very bad in my head

Life is suffering. I hope we all find some relief. Sometimes it takes everything a person has just to hold on.


Having a really hard time. Going through financial issues with my therapist because she got a new billing service and they have been harping on her for payment. I haven’t paid her in a long time since being disabled and the whole thing is stressing me out. So now I have to pay what I can pay her so her billing people aren’t harassing her. The whole stress of the matter, which I knew would happen one day, has caused the bad voices to come out and command me to do things, mostly to cut because I am a bad person. My therapist was telling me that this voice is wrong and full of shit. I wish she could hear them sometimes and maybe she would understand what I go through. It’s not easy telling them they are full of shit when they are screaming that you are nothing but…

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Like Emily Dickinson without the Poetry: Becoming a Recluse

I strongly suspect I am becoming a recluse. I only leave my house to walk the dogs and for a few other necessities. I rarely speak to anyone IRL who doesn’t live with me. Currently that includes my spouse, a child who’s soon leaving for college, and these two dogs:


I am surprised by this reclusive turn of events. In the other places I’ve lived I’ve always enjoyed an interesting circle of friends, had people over for dinner, hosted holiday parties, and so on. Now I can hardly bring myself to talk on the phone.  My husband says to think of myself as a hermit instead of a recluse. Hermit at least seems to have some spiritual potential along with the taint of social failure.

At this point I’m pretty much like Emily Dickinson without the poetry. Or Howard Hughes without the money and jars of urine. I’m not being judgemental about the urine. I understand strange compulsions. I once spent six months being inexplicably compelled to silently recite the names of Sarah Palin’s children.  This was bothersome as I do not think of myself as being at all like Sarah Palin.

Btw, three great biographical reads are Lives Like Loaded Guns: Emily Dickinson and Her Family’s Feuds by Lyndall Gordon,  Hughes by Richard Hack and The Rogue: Searching for the Real Sarah Palin by Joe McGinniss.

I started isolating myself a couple of years ago during an usually long and intense period of fatigue and despair. Now I’m feeling somewhat better but the desire to be with people outside my family has not returned. I can’t decide if this is a problem or not. In any case I’m getting lots of knitting and reading done. Here is today’s output, produced while listening to Marisha Pessl’s creepy and compelling novel Night Film about a reclusive movie director:


Aren’t spirals wonderful? I hope you’re having a good day whether you’re spending it alone or with others!


I just learned the word “knitshame” yesterday, but I’ve been familiar with the concept since childhood. Jacquline of Lattes and Llamas explains it well here. My knitshame involves mostly UFOs and lots of yarn I know I’ll never use. It is so extensive it sometimes drives me to despair. Other times I find it kind of amusing, like with this UFU (unfinished uterus).


As you can see, this is really more of a crochetshame, but the psychology is the same. I started making this uterus a couple of years ago, got this far, and have since been unable to do the second Fallopian tube. I was making it to protest some kind of patriarchal legislation. I was supposed to send it to a senator as part of a reproductive freedom campaign. I really wish I would finish it! It’s 100% alpaca.

Reading in bed

I didn’t knit as much as usual yesterday because I was able to read an actual, physical book for the first time in quite awhile. My mental misadventures often make such reading impossible  so I was thrilled to finish Norman Rush’s novel Subtle Bodies in almost one sitting. My dog provided moral support:


I even broke the sleep hygiene commandment thou shalt not read in bed so I could see what happened to the unusual middle-aged friends before I fell asleep.

One sentence really stood out for me, on p. 174, when Claire notices her husband’s bare feet look like wings, but thinks the effect would be stronger “if he would stop wriggling his toes like a mental patient.”

As luck would have it I was actually wriggling my toes quite vigorously before, during, and after reading that sentence. In fact my toes often dance around all day.  I wasn’t offended by the mental patient line, but given my extensive psych history I did feel odd reading it, especially since I got this toe tic from taking psych meds.

In any case, I highly recommend the author Norman Rush, even though his books aren’t available on audio so I have to put down my knitting to read him. Now I’m itching to pick up my needles and make this yarn happy:


This should keep despair at bay for awhile. I hope the day is good for you, too!

Update on one of the four shawls I’m currently making

I’ve been struggling with fatigue lately. Fortunately or not  knitting only burns 30 calories per hour.

I’m really enjoying the Chi-Roob Shawl from Ravelry.  Paying for this pattern was definitely worth it as I’m currently way too foggy to think of my own design.

I’m adding an extra few inches as I got a good deal on the bag of yarn I’m using and it’s so fun knitting this I don’t want it to end! Also, I’m lacking the energy to bind off. Maybe tomorrow.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll figure out how to post a picture as well.  Here’s to hoping!