No Choice

11 Jan 2011 2 Comments

by Beats Me in happiness

It’s really no secret that I like being in control. Yes, I am a control freak. I’m a control freak, and that’s why I’m so negative. Because I have this need to control the outcome of any situation. See, if I expect the worst to happen, then I’ll never be caught off guard. If something does go terribly wrong, I’m expecting it, so I’m ready for it and I know I can handle it.

I mean, let’s be honest. It’s never hard to handle something when it goes wonderfully. In the best-case scenario, no one’s really caught off guard in a bad way. I mean, yeah you may still be caught off guard, but you’re happy about it. Nobody ever likes being caught off guard in the worst possible way though. It’s that feeling that makes you feel like you’re out of control, and I can’t bear that. So I have to be always expecting that things are going to fall apart, because then I know I’ll be there, ready and in control, to put the pieces back together.

‘But Rebecca’, you may interject. ‘Why then are you always talking about how much you love chaos and change?’

Well yes, I do like change too. It’s true. Change can be such a great way of keeping things fresh and exciting. And I do like chaos and spontaneity. I like being wild and unpredictable. But the distinction is, I like choosing to do that, to be that. I need to be in control of the change. Every time I’ve changed in the past, it was because I chose to make that change. Each time, I’d have decided that was exactly what I wanted to do first. I wanted to rearrange all my bedroom furniture, again. I wanted to move apartments, again. I wanted to dye my hair, again. And however sudden or random that decision may have seemed, I was still perfectly in control of it. It was exciting, AND it was my choice!

But this time, this change, was not my choice. That’s what makes this so hard to accept. I didn’t choose to completely re-haul my life, and question everything I’d become, and reinvent my entire self. Well, it’s not really a reinvention of the self so much as a reconnection to the self. The self that I’d lost along the way somewhere. I can’t even really pinpoint where it was I got lost, but I did. Now I have to find my way back. And it’s hard. It’s hard to find your way back from lost.

But that’s how I feel all the time now. All day long, I feel lost. That’s why I panic, why I’m scared and stressed. That’s why I’m hesitant to do anything real, say anything real, feel anything real. That’s why I think everyone’s ashamed of me, and everything is going to go wrong. That’s why I’m so unsure of myself through this whole mucky thing.

I’m lost and I don’t know how to be found again.

I guess you could say that’s what my Spirit Journey was for, right? I mean, it was supposed to help guide me. My inner spirit, subconscious voice, connection to the divine, whatever it is that knows the Source of me and wants to help guide me back to it. That’s what my Spirit Journey was trying to access, what it tried to show me. My Spirit Journey tried to show me how to walk balanced among uneven tree limbs all interwoven together – the way everything in this world is woven together – that may range in size, shape, and even strength. So that I have to trust with each of them that they will still hold me, or at least that my body will take care of me and stay balanced despite the uncertain and rocky terrain. I need to learn to walk like the animals of this forest, for whom this balance comes so naturally. Or maybe like those other people around me who seem to handle the balancing act of life with so much more grace than I. Perhaps I once had it too, but I’ve forgotten how now. I’ve lost it, just as I’ve lost myself.

Now indulge me for a moment. I’m feeling the urge to reminisce about my past and how amazingly capable I used to be. You know, I used to be this incredible leader and stage manager and producer. I knew exactly how to manage every piece of the show and everyone in it. I could make sure things stayed right on budget and on time. And now look at me. I can’t handle the basic day-to-day juggling required of an admin. I failed completely as the piñata project manager. I can barely even hold my head together long enough to write a coherent blog post. I’ve lost that once incredibly competent person I used to be.

Where did I go? Where did I go? I didn’t choose this change.

My body made me. It just stopped and said:

‘I can’t keep wandering around blindly bumping into things and hoping that we get somewhere. I’m going in circles and it hurts. I don’t know where I’m going anymore. I don’t know what I’m getting out of bed for anymore. You don’t feed me well, I don’t sleep well, I’m unhealthy and weak and tired. So I’m not going to function for you anymore until you change this. Until you do, I’m going to give you sleepless nights with restless limbs and cold sweats and bad dreams. I’m going to make you hyperventilate and shake all over and throw up. I’m going to give you cough after cold after flu. I’m going to mess with your head so that you question the devotion of your friends and family, and fall into a deep depression. I have that power and I’m going to use it to make you listen.’

