I’m still struggling with this nasty cold I caught, so I am spending pretty much all day laying on the couch or in bed. Since it is New Year’s Eve, I am watching The Twilight Zone marathon on Syfy Channel, which has pretty much become a yearly ritual for me. I love this show and wish it was on more often.
Other than watching that all day, I don’t have much in the way of plans. I doubt I will even stay up to watch the ball drop tonight or anything like that. I’m not sure if it is just the illness or the depression, but I haven’t felt like doing anything this week and the weekend is pretty much proceeding the same way. I haven’t even been making art, which is kind of sad, especially considering all the cool new art supplies I got for Christmas. I am sharing an artwork I made right after Christmas while playing with some new acrylic pens I got. Hopefully I’ll be motivated to do more soon.
Lately I’ve hit the worst and longest lasting reading slump I can remember. For at least a couple months now I have struggled with picking up a book (any book) and reading it. I’ve tried a multitude of genres and subject matter, so I don’t think that is the issue. I’ve tried books of different lengths and even graphic novels and books with lots of pictures and still find myself throwing most of them to the side relatively quickly and just losing interest. I’m starting to worry this may be my new normal.
But WHO AM I if I no longer like to read? Reading and being a devoted reader has been such a huge part of my identity for so long that I feel lost without the passion for books I’ve always had. If you aren’t a reader, I know you will probably think this is a stupid post, but if you are like me and love to live in other worlds through print, you probably get my sense of despair and existential angst over this matter.
I don’t feel like writing today. I don’t feel like moving today. I feel like becoming a permanent bump on the couch and eating no bake cookies all day while listening to sad 90’s music. That’s ALL I feel like doing today.
The following is a poem about depression, anxiety, and bipolar disorder:
The Problem is Me
Written By: Maranda Russell
The problem is me.
The problem has always been me.
It wouldn’t matter
where I go,
where I live,
what house I call home,
who is at my side,
who is under my feet,
who is in power,
or what is going on –
the problem remains
as the problem is me.
Today we had a call to see if we were interested in taking in a 4-year-old foster child. Due to the child’s particular problems and visitation schedule, I felt that we had to say no. I really wanted to give it a try, but on the other hand I didn’t want to bring a kid into our house and then have to have him removed within a month or two because we couldn’t take him back and forth to visitation or stay home with him all the time due to our work schedules.
Even though I know we probably made the best decision for him and for us, I still feel bad. I keep imagining a sad little boy who might end up in a bad foster home or who really wants a family. It was even harder to say no because we have really been wanting another child. It’s days like this I really wish that we could be there to help everyone who needs us. I know we can’t, but I wish we could.
This has been a rough week at our house. Due to some unfortunate circumstances we have been forced to request that one of our foster children be removed. Needless to say, the tension has been riding high. Tempers are flaring and all of us have probably just about had it with the situation. Unfortunately, since foster parents are supposed to give a 30 day notice before a child is removed from their home, we will have to find some way to survive and try to get along peacefully for the next 4 weeks.
The sad thing is that we really do care about the kid. This child has a lot of potential if they would only find their way onto the right path. We have tried everything we know to help, but if help isn’t wanted there isn’t much to be done. It grieves my heart and makes me wish that I held the power to really make a difference in this case. Saying goodbye, especially an unpleasant goodbye, has to be one of the hardest parts of foster care.