SquarePeg Books

A few years ago I’d constructed some decorative bead strings for some friends of mine in the SCA. I’d given them out and had three left and with the destruction of one that hung on my purse, I was left with two that just kinda sat there until the other day I was seized with the idea of restringing one to create this:

It’s very similar to the ones I’d already created, but I used a heavy nylon string and knots for spacers instead of flexible beading wire and metal beads as spacers. I didn’t know why I felt the urge to restring them NOW. I just knew I wanted something that I wasn’t afraid would break if I hung on my bag again.

But it never made it to my bag.

It made it to my desk, and for the last few days I’ve caught myself holding the loop and gently rubbing on the beads, working the strand slowly repetitively through my hand. My right hand pulls the beaded loop through the fingers quickly, while my left works each bead for much longer before moving on to the next.

I’ve even caught myself wishing I’d brought them with me to the store or the pharmacy or the next wherever, which is silly because I NEED both of my hands to pick up items and steer a basket and cross things off lists and DRIVE A VEHICLE THAT’S A STICKSHIFT.

And yet, they’re comforting, like some kind of bizarre blanky or teddy that we all had when we were younger.

It occurs to me that I’ve created some bizarre version of “worry beads,” which worries me, somewhat.

The beginning of November was a bad time. I’ve been depressed and had bad days before, been on meds for fifteen consecutive years, even, but that was my first encounter with that THAT level of crazy.

Completely non-functional, insane weight loss rate, blubbering nuts.

Since restarting the meds, things have calmed down some, although this time around there’s a deep element of panic as a low background noise that interferes with the day to day. I’m resisting taking the anxiety meds, trying to only take one when I need to pretend like I’m human (you know, so I don’t scare aware Human Resources during an interview or some such), but my daily reactions to things are making me wonder about the anxiety’s true source.

Unconsciously starting a habit of twiddling with something that looks suspiciously like worry beads is one of them.

I’m definitely flailing about in the water, trying to find something to hold onto. There are the meditation and relaxation files from youtube, the beads, the way I’m using my paper calendar, aromatherapy, specific aroma avoidance, activity avoidance, self-comforting using finger sensory (rubbing fabric between my fingers), shopping (I did good for a while on this one, only buying what I absolutely needed to keep the household going and then the birthdays came right after Christmas and WHAMMO! – back to the drawing board).

By age 42, I thought I would have it all figured out by now – I shouldn’t still be crazy. And yet, here I am.