That’s what my body is saying to me. And I had no choice but to listen. I was forced into this change.

Now I’m not saying that this change isn’t in fact a good idea. To be honest, it’s probably the best thing my body ever did for me. It’s just devastating to think it had to force me. That I didn’t see it and think to change it on my own sooner. Oh no, instead I had to keep pushing forward, hoping that I was getting anywhere productive. Praying that I was doing the right thing. That I even knew what I was doing. Trying to believe my own words when I told people how much I love my job. I just wanted to believe that I was getting somewhere, that I could be something people could be proud of – something I could be proud of – some version of successful that I thought mattered to me.

I wanted to believe it so badly, that I didn’t see how I was slowly losing bits of myself at the same time. Lost a dream here, some of my signature energy there, my passion for life there. Bit by bit, I lost it all. And here I am, this empty, vulnerable, scared, lost thing. And I don’t know how to get it back.

Ok yeah sure, I could tell you I know how. I mean, if you asked me, I could give you the steps I’ve laid out: find a better job, start a regular sleep pattern, learn to cook and eat healthier, get back into shape, surround myself with a truly compassionate and understanding community, go to therapy, and so on. I’m going to do all that, yes. Those are the steps I’m going to take, and that’s exactly what I would tell you. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m still terrified. And I can still say I have no idea how I’m going to do this. How the hell I’m going to get myself back.

I had to catch myself there – I almost said ‘how the hell I’m going to get back to myself’. Because that implies that I want to go backwards, or get back to something I used to be. And as much as I miss that once amazingly strong, energetic, passionate and competent girl, I’m not that girl anymore. And I never again will be. There is a reason we grow up, grow older, and grow more into ourselves every year.

I don’t want to be anything that I once was. I just want that spirit of me back; that true spirit that’s still always in me, but whom I’ve stopped listening to and lost the connection with. I want to reconnect with that me. That’s why I say I want to get me back, not get back to me. I just want to get back who I am. Find that me again. And I really have no idea how I’m going to do it.

I mean, how do you really do that? How do you define the process to do something like that? It’s bigger than a new job, and regular sleep schedule, and healthy diet, and new home, and new haircut. It’s all those things at once and yet bigger.

That’s what N didn’t get on the phone today. That’s what I couldn’t explain to her. What I couldn’t make her understand. I guess that’s ok though, because she’s not me and she doesn’t think like me. And it’s actually quite refreshing to see such a big example of how we are different. But it’s frustrating because I want her, more than anyone, to understand what I’m going through and approve of my methods.

I guess I just have to accept that she’s not going to get this. As long as she knows I still see the value in all those steps, and recognize that is the way to do this, then I won’t bother her with the bigger concept – that despite those steps, I still have no idea how I’m going to do this. That’s going to have to be something I keep to myself, or only share with those who understand what I mean when I say that.

I have to be strong for myself. Because ultimately, it’s just me who’s in this. My body forced me into this and now I have to confront it. There is no other way out. This is the long hard road and I have to go down it. I have no other choice. And while I really hate that I have no control over that fact, it is a growing opportunity for me.

At the same time, I do have control over how I do it, and how I come out of it at the other end. And that’s what I’m going to focus on. That’s what I need me to focus on. As much as I am lost and terrified, I know that I’m going to need a hell of a lot of courage to get through this. And I’m going to have to dig deep into that inner self, my old forgotten self, to find that courage. It is seriously going to hurt. But I’m going to do everything I can to get it back.

That’s my choice.

A Hell of a Day

10 Jan 2011 Leave a comment

by Beats Me in Uncategorized

Just when I think I’m making good progress, just when I think things are improving and I’m finding my way through this mess… I have to have a nightmare from hell that brings it all crashing down. Last night I was once again visited by the demons of restless sleep. And this time they brought with them a series of nightmares that perfectly aggregated all manner of fears one can experience in their dreams. And I mean every possible one. It began with a performance I was helping put together, which I find out last minute I am supposed to sing for. With no time to rehearse, of course the performance goes awry, as I forget the words and they play the wrong song anyway. Throw in a failed bathroom search and naked-on-stage moment, and you’ve got the ultimate stage fright case.

