Fear.

One of the biggest hurdles to writing is my intense and immeasurable fear of being vulnerable.  This has always been something I've struggled with.  Although it's been a repeating theme for me, it's only lately that I've noticed these fears have begun manifesting themselves in my life and my relationships.

I've built so many walls around myself as a measure of protection, that when I share a deeply personal piece of myself with someone---when I take off my armor and show off all of my soft spots--I immediately feel cornered.  I feel trapped.  I become hyper-aware of just how thin my skin is, how susceptible I am to any sort of attack.

And so I get scared.  I get protective.  I get defensive.  I get angry.

As a result, I find myself in a place of self preservation when I should be reveling in an intimate moment.  Instead of enjoying my husband's love and touch, I'm dissociating from the present, trying to think about anything but the fact that I'm unguarded.  Instead of basking in the glow of his adoration and existing in the moment, I'm lost.

In my mind, vulnerability and strength are mutually exclusive.

This causes a lot of friction in my life right now because I'm at such a fucked up, tender point of being.  I'm still reeling from the loss of my friend, from finding my grandmother's body, from seeing my MIL pass.....  I may be able to cope with these feelings and images some days, but I still have nightmares.  I still get sad. I'm more scared of the dark than I ever have been, because now I know exactly how terrifying it can be and what might be lingering there.  And I hate it, almost as much as I hate feeling weak because of it.

I made the conscious decision to sort through this madness--these feelings, these experiences.  To think about them, to meditate on them, to sort them out.  When I began this emotional cleaning process, I took it for granted that I would only be dealing with the issues that I wanted to work through, but soon realized that there is an ocean of repressed thoughts and feelings inside of me, spanning several years.  I realized that dealing with one pretty much meant dealing with all, and it's been a horrifying experience.

I'd much rather cherry-pick the wounds I heal and the wounds I ignore.  I'd much rather not think about why I did the things that I did, about how past relationships and abuse and abusers have shaped me and my life....but that's not an option.  Not if I want to come out on the other side of this a whole person, anyway.

Because that's what it's about, I think.  It's about becoming a whole person for possibly the first time in my life.  It's about realizing that not only do I have the tools, I am the tools.

All this time I really thought I was protecting myself from the world, from other people, from outside influence causing me pain, but I've really been trying to protect myself from my own experience.  The things that scare me the most are all things that have happened to me and if I can use that experience to grow and learn--if I can examine it and reflect on it--then maybe one day there won't be anything to be afraid of.

cursing the waters

I've been very quiet lately because I am in the midst of a tumultuous sea of emotions, and it's something that I'm feeling incredibly self conscious of.  See, for the majority of my life, I've reacted inwardly.  Typically, when something happens that makes me feel anxious or sad or scared or unhappy, I collapse into myself like a dying star.  I write, I examine, I hide.  Basically, I change the batteries on my confidence and move on.  I never used to be angry.....not that I remember, anyway,

Recently, I've been a volatile mess.  There's this unfamiliar and overwhelming anger that bubbles up inside of me for the most random and ridiculous reasons.  When I say it "bubbles up", I mean it quite literally.  It's a physical sensation unlike anything I've experienced.

I have no idea what it means or where it's coming from either.  I feel a lot of shame and guilt about these feelings, especially about my inability to identify the cause or process them in a way that is healthy.

I don't know where to start.  I'm just so ashamed and disgusted and annoyed and disappointed in myself for feeling these things.  For being this thing.  I hate it,

I am standing on the bow of a ship, screaming at the ocean and there's just no point to it.

Learning to be enough.

Have you ever gotten a compliment and had no idea how to take it?  It seems odd and a little ungrateful to just accept it, to say "Thank you" and move on, but it seems just as bad to deny it--to be bashful and coy.  It seems like the worst you can do is just agree.  If you're going to go that route, you may as well just start calling yourself Narcissus, find a nice little bit of standing water to stare into  and just commit. Whenever I receive a compliment, I get all wide-eyed and panicky, desperately searching the person sending it for something that I like about them, something to return the aesthetic appreciation they showed me.  I realize that this may come off as insincere, but it's the only way I really know of to accept a compliment.

