I try to unwind and decompress when and if at all possible. Music uplifts, talking to certain close friends provides solace, and creative surges kind of take me to a different place where stress and financial worries don't bog me down.
I went out dancing last night and slept in late today since I didn't have work to go to. I made friends with one of the regulars, Ricardo the spiritual-release maniac dancer, and he couldn't be a lovelier person. He gets off work late, throws his backpack in the corner, and does a unique series of dances which look like intense, rhythmic sun and god salutations. Eyes closed, concentration thick. People stare and laugh and gawk at his expressions, but he doesn't care. He found me on the dance floor and we smiled, introduced ourselves, shook hands and gave each other a hug. He is giving up dancing for Lent this year, he said, so I may not see him much til after Easter. As my dancing companion friend said, "I don't know if I can believe in a God who would want Ricardo to give up dancing."
I had to cancel my plans to meet up with an old friend in my hometown tomorrow. She's teaching one of those essential oils classes which she has trying to get me on board with, but I just don't have the train traveling money nor the beaucoup bucks to spend on herbal plant essence remedies at this time. She swears it will help me with my anxiety and depression. I'm willing to try anything at this point, but I've sadly already put myself in small debt trying to figure out a 'cure' already...
Friday, January 31, 2014
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
longing.
It's such an overwhelming feeling to have longed for something for years. I don't know how these sensations develop except that it's part of innate biological makeup. It can seem so mysterious at times, too.
And different people long for different things. Of course they do. Everyone is so damn wildly different. What would the world be if we all sought out the same things?
I don't know what the future holds for me and my 'longings.' But after talking to different women who are older and I've come to know through all the trials and tribulations I've watched them encounter, I've been assured that my longings aren't 'silly' ones, for lack of a better word. It's very hard for me to express, but this text slightly touches upon it:
And different people long for different things. Of course they do. Everyone is so damn wildly different. What would the world be if we all sought out the same things?
I don't know what the future holds for me and my 'longings.' But after talking to different women who are older and I've come to know through all the trials and tribulations I've watched them encounter, I've been assured that my longings aren't 'silly' ones, for lack of a better word. It's very hard for me to express, but this text slightly touches upon it:
"If motherhood didn’t matter so much, it wouldn’t merit such feelings of the heart. Only because motherhood is a sacred responsibility of boundless importance does it engender such depth of feeling.
Motherhood is not a checklist of attributes. It’s a description of a person who loves another more than life itself. No two mothers are just alike. Not a single one is expected to be perfect—or close to it. Mothers with foresight know they do their best simply by doing a little better every day.
Mothers nurture and love; they create homes of warmth and safety; they cultivate strengths and see potential. “A mother is the first and most important teacher in a child’s life.”[i]
No one can adequately take a mother’s place. She willingly walks into the valley of the shadow of death as she gives life. And then she walks alongside her children, sustaining them until they venture on their own. Even then, her heart follows close behind and skips a beat every time she hears their footsteps—every time their thoughts turn to home."
[i] Bruce C. Hafen and Marie K. Hafen, The Belonging Heart: The Atonement and Relationships with God and Family (1994), 294.
I am heavied by these sentiments. I don't know if it's going to happen.
Hugest thing of my life.
It's huge.
Day 13
Two weeks on the new lower dosage. And a slight cloud has lifted. I've been able to feel some assorted emotions instead of feeling doped up. No sleep though. I don't like sleepless nights. Too many of them in a row and I'm worried the elated loopiness and all its strange tendencies rears its ugly, uh, head.
I'll be fine. I'm determined to get back in form. I've gotten myself up and brushed myself off hundreds of times now. Maybe I can spend this year tapering down with my doctor and spewing all that weighs me down and then I can go back and spend 2015 editing 2014 into something I feel is more 'perfect' or malleable.
Three good things that happened today:
1. I finished the last of a giant project at work and solved some of its previous problems.
2. I caught one of my favorite episodes of Diff'rent Strokes.
3. I found an awesome Criterion I've never seen from the library.
Now about that sleep....
I'll be fine. I'm determined to get back in form. I've gotten myself up and brushed myself off hundreds of times now. Maybe I can spend this year tapering down with my doctor and spewing all that weighs me down and then I can go back and spend 2015 editing 2014 into something I feel is more 'perfect' or malleable.
Three good things that happened today:
1. I finished the last of a giant project at work and solved some of its previous problems.
2. I caught one of my favorite episodes of Diff'rent Strokes.
3. I found an awesome Criterion I've never seen from the library.
Now about that sleep....
Monday, January 27, 2014
electric brain today
I'd like to think the OS that is my brain is performing choreographed dance numbers.
Friday, January 24, 2014
La tristesse d'une vie
There are so many things that have happened in my life that nobody ever told me were even possibilities that could happen. So much has happened that I could have never been prepared for.
Nobody around me ever told me that depression and anxiety could cause a breakdown which could lead to hospitalization. And nobody told me it could hover for years, and that people would say terrible, judgmental things that would be permanently fixated in the mind.
Nobody ever told me that the joy and excitement that pregnancy brings could end abruptly in a tragic loss. Nobody really mentioned that the grief could last for years, and quite possibly, the remainder of one's life here on earth.
The general response from people surrounding you after losing a pregnancy is, "Oh, don't worry. You can try again."