In a cold sweat I woke up again and again as the nightmare wore on. And each time I managed to calm myself back to sleep, I was somehow magically transported back into the same world of terror, so that the whole night became this one extremely long, extremely choppy, extremely terrifying dream. And I did say it included all imaginable elements of a nightmare, so shall I name a few more? Let’s see, there was the point when what seemed to be all of my childhood friends (who had come to see the performance) told me they all thought I was unbearably annoying, and had all always thought so, though no one had ever told me. I’m then joined by ex-boyfriends just as they include that they think I’m a huge slut, who will sleep (and has slept) with anyone and everyone.

The night wore on in similar fashion until the relief of morning finally came. And at 7am, exhausted but unable to bear anymore, I willed my body up to get the day going. Now you know the saying, ‘woke up on the wrong side of the bed’? Well this morning, you could have illustrated that phrase with a picture of me. It was all I could do to hold myself together, and not scream in anger and frustration at everything around me. Thankfully, the ever-cheerful Becky was there to keep me on track. So instead I channeled that emotion into being productive. I had quite a few errands needed running down in the south bay, so I moved quickly to prepare what I needed and was just packing up my car with it all, when the icing fell splat on top the cake.

I foolishly put down my purse, with phone, keys and all, inside my car. And turning to get more stuff to load, the door swings shut and locks. It was brilliant really. How that all happened at once, I really can’t imagine. But nevertheless, it sent me into a tailspin. It was the last straw, the final nail in the coffin of what had been barely holding me together. And I lost it. Tears streaming down my face, I angrily kicked my car several times (I apologized later) and, leaving the remaining boxes by my car, fled back to my apartment.

Becky answered the door (since I’d locked my keys in as well), and quickly jumped into problem solving mode, helping me look up the number and call AAA for roadside assistance. We then waited together, her holding me through the fits of tears, until the truck pulled up. It was a matter of moments until all was better, and I was able to get in my car, thank Becky profusely, and set on my way down south. But despite the quick resolution, I was still excessively shaken up. So the whole way down to Mountain View became one long, blurry-eyed mess as I let out all the pain that had been building up in me since waking from that terrible dream.

I might have been embarrassed by such display, had I been able to see beyond my own anguish. But as it was, I managed to regain composure before arriving at my destination. And mustering all the courage I could, I launched into every single one of those errands. In the end, I’m proud to say I had quite a productive day, finally ending my hell of a day with awesome friends, great TV, and the softest robe I could ever dream of.

My Spirit Journey

06 Jan 2011 Leave a comment

by Beats Me in Uncategorized

Now I want you to get comfortable. Are you comfortable? Good. Let’s begin…

I’m walking in an open field, sparkling and swaying in the bright of midday. Then trees start bursting up all around me, sprouting straight from the ground to enormous heights all around me. And as they grow, their branches extend and weave around one another, like they’re trying to hold hands, forming this intricate maze of limbs and leaves all interlocked and inviting… a tree-climber’s paradise. There’s a cool breeze that rushes by and sends a light shiver through me. It’s chilly but invigorating, and it blows my hair every which way all over the place. I never could control my hair in the wind. A soft light peaks through the branches to create little spotlights on the ground, and I begin to dance among them, jumping from one to another like hopscotch.