This anecdote, now that I think about it, is surprisingly representative of why I have trouble talking to people and making friends.

See, it's not just compliments that I don't know how to deal with.  Generally speaking, I have a really difficult time with smart, nice, interesting and funny people.  I freeze up and get awkward; I fumble over words because my brain is moving at a thousand miles an hour trying to figure out something worthwhile or witty to say.  I start asking stupid questions like, "So, are you the type of person who eats breakfast?"  Basically, the minute I realize that I'm talking to an awesome person, everything goes tits up.

It's probably something that's rooted in low self-esteem, at least that's where I'd put my money if life was like a roulette board.  The thing is, I don't like myself very much. Don't get me wrong, I can see that I have good qualities--I am a good cook, a fantastic baker, I can be funny sometimes, I know a little bit about a couple things and I can type really fast--but I'm also incredibly hard on myself.  I mean, nobody can see my flaws as obviously as I see them!  I know that I can be flaky and irrational, moody and lazy.  I know that I often make excuses rather than taking action; I know that I'm not the best that I can be.  Because of that, because I'm so in touch with some of the darker, less pleasant sides of myself, I just assume that everyone else is probably MORE in touch with and put off by these traits as I am.

I am blessed in life to have some truly remarkable friends.  I know that everyone has a bit of a superiority complex about the people they love, but trust me, my friends are incredible.  They are insightful and strong and smart and funny, generally speaking, some of the most intimidating people in the entire world.  Sometimes I can't bring myself to follow through on plans with them because I just feel so unworthy of their presence.  Sometimes I don't text back or don't show up to a party simply because in my ridiculously skewed through process, I'm doing them a favor.  I'm saving them the hassle of dealing with me.

You're probably thinking, "That's just plain backwards!"  And, you're right.  Also, logically, I know this.  I know that my friends love me and think I'm great, but I'm always wondering how long they will think that.  I'm always wondering, "Is this going to be the day when they stop?"  And I'm always bracing for it.

This fear of abandonment--this feeling that I'm unworthy of love or friendship--has cost me dearly.  I've lost great friends and I've missed out on potential friendships.  I push people away before they can leave me...  And while I think that I'm protecting myself, I still end up alone...

The thing I'm most afraid of still appears.

Throughout my life, most of the people I've been surrounded by told me that I was worthless.  They told me that I wasn't special, that I was ugly, that I couldn't do this and that I couldn't be that, and at some point I started believing it.  Then I started preaching it.  I became the leader in the anti-me movement and for a long time, I thought I was being empowering.  I thought that by saying all of the horrible things about myself that other people said, they would stop talking.  Then I grew up.

The people who pushed me down and made me feel awful about myself didn't care anymore (thank God).  They had lives to lead and shit to do and suddenly, it was just me against myself--locked in the stupidest, most imbecilic battle to have ever been waged.  And the longer it continues, the more people get hurt.

So now that I'm able to identify the problem--able to point to it and say, "That right there!  That's what's mucking everything up!", what's the next step?  How do you build confidence?  How do you realize that you're worthy of love?  How do you accept that you are enough?

I really have no idea, to be honest, but I'm playing around with a few different things.  Meditating has proved to be helpful, though I still can't shut my ego up all the way and worry that I'm doing something wrong.  It helps because it's quiet, because it's an escape into myself.  Also, it's one of the only times I am truly able to be gentle with myself.  When I'm repeating my mantra or singing or whispering a prayer, it's all kindness.  It's all light and love and positivity.

Because of the way I was treated for so long--because of the abuse I endured both with intimate partners and with friends, acquaintances and peers--I try to treat everyone I come across with kindness.  I always try to be reverent to the fact that everyone is struggling, that the intrinsic worth and value and fragility of everyone should be recognized, but I cannot seem to extend it to myself.  In fact, I would never speak to another person the way I speak to myself.  It's actually hard for me to even think about looking someone in the eyes and saying some of the things that I say to/about myself.  I don't understand that.