The first doctor to approach me to discuss the delivery and implications of surgery being that I was almost five months along said just this:
"Some women go through this 7, sometimes 8 times before they are able to go on and have a healthy, happy family."
Other things people said:
"There was probably something wrong with the baby so it's a blessing this happened."
"Don't worry, this will pass and you'll heal and you'll go on to have a whole house full of children."
"Take some time to yourself to heal, give it a year or more, and you can try again."
"So, you have a history of depression. Are you currently in treatment? You ought to discuss medication with a psychiatrist as soon as possible."
"I believe you will meet this soul again in your life."
"It will be hard the next time you try, but next time everything will be just fine."
"I'm so very sorry. I had a miscarriage once. But look at my beautiful family I have now!"
"You're still young enough. You've got plenty of time."
"The same thing happened to Vince's wife. Except she carried the baby full-term before it died during delivery. Didn't she have to carry around a doll or something for awhile after that?"
"Even if you go on to not have any kids, just get some dogs."
"God has a plan for you so put your faith in His hands."
Oh, and so much more.
I kind of brushed myself off for years after it happened. But the sorrow is still there. My therapist says it will always be there. That I will always be that baby's mother.
What is so difficult to grasp with perinatal loss is that it's a sort of an abstract loss. You don't have memories to hold onto like you do when you've lost someone who was always present in your life. It's more of a feeling of loss of a certain hope. An abrupt loss of joy. I can't quite put my finger on the right words. I don't know that I ever will.
Writing about it helps, talking about it helps, but only when I'm up for it. Coping with all difficulties in life requires putting on a strong face and going forth in the world.
But it's important to take time out from Moving Forward and take time to breathe and grieve.
Nobody around me ever told me that depression and anxiety could cause a breakdown which could lead to hospitalization. And nobody told me it could hover for years, and that people would say terrible, judgmental things that would be permanently fixated in the mind.
Nobody ever told me that the joy and excitement that pregnancy brings could end abruptly in a tragic loss. Nobody really mentioned that the grief could last for years, and quite possibly, the remainder of one's life here on earth.
The general response from people surrounding you after losing a pregnancy is, "Oh, don't worry. You can try again."
The first doctor to approach me to discuss the delivery and implications of surgery being that I was almost five months along said just this:
"Some women go through this 7, sometimes 8 times before they are able to go on and have a healthy, happy family."
Other things people said:
"There was probably something wrong with the baby so it's a blessing this happened."
"Don't worry, this will pass and you'll heal and you'll go on to have a whole house full of children."
"Take some time to yourself to heal, give it a year or more, and you can try again."
"So, you have a history of depression. Are you currently in treatment? You ought to discuss medication with a psychiatrist as soon as possible."
"I believe you will meet this soul again in your life."
"It will be hard the next time you try, but next time everything will be just fine."
"I'm so very sorry. I had a miscarriage once. But look at my beautiful family I have now!"
"You're still young enough. You've got plenty of time."
"The same thing happened to Vince's wife. Except she carried the baby full-term before it died during delivery. Didn't she have to carry around a doll or something for awhile after that?"
"Even if you go on to not have any kids, just get some dogs."
"God has a plan for you so put your faith in His hands."
Oh, and so much more.
I kind of brushed myself off for years after it happened. But the sorrow is still there. My therapist says it will always be there. That I will always be that baby's mother.
What is so difficult to grasp with perinatal loss is that it's a sort of an abstract loss. You don't have memories to hold onto like you do when you've lost someone who was always present in your life. It's more of a feeling of loss of a certain hope. An abrupt loss of joy. I can't quite put my finger on the right words. I don't know that I ever will.
Writing about it helps, talking about it helps, but only when I'm up for it. Coping with all difficulties in life requires putting on a strong face and going forth in the world.
But it's important to take time out from Moving Forward and take time to breathe and grieve.
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Shedding 100mg of emotion
I have an overwhelming feeling right at this moment and all I want to do right now is pull the blankets over my head and hide and do nothing. I don't want to open my journal to write about my therapy session today. I don't want to talk to anyone. I don't want to do anything but curl up in a ball and let sadness become me.
I was reading a plaque on the wall at the center about healing from trauma before my appointment and it made me focus solely on that word: trauma. Maybe it was a KEYWORD that I needed to see today to encourage me to release some of the depression surrounding my experiences with trauma. I've covered it before in other sessions, but maybe it was the 100mg less of a pill that really allowed me to release tears and let my therapist see my physical agitation of associated feelings deeply affecting my mind, body and soul. She asked me one question that I don't think I've ever been asked so directly before and man, the dam burst and years of agitation shivered out of me and tears rolled and rolled and rolled off my face and followed me on the train and bus rides home. There's nothing worse than crying on public transportation.
Birth trauma is something I have not really discussed with too many people. I had never heard much about it, and even after giving birth over six years ago, I still haven't really encountered the appropriate measures to talk about perinatal loss and release the years of layered emotions that I carry with me every day.
The thing about trauma is that it does not go away. I am going to forever remember the doctors, the ambulance, the contractions, the delivery, the legal questions, the religious questions, the blood, the way my body responded to an abrupt change and how my body changed from those few days in the hospital forever. Leaving the hospital with no child in my arms. It happened over six years ago and yet at times the grief feels like it just all happened again a few days ago. I carry this with me. Every day.