Suddenly I’m welcomed by a swarm of bunnies bounding out towards me, eager to join in the fun. I laugh with joy, and take off running as they bounce after me, darting in and out of the winding trees. The trees seem to be telling me to come play with them too, so I start climbing. But the bunnies can’t climb themselves, so instead they all stop at the base of the tree, and look curiously up at me with their wide beady eyes. As they realize I’m not coming back down, they begin circling the ground beneath me, waiting excitedly for my next move. I start forward, climbing up and around the intertwined branches, as the bunnies bounce along below in the same direction.
Then behind me, I hear a low growl. I turn sharply to see a great wild cat walking carefully through the woods towards me. The bunnies immediately sense danger and quickly scatter, as the great cat watches them retreat. Then turning back to me with a satisfied expression, he continues to approach. I watch frozen in a combination of awe and fear as he climbs up the branches to me, wondering if he’s going to attack me. I’m about to muster the courage to run, when he turns his head and looks me dead in the eyes. I’m instantly struck by how gentle they are, and I am oddly no longer frightened.
Settling on a branch next to mine, the great cat says to me ‘Come with me.’ And off he sets, navigating forward among these crisscrossing branches floating high above the ground. I start to follow, but I’m so nervous that I soon slip and lose my footing, stumbling to regain myself. The great cat looks back at me and says ‘Don’t try so hard. Just walk like me.’ Grappling at his meaning, I lower myself down on all fours and begin trying to copy his movement. This is quite awkward though, because walking on my hands and feet means that my butt is sticking straight up in the air, and each step is a desperate lunge to reach the next branch before I lose my balance. I’m trying to imitate the great cat’s movement, as he instructed. But his steps so small and precise, that I have a hard time placing my own hands and feet in the same spots, and I find myself slipping and losing my footing again.
The great cat sees this, and pausing to let me catch up, he turns to me and says, ‘You don’t need to do that. See how unstable and unsure you are? Notice how I walk, not where I walk. Notice how I’m always balanced. Even when you are walking on the branches, try to stay balanced.’
I look down immediately to find my feet on the branches, and then glance ahead to the next branch, trying to calculate how I’m going to make it there in balance.
Prompted by this, he continues. ‘Being balanced doesn’t mean being exact with every single footstep. The point of balance is to observe everything around you and then decide where to move. Don’t focus so hard on the branches, or you’ll miss the trees.’
With that, he turns back around and resumes his forward movement along the maze of branches. This time, I stay back and watch him for a second, noticing now how his head stays erect and his eyes always scanning as he steps so evenly and carefully on each branch. I realize I won’t be able to do the same if I try to follow his exact footsteps. And so stepping a little to the left, I start moving carefully forward on my own new parallel path through the branches.
The great cat sees me do this and smiling, encourages me on with more nuggets of wisdom. ‘Make sure that when you land, you land even footed,’ he says to me. ‘Every step should be made with purpose and care.’
At this, I offer my first objection. ‘But how can I always be sure to land the same when the branches are all so different?’
He smiles and pauses once again, turning to address me with his full attention. ‘You see this branch I’m on? It’s very thick and sturdy. But the one there that I just came from looks much more thin and frail. Balance is not only about determining the best next step, it’s also about trust. Before stepping there, I trusted that each branch I chose would support me if I let it. I also trust that my body will take care of me in the event the branch does fail, and it will sometimes.’
‘That’s not very reassuring,’ I reply nervously. ‘How am I supposed to trust the branches if they might fail me?’
‘You need to believe in the strength of the trees,’ he answers, ‘but more importantly, you need to believe in your own strength. In the end, you have the ability to decide whether that branch is a good one to step on, and you can be just as able to catch yourself should you fall.’
I have a hard time accepting this answer, but I’m eager to get back to the exploring. So giving him a little nod to show I understand, and then turning back to my parallel path, I start to move on. The great cat sighs and shakes his head, but then resumes his own as well.
Side by side we continued forward, and up and down and sideways (since it’s near impossible to climb through branches in a straight line), and I begin to get more comfortable with this balancing act. In particular, I start to feel more graceful in my movement, which is a very unfamiliar feeling. We are so clumsy as humans. I’m always bumping into things. I stub my toe here, smash my finger there, always an accident of some kind. But this great cat, like the other animals of this forest, doesn’t ever bump into things or stub his toe. I’m beginning to understand and appreciate the grace of his movement, and the art of staying balanced amongst an uneven landscape.
The great cat can see this, so he starts to add a new challenge. He begins leaping a little as he moves between branches, letting his paws leave the branch for just a second before landing neatly on the next. I’m excited to see such playfulness from him, and I start trying to leap too. But it’s harder than it looks, and it requires so much greater focus that I start looking too closely at my feet and lose my balance again. And again, the great cat stops to advise. ‘Remember to leap in balance,’ he reminds me. ‘There’s balance in every step, in every leap, and in every landing.’
It’s almost as if his words open a new crack between the trees, and a new spotlight of sun warms over me, and I feel like I’m finally beginning to understand. I need to restore the trust in the branches, and in myself. I need to allow my eyes to focus on my nearby surroundings, and not so intently on either the branches themselves or on the far off horizon. Leaping is a much greater test of your balance. But much in the same way, it can also reward with even greater grace.
To start a leap is first to reach out my arms in front of me, as I push off from the branch behind me. But then, for a brief moment, I just let myself float and enjoy the moment in between. And if I can do that, if I can capture the thrill of it, and still maintain a balanced view, I know I will land down on the next branch with ease. It’s not about just trying to get to the next spot. If that’s all I want to do, I could just step there. Leaping is about letting go. It’s about being in the air and feeling grounded at the same time.
Not every leap is perfect either. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to fall. And as long as I can trust, I can stay gracefully balanced even when leaping around in a more insecure place. It’s easier said than done of course, but the key is to not worry about the things I can’t control. The great cat always knows exactly where he’s going. He may not know the ultimate destination, but he at least knows where his next step (or leap) will be. He shows me the value in focusing only on that which is in our line of sight, what we actually can impact.
Too often, we (and by we, I mean humans) are focused on this distant point on the horizon, a place we may never even get to. We obsess over so many things that we can’t change or do anything about. And it’s not necessary. All we need to do is focus on the next step, and the next step, and the next step. And the rest will sort of take care of itself. Nature has a way of taking care of itself.
And if I ever want to remember what all this has meant, if I ever need a reminder to stay balanced in the leap of life, I know I can go find a tree (or a forest if possible), and climb up into it, and just stay balanced there for awhile. And if I really need a friend, someone there to help remind me, I can come back to this forest, back to the place where I met the great cat, and he’ll still be there. But as he said in our parting, ‘You don’t need me to remind you. You just need the branches – the branches are the key.’ It’s not the great cat himself that is the message. Like the other animals native to that forest, it’s just in his nature to walk like that. It’s the surroundings of my own world, the observation of them, and my trust in them, which I will need to take with me.
And as I bid that forest goodbye, the trees whispered softly their parting words. ‘Play’ they said, just as they had when I first arrived. ‘Go play. Don’t forget to play.’ And I understand what they were there to teach me. I can be balanced, and trust in myself, and in the branches… and still play. I can play, and I can control how I play, but I can’t control how others play with me. I don’t need to worry about what I can’t control. Being able to let go and still be present is the only way to hold it all, the only way to play and stay balanced at the same time.
The great cat, and the branches, and even the trees themselves… they all told me and showed me all this. But the best part is realizing that I’ve had this knowledge inside me all along. The message here is to trust in myself, in my truest self that’s still got my back, even though I’ve ignored it for so long. When asked where I felt this exploration in my body, I immediately pointed to my stomach. And it makes sense. That’s my core, the center point of my strength and passion and energy. And it’s the nucleus of all that keeps me alive and well: what keeps my heart beating, and my body nourished, and my structure strong and sound. So it makes sense that I should feel this journey the most in that part of my body.
And listening to this part of my body, I also start to hear a very clear message coming from my core. Take care of me, it says to me. You need to take better care of me, so I can take care of you and help you stay balanced. And in the final moments of this magical journey, a poem (go figure) forms in my mind and repeats itself over and over, like a soothing meditative chant:
‘I’ll take better care of you
And you take care of me
And we will step upon this earth
Careful and carefree’

