northshoreblues

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Clouds by straychi1d

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(❤ω❤*)

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happy Thursday the 20th

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via weheartit

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Octobre/October

by Eugene Grasset

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So when you wean you experience a hormone crash that can result in mental health issues. Knowing this, I had mentally prepared to experience the return of my depression around the time I weaned, since I miraculously didn't experience major postpartum depression. I attributed this to breastfeeding and the heightened hormones involved. So I've been gradually weaning Graham over the past couple of weeks. He'll be a year old this month and it's been a long labor of love to breastfeed. Even though this was the right call for us, it doesn't make the emotions of the ending of this chapter of our mother/son journey any easier. I'm a creature of habit, and the rituals of breastfeeding are primal and complex. Overall the feelings are bittersweet, but range from relief and excitement to have the time returned to me, not to mention full reign of my body -- to a grief of sorts over the loss of the middle-of-the-nights and early mornings spent so close, just us. Except now this hormone crash and incoming high tide of depression have been amplified by my sister's overdose. I'm not sure if I just need time to adjust, but a part of me feels like the trauma of the event is lingering and causing me to feel even more out of sync with myself than I have in years. It's like a pair of clawed fingers is gripping me around the ankles, keeping me chained in this dense fog. I think the only thing I can really do now (and I know this from past experience with my dad or addict ex's) is to help myself. Find an Al-Anon meeting. Find ways to manage my own feelings and expectations. It's just hard. It's hard because I have hardly any free time to myself. It's hard because I never thought I'd have to take these measures with my sister. It's hard that it's just another thing that now divides us. I guess a part of me is heartbroken. I know of things I can do to be proactive, but I'm not confident that any of the things will heal this particular wound.

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- Colors of my life -

by Pedro Gabriel

Instagram

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via weheartit

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Fuck 21 questions, let me see your music library

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Exactly why I’m not comfortable using gendered terms for my partner.

Unpopular opinion: straight people using “partner” to refer to their SO actually helps normalize the term so that lgbt folx can use it without automatically outing themselves to strangers. It also helps other straight ppl get comfortable with the fact that strangers aren’t entitled to information about other people’s gender or sexuality.

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Part of me is trying to blame someone, though logically I know it doesn’t work like that. I feel fear and fury toward any and everyone I suspect. Her workplace for being too high stress and full of dramatic ass people. Her friends who drink all day and drive around drunk on country roads, nearly crashing. Her friends at work who tell her “Oh you’re not an alcoholic” or brush of alcoholism as if it’s normal. Her unstable boyfriend who has driven her into hysterics in the past. I have so much anger toward whatever her triggers might be, and I shouldn’t, but I’m just so hurt. I keep seeing her in that hospital bed... her entire body rigid and contorted, a scene out of The Exorcist or something. 

And I’m so scared of what could happen now, in the future. What happens from here? 

It’s just so unfair. Such a beautiful person inside and out shouldn’t have to experience life as such a burden. 

She deserves to be happy, and I’m scared at how complicated and fleeting happiness can be when tangled up with mental illness. 

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I almost lost my sister this week.

It was the most excruciating pain I think I’ve experienced in my life.

I haven’t really talked about that night with anyone yet; I guess I don’t now how.

It keeps playing over and over in my head.

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happy Thursday the 20th

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