I think about the child. I've had dreams where I'm a mother and the happiness I feel in those dreams resonates when I awake. I will never forget the sound of the baby's heartbeat. And I will never forget the nurse showing me the baby's heart in the ultrasound monitor and how it was no longer beating.
Suppressing emotions of sadness and grief and masking the body's natural emotional response with loads of psychiatric pills doesn't work for me. Maybe it works for people who just like to mask their pain, kind of like an acceptable form of "self-medicating," but I need to allow my body to release this stuff. I need something different.
I need optimism, because this is very heavy stuff. I'm getting there, but days like today are grueling and exhaust me.
Monday, January 20, 2014
Day 4.
I am almost completed with Day 4 of the most recent lower dosage of my "antidepressant." I put that in "phrasy quotes" because it's kind of more than an antidepressant, depending on whom you ask. It was prescribed to me four years ago alongside another medication to counteract one effect of it and another medication to balance the effect of that second drug and then another medication to help out with the other part of my body that the third medication was affecting. Because I have a problem with bouts of sleep deprivation and apparently, the lack of sleep causes my brain to become "manic."
Except they don't call it "manic" anymore. "Bipolar" has come to be used as an adjective measuring EXTREMES from one point to another. People use it flippantly to describe the crazy weather, or a boss who snaps when a problem comes up, or "crazy bipolar" is a phrase I hear a lot when people close to me describe another irrational person....having no idea that the extremely level-headed person they always confide in has had a history of "mania" coupled with "depression" at certain times in her life.
I switched doctors a few years ago because the other one wouldn't listen to me, was insanely disorganized and hard to get a hold of when I needed refills and appointments. And sometimes I think she kinda just tried different things on me as if I were an experimental, disposable guinea pig.
So, naturally, coming down another 100mg with the assistance of my doctor whom I've been seeing for awhile now is wreaking havoc on my sleep schedule. And what little sleep I have had has been filled with dark, strange dreams that are so far out there they wake me up with an overwhelming sense of malaise. I can't really remember any of them, but I seem to wake up with a dark, terrifying cloud hanging over me.
It can be scary.
These pills are DANGEROUS and not to be dealt with lightly. The side effects can be worse than the initial symptoms. Tapering off of them, even with the assistance of a team of professionals is very difficult and anxiety-producing. I am working closely and carefully with a very experienced psychiatrist who communicates very well with me AND my psychotherapist whom I am meeting with this week. My pharmacist is also so very kind and helpful. My support group is strong. But these pill things are DANGEROUS. That dark cloud that happens is something of which I think more mental health professionals AND physicians of all sorts need to be very experienced and educated.
Because I have been dealing with "depression" since the nineties in college, I have loads of experience understanding a few things of what HELPS me:
-Yoga stretches in the a.m.
- Going to bed early. Even if I don't sleep, at least I am resting.
- Don't read the Morrissey autobiography nor listen to the Smiths until you've adjusted to your new dosage
- Journal THREE GOOD THINGS that happened today
- Choose a few colors and paint what you feel (sometimes these are blobs, other times they look like an EKG read-out and other times I paint with my fingers)
- Dance
- One glass of wine at night if I am feeling anxious
- Cleaning tasks like scrubbing dishes and bathtubs helps with feelings of agitation
- Check-ins with a therapist (which took me many, many years to find the RIGHT one)
- Reaching out to friends and family with kids and hearing the silly, sweet stories they tell
These are just a few things that help. I've had other doctors insist I do outpatient therapy as I'm adjusting on meds and know that many 'peers' have simply relied on going to the hospital for a few days. But I have a full-time job and have seen what respect is lost when one has to 'take a few sick days' to deal with this imaginary illness. That is NOT an option for me anymore.
I figure I have a rough month ahead of me as my sleep eludes me. This, too, shall pass.
Except they don't call it "manic" anymore. "Bipolar" has come to be used as an adjective measuring EXTREMES from one point to another. People use it flippantly to describe the crazy weather, or a boss who snaps when a problem comes up, or "crazy bipolar" is a phrase I hear a lot when people close to me describe another irrational person....having no idea that the extremely level-headed person they always confide in has had a history of "mania" coupled with "depression" at certain times in her life.
I switched doctors a few years ago because the other one wouldn't listen to me, was insanely disorganized and hard to get a hold of when I needed refills and appointments. And sometimes I think she kinda just tried different things on me as if I were an experimental, disposable guinea pig.
So, naturally, coming down another 100mg with the assistance of my doctor whom I've been seeing for awhile now is wreaking havoc on my sleep schedule. And what little sleep I have had has been filled with dark, strange dreams that are so far out there they wake me up with an overwhelming sense of malaise. I can't really remember any of them, but I seem to wake up with a dark, terrifying cloud hanging over me.
It can be scary.
These pills are DANGEROUS and not to be dealt with lightly. The side effects can be worse than the initial symptoms. Tapering off of them, even with the assistance of a team of professionals is very difficult and anxiety-producing. I am working closely and carefully with a very experienced psychiatrist who communicates very well with me AND my psychotherapist whom I am meeting with this week. My pharmacist is also so very kind and helpful. My support group is strong. But these pill things are DANGEROUS. That dark cloud that happens is something of which I think more mental health professionals AND physicians of all sorts need to be very experienced and educated.