Growing Up

03 Jan 2011 1 Comment

by Beats Me in happiness

I feel older today. Or, at least I want to feel older. I really never liked being young. I always wanted to be older. As a child, I always wanted to grow up, but that was mainly because I wanted to be like my sisters – like Natalie. I wanted to grow up so I could be like her. I always wanted to be her, older, wiser, taking care of myself.

But I also liked be wild. That’s what I did like about being young, was being wild. And it’s not that I don’t like being wild anymore… (laughs) I still like being wild. But it’s a different kind of wild now. I want to be more sophisticated, elegant, graceful… while being wild and creative and passionate. I want to carry myself like a woman, and proud to be. I want to take better care of my appearance, and express this through what I wear, how I walk, the words I use, the choices I make, the activities I engage in.

I don’t want to be a child anymore. I really don’t want to be stuck in my family’s image of me. I don’t want to be stuck as a selfish, obnoxious, annoying, emotional, scared little girl. I want to be strong, in a sense of the word I never knew before; a sense of the word that I’m just now learning. And I want it. I really want it.

I think I can get it. I just have to keep fighting for it. It’s a life long battle, and it’s one that everybody has to come to terms with eventually… well I guess not everybody does. Not everybody is able to. So I suppose I should count myself among the lucky for having recognized it, for having started this battle so early on.

