What's in the glass?

We all have bad days, right? I seem to have forgotten that even before these events I had bad days. I had days where it seemed that the entire world went out of its way to ensure I'd feel like yanking my hair out by the time the sun went down. There were times I felt like I went weeks hitting every stop light and pot hole life had to offer before the road smoothed out again.

Recently, I have felt like I have emotional amnesia. I don't seem to remember life before panic. I was tired before panic, but now being tired freaks me out. "Why can't I keep my eyes open? What's wrong with me?" It doesn't occur to me immediately that I only got 5 hours of sleep the last two nights and I might actually be...tired.

Being stressed out is another state of being I was once quite familiar with. Papers due, drama ensuing with my group of friends, what WAS I going to wear Saturday night, would I ever get a job? And even more recently getting two kids dressed and out the door and still having enough sanity left by 8 a.m. that I might actually be able to work hard enough to keep my job. These were common enough occurrences that it shocks me just a little that I don't seem to recognize the signs anymore. I mistake just about everything for the beginning of a panic attack. Heartburn is due to me worrying about my heart rate instead of the result of massive amount of pizza I just ingested. Tiredness is due to depression or medication instead of just being the result of a busy day and a lack of sleep. Excitement is due to mania rather than...well excitement.

I don't think I ever would have considered my self a glass is half empty kind of person. While I'm not Suzy Sunshine I have never really been Pessimistic Pam. Until recently when the glass isn't just half empty is also filled with a toxic substance guaranteed to make me ill. There is a show on the Discovery Channel right now called Worst Case Scenario, where the host talks you through how to escape some of the most bizarre accidents possible. John has threatened to cancel our cable if I so much as browse past that channel. I could have my own show on the topic, except I'm not sure I'd be conscious enough to show viewers how to escape.

I never thought this blog would last this long. At least not on this topic. I think when I began it, I thought by this time I'd be writing about how I'd found freedom from Depression. To be this far away a year later is...well...depressing. I still believe God will deliver me, or even just show me how to live with it, but the wait is difficult and the path seems so long. For now I'll try to remember that everyone has bad days, that doesn't mean there won't be good ones; everyone gets tired, that doesn't mean they are sick; everyone worries about something, that doesn't mean the half full glass is poisoned. Hopefully very soon I'll be able to return to lighter topics as I'm beginning to feel very much like Eeyore.

Night Sweet Readers,

Strength

I have spent my entire life trying to be strong. I'm not talking the "stiff upper lip" kind of strong. Or the internal strength that allows some amazing people to get through things that would have mere mortals melting into puddles their own tears would make. I'm talking about the I-can-run-5-miles-and-not-break-a-sweat kind of strength or the Demi Moore in G.I. Jane kind of strength. For years my goal by the time I hit 30 has been to compete in an Ironman. I mean, how hard can it be. I can run (longest to date is 13 miles...Ironman requires 26), I was a cyclist in college (never did 100 miles like the Ironman, but still...), and I have been swimming since before I could walk (never competitively and never in open water for over a mile). So theoretically, why can't I do all of that..in one day...in the hot Hawaiian heat? Pssh, piece of cake.

In middle school, even into high school, I prided myself on my strength. I would arm wrestle the boys and win, though I wondered why all the boys in my school equated me a dude rather than the girl I'd hoped they'd see. When presidential fitness time came along..you remember that hellish week too don't ya...I would do the boys' requirements because the girls' requirements were too easy. I desperately wanted people to know I was strong. Because if I could bench press a bus, maybe I could translate some that strength inside.

Truth be told I've always felt weak inside. My opinion has always been mailable, and directional compass has rarely pointed due North. I've sat on the fence on so many issues my butt still has splinters. I cry at Hallmark commercials (and the occasional shampoo commerical, but my gosh their hair is so beautiful). Until I met my husband, boys scared the crap out of me. I even wore a t-shirt in high school that said "I Make Boys Cry", I think subconsciously so they'd stay away...it worked.

With all the issues with my brain right now, it's been very easy to continue the thought theme that I am weak, but now I can't exercise my physical strength to compensate. That has been a very tough blow to my already vulnerable ego. I feel like Sampson with a buzz cut. Who am I without a tough exterior?

Fragile

That word popped into my head while I was driving yesterday and I nearly boohooed behind the wheel. At first because, to me, that was just another word for weak, but then God put this amazing image in my head. For our wedding, John and I got this AMAZING crystal vase. At the time, I thought, "what the heck am I supposed to do with this Victorian-looking vase?" It didn't match the rest of our stuff, but I just couldn't keep it in it's box. It was just so beautiful. Every time light hits it it sparkles, sending little rainbows skipping across the walls and ceiling. You have to be careful with it, but have you ever SEEN anyone make glass? Let me clue you in if not, it's done in fires that Satan would sweat in. It's pressed, melted and molded into something beautiful.

Plastic is strong. It's durable. It won't break when dropped. But it won't win any contests for being beautiful either (in fairness, my husband would argue that there IS beauty in function, but it's not his blog). I think I'm learning that it's okay to be fragile. It' take pressure, heat and the breath of life to mold what shines. If you going to be fragile, stand in the light, you'll shimmer and decorate the world with rainbows, the promise of good things to come.