Because I have been dealing with "depression" since the nineties in college, I have loads of experience understanding a few things of what HELPS me:
-Yoga stretches in the a.m.
- Going to bed early. Even if I don't sleep, at least I am resting.
- Don't read the Morrissey autobiography nor listen to the Smiths until you've adjusted to your new dosage
- Journal THREE GOOD THINGS that happened today
- Choose a few colors and paint what you feel (sometimes these are blobs, other times they look like an EKG read-out and other times I paint with my fingers)
- Dance
- One glass of wine at night if I am feeling anxious
- Cleaning tasks like scrubbing dishes and bathtubs helps with feelings of agitation
- Check-ins with a therapist (which took me many, many years to find the RIGHT one)
- Reaching out to friends and family with kids and hearing the silly, sweet stories they tell
These are just a few things that help. I've had other doctors insist I do outpatient therapy as I'm adjusting on meds and know that many 'peers' have simply relied on going to the hospital for a few days. But I have a full-time job and have seen what respect is lost when one has to 'take a few sick days' to deal with this imaginary illness. That is NOT an option for me anymore.
I figure I have a rough month ahead of me as my sleep eludes me. This, too, shall pass.
Sunday, January 19, 2014
I gots the fever
Despite getting a flu shot this year, I've been hit with a fever.
TRAVEL FEVER that is. I wanna go somewhere.
I'm happy I was able to travel a bit when I actually had paid time off. I went around the U S of A a bit. I adventured in Paris and Normandy and the Alps. I voyaged to Londontown and Wales and the Lake District.
I also wandered this strange little place called Manchester. I met a Mancunian man in a galaxy far, far away and he showed me around his hometown. I came very close to MOVING there. But life happened and things got in the way. You know that whole c'est la vie thing and all that.
But I still reminisce about that grey little town. There was a particular familiar feeling I had in that town, not really knowing what it quite was. A sort of déjà vu perhaps. Or was it a blending of arts and music painting a familiar imagery for me? I really don't know, but maybe it's more than coincidence that much of my favorite music is from Manchester, UK.
I am reading Morrissey's autobiography right now, and just 50 pages into it, I feel a sense of familiarity as he describes a drab Dickensian landscape. I can't quite put my finger on it or place the right set of words to explain those who connect with melancholia from time to time. It's like it's a 'place' that one sometimes travels to naturally. And sometimes you cross paths with another who has been to that peculiar dark place.....just like it's a random town in the world you've both stumbled upon by accident...
I would love to physically travel to more new towns where I can stumble upon a different, new landscape. There's so much more world for me to see.
TRAVEL FEVER that is. I wanna go somewhere.
I'm happy I was able to travel a bit when I actually had paid time off. I went around the U S of A a bit. I adventured in Paris and Normandy and the Alps. I voyaged to Londontown and Wales and the Lake District.
I also wandered this strange little place called Manchester. I met a Mancunian man in a galaxy far, far away and he showed me around his hometown. I came very close to MOVING there. But life happened and things got in the way. You know that whole c'est la vie thing and all that.
But I still reminisce about that grey little town. There was a particular familiar feeling I had in that town, not really knowing what it quite was. A sort of déjà vu perhaps. Or was it a blending of arts and music painting a familiar imagery for me? I really don't know, but maybe it's more than coincidence that much of my favorite music is from Manchester, UK.
I am reading Morrissey's autobiography right now, and just 50 pages into it, I feel a sense of familiarity as he describes a drab Dickensian landscape. I can't quite put my finger on it or place the right set of words to explain those who connect with melancholia from time to time. It's like it's a 'place' that one sometimes travels to naturally. And sometimes you cross paths with another who has been to that peculiar dark place.....just like it's a random town in the world you've both stumbled upon by accident...
I would love to physically travel to more new towns where I can stumble upon a different, new landscape. There's so much more world for me to see.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
Life as a canvas.
Working with one's hands as he or she hammers away at this thing called life is kind of like a meditation. There is an energy with every movement, task or endeavor.
I struggle with the depression that comes along with not being able to create some sort of finalized masterpiece to share with the world. I beat myself up over it and make myself sick sometimes. There is a pressure, I feel, to be something magnificent. There is a pressure to reach a certain level of perfection. There is a pressure to submit a concrete chef d'ouevre to feel as an important participant in this world. Sometimes the pressure intensifies, and I fall into deep depression and feel like a failure.
But I am learning different ways. A samurai walked into my store the other day and grunted at me. It was weird and comical, but I was reminded that I, too, can be a warrior of sorts.
Every little thing I do in this world matters.
I am a participant in the world each and every day.
I contribute in my own special way with each small gesture.
Every word I type, say, paint, sing, share with others is an action, no matter how small. I can harness my HERE AND NOW, and make it count.
I may be small, metaphorically speaking, but little things I do can be viewed as a brushstroke on this big ginormous canvas that is my life.
Sometimes I think there are people out there in the big bad universe who expect so much more from me. But I don't care.
While I may not be 'creating' on a bigger, more important scale, I am harnessing what I know is the life in front of me and making it count.
A hell of a lot of words for that which I cannot quite explain.
I struggle with the depression that comes along with not being able to create some sort of finalized masterpiece to share with the world. I beat myself up over it and make myself sick sometimes. There is a pressure, I feel, to be something magnificent. There is a pressure to reach a certain level of perfection. There is a pressure to submit a concrete chef d'ouevre to feel as an important participant in this world. Sometimes the pressure intensifies, and I fall into deep depression and feel like a failure.
