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The State of the Rayne

June 16th, 2016

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I’ve come here three or four times to write this post, and every time, I leave with nothing but the title and the picture on the page. I don’t know what’s going on with me, lately, but the thought of writing here fills me with anxiety and dread. I have so many great ideas, and I’ve started 10 drafts in the last month, and they all sit not even half written in my draft folder. I get a couple paragraphs in, and the anxiety begins gnawing at the back of my mind.

Why do you bother? Nobody likes you. Nobody reads you. Everyone wishes you’d just go away.

My stats and the comments I receive say differently, but you know how anxiety and depression are. They lie. Constantly. About everything. They drag you into a mire of self-loathing that is so damn impossible to pull yourself out of.

I’ve been dealing with quite a bit of anxiety and depression that has absolutely nothing to do with the blog. I’ve been chalking it up to hormones, but then I realized that if that’s the case, I’m dealing with premenstrual anxiety and depression for a week before my period, I’m anxious and depressed for the week that I’m on my period, and then I deal with anxiety and depression aftershocks for an entire week after my period. So I’m getting 1 week a month of stability. And that’s only if my diagnosed issues aren’t flaring.

It’s too much and I’m sick to death of feeling this way.

“So go back to therapy,” you say. “Get back on medication.”

But I’m not ready to go that route, yet.

I still have yet to find a kink-aware professional in our area, which means I’ll have to lie about my relationship. Since my relationship isn’t the problem, you’d think that wouldn’t be that much of an issue, but to me, it is. I’ve lied to every single therapist I’ve ever worked with because I didn’t want to face the fact that the way I was living was part of the problem. Now that the way I’m living isn’t part of the problem, I don’t want to have to lie to avoid being told it is. And if I go to a therapist who isn’t kink-aware, it’s highly likely that is exactly what will happen. Especially where we live, where I can’t even go in for a bicycle accident without being grilled about my collar.

Right now, I’m trying this new thing called being vocal about where I’m at mentally and emotionally. The hardest part is I can’t tell what’s what. I’m making guesses. “Oh, we had a couple beers last night. Probably it’s that.” or “Oh, you know, I should be bleeding soon. Probably it’s that.” or “Subdrop!” or whatever.

We’ve quit drinking again. Alcohol has been making M sick for days, and making it impossible to tell what’s a hangover or hormones or actual anxiety/depression for me. Even just a couple of drinks. So quitting seems like the best option. I mean, it’s not doing us any good, anyway, right?

It’s not that we drink a lot. Probably more than we should (because alcohol is literal poison, just like any other drug), but since the beginning of the year, it’s been so minimal that “quitting” is almost too strong a word. Makes it sound like we’re drinking to excess every night, when, in reality, we’re not even drinking to excess once a month. In fact, I think I’ve been drunk twice since Thanksgiving. Aside from that, we’ve had a couple beers, here and there, but that’s it. And by “here and there,” I mean once or twice a month.

We’re working on changing our diet again. It’s different, this time, because we’re not bringing in as much money, so it’s much more taxing on our budget. When we lost all that weight a few years ago, we were making enough that we were able to order salads from the restaurant up the street, or buy a ton of produce from the Farmers Market on Sunday. It’s not as easy as all that, anymore. But we’re working it out.

We’re shopping at cheaper stores, which means the produce we are able to buy isn’t as good as it could be, and it generally goes bad pretty quickly, but at least we’re able to afford it. We’re also shopping sales, which we never used to do because do you have any idea how much effort that takes? The sales in the weekly mailer are generally a week to two weeks early, which would be great if I planned our menu that far in advance, but you’re lucky if I’ve decided by lunch what we’re having at dinner time! I’m so bad at being a domestic slave.

I’ve just started using an app called AnyList, and I was really excited about it. You add your recipes or recipes from the internet, plan your meals for the week/month/whatever, and create a grocery list from that plan. Then you can share it with whoever you want. But I’m cheap AF, and you have to pay to use the meal planning and recipe part. It’s $11.99 for the family plan for one year, and I feel stupid paying for it when I can just mock up my own meal planning template for free. So I think I’m just going to continue to use it for my grocery lists (because it shares pretty easily), and do the meal planning and list building manually. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

We’re actually doing pretty okay with the diet change. As of yesterday morning, I’d lost 7lbs, but yesterday was payday, and true to form, we pigged out on Domino’s and Port Wine Cheese, and the scale says I gained 2 back. Today’s a new day.

This time, it’s serious. I mean, we’re not particularly serious about it, yet, because we’re both pretty self indulgent, and we like good food. Like, a lot. But M’s body is behaving like he’s developing diabetes, and my body is behaving like it’s not moving blood around very well.

We’ve also been walking almost every day for a couple months, now, which I’m still pretending we only stopped because it was winter (shut up, it was so too winter, even if the weather didn’t act like it). We hope to get on our bikes this weekend, but M’s on call and has some overnight work to do, so we’ll see how that goes. And we’ve made tentative plans with a friend to go hiking with him and his girlfriend.

I always feel better mentally and emotionally when I’m exercising regularly and eating right, so I’m hoping that will be the case this time. I’m giving it a few months before I even consider therapy or meds. We’ll see what happens.

But the thing I’m most excited about is this:


Our friend’s parents have decided it’s time for them to move into a single story house with all the appliances and bathrooms on one floor. They don’t want to sell their house. They’d like to keep it in the family.

Our friend just bought that house up there a few years ago, and it’s absolutely gorgeous. Trust me, it is. That pic doesn’t do it a lick of justice. It’s got a huge yard, a deck, 3 bedrooms, a 2 car garage, a jacuzzi bathtub, and it’s in between a country motel and a corn field. But the bathroom’s upstairs.

So! Our friend is moving into his parents’ house and we’re moving into his house. It’ll be less rent, the electric bill will be lower and…did I mention it’s in the country?

I have no idea how we’re filling it up. We have the furniture for a very small 1 bedroom home, and we’re moving into a 3 bedroom with a walk-in attic and a room over the garage. We have some ideas, but until we’re in there, and we know how our finances are gonna look, we’re not going to be able to act on any of them.

If I had my way, the whole damn place would be decorated with cat shelves and activity trees. M is so not about that.

My hair is wine red again. Through the depression, I just couldn’t be bothered. It’s a long and messy process, and I usually do it alone, and then it inconveniences M for hours. When you’re already down on yourself, taking time away from your owner to do something for yourself is just too much. Or, that’s my experience, at least. Now that it’s back, I feel a lot more like I’m back. I dunno why that is.

I changed my Twitter header again. I’ve never really been a blue person. My mother is a blue person, which, really, now that I think about it, makes perfect sense. Blue is peaceful, comforting. That’s who my mother tries to be, most of the time. But it’s probably why I’ve never been a blue person. Since I was very young, I’ve been adamant about being my own person, and gosh, don’t you know? Liking the same things your mother likes means you’re a damn sheep!

I was a weird kid.

But that header? It makes me happy. Who knows why? Who cares? It is what it is, I guess.


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