I've moved!

Check out my new location over at WordPress!  This will give me a little more dynamic content and breaks it away from gmail, which is nice. Expect a new post to come soon! (I'm talking to myself right now. Hey self, expect a new post! Thanks self, your hair looks nice today.)

https://worrynotlittlechicken.wordpress.com/

I Bought a Shark Statue and Now I Can Die

Ever wondered what a shark statue would look like? ME TOO. But not anymore. Because now I'm the proud owner of a metallic shark mantel piece. On New Year's, he's going to wear a top hat. His name is Bartholomew. Doesn't it look like that would mean that he meows? MAYBE HE DOES. Nothing is out of the realm of possibility of a metallic shark statue.

Bored? Here's a list of 5 things one can do with a metallic shark statue in case you buy one and if you do, tell me because I think we desperately need to hang out and also please be my friend.

5.) Put a top hat on it. It's self-explanatory.

4.) Chase your dog around your apartment with it when she won't stop chewing on your candles. Worry a bit that candles are bad for dogs. Worry more that heart attacks from metallic shark chases are worse for dogs.

3.) Use it as a serving plate when people who wouldn't appreciate that you are serving them cheese from a shark come over. Those people are the ones who really need to eat cheese from the back of a metallic shark.

2.) Argue relentless with your metallic shark, loud enough for your neighbors to hear and then when you see them later tell them "Barty, your fake shark friend" wouldn't drop his point about male leads in musicals and never worry about having to invite them over for parties again! Because they won't come.

1.) ADORE IT, FOR IT IS PERFECT.

"He didn't mind how he looked to other people, because the nursery magic had made him Real, and when you are Real shabbiness doesn't matter."

This year has certainly made me a little shabbier, a little more worn. It has tattered me and pulled me to pieces and then stitched me back up again, in new and different forms. What it hasn't done, and what I expected it to do, was break me. It has taught me how strong I am, it has made me stronger. I bend now, but I don't break. Or maybe I always bent, I just looked for fissures and fractures as indicators that I was broken, not that I may part at the seams for new growth to take place.

I rarely write anymore, which makes me sad. I love to write. I love the feeling of taking nothing, just words that have might have meaning on their own and giving them meaning that's my own. I love seeing a space that's blank get filled with letters. It makes me really happy.

I just thought maybe I'd write a little and see what happened, because despite how this year might look to someone on the outside, this year has been one of my better years because I learned so much about myself. I'm always on this quest to find myself, and I think I always will be, which I don't mind, but is exhausting sometimes. Wanting to really know yourself, not just the little things that make you tick, but the big things and the in-between things, and hell, even some little things, too.

I used to use the name Transient Bliss for myself on my blog, and that's really how I felt, that bliss was fleeting. I loved this line from a Modest Mouse song: "If life's not beautiful without the pain, well I'd really rather never see beauty again." And I still love it, but I don't agree anymore about not seeing beauty again.

Without the hurt I've felt this year, I don't think I'd appreciate that I'm sitting alone on Christmas morning, with only some dogs for company, a fire burning, watching Hunger Games and sipping coffee for as beautiful as it really is. I cried a little, you should know that, because I think it's okay that I cried. But I didn't cry because I was sad, but more because I never really realized how strong I could be until today. I am strong and I can withstand more than I ever thought I could.

I am from the fire and of the fire.

I am whole and pieces.

And that is just fine with me.

Dragging My Demons Around

Hoo boy, have I got some demons. And I kind of wish I meant possessive ones... possessing? Whatever, the ones that give me a super cool bass male voice and hurl me around the room, because if there is one way to go it's fucking flying through the air.

That sounds weird and like a bizarre way of letting you know that earlier today I chanted the lord prayer backwards and in Latin. I'm not possessed by those kinds of demons. Yet. One can dream.

What I am possessed by are inner demons, ones who whisper in your ear that you are not good enough. Not smart enough. Not strong enough. You are a waste of life, you aren't worth loving. They don't fling you across the room physically, but they might as well because nothing can break you more (body and mind) than a constant track in your head telling you how awful you are.

This sounds so sad and if you don't know me (or you do know me but you love me and it hurts you to see me hurt) then ouch. Becuase it hurts me to read that, too. But, hey. Pick your head up, little chicken. Because, me? I have a solution.

I've written before about why my anxiety actually makes me more able to deal with life's difficult situations because have I got some practice or what? (I do, is the answer. If you answered "or what", you're not who I thought you were and also you have a bad sense of humor and my inner demons can't tolerate that.)