But I am learning different ways. A samurai walked into my store the other day and grunted at me. It was weird and comical, but I was reminded that I, too, can be a warrior of sorts.
Every little thing I do in this world matters.
I am a participant in the world each and every day.
I contribute in my own special way with each small gesture.
Every word I type, say, paint, sing, share with others is an action, no matter how small. I can harness my HERE AND NOW, and make it count.
I may be small, metaphorically speaking, but little things I do can be viewed as a brushstroke on this big ginormous canvas that is my life.
Sometimes I think there are people out there in the big bad universe who expect so much more from me. But I don't care.
While I may not be 'creating' on a bigger, more important scale, I am harnessing what I know is the life in front of me and making it count.
A hell of a lot of words for that which I cannot quite explain.
Saturday, January 11, 2014
The Great Language Divide
Some cousins from Paris are planning an upcoming trip to NYC. They called me the other day to ask me for trip advice and answer some questions. As I continue my French studies, small improvement after small improvement start to feel much bigger when they start popping up more frequently. I am getting more comfortable and gaining more confidence in my French.
Languages are intimidating things. For the longest time, I felt as if my mind divided itself in half when I immersed myself in French. I couldn't easily switch back and forth. But I've been practicing heavily for 23 years now and it's starting to feel like a Major Life Accomplishment.
I had to give up on a call center travel job after a few months into it because I could not comprehend Québécois with ease. I strained myself and felt foggy trying to converse...I need to visit Quebec to practice some more.
My French is far from perfect, and I still have troubles expressing familial sentiments as my relatives over there shower me with affections in their oh-so-French ways. But with each conversation, I learn more and more and more and my mind no longer feels SPLIT/divisé en deux. I cannot put into words how great that feels.
I'd love to sign up for that French class again. But it's just not been in my budget. Time to dig up my livres en français. A little Guy de Maupassant never hurt anyone.
Languages are intimidating things. For the longest time, I felt as if my mind divided itself in half when I immersed myself in French. I couldn't easily switch back and forth. But I've been practicing heavily for 23 years now and it's starting to feel like a Major Life Accomplishment.
I had to give up on a call center travel job after a few months into it because I could not comprehend Québécois with ease. I strained myself and felt foggy trying to converse...I need to visit Quebec to practice some more.
My French is far from perfect, and I still have troubles expressing familial sentiments as my relatives over there shower me with affections in their oh-so-French ways. But with each conversation, I learn more and more and more and my mind no longer feels SPLIT/divisé en deux. I cannot put into words how great that feels.
I'd love to sign up for that French class again. But it's just not been in my budget. Time to dig up my livres en français. A little Guy de Maupassant never hurt anyone.
Thursday, January 9, 2014
community.
I've been thinking about that word a lot lately.
Community. And not the TV show.
It seems like it was always easy to find a community to be a part of in college. I lived in the International House, one level of a dormitory which housed people from all over the world, where we were to be immersed in all the world's cultures. It was great fun on many occasions, but other times? Not so much. There were quite a few quarrels and heated debates, and we soon discovered differences in public bathroom etiquette. I remember waking up to signs in the bathroom one morning that the shower stalls are not where we pee in the US. We use toilets here.
And then I participated in a French meetup group after my last return from France. I wanted to keep my French current and continue to practice the language outside of France. It was fun for a while, but there were several times a friend and I had to leave when 15 minutes into the meeting we realized it was a Pick Up Chicks spot.
There was another time after first being diagnosed with a mental illness that I joined a support group and went to weekly (or more) meetings. I did it for a while and felt like I was involved in something very important, but after some time had passed, I realized it was bringing me down. The people I met with each week were very nice folks, but I realized that I didn't want to live my illness, nor be my illness. I was much more than that.
I tried my hand at a staff art show, still one of the most nerve-wracking things I have ever done in my life. It was great excitement as the hype began to build and we started the installation of everyone's pieces. I volunteered as the 'beer girl' on opening night and was amazed to see all the crowds. We all walked around and got to discover an element of each coworker's personality that we may have not noticed before. The show ran for a few weeks and was quite a success. It was a great experience, but when I look at my artwork I've completed to date, I don't think I would be so comfortable showing it at this time. My artwork makes me feel like an outsider.
I have friends who make their living writing. Some went into journalism, some PR, others freelance. While I have always enjoyed writing, I have not made it my community. Take this blog, for example. I write this more as a message in a bottle sort of way, floating while I try to organize my thoughts after a messy number of years struggling with mind stuff. I don't workshop my stories nor do I enjoy the promotion side of things. I write and make my art as my therapy. If there are sinister, vulture-type people out there who prey upon my frankness on this, well, j'éspere que cette vérité makes them open their eyes a little bit about the intent of their curiosity.
So back to that word again...community. I am trying very hard to not be that loner outsider all the time. As time goes on and wounds heal, I feel more and more confident to dive back into the important interests and passions that fuel me. Whether that be volunteering somewhere again or getting more involved in my new neighborhood, or taking a class, or locating new 'artistic' peers, or, or, or...well, the ideas just start to soar when I think about it.
Community. And not the TV show.
