.:Deliciously Motivated: The Diary of Arijah Ankh Khalid-Zyn:.

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December 6th, 2021
Challenging, but not corrosive

Well, not entirely at least. Let's just say that currently, I'm ok.

I'm caretaker for not just myself, but a type 1 diabetic young adult, who woke me up at 4 am by shaking my leg and stating in a very shaky voice "I'm low".
Her blood sugar was 44. Yeah, that's pretty low. Not as low as a few other times in the past, but definitely not the norm.
She's good as regulating, even in times of great drops like this one; but the overall knowing that someone else was aware and on the clock
during the attempt to raise her sugar level, gives her ease.

Here it is 8 am, and I'm still a little shaken by it.
Caffeine isn't helping, either.

The holidays are a little more stressful then I had anticipated, but that's largely because I'm coming back from the depressive dead zone,
and wanting very much to be more involved in the celebration of time. After years of disassociation, it's been a slow processs of renewal.
Fears of my own death have generally subsided, but now the anxiety over the death of loved ones has become more than comfortably apparent.
Similarly, being distant from those I love some days is like "little deaths". The sinking sadness, more often then not, subdued with stimulants
and binging Skyrim.
I actively stay aware of those subtle changes in mood in hopes of warding it away before it has a chance to bite a full chunk out of my spirit.

I started crying at Thanks/Friends-giving and had to take a moment and wash my face and catch my breath.
I was washing dishes when it struck and ducked quickly into the bathroom before my Mom took notice.
It was just a quick thought of my oldest son way up North somewhere, and my youngest son way out West some where. Both about 800 miles away from us.
Then I thought how nice it would be if they both drove down the driveway. A bit of a daydream between sink bubbles and messy pots, and then that was that
- a momentary thought - and then tears.

I try.

We still set out an empty plate for those who can't be with us. Sometimes, that plate hurts more than you know.

"Red Water...chase them away."

I want to celebrate the seasons. Yes...this dark witch actually enjoys the holidays. "Christmas"? "Tenebrarum"? "Yuletide"?...perhaps. But you get the point.
I'm part caretaker to my parents as well. Mom's 80. Dad's 82. Now don't get me wrong, Dad can run laps around me, but he's got his stresses too - not to mention,
a bum knee, so he's slowed down a bit. Not much...but a bit. Mom on the other hand has slowed down quite a bit and isn't so great with her balancing acts anymore.
Back pain has her leaning to the right and sometimes, that lean decides to go the whole nine. Bruises tell the tale. We're always on edge.
"Caretaker"...Maybe that's not the perfect word here. After all, all of my loved ones are perfectly capable of taking *care* of themselves.
Let's just say that I'm assisting.
I'm here to catch the lean before Mom hits the floor, to call 911 if a tree falls on Dad while he's cutting it, and to monitor glucose and give tummy rubs when
the pain is more than tolerable at 4am. All the while making sure the lights work, that nothings a trip hazard, that I didn't forget another appointment,
"did i remember to send that paperwork?", taking my own meds, "did I eat?", "did the cats eat?", meditating, drinking enough water, "dammit, another tooth issue"....*sigh*.
I'm trying.

Part of me is always listening for the glucose monitor to beep or a big bang from the upstairs that sounds more like a body taking a tumble
than the dog jumping off of the couch or a kitchen pan hitting the floor .

"Hypersensitive" is what I'm told. My "inner witch"...the part that feels and sees more than the usual. "PTSD", yep. Guilty as charged. "Complex"...such is my life.

I'm not complaining, but sometimes, the mental and emotional plate does get full. Sometimes, it topples over.
Sometimes still, I forget I'm holding the plate at all and don't realize it until it falls and smashes on the concrete floor.
Such was the case for my brand new pumpkin bowl. Dad fixed it: kintsugi with super glue.

This holiday season, I'm trying to actually buy presents. I've not been good with that for a very long time.
I'm trying to be ever-present, ever mindful and more interactive - even at the slow to moderate levels. A friend of mine told me that my moderate
was equivelent to her full stop. I guess that's good? I'm still mind and body active where a lot of others aren't. Is that "good"?
Remembering dates has been reduced from my knowing "all of the numbers" to depending on Google calendar notifications to remind me today is so-and-so's birthday.
(and that's if I remember to log the date or time right, or even take the time to go to the calendar at all.)
I'm not a fan of relying on all of these techie tools, but let's be honest - I suck at keeping my agenda book up to date anymore either.

I try.

Mom loves christmas. she used to go all out a month in advance, however, she can't do like she wants, and she's obviously sad about it. I'm trying to keep her spirits up.
It's working. I remember not being able to walk so great either. I'm grateful that I got to know first hand what it was like to feel that way, but it is not something
I care to repeat. Ever. I'm also grateful for the time 25 years ago that I worked in an assisted living facility. I just never thought I'd have to use those skills
with my own family. Maybe I did. Maybe I just pushed it out of my mind. However, I understand how it feels and try to assist her in getting things done.
I currently don't have a house of my own to take care of, so helpimg out not only gives me the exercise I need, but helps her as well.

A "win-win"? I guess to an extent it is. Not strikes as much as picking up spares, if you know what I mean. It does wear away at my nerves.
The drops in mood, the forgetting to eat, my IBS flareups, the renewed tic I thought I had espunged...all hints at the un or sub conscious workings of me head.
I read somewhere that as parents or caregivers we tend to "shut off" our own pains to care for the immediate and then those repressed emotions and thoughts build up
and leak through the cracks. All the while we're trying to keep our mood above sinking level with caffeine, cigarettes and distractions. Then of course,
we can't sleep, and when we do, we dream...a lot.

I'm trying.

So with all of this, I guess going back to work by reinvigorating this website and taking a very slow approach to my artwork, designs and other projects is:
• 1 part me being creative
• 1 part me being responsible (response able), and
• 1 part distraction.

At least it appears to be a healthy way to stay working. Hopefully, it's not a recipe for disaster.
Therapeutic? Sure...somewhat. I mean, I feel good when I'm working. I feel good when I'm helping. It feels good to be involved and not spending every
waking minute wondering what the pain I just felt was or checking my pulse rate...again.

Now if I could just get up enough energy to vacuum the floor.
"Should I eat"?


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