The Stress Snowball

I am very familiar with the Stress Snowball. 

You see, it starts off small. 
It's so small, that I ignore how cold it is. 



I even ignore the rock in the middle of it, which makes it dangerous, but I'll get to that later.

I ignore the snowball, thinking that I can handle it. 

…

I'm wrong. 

Eventually, I drop the snowball and it starts to roll around. 

It picks up other stress inducing things.

This happens because I didn't take care of the small things, and now I'm too stressed to deal with the bigger things…

It picks up pretty much everything, from school stuff, to work stuff, to even other people who were just there to help.
 

This can get overwhelming to the point where I just don't want to do ANYTHING and so the ball continues to grow. 

 


When it gets this bad, we are tempted to dive in and get to the source immediately, but sometimes that gets us stuck in the ball. 

Instead, take a moment to take a closer look.
 

In general, if you can peel off some easy tasks and stresses first, just little ones from the top, you can start to get some layers of snow off of your stress snowball.
 


Keep at it, and before long, your stress snowball will start to shrink to a more manageable size.
 

More layers removed, and you'll get to the rocky middle. 

The stress which started it all.


The stress I thought I could handle, whatever it may be. 

The stress I didn't realize was so heavy. 

For me, it looks like this:
 

This center of stress is generally just a failure to keep up with the tasks of taking care of myself, along with everything else.

I have learned to keep this center of stress happy with tea and comic-books.  

It is often tough to find time for this though, so to-do lists come in handy. 

I treat taking care of myself just like any other task.  

This is the key to avoiding the stress snowball. 

Do I still fail to do this on occasion?  
Of course.  

I'm actually a little worried about this coming semester, since it's my last.  

Here's hoping I remember this post! 

Stress in the Family

Stress is a common factor in my life.  It just is.  It's so common that I tend to flip out even more when things are going smoothly, because that isn't what I'm used to.

Stress is a family trait.  

However, how we deal with that stress has some different variation to it...  

Though most of our ways of handling stress end with us curled up in a little ball on our beds.  I've noticed that pattern. 

When my mother is stressed, she goes into denial: 

And then goes to sleep until the problem goes away.

When my father is stressed...
 Sometimes he handles it really well:

Other times, he turns into an ogre:

Makes unintelligible noises:  

And eventually goes to sulk in the bedroom.

Then there is my sister. 

When she is stressed:

When I'm stressed: 

...

Well, you probably know about that by now.  


Also, migraines run in the family, partly, I'm sure, because stresssss runs in the family.  

Like the other stress-bed responses, when I have a migraine, I generally go to bed, hydrate, take a pain killer, and cry a lot until it stops.  

But, that was before Rob.  

My Knight in Pinstripes is relentlessly...

Himself. 


See, me having a migraine was a problem.  

And Rob?  He fixes problems.

He fixes problems whether you like it or not.

So, first thing was first.  

My Halloween mug was presented to me filled with filtered water and along with that came a pain killer:

He read to me.  

Can we just process that?  

Rob freaking read to me.  Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, specifically.  Not even a full chapter in, I was happy.  

Even though my head felt like it was trying to both implode and explode, I felt loved, and that was helpful. 


Next, I mentioned, briefly, that I was cold.  

SUDDENLY THERE WAS MY FUZZY ROBE.

Again, I was pleased.  I felt like an asshole though, because I didn't know what to do with someone really actively taking care of me as an adult, let alone who wasn't my mom or something.  

Still, it was nice.

We cuddled on the sectional couch:

Once light didn't make me want to rip out my eyes, we watched the animated Disney Alice (well, half of it)

And I was pleased to be nestled until I was sleepy and pain free between Rob and my sandworm.  

(There are pictures of the real thing in Birthday Bashing)


All things said and done, it was a MUCH better experience than just being comforted by a pillow.  

Instinct Vs. Logic: A Never Ending Battle

Before moving across the country, I couldn't handle cold very well.  I was more than pleased to be boiling hot instead.  Since getting back, any temperature extreme seems to suck.  

Our apartment is wired like a monkey just shat out the plans for the building and then left someone else to figure it out.  

In fact, that is probably what happened.

One outlet in the kitchen, one in the office, and one in the livingroom each have their own circuit breakers.  EVERYTHING ELSE shares ONE.  

This means that we can't have the air conditioning on  in more than two rooms at once, nor can we have any of them on while using the microwave or running the dishwasher, or else the electricity will go out.  

As a result, I am typically either melting:

or freezing: 

 

This has led me to feeling sort of panicky for no reason or just ill.  This is unfortunate because... Well...  
You know those lizards that shoot blood out of their eyes when threatened?  (Yeah, it's a thing.  Look it up.)