It seems like it was always easy to find a community to be a part of in college. I lived in the International House, one level of a dormitory which housed people from all over the world, where we were to be immersed in all the world's cultures. It was great fun on many occasions, but other times? Not so much. There were quite a few quarrels and heated debates, and we soon discovered differences in public bathroom etiquette. I remember waking up to signs in the bathroom one morning that the shower stalls are not where we pee in the US. We use toilets here.
And then I participated in a French meetup group after my last return from France. I wanted to keep my French current and continue to practice the language outside of France. It was fun for a while, but there were several times a friend and I had to leave when 15 minutes into the meeting we realized it was a Pick Up Chicks spot.
There was another time after first being diagnosed with a mental illness that I joined a support group and went to weekly (or more) meetings. I did it for a while and felt like I was involved in something very important, but after some time had passed, I realized it was bringing me down. The people I met with each week were very nice folks, but I realized that I didn't want to live my illness, nor be my illness. I was much more than that.
I tried my hand at a staff art show, still one of the most nerve-wracking things I have ever done in my life. It was great excitement as the hype began to build and we started the installation of everyone's pieces. I volunteered as the 'beer girl' on opening night and was amazed to see all the crowds. We all walked around and got to discover an element of each coworker's personality that we may have not noticed before. The show ran for a few weeks and was quite a success. It was a great experience, but when I look at my artwork I've completed to date, I don't think I would be so comfortable showing it at this time. My artwork makes me feel like an outsider.
I have friends who make their living writing. Some went into journalism, some PR, others freelance. While I have always enjoyed writing, I have not made it my community. Take this blog, for example. I write this more as a message in a bottle sort of way, floating while I try to organize my thoughts after a messy number of years struggling with mind stuff. I don't workshop my stories nor do I enjoy the promotion side of things. I write and make my art as my therapy. If there are sinister, vulture-type people out there who prey upon my frankness on this, well, j'éspere que cette vérité makes them open their eyes a little bit about the intent of their curiosity.
So back to that word again...community. I am trying very hard to not be that loner outsider all the time. As time goes on and wounds heal, I feel more and more confident to dive back into the important interests and passions that fuel me. Whether that be volunteering somewhere again or getting more involved in my new neighborhood, or taking a class, or locating new 'artistic' peers, or, or, or...well, the ideas just start to soar when I think about it.
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
well i ventured out into the frozen urban tundra this morning.
and i had to turn around and head straight back home.
now the furnace is broken at work, too. i got there early and UH-OH. the thermostat read 30 degrees. the mop and bucket was frozen over and i almost slipped on the ice that had formed on our beautiful hardwood floors.
good thing i had called off the other morning employee the night before. i had told her not to come in to save some payroll hours and i doubted there were would be too many customers strolling in. the HVAC guy was out on several other calls and wasn't able to make it in for the repair for another three hours. so home i went.
it was still -10 this morning. i wore the following:
fleece-lined tights
long underwear
pants
two pairs of wool socks
waterproof, lined tall boots
two undershirts
a long sleeve tunic
a cardigan
a down jacket
a pair of gloves COVERED with a pair of mittens
a fur hat with ear flaps
a scarf tied around my face so only my eyes were exposed
will i get to work tomorrow? i dunno. i hope so cause i don't want to think about my lousy upcoming paycheck.
i stopped by the library on my way home and stocked up on more movies. my apartment still isn't the warmest. inside my apartment i am wearing the following:
long underwear
two pairs of wool socks
hello kitty slippers
flannel pajama bottoms
three shirts
fingerless gloves
and when i'm not up and about, i am on the couch with two fleecy blankets
yeah, this kinda sucks. no sugar-coating that. but i suppose it could always be worse. right?
now the furnace is broken at work, too. i got there early and UH-OH. the thermostat read 30 degrees. the mop and bucket was frozen over and i almost slipped on the ice that had formed on our beautiful hardwood floors.
good thing i had called off the other morning employee the night before. i had told her not to come in to save some payroll hours and i doubted there were would be too many customers strolling in. the HVAC guy was out on several other calls and wasn't able to make it in for the repair for another three hours. so home i went.
it was still -10 this morning. i wore the following:
fleece-lined tights
long underwear
pants
two pairs of wool socks
waterproof, lined tall boots
two undershirts
a long sleeve tunic
a cardigan
a down jacket
a pair of gloves COVERED with a pair of mittens
a fur hat with ear flaps
a scarf tied around my face so only my eyes were exposed
will i get to work tomorrow? i dunno. i hope so cause i don't want to think about my lousy upcoming paycheck.
i stopped by the library on my way home and stocked up on more movies. my apartment still isn't the warmest. inside my apartment i am wearing the following:
long underwear
two pairs of wool socks
hello kitty slippers
flannel pajama bottoms
three shirts
fingerless gloves
and when i'm not up and about, i am on the couch with two fleecy blankets
yeah, this kinda sucks. no sugar-coating that. but i suppose it could always be worse. right?
Monday, January 6, 2014
Arctic blast.
It's -17 right now. The high today is -10.
The heat was fixed in the building. All new furnace. Thank GOD.
That's all I have to say about that.
The heat was fixed in the building. All new furnace. Thank GOD.
That's all I have to say about that.
Thursday, January 2, 2014
time for tai chi in a cold Chicago apartment
At 6am this morning, I was awoken by a loud noise. Didn't know what. But I drifted back to a slight sleep as I didn't have to be to work til 10:30.
