Unexpected Places

Where I am right now is about the last place I ever expected to be this year, as 2015 turns into 2016. I'm sitting on the couch of a newly reconnected with former best friend, who is younger than I am, as I babysit her 4 year old son, to earn some much needed extra money. In my 21 years of babysitting, I have never babysat for anyone younger than me, nor did I ever expect to be the paid sitter for someone who was my best friend for 7 years, waaaay back in the day. It's weird. But then again, so is everything about my life right now.

And so I sit, pondering the significance of this year becoming last year, and next year becoming this year. 2015 began better for me than any previous year ever had, and the first six months were absolutely amazing. For the first time in my life, I was actually looking forward to the year ahead, as 2014 turned to 2015. But the last half of 2015 (exactly- beginning on July 1st), turned out to be the worst hell I have ever had to survive in my life. It has been, to say the least, a year of extremes. I have been both the happiest I have ever been in my life, and the most upset, heartbroken, angry, and depressed, I have ever been in my life. Things are better than they were, but I'd be lying if I said I haven't spent the day fighting back tears. This has probably been the hardest day for me in the last week.

So I sit here, in a place I never in my life expected to be, and wonder about 2016. I don't know much, but one thing I do know is that 2016 is definitely going to be different. New apartment, new state, new job in a new field, new people, new things, and a lot of letting go. Is this where I would have chosen to be? No. Absolutely not. This isn't how I wanted the year to end. Not by a long shot. But I took what I was given, and I did the best with it that I could, given my circumstances, and I moved here. This isn't even how I wanted tonight to go, after I moved here. I had planned to spend the evening and weekend with a friend, who was hoping on coming up. I'm sure we would have done something amazing. But he wound up not being able to make it. So instead of sitting home alone- which would not have been good at all- I chose to help out an old friend and make some much needed money. And hey, I got some pretty good babysitting quotes for Facebook, too.

Funny, pretty much nothing about the last year and a half has been expected. My car accident last fall. Meeting him. Falling in love with him. Not getting into the Ph.D. program at Carnegie-Mellon. Him breaking up with me. Certain other things that followed. Moving to Denver. Going airborne in a moving truck. Not going home for Christmas, being here for New Year's Eve. I honestly don't know what to expect in the coming year, either. It will be interesting to see where I am at this time next year. I hope beyond all hope that I'm in a better place in life. I'm definitely doing everything within my power to make that happen.

2016 will kick off with something brand new, that I have never done before. And yeah, it's an extremely Dauntless thing to do. But I'm going to wait to post about that until tomorrow evening. Then on Monday, I go sign papers and work out details and a schedule for my new job. We'll see how that all goes. Just my first week is going to take a lot of being brave. But I'm going to do it. And you know what? I think maybe, just maybe, this might turn out to be a good year, after all. 

Let It Go

I'm writing this in the wee hours of the morning, on December 31st, 2015. For me, it's really still Wednesday. This morning began with me driving my parents to the airport so they could go home to Cincinnati. I was still really tired, so when I got home, I took a nap. I woke up in a bit of a mood. But I got up and started my day, chatting with a couple friends, and realizing I was ready to post my last blog entry. I guess I was more ready than I thought, because it wasn't until about 30 minutes ago, after it was already the 31st, that "today" had been the 30th. This is the first time in over a year that I didn't wake up on the 30th of the month, extremely aware of the date. The 30th was my anniversary date. Yeah, I'm still sad. Yeah, I still have a long ways to go. But I cannot begin to explain what a huge deal it is that it didn't even occur to me that it was the 30th. Or rather, that the date held any significance. Not even a week ago when I made my parents' flight reservations for the 30th. It just didn't even enter my mind until it was already over. And then when it did, I was more surprised that I hadn't realized it than anything else.

I had already decided that I was going to adopt a phrase for this next year. Given all that happened in 2015, and all the other traumas in my life, I had decided the best phrase I could possibly adopt, was "let it go." After all, that's why I moved all the way to Denver. That's why I'm starting a totally new career and a totally new life. No, I didn't choose it because of the song from Frozen, not that it would be any less awesome if I had. But if I want to move on, if I want to have a shot at being actually happy, and being open to the things to come, I have to let go of the past. Clearly, I'm already further down that road than I thought. And, to risk stating the obvious, that's a good thing.

Obviously, it's not as easy as just letting it go. It's a process. And we can't change the past. And we can't entirely remove scars. I can't just let go and get rid of my PTSD. But while I may not be able to completely undo it- I can quit hanging onto it for dear life. It takes work. It takes some doing. It takes some time. But I do have a lot of power. I can move forward. I may be scarred and battered, but I don't have to be a slave to my past.

Along with my many medical quirks, one is that my body creates more scar tissue than the vast majority of human beings. Sometimes that's an actual problem, but usually, it just means that my scars are much more noticeable than they otherwise would be. I've had a lot of surgeries. My doctors have always suggested I use various creams to reduce the size and appearance of my scars. But I always refused. Not because I want to draw attention to my scars. Not because I want people to see them and feel sorry for me. Not because I don't care. To be honest, some of my scars- especially the ones on my shoulder- aren't very attractive. But I want them to serve as reminders. When I look in the mirror, or I look at my hand, or my knees, I see my scars. They're not reminders of all the things wrong with me. They're reminders of everything I've overcome. All of these scars are reminders of the fact that I was in severe physical pain. They're reminders of the months I spent in therapy recovering. They're reminders that I was strong enough to seek and accept help to get better. And most of all, they remind me of the fact that what was broken beyond use is now again useful. Maybe (read definitely) not perfect, but useful. Improved. Better. If I just had more struggles than most physically, I probably wouldn't have been so set on keeping the scars. But because I've had more emotional traumas and struggles than physical, I decided to keep them as visible reminders of everything I've had to overcome.

The key to all of this is remembering that my scars are not symbols of my weakness to hold me back, or to cling to. I shouldn't used them as excuses to not use my hand or my shoulder, or my knees. They're reminders of my strength. They're reminders that I let go of my difficulties there in order to move on and live a new, and healthier life. They're reminders of my strength. And let me tell you, letting go requires a hell of a lot of strength. 

My Someone

I wrote this last night, not planning on posting it. I didn't feel like I was ready to do that. But I guess now, I do. I had planned on posting it in a few months. But for whatever reason, I feel like it's time now. I wrote it after watching The Music Man with my parents last night.

I remember the first (and only other) time I watched The Music Man. It was the same version as this, and I watched it on YouTube while sitting in my apartment while a student at Ouachita Baptist University. It must have been around 2007 or 2008. I hadn't been allowed to watch it as a kid, even though my mother loved it. I think it was something about the con man stuff and "The Sadder, But Wiser Girl." I remember being struck by hearing Kristin Chenoweth sing "Goodnight, My Someone," and how beautiful and perfect it was. I had never heard the song before, and it absolutely mesmerized me. I may or may not have played it on repeat a scandalous number of times for a while. But the words, as well as the melody captivated me, as a perpetually single mid-twenty-something who still dreamed of someone, someday:

Goodnight, my someone,
Goodnight, my love,
Sleep tight, my someone, 
Sleep tight, my love,
Our star is shining it's brightest light
For goodnight, my love, for goodnight.
Sweet dreams be yours, dear,
If dreams there be
Sweet dreams to carry you close to me.
I wish they may and I wish they might
Now goodnight, my someone, goodnight
True love can be whispered from heart to heart
When lovers are parted they say
But I must depend on a wish and a star
As long as my heart doesn't know who you are.
Sweet dreams be yours dear,
If dreams there be
Sweet dreams to carry you close to me.
I wish they may and I wish they might
Now goodnight, my someone, goodnight.

