Thoughts Do NOT Equal a Plan

Feb 7, 2022 6:22pm 

Today at the lake, the water was silent and glassy. A congregation of assorted birds were gathered on the cement dock, included a scary looking black bird I couldn’t identify. It was all angles and sharp points, like it was made out of metal and maybe couldn’t move so well. I wondered if it would attack me during my swim. 

The Gear

I was testing new gear today, which arrived from Denmark and was waiting on my porch when I got up. I’ve been waiting a couple of weeks for this. When I ordered it I assumed the store was in Cali cause it was a skate shop and all the prices were in U.S. dollars. I was pretty bummed when UPS got backlogged and my package was delayed indefinitely. 

Now that it’s here, I’m more like, “I have my wetsuits flown in from Denmark.” Naturally.

My idea was to wear an O’Neill sleeveless, hooded top under my wetsuit to add warmth and a better neck/head protection solution than my thick hood (that doesn’t stope water from seeping in through the neck). The top fit perfectly, so that was a go. 

The neoprene shorts, needed for extra warmth, were a bit big but still challenging to get on, plus had tight elastic at the hem. I couldn’t deal with sending them back, so I went ahead and put them on, then threw my gear in the bag to rush to the lake while I still had some daylight. As I’m walking out the door, another package had arrived while I was getting dressed in my new neoprene layers: new gloves. 5mm gloves. The same pair I bought a month or two ago that got a tear in them. They are the most frustrating gloves ever, impossible to get on. I literally need help getting them on. But they are so warm, fantastically warm. I love them. 

I’m not the only one who struggles with these gloves. Several of us have discussed them on the two or three FB OWS (open water swimming) pages I’ve joined (and I host one, too). We love them, and we cannot figure out how to get them on and off. Today I decided I would put on my left glove and get it tucked under my wetsuit sleeve. The right glove was so hard to get on because all I had to use was my gloved left hand. After fiddling around with it for 10 minutes—I timed it—I just left the right gloves long wrist cuff be on top of my right sleeve. I simply cannot get it under the wetsuit sleeve without help. And guess what? It worked ok. I didn’t notice a difference between my hands, so this is how I’m gonna do it from now on unless I have help! 

As soon as I entered the water I knew the shorts were working like a charm. Absolutely warm, and no cold spots. Sweet. I used my cane to get out into the water today. It is so crazy to have a rock beach and rock bottom that covers the shallow area. At this time of year the rocks are slimy with some sort of seaweed or lake weed or whatever. I use the cane for balance, then tie it to one of the metal posts (during the summer season, the posts hold the ropes that separate the shallow area from the deep water). I’m so glad they leave some of them up. Without them it would be disorienting to swim in the area. Seeing them is comforting; I can fill in the rest by memory and feel safe in my swim area. I also know how far I swim, or I could know if I looked up the measurements of the swim area. 

Anyway, the new hood was a fail because the neoprene was not as thick as the regular hood I wear. As soon as I put my head in I felt a cold shock on the base of my head, on the back of my neck. My face burned. Ugh. Note to self: Next time wear my hood with this hooded top over it. Then the top will help the hood bib stay flatter. Maybe that will work. I really hate when the back of my neck and the base of my head feel that cold. Some people get cold ears or cold hands. My zone is on my head/neck. Lots of swimmers wear earplugs, too. I have never had a problem with water getting in there or feeling cold. Someone told me that swimming in cold water can lead to hearing loss, but I just had my hearing checked last year and it was perfect. All those years of attending rock concerts, and it didn’t damage my hearing AT ALL. “Long Live Rock. I need it every day.” 

The Swim

Today I swam south first. (Well, I went north first to get my face acclimated, then turned around and went south.) I knew I didn’t have much time, and I’d wasted time with the gloves, so I thought I’d try to swim farther out, then come back in rather than do several back-n-forth passes from the cement dock. I was also hoping to find my cork-handled knife that I lost this past summer. Now that the weeds are so diminished, I keep swimming out that way, hoping I will find it. Really need to get over that. But how cool would it be to find it? Most likely, it either got tangled in seaweed or floated in and someone found it on the beach. It was designed to float, after all. Made in Sweden. 

I think I ended up swimming out and back twice. I kept looking at the shore to make sure there were still people around. End of the day, especially on a grey day, the park clears out fast. That’s when it can feel unsafe. Isolation is no good. Gotta have people around to see you and hear you if you need to yell. There was a group of young people playing a game in a circle near the shore. That made me happy. Anyone who spends time with kids. Teach them team work, balance, movement, whatever it is. Give them your attention. 

