The funny lookin funnel thing in the above photo is what I call my “she-wee”. It’s god given name is “the freshette”. I’ve used it for the past 5 years to stand and pee in the woods. It wasn’t until this trip that it malfunctioned. The funnel couldn’t handle the flow and spilled over into my pants and down my legs. Good times. Fuck off she-wee……. you are no longer on my favorites list.
We drove from Montrose to Dolores, hitting the town of telluride on the way.
We popped up a quick camp for the night and had some red curry for din din. The insta pot is becoming a great companion.
We are traveling with both of our cars bursting at the seams with gear for every occasion. Living out of your car is nothing like packing up for a weekend of camping. This is a whole new ball game and we are making up the rules as we go.
The 1977 hit from Ram Jam kept looping in my head during my excursion.
I got what I needed and made a quick exit. Tampons and earplugs. I tried to joke with the elderly gent at the register the earplugs were for my boyfriend. He was hard of hearing so the joke fell flat like a brick.
Anyhoo, it was a beautiful day so I found a place to stroll in the sun and talk to Archie and then a bestie of mine. My anxiety calmed and it felt good to be out.
The thing that touched my heart the most, is my bestie shared that she called a suicide helpline to find out the best way to talk with me after my overdose. She didn’t want to say anything that would come across as hurtful.
What a beautiful act of kindness. How caring and thoughtful.
We were both disturbed at the fact she was on hold for 25 minutes. She said if she were suicidal she would have been dead. The man on the line explained that with covid they are unable to keep up. What an unfortunate reality.
My anxiety is high again today. I can’t stop shaking and my heart is pounding. I suppose it’s time to stop procrastinating and start packing.
I’m also working on an insta pot menu as our plan is too keep our grocery bill to $50 a week while we tent it.
Thank you to everyone on here for reading my ramblings. Hope you are all well, I appreciate you.
I have to leave the house today for tampons. I ordered a diva cup and it hasn’t arrived yet.
Not familiar with the diva cup? It’s a flexible cup you stick in your cooch when you’re menstruating. I was hoping to have it now so I wouldn’t have to get acquainted with it out in the backcountry. Dreams do not always come true.
The magnet above, holding Archie’s artwork in place, is from my older sister. It pretty much sums up how I feel about leaving the house today.
I know it will be good to get out, but my anxiety is off the charts. I woke up with a pounding chest, shaky limbs and the feeling of my blood racing.
Pisses me off to wake up like that. It makes it feel out of my control. I literally open my eyes and Whoop there it is. No warning, no time to prepare. Just a slap in the face.
I did finally get a call through to mental health partners. Service is patchy at our house and the service gods were shining down on me today.
I have a 2 hour phone call scheduled for Monday. I will have to sit in a parking lot somewhere.
It will be good practice for future appointments since we will be on the road campsite jumping. BLM lands let you stay in one spot for 14 days and then you have to pack up and move at least 20 miles.
I’m grateful we have such nice gear, who knew we were making such an investment. It’s sad that if our gear didn’t make us appear “wealthy” we would get picked on by the rangers. We’ve heard horror stories of people getting fucked with.
They still might pick on us seeing as our Yeti cooler is bright salmon colored….borderline hot pink
Such is the society we live in. Gotta look good on the outside.
Our landlord said we could stay, but he wants full rent, and is not accepting the relief from the mortgage company. His OCD won’t allow him to get off schedule. I can respect that. After all, I did just try to kill myself in his house a few weeks ago, we’ve all got our issues. Best of luck to him finding new renters.
Jase and I are not squatters and have no interest in going through the eviction process. That just sounds awkward and stressful. It’s an experience I don’t need in my life. Since Jase and I already have a lot of outdoor gear, why not put it to the test and live in it.
