it has been a long time huh?

I used to write pretty regularly right?

And then I kind of disappeared? So what then heck?

A lot.

When B got hurt, and I had my hip surgery, I got kind of thrown. Then my kidney acted up and spend lots of time in the hospital and fell into a depression and anxiety that just couldn't lift.

Sure-- B didn't help one of the more cutting things that he said that still sticks with me was, "normal people aren't this sick" I needed to get it together- like this was my choice or my fault. It really hurt and was very cutting..  If I could get my body to cooperate I would in a heartbeat.

Then horrible news-- I carry the BRCA1 gene and hysterectomy. So more surgery.  More kidney.  More depression-- and so much went to hell.

I felt like I was holding my life together with string and a prayer.  I didn't even have pole to fall back on.

My blog has always been kind of open about my struggle with mental illness so I feel I should be frank about this too.  It was hard.  And  I made the biggest mistake than anyone could make. I went off my meds--- stupid I know.  So stupid.  I felt initially like maybe my brain could figure itself out and I wouldn't need meds to regulate my brain chemistry. I'd go off my anti-anxiety meds-- but I won't dare go off of blood thinners.... why do I give blood thinners so much more importance than my mental health? I am back on my meds.  Things are normalizing.

Depression and anxiety are beasts-- they just follow and sneak up when I am not expecting it.

In a nutshell that is where I have been.

Utah anniversary

The night before, Thursday, I came home from Mock Trial team and spread my work out on the floor in the formal living, no one went in there so I could set to work on the mountains of projects I had to complete. My boyfriend called.  He was older than me, my parents didn’t like that. We argued. I knew something was up.  I didn’t know what.

I was sick. I was scared. I was hiding. I was running to try and find something- someone safe.  He was angry- he knew I was not telling him things. I couldn’t tell him. I was terrified.  Everything was so terrifying. Feelings were/are scary. They can’t be reasoned with they can’t be controlled.

My brother came home from work- he was staying with us while he was separated from his wife. We sat down for ‘dinner’.  Which was tense. Always tense. Eggshells. One wrong word, glance, putting a fork down too hard and it would erupt into screaming and crying- saying awful things- just to hurt the other person- hurt them as much as I was hurting. I felt so empty so scared so alone. I felt everything and nothing at once.

Back to homework. I had a final paper to revise, AP physics to prepare for. Exams were next week.

I went to bed.

Set my alarm, made sure that my riding crop was under my pillow. I was terrified of my dad. I was scared- and my flimsy riding crop was all the protection I could muster. I passed out into a dreamless sleep.

The next bit gets a little fuzzy

I woke up. I think it was my parents at my bedroom door—with 2 strangers. I was told that I was going to Utah today—like now. At 4 am.

My mind raced- how could I stop this. How could this not happen. How could I stop it? I thought of saying I was pregnant- even though I hadn’t slept with anyone- but Illinois law said that a pregnant minor was emancipated from her parents. Then again, I wasn’t 100% sure of that and my brother was a lawyer- he would have planned for that reaction.  Also, I was so thin- there is no way anyone would believe I was pregnant. My body could barely support me not another person too.

I realized at some point- that if I left- I may not like it- but I would be away. My parents could not hurt me so much every day. I wouldn’t have to see them an know I was a giant fuck up just ruining their lives maybe this could be ok. I agreed to go. But I asked about my group presentation that I had to present tomorrow… and what about finals? It would all be worked out they said.

I had a few moments to change- supervised. Go to the bathroom- supervised. I would have killed myself then. I would have just to not be so terrified.

I got dressed. Jeans, size 0- too big. A pink camisole. A black wool cardigan with pink roses.  I could take very little: I took my violin, my stuffed bear Tasha (whom later in Utah I would hold and inhale the scent of home) and my favorite book- Pride and Prejudice.  I asked to say good bye to my dog- Fred. My brother had him out for a walk. So I said good bye to my cat- Miss Meow. My parents asked to say goodbye to me, I told them to fuck off.

It was very cold. There was three feet of snow on the ground. We took off for O’hare- me and two escorts. Later I learned how good I had it.  Other girls were drugged and taken. Others were handcuffed and taken. I went on my own.

On the airplane the escorts were nice to me- this was their profession. Taking girls to treatment so they may—just may survive whatever demons live in them.  They gave me a letter my mom wrote to me. At first I was too mad.  Too angry to read it- but as we passed over the Midwest curiosity got me. I read it. And lost what little composure I had. Everything everything came spilling out overflowing in a mess of tears. I was angry and so very hurt—and scared… but being hurt and scared but you on the defense- and that was an untenable position for me- anger was safer. But there comes a time when anger can’t hold everything back. My time for that was somewhere over Nebraska.  I still have the letter.

