It’s Time

Last month this blog celebrated its 11th birthday.

That’s a lot of words.

If I’ve learned one thing in all that time, it’s that the people who read these words are gracious, kind, supportive and funny. I am grateful for everyone who came here, whether they commented or not. Thank you.

One thing I’ve noticed over the years is that my illness moves in circles. I cycle through the highs and lows, despair and hope. I give up, then start a new search for anything that can temper the suffering or open my heart. The spiral around and around continues, and I find that I’m repeating myself here more often.

Eleven years ago, I had a lot to say. Words spewed out of me. I told my story. I promised to tell the truth, and I have to the best of my knowledge. The truth today is that I don’t have many words left. At least no new words.

This blog gave me a platform to share my journey as someone with a mental illness. It gave me a place to “publish” the fan fiction I loved to write and the art that helped me stay sane (enough). It gave me a community and a support system I could never imagine. It has been a gift and a joy.

And its time is done.

The domain name has been renewed for another year, so aminddivided will stay open to visitors for another year. After that, I think it fades into the internet afterlife.

Come visit me on Facebook. Or my Etsy shop (see the sidebar). I’ll still be around, doing what I’ve always done, continuing on that never-ending spiral.

In Gratitude,

Sandy

Happy Long Weekend

Hope you and all your critters have plenty of hidey–holes when the fireworks start (and go on and on and on and…)

Happy Summer Solstice


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Happy Easter from an Atheist

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Happy Valentines Day

(I bought myself a dozen white roses, so I’m feeling quite fantasy-loved.)

The Weekly Penny Positive

I went to an Orphans’ Thanksgiving at my friends’ house (yes, I’m claiming friends!).  Instead of bringing a dish to share, I made these playing card-sized, portable reminders.

Here’s hoping we can all get it off our backs in 2019 — whatever it is.

Happy New Year.

Walk-About

Last Sunday, I took my first neighborhood walk.  I’ve wanted to get out there ever since summer went away, but the excuses… oh the excuses.  Somehow, last Sunday, the bright sun and mild temperatures snuck past all the barriers.  I laced up my purple tennies, stuffed a collection bag in my pocket and went.

My creaky knee complained, but it always complains, so I kept a slow pace.  I sorta had to—my exercise regimen since moving to Muskogee boils down to Old Lady Yoga once a week and maybe a few pool laps once or twice a month.  My old rhythm is gone and a new one hasn’t presented itself, so I’m pushing when I can.  I want to enjoy this place, and getting outside this winter will move my pendulum in that direction.

Leaving Edmond Street, I took Kimberlea Drive.  Traveling east from my duplex toward the country club, the neighborhood perked up—larger homes, sturdier fences, dogs with holiday attire.  I wondered if I’d find enough refuse and biologicals to revive my Walk-About Journal. Is street trash in moderately upscale Muskogee different from a park in Des Moines or the woods near Toledo? This was my mission.

The neighborhood felt familiar—with a few exceptions.  I get this a lot—a sort of Twilight Zone slippage of the space-time continuum—Braums instead of Dairy Queen, Sooners instead of Hawkeyes.  I wonder what cultural cues I’m missing.  My cousin in Tulsa kindly informed me of the real meaning of “bless your heart” (which conveys nothing beatific).  The part of my brain that wrestled with Russian and Vietnamese keeps lighting up.  No wonder I’m so tired.

Once I made it to the golf course, I hobbled to a bench, stretched my grumbling back, and turned my face to the sun.  A whiff of breeze on the waterway, a rustle of fallen leaves. Oh, yeah.  This was the Reason for the Season—to be in a quiet place smelling of sky.  This would be worth the body moans to come.

On my way back, I reminded myself to be present, to notice more detail—the wheat color of the grass, the young couple walking toward me in shorts and tee-shirts, the beauty of a lost Christmas ornament.

And then home again, to be greeted by my Gateway Guardians—Fu Dog, who came with me from Minnesota, and Guillermo the Goat, a recent hire.  I love the entrance to my home, tucked in the back corner of the complex.  My Guardians and a glass bowl full of crystals and stones I’ve managed to keep over the years welcome me with color and meaning.

Inside, I unloaded my foraging finds into soapy water and dug out the appropriate journals.  Some of the biologicals would make nice additions to my little Zen of Mental Illness journal.  The other refuse waited until after Christmas.

As always, Christmas triggered my bipolarness.  It is one thing about this unpredictable condition that I can count on.

I cared for myself the best I could, then tried not to take the whole weepy/distorted thinking/exhaustion personally.  Distraction is key, so before I visited my therapist on Wednesday, I camped at my favorite coffee shop and made trash art gleaned from my walk.  It tickled me, and that’s always the first step back.  One foot after the other, continuing on The Adventure.

…And To All A Good-Night

Wishing You and Yours Very Merry.

 

All Saints

Hope your commute between the Veil brought fun things to taste as well.

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