Killjoy

 Sometime after college, I Grew Up. Before then, I could draw, read fiction, write for fun, build dollhouses - all the things that made me happy. All the things children do before they realize time is money and nothing is fun anymore. 

After I Grew Up, the only thing I did for fun was D&D with my friends. The Divorce happened and all the fun people went with him and I kept her and life got incredibly dull. I wrote for a bit, until I got published and realized that what I thought was fun was actually Work, and it wasn't fun anymore. 

Then The Dark Time happened and there was No Fun for more than 10 years. 

Killjoy showed up in The Dark Time. She'd lurked before then, but she really took center stage when I lost all friends and all faith and all hope. 

She's the Adult in the Room. The one who asks "What use is that?" "Where are you going to put it?" "All that time spent and that's all you have to show for it?" "Unless you sell it, it's worthless." "You spent how much?" "A child could do that better." 

Killjoy doesn't know how to play. She knows how to criticize and demotivate. She's an energy suck. She's not happy unless I'm constantly weighing my life against worthy (work) and worthless (anything that isn't work). 

All mammals play. It's a way to relax the brain, lower cortisol and inflammation, and make time move faster. My life is a long slog through molasses because I can't play and I can't sleep. 

I've enjoyed dolls from before Dad made my first dollhouse, and I've played with them on and off my whole life. July 2025 I started playing with dolls again. For almost a full year, I had fun. Then Killjoy popped up and asked, "Just how much are you spending on this hobby?" It was the beginning of the end. I ran a report, and all the fun bled away into the balance sheet, just like she wanted it to. 

Now I look around at what made me happy a few short months ago, and I feel ashamed and stupid and tired. Just like she wanted me to. She wants me to waste my life feeling miserable. She wants me to hate myself and end the day unhappy. Another Demon that moved in long ago and made herself comfortable and me miserable. 

I want her out. I'm thinking I'll make a doll of her and hang her from the catwalk. 

Keep the faith. 

Forty More Years

 What do you want? For more than a decade, my reflexive answer has been "to die." I want off the ride. I want out of the Dark City. Hey, Jane, stop this crazy thing. 

Trying to change my brain to a more positive track, I can no longer allow this answer. What do I want? 

I want energy. 

If I wasn't tired all the time, maybe I would do something. Write another book. Sew a dress. Draw a picture. Volunteer. Even thinking about doing any of those things exhausts me. The absolute certainty that I have at least 40 more years on this planet is the worst punishment I can imagine because it's 40 years of being tired without ever finding rest. 

My glory days of almost 7 hours a night are gone. I lie down. I close my eyes. I may manage four uninterrupted hours from 8 to midnight, but it's a crap shoot from there. It's not racing thoughts. It's anti-gravity eyelids. I can close my eyes but they don't feel closed. They hurt most of the time. Eye spikes. 

I know I've slept when I can remember a dream. I also know that's bad. Remembering a dream means I wake up at the wrong time. I have nightmares, too. Guessing that's another side effect of menopause and estrogen deprivation. Very realistic nightmares. 

I have the mutation for Alzheimer's and I wonder if that impedes my sleep. All the doctors say sleep is very important for brain health, but none of them, not even Stasha Golmanik, have been able to help me sleep more. Covid taught me doctors don't know jack. Once again, I'm on my own. Lone Turtle against the world. What else is new. 

I opened a financial prediction from my advisor today. I have a 64% chance of meeting my retirement goals. I should be happy. If that was a cancer prediction, I'd assume I'm getting cancer. So I should assume I'll be OK at 100 years old. Turtle Brain doesn't work like that. Not currently, anyway. I have 40 years to change it. Doesn't look like it's happening today, though. 

Keep the faith.  

First Thing

 I am a depressive person. Show me any lovely thing, and my brain doesn't stop with "how lovely." It keeps going, playing out whatever it is until lovely turns to death and decay. I can't tell you when this started. I can say it's been true for at least 30 years. 

According to Arthur Brooks, and Daniel Amen, I can change this. 

Well begun is half-done, says Mary Poppins. When I wake up now, I immediately focus on God, on scripture and on thankfulness. I don't want to. My waking brain goes to dark places when left on its own. That's where the Worm lives. The Worm doesn't run my life anymore. 

Blessed are You, Lord our God, king of the universe, who will bring me through. Great is Your faithfulness. Today is Your gift to me. Today I will focus on how good You are. That is what matters. 

It's hard. I don't feel that way, but I want to feel that way. Feelings are liars. They are fickle and cheap. Focus determines reality. Whatever my chemical predisposition is, I can altar my mental state into the Light by turning my eyes toward the Light the moment they open, physically or metaphorically. 

Any new skill is awkward and fumbling to start. I've spent 25 years doing it wrong. It takes time and effort to learn a new way to be more positive. What I accepted in December 2019 was I am better off fumbling toward the light than tumbling further into darkness. However long I have left in this world, I want to keep reaching for the light. 

I am the Way, the Truth and the Light. No one comes to the Father except by Me. Amen, Lord. 

Keep the faith. 