But I can’t even tell you if this is really all that early or not either. I suppose there are other people in the world who have started earlier in their lives than me, or will start later than me. So it’s not that I should compare myself to anyone else, right? I am who I am, and I should just… well, take care of that.

For example, I finally have friends around me who set an example for what I want in my life. I have a real community. I have family, that redefines what that really means for me (because I’ve never really had a very good opinion of the idea). It’s redefining itself right before my eyes. And with that, I’m learning what it means to be a woman. To be soft and strong at the same time.

I don’t want to feel like I have to hide behind the shield of a tomboy image, being rough and tough, a fighter, physically aggravated by everything. I don’t want to be my father.

I don’t want to be my mother either, who freaks out in wild terror anytime emotion confronts her, because she doesn’t know how to deal with confrontation. In fact, my recently developed panic attacks could be a sign that I’m becoming my mother. Oh god, they are. They’re something I inherited from her. Oh and I never wanted to think I was anything like my mother. Well, I don’t really think I am. In so many ways, in more ways than I can count, I am nothing like her. But I suppose I’m so afraid of the possibility that I’m freaking out about it, panicking in the face of it, and letting myself become like her all the same. It’s kind of ironic. And fucked up. Because I’m afraid of becoming like my mother, I am becoming like my mother. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy.

This is what’s happening to me. And that’s not OK. I’m turning into her. I’m freaking out, having panic attacks, freezing when faced with overwhelming emotion. And why? That’s not me. That’s her, coming through me. And when I get angry and just want to hit things; when I get frustrated and can’t find the words and resort to my fists, that’s my father coming through me.

I don’t want that. I don’t want this for myself. I’m not them. I’ve never been them, and I’m certainly not going to start being now. I’m going to be someone different. I’m going to be me.

I’m not even going to be my sisters. I wanted to grow up so I could be like them? I don’t want to be them. I want to feel more grown up, yes, but for me. For myself. To be myself. I’m still figuring out what that means, of course. That’s also a life long battle, a life long journey. But I’m figuring it out. I’m getting there. And I should be proud of that. I should be bloody proud of the progress I’ve made so far, of where I’m going, and the fact that I’m starting for possibly the first time in my life to be only that which I am, and want to be. Not because anybody else wants me to be something.

I can do this. I can do this. And God help me, I hope I remember that the next time I feel I’m getting stuck. Next time I panic, I hope I don’t forget.

I’m redefining what all this means to me: family, strength, femininity, vulnerability, friendship, community, trust, dignity, respect… hell, even emotion. I’m redefining all of that, and I’m redefining it in terms that make sense for me, in my own definitions of them. And that is invaluable. That is what I’m doing all this for. That’s the whole point of this entire damn journey.

That’s what I’ve started to do. And by gum, that’s what I’m going to continue doing. And please, please Rebecca – remember that as you do. It’s what it’s all for. It’s for yourself.

Got it?