An hour later, I heard another noise. It was much louder. My voice quivered as I asked the Mr. what that noise was. He walked to every room of our apartment and we knew it was not good.
It happened a few minutes later. It sounded like a small explosion coming from the boiler room below us. I was starting to panic. The Mr. got on the phone and started leaving early morning voice mails for the landlord, his assistant, the maintenance guy....nobody answered. The landlord texted him back telling us he was 'out of town.'
The Mr. called 311. Another explosion happened and things started falling off the bathroom walls as I was trying to get ready to take a shower. It has been snowing for two days now and I threw all my old clothes back on because I was terrified I would have to run outside naked in the snow.
311 deduced that they better call the fire department. I started knocking on the neighbors' doors but all the dogs in the building were barking so loudly that nobody was awake enough to hear me. I heard the fire engine come and ran down to greet them. I threw on some boots and led them to our boiler room, which none of the tenants have keys for so they debated knocking down the door. But I didn't smell gas so there was nothing they could really do. It was a little ridiculous standing in the snow with six Chicago fire fighters when there was no actual fire, but they assured us the Mr. did the right thing reporting the BANGS and that this needed to be addressed IMMEDIATELY. I don't know if the landlords ever get citations or anything when nobody responds to an emergency situation, but I can tell you there are a lot of greedy landlords in this city who own WAAAAAY too many properties and they can't possibly keep up with them all...and I just recently calculated that we have paid this particular landlord over $80,000 in rent over the last seven years.
The firemen assured me that there wasn't any imminent danger and suggested we keep hounding the building owners to get an HVAC expert out immediately. We have old steam heat and sometimes the heavy minerals of Chicago water can cause a buildup and valves don't work and pressure builds. No gas, just vapors. But pipes can explode. And it can be very very bad.
So I decide to try and take my shower again and in the middle of my shampoo rinse BOOOOOOOOM...the walls shake and my perfume and nail polish bottles fall off the shelves and onto the floor. I yell and panic but I have to get this shampoo out of my hair so I gave my hair one last douse of water and dried and got dressed so quickly as if my life depended on it and was shivering to the bone.
The poor cat was traumatized. The dogs in every apartment were barking. I left the Mr. to hound the maintenance guy and threw on a ton of clothes and ran to the bus to go to work and get to somewhere I felt safe. I had to sit in a restaurant for an hour and catch my breath and reached out to friends on Facebook, who just freaked me out more telling me what a dangerous situation it was.
The Mr. got the maintenance guy out and the repairman came and deduced the heat is not safe to use in our building. The temperature is dropping quickly....it is currently 7 degrees and will get down to -2 tonight. Monday it was will be -15. Not including wind chill. That's NEGATIVE FIFTEEN.
So I was jumpy all day at work. I kept hearing explosions in my head all day. I taught a coworker from California how to shovel Chicago snow and bonded with all the customers coming in from the cold. Because that's how Chicagoans get through the tough winters. They bond.
And I have finally crept home to find all the other eight tenants in my building packing up bags to go sleep somewhere else tonight. It's not terribly cold in here right now, but it's seeping in. I am packing a bag. And putting on layers. The Mr. gets home in a few hours and we will decide if we are going to rough it with no heat tonight or go to his parents. The landlord offered to deduct a one night hotel stay from our rent. I'm thinking we deserve the RITZ tonight.
But Thank God, for real, that an explosion didn't occur. This morning scared the shit out of me.
An hour later, I heard another noise. It was much louder. My voice quivered as I asked the Mr. what that noise was. He walked to every room of our apartment and we knew it was not good.
It happened a few minutes later. It sounded like a small explosion coming from the boiler room below us. I was starting to panic. The Mr. got on the phone and started leaving early morning voice mails for the landlord, his assistant, the maintenance guy....nobody answered. The landlord texted him back telling us he was 'out of town.'
The Mr. called 311. Another explosion happened and things started falling off the bathroom walls as I was trying to get ready to take a shower. It has been snowing for two days now and I threw all my old clothes back on because I was terrified I would have to run outside naked in the snow.
311 deduced that they better call the fire department. I started knocking on the neighbors' doors but all the dogs in the building were barking so loudly that nobody was awake enough to hear me. I heard the fire engine come and ran down to greet them. I threw on some boots and led them to our boiler room, which none of the tenants have keys for so they debated knocking down the door. But I didn't smell gas so there was nothing they could really do. It was a little ridiculous standing in the snow with six Chicago fire fighters when there was no actual fire, but they assured us the Mr. did the right thing reporting the BANGS and that this needed to be addressed IMMEDIATELY. I don't know if the landlords ever get citations or anything when nobody responds to an emergency situation, but I can tell you there are a lot of greedy landlords in this city who own WAAAAAY too many properties and they can't possibly keep up with them all...and I just recently calculated that we have paid this particular landlord over $80,000 in rent over the last seven years.
The firemen assured me that there wasn't any imminent danger and suggested we keep hounding the building owners to get an HVAC expert out immediately. We have old steam heat and sometimes the heavy minerals of Chicago water can cause a buildup and valves don't work and pressure builds. No gas, just vapors. But pipes can explode. And it can be very very bad.