I read a quote once that really inspired me, it went something like, "You, as much as anyone in the universe, deserve your love and affection."  I think it's true, and  I want it to be my truth.  I'm just not sure how to get there yet.

Thankful Thursday: Music Festivals

I've been thinking a lot about the things that I'm thankful for, and there are so many obvious things that I actually struggled with narrowing it down a bit.  So today I'm giving thanks for music festivals and the wonderful ripple effect they had on my life.

My first music festival was just a few miles outside of the town I went to school in and it was being thrown by a fantastic guy who helped coach our individual speech teams in high school, Hippie Bill.  I believe it was the first year that events were being held at Hidden Acres Music Farm, and it was the last event of the year: Fall Frolic Festival.  At that time in life, I was fresh out the mental hospital and pretty fragile.  I was still depressed, unsure what to do with my life, unsure who I wanted to be or how I would ever be happy (you know, typical 19 year old stuff!)  I saw a posting on Facebook about a contest for free tickets to the festival, so I entered and won 2 "VIP passes". 

I gave one ticket to a friend, bought one ticket for a friend, and then loaded up a tent and a bag of chips and a bottle of water and got in the car, having absolutely no idea what to expect.

When I got to Hidden Acres, I experienced a huge deal of culture shock.  There were women running around in tutus with wings and bells on, shirtless men with long hair, beards, tie dye and face paint.  There were children handing out flowers and giving people hugs.  Each time we passed a stranger, we were greeted with hugs and smiles, with "welcome homes" and "have fun's".  An entire flock of people put up our tent and then pranced off into the cornfields.  For someone who grew up in a small community, being universally hated and mistreated, sticking out like a sore thumb, it was wild.

I remember wandering around the grounds over and over.  I walked past the stages and the food/jewelry/clothing vendors.  I didn't care about the music or the entertainment, I just wanted to see more of these people---my people.  I remember thinking, "Oh my god, my fellow freaks!!  Where have you been my whole life?!"

Eventually, I kind of settled into the experience.  Being that I have always been anxious and socially awkward, I didn't go out of my way to make friends or even talk to people, really.  I had a few conversations throughout the night, but mostly I just wandered around in awe, trying to take everything in.  I ventured through fairy and pirate themed camps, sitting down when I found a fire surrounded by other quiet contemplatives.  

It was the first time I'd ever experienced a sense of belonging.  I'd never, ever felt like I'd had a place or a tribe before, but as I looked around at all the free-spirits, freaks, hippies, gypsies and flower children, it occurred to me that THIS was exactly what I had been searching for.  

I remember trying to go to sleep that first night.  My friends and I laid in the tent giggling hysterically for hours.  We developed a closeness and bond that I don't think we would have been able to discover otherwise; it was just kind of understood that it was where we all belonged.

After that I was hooked.  I became a regular at Hidden Acres, volunteering every chance I could.  I still felt a bit out of my element, but I knew with absolute certainty that I belonged there.  

More of my friends started trekking out to the festivals and suddenly we had transformed from a group of friends to a family.  Instead of hanging out and watching a movie, we were building fires together, cooking together, going on road trips, dancing and playing together.  We were gathering in this beautiful place with beautiful people, finally realizing that without judgment we could be whoever we wanted.  We were opening our minds, learning about new religions and philosophies and ways to identify ourselves.  We got to learn about each other and ourselves in the safest, freest place I've found (in the Midwest, that is.  Perspective, people.)  

Even now, though it's been almost 2 years since I last went to a festival, I see the lasting effects of this lifestyle all around me: it's in the music I listen to, the books I read, the art that I enjoy, the people I relate to, the friends that I have, the activities I enjoy.  In fact, I owe Hidden Acres a huge debt of gratitude because that's where my husband proposed to me--it was a safe place for us to be open and vulnerable with each other when our relationship was still new and unsure.  Had things turned out differently, we would have been married there....

