due, I have to be honest and say, I may be in a better place than I'm willing to acknowlege in spite of it all.
First, let's address the elephant in the room, my stomach. I did not lose any weight this year. In fact, the last quarter of 2017 was full of angst, stress, change and then finally disappointment leading to a depression that was pretty damn intense. Thusly, I didn't give a flying fuck about my weight. I threw in the towel and said, "you know what, you ride this out, do the best you can and just get through it." And so I did, one piece of chocolate at a time. I'm not proud of that, but it's done. I have noticed the changes in my body and in the fit (or not fit) of my clothes, so I know I have done considerable damage. Even my Spanx just said, "you know what, we give up, we can't contain this anymore." And then they just released their will to live and now they slide down all the time. They refuse to even try and contain all that is me. This morning, in a sad moment of despair, I changed the scale to read in kilograms so I could feel good about life for a few seconds. And then I faced the reality. Time to start over. Again. For the bazillionth time in my life. At least I know how to do this part. I'm a mother trucking trained professional in starting over.
When I think back to the beginning of 2017, I started off the year with the greatest of hopes about life in general, but the first couple months of the year were emotionally exhausting. The whole United States was in a social media war about President Trump and there was no safe place to turn without constant fighting. I'm not going to spend any time talking about him, because, frankly I don't want to go there. I lost a life-long friend over a question I had asked on Facebook regarding the women's march that happened in January. I shared a perspective and it was met with all the hatred and single-mindedness that I was, in turn, being accused of expressing myself. I mourned that friendship. I couldn't understand how someone could be so hateful towards me. Someone I thought I would always be connected to.
I found myself absorbing everyone's angst and worry about the future. I worried about me. I could not seem to change things and I felt helpless. I was 45 years old and my best years were behind me. I found myself reaching for any change that would make me feel better. I got brave, or maybe it was desperate, but I finally got a tattoo on the inside of my arm. It is a horse head in the shape of a heart. No regrets. I'd always wanted to get one and now, there it was. But that wasn't enough, right after that, I went to get my hair done and while sitting in the chair, a voice inside of me said, "I've always wanted to try red hair." And so, I said it out-loud to my stylist and she obliged. I had a tattoo and red hair. I was a freaking bad-ass. I thought I was really living it up. I was finding myself, or so I thought.
Sadly, the tattoo and red hair did not help me get to the gym, it didn't help me lose weight, it didn't help me out of my rut. To top it all off, I found out that because I was an artificial red head, I couldn't even steal souls like other gingers could. Hmph. As my ordinary life went on, more changes were in store in my world. At the Glass Palace there were leadership changes made. I changed up bosses a couple of times, actually. I began to feel weary, so tired of constantly starting over with new bosses. And then, one day I was walking in to work and one of the other departments Director was walking beside me. She said, "Cassondra, why don't you come work for me?" She had a job opening in her department. Maybe this was the change I needed? It felt right. My boss had just changed again and I needed to start fresh somewhere, I needed a new start. This would be the perfect addition to my mid-life crisis! This would change my life. Everything would be different. I could tell every person that had bathroom problems, needed help with the copier, had food stolen out of the break room fridge, wanted me to write a funny email, etc. to go to hell. I could hide away in my new job and life would be amazing. I would feel better about myself, I would make more money and I could focus on my health and not worry about all the Glass Palace bullshit that never was my responsibility in the first place, but was bestowed upon me anyway.
Luck was on my side, I knew it. This time was going to be different. I'd get my hopes up for this. I had my second interviewed for the job on September 1st and felt like I had a seriously good chance at getting the job. And now the waiting began. I didn't tell but a couple people, but as things go at the Glass Palace, nothing is a secret for long. Not long after that, the next cycle began, "did you hear anything?" "are you leaving us?" "you can't leave us, what would we do without you?" "you don't want to take that job, that would be a big mistake." All the mind games began from those that didn't want me to go, but then encouragement from those that did want me to leave. I was an emotional mess. I felt obligated to stay because they need me, but at the same time, I needed to do what I wanted to do. What did I want? I didn't even know anymore. It was so exhausting and the conversation about it was constant. I scarcely had a day when someone wasn't working on my psyche to one end or the other. All the while, I wondered what I really would do if they offered me the job. But would they? Weeks turned into months and I still had not heard anything other than HR saying, "we should know by the end of the week..." but they said that every week.
