Unrealistic Expectations.

No matter how free I feel, I will look up and remember that I am still swinging from the limb of depression and my hands will always smell like thick metal links.

__________


It's no secret that I've lived with depression most of my life although it's not a topic I converse of freely.  Just like many other disorders and diseases it may be controlled through prescription medications combined with other forms of therapy.  Sometimes the condition flares up and the regimen must be altered.  As time progresses such episodes can decrease and you learn again about new triggers and coping skills to combat them.

My most recent episode occurred during my Texas stint, obvious if you read my ramblings regularly or answer your phone when I call.  After receiving our (disappointing) marching orders I tried to look on the bright side and stay optimistic -- that is what we're supposed to do, right?  I researched online, studied maps and began to picture what a happy, satisfying life in Texas would be like.  I imagined a fulfilling job, an active Family Readiness Group, a stimulating photography club, exciting weekend getaways and happy hours with friends.  It all seemed possible because I had every single one of those things while living in the Pacific Northwest, every single one.

So we made the big move, found a great rental house in a safe, quiet area and settled in.  I began working, searching for groups, writing emails, meeting people for coffee but none of it was going anywhere.  So I worked better, tried harder, made stronger efforts but nothing was getting better.  Around this time my husband was shipped across the world and I needed to meet my goals to make it through this time mentally intact.  But I was crumbling and falling apart and alone.

I know when to ask for help, but man is it tough.  The most difficult task is dialing the phone, making an appointment then answering the question, "And what do you need to be seen for?"  I breakdown, the tears come and I struggle to find the words to ask for help.  Somehow I do.  The appointment is scheduled; I am going to be okay.

Back on my trusted antidepressant I begin ten sessions of talk therapy.  Everyone should go though that, the insight you gain is invaluable.  Talking with a trained professional should not be stigmatized as it in our society and it irritates me endlessly that it is.  This time I learned that I place unrealistic expectations on myself and in my life.  (I do not like to lay blame on others for problems of my own, but this is an exception)  I blame this condition on all those people who told me in the past, when I was still struggling to understand what was wrong with me, what depression was and how in the world was I ever going to cope with it, to "cheer up", "look on the bright side", "think positive", "stay optimistic", you get the picture.  For years I repeated these mantras out loud, in my head and in writing.  I believed them and placed hope in them.

The discovery of my unrealistic expectation issue came as a shock.  I didn't want to believe it, didn't want to throw away what I thought was the foundation of turning depression upside down.  How could thinking positive be bad?  In small doses, it's not.  But when you put all your hope and might into it you push the idea into the realms of dreaming, and we all know that dreams don't come true.  Sure, that sounds mighty depressing, but I'm talking about fantasy dreams, not a dream that you make into a goal to work towards and succeed.  And this is when is gets fuzzy.

What difference is there between realistic and unrealistic goals?  How far do you push positive thinking into reality until it reaches fantasy?  Where is the line?  We are raised to believe we can "reach the stars" when in scientific reality we cannot.

When my therapy sessions ended I was confused, but in a different way than when I began.  I started with my head in a very jumbled place, with pieces of thoughts scattered everywhere in unfocused, illegible writing that I couldn't make sense of.  At the end I could read the thoughts and was understanding better how they fit together.  See, a therapist doesn't directly solve your problems, they help clarify your thoughts and teach you skills to work on improving them yourself.


__________

My train of thought was broken.  I am already missing my private space I left behind; a one-room lodging space is not conducive for uninterrupted thought.

In summation, the purpose of sharing this story is to place a foundation for my experiences here in this new environment.  For you to understand my excitement, my trepidation and my anxiety you must know where it stems from.  All I want is to live here fully and purely.  To walk out each day with an open mind and an understanding that I will not be in my comfort zone, that I am a foreigner in a vastly different country and that I may be treated as such.  I will be uncomfortable.  I will feel awkward.  I will be misunderstood and misinterpreted.  All I hope is that I will walk one foot in front of the other and face each challenge on its own merit.  Whether I have a smile on my face is unknown; I must keep my expectations realistic.

[While re-reading this I begin to see that it is a condensed version of events.  I hope that eliminating the minutiae does not detract from the essence of my point.  I moved to Texas with ideas of what could be, unknowing that those ideas may have been unrealistic.  I have now moved to Japan and am unsure how to make plans and build excitement without crossing the line into dreaming.  I am confused.  How do I make the most out of this once in a lifetime opportunity without setting myself up for failure again?  I don't know what to expect, I don't know what I will find yet I still want to explore every sight, every smell and every footstep of discovery possible.  I still just don't know...]

The Lost Years.

After graduating from college in 1999 I spent two years in Phoenix, Arizona where I learned, truly, what a downward spiral is.  No matter how good your circumstances are in the beginning, and how much control you think you have, that one slip into the spiral takes everything under.

I call those the lost years.

__________


Me:  "Anywhere but Texas.  If it's Texas I'm staying here."

Him:  "It's Texas."