I thought the song would bring me more pain than it did, because after waiting for so long, I had thought I finally found my Someone. And it was certainly not by my own choice that he decided not to be. I'm still struggling with it. Part of it, I think, is that when I said I was sure, that he was it for me, that I wanted no one else, and never would, that it was him- and him alone- forever, I meant it. I didn't mean until I changed my mind. I didn't mean until things got hard. I meant forever. And I knew that wasn't going to change for me. And I trusted him when he said he wasn't going to change his mind either. Even after nearly six months and a lot of gut wrenching revelations about how things went down at the end, and after being truly in "the depths of despair," and quite literally in "the valley of the shadow of death," I have a hard time knowing how to change that. It's not that I think he's perfect. But I do know how great we were together. And I do know that nearly everyone saw it. He was good for me in a lot of ways, and I was good for him. In all honesty, I couldn't have been more committed to him if we had been married. I guess I don't know how to undo that. I don't know how to just move on. I don't know how to just let go of a love and commitment I held so strongly. I think it might be easier for me to let go of that if a guy came along who gave me the hope of experiencing that again with someone, but I'm finding it extremely difficult to just undo that. Take it back, and not put it anywhere else. It's hard for me to imagine a someone else (possibly partly because it took 31 years for this one to come along). And yet, tonight I surprisingly found myself open to the possibility of another Someone, someday. Though ironically, thinking and writing about it right now makes me sob my eyes out, while trying to stay silent so as not to wake my parents before they fly out in the morning. 

The movie went on, to "My White Knight," where Marian is talking to her mother about her ideal man. Unlike a lot of songs in musicals about a person's ideal love interest, this one is actually really spot on and pretty realistic:

My white knight, not a Lancelot, nor an angel with wings

Just someone to love me, who is not ashamed of a few nice things. 

My white knight who knew what my heart would say if it only knew how. 

Please, dear Venus, show me now. 

All I want is a plain man 

All I want is a modest man 

A quiet man, a gentle man 

A straightforward and honest man 

To sit with me in a cottage somewhere in the state of Iowa. 

And I would like him to be more interested in me than he is in himself. 

And more interested in us than in me. 

And if occasionally he'd ponder

what make Shakespeare and Beethoven great, 

Him I could love till I die. Him I could love till I die. 

My white knight, not a Lancelot, nor an angel with wings. 

Just someone to love me, who is not ashamed of a few nice things. 

My white knight, let me walk with him where others ride by 

Walk and love him till I die, till I die. 

The thing is...this was him, exactly. Minus the Iowa thing. But he turned out not to be. Well, almost. Obviously, it didn't turn out that way. I guess in the end he wound up a bit more freaked out by the "us" than had been anticipated. Still, listening to this, I felt less sadness than I had expected. More hope. Or maybe "hope" is too strong a word. I guess at least the idea that maybe there is someone out there for me who embodies this perfectly (again, minus the Iowa part). It's not a song with unrealistic expectations by any means. Just maybe, he's out there. 

Of course, no big musical like this would be complete without some big love song between the two main characters. In this case, it's "Till There Was You." As I was listening to the lyrics, I was expecting it to be painful, but again, it wasn't so bad. 

There were bells on a hill

But I never heard them ringing

No, I never heard them at all

Till there was you

There were birds in the sky

But I never saw them winging

No, I never saw them at all

Till there was you

Then there was music and wonderful roses

They tell me in sweet fragrant meadows

Of dawn and dew

There was love all around

But I never heard it singing

No, I never heard it at all

Till there was you

Then there was music and wonderful roses

They tell me in sweet fragrant meadows

Of dawn and dew

There was love all around

But I never heard it singing

No, I never heard it at all

Till there was you

Till there was you

Yeah, I definitely understood the song. While of course it's somewhat hyperbolized, there were a lot of things about life that just weren't as great until he came along. And then things were so. much. better. But instead of feeling overwhelming sadness, I guess I was mostly just hoping I would feel that again. Yeah, as I write this, my feelings are definitely more mixed, and I feel that familiar mix of heart-wrenching pain, loss, and anger. But the fact that I could even get through a movie like that without losing it, and in fact, feeling the slightest twinges of hope, speaks volumes. I'm nowhere near far enough along to be ready to post this yet. I'm just not...there yet. I'm not even sure where "there" is, but I know it's not where I am. Yeah, I make so much sense. I know. It's a gift. But I'm writing this anyway, because I know at some point, I'll be ready to post it. And it's good to get small victories like this down on paper (stop it, you KNOW WHAT I MEAN) before they fade into oblivion. That way, I can come back and remember. Kind of like the ancient Israelites and their ebeneezers. They built them to remember what God had done. So they couldn't look back with the revisionist glasses we as human beings are so prone to wear and say God hadn't ever done anything for them. Well this is my "ebeneezer," of sorts. It's my draft, to go back and post later, and see...oh, maybe there was a little, tiny glimmer of light back there in the darkness. 

Obviously, I'm posting this before I thought I would, but my points still stand. Maybe it was the writing it that helped, maybe it was something else. I don't know. But here I am, and here it is. Raw, open, honest. I just hope I can continue on in this. I don't feel great, but I do feel better.

On Learning and Growing

This year has been one filled with learning and growing. The first half of the year was spent learning how to be in a committed relationship after 31 years by myself. And let me tell you, that's quite a thing to learn. I did learn a lot in that, and I did grow. It took a lot of courage, but regardless of how it turned out, I did it. Yeah, I kinda wish the whole thing had never happened, but I did grow. Whether or not it was worth it, remains to be seen. Right now, that answer is a resounding "no." But I'm leaving myself open to the possibility that maybe, it will have been worth it in the long run.

After that, it was really more surviving than learning and growing. But that counts. Through all of that, I learned that I could still survive something that was worse than anything else I had ever experienced. I did do some growing too, even in the midst of the surviving. I have had only one panic attack between June 26th and now, and that was August 27th. No panic attacks in four months, and only one in the last six? That's unheard of for me, between my Autism and PTSD and Anxiety disorder. And it's taken a heck of a lot of work. I also learned that I have a support network that is rare. I have so many people who have been rooting for me and encouraging me. Some I have known my whole life, like Melissa, Anne, and Angela, some who are old friends, like Amanda, Christi, and Brittany, some who are newer, like Rowena, Grace, and Chilan, and some, I haven't even met in person yet, like Kristen, Kelly, and Katie. 

I also learned how to find a job outside my field, how to hunt for, look at, reserve, and sign leases for an apartment. I learned how to reserve a U-Haul, how to move into a new place and settle in, with limited money and health- and some fairly severe new injuries, too. I also learned how to interview for a job just hours after a fairly serious accident, without letting on how much pain I was in. That was fun. In the most sarcastic sense of the word. I'm learning how to get around in the Denver area, and am able to go more and more places without directions. I'm learning about what things there are to do here, and where different neighborhoods are. I'm also learning I may want to move to a different area after my lease is up (this one is nice, it's just not around a lot of people and things). I have learned that contacts are best here, because the sun is so dang bright most of the time. Happily, I learned that I could get an awesome printer (wireless with multi-page feeding capacity AND double sided printing- I'm still geeking out over that) for an affordable price, AND set it up to talk to my computer. 

There's more that I have learned, but it would take too long to detail it all. But I think the most important thing is to learn and grow from our experiences. It can be painful as hell. And it can be effing scary. But at the end of the day, it's the learning and the growing that makes us into people worth being. It's the learning and the growing that gives us the hope that maybe, just maybe, things will get better. It's the learning and the growing that tells us how to proceed and where to go. I have no idea what this next year holds for me. But I guess that doesn't much matter, as long as I'm willing to continue learning and growing from the things that come my way. Because that's what matters most. 

Musings On the Idea of Home

My parents arrived from Cincinnati this morning. They're here to see me for a few days, because I couldn't make it home for Christmas. It's nice, being in a new place, showing them around, and running a few errands in somewhere that isn't Cape. But at the same time, it's a little frustrating. There's still so much work to do in my apartment and so much of the Denver area to learn, and I wonder how long it will take this place to feel like home to me. I keep thinking back to last December- it's impossible not to. I couldn't wait to get home to Cape. Home to him. In fact, being away from him made me feel like I was away from home because in a very short time, he had become my home. I even made that song my ring tone for him. I guess that's one reason this all has been so hard. I truly feel like I lost my home. Literally and figuratively. I actually liked Cape. I liked my apartment there. It all did feel like home before him. After  him, I just felt trapped in a nightmare. Cape became toxic to me. And I guess now, I don't really feel like I have an actual home. In some ways, Cincinnati will always be my home. But in many ways, I feel like I have outgrown it. So much has happened, and though I will always be a Cincinnati and Ohio girl, I know I don't really belong there anymore.

