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Well the good news is that we don't have to return the cat: She doesn't limit her food consumption (AT ALL), leaving us to do a food-regulating dance so that Spike has constant access to his food (since he should be eating whenever he wants, to make up for his low appetite) and she doesn't, and she gets fed twice a day in my room instead. Spike is a little territorial and the two of them are still exploring and refining their relationship—to incredibly improved ends, but it's not all love and snuggles just yet. She wants to jump up on counters and desktops, so we're training her to keep to beds and couches. In other words, August is not broken, but is indeed a normal cat underneath all of her perfect floof, and we don't have to take her back to the shelter and ask for a replacement.
The bad news is that I hit critical mass and went boom. All of this new cat stuff has been energy-intensive—and even if it's largely good energy, even if it's energy expenditure that I invited, the fact is that I've run flat out. No gas, no spoons, resources hit zero sometime yesterday and so I'm making myself take it easy while I try to recharge. My analogies are everywhere. I know that realizing I've run into this wall puts me halfways towards climbing over it (all the analogies!), but it's also a lesson I need to remember for the future. I am doing so much better these days, but I will always have minimal amounts of energy and cope; my exciting life of books, video games, and making dinner once a week may not seem too taxing, but at this point I am moderately active and I need to remember that that, for me, is exhausting.
And I need to not hate myself for that, or have so little faith in my loved ones that I expect them to hate me for it, too.
There's no good mental health tag for all of this. It's not quite agoraphobia but it's that step beyond introversion that makes all social activity utterly exhausting; the anxiety likes to take a developing issue and worry it into a real and present one; depression is sort of the end result, and true to form my sleep schedule is rocky and I have little appetite, and more important than all that I just feel like shit. It's not one of these things in the same all-consuming, debilitating form they used to take—but it's a bit of each and the fact is that I'm just, well, tired.
August is good, though. She has a toy of awesome, and still sleeps with me. Spike can stop spraying any time now, but he's really engaged and interested, and I have faith that things will work out between them. We had a day and a half of fantastic weather, if your definition of fantastic means "overcast, cool, and a little windy"—and in this house, it does. We're going out to dinner and then seeing Neko Case, which isn't quite the same thing as relaxing—but I took yesterday off, and can hide in my room this weekend if I need. Things will all be fine.
The bad news is that I hit critical mass and went boom. All of this new cat stuff has been energy-intensive—and even if it's largely good energy, even if it's energy expenditure that I invited, the fact is that I've run flat out. No gas, no spoons, resources hit zero sometime yesterday and so I'm making myself take it easy while I try to recharge. My analogies are everywhere. I know that realizing I've run into this wall puts me halfways towards climbing over it (all the analogies!), but it's also a lesson I need to remember for the future. I am doing so much better these days, but I will always have minimal amounts of energy and cope; my exciting life of books, video games, and making dinner once a week may not seem too taxing, but at this point I am moderately active and I need to remember that that, for me, is exhausting.
And I need to not hate myself for that, or have so little faith in my loved ones that I expect them to hate me for it, too.
There's no good mental health tag for all of this. It's not quite agoraphobia but it's that step beyond introversion that makes all social activity utterly exhausting; the anxiety likes to take a developing issue and worry it into a real and present one; depression is sort of the end result, and true to form my sleep schedule is rocky and I have little appetite, and more important than all that I just feel like shit. It's not one of these things in the same all-consuming, debilitating form they used to take—but it's a bit of each and the fact is that I'm just, well, tired.
August is good, though. She has a toy of awesome, and still sleeps with me. Spike can stop spraying any time now, but he's really engaged and interested, and I have faith that things will work out between them. We had a day and a half of fantastic weather, if your definition of fantastic means "overcast, cool, and a little windy"—and in this house, it does. We're going out to dinner and then seeing Neko Case, which isn't quite the same thing as relaxing—but I took yesterday off, and can hide in my room this weekend if I need. Things will all be fine.