Me:  (pause)  "Well, at least it's not El Paso."


Due to my unhealthy trait of bearing unrealistic expectations (which I promise to explain eventually) I really thought it was possible for central Texas to be not completely horrible, even livable.  I was still employed, though not full-time anymore; The sun always shone and the skies were beautiful, though accompanied by unrelenting heat; Scattered, desolate small towns beckoned to be photographed, though peering and leering eyes of locals kept me away; I put myself out there socially and attended functions, though I still felt pushed towards the wall.

"Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." - Albert Einstein. 

I gave up.  I am not strong enough to handle such repeat failures.  Once the stress of trying to connect was removed I accepted my situation and lived day-to-day the best I could.  I knew that time would be filed under "Years, lost."  The two Texas years were nothing like my two Phoenix years, which I don't even talk about.  But when thinking back on my time in Texas there were definitely more bad days than good.

[I blame Texas because it's easy.  The real issue is small towns set far from urban areas.  I call myself a city girl even though I've never lived in a downtown setting.  I want transportation options besides a personal vehicle, like walking or public transit.  On that note, I want to walk somewhere with actual sidewalks, where you're not stared at by people driving because you're the only person they've seen walking outside all week and probably assume you're doing so because your car broke down.  So Texas is my scapegoat because it contains the small town I lived in that meets my criteria for "where I don't want to live".]

Most people learn from experience and alter their actions appropriately so as not to repeat them.  What concerns me now is how my Texas experience has changed me; it has, I just don't know how.  This brings my anxiety issues to the surface again with worries of finances, personal growth and social inclusion.  I would like to think that I've learned to let go of worries and take each day as it comes, but to avoid the trap of unrealistic expectations I think I'll just take it a day at a time.

My Spiders.

I believe in karma, not quite to a religious extent but I believe in the attraction of similar energies and the balance of positive and negative forces.  Specifics surrounding these ideas have changed as I've grown older but the basic premise has held solid for about twenty years.  Whether those concepts are accurate under the definition of "karma" I am unsure, but it is the term I use and the one most generally fitting for general purpose.


Since moving to Texas my exposure to insects has dramatically increased which has led to greater bug tolerance.  Much of this is due to organic pest control, a practice shared with me by a woman I met through an art guild a while back.  This resulted in keeping house spiders in strategic areas around the house to catch bugs.  In areas I once meticulously vacuumed I now maintain spiders and their webs which I see as bellwethers for what seasonal insects are around and where they are originating.  If I begin to see a problem I have no hesitation bringing out the giant jug of Ortho Home Defense spray and eliminating it.  But I keep the spiders.

My spiders are markedly house spiders who have a home and stay in it.  When I see an obvious outdoor spider indoors I will kill it usually without hesitation.  I will also destroy the egg sacks of my kept spiders, only because I once witnessed the hatching of one and it looked like an epic CGI version of spiders boldly jumping from the sky like soldiers on D-Day.

My favorite spiders are the ones I've had the longest, which include the one under my bedroom window sill and the one under the lower cabinet by the stove in the kitchen.  I have been known to catch stray rolly pollies and carefully roll them into their webs.  There is also one who makes a quiet life in the corner of my office behind the door.  I forget about him but he always seems to have a full web when I do remember to check up on him.  A more recent addition is the one living under the coffee counter ledge above the lid of our kitchen garbage receptacle.  He makes a haphazard web down the length of the bin, catches his prey near the floor, then somehow carries it up to his lair.  I've never actually seen this happen but every morning he seems to have a new treat three feet above the floor and I get my hand caught in the web while brushing the coffee grinder into the trash.

Since practicing this pest control method the number of stray insects in the house has significantly decreased. I don't know if I can solely credit the spiders but I certainly believe them to contribute a large factor.  Now where does karma play into all this?

Yesterday afternoon we had our mandatory insect control spray treatment at our house.  This is the first time we have had to do this and my concern for the spiders' welfare was great.  I asked the guy if it would kill spiders and he said "yes."  I prepared for the inevitable.  So far only one spider has died, unfortunately it was the one by the stove.  I checked on her and didn't see her snuggled up in the corner as usual; I hoped she had retreated further back.  When I checked again later I found her curled up on the floor.  I gently blew on her and saw her legs slowly move -- I knew she was dying.  With sadness and a heartfelt apology I smooshed her under a paper towel.

The other spiders seem to be doing okay so far.  Unfortunately, by this time karma had already kicked in.

While the treatment was occurring I sat outside on the front porch with the kitty in his carrier, my Kindle in one hand a cold Kombucha drink in the other.  My sister called and we chatted for a bit.  During the conversation I felt an itchy burn on the top of my foot and instantly knew something bit me.  I assumed it was an ant, the main reason I do not step foot on the grass in Texas if I can at all help it.  I took an antihistamine and spread some hydrocortisone cream on it.

Overnight the pain and burning woke me up repeatedly and by morning my foot had swelled and my leg was tingly.  I took an antihistamine, a photo and accepted my dose of karma.