So now I'm here, in a strange place, in a new apartment, in a totally different part of the country. I'm terrified of my new job, and I don't have any idea what my life is going to look like here. I can't imagine it. I don't know who my new people will be. I've always been such a loner. I know I can't do that here, especially if I don't want to end up alone. I have to put myself out there. I have to get involved in things. I have to actually build a life. And you know what? That's scary as hell. I've never done that before. I barely even know where to start. I have always been such a planner- it goes with the territory of being an INTJ. Apparently, we tend to plan way further ahead than any other type. It's not that we think everything will happen a certain way, it's just that we like to have something to hold on to in our heads. A Plan A. And B, and C, and Z24. You think I'm joking. I'm not. But now? I got nothing. I start this new job the first Monday of the New Year. But what's that going to look like? No clue. What's my life going to look like this summer, or next year? No.freaking.idea. And that's terrifying. I have always been able to tell people where I planned on being for the next several years. But now I have to do what I really don't do well at all: just see what happens. Um. Can I maybe not?

And in the midst of all of this...I still have that feeling that I'm not home. That I haven't been home since July 1st. In all honesty, it's a very real feeling of homelessness. Something, I suppose, like the Israelites wandering in the desert for 40 years: leaving their old crappy homes behind and not really knowing when they were finally going to get to their new homes. How long will it be for me? What will it look like? I have no idea. And that's where I need to be the bravest; to truly live up to my Dauntless identity. I'm getting better, I really am. Do I still cry? Yes. Does it still hurt more than I can bear? Sometimes. Do I still wonder how the hell I wound up here? All the time. Do I still have to fight the urge to dwell on and over-think things? Absolutely. But it's getting less raw. The depression is more bearable. But dammit, it would be a lot easier if I could see more of a future. Even imagine one that may or may not happen. In fact, that's often been how I have gotten over so many of the traumas in my life- by looking to the future and what was to come. Now? I got nothing. No clue. For all I know, I could be two short steps from the edge of a cliff. It feels like I'm trudging through waist high mud, and can only see maybe half a step ahead. It takes a crazy amount of strength and courage to keep going through all of that. I now have to create a new home for myself, and I don't even know what that looks like anymore. I don't do well with change. I never have. And I have been facing a heck of a lot of change lately.

I guess all that's left for me to do is keep going. Keep trudging along and doing the best I can until I can figure out what "home" even means to me now. And until I can find that. I had never thought so much about what that word actually means before this. I hadn't ever really felt totally homeless, so I never really had the need. Now...I have no idea. So I guess I just see what happens. There's really not much else for me to do. I don't like operating like that, but I don't have a choice. Confusion drives INTJs absolutely batty, and there's still a heck of a lot of that going around in my head and my life. It's amazing I've gone so many months without a panic attack. My anxiety levels have certainly been through the roof. I'm guessing that "home," whatevertheheckitis, will just happen one day, when I'm not looking for it. I'll just suddenly realize I've found it again. So I guess until then, I forge ahead, see what happens, and learn to live with fewer plans and future ideas. And maybe, one day, I'll just realize, life feels better, and I can see a little further  ahead. I guess we'll find out.

When All Isn't Bright...Walk On

Christmas has been a huge challenge for me since 1993. That was the year my brother died. That was the year the Christmas trees stopped. I had always loved Christmas trees. The trip to pick one out, tying it to the roof of the car, setting it up at home, decorating it, and sitting in the soft glow of the lights, with the fresh evergreen scent it always carried with it. Something about the tree was always comforting. I have always been a huge Christmas person, and the thing that made it feel like Christmas, more than anything else, was the tree. Every year, I asked Mom for a tree after that, every year, she said no. Not only did I have to adjust to my brother no longer being there for Christmas, but I also had to deal with losing my favorite part of my favorite holiday. It may not seem like much to most people, but it was a huge deal for me.

After a few years, my family joined ATI, and Christmas changed even more. There was even talk of doing away with the gifts and decorations completely. For years, even after I got out, the Christmas season carried with it a lot of tension between me and my parents. And then came the first year after my sister and I had our falling out. And all the Christmases after. I still loved the season. As soon as I moved out, I got my own tree, and decorated it every year. I started listening to Christmas music Thanksgiving night when I went to bed. I started watching Christmas movies the next day. But without fail, Christmas Eve would come, and I would start feeling sadder and sadder. Getting out of bed on Christmas morning was sometimes literally more than I could bear. In many ways, while I loved the Christmas season, the actual holiday was sheer torture. I never felt more alone than on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, despite being surrounded by family and friends. The sense of loss was overwhelming. As was the mourning for that relationship I had wanted so badly for so many years, and still didn't have. And it got worse with every passing year, as more and more friends- including those years younger than myself- got married and had kids. And then there was me. Just me.

Then last year, out of the blue, he had pretty much fallen in my lap, less than a month before. We'd been dating for two weeks when I had to go home for Christmas, but we were both already planning on getting married. We just clicked. I wasn't thrilled to be away from him on Christmas, but for the first time since my brother had died, I didn't feel so utterly...alone. We were already making plans for this year's Christmas. He was talking about it as much as I was. For the first time in over 20 years, I finally enjoyed my favorite holiday. I had just earlier that year become okay with the idea of being single for the rest of my life. I was 31 and hadn't really dated before, and mostly not by choice. But suddenly, the future looked brighter than it ever had, and I couldn't wait to see what came next.

And then, as you all know by now, it very suddenly and very unexpectedly went very wrong. As the year progressed, the Christmas I had been looking forward to the most, suddenly looked much, much worse than any of the previous ones. By October, I had settled on moving to Denver in December. I had also decided to sell most of my Christmas decorations, and not decorate this year. I had decorated with him last year, on our first date (the first date that lasted seven hours), and the thought of decorating by myself this year was more than I could bear. I decided I'd pick it up again in December of 2016, when I'd be well over a year past the breakup, be at the end of my first year in Denver, hopefully with an entirely new life, and be decorating a new place, with (mostly) new decorations.

Thanksgiving came and went, and I didn't listen to my 80+ hours of Christmas music that I own. I didn't watch any Christmas movies. I planned to go home for Christmas, as always, but even that thought brought me pain. I was supposed to have him with me this year. And there had been talk of a possible engagement around this time as well. Instead, I would be going home, alone. To a household that is in more transition than I can really handle this year (that's a whole other story), to a place that didn't have my brother or sister. I think I have missed my brother more since July 1st than in the entire 22 years leading up to it. To put it in Dickensian terms, his loss is keenly felt. So much more this year than any other year.  Sometimes, a girl just needs her big brother. And boy, do I need mine now. I have also missed my sister more. Or, not so much my sister, as the relationship we never had.

Then my accident happened. I was still planning on going home, but I was going to take several days to drive, because of the pain in my back and kidneys. After being asked to do a second interview for the marketing internship on Tuesday, it just wasn't going to really work for me to spend several days driving to Cincinnati and back, and navigating an airport was going to be rough too. So I gave up the idea of going home, and instead, asked the Loflands if I could stay with them, as we have all grown quite close since November. Miraculously (well not really- they're some of the most amazing people who ever lived), they said yes. I was really sad not to go home. This is the first year in my entire life I have spent Christmas somewhere other than Cincinnati, and with people other than my family. But in other ways- surprising ways- it's been really good.

Today, I woke up in Wichita, and had breakfast with Jerusha, Christen, Missy, Ben, and Becky. The kids were happy to see me this morning, and I got tons of hugs and cuddles from Becky. I still had to get the rest of Becky's gift, so I headed off to Barnes and Noble this afternoon. I usually have all of my gifts wrapped and ready more than a week before Christmas. This year, I hadn't bought any until the 21st, so shopping and wrapping presents on Christmas Eve was a totally new thing. But it was good. Nothing about the day made me think it was actually Christmas Eve. I got back to the house with presents, wrapping paper, and tons of snacks that I knew the kids would love. After an awesome dinner, we went driving around the neighborhood to see the Christmas lights. The day had been so completely different for me, that I had entirely forgotten that I was missing Christmas Eve at Aunt Judy's with the family, until my cousin Anne texted me to tell me how much they missed me, and that they were all talking about how proud they are of me and everything I've done these last few months. Instead of being sad about what I was missing, I realized that being here in Wichita, with friends who survived the same cult, and whose kids are growing up with a freedom and lack of trauma that is entirely foreign to me, completely away from my family and reminders of how things were supposed to be, is probably the best thing for me.

I'll probably go back to Cincinnati for Christmas next year, and be back at Aunt Judy's for Christmas Eve, and my cousin Carol's on Christmas Day. I'll probably struggle again with my brother's absence and my sister's separation. I'll probably be sad again that I'm not a little kid with the Reynolds family at Aunt Debbie's house, sitting on Barbara's lap, or hugging Grandma, or getting my ears tickled by my cousin Tony.