During all of this, I reached out to a psychiatrist to help me with my increasing anxiety and depression. I had the Rug Doctor to help me every other week at Therapy Thursday, but I needed a professional to help me with medication. She was pretty amazing, this psychiatrist. Within our first session, she had me completely sized up. She didn't miss a beat with my sarcasm and defense mechanisms. I was in awe of her. She just came out and said it like it was. I took away a couple of nuggets from my appointments with her. For example, she told me, "Just because something is comfortable, convenient and easy, that does not mean it is what is best for you. Staying where you are is not what is best for you. Whether you get this other job or not, it is very likely time for you to start thinking about finding a new place to work." She isn't wrong. She also told me that I am very good at using my sarcasm and negativity to protect myself and to stay in control. She flat-out looked at me and said, "You know, there is no medication that can fix the negativity. If you're not willing to try and change your thinking and outlook, you will stay exactly where you are." It wasn't like I didn't know that, but the way she said it, the way she cut through my bullshit and shut me down right there and got so real right in my face, it was a life-changing moment.
After analyzing all the financials and talking to the people I could truly count on, I decided if I was offered the job and the salary was right, I was going to take it. I needed this. It was important. But the waiting continued. It was making me crazy. And then, finally, I was told that they pulled the position and would not be filling it this year. Maybe next year. I was devastated. I was angry. I felt cheated. It figured that I finally put myself out there, AS USUAL, nothing ever went my way. I went through a good week or so of mourning it. I made an agreement with myself that I could be sad for a short time and then be thankful I still had a job and to just to the best I could to survive the holidays. No pressure, no guilt, just me doing whatever it took to engage in self-care and survive. That was my plan.
I decided for my birthday in November, that I wanted a get-away weekend to the ocean. Self-care, check. I decided to let my horse Lola go to a new home (long story, lots of reasons) and took on a new project horse my mom had. I decided to name her Hope. I decided I would allow hope back in my life. Self-care, check.
This mid-life crisis was teaching me how I didn't want to be, sad and not living. Those moments when I got the tattoo and changed my hair, they may seem silly, but I took a chance. Maybe I need to take more chances. Which leads us to the grand finale of my mid-life crisis in the year 2017.
Christmas dinner. This will forever go down in the books as the most bizarre experience of my life. It was all innocent enough, my cousin was extremely...baked. He was offering/pushing these special gummies to everyone. No one else seemed to want them. I was like, you know what, I'm going to have the hap-hap-happiest Christmas EVER. Fuck yeah, Clark Griswald, you and me both! Yeah, I'll have a gummy. It tasted disgusting, of course, so I chased it down with some cheese and crackers. Everyone was like, "WHOA, you know you have zero tolerance for anything like that!" You know why? Because I'm always a good girl. I'm always all straight-laced and don't drink, don't smoke, I'm not a whore (The Rug Doctor confirmed this for me during one of our sessions, I don't meet the criteria, sadly). But on this night, I'm gonna be all bad-ass, I'm all, "I don't feel anything, give me another one..." I looked at my cousin and said, "how many do I have to have to get to where you are right now?" He looked at me through little half-closed red eyes and said, "Six...or eight...I don't remember." I looked at my brother, who is kind of a "gummy professional" and said, "how long before I feel something?" He says, "probably an hour, I'd slow down, sis, don't eat any more." All was fine for a while until there was another challenge for a third one. I ended up splitting that with my sister's friend, Thai-Dan.
It was now time for dinner. To be honest, I don't really remember much after this very clearly. Everything was hilarious at first. Like, super hilarious. I couldn't really eat or drink anything because I was laughing so hard. And then I was really tired, I think, I went to this special place. Suddenly, that sitcom called That 70's Show made so much sense. Like when they did the pot circle conversations? I was like, in a special place and voices were far away. I didn't know if anything was reality or just a dream. And then I couldn't see. I was waving my hand in front of my face and started crying, "I can't see! I can't see!" My sister said, "Cassondra, OPEN YOUR EYES." I couldn't. And then I had to go to the bathroom. Shark Bait escorted me to the bathroom since there was some concern about my ability to walk. As I sat in there on the toilet, I was like, "am I peeing? I can't tell...did I already pee? or do I still need to pee?" I just stayed where I was for a while and allowed myself to sink into the darkness. I was pretty sure I was sleeping on the toilet. Finally, I forced my eyes open and got myself off the pot...er uh...the toilet and walked out where Shark Bait was waiting. I felt like I had been in there for an hour, but Shark Bait said it hadn't been long. Time moves SUPER SLOW when you're on the gummies.