I decided to get out because the group had left, and I could see only a couple of cars in the lot. I swam over to retrieve my cane, then hobbled out of the water, feeling pretty tired but also happy. 

I got to my car, and there was a car a few spots down from me. Couldn’t tell if the driver was a man or a woman. I assumed he/she was either warming up after a walk in the park or waiting for a child or friend to come off the path into the car. I opened my trunk and got down to business, getting my top gear off and warm gear on in record time. Suddenly, the car backed up and drove off. Yea! He/she decided not to kill me! (I really do watch too many creepy movies, but in my defense, that’s all that’s on these days.) I forgot pants, so I drove home with my wetsuit rolled down to my waist. 

At home I got out of my suit on the porch. I can’t balance at all and have a weird heart rate thing if I stand too long, so I have a little transition mat I sit on when I remove my wetsuit. I’m not gentle with it anymore. I am careful, but I have to tug and pull and slide it off into the muddy grass. Now I have an indoor system. I hang up the wetsuit on my walker, then put the hood and gloves and booties into metal baskets hanging from a shelf in the entry way. Then I get the neoprene top and shorts off in the bathroom, hang on them on the back of my shower bench, spray them with water, then same with the swimsuit. 

My swimsuit is the saddest little suit ever. Except that it’s gigantic, and I love it. I got it in Iceland in 2016, I think. It is formless, shapeless, modest, perfect for giant apple-shaped gals. And now it has no elastic left. It droops and sags. I don’t care that it’s not flattering because I’m so fed up with my too-large body anyway. F it. Here it is. I’m gonna get to it. But I have to get my depression to a better place. Then I can do a variety of therapies I’m supposed to do. Then I can start working on the PTSD, too. And I’m doing what I call “brain” therapy because I have a brain injury. My brain has a lot of trouble with processing, organization, sequencing, and short-term and working memory. It’s so hard. I work so hard at it. And the depression makes it even harder because I’m so out of it mentally, emotionally, etc. It was a huge issue in grad school—this brain thing. Too much comes at me, and I shut down. But I try. 

I have had this for many years, but it got worse during grad school and has stayed worse. My psychologist who did the neuro-cognitive tests is a no-bullshit kinda guy. First thing he said to me at the appointment after testing. “How the hell did you make it through grad school?” I laughed and said, “you mean the part where my brain didn’t work or the part where I broke my leg apart and was in care centers for 4 months and in a wheelchair for 18 months?”

Then there are the other health issues that have been on hold for years. I have a doctor whose sole purpose is keeping track of my list, and slowly letting me add another treatment. We are stuck on depression and have been for two years. But I am hoping the new drug my new psychiatrist wants to try will work. Then there is a list of treatments to follow that, but it is a start. We are waiting for drug approval from health insurance. Typical.

Measurements

I had those couple of good days last week. I won’t use the word “hope” because I hate it. Still, I tried to think of those days as a goal. Maybe I can get there again. After those days, I had a terrible week. Awful. Way too much sh*t to deal with, too much paperwork, just everything too much, and people who push me when I am not in a place to take it. I fell apart hard. By the weekend I was wishing I was dead (note: please don’t worry…I will not hurt myself….but I need to be able to let my honest thoughts/feelings flow out of head). I had a fishing date with my friend, and I was struggling not to have a panic attack just minutes before I was to leave. 

I didn’t figure it out until now (it’s a few days later, and I’m adding this paragraph) that I think the panic attacks I get before I go fishing are caused by the cognitive issues. It is so hard to get all my gear together, get stuff into my car, get across town (I always get lost—always take a wrong turn somewhere). My brain shorts out, then I panic because I can’t remember how to get there (I’ve lived there 30 years!). 

Where I Go

Depression, and feeling overwhelmed by years of living with a chronic disease with no cure, make me hate myself. I HATE Stinker the most, but it is easy to cave in and direct all my frustration at myself because who else’s fault is it? I hate my thoughts, my body, my weight gain. I hate my life especially. I have missed so much, and I will never catch up. How will I retire if I haven’t worked. I never used to worry or panic about it, but the depression has me so turned around. I wrote in my journal last night (a computer file I write in maybe twice every few months) that I don’t know who I am or what I want or where I want to be. 

It’s impossible to figure out the big things in my life when I’m not me. Maybe people don’t notice because I am an extrovert, because I can and do happily engage with close friends when I can (and even with strangers). What I can’t do is maintain any level of positivity or progress or feeling “normal.” Depression makes me flat. It’s physical and mental and emotional and psychological …. I don’t what’s coming or going from where. I can’t focus. I can’t think. I can’t read. I can’t only write after I swim, during my weird euphoric endorphin high. 

