I really think the antidepressant I'm on is helping me. It's a low dose, to be sure, but I just needed that little edge, that advantage over my biological inclination toward depression. The environmental stuff, that I can work with. That's where self-talk and positive thinking and working to free myself from the wounds of the past come in. But the biological? I've been at its mercy for far too long. Since going on the antidepressant, I've noticed that my mood doesn't fluctuate as widely as it did before. I didn't realize how much I did that, or how much effort I had to put into being positive, until it became easier. Not to say that I don't still struggle with discouragement... because the pain has been changing again lately, I think due to getting off of all of my fibro meds for one reason or another. At least I know that they were helping some, even if I was still not to the level of functioning that I would have liked. Unfortunately, the gabapentin makes me twitch (still having problems with that, though I haven't been on it in close to a week), and the Savella is too expensive. We just can't afford it right now. But hey... at least I'm not depressed about it ;)

C had the day off yesterday and friend M took him/us suit shopping. C got a very nice black suit, and I can't wait to see him in it when we go up for the wedding. I'm going to have to beat the girls off with a stick! Back off, ladies-- he's spoken for. In the evening, C helped me hang pictures and a decorative shelf up in the living room, so it looks a lot more cozy and homey now. I don't think I've mentioned it lately, but I love our little house. Now that the major stuff is all unpacked, it feels like home. I smile when I walk into our little kitchen because it's so cozy and clean and full of our useful little knick knacks and cast iron skillets and such. In the living room, our comfy couch is draped with soft blankets and every corner houses a plump, cushy pillow. The low table is situated at the perfect height to reach over for a mug of tea or a glass of water, and the couch is large enough to sprawl or cuddle, however the mood strikes.

I went for a walk this morning. Took my walker out and pounded the sidewalk for about 15 minutes, a 2 block radius. I was ready to be back home by the time our house came into view, but I'm happy that I got out and into the sunshine and fresh air. I've been longing to do that for the past week or so, but been in too much pain. I'm hurting today, to be sure, but it seems more bearable this morning.

I've been going through things in my craft room, finding the things to hang up in the living room and just generally trying to get it organized. (I also set up a bunch of my knick-knacks on the top of our "dresser"-aka snake cage- and it ended up looking like a pagan altar! It was completely unintentional. I just collect a lot of rocks and natural things... and daggers... and such. It's pretty and I'm leaving it the way it is, but it's just funny how it totally looks like I practice the old ways or something.) In going through my bins, I came across a lot of things that invoked waves of nostalgia. For instance, this picture:

That's me and my grampa. I am about four here, maybe five. Grampa has worn button-up shirts like the one in the picture every day of my entire life. (I have never seen the man in a t-shirt. Ever. He doesn't even own undershirts, I don't think.) So when I was growing up, I would measure my height by the buttons on Grampa's shirt. "I'm up to the third button now!" "I'm up to the fourth button!" I couldn't believe it when I ran out of buttons and started hitting shoulders, or his nose... and now I'm taller than he is. He's still a giant of a man, though, in spirit. A true father figure for me, and a safe haven in troubled times. When Mom moved down to Y and had K, we lived with Gramma and Grampa for a time before she met and married G (the one I put in prison), and Grampa and I developed the habit of taking walks in the desert together. It was on those walks that I was able to casually divulge details of the abuse I had suffered at the hands of K's father. (Also G. Same name. Must be a bad name.) Grampa was furious, but he contained himself because he knew that as a young child I would interpret his anger as being directed at me. When he talks about that now, I realize what a truly safe, caring, and gentle man he is... and I'm so grateful that I have had that influence in my life. He's like D in a lot of ways, which is maybe why I got so attached to D. 

I pulled out my guitar yesterday and began playing through my songbook, but when I played "Mountaintop", I lost it. I made it all the way to the last chorus before the memories of playing guitar with D, watching and imitating his chords, came vividly to mind. C came in and held me while I cried, told me it was okay to miss him and to be sad. I said I know... I just miss him so much. But I am glad to have known him. It is worth it to have lost, because it means that I loved... and he was so lovable. 

I am dreading the day that I lose Grampa. He's getting older, and has had several health problems in recent years, so I know it's coming, but... I don't even want to think about it. There's no point in worrying about it. I know it's inevitable. I just focus on enjoying him and Gramma while I still have them here.

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