My sister was apparently recording my adventure on and off through the night. I don't know at what point things were no longer funny, but I started crying. Not like normal tears trickling down my face crying, but like I had a water hose turned on full bore coming out of each eye. I kept asking Shark Bait, "Are you mad, Bro?" I seem to remember him threatening to kick my cousin's ass a few times. And, I also remember Thai-Dan saying, "Are you getting all of this? This is GOLD." His half of a gummy and the beer he had consumed made him super happy, too.
It was quite a night. I did not like feeling that out of control, but I think I finally figured out how to get through a holiday event. In retrospect, I think consuming 2.5 gummies was probably not wise considering the high-dose of anti-depressants I am on. Assuming that is what the crying was about. At one point I said, "It's like a lifetime of tears is coming out in one bad pot episode! I'm not ready for this life...I'm not ready!" And then I apparently said, "I feel dirty, like I've been in prison!"
My sister came over the next day and showed me all the videos she took. Apparently I get a southern accent and talk in a high voice when I am high AF. I also have an episode of Scooby Doo playing in my head at all times as a point of reference and I believed I may have been a parrot in a previous life. We can't even talk about my re-enactment of me thinking I was in The Matrix.
At any rate, all this random stuff throughout 2017 that felt like I was just wandering aimlessly actually taught me some life lessons and helped my growth. I let go of a friendship instead of trying to save it, because honestly, if you don't feel like I am a good enough person to be friends with, then it is probably not a friendship worth holding on to. I decided to stop blogging at one point because I felt like I had nothing left to say. But so many people said, my journeys help them in some way, and even if it didn't, my blog is for me anyway. This life was given to me to live for me, not for anyone else. No more guilt. No more doing things simply because someone else thinks I should. No more being used and having sunshine blown up my ass. I don't know how many years I have left, but I need to get on with this shit show. Move forward. 2018 will be for me. More positivity, less negative voices telling me what I can and can't do.
No more mid-life crisis in 2018.
Happy New Year! It's now midnight and the fireworks are going off as I write this last line, which is kind of symbolic, I think. Good-bye 2017.
Cheers!
(no gummies, just sparkling cider, I promise)
First, let's address the elephant in the room, my stomach. I did not lose any weight this year. In fact, the last quarter of 2017 was full of angst, stress, change and then finally disappointment leading to a depression that was pretty damn intense. Thusly, I didn't give a flying fuck about my weight. I threw in the towel and said, "you know what, you ride this out, do the best you can and just get through it." And so I did, one piece of chocolate at a time. I'm not proud of that, but it's done. I have noticed the changes in my body and in the fit (or not fit) of my clothes, so I know I have done considerable damage. Even my Spanx just said, "you know what, we give up, we can't contain this anymore." And then they just released their will to live and now they slide down all the time. They refuse to even try and contain all that is me. This morning, in a sad moment of despair, I changed the scale to read in kilograms so I could feel good about life for a few seconds. And then I faced the reality. Time to start over. Again. For the bazillionth time in my life. At least I know how to do this part. I'm a mother trucking trained professional in starting over.
When I think back to the beginning of 2017, I started off the year with the greatest of hopes about life in general, but the first couple months of the year were emotionally exhausting. The whole United States was in a social media war about President Trump and there was no safe place to turn without constant fighting. I'm not going to spend any time talking about him, because, frankly I don't want to go there. I lost a life-long friend over a question I had asked on Facebook regarding the women's march that happened in January. I shared a perspective and it was met with all the hatred and single-mindedness that I was, in turn, being accused of expressing myself. I mourned that friendship. I couldn't understand how someone could be so hateful towards me. Someone I thought I would always be connected to.
I found myself absorbing everyone's angst and worry about the future. I worried about me. I could not seem to change things and I felt helpless. I was 45 years old and my best years were behind me. I found myself reaching for any change that would make me feel better. I got brave, or maybe it was desperate, but I finally got a tattoo on the inside of my arm. It is a horse head in the shape of a heart. No regrets. I'd always wanted to get one and now, there it was. But that wasn't enough, right after that, I went to get my hair done and while sitting in the chair, a voice inside of me said, "I've always wanted to try red hair." And so, I said it out-loud to my stylist and she obliged. I had a tattoo and red hair. I was a freaking bad-ass. I thought I was really living it up. I was finding myself, or so I thought.