Most often I feel nothing. Or everything, like every problem falling on top of me and around me and sucking me into a pit that gets filled in with all the things I should and need to do but can’t. Sometimes I feel panic. I think that is the PTSD. Sometimes I have a vague sense of panic just under the surface, and it’s hard to get out of it because it’s not attached to any event or person or place. I get a wave of panic every night, every time I get into bed. I hate it, but I try not to worry about it. Every now an then, especially if I’ve spent time with a friend or had a chance to swim that day, I don’t have the panic wave. 

“…Mad. Very Angry, Very, Very Angry…”*

The other feeling I have is anger. I think it is one of my depression symptoms, but it’s also mostly the PTSD. Since my accident, I can go from 0 to “I’m gonna smash your face in” in a blink. I love my anger. It’s the only thing I have been able to feel in several years. And sometimes I can harness it to take an action or get things done (for a short time). I don’t feel like it hurts me; I feel like it’s my superpower. It’s everything and all I have left. I don’t want to lose it. 

The problem with serious depression is that I can’t really do the work I need to do. There’s cognitive behavior therapy and other types of talk therapy for treating depression and PTSD. But I have been so paralyzed by “I don’t give a F,” that I have been useless in therapy. I just don’t care, and I can’t remember what we talk about. I have articles and books and materials to read, but I can’t focus ‘cause my brain is no worko. Pathetic.

If I didn’t have swimming I would have done something stupid months ago. Maybe gotten in my car and tried to drive to MN, 1200, 1500 miles away. Had a breakdown in some crappy hotel along I-90. Taken a baseball bat and destroyed everything in my house. Suicidal ideation is part of this type of depression (you don’t even realize it but a friend and a therapist point out that you say things like “I just want to leave” and “I’m done” and “I want to jump off a bridge”), but the key the docs and therapists want to know is: “do you have a plan to end your life?” 

People will likely flinch at that or think I’m crazy or worry about me. I was happy when my new psychiatrist asked me. It feels so much better to let things out, to have an expert help me sort through the madness, the sadness, the anger, confusion…….I told her that I didn’t have a plan because I had thought about several options but none of them seemed “for sure.” It was possible to mess it up and be left worse. The only thing I could think of that might work was jumping off a tall bridge (apparently, common here because they put up special fencing on one bridge to stop people killing themselves by jumping off it), and I’m terrified of heights. And of surviving and being a vegetable. She agreed and told it to me straight that so many people mess it up….and end up much worse off. I think I remember reading about a young woman who trying to commit suicide by shooting herself. She didn’t die but blew her face off. Much worse having to go through the pain and disfigurement. So, as low as I get when I think I’d rather be dead, I’m clearly too afraid to actually do anything. I want to live. I have shit to do. I have people I want to be with. Again, no plan. 

When I had to go to the ER a few weeks back (long story, longer ordeal), one of the first things the young nurses asked: “have you been having suicidal thoughts?” Yes, I have, I told them. “Do you have a plan,” they asked. No, I don’t. I’m not. Then, once I was in my own room, another nurse asked the same questions, in the same way. Yes, I have thoughts. No, I don’t have a plan. Again, thank you for asking.

I don’t have a plan. 

Well, I do. My plan is to get my giant neoprene-covered butt in the lake as often as possible. I have experienced the tiniest of sparkles…..and the lake tells me to come back. It is the rightest thing I’ve ever done. My doctor, who looks like he’s about 17, asked why not swim in a pool? I don’t remember what I told him so I had to message him a 5 bullet point list via MyChart to make sure he understood. 

I don’t understand brain chemistry or this disease or why I got stuck with so many stupid health issues or why STINKER will never let me go. 

I only know that swimming makes me want to swim again. Swimming opens my heart a bit. It leaves me euphoric for a bit. It’s helping. I still need serious medical help, which I am finally receiving, but swimming is what stops me doing something stupid or hurting myself. I would rather swim. I would always rather swim. I know this now. I didn’t for a long time. 

The other sparkle is love.  Every time I get to see or talk to a friend is love in my cup. Going for a walk, running into a friend at the park, whatever it is. Spending time with my peeps feeds me. This Covid isolation bs is killing people. That’s why it’s so hard to get help. There are so many in need that there are long waiting periods for treatments. I contacted more than 30 therapists when I first started looking a few years back. Not one of them had an opening. 

I promise to keep trying to fill my cup. Let’s go for a walk! And I’m gonna swim. On one of the FB pages I follow a woman asked if anyone was having trouble with motivation (to get to the lake and swim). I said, no. Swimming is the only thing I feel motivated to do. Swimming is saving my life. It’s all I want. “I need it every day.”

*Title reference to a Sesame Street song from the ’70s