Suburban Oblivion

I turned 30 back in November. I didn’t blog about it.

I had planned to write about it, similar to what I did for my 29th birthday, describing the changes of the previous year, both in my circumstances, and my emotional state. If there is one thing I am truly proud of myself for, it’s the growth I have gone through in 2008. I have become such an astoundingly different person I hardly recognize myself. I’ve had to face a lot of hard truths in the last year, about my life, my marriage, myself. There was so much I wanted to share about turning 30, and I nearly did.

What stopped me was a gift. The most incredible, amazing gift. For my 30th birthday, someone very special gave me a round trip ticket to Ireland.

It seemed so crazy at first. I’m going through a divorce. My ex is fighting me for custody. I’m terrified of flying. I’ve only traveled out of the country once in my life, and that was to a resort in Cancun, which is just the McDonald’s version of Mexico. Did I mention I’m terrified of flying??

Yet for all the reasons why I shouldn’t go, there were just as many why I should. The week in question, my kids were going to be in Orlando with my ex for the annual week-long vacation to Disney. They wouldn’t be sitting home pining for my return, and suddenly sitting home alone myself that week seemed a bit silly. I kept telling myself it would look bad to take off out of the country for a week, but why? I’ve already admitted things under oath that I have done, and been accused of others I haven’t, and at the end of the day this wouldn’t bring anything new into the proceedings. The only thing that could stop me was my own fear. I could jump on this opportunity, or I could let worry and concern over what others might think continue to rule my life.

In the end I made my choice, and it was the best decision I have ever made.

I could tell you what it was like to immerse myself in another culture. I could tell you about the people I met, the things I did, and the relationships formed that will be a huge influence in my life over the coming years.

I promise one day I will.

For now I’ll say this- I have been born, I have grown up, and I have given birth three times over, but it took turning 30 before I finally learned to live.

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Every so often over the last few weeks, I have gotten that nagging little voice in my head saying “You haven’t blogged in awhile. Maybe you should get a post up?” A quick bitch-slap and the voice shuts up right quick, but looking at my last post 25 days ago makes me think I really should have been paying the voice a bit more attention. 25 days without blogging, and it wasn’t even an intentional hiatus. WTF?????

I don’t know how to really explain it, other than that with the stress of the divorce going on, I began having issues with my depression again, only a bit worse than I have had in the past. I became moody, avoided friends, stayed out of social situations as much as possible and generally began to shut down. In addition to the depression and anxiety I’ve experienced before, I began having panic attacks as well. Overall, I was a bit of a mess. I finally realized one day that I was having a hard time doing even just the day-to-day stuff, and that’s when I knew I was once again in need of a bit of pharmaceutical help.

One doctor’s appointment, a Zoloft prescription, and two weeks later I am finally feeling like a real human being again.  I’m not 100%, but I’ve left behind the constant moodiness, the crying, the panic attacks, and the complete and total lack of energy. (When doing nothing more than taking a shower is both overwhelming and exhausting, you know things are bad.)

As I am feeling better, I’m pulling my head out of my ass and looking at the things that I have been neglecting. Writing has always been therapy for me, and my friends in the blogging community (yes you, dear readers) have rarely been anything but supportive. If I had been in the right frame of mind I might have realized I should have been more open with everyone about what was going on. I’ve seen very little of my friends lately, although I got to spend some time with a couple of them this week and that was really awesome. (Thank you so much for being there!) I’ve had a couple of opportunities come up with my writing that could lead to some cool stuff, although nothing large-scale, yet (Glass half full here..) , so hoping I’ve not missed out on those. In short, I’m back in action, but picking up all those balls I dropped over the last few weeks. Let’s hope I didn’t lose any.

I’ve missed you guys, so do me a favor and let me know what I’ve missed this month. Link your best recent post in my comments so I can swing by and catch up. I promise we’ll be seeing each other more often

It’s not often that I have bad dreams. If anything the dreams I have tend to be odd, almost comical in their randomness. Bits of reality mashed with bits of imagination with a little bit of everything else mixed in. I dream often and vividly, and usually its a good experience if for nothing other than the laugh I get the next day.

Unfortunately the bad dreams, while infrequent, tend to be just as detailed and feel just as real.

Last night was one of those nights. I had a dream in which I made the choice to cut someone very close to me out of my life. Something unexpected happened that made me realize how both different and distant our lives were, and it just was not something I could get past, so I ended the relationship. They were upset, and looking back its shocking how little I cared, but such is the nature of dreams I guess.

I woke up from this feeling completely disoriented, and having a hard time shaking it off completely. An hour later I still feel all out of sorts.

Why is it the good dreams fade from memory so fast, but the bad ones linger so long? I really need to clear my head of this one.