Sadly, the tattoo and red hair did not help me get to the gym, it didn't help me lose weight, it didn't help me out of my rut. To top it all off, I found out that because I was an artificial red head, I couldn't even steal souls like other gingers could. Hmph. As my ordinary life went on, more changes were in store in my world. At the Glass Palace there were leadership changes made. I changed up bosses a couple of times, actually. I began to feel weary, so tired of constantly starting over with new bosses. And then, one day I was walking in to work and one of the other departments Director was walking beside me. She said, "Cassondra, why don't you come work for me?" She had a job opening in her department. Maybe this was the change I needed? It felt right. My boss had just changed again and I needed to start fresh somewhere, I needed a new start. This would be the perfect addition to my mid-life crisis! This would change my life. Everything would be different. I could tell every person that had bathroom problems, needed help with the copier, had food stolen out of the break room fridge, wanted me to write a funny email, etc. to go to hell. I could hide away in my new job and life would be amazing. I would feel better about myself, I would make more money and I could focus on my health and not worry about all the Glass Palace bullshit that never was my responsibility in the first place, but was bestowed upon me anyway.
Luck was on my side, I knew it. This time was going to be different. I'd get my hopes up for this. I had my second interviewed for the job on September 1st and felt like I had a seriously good chance at getting the job. And now the waiting began. I didn't tell but a couple people, but as things go at the Glass Palace, nothing is a secret for long. Not long after that, the next cycle began, "did you hear anything?" "are you leaving us?" "you can't leave us, what would we do without you?" "you don't want to take that job, that would be a big mistake." All the mind games began from those that didn't want me to go, but then encouragement from those that did want me to leave. I was an emotional mess. I felt obligated to stay because they need me, but at the same time, I needed to do what I wanted to do. What did I want? I didn't even know anymore. It was so exhausting and the conversation about it was constant. I scarcely had a day when someone wasn't working on my psyche to one end or the other. All the while, I wondered what I really would do if they offered me the job. But would they? Weeks turned into months and I still had not heard anything other than HR saying, "we should know by the end of the week..." but they said that every week.
During all of this, I reached out to a psychiatrist to help me with my increasing anxiety and depression. I had the Rug Doctor to help me every other week at Therapy Thursday, but I needed a professional to help me with medication. She was pretty amazing, this psychiatrist. Within our first session, she had me completely sized up. She didn't miss a beat with my sarcasm and defense mechanisms. I was in awe of her. She just came out and said it like it was. I took away a couple of nuggets from my appointments with her. For example, she told me, "Just because something is comfortable, convenient and easy, that does not mean it is what is best for you. Staying where you are is not what is best for you. Whether you get this other job or not, it is very likely time for you to start thinking about finding a new place to work." She isn't wrong. She also told me that I am very good at using my sarcasm and negativity to protect myself and to stay in control. She flat-out looked at me and said, "You know, there is no medication that can fix the negativity. If you're not willing to try and change your thinking and outlook, you will stay exactly where you are." It wasn't like I didn't know that, but the way she said it, the way she cut through my bullshit and shut me down right there and got so real right in my face, it was a life-changing moment.
After analyzing all the financials and talking to the people I could truly count on, I decided if I was offered the job and the salary was right, I was going to take it. I needed this. It was important. But the waiting continued. It was making me crazy. And then, finally, I was told that they pulled the position and would not be filling it this year. Maybe next year. I was devastated. I was angry. I felt cheated. It figured that I finally put myself out there, AS USUAL, nothing ever went my way. I went through a good week or so of mourning it. I made an agreement with myself that I could be sad for a short time and then be thankful I still had a job and to just to the best I could to survive the holidays. No pressure, no guilt, just me doing whatever it took to engage in self-care and survive. That was my plan.
I decided for my birthday in November, that I wanted a get-away weekend to the ocean. Self-care, check. I decided to let my horse Lola go to a new home (long story, lots of reasons) and took on a new project horse my mom had. I decided to name her Hope. I decided I would allow hope back in my life. Self-care, check.
This mid-life crisis was teaching me how I didn't want to be, sad and not living. Those moments when I got the tattoo and changed my hair, they may seem silly, but I took a chance. Maybe I need to take more chances. Which leads us to the grand finale of my mid-life crisis in the year 2017.