But this year, that was probably more than I could bear. Even writing this was almost more painful than I could bear. I didn't expect it to be so incredibly raw. I expected to write a few thoughts, not sob my way through it. As unexpected as that was though, it's perfectly fitting for my title. Last year, all was bright. This year, it's really not. In fact, I have a hard enough time seeing through to January, let alone next December. It's dark. It's sad. It's hard. Fortunately, I'm far closer to calm than I have been for most of the last six months. I'm referencing, of course, "Silent Night." It was always one of my favorite Christmas carols, even after I stopped identifying as a Christian. I have always found it simultaneously cathartic and inspiring, with vivid, yet peaceful, imagery. All is calm, all is bright. That's how I always felt as a child, sitting in a dark living room, illuminated only by the soft lights on the Christmas tree. When the tree went away, so did part of that feeling.

This year, more than ever, things do not feel bright. Logically, I know things have to be better next year. It would be hard for them to be worse. Even with all the hell I have faced in my life, the last several months have been the hardest of my life. Dealing with this breakup (and a lot of other poorly timed misfortunes), has been the single hardest thing for me in my life. When you wait until you're 31 to get the thing you've wanted more than anything else, have it fall in your lap, be better than you ever dreamed possible, and then get it very quickly ripped away, it does something that other losses don't. It's hard to explain. Yes, dealing with this, has been harder than dealing with the death of my brother. This year, things are very, very dark. I'm not in the desperate place I have been in, and there is a very real level of calm for me (not to be confused with happiness or contentment) that hasn't been there for very long. But they're definitely not bright.

So what to do? To quote an old Rogers and Hammerstein song, I "walk on through the wind, walk on through the rain." It doesn't feel like "at the end of a storm is a golden sky and the sweet silver song of the lark." But I keep going. I often feel alone, but I'm not. I have so many people who support me and love me. Maybe not some of the people I want to support and love me, but I'm really not walking alone. The fact that I'm spending Christmas in Wichita with people I hadn't met in person until just over a month ago is proof of that. My dreams have been tossed and blown, and I really can't find hope in my heart. Things are so much further from bright this year than I thought possible at this time last year, but I'm going to keep walking on until the light returns. Each step takes me closer to the light. To paraphrase an ancient Chinese proverb, a journey of a thousand miles is comprised of millions of individual steps. And how do I get to the end of that thousand mile journey? I walk on.

New Home, New Life, New Year...New Job...

Today, I got a job. And I would be lying if I said I wasn't absolutely terrified. Because I am. Slightly less terrified than I was when I started my thesis, but only slightly. This job isn't in my field. Granted, it's kind of tangentially related to my field, but this job is in marketing. You know how much formal education I have in business? Exactly none. Now yes, the people who hired me know exactly how much training I have in business, and marketing. And they still hired me. And I was far from their only choice. So maybe they see something I don't? Here's hoping.

When I applied for the job, I emailed the owner saying that I have no experience in business or marketing, but I have spent the last 10 years in academia, studying and teaching social history. I told him that, as a social historian, I look at people groups and social movements. Basically, social history is sociology, in a historical context. I've been tearing apart marketing campaigns since my last semester in undergrad, when I was taking American Women's History, and noticed that (at least at that time), P&G had exactly zero commercials showing a man using a Swiffer. Not only was that sexist, it was bad marketing. Even though our society is more egalitarian now than ever before, we do still have certain ideas about gender roles when it comes to keeping the home. We also expect that a single guy's home will be dirtier than a single female's home. In general, women still do more of the housekeeping than the men do. So if a woman sees a man using a good cleaning product, like a Swiffer, she'll still take note and go buy it. But in general, if a man sees a woman using a cleaning product, he'll tune it out as a women's product. As a result, P&G was likely missing out on some sales, because of their marketing. Basically, in order to be successful in marketing, the people behind the marketing campaign need to understand the target demographic, and how they tick. They also then have to explain to the target demographic why they need this particular product or service. Understanding different people groups and how they tick, goes a long way towards creating a successful marketing campaign. Marketing is actually much the same thing as social history, just on a different track.

Another terrifying part of this, is the fact that the job is with a local dry cleaning chain. You know how much I know about dry cleaning? Almost nothing. Rounding down to "nothing," would be more accurate than rounding up to "almost something." And yet again, the people who hired me, know this.

This is where I really have to channel my inner Dauntless. I have to live up to my own nature. I have always been naturally brave. It took me until I was 30 years old to realize it, but I have always overcome things I "shouldn't" have. I have always pushed on. Even when I felt like I couldn't. Even when I didn't want to. Even when I didn't know how. Because that's what I do. I take what comes, and I go with it. Sometimes that's far more painful than others, but it's what I do. I had no idea how I would finish my Bachelor's degree, but I did. Yeah, the last semester I had more C's than anything, but hey. I graduated. And with a decent GPA. I didn't know how I would ever write a Master's thesis. But I did. And a damn good one. Mostly in about 7 weeks. I didn't know how I would survive the last several months, but I did. I might not be happy yet (and I may have very nearly died on the move here), but I'm definitely better than I have been. I'm still more surviving than thriving, but as I establish myself here, I'll get better. Getting a job- even one that terrifies me- is part of that.

I don't know how I'm going to do this job. I'm afraid I'm going to fall flat on my face. But I have to remind myself that I have not misrepresented myself, my abilities, or my background. The people who hired me know exactly where I've come from. They know exactly what my knowledge and experience is. And they're looking for someone to mentor. They're not expecting me to come right in and immediately perform like someone with an MBA and 10 years of marketing experience. They know I'm going to be doing a lot of on-the-job learning. And, if worst comes to worst, at least it's another thing on my resume, and a paycheck for a while. But hey, maybe I'll find that I'm really good at this, and I really like it. Maybe I'll find that I really like the people I work with. Maybe I'll find this is a great fit. Maybe it'll be great experience and will lead to something better. But I'm going to have to be truly Dauntless here. Get in there, learn, and see what I can do.

This is where I really want to cower in a corner and cry, "But what if I fail?" And I hear Taylor's question again in response, "But what if you don't?"

On Goodbyes and Farewells

Last week was a week of goodbyes. I said goodbye to Brody and Miles on Monday. I've been babysitting them on and off for about 3 years. They're (usually) pretty sweet boys. Brody knew I would be moving away eventually, and he was always worried I'd move without telling him goodbye, but I made sure not to do that. He's the only kid I ever babysat who constantly asked if he and his brother were behaving well enough. It cracked me up. Miles, talks a mile a minute. He's adorable, with his little glasses and speech impediment, but I'd be lying if I said there weren't times I sometimes wished he came with a mute button. The goodbyes were sad, but they were okay.

Tuesday, I said goodbye to Liz and Chloe, my friend Krissy's girls. Krissy and I have known each other since we were both kids in Cincinnati. They had lived in Cape for about 18 months by the time I moved there 5 years ago, when her girls were 2, 4, and 5. I loved those girls a ton. Liz and Chloe were always ready with a hug, while Phoebe always refused to hug me just because she could. She didn't dislike me. She was just stubborn. This past October, Phoebe suddenly died of a rare heart defect that is exceedingly hard to diagnose, and always results in a very short life. She was almost 7. My heart broke for that family, because I was about the same age as Liz and Chloe when my own brother died in 1993. I have lived through that hell, and now a family I know and love is there too. I'm not gonna lie- it didn't help my depression any, and Krissy and her mom, Denise, knew it. They knew how hard Phoebe's death was for me, and not just because I loved Phoebe, but because I know what that is like. And sometimes empathy can crush more  than the actual pain. And in this case, it did. Especially since I was already in a weakened state. But in any case, I said goodbye to the two girls, and to Krissy, and told them they could always call me if they ever needed to talk. I'm gonna miss those girls.