They offered breakfast. A Danish. Orange Juice. Fat. Calories. Hell no.

When we landed I was handed off to Danielle and Matt. At first Danielle intimidated me- but later I grew to love her- she was the only one who could help me with my calculus. 

What do you do, 4 days after your 17th birthday when you are sent across the country- with no notice- to a treatment center so maybe, maybe I could survive this and come out the other side?

What do you do when for as long as you can remember you have been not good enough- convinced your parents hated you- then get sent away? Seems to confirm everything I had thought.

I felt more alone then than I had ever felt. But a sense of odd relief. I wouldn’t have to see my parents and know I was letting them down.  Hear the frustrated sighs, the disappointment.

The indignity got worse over the next few days and weeks—and I told myself that worst case scenario I would be there for 361 days- at which point I would become legally an adult.  Seriously, it got bad.

One of the worst parts was it confirmed my worst fears. That I was not good enough to be part of our family- so they simply got rid of me- remember 17 year olds – especially 17 year olds who are starving aren’t the best at critical thought.

Going to Utah sucked. It was awful. But it saved my life. I still have my old therapist’s (Alan) email and phone number in my phone- and yes- when things are really shitty- I call him and 16 years later? He still answers me. The man is a saint.

Now- I still don’t let people get close to me. I don’t do feelings well.  I prefer things that can me reasoned with and logiced  (new word, just made it up) out.  Feelings are too messy. Too much.

So today, I am a hot crying sobbing mess- and tomorrow it will be worse.

I am still friends with a lot of the girls who I got to know there- we had very different lives- but they were the first to help put me back together when I fell apart. 

 Now, so many years later- I lose it around my  'anniversary' both going and coming.  I try and keep terribly busy- to keep the tears away, to try and hold it together.  Inevitably, I fall to pieces a few time. A sobbing snotty mess. I can still smell the same smells feel the same feelings. Its like it is happening all over again.

I want to throw things, cry, have someone hold me and tell me its over, never will happen again-- and maybe pry my shoulders out of my ears- someone to be there to help stem the anxiety and fear.

Oh Dear. Utah. Scary. brain dump

This past September was the 15th anniversary of coming back from Utah.  This has been the first year that I have not spent the day curled up in a fetal position waiting for the day to pass.  I actually only realized the date when I had yet another one of my nightmares about Utah.  Yes, I still have them with some regularity.

This morning, I looked at Princess and almost died. She is growing- up, she is not my little girl who chases geese and loves to swing at the park. It dawned on me, when I was her age I was already in the midst of an eating disorder.  A diagnosable eating disorder.

She is such an amazing person, smart, caring, strong, thoughtful, and kind.  I never want her to hurt like that.  I never want her to feel like she is not not enough just as she is.  She is special and unique and fantastic.  How can I protect her from this?  How can I keep her safe from that trip in a fun-house mirror. 

On Suicide and Mental Illness

If I remember correctly I have addressed mental illness briefly in this blog after a tragedy.  I had hoped, in vain, that maybe, possible there would be a real discussion about the mental health issues in society.  Obviously, this is not the case.

People are still stigmatized by their mental illness.  People are still isolated.  Even the people who have access to the best medicine has to offer, are over powered by these diseases.  These diseases (and that is what they are: diseases- just the same as diabetes, asthma, cancer- and just as deadly) are powerful.

It is not cowardly to commit suicide (it is an act of desperation) it cowardly to call a sick person names and judge them.  The illnesses are powerful and scary, they can take over and rip lives apart.  The illness is in control not the individual.

A person with depression or mental illness has as much choice in the matter as someone with any chronic illness. Would you tell someone with kidney failure to just think positively, or to make their kidneys work?  No (and I certainly hope not). Then don't do it to someone with a mental illness.

Robin Williams was a genius, a gifted man.  Sadly, he was also a tortured soul as so many geniuses are.  His dramatic roles in (Dead Poets Society and Good Will Hunting are two of my favorites) changed lives.  His comedy was brilliant. He brought joy to so many people. He was able to reach into peoples hearts and touch them. The world has lost a great man.

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,

The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;

                         But O heart! heart! heart!

                            O the bleeding drops of red,

                               Where on the deck my Captain lies,

                                  Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;

Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,

For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

                         Here Captain! dear father!

                            This arm beneath your head!

                               It is some dream that on the deck,

                                 You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,

My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,

The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,

From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;

                         Exult O shores, and ring O bells!