But that's a story for a different day.

I have so much love in my heart for those immortal summers at Hidden Acres, and I owe so much of who I am to the path I started down at Fall Frolic 2008.  If there was a time in my life I could go back to, that would be it.....

I'm so glad I got the chance to experience it.

My First Love (Pt 1)

My love affair with alcohol started well before I was close to the legal drinking age.

When I was fifteen, I entered into my first serious relationship.  Like most romantic attachments formed as a teenager, it was an intense courtship and I was very much in love.  The object of my affection was 2 years older than me and was the kind of individual who garnered a great deal of respect in the Theater/Performing Arts department of our tiny school.  

Dating someone so out of my league gave me a small amount of confidence in myself, but all of my self worth was hinged on that relationship.  There were several reasons that the relationship was unhealthy, but it essentially boiled down to his need for power and control.  At the time, I was so happy to be getting attention from anyone that I was unable to see the level of abuse that I endured.  It was almost never physical (as if that somehow makes it better), but he wormed his way so far into my brain that I was, essentially, a slave for his love.

As I've stated before, I was universally hated and mistreated in school.  Because of this, he felt a great deal of shame in dating me and for the first several months of our relationship, we hid it from almost everyone.  I knew what was going on, and had, in fact, agreed to hide our affair.  When he asked me to be his girlfriend, he actually laid that out as a condition.  "We don't parade this," he said.  "We don't need anybody to know what's going on."  

Looking back, I see just how desperate I was for...anything, really.

It's not hard to wrap one's mind around that relationship dissolving, but it wasn't something that happened quickly.  In fact, it was almost 2 years before things ended.  Being older than me, he had moved almost 3 hours away and had begun college.  I somehow managed to grow more and more insecure about our relationship which lead me to do tell him all kinds of insane tall-tales in attempt to win his attention/affection.  That ended up backfiring on me (thankfully), and when he came home to visit several friends, he dumped me.  I had become too much drama to handle and the distance prevented him from being able to control and manipulate me in a way that was entertaining.  

Needless to say, I was devastated.  This boy was the first person I'd encountered who had made me feel like I might be worth something.  I didn't understand the sickness of the relationship or how miserable it was.  I didn't see the level of control or manipulation, and I didn't care about the abuse (as long as enduring it meant he would keep loving me).  All I saw was that the person I loved had decided that he didn't love me anymore.  And I fucking lost it.

For a while, I laid in bed and cried.  I listened to sad music, watched cheesy romance movies and did all the stereotypical, halfway normal things you do when you're 17 and mourning a relationship.

Then, one day, a friend of mine invited me out.  He said I had to get out of bed and move on with my life.  So, I did.  

I'd drank before, although not often and not much.  If anything, I'd put on a bit of a buzz, but it's safe to say that until that night, I'd only been drunk maybe once.  

When I arrived at the party, I remember feeling really out of place and awkward.  There were a few girls my age there.  I knew a couple of them, but they were saddled up close to a couple men that I didn't know, so I pretty much went straight for the booze.  

I remember that it was cheap vodka, and I liked the way that it burned.  I drank straight from the bottle, dancing, losing my inhibitions, talking to men much, much older than me.....  and then things got foggy.  From then on it's only images---still frames.  I remember crying to one of the older men about how my boyfriend had dumped me.  I remember him holding my hand and taking me somewhere.  I remember vomiting all over a strange bathroom and waking up in clothes that weren't mine.

I know what happened that night, but I have no memory of it.  I don't think I want to, honestly.

After that, I was a goner.  I'd discovered a magical elixir that made all of my problems magically disappear.  In addition to taking away my feelings, I also found a way to lubricate social situations and ease my anxiety.  I found a way to make myself "fun".  After an adolescence spent listening my friends complain that I only ever wanted to talk about feelings, I'd discovered the secret to being life of the party!

And that's where it began for me, that's how I found my first real love.

If you're not happy, change your life.