So I decide to try and take my shower again and in the middle of my shampoo rinse BOOOOOOOOM...the walls shake and my perfume and nail polish bottles fall off the shelves and onto the floor. I yell and panic but I have to get this shampoo out of my hair so I gave my hair one last douse of water and dried and got dressed so quickly as if my life depended on it and was shivering to the bone.
The poor cat was traumatized. The dogs in every apartment were barking. I left the Mr. to hound the maintenance guy and threw on a ton of clothes and ran to the bus to go to work and get to somewhere I felt safe. I had to sit in a restaurant for an hour and catch my breath and reached out to friends on Facebook, who just freaked me out more telling me what a dangerous situation it was.
The Mr. got the maintenance guy out and the repairman came and deduced the heat is not safe to use in our building. The temperature is dropping quickly....it is currently 7 degrees and will get down to -2 tonight. Monday it was will be -15. Not including wind chill. That's NEGATIVE FIFTEEN.
So I was jumpy all day at work. I kept hearing explosions in my head all day. I taught a coworker from California how to shovel Chicago snow and bonded with all the customers coming in from the cold. Because that's how Chicagoans get through the tough winters. They bond.
And I have finally crept home to find all the other eight tenants in my building packing up bags to go sleep somewhere else tonight. It's not terribly cold in here right now, but it's seeping in. I am packing a bag. And putting on layers. The Mr. gets home in a few hours and we will decide if we are going to rough it with no heat tonight or go to his parents. The landlord offered to deduct a one night hotel stay from our rent. I'm thinking we deserve the RITZ tonight.
But Thank God, for real, that an explosion didn't occur. This morning scared the shit out of me.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
2014, a space odd.....oh it's another new year
I'm not going to be like everyone else and make a long sappy list of New Years Resolutions. But I do have some. I always have them. And I always work on them.
Ah, but it's another year in review. 2013.
1. For the first time ever, I was laid off from a job. Thankfully things fell into place quickly for me and I didn't even have to go on unemployment. And I got a nice severance package which allowed me to have a little extra money for a few months. That was nice. I probably should have saved it and stashed it, but I ate a few nice meals, went to a few shows, and bought myself some new clothes. I think that's allowed.
2. I traveled around Texas with one of my brothers and my mom. I came home with 20 new CDs because when I'm with my big brother, record stores are our priorities on the road. Thanks Cactus Records in Houston and Waterloo in Austin. Music makes me happy.
3. I turned a part-time sales associate job into a full time Store Manager position in an awesome new neighborhood. Just completed a hectic holiday season with little disruption. And the owners gave me some new free clothes to wear.
4. I started reducing my dosage of Seroquel and was given access to my own files by my psychiatrist. He has given me the 'bipolar, in FULL REMISSION' status and has approved my slow tapering of all medication. I'm still working on the dosage lowering, however, and it will probably take all of 2014 to be done.
5. I kicked myself free of Ativan. That was insanely hard. You don't even want to know what that felt like.
6. I became a member of REI and have made the outdoors my free gym membership. I bought a book of 60 hikes within 60 miles of Chicago. Of course my husband will have to drive me to each destination, but I have carefully instilled a Nikki's Urban Hikes training program into my exercise regime.
7. As a result of number 6, my calves have grown even more Incredible Hulk-like.
8. I saw The Replacements at Riot Fest.
9. I started going out dancing late late late nights and early into the morning once a month.
10. I did all that, but I'm still not one step closer to figuring out the big mystery of my life.
Will 2014 be any different? Possibly, if I make it so. How? I dunno. But I'm going to try. First I need to make a pot of coffee and start this new day of this new year right.
Bonne Année, mes amis.
Ah, but it's another year in review. 2013.
1. For the first time ever, I was laid off from a job. Thankfully things fell into place quickly for me and I didn't even have to go on unemployment. And I got a nice severance package which allowed me to have a little extra money for a few months. That was nice. I probably should have saved it and stashed it, but I ate a few nice meals, went to a few shows, and bought myself some new clothes. I think that's allowed.
2. I traveled around Texas with one of my brothers and my mom. I came home with 20 new CDs because when I'm with my big brother, record stores are our priorities on the road. Thanks Cactus Records in Houston and Waterloo in Austin. Music makes me happy.
3. I turned a part-time sales associate job into a full time Store Manager position in an awesome new neighborhood. Just completed a hectic holiday season with little disruption. And the owners gave me some new free clothes to wear.
4. I started reducing my dosage of Seroquel and was given access to my own files by my psychiatrist. He has given me the 'bipolar, in FULL REMISSION' status and has approved my slow tapering of all medication. I'm still working on the dosage lowering, however, and it will probably take all of 2014 to be done.
5. I kicked myself free of Ativan. That was insanely hard. You don't even want to know what that felt like.
6. I became a member of REI and have made the outdoors my free gym membership. I bought a book of 60 hikes within 60 miles of Chicago. Of course my husband will have to drive me to each destination, but I have carefully instilled a Nikki's Urban Hikes training program into my exercise regime.
7. As a result of number 6, my calves have grown even more Incredible Hulk-like.
8. I saw The Replacements at Riot Fest.
9. I started going out dancing late late late nights and early into the morning once a month.
10. I did all that, but I'm still not one step closer to figuring out the big mystery of my life.
Will 2014 be any different? Possibly, if I make it so. How? I dunno. But I'm going to try. First I need to make a pot of coffee and start this new day of this new year right.
Bonne Année, mes amis.
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