 I've always kind of been like one of those.  If I'm too stressed mentally or physically, I will get my period even if I just had it.  

Now, before this past year of fear and flipping out over foods and such, I never really noticed any extreme hormonal changes during my period.  This may have been because I had trained myself to care WAY too much about the welfare of others: 

While pretty much ignoring my own needs, no matter how uncomfortable I could get.  

 

Of course, something should be said for the fact that I often couldn't tell if I was really sick or just, you know, how I normally felt all the time anyway.  

 

This led to some problems in cases like The Birthday Bashing.  So, after I came home and started feeling everything, this meant that I was hyper aware of my hormonal state too.   

Rob figured the best way to see if I was legitimately upset or just hormonal was to have me look at cute things. 

Loaf animals are the best for this.  A loaf animal is when a rabbit or a cat winds up looking more like a guinea pig:  

 I actually have another story involving guinea pigs and meatloaf, but that can be for another post. 

 Cartoons also helped my hormonal state, as well as when I've been freaking out and going into existential panics over my career choice, what I'm going to school for, and what I really would rather be doing but don't think I could make a living doing. 

Enter our apartment-mate and My Little Ponies: 

 Sometimes he dresses like Deadpool. 


Rob does his best to fix ALL PROBLEMS EVER even before they are fully explained.  This is appreciated to a point.  The only issue here is that he is significantly more lovey dovey and romantic than I'm good at used to.  

 This hypersensitivity and panic has left me irritable and I worry about putting too much pressure on him.  He is possibly in denial, lying to make me feel better, or he honestly just doesn't see me as the flailing weirdo I've become over the past two years.  Either way, I need work and he seems to be more than happy to just stand there being overly peppy by my side.  

The over sensitive thing goes way beyond just emotional and sometimes physical into simple daily things.  My sleep has always been strange due to nightmares, but now the sun is a problem.

One option is to let the black out curtain drop enough that the sunbeam doesn't blind me in the morning: 

But, of course, there is always a catch.  Putting it down at night in order for it to be there in the morning means that I'm in pitch black darkness.  If I go to the bathroom in this, my brain assumes monsters will come climbing out of the mirrors to eat my feet.  

 Do other adults have cripplingly overactive imaginations or is this some other part of a larger disorder? 

*sigh*



Last on this list explains why there have been so many posts about sewing and dresses lately.  I've gotten excited because during my latest existential crisis, I remembered that I can sew.  Designing costumes came in handy in high school and has helped me in character design.  Sculpting with fabric to make stuffed creations has also been a treat.  Putting the two together to make wearable things that aren't just altered from previous articles of clothing is terrifying and exciting for me. 

Am I going to magically get a job as a fashion designer or seamstress?  Could that then launch my painting and cartooning career?

No.

Probably not.

However, I have a bazillion projects I'm working on, both personal and not, and some are drawing based while others involve sewing.

I'm keeping myself busy this Summer before school starts again in September much like some adults start obsessing over sports and fancy cars to avoid thinking about their soul sucking jobs.

For the record, what I'm going to school for will not be boring.  It is something I am genuinely interested in, even when I feel like an idiot.  I learn things every day and that is thrilling.  I have a chance to help others, and that is wonderful.

Unfortunately, my last year of classes before internship comes at a time when I am finally willing to think about myself and be selfish.  This is something other people get to do when they are younger, and I was always too afraid to go after what I really wanted.  Now I want to... And I feel like it's too late.  I'm already on another just as good path and I don't want to start all over again.

...I already have a BA in Art, so it wouldn't really be starting all over...
I worry more about time.

I worry about putting too much time and effort and energy into one side of this coin and having the odds always be on that side.  I worry that I'll lose the other or just stretch myself too thin.

Both take effort and energy and I'm not a terribly energetic person.

If I could only choose one, I'd choose Art...

...But that isn't logical.  It'll be harder to break into that.  Logically, I should do what I am doing and continue Art on the side, hoping that something will magically fall into my lap. 
...But that feels like I'm betraying someone important.

And that someone might actually be myself.

So, for now, it's cartoons, loaf animals, sewing like crazy, and trying to figure out what brought me here to begin with.

Lovey Dovey, Except That I'm A Loon

Now, it's true that in past "relationships" I've been known to blame things on myself that were not my fault (See: Every single post about a year ago and that whole year prior) and I often forgave people who probably should have just been cut right out of my life.  

And then I came back home. 

These days, I'm fully aware that I deserve better, and I've watched myself move past a fairly fucked up set of trauma symptoms.  

Don't get me wrong here, I still have some and I will always have some things to work through, with and around.  
That does not mean that I cannot live my life the way I want to live it.

