SAD – Seasonal Affected Disorder is a thing. I pretended like it wasn’t until the time arrived that I could not. Then I did little to impact it. I’d gone 30 odd years ignoring it, let’s just keep doing that.

Uterus. Let’s keep ignoring it then I could no longer.

Agoraphobia…..

The shift in mood after the trip to San Fran was something I noticed. I actually didn’t try to ignore it for a change. Let’s battle it, tackle it. August went by super fast prepping for MsC. After Labor Day though it wasn’t quite manageable. So I picked up the sword again and I went to the Internet and I sought in earnest therapy. I can’t say that I’ve avoided therapy but I’ve absolutely sought internally the tools to manage what I am experiencing.

I’ve understood who I am for some time, and with varying degrees of success I’ve managed, and at times lived.

I also for the first time was experiencing life differently.

In the past six weeks or so it’s been pretty ugly. Missing my little one and the Daddy person. Being back in Philly. Work and the lawsuit. The micro aggressions at work. Less heat and sunlight. The additions and subtractions I haven’t gone into detail here.

I find myself at a crossroads, a place I did not expect to be.

If you know me you know I rarely go outside any longer. I kind of sit here in the house and avoid COVID. That isn’t a bad thing….until it is. I walk to the corner for the occasional soda or smokes. I walk around the block when my knees feel like cooperating. I don’t interact with people all that much because I don’t have to, anything I need I can get sent to the front door via the kindness of those who love me or Al Gore’s Internet. Being who I am at the beginning of COVID restrictions it was wonderful, kinda. I was still on Payson St so the surroundings weren’t ideal, and the housemates were not my cup of tea. It was cool to be not REQUIRED to leave the house though. It was less cool that shit was closed but I found a way when there didn’t seem to be a way.

Then I got back to Philly and things were still shut down for the most part. I was still cool with it. Until the first time I went to the supermarket. I stayed and remained because I needed shit, but my anxiety was through the roof. I think I went through 2 outdoor supermarket trips before I dusted off the Instacart account. It was costing me more physically to be in the market where no one wanted to social distance and only half the people wanted to wear a mask. And that was that. Sure I would sit on the porch and do Porch Thoughts but I haven’t been ‘outside’ in over a year. That kind of pattern was deviated only for medical appointments. Even in those medical appointments I would barley make it through.

So I know I CAN leave the house, but I do not.

The only thing I would want to do would be something like karaoke but – people. Everyone I see outside is waking COVID.

So how did I get on a plane? How did I tour the Bay Area? Love.

If the people that I love were not on the other side of that trip, how would I remain. I won’t share the amount of weed and alcohol it took to make the trip though. Being in the city with the little one was awesome. She is walking talking joy, and seeing her home through her eyes was worth the price of admission. There were times though when we were out too long and I was dying inside. I didn’t let her see it, but it happened. When I was overwhelmed I figured out how to get us to stay at home. What is super clear to me after that trip is that I don’t want to be outside with the people and with the COVID.

I had my annual this past week. I didn’t take the bus I took an Uber. I had a panic attack in the Uber. My blood pressure and heart rate were super elevated. I didn’t calm down until they put me in the exam room. I was finally alone – no people. The doctor walks back in and boom goes the heart rate again. I couldn’t hear myself talk at times over the thumping and I had to make myself breathe.

Then the news. A1C = 7

My weight has finally caught up with me. Ignore it until you can no longer at your own peril Nicole.

7 is not a super high number and this is early enough in the process to revert back to not 7. It’s going to take altering the diet and it is going to take exercise. In theory I don’t even have to leave the house to exercise. I just think about the lifestyle I used to have, where the day to day kept me active that when I did do the outside thing it was not stressful on the body. That is not my current reality. My current reality is that exertion is taxing and I don’t know how the rest of me will react to it and in some ways I am afraid.

What I fear more though is amputation and medication and dialysis.

The depression has been pretty bad this fall. Lots of things factor into that, and the arrival of the month of October means not just my birthday but the anniversary of the incident.

While I haven’t been able to settle into a therapist that fits me well, I have started an anti depressant.

The ideations are back and they haven’t been around for quite some time.

I have asked myself more than once these last 30 days, what do I have to live for? I come up with lots of answers, and something I had to admit to myself was almost none of them were about me. They were all tied to some alternative I put into place to keep me here, and I asked myself if they were removed would I still have the will? My response to that was – I do not know and that is terrifying.

The little one asked me how I was able to go outside with her and the answer was simple, YOU. She was where I found the strength to do shit I was not doing here. That is a wonderful thing and it is also a huge fucking problem.

Somewhere along the way between the Summer House and Labor Day this year I stopped living for me. The disruption wasn’t noticed until I could no longer ignore that.

Now that I see it, I am truly unsure how to correct it. The circumstances of the summer of 2019 cannot be duplicated. The closest might be the move West but that is contingent [at least 2021 contingent], on a settlement which is not guaranteed. November 10 will be emancipation day or D day. I could regain some of that traction and progress moving into a new place and all that goes with it.

I worry though if that will affect my service. This relationship and the one with the little one are priorities for me, and the me which has to exist in that space where I am rebuilding seems like the opposite of the me it takes to surrender. I will find out though at some point I guess.

In the meantime, I asked myself if I wanted to live.

Unlike with the cigarettes, or like them, still not sure which I land…..this is fixable. I can alter myself, like I’ve altered myself historically to combat this and live. I can do nothing and allow this disease to shut down my organs until there is no more me.

What was frightening is the realization that doing nothing was an option on the wheel.

T and I have talked about my smoking and he always puts it into the category of why don’t you want to live. I always get frustrated with him and leave the topic. I can’t leave my own head though. I also can’t answer the question if I want to live which should be very easy.