Christmas dinner. This will forever go down in the books as the most bizarre experience of my life. It was all innocent enough, my cousin was extremely...baked. He was offering/pushing these special gummies to everyone. No one else seemed to want them. I was like, you know what, I'm going to have the hap-hap-happiest Christmas EVER. Fuck yeah, Clark Griswald, you and me both! Yeah, I'll have a gummy. It tasted disgusting, of course, so I chased it down with some cheese and crackers. Everyone was like, "WHOA, you know you have zero tolerance for anything like that!" You know why? Because I'm always a good girl. I'm always all straight-laced and don't drink, don't smoke, I'm not a whore (The Rug Doctor confirmed this for me during one of our sessions, I don't meet the criteria, sadly). But on this night, I'm gonna be all bad-ass, I'm all, "I don't feel anything, give me another one..." I looked at my cousin and said, "how many do I have to have to get to where you are right now?" He looked at me through little half-closed red eyes and said, "Six...or eight...I don't remember." I looked at my brother, who is kind of a "gummy professional" and said, "how long before I feel something?" He says, "probably an hour, I'd slow down, sis, don't eat any more." All was fine for a while until there was another challenge for a third one. I ended up splitting that with my sister's friend, Thai-Dan.
It was now time for dinner. To be honest, I don't really remember much after this very clearly. Everything was hilarious at first. Like, super hilarious. I couldn't really eat or drink anything because I was laughing so hard. And then I was really tired, I think, I went to this special place. Suddenly, that sitcom called That 70's Show made so much sense. Like when they did the pot circle conversations? I was like, in a special place and voices were far away. I didn't know if anything was reality or just a dream. And then I couldn't see. I was waving my hand in front of my face and started crying, "I can't see! I can't see!" My sister said, "Cassondra, OPEN YOUR EYES." I couldn't. And then I had to go to the bathroom. Shark Bait escorted me to the bathroom since there was some concern about my ability to walk. As I sat in there on the toilet, I was like, "am I peeing? I can't tell...did I already pee? or do I still need to pee?" I just stayed where I was for a while and allowed myself to sink into the darkness. I was pretty sure I was sleeping on the toilet. Finally, I forced my eyes open and got myself off the pot...er uh...the toilet and walked out where Shark Bait was waiting. I felt like I had been in there for an hour, but Shark Bait said it hadn't been long. Time moves SUPER SLOW when you're on the gummies.
My sister was apparently recording my adventure on and off through the night. I don't know at what point things were no longer funny, but I started crying. Not like normal tears trickling down my face crying, but like I had a water hose turned on full bore coming out of each eye. I kept asking Shark Bait, "Are you mad, Bro?" I seem to remember him threatening to kick my cousin's ass a few times. And, I also remember Thai-Dan saying, "Are you getting all of this? This is GOLD." His half of a gummy and the beer he had consumed made him super happy, too.
It was quite a night. I did not like feeling that out of control, but I think I finally figured out how to get through a holiday event. In retrospect, I think consuming 2.5 gummies was probably not wise considering the high-dose of anti-depressants I am on. Assuming that is what the crying was about. At one point I said, "It's like a lifetime of tears is coming out in one bad pot episode! I'm not ready for this life...I'm not ready!" And then I apparently said, "I feel dirty, like I've been in prison!"
My sister came over the next day and showed me all the videos she took. Apparently I get a southern accent and talk in a high voice when I am high AF. I also have an episode of Scooby Doo playing in my head at all times as a point of reference and I believed I may have been a parrot in a previous life. We can't even talk about my re-enactment of me thinking I was in The Matrix.
At any rate, all this random stuff throughout 2017 that felt like I was just wandering aimlessly actually taught me some life lessons and helped my growth. I let go of a friendship instead of trying to save it, because honestly, if you don't feel like I am a good enough person to be friends with, then it is probably not a friendship worth holding on to. I decided to stop blogging at one point because I felt like I had nothing left to say. But so many people said, my journeys help them in some way, and even if it didn't, my blog is for me anyway. This life was given to me to live for me, not for anyone else. No more guilt. No more doing things simply because someone else thinks I should. No more being used and having sunshine blown up my ass. I don't know how many years I have left, but I need to get on with this shit show. Move forward. 2018 will be for me. More positivity, less negative voices telling me what I can and can't do.
No more mid-life crisis in 2018.
Happy New Year! It's now midnight and the fireworks are going off as I write this last line, which is kind of symbolic, I think. Good-bye 2017.
Cheers!
(no gummies, just sparkling cider, I promise)
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