Wednesday was the day the goodbyes tore my heart out. I said goodbye to my boys. My boys. Sam and Nathan. They both cried and asked me not to go. They both hung on to me like little leeches who didn't want to let go. And I cried too. I held Sam on my lap and told him I'd loved him since he was 3 months old. That I spent hours at a time laying on the couch with him sleeping on my chest as I read. I also spent more Valentine's Days with him than I can remember. Though my dating life was non-existant, I could always count on having Sam as my Valentine's date. Then they moved away from Arkadelphia, and I was so sad. But I got him back a couple years later when I moved to Cape, and with him, his 1 year old brother Nathan. I got to rock Nathan to sleep, much as I had Sam, years before. Nathan would give me smiles and hugs that could melt even the coldest heart. He's always been a charmer. Problem is, he KNOWS it. But both of those boys- Sam with his harsh, judging look, and Nathan with his minion-like giggles- totally grabbed my heart. Whenever I saw them, they would run up to me, yelling "Miss Kathleen!" and give me huge hugs. Sure, they had their moments when they hated me, and I had my moments when I wanted to wring their necks, but I have always loved them so much, and they have always loved me. And saying goodbye to them like this broke my heart. I wasn't supposed to be leaving them behind because my life had become a nightmare, and I was leaving to get out of it. I was supposed to be leaving because I had gotten into a Ph.D. program, and was moving on to the next phase. I left their house, and I went home and sobbed.

Thursday, I said goodbye to my class. I taught the last lecture for I don't even know how long, and told them goodbye. Then I went to say goodbye to the amazing people in the history department. They have all been so good to me. So supportive, so helpful. They all wished me the best, and some told me they couldn't wait to see how I would succeed in Denver.

And now, I'm here. I'm in Denver, away from those people in Cape. The whole thing has been a very different kind of experience. I was honestly too depressed to look forward to anything, including leaving, and having to say goodbye under such awful circumstances was definitely not fun. But now, away from that place- that town that had become so incredibly toxic to me- I feel the closest thing to peace I have felt since the Duggar scandal broke in May. I feel like maybe, I can make it. Even here, I'm surrounded by friends and family. And though this is not how I would have chosen for things to go, and this is not where I would have chosen to be living right now, I know that I did the best thing I could have done, in leaving Cape behind, and moving to Denver.

I'm not thrilled with things right now, but I finally am able to believe that next year, at this time, things will be so much better. And that's what I'm holding onto right now, because saying goodbye to one thing, means saying hello to something else. And I hope that something else is better than I could have ever imagined. Time will tell.

It Begins

I'm long overdue for a new post. I've had a dozen in my head over the last couple weeks, and I'll likely go back and write them in the coming days and weeks, in between writing current posts and updates. Tonight, I'm already tucked into my warm bed, with my flannel sheets, in my new room, in my new apartment, in my new city, in my new state, in my new life. This is my fourth night here. So much has happened in the last few days, it feels like months. I suppose I'll start at the beginning. As I hear, it's the very best place to start.

I left Cape on Friday, December 11th, shortly before 5pm. My friend Ryan had come to help me with the move. Ryan and I have a special sort of bond that two people rarely share, and he's extremely protective of me. He's always looking out for me, he's always got my back. This was no exception. He was driving my 26' UHaul, with my car strapped to a trailer, overnight, all the way to Denver, so I could be there by noon Saturday for an interview. We talked on and off, and then, after a few hours, I started to fall asleep. I slept on and off for several hours, aware that we were making good time, and feeling very safe in Ryan's hands. I remember waking up in the middle of the night, adjusting my position, and going back to sleep.

I'm suddenly jolted awake, terrified, screaming, "RYAN!!!" at the top of my lungs, aware of him screaming my name, and putting his arm out in front of me, trying to protect me. All I know is that we are no longer on the road, and there is something huge right in front of us. We hit it, and suddenly, we are entirely airborne, and as I'm yelling, I'm thinking, "This is it. This is how we die." And there was nothing I could do about it. Not only that, but I didn't even really know what was going on. I had been asleep literally two seconds before. The truck hits the ground with a sickening and painful thud. I'm immediately aware of PAIN, and finding it very hard to breathe. For a second, I actually think my spine has snapped, right at the top of the lumbar area. I feel like my rib cage has collapsed, and I am finding breathing painful and difficult. I remember Ryan yelling and asking if I was okay. I screamed, "My back!" And he's saying, "Oh God, I'm so sorry!" I'm expecting everything to be a mess: the truck, my car, the trailer, all of my things, Ryan and myself. But the truck keeps going. Ryan pulls it over on the other side of the road, and stops. He gets out, checks the truck, my car, and my trailer, then comes and opens my door. I'm in excruciating pain, and struggling to even breathe, but I ask about my car. I'm fully expecting it to be totaled. I was pretty sure the straps had snapped, and the car went flying off the trailer, rolling over a time or two. Somehow, it was fine. As I found out later, only part of the plastic trim around the wheel well had popped out, and that was easily fixed, and one of my 8lb hand weights had knocked a small hole in the plastic of the trunk door. That was it. I get out of the truck, knowing that a lot of what I was feeling was muscle pain, and I was worried that if I didn't stand up, my muscles would seize in a hunched position, potentially suffocating me. I was out for about 5 seconds before I went completely blind from the pain, and could feel myself losing consciousness. I asked Ryan to help me back in the truck. We continued on, 400 miles from Denver. Ryan had asked if I needed to go to the hospital, but I needed to get to Denver for my interview. There was obviously no more sleeping for me after that. Every time I started to drift, I would jerk back awake. I was aware only of my intense physical pain. The rest was a numb shock. Shock that we were still alive. That all vehicles were fine. That it had even happened. I didn't even really know WHAT had happened. A few hours later, Ryan explained that we were passing a rest stop, and a temporary merge lane took him by surprise, as he didn't see it until a truck was too close for comfort and honked its horn. As he tried to get over, the trailer started to fishtail, and he realized he was going to have issues keeping control of it and avoiding the truck. He told me later that he felt so helpless, realizing he had two options: go right and crash into the truck, or go left and crash into the police turnaround. He chose the latter, also then convinced we were going to die. I think that wound up being the single most terrifying experience of our lives, for both of us.

We got to Denver, my mother thanked him profusely for his protective instincts and handling the situation so well. I was in excruciating pain, but after getting into my apartment, I changed my clothes, put on my makeup, and left for my interview (which went very well, though I haven't heard back from them yet). I got back, and we unpacked and unloaded things, with the help of Amy, Chilan, and Jeremy. By the end of the day, we had made some decent progress, so Ryan and I went to dinner at Park Burger, one of Denver's awesome unique restaurants, and then we went and I bought a couch; a "grown-up" piece of furniture, to replace the grad school stuff I had left behind.

Both of us went to sleep that night, exhausted and sore from the events of the day. Sunday, we were joined by my cousins Scott and Valerie, and long time friends Rachel and Sean, and their three kids, who brought us dinner and left me with lots of food for the next few days. I felt so blessed, as Ryan put together my new dresser (the old one hadn't made it through the accident), Scott broke down and threw away my old one and helped unpack and throw away boxes, Valerie organized my kitchen, Rachel fed me, and Sean set up my tv and technical stuff.

Monday, I went to see my cousin Sarah, who is an amazing acupuncturist in Boulder (if you live around here, look her up- Sarah White Stillman- she's awesome!), and she checked me over and did her work on me. She told me to take it easy, as my body had been through quite the trauma, and it looks like I have an inflamed or bruised appendix. As I spent most of that day and Tuesday resting, I had time to reflect on the events of the past few days. I noticed that I actually wasn't mad that I lived through a near-death experience: proof that my depression is lessening. I realized I hadn't cried since leaving Cape (HUGE improvement there, lol). I realized I was starting to look at the future without a complete and overwhelming sense of dread. I'd be happier if I didn't have to take it so easy right now, with all of my injuries, but I'm okay. A little of the sadness has started to catch up to me again, but I'm doing okay.  I look out the window at all the snow, and I feel...serenity. Something about snow always makes the world seem new and more peaceful. I've no idea how things will unfold here in the next days, weeks, months, and even years, but I'm looking forward to seeing what happens. A new life, a new place, a new (Star Wars pun NOT intended) hope. 

It Goes On

I have always loved the wisdom of Robert Frost. He always managed to express things in such a profoundly simple way. Tonight I was scrolling through one of my Pinterest boards, which is a board filled with quotes that somehow resonate with me, in one way or another, and I came across one such profoundly simple Robert Frost quote:

                                          "In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on."

And go on, it does. Even when a parent, or a friend, or a sibling, or a child dies. Even when a family member deserts you. Even when the person you love more than anyone else in the world betrays you. Even when those who are supposed to protect you, lead you right into extreme danger. Even when the pain- physical or emotional- seems more than you can bear.

Life goes on. Even when we don't want it to.