                            But I with mournful tread,

                               Walk the deck my Captain lies,

                                  Fallen cold and dead.

 Walt Whitman


Patch Adams and his character's suicidal feelings seem all that much more poignant now

15 years.

Today is 15 years since I went to Utah.  It is always a rough day for me.  Lots of anxiety.  Lots of racing thoughts, yet feeling paralyzed to do anything other than exist. 

Yes. 15 years is a long time.  I have learned with the help of my doctors, that what happened, while ultimately leading me to get better, was very traumatic.

The night going into the 13th, I have nightmares and can't sleep well.  The day of, doing anything of importance is not possible. 

Sending me to Utah had to be one of the hardest decisions of my parents lives, and I am grateful that they did. Without it I don't know where I'd be.  I don't know that I would be strong enough to do that.  But I can't imagine watching my child destroy themselves and being totally helpless to stop it. 

I'll never forget that night. Remembering it is like looking back in slow motion. I can remember the snow on the ground. My brother had taken the dog for a walk- he didn't want to be there for that. My school work on the floor. My book.  A note my mom wrote me.  I refused to say goodbye to my parents- I was angry. So angry. So hurt. So scared. I had no idea what to expect how to navigate this.

15 years may have passed but thinking about that time I am right back there. Scared, overwhelmed, (a little angry), hurt, terrified, other feelings that I can't even name now.

15 years.  It seems like it was yesterday.

Utah was hard for a lot of reasons.  But I learned so much there, more than about how to function as a person, I learned how much I love the mountains.  How beautiful they are.  You know how some people feel totally relaxed at the beach, I feel that way about the mountains. I love rock climbing and being out in them feeling the air and wind.  I don't think I would have had the chance to learn that without Utah.

Pole positivity

One of the things that attracted me most to pole was Kristin's dedication to positivity. She has a studio policy that students and instructors are not to be negative. 

I have never experienced a woman being negative towards another woman.  In class we are always cheering each other on and encouraging each other.  Clearly, I cannot speak to other women's experiences, but I tend to be negative towards myself.  I will say "I can't".  I will be self deprecating.  I will neglect my strengths and compare myself to others.  Often, I don't even realize it is happening. 

Well, now I noticed it.  And I will stop it. Pole is so much more fun, as is life in general when we focus on our strengths and abilities rather than what we are still working on. 

It is so easy to fall back into the habit of negativity towards myself.  I hardly even notice it is happening, until I see my attitude being sour and grumpy.

I am putting this out there as a reminder to me and to anyone else who reads this- you are amazing as you are.  You are strong. You are beautiful. You are smart.

Confessions from a pole class

I had another class with and awesome instructor.

We worked on these tricks

and I got them.  First time. Which means I was able to do the dove on the pole and felt super secure.  So AWESOME.

Pole dancing is the unique time that I can go to the studio in a crabby bitchy mood and be able to walk in and feel the weight of the world and all of the things that I am juggling mysteriously disappear.

I also was able to get the superman fall.

The frustrating thing.  Is my wrist was really bugging me on my cartwheels.  Well you can't have everything.  Pole dancing is really a challenging sport.  Give it a try!

Pole Dancing

Did you think I would stay away? NEVER.

My wrist still hurts a bit, and I have had to learn to not put too much stress on it, I also have had to adjust the tricks I can do to respect my wrists limitations- it is frustrating because I am used to being able to will my body to do what I want it to do.  I could always work hard enough and push hard enough I would be able to get my body, or brain, or whatever to bend to my will.

(me stubborn?? NEVER)

But now I have learned and am continuing to learn I need to respect my wrist's boundaries.  Its a process.  I have to regain my strength and flexibility.

I have gotten my Ayesha, pencil, brass monkey, pole sit back.  I and working on my cartwheel balance- I just need time to work on it- stopping when upside down is a challenge and supporting your body on your arms- away from your body.

Last night after a lot of practice I got my Dove back.  Next up- Superman fall.  

I have had a lot of questions about why I keep coming back-- or how.

Here's the thing.  Pole dancing is mine. My time. My thing. I love it.  I am proud of my body.  Even if I never lose another pound or always have some jiggle. My body is pretty amazing.  It has come through hell. Sickness. Injury. Childbirth. And yet. Is pretty great.  That feeling.  That feeling of accomplishment is why I come back.

Feeling connected to myself.  Feeling proud of myself.  Feeling happy. That is why I come back.
I would love to be able to share my absolute passion with other women.  This is one reason I am so proud to be an Ambassador for Tease. 