Contend with Snakes

 Jordan Peterson covers the story from Numbers 21:6-9, where the wandering Israelites grumble one more time and God sends poisonous snakes into the camp to kill them. Having read Numbers and Deuteronomy and Exodus, I'm pretty sure if God hadn't done stuff like this to kill people off, they would have wandered for 80 years instead of 40. Anyway, the Israelites repent, God tells Moses to make a bronze snake and put it on a pole and anyone who looks at it is healed. Jesus refers back to the incident - which I, unlike Dr. Peterson, believe is a historical not allegorical narrative - in John 3:14, comparing Himself to the snake. 

It never occurred to me to ask "Why didn't God get rid of the snakes?" like Jordan did. It's a good question. Dr. Peterson answers because we have to learn how to contend with snakes. Life is very, very hard, and snakes are a daily part, and God almost never removes them. Even if He does, there's another snake just waiting around the next rock. 

I accepted the premise last year, and put "contend with snakes" up on my wall to help me through. However, I missed the rest of the story. 

We contend with snakes BY LOOKING UP. Focusing my attention, not on the snakes, but on the One who saves me from them. Peterson frames that One as Ultimate Truth. I'm fine with calling Him Jesus. 

Some Native American tribes believe snakes are powerful medicine. To see a healthy snake is a good sign of healing power. 

I haven' t seen a snake in the wild in decades. I have seen 3 different, healthy snakes in the last 6 weeks. All of them in places that are both contending with allegorical poisonous snakes and desperately in need  of healing. 

I am going to be a little C.S. Lewis about this and combine my myths. I choose to believe these snakes are signs of God's presence in the midst of suffering reminding me to keep looking up. God will bring all of us through. 

Keep the faith. 

Reflection on Recovery

 I've been in recovery - from menopause, turns out - about six years. My moment of clarity came Dec 16, 2019 when I knew I couldn't keep doing what I was doing. It was killing my soul but my body refused to die. 

I attended Celebrate Recovery to start. I'd been watching Elementary and loved how recovery was woven into the storylines. Someone understands addiction. I became aware of Jordan Peterson and the 12 Rules for Life. I started a thankfulness journal. I don't like the word gratitude. It has negative connotations for me, as though it's something owed. You should be grateful. Yeah, well, maybe I should, but I'm not and you can't make me. 

My journal was initially just food that I liked. I was so low I couldn't think of anything to thank God for other than food. But I did it, every day. All day long I would write anything I could think of that turned my mind into happy places instead of dark, miserable, I wish I was dead places. It was very hard in the beginning. 

I made new ruts in the tracks of my mind. I changed my brain, as Dr. Daniel Amen would say. I sought happiness, like Arthur Brooks would encourage. I willingly embraced the suffering of life and aimed higher to reach the best possible outcome, as Jordan Peterson would teach. 

I clawed my way out of The Pit into the sunlight. I'm a few steps from the edge now. I occasionally slip backwards but I'm not free-falling. I keep my eyes up. 

Life is hard. I get that now. It wasn't hard for me until my mid-40s, so I wasn't prepared. I'd never had to struggle. I didn't understand what was happening or why it was happening. I blamed God for not protecting me. I cursed Him because He didn't make it stop. 

Protestants do themselves a disservice by not focusing more on how terrible life can be, and how rarely hardship is prayed away. I've learned -almost every time- prayer changes me to be able to accept circumstances instead of changing circumstances. There is no justice in this life. Justice comes after this life. Accepting that is the key to moving forward. 

I don't need the thankfulness journal as much as I used to. Saying thank you is a habit now, even for rough stuff. I still have rough days, and, yes, weeks, but my brain has changed enough to remember to look up and concentrate on why God is God even when I don't like what's happening. Focus matters, and I choose my focus. 

Keep the faith. 

The Enemy Within

 Since menopause, my body has become my enemy in ways previously unimagined. I used to crave sugar, yeah. I used to hate exercise. I used to have PMS. 

Now, stray thoughts cause physical reactions. Racing heart that can last for hours. Hot flashes. Cold sweats. Panic attacks. Within 24 hours of eating wheat, I'm homicidal and/ or suicidal. Sugar of any kind other than honey (and even that is suspect) causes intense joint pain, so intense I cannot sleep. 

It is impossible to stop random thoughts. Impossible because any kind of interaction with life causes thinking. This was the year I thought I was off GABA because I was finally healed from the physical and emotional trauma of menopause. But, no. Life has other plans. 

I'm back on GABA, about 500 mg/ day, and things are funny again. I'm back on the mantras. 

God will bring me through. 

Contend with snakes by looking up. 

All will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well. 

Walking helps. I walk 30 minutes every morning and pray for everyone I know while I walk. Prayer and meditation calm the limbic system - the thing that causes panic attacks. 

I'm off wheat and most sugar. The cons finally got bad enough that I don't mind not putting poison in my mouth. 

Weight lifting helps with the pain. And burning off the cortisol and adrenaline that gets my heart racing when I'm lying down or sitting still. I hope one day my body will remember how to be my body again instead of my enemy. 

Keep the faith.