I've also become a little paranoid, assuming that I must always be wrong about people and no longer trusting myself.  I'm working with that.  
The fact that I'm actually pretty content (besides not seeing most of my friends NEARLY enough) means that I'm somehow more afraid.  

Having stuff to lose is scary for me. 

And then there is Rob.  

My other housemate is also endlessly sweet (and single, ladies!) but for some reason his sweetness doesn't freak me out besides making me feel like I should be baking him cakes or something.  I don't know.

But Rob...  He freaks me out.  
He thinks I'm pretty in the morning: 

And he makes sure that I actually eat: 

He is TOO nice to me and kind and open and I have trouble believing that I deserve that.  

I spent so much time getting settled in the idea that I was being treated poorly for a reason, that it is now hard to feel anything else.  

When I'm crying for no reason or having a panic attack or whatever comes with being me these days, he is calm and comforting and supportive.  

Sometimes, I wonder if he really understands what is happening: 

He actually, openly wants to spend time with me.  
He doesn't want to hide me away as some embarrassment like so many other people have in my life.  
He doesn't call me crazy, and does not let me call myself crazy, even when I'm doing incredibly crazy things.  

That being said, he is also really excited to see me, all the time, beyond what might be normal.  
This works, because he and I are both pretty clingy with each other, and we both know to give each other space when needed.  

On days where, with anyone else, I would have just hidden away and hope I survived, he texts me when he can't be there...

 ...and holds my hand when he can.  

I am not yet used to that. 

I'm sure it makes everyone around us ill, but I'm too thankful to hold it back. 

It's only four months in, and we've seen each other every day.  I'm sure this will wear off eventually.   

Right?  

...Or, we'll be like my parents, and that would be nice too. 

Going Domestic

To start this off, I should mention that my housemate FATE and I have a strange kind of friendship.  He refers to me as Mom and I refer to him as my son.  Normally, this means whoever I happen to be dating is by proxy his "dad" and generally that person just kind of shrugs, accepts it, and never brings it up.  

Rob took this Dad thing to heart.

I'm not kidding. 

We quickly became a bunch of grown ass adults playing house.  

...

My therapist says it's okay so shut up.


Rob and I have already domesticated each other anyway.

He cooks for me:

I do his laundry:

Domestic!





In any case, now that I'm finally settled in, moving is happening again.  

Technically, I'm not the one moving, so there is that.  ...  Rob is moving in, Xena is moving out, FATE and I talked about moving more rooms around, and we decided to have my room be a studio/office space for whoever is in the apartment, since Rob and I might need a little more space, but we'd be sharing a bedroom.   

*Cue Rob's grandmother asking what my clergy father must think of Rob moving in with me* 

Hypothetically speaking, this seems simple enough.

...

It's been chaos. 

The problem is that Rob needed to start moving his stuff in, but there isn't space yet.  As a result, we have boxes of stuff and some of my stuff crammed into weird places and everything is just teetering on a I-don't-know-where-this-goes string. 

After a bit of this, I had started to go a little utterly-too-intense over trying and failing to find things.  I stopped really communicating when I got too frustrated and instead opted for hand gestures and strange noises.  

For example:

Meant that I had lost this thing: 

And I wanted it. 

We've already invested in more shelving in an attempt to avoid our clutter invading the clutter of the other:

This shelf did not stay in that spot very long and it will be moving again, I'm sure. 

And in the meantime, we've each started organizing the few things we actually can have some control over until we are all settled on space again.  

Rob and FATE organized the entertainment area: 

And I have started doing little projects in an effort to eventually become this super-pseudo-mom.  
Between Rob and my own fuckery, we have a lot of magnetic, wipeable, and cork boards.  
Like this one:

I decided that these would become a giant area of wall.  I wanted one slightly bigger wipeable board, so I made one out of a frame that wasn't useable for it's intended purpose and some old color swatches:

 In the meantime, I've been stressing over where everything will go and what I could possibly fit now that I couldn't before.  

Can my vanity now fit in our bedroom?  I could use it as a side table... Maybe? 

What about my drawing desk?  Surely that'll go in the office/studio for everyone to use!  ...Right?

Lastly, we had cockroaches seep in from downstairs, but now that Rob sprayed the Hell out of every corner in this apartment, they seem to be leaving us alone. FATE saw two, "half-dead" recently, but that's it.  Next, we'll have to patch the giant holes where they were getting in.

On the way, we should probably re-caulk the asshole tile:

Every time someone steps on this thing, he or she assumes he or she was the one to magically break it.  I don't know if everyone I know collectively has no idea how tiles work, or if they all just think they weigh a lot more than is possible or what, but no.  No guys.  No.  The tile was already busted long before.  

I'm sure fixing it will be another post.  

...As well as rearranging, organizing these rooms, possibly painting things...  

Stay tuned!