Me?? on a diving board??

Heck, I am pretty reasonably in shape.  I pole dance. I do yoga. I have 5 kids- I have to chase them.

We went to a pool last week.  Princess's friend wanted to go off the diving board.  I made a deal with her, if she did, I would.

I walked to the end of the board- and thought what the hell am I doing here?  I am 31 years old. I have no need to be on a diving board.  Worst, I took my glasses off and I am really blind without my glasses so my biggest concern was swimming to the side of the pool to climb out.

But like any stupid move I have made, I jumped. It should be noted, I am a good swimmer. I just have to wear my goggles--you know the blind thing.

However I was in the water, it was sink or swim, and tread water (thanks for that 15 minutes treading test- legs only) wipe water out of my eyes and swam to the side. Easily. It felt good. My kids laughed.  It was great to see them laugh. 

We swam for a bit more, then headed home, I have no idea what the hell made me do that- but I did. It was fun- but I am not doing it again.

Having fun with my kids is the best part of parenting, seeing their faces light up seeing them laugh- it was a great way to release some stress. 

Hyperemsis Gravidarum

Oh Duchess (or Princess) I feel for you.  

Hyperemisis ins not just morning sickness it is really hell, absolute and total hell.  It was wanting to die but knowing you wanted your baby.  It was actually considering abortion.  It was going on anti nausea meds meant for cancer patients.  It was painful.  I have had experienced it complete with home IV therapy. 

Whats worse is unless you have been there, you can't understand.

Hyperemesis can cause re-emergence of depression or anxiety.  It is very lonely.  

I remember wanting to hit anyone who brushed me off as having morning sickness- but I couldn't move without being dizzy or puking.  I questioned myself a lot-- was I doing the right thing? Was I just being dramatic?  Was my doctor treating me effectively? I desperately wanted to explain to my husband how hellish it was and being so angry when he minimized it. 

The judgement.  Oh the judgement was hurtful.  It cut deep. 


 The thing that helped the most was finding other women who had been there.  So my advice to anyone who has hyperemisis is to know that you are not alone.  You are not weak-  you are stronger than you know. 
Find a community who will support you and lean on them. 

I am not a bitch. Really.

I am not a bitch, really, even though I seem like one (and act like one). I am really not.

For the longest time I thought I was just a crabby pain in the butt and very mean. But you know what? I am not.

So many people (family members included) told me I was just a mean person.

I was talking to my doctor about all of these symptoms I was having, headaches, irritability, actual nervousness, catastrophic thinking, etc-- guess what. I am not a bitch. I have anxiety. Anxiety can be managed. Anxiety makes life hard.

It can make the nicest person ever seem like the Wicked Witch.

Anxiety does not always manifest as panic attacks- it can take many forms. Food for thought- almost all people who have anxiety also have depression- though again the manifestation is not classic. (Thanks Dr. Grim for that info - what an unfortunate name for a psychologist, huh??)

Where'd the Pole Go?

I have not been blogging so much about pole lately because I am having a hard time with it.

My pole history in brief:

I started pole in February of 2010. I had to take the majority of the summer of 2010 off because of kidney issues then more time in the fall/winter for 2 major surgeries, asthma issues, and an injured wrist.

All was mostly well until August 2011 when I had wrist surgery and learned Henry would be joining our family.

I went back to pole a few weeks after Henry was born (I resumed classes in April 2012) but had to have kidney surgery (yet again) in July of 2012 this required more time off.

Going to pole has been discouraging and humiliating because I cannot do some of the tricks I took for granted. Monkey Climb? Sure. Shoulder Mount to Pencil? Got it. I could catch on to new tricks with relative ease and incorporate them into my routine without being scared.

Now? Not so much. I feel like I can't put together even what is supposed to be a fun dance- my mind blanks. Tricks that *should* come easy are hard. Opposite side invert? I just got that sucker back.

And I am slippery! I have never been terribly slippery before grip aids were great for new things but usually I didn't need them, now I cannot find a darn grip aid that helps me!

Here is the issue. All of this was really eroding at my self esteem. I would leave class and be angry at myself. I would almost dread class. Pole dancing was not the happy refuge that it was.

I made a decision. I would give up. I suck and there are no two ways around it.

My instructor pointed out that yes I started dancing for 2.5 years but I have not actually been dancing that long. With that time I have had to take off 20 months. So within that 32 month time I have had to miss 18-20 months- and not just miss because work got busy but because I had a baby, multiple surgeries, injuries, it is not like I could just jump back in.

So sure. I can't do somethings now but give me time- I will.