Life is fragile, yes. It can be gone in an instant. But it is also tenacious, and harder to snuff out than we sometimes think.  One of the scientists in Jurrasic Park says, "Life always finds a way." Life goes on. And sometimes the only thing to do is to ride it out. Let go and let the current take you where it will, until you finally have the chance to regain some sense of control. When things get rough for me, sometimes I'll answer a "how are you" with, "I'm alive." Usually, the response is, "Well that's, a plus." Or I'll hear someone say, "Well at least you're alive." And here's the thing: it can be hard for people to accept that, sometimes, that's really not what we want. That sometimes, we would actually prefer to switch places with someone who died young but didn't want to. Our society has a hard time accepting that sometimes, just living can be so overwhelming, we'd rather not. And that in some cases, waking up in the morning isn't what we wanted to happen. But yet, we do wake up. Our lives do go on. We try to keep going. To keep breathing. To stop the freefall.

Sometimes, the best we can do is, to reference a previous post, "fake it till you make it." Because sometimes, like it or not, life does in fact, just keep going. And all we can do is pretend to be okay with it until we finally do make our peace with the fact that life, as Robert Frost put it, goes on. 

But What If It Does?

Why not? It's a simple question. We ask it a million times in the span of our lives. But sometimes it can be more profound than the two simple words seem together. It's a great question to challenge us out of our comfort zones. Sometimes it's harder to come up with an answer to that than we might think, or even like. We might want an easy answer, so we don't have to push ourselves to do something that may be daunting. And yet, at other times, we come up with far more "reasons" than we should.

This question has been on my mind a lot lately. While visiting my friends Jerusha and Christen on my way to Denver, we had some fantastic talks about our lives and journeys; journeys out of ATI, to finding out who we are as individuals, to where we are now, to where we're going. As one might imagine would be the case when three INTJs get together and talk, the subject matter got deep. We're talking Mariana Trench deep. Okay, maybe not quite, but close. During dinner on my second night there, 6th grader Ben gave each one of us- his parents, his sisters, and me- a Dove chocolate piece. As some of you might know, on each Dove chocolate wrapper, is some sort of message. We all read ours to each other, and I got a little sad when I read mine: "Learn something new about a loved one." It was a significant and sad date for me, as mentioned in a previous post, and it bummed me out a bit. Christen got up and brought me his, and said he'd trade me. The message? You guessed it. The simple yet profound question: "Why not?" He and Jerusha and I all laughed- it was a perfect question for me based on the conversations we had already had. It was a simple challenge to push myself out of my comfort zone. We talked about it more after the kids had gone to bed, and it has stayed on my mind ever since.

I have been asking myself this question multiple times a day since Thursday. It has been one of my meager attempts to try and get myself to move forward. To keep thinking about the future. About developing myself. About moving past my own fears and comfort zones. And yet, despite my best efforts, the wounded part of me- the part that's still aching and throbbing and bleeding- comes up with more answers to that question than it should. But most of all, I'm bombarded with desperate and terrified answers in regards to one specific question, more than all the others: Why not open yourself to the possibility of loving again? Because I won't be able to trust anything. Because I'll be terrified the whole time. Because I might get my heart broken again. Because he might do the same thing the last one did. Because this time almost killed me. Because I can't do this again. Because it's safer by myself. Because I'll be so afraid, I'll screw it up myself. Because...because...because... They keep coming until I'm literally in tears. Every time.

But then I'm reminded of another question. An excellent companion question for when we're more prolific with the answers to "why not?" than we should be. This question comes from another great friend, Taylor. He was never in ATI, but he did go through an awful divorce a couple of years ago, and he gets where I'm coming from in a way that not everyone else does. He usually is the one who sees the worst side of me right now. The man deserves a medal for not running away screaming. But he often counters my frantic "what if?" questions with another simply profound question; this time, a question that is often overlooked by people. I ask, "What if I try another relationship and get my heart broken again?" His question? What if you don't? But what if I go through more heartbreaks and still end up alone at the end of the day? But what if you don't? What if nothing works out and I never get that relationship that I want? But what if you do? The question takes on different forms, depending on the fear being voiced. But the effect is always the same: What if the worst case scenario doesn't happen? What if I get exactly what I want- or at least something very close? What if it all does work out the way I want it? Will all those fearful answers hold me back from chasing after the possibilities? From trying to live my life to the fullest?

I hope someday I won't be so quick with the answers to "why not?" That's something I'm going to work on, because it's an excellent place to be in life. But while I'm getting there, whenever that wounded part of me comes back with a million reasons why not and a million questions to the effect of, "what if it doesn't work out the way I want it to?" I'm going to counter it with that other question: but what if it does? 

The Life of a Victor

Obligatory Spoiler Warning: Major Mockingjay II spoilers. Read at own risk.

My friend Rowena and I went to see Mockingjay: II yesterday. We'd been planning to see it together during this trip since August, since it was something I had been planning on seeing with him, as the celebration of the one year anniversary of our meeting. I really didn't want to see it alone, but I also didn't want to not go. I have loved the Hunger Games since I read the books right before the first movie came out. Suzanne Collins managed to write a series that resonated, not just with me, but also with many other ATI survivors. She also captured PTSD incredibly well, and that was consistently nailed in the movies. Seeing this one in the theater was important for me in my recovery and moving forward. And I'm so glad I did.

As with the other three movies, this one was done incredibly well. I wouldn't have changed a thing. I remember when I saw Catching Fire, I realized something I hadn't gotten from reading the books: Katniss and Gale ultimately didn't work out because she had been through the hell of the Hunger Games, and there was too much that Gale just couldn't get. Peeta, on the other hand, had been there with her. He wound up with PTSD from it too. He KNEW what Katniss had lived through. He had, too. And it gave them an understanding that was so necessary. I remember thinking after that, I was looking for a Peeta. Someone who had been through the hell of ATI, getting out, and rebuilding. And if not that, at least someone who can somehow have some understanding of what it means to live with PTSD. Because, while it doesn't have to define a person's life, it is, regardless, a significant part of it. While we can work to overcome it, and not allow it to rule us, it is still going to be there. It's not going to go away.

Through Catching Fire and Mockingjay: I, it is easy to see the PTSD in Katniss and Peeta, as well as other victors. Mockingjay: II was no different. In this last movie, Katniss is dealing with even more than ever before. And her disgust with life, Snow and the Capital, and even with Coin and those who were supposed to be the good guys, overwhelmed her, worsening her already severe depression. Near the end of the movie, Effie is talking to Katniss about what her new life, post Capital and post revolution will look like. Effie said something to Katniss that really resonated with me: "I hope you finally find it. The life of a victor." It's what people have been saying to me for months. But, like Katniss, I wasn't in a place where I could really envision that. The weight of everything I was dealing with was so crushing, I didn't even really want to survive. Katniss wouldn't have been opposed to dying during all of what she went through. It would have been a relief. I felt the same way. And being stuck in Cape for so long was in some ways like if Katniss had been trapped inside one of the Arenas. Just stuck, in a living nightmare.

Upon arriving at the home of my friends Jerusha and Christen in Kansas last Wednesday, I discovered that I was feeling a lot better than I had in months. By the time I left for Denver on Friday, I was actually starting to look forward to moving there. And by the time I saw the movie on Saturday, I was ready to hear Effie's statement to Katniss, and finally take it to heart. Yes. I have been through a lot of hell in my life. In fact, more than a lot of people I know. A lot has been taken from me. I have been beaten down and scarred, over and over. But the victory isn't in going on and living a perfect life. Katniss and the other victors were promised wealth, fame, and complete happiness after winning their Hunger Games. Of course, it was a lie. And then came the revolution, and the whole country was torn apart, and Katniss's life was further shattered. But she came out of it on the other side. When Effie talked to her, she wasn't quite ready to conceive that she could, in fact, live a victorious life. The weight of all she had been through was still so crushing. But I was just then finally in a place where I could hear that. The life of a victor. Not one who has leapt all obstacles in a single bound and crushed all opponents unscathed. No. One who has been beaten down again and again until drawing a single breath seems overwhelming. And yet still manages to take that breath. And finally get back up. And let the wounds heal, and keep going.