Currently neither of us is working. Out of all the families I cleaned for 1 has still been paying me weekly. I insisted she stop as I don’t know if I will return to clean and what our situation will turn into. She is stubborn like me and keeps sending me money. I am collecting unemployment from the part time job I also had. We figure, why spend money on rent. Let’s save what we have and use our gear.
Side note: My body has been pain free since the ketamine infusions. It was also the time I stopped cleaning homes, because of the pandemic. I have no desire to go back to cleaning as I’m not interested in finding out if it was the ketamine, not working or both that got my body back into alignment.
I’d rather be a homeless glamper than go back to chronic pain and fatigue.
We plan to use our time away from modern life to clear our heads and decide what direction to go in. There is a laundry list of things I disagree with when it comes to society, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I never come back fully. I’ve always felt like an outsider, I’m excited for these changes and to see what’s around the corner.
With so much to figure out and do, I may not be on blogland as much, but look forward to making updates on our progress.
Mental health side note: My doc prescribed me an anti-anxiety med while we work on getting a psychiatric evaluation. I have 2 different clinics I can reach out to for help.
I’m not overly thrilled about being alive but don’t feel like I’m a danger to myself, so that’s progress.
I’ve only had one glass of champagne since I overdosed, also progress.
Seeing as I’ve always been an outdoorsy person, I do feel this adventure will iron out some wrinkles in my head.
That feeling you have so much to say it feels like pressure in your chest.
You have to write, need to write, it’s a gnawing nag that won’t let up, it feels necessary to your existence.
You don’t know where to start or even what it is that needs to be said.
Your brain feels deadened by depression, your body revved by anxiety mixed with panic. You want to hibernate in your cave yet you must get out and walk to alleviate the toxic mixture of sensations, thoughts and moods.
So you write it out, you untie the knots with your words. String them together until your being finds the balance it needs to go about the day. You take it 10 minutes at a time and don’t berate yourself, don’t compare yourself to others or to your past self who you naively believed to be tougher than this, stronger than this.
You face the feelings of vulnerability and nakedness as you read over past blog posts. The embarrassment hot on your cheeks. The admittance of imperfection. The uncovering of how deep you’ve been choked by countless intrusive thoughts. Sticky, negative thinking patterns, ignored by going through the motions of living.
You see the pattern woven into the years you’ve walked upon this earth. Presenting yourself as balanced, good natured, sane and put together. Under the façade the lava runs hot bubbling through the cracks. Widening the cracks until you eventually break wide open into a volcanic episode that screams “I’ve been dying this whole time and I can’t contain it another second.”
I’m not ok, and that’s ok.
You put it out there, not for your sake, but for the sake of others. Countless souls walking about too afraid to speak up, to embarrassed to admit their pain, too conditioned by an unaccepting society, buried under the weight of the stigma. A society that buys into shining up their exteriors into looking like the perfect package, too afraid to be authentic. Fooling themselves and others with falsehoods of achievement and success.
Hoping that if you speak up, if you share the rawness that you carry, it may help even one soul. That by exposing the deepest parts of yourself, you’ll give others permission to do the same. Even if they don’t speak up, maybe it will ignite a hope and a knowing that they are not alone, and maybe that will be enough to keep them going.
My worksheet from this morning. Am I 5? I suppose a 5 year old would have worded it differently. Why did my immature scribble feel so good?
I woke up angry, depressed and overwhelmed. My “hot thought” being “I hate life.”
Some day’s I feel like a preschooler. Throwing unintellectual tantrums in my head. A philosophical dead zone.
When Jase woke up he brought me down a few notches and had me write out a list of things I enjoy.
Then, I got on a rant about seeing the quote “The quality of your life is in the quality of your habits” and the white hot anger came spewing out of me on how I viewed it………………
He said “Honey, this time has taken you, you have not taken it. This time has chosen you to work on your mental health. It is the most productive thing you could be doing right now. Wouldn’t the world be a much more peaceful place if we would stop commenting on other peoples lives and just focus on living our own? Does it really matter who’s doing what with the time they have?”