I've struggled with depression for as long as I can remember.  Attending a small school in a small town didn't help as I was a bit of a pariah...  I'm sure there were loads of things I could have done to make my life easier, but I never bothered thinking about it.  See, my biggest preoccupation in those days was getting through the day.  The entire population of my high school was around 250, and I had--on a good day--probably 3 friends.  I was so monstrously unpopular that when kids brushed by me in the hallway, they would recoil as if I was infected with some sort of loser-flu.  If contact was made they would theatrically jump away in horror and repulsion.

Imagine for a moment: you're young, you're insecure with yourself, and at a really pivotal point of self-development and the only reaction you illicit from your peers is disgust.  It's the kind of thing that sticks with you, ya know?  It's the kind of thing that, even after a decade, makes it hard to look in the mirror.

I don't think I have to say too much more for you to get the point that, upon graduating, I was kind of an emotionally insecure wreck.  I had no self-esteem to speak of, and felt as though that would never change, so shortly after graduating high school and moving out of state to attend college, I tried to kill myself.

I was hospitalized in a state funded in-patient facility for ten days.  As dark as things were at that point, I maintain that those were ten of the best days of my life.

Recovery wasn't instant, but my experience being hospitalized taught me one incredibly pivotal thing:  if you aren't happy with your life, it is yours to change.  From then on, I took a very active role in my mental health and emotional well-being.  I took complete responsibility for my happiness and was able to keep that momentum going for a long time....

Until just short of six months ago, actually, when life threw me a series of curveballs that have left me reeling.

August 19th, 2014, one of the best friends I've ever had passed away.  He was an Airborne Army MP with a future brighter than the sun.  He was also one of the greatest humans I've ever known.  He visited me in the mental hospital shortly after I tried to kill myself and he gave me a piece of advice that changed the way I thought about the world.  He said, "You're going to die.  That's the one and only thing that you are guaranteed in life.  It's the one certain.  Yeah, you could kill yourself...  You could take that one thing that you know is coming right now.  Or you could go fucking live.  You can go out and do all of those things that AREN'T guaranteed.  Fall in love, get married, start a family, go to college, run a marathon, write a book....  Whatever.  Death is always going to be there, so go chase the things that aren't promised."  We fell out of touch when he joined the military, but I always remembered those words--that talk.  I always assumed that we would find each other again---that our friendship would be rekindled and we'd pick up where we left off.  I shouldn't have taken that for granted....  He was 26 years old.

Four days later, on August 23rd, 2014, I received a call from my aunt and uncle asking me to check on my grandmother--who they'd left by herself while they went on a day-trip.  When I arrived at their home, I discovered that she had passed away.  It didn't seem real at first.  I thought that if I pulled on her hands or shook her arms enough that she might wake up, but she didn't.  I was alone in the dark with her body for what felt like several minutes before I was about to think straight again...  When clarity set in, I dashed to my parent's home and called for help. She was 81 years old.

As traumatic as it was to find a body, it wasn't the end of the saga. In late September, my husband and I received a call from his step-father.  We were told that his mother was in a medically induced coma and on life-support.  We were able to make the trip to Michigan to visit, but when we got there, the prognosis was grim.  So, on October 5th, 2014, my husband, his step-father and I, all gathered in her hospital room and held her hand while they took her breathing tube out.  We watched her struggle to free herself from her mortal bonds for over an hour before taking her last breath.  She was 54 years old.

In the wake of these tragedies, I find myself once again in the recesses of depression and grief and trauma, only this time the answers seem to illude me.  I'm not sure of how to take responsibility of my happiness in this case.....  I don't know what changes to make in order to find happiness once again.

I guess, in a round-about way, this leads me to the point of this whole blog: Finding happiness, finding self-acceptance, learning how to become a whole person again, healing from trauma, learning to laugh, learning to open myself up, learning to take life less seriously because, when you've looked death in the face, you realize how little anything truly matters.

I apologize for the heaviness of this post, but know that things will get lighter because that's the whole purpose of what I'm doing here.  This blog is about my journey back to myself and, hopefully, how to help yourself stand up straight again.