Finally, they show Katniss and Peeta a few years later, with their two young children. Though the scene was slightly adapted from the book, the lines were nearly word for word. Katniss's infant is sleeping in her arms, and wakes up crying. Katniss asks her if she had a nightmare; that she has them too, sometimes. Then she said, "Someday I'll explain it to you. The nightmares. Why they came, why they won't ever go away, and how I survived." I started sobbing, right there in my seat. It was so overwhelming. The nightmares. Yes. They are a classic part of PTSD. They sometimes have periods where they are few and far between. But they rarely go away completely. Life events and triggers can bring them back more easily than we would like. I struggle with nightmares. I have for years. And I probably always will, to some extent. They likely won't ever completely go away. But I survived. When Katniss said that, I was overwhelmed with emotion, in a way I very rarely am when I watch a movie. I'm just barely at the beginning of getting to a point where I can see survival. And maybe a little more. And yes, I will always be scarred. Terrible things happened. I can't change that. I can't make it unhappen. I can't remove the emotional and psychological, and even neurological scars those things left. They'll always be there. And the nightmares will wax and wane, but not really go away. But what matters is the surviving part. The moving forward. The building a new life. The creating a new future. It's not an easy life; it's not a glamorous one. But it is something very important:

                                                                                     The life of a victor. 

Keep Holding On

Go ahead, smirk if you like. I make no apologies for my unveiled Avril Lavigne reference. This song has gotten me through a lot over the years, and it's been playing through my head today. I was supposed to be gone. I was supposed to leave for Cincinnati on Saturday so I wouldn't have to be in this town over the next few weeks. Battling severe depression is hard, in and of itself. But when there are specific traumas and circumstances perpetuating the depression, rather than simply a severe physical chemical imbalance, it makes it even harder. Friday night, I had my car all packed up and ready to go, because I wasn't able to handle being here in Cape, and the closer I got to this coming Thursday, the worse it got. Finally, it became necessary for my mental and physical well being for me to leave.

And then, with the car all packed, I threw out my back.

The more time passed, the more it hurt, and I realized, I wasn't going anywhere for a few days. My parents had just gotten home to Cincinnati when I did it. They were gone. I was alone, and I threw out my back. I was going to be stuck in my nightmarish bubble for days. And I cried. I have spent the last few days just trying to keep holding on. At times it feels overwhelming, and it all comes pouring out in rather impressive sobs. Other times, I just try to stay occupied- watching Doctor Who, grading and interacting with my online classes, putting in more resumes, and arguing with people on Facebook about The Cup or Syrian refugees or Muslims in general or the primaries (sometimes for sheer entertainment value more than anything else!).

Today, I felt like I was barely holding on. I realized I probably won't get out of here until Wednesday, and even that isn't positive. The thought of waking up in this town on Thursday is overwhelming. Mockingjay II comes out on Thursday. We were supposed to go to that Thursday night. We'd been planning that for months. We met at the Thursday night premiere of Mockingjay I, and this was supposed to kick of the start of our one year anniversary. We had so many plans for this holiday season. It's overwhelming. This particular week last year was so good. We had snow, I met him, I got to spend a lot of time with a friend, my friendship with whom sadly wound up as a casualty of my breakup. I was just starting to get better after my accident, and things were really looking so hopeful. I had no idea of the hell that lay ahead. So I really just needed to be gone this week. Not stuck moving between my bed and couch in my apartment in total isolation with way more time on my hands to think than is good right now. The more the day progressed, the harder it got. This song kept going through my head, and I wound up with the visual of Christina hanging on for her life over the Dauntless chasm. And right now, that's what I feel like. I feel like I'm hanging on for my life, water spraying my face and making my hands slip, nothing but rocks a hundred feet below. Like Christina, I have plenty of friends cheering me on, urging me to hang on. But it's hard. Especially when I can't see what's ahead.

Last year, I made it through the difficult time brought on by my car accident by telling myself things would be so much better by this time next year. And here I am, not better, but decidedly worse. Last year, I could see the road ahead of me, and it was so promising. It made holding on so much easier. This year, I look ahead and I can't see anything, and I'm in so much more pain. Making it worse, it's not just pain from one thing, but from a whole barrage of things that have kept hitting me since the end of May. My friend Chilan told me last night that all she could do right now is facepalm and cringe for me as each new thing happens, just waiting for things to let up. And I'm just hanging here over the chasm, as the metal grate digs into my hands and the water makes them slip, with zero idea what is ahead of me and if things are going to calm down soon or not. So I wait. I wait, and I hope that somehow, the next 32 years are going to be better for me than the previous 32 have been. I have no way of knowing whether they will be or not. But I guess for now, for a little while longer at least, I will stay here, and keep holding on. 

When The Light Goes Out

I'm someone who always has a plan. Those plans may change, but I can always see what's ahead of me. I can always imagine where I'll be in 5 or 10 years. If you asked me at the beginning of May, where I saw myself in 5 years, I would tell you that it would likely be one of two things: 1. Working on my Ph.D. in history and married to my then boyfriend, or 2. Still living in Cape, probably still teaching at the university, and married to my then boyfriend. It was what I wanted, and it was what he supposedly wanted, and it's what a lot of his friends thought he wanted too.

At the end of May, the Duggar scandal broke. Like many ex-ATIers with PTSD, I wound up triggered. ATI was everywhere, and I couldn't get away from it. It was in the papers, on the radio, on TV, on magazine covers, all over the internet- I even heard people talking about it at the gas station. I would have had to seclude myself in a cabin somewhere to get away from all the talk about the "Duggar's cult." The month of June was very difficult for me, as I tried to deal with what was going on in my head regarding all of that. I can't explain it, but at that point, I knew I didn't want to pursue a Ph.D. in history. I didn't know what I wanted to do anymore, and that bothered me. The one thing I was absolutely sure of though, was that I wanted to marry my boyfriend, who kept assuring me he wanted the same thing. I had no reason to think otherwise. I knew that we could figure things out together, and that was great.

Then everything got very suddenly, and painfully, turned upside down. Again, trying not to go into too much detail, he said he needed time to think, to figure things out. That was awful, but I truly thought we would be able to work things out. As did a lot of other people. But while I was waiting, I realized I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to get a degree in counseling and work with people with PTSD and dealing with cult recovery. It was a good plan, and I started working out the details. After a month of waiting, he told me he was moving on. I didn't understand- I honestly still have trouble understanding- but I tried to keep going. Things were awful, but I started taking prerequisites to get into the MA in counseling program. I could still see what was ahead, though it was vastly different than I had imagined just a couple months before.

I was getting a lot better by the middle of September, when the shit hit the fan. Something else absolutely heart wrenching happened, and I made the decision to move to Denver. As I have said in previous posts, I needed to start over. To build a new life in a place where I could truly become more myself. But unfortunately, bad things kept happening, and in such quick succession that it was impossible to really deal with anything well. The best I could do was to wake up, keep doing my job, and stay alive. But I kept slipping. By the first few days in November, I no longer knew what I wanted. I got lost. The faint light at the end of my very dark and very long tunnel went out. While the initial desperation I experienced with that has faded to a general melancholy, the light has yet to appear again. I know who I am, but I no longer have any clue as to what I want. And I have no idea how to handle that. I'm still planning on moving to Denver in four weeks, but even that...I don't know. I don't have a job yet, and the friend who was supposed to help me move may not be able to get the time off of work anymore.

But do I want to move to Denver? I don't know. Do I want to live somewhere else? I don't know. I know I don't want to live in Cincinnati or Cape. If I had a job lined up in Denver, maybe that would help me out. But right now, I look even 6 months in the future, and I see nothing. Five years? absolutely nothing.

So what do you do when the light goes out and you have no idea when it's going back on? Well, I guess you just put one foot in front of the other. You keep on keeping on. You trust that at some point, that light is going to go back on. That instead of falling off a ledge into a deep bottomless abyss, you're going to get to where you can see the light again. So that's what I'm doing. I'm putting one foot in front of the other. I'm hoping that at some point, there will be a light. I have no idea what that will look like. Absolutely no clue. But when that light goes out, you move to the side of the tunnel, put your hand on the walls, and put one foot in front of the other.

Faking It

One of our favorite cliches as Americans is "fake it till you make it." We usually use this phrase when someone is in a difficult situation, and they have no choice but to successfully deal with the challenge or fail. And in some cases, failure isn't even an option. The person may be in a situation in which he or she actually has zero ability to escape, and "making it" is the only choice. This then leaves the person with two options: 1. Fake it until you actually come out on the other side, or 2. Go insane. Literally. There's a whole list of mental disorders that come from someone being unable to cope with the situation. Some are more serious than others. And sometimes someone ends up both making it and ending up with some sort of mental disorder in a combination of making it and going a little crazy. PTSD being a prime example of that.