Kim's Top 10 Solutions to When Your Inner Demons are Eating Away at You*:

1. Use this handy site if you want a silly, sweet, tangible way to drop off your demons: Demon Daycare (they have no affiliation with this blog nor I them, I just like it.)
2. Read this buzzfeed article and be all "holy shit, this is incredibly accurate..."13 Simple Steps to Get Your Through a Rough Day
3. Read a book... any book. Picture book. Bloggy... book... an audiobook. Again, that whole getting outside of your head thing really resonates for me. 
4. Do you have a dog or a cat or a lizard or a snake...? No? GET ONE (responsibly, duh, adopt and also remember a pet is for life, their whole life... on a soapbox... getting down... okay, one more: PITTIES FTW!) Coming home to a wiggling, slithery, totally-ignoring-you-and-then-biting-you-for-no-apparent-reason (not snake... cat) is the best part of my whole entire day. Nothing beats being loved by an animal. Or tolerated, cat people. 
5. Volunteer. Feeling like you are worthless (again, you are not, but let's just pretend), nothing reinforces that I am worth something just by being alive than volunteering. You can channel that energy into helping people who are hurting like you are... or animals... or wherever your passion may lie. It really puts things in perspective, but doesn't diminish your feelings, which are also 100% valid and no less important than anyone else's. 
6. Treat yo'self. Do it. Get new shoes. Get a new purse. Get something small and new like a bookmark, and silly as it might sound, it's nice to let yourself embrace society's focus on materialism sometimes. Especially when all the pants you have are stupid and you hate them and duh you need new pants. 
7. Listen to "I'm on a Boat" and pretend you're on a fucking boat. You can't be sad on a boat. Maritime law say it's illegal. 
8. Shameless plug for my hippie-dippie ways: mindfulness and meditation is wonderful. I particularly love the following from UCLA, they are free and fabulous and wow, do they help me get through painful emotions and sleep disturbances and when I think I might hurl myself off a building, they calm me right down. UCLA Mindfulness Meditation
9. Do something physical to get the fuck out of your head. Run. Do yoga, punch a pillow, take a walk. Do something that requires your body to start firing. I do yoga, between not being the world's most flexible person and also being that person who trips on her own feet, it requires a lot of my mental abilities to do and by the end of a one-hour class, I feel like I had a vacation from my demons. 
10. Lastly, don't beat yourself up if none of this works. It's okay to hurt. You're okay.

*To be clear, these are Kim's Top 10 Solutions that work for Kim. I am not a doctor. I don't know what your anxiety looks or feels like, what your demons tell you. I just want you to know you are loved. You are perfect and important because you are you and you exist and just keep doing that, even if it means existing for you is lying in bed and staring at the wall. Please, never stop existing. We all need you around.

This Time, The Sky is Actually Falling.

Where do I even begin? There is no beginning. There is no end. It is a circle. It is circular. It is spinning and thrashing. It is dark. It is hard to breathe. There is no air. Where there is no air, there can be no fire.

I am fire.

I burn what was once good and healthy to the ground. I am spitting flames. I am standing, ashamed of what I've done, igniting the world around me. The fire drips off my fingers, my feet, my hair, my eyes, my breasts, my stomach... my legs are aflame.

I am fire.

What to Do When You Have Crazy Intense Anxiety But Have to Act Like a Normal

Remind yourself that whoever you are talking to also had to get up this morning and put on pants. Or a dress. Or a skirt. Or, shit, chaps, I don't know who you're talking to. But before they did that, they probably had to go to the bathroom. Unless they are one of those people who never poops. Those people make me nervous and I don't trust them and neither should you.

Someday, when I become rich and famous, or just older but still, and someone asks, "how do you cope with interacting with people when you are anxious?" I will say, "I just remind myself that everyone poops. And nothing is more human and normalizing than pooping." Like, really. This super smart, super respected person also had to sit on a toilet and do what a body does. They are no different than me.

It might sound dumb, or at least not entirely sanitary, but it works.

(I'd like to be SUPER CLEAR that I don't picture anyone pooping. That feels like an important point I need to make right now.)

Wherein I did an unreal amount of research on Chicken Little.

Welcome back.

Or just welcome, if you prefer.

Before I remade this, I decided to do a bit of research this time, but as it turns out, I ended up in the same spot that I began except now I have an weird amount of knowledge about a chicken, nay, hen, and I'm sorry, but did anyone else know the original story of chicken little was called Henny Penny and ended with the hens being eaten by a fox for their foolishness?

Yeah, I didn't know that. That's news to me. Screw metaphors, I would make a tasty meal for a fox and I am not about to tell some random fox in the woods that the sky is falling, so joke is on you, fox. I WIN.

Shoot. I forget what I was saying.

Oh right. I did some research before I relaunched this blog because it's important to know things about things that you are going to say.

I wanted to write a book. I wanted to write a children's story. I wanted to do something of importance before I turned 30, but if I do only one thing, it is to say the following.

My name is Kim and I have Generalized Anxiety and Depression that manifests itself in the form of excessive worrying, saying hateful things about myself to myself, and needing to check anything that could potentially cause a fire before I leave the house. It's a million other things, things I am sure I will have time to dig into. But if anyone takes one thing away from this, it should be the following:

I am a survivor.

I am surviving. 

You are surviving.

You are important and your feelings are valid and you, just by being the beautiful composition of molecules that you are, are worthwhile.

Never, ever forget that. There is at least one person or animal, probably more, who is better for having you around. For knowing you. For simply having been in your presence.

Now, let's do this thing.