I logged back into Facebook.

In case you’re like, “Uh, ok, whatever. Why is this a thing?”

Because I deactivated Facebook the morning after election night. And so did Tom. We both chose a one week fast.

The morning after election night, after over eight years on Facebook, I opened it, assigned trusted friends to the Pages and Groups I’ve created over the years, and I deactivated it for 7 days.

I just knew that I couldn’t handle the status updates, the photos, the crowing; but most of all, the sorrow of the majority of my Facebook “friends.” I could barely handle my own despair; I couldn’t imagine seeing the all the unhappiness that I knew was there.

My sorrow was so raw, so overwhelming, I knew that even commiserating with friends, much less seeing the swagger of friends in the opposite camp,  would endanger my mental health.

Over the last week, I did compensate for the loss of the social platform that I logged into every day, sometimes for hours, over the last eight years. I went to Twitter, where about 99% of the people I follow are in the Hillary camp. I didn’t design it that way; I created my Twitter account a year before my Facebook account. I’ve chosen people based on the content of their Tweets. Very simply, if they were interesting, I followed them. I rediscovered some people, I connected with #thebloggesstribe, I read what the politicians I follow had to say, I clicked through on many news stories that the people I followed had posted. And best of all, Twitter has no algorithms that I know of; if you follow someone, they post, it shows up in your feed, period! Amazing! Shocking!

I used the news apps on my phone for the first time ever. I think I’ll be using them a lot more.

I went to Google+ where there was almost no political content, and +1d a whole lot of awesome pictures from fellow photographers.

I even logged into Ello once.

I wrote here. I’ll probably be writing here a lot more often now. I may even start copying, pasting, and backdating Facebook stuff so I have it here. Here is safer than there. All those memories were the biggest reason I only deactivated and didn’t delete my account. When I opened my Facebook account, the boys were only 9 and 12. I remember on Isaiah’s 13th birthday posting something like, “My baby’s on Facebook. God help me.”

It was a… week. I don’t have the adjectives for that last sentence. Even though I deactivated Facebook, I’ve cried, almost every day. I’ve cried because I’m scared.

I’m scared for anyone who feels unsafe, figuratively and literally. People who have had hate crimes and similar abuses perpetrated on them within the first week after the election just because they’re seen as “other.” Can you imagine how much worse it’s going to get? I can’t. If I do, my barely contained anxiety will go through the roof.

I don’t feel safe.

I feel like until 1/20/17, I’ll slowly have my rug of safety pulled out from under me a centimeter at a time. I feel safe knowing that my President is on the watch, that he’s a good man of integrity and character that puts every  Americans’ interests above his own, even the ones that hate him. Oh, and those that do, they hate him big, they hate him hard. But that doesn’t matter to him. He’s all in, for all of us. He’s even stated that because after his meeting with Trump, and he sees how far in  over the reality TV host’s head he is in, he’s going to spend extra time with him showing him the ropes. He’s going to do this for the man that headed the birther movement against him, that hasn’t done him a single decent deed, shown him a single act of kindness, EVER. President Obama is doing this because he has EVERY Americans’ interest above his own. He’ll have to carve time out of his unbelievably busy schedule, but he’ll do it. He said he would, he will do it. I believe it.

I have to figure out what action steps I can take to feel safe again. I think it starts with finding out who my most local politicians are and how to get involved.

I logged back into Facebook.

But that’s literally all I have done.

I haven’t looked at my feed or anything else there for that matter.

I have to figure out how to stay in the safety zone; the Pages and Groups I’ve created, the Groups I’ve joined for a myriad of different reasons. Buy/sell trade, chickens, mental health, introverts, d/hoh, entrepreneurs, d/hoh entrepreneurs, hustlers, and brain trainers (yeah, that’s a thing. Remind me later to tell you how the Reticular Activating System in your brain is so much more real and based on science than “The Law of Attraction” that some people scoff at).

I have to do business on Facebook. I have to be active for my Business Page to show and answer Messages originating from my Page.

I’ll have to decide how much time I’ll allow myself on Facebook.

I’ll have to decide how much time I’ll spend on Twitter now that I’ve rediscovered it for more than just watching nationally televised events “together.”

Most important, I’ll have to decide how I’ll avoid the crack that is my Facebook feed.

Because I can’t imagine it’ll get any better.

Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dude. There’s no getting off this ride.

;

 

 

A Lively Tale About The Crazy Chicken Lady

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Once upon a very hot time, Crazy Chicken Lady checked her chickens before closing the coop for the evening and she observed Phoebe panting and holding her wings away from her body and got worried about heat stroke. So she brought her in for awhile to sit in front of the fan. And stepped in poop on the way in. And was holding a chicken so she couldn’t wipe it off. She walked funny to keep it off the floor. Then Phoebe pooped on the floor. And Crazy Chicken Lady realized this was really stupid and decided to clean her foot and take the fan out to the coop instead. The End. *curtsies*

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Maze with no end

Sat night: ER for chest and jaw pain, wonky heart rate. Told to call CR Heart Center Monday morning to schedule a stress test.
Monday morning: Made appointment; first available: Wednesday at 9am.
Wednesday 8:45am: Check into CRHC.
8:48am: Reception asks for insurance card. I tell them I have none but I’ve reapplied for Medicaid but haven’t gotten answer yet. She says they can’t help me. Directs me to go to Free Clinic and request a referral back to CRHC.
9:05am: Arrive at Free Clinic.
9:10am: Check in.
9:40: See nurse, give story, get vitals. (P.S. heart rate = 114.)
9:48: Back to waiting room.
10:26: Sent to another waiting room.
10:34: Sent to exam room.
10:48: Doc walks in.
10:55: Doc walks out.
11:15: Doc walks in. Doc says nothing they can do. They can’t give referral to CRHC. Have to wait for Medicaid approval or denial. Gave me an IowaDoesntGiveAFuck app but not sure if that covers my problem. Says if I have any chest or jaw pain, go to ER. P.S. Can’t help with meds I’m out of either; must call Abbe Center.
11:20: Check out of free clinic.
11:21: Go behind a barn and shoot myself. (just kidding.)

**sighs**

I’ll come back later and try to make this funny. Or sexy. Because sex sells, not whining.

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Had anxiety attack all day long; short of breath, can’t seem to breathe deep enough, sense of impending doom. No rational reason. One of the worst feelings in the world. Tears form behind my eyes but I can’t cry. I don’t know why.

That’s about it.

Stupid title. Just staring at me, being all title-y. Smug jerk butthole doink.

When I was in about 6th grade to 10th grade, my best friend, Tina, had a condition that meant she was lacking a couple layers of skin, the epidermis, I think. This meant we had to be super careful when we were playing, because if you touched her too hard, she’d get a nasty, angry, black-and-blue bruise or even start bleeding from just a small amount of pressure.

I think I have that condition, only it just affects my heart.

I hate it.

I hate my feelings. I hate my tears. I hate my sensitivity.

I hate it. I detest it. I abhor it.