Paradoxically, sometimes it is necessary to stop faking it, in order to fake it. No, I didn't mistype. Sometimes we have to remove the masks we have become comfortable wearing, in order to hold it together long enough to pretend like we're functional human beings long enough to actually become one. I'm done trying to pretend about certain things. I'm done glossing over, and hoping no one will notice. Some may question the wisdom in me putting this out there as I'm trying to find a new job in a new place, but I have spent so long wearing certain masks that I really don't care. If being real keeps me from a great job, so be it.

I'm not okay. I'm just not. My ability to cope keeps diminishing. This entire post is a really screwed up attempt to fake it. Because really, I have two choices right now: 1. Fake it until I actually do make it, or 2. Go insane. In my case, end up so far down the Depression and PTSD rabbit hole that I can't even pretend like I'm pretending to be a functional human being. I am one small bump right now away from Option #2. The issue for me right now isn't courage- it's not about being Dauntless or not. My issue is pain and enough cognitive dissonance to drive an ESFP absolutely nuts (my friends who speak Myers-Briggs will get that). Yeah. I get up every day, I get dressed, I do my best to hide the puffy eyes with makeup and glasses, and I do enough holding my breath and gritting my teeth to keep me from bursting into sobs in public. I post my assignments, I give my lectures, I grade my papers. I put in job applications and resumes, and make emails about assignments. I pack a box or two. I put a smile on my face and tell countless lies every day when people ask how I'm doing in regular conversation. I don't want to make it. But I really don't have much of a choice here.

Last Fall, when I had my car accident, I kept pushing myself forward, determined that it wasn't going to beat me. I spent the better part of a month playing "Don't Put Dirt On My Grave Just Yet" from Nashville on repeat and belting it out at the top of my lungs. It worked. I kept going. I made it. But I had a lot of fight in me at that point. Today, I decided to start playing "Fight Song" over and over until I believe it. It actually fits really well, minus the fight part. I feel like I have no fight left in me. I feel like, despite dealing with multiple traumas and challenges in my life, and despite having PTSD since I was three, and yet still managing to have a good job and a Master's degree, and despite making it through all of those things, I finally encountered something that managed to actually break me. Or maybe not one single thing, but the right combination of bad things in a short period. I'm just...tired. Tired of 32 years of constantly fighting back. But I really don't have much of a choice.

So I'm pretending. I post things on Facebook as though I'm not broken. For the first time, I'm doing 30 days of thankfulness on my wall. I never did that before because it's the kind of touchy-feely whatever that INTJs tend to abhor. Day 4 and I'm almost tapped. It's really hard to find things to be grateful for when you are so low that all you honestly want is to go to sleep and never wake up. I think today's took me a solid 10 minutes to come up with. My cousin Anne has been one of my biggest cheerleaders in the last few years. At the end of September, she posted this quote to my wall: "She never seemed shattered; to me, she was a breathtaking mosaic of the battles she's won." (Matt Baker). I don't feel like a mosaic right now. I feel like all the shattered pieces that have just been broken and left in a heap, unable to put themselves back together. But all I can do right now, is pretend I believe it. Or at least pretend to pretend I believe it.

I remember explaining to some people what an actual 10 on the physical pain scale feels like: It's physical pain that is so bad, it is impossible to see beyond it. Pain that quite literally blinds you to anything other than what you're feeling- that your only desire is to either die, or have the pain removed, immediately. That's where I am on the emotional pain chart. I honestly cannot see beyond this. Even the prospect of Denver cannot excite me right now. It feels like this pain is all there is. And yet, I'm pretending to see beyond. But yeah, it's one big act right now. But that's all the option I have at the moment. Maybe someday, it won't feel like this anymore. Maybe someday, things will seem better. Maybe someday things will be better. I don't know. But for now, all I can do is pretend I'm pretending that I know things will be okay. 

Discovering Dauntless: Part I

In order for my readers (if you really exist, you could just be figments of my imagination) to fully understand my use of the title "Dauntless" in this blog, I have to take you back to January, 2014. This is when I discovered the Divergent series, by Veronica Roth. I know this might sound like an exaggeration, but when I say that reading the Divergent series changed my life, I mean it. Many of the people closest to me can attest to this. Yeah, yeah, saying a young adult dystopian trilogy is a life changer can make me seem really lame, or really juvenile, or perhaps both. But it's true, and here's why: Reading the Divergent trilogy gave me an opportunity to see myself the way other people see me. To step outside of my skin, so to speak, and see myself as I really am. Without my own prejudices and 30 years of accumulated complexes, insecurities, and projections. And I was amazed by what I saw.

This post will likely have many, many parts. And yeah, they're going to be full off spoilers. So if you haven't read the books yet, consider yourself forewarned. 

Like The Hunger Games, I first heard about Divergent  when they were in the process of making it into a movie. I saw the trailer while in the theater to see Catching Fire, so I decided to at least read the first book before seeing the movie. I was pretty busy that January, given I was teaching an entire semester's worth of American history over the four weeks of Christmas break, online. But I thought having something interesting to read would help give me a break here and there. Little did I know when I started book 1 (also known as Divergent), that I would read the whole trilogy- over a thousand pages in total- in fewer than 3 days, while teaching that class, and that my life would never be the same afterwards. 

As a brief overview for those who have not read the books and yet are going to continue on with these posts, spoilers be damned, is this:
It takes place in a decaying Chicago, I'm guessing anywhere between 200 and 500 years in the future. Essentially, the world's population was devastated by a futuristic eugenics project gone horribly wrong. The US is thrown into disorder, and the government is left trying to figure out how to manage the chaotic and severely messed up nation they are left with. As a result, they put a number of willing participants into walled Midwestern cities, to see how they can fix their problem. In Chicago, the society is divided into five factions, each focusing on a specific virtue, and shunning a specific vice they blame for the world's problems:

Abnigation blames selfishness for the problems, thus they live an extremely selfless life, even dressing all in grey, allowing no free time for self indulgence, and eating plain food, so as not to feed selfish desires. In Biblical terms, we would call this, "mortifying the flesh," or, "dying to self."
Amity blames discord for the world's problems, thus they strive to live a life of peace, at all costs. These are basically the hippies. They grow the food for the city, happily work the land, dress in bright colors, sing, dance, and generally life a happy life. Under no circumstances is argument allowed. They could rival even the most dysfunctional families who love to pretend any issues don't exist.
Candor blames deceitfulness. They live a life of total honesty. There are absolutely no lies, no secrets, no social "niceties" that most people consider polite, but the Candor would view as deceitful. They dress in black and white, and are the society's lawyers.
Erudite blames ignorance. They believe that knowledge is the key to avoiding problems. So they are the society's academics and scientists.
Dauntless (yes I know this one is out of order, but all you OCD people are just going to have to deal. K? K.) blames cowardice. They strive to defend the defenseless, defy fear, and do what needs doing, despite how scary it may be. These are the  ones who dress in black, with different hairstyles, piercings, and tattoos.
At the age of 16, each child in the society must choose his or her own faction. They may choose the faction in which they were raised, or they may choose a different one. There is also a segment of the society that failed to make it in whichever faction they chose, and they are known as the Factionless. They're the poor and the homeless of society. Because of this, it is important that each teenager choose wisely. The day before the choosing, each 16 year old is given a test to figure out which faction best corresponds with their natural aptitudes, but each person can choose his or her faction, regardless of the test results. In rare cases, someone will test positive for more than one faction, and these people are known as the Divergent. They are feared by society, and basically have to keep their status under wraps, in case they are discovered and killed. Tris Prior is the protagonist of this series, and she is Divergent, testing positive for Abnegation (in which she was raised), Erudite, and Dauntless, the faction she chose. 

I'll get into this more in the next post, but reading the thoughts and processes of Tris Prior as she figures out her life and makes the decision to allow herself to become...her, was remarkable. It was as though Veronica Roth had somehow managed to write my own biography, without ever having met me. Even down to specific thoughts and situations...it was, I'll admit, a bit creepy at times. But people had been telling me for most of my life, that they wished I could see myself the way everyone else sees me. And these books finally gave me the chance to do exactly that. Get to know Tris Prior, and you get to know me. I got to know Tris, and I got to know myself. And my life has been forever changed.