A New Year, A New Perspective

01 Jan 2011 Leave a comment

by Beats Me in Uncategorized

I’m feeling a little under the weather today, and though I am completely aware of the reason why (*wink*), I am still left to face the failings of this mortal body. Last night was quite an event, celebrating the oncoming new year with so many incredible people, it’s hard to imagine anyone could have had a bad time. And yet, for most of the night, I found myself in a less-than-happy place. Why you ask? Yes, why would someone, surrounded by true loved ones, in a house so much like home, and in an especially extroverted environment, find themselves having an unfortunate evening?
The truth is I honestly don’t know. I can’t say what triggered it, and I haven’t a sense of when it started, but something in me just snapped and I found myself plummeting furiously into a panic attack. I knew this would dampen the mood of the party, so I removed myself to the far living room, where I lay down on the couch and commenced with my three step recovery process: Breathe Deep. Seek Peace. Beat Free.
But as I got going, I found it became excessively hard to get passed step one, Breathe Deep. Despite a pretty lengthy pass at it, my breath remained stubbornly short and compressed. So I started improvising new phrases to chant to myself, hoping to shake myself out of it. ‘I can get myself out of this,’ I would repeat. ‘There is no reason to panic.’ But no matter how many times I said these, and how fervently I meant it, the crushing anxiety remained.
It’s almost worst to feel such panic without knowing the actual reason for it. Usually when a panic attack hits, I can identify what caused it. But this time, I really couldn’t understand what the source could be. Nothing around me would have created such a negative feeling, and I can’t imagine anyone at the party having triggered it. So I was left bewildered and panicked for no good reason.
The rest of the party passed in relative struggle, as I tried to rejoin the festivities, and my anxiety drifted in and out and up and down. I felt like a ship rocking on dangerously stormy seas, powerless to the swell of the waves that sent me headlong into loneliness one minute, and an incredibly deep conversation the next. And through it all, the only thing I could be certain of was the proof that my own default methods weren’t working. Just breathing deeply didn’t work. And chanting motivational phrases with it didn’t help. Distracting myself in good conversation did help a little, but only fleetingly, and before long I was sunk down again in my dark abyss.
The only thing I found that finally did seem to have any lasting effect was when I sat down in the presence of someone calming, someone I wouldn’t find annoying. Now I am a very social person yes, and I tend to get along with everyone easily, but that does not necessarily mean that I don’t find some people’s personalities more or less exhausting. And when I’m in a particularly touchy mood, as in a panic attack I definitely am, I really cannot stand being around someone who would try pepping me up or asking a lot of questions. In that moment, I needed to just be, but not alone. I needed someone next to me who could just ‘be’ with me, just sit there and be for a while.
And what do ya know? There were very such friends at this party that could be that! I sought the company of each individual at different times throughout the night, as soon as I’d found myself able to bear company at all. And then we’d just sit, and maybe exchanged a few light words, but mainly we just sat and were. And wouldn’t you know it, but I started to feel better. With the help of these, and some extremely supportive words and caresses, I began to feel myself resurface. It was slow, so slow that I also can’t really pinpoint the moment I felt fully restored. But it did happen. And believe me, though I have not sufficient words to express, that I had never known such relief till then.
I was submerged in darkness for so much of the party last night, sunk so deep down under cold and fear. And through trial and error I found it far too hard to get out by myself. But eventually I did find peace, and it came in the form of friends’ support and the ability to just be present. I had to get over the idea that I was burdening others, that I was the only one I could rely on, that I alone had to overcome this struggle. And as I did, I found hands reaching out to lift me from the depths, and a powerful pull from their presence. Once I did, I found that I didn’t have to compromise any of my dignity, or admit any defeat. I didn’t feel pressured to force conversation or find words that weren’t there. And most importantly, I didn’t have to feel bad about myself for accepting that I was not meant to suffer through this alone.
We none of us are meant to suffer through the toils of this life alone. Just as our worlds are all connected, and the truest of our love is universal, so too our chances for survival are interdependent. On the dawn of a new year, and a new stage of my life, I also found a new perspective. I was reminded through this experience, this overwhelming new years celebration, that my capacity is only greater strengthened by the support of my community. And with the challenges this coming year will no doubt present, I know the power to be present with this knowledge is going to be paramount. I may not have all the answers now, and I may not be free from these panic attacks yet, but I finally feel hope is on the horizon through the combined strength of the community I build around me.
As you are reading this, I hope this speaks to you too, as you search for new perspective in the onset of this new year. In particular, I pray you know that I would be honored to be a part of that same community of strength for you. And above all, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for being a part of mine.

Tribute to the Awesome League

31 Dec 2010 Leave a comment

by Beats Me in Uncategorized

I wrote this poem directly via email to the Awesome League in preparation for our November Birthday Party, but as I’ve discovered more and more lately, it’s actually quite applicable for any obstacle that may cross our tribe’s path:

We have I fear put on our fear
and watched it build a tower
By now it’s grown to unknown
heights twisted and sour

But come what may this coming day
Will give us all the chance
To find a way to drop dismay
And on top the tower, dance!

So come together overcome
the fearsome and the fright
We are a family as ever was one
with powers that unite.

Yes stand with me and you will see
the party can go on
For we are the Awesome League
and together ever strong!

Worthwhile

28 Dec 2010 Leave a comment

by Beats Me in happiness

It’s funny how much we hang our sense of self-worth on the people outside ourselves.

I’ve spent my whole life trying to help my parents understand who I am, in the hope they might see my worth. I’ve spent my whole life defending my worth to my grandmother, who never believed I had any. And I spent my whole life trying to live up to the expectations of my sisters who, in my eyes, had far more worth than I ever would.

But never before in my life have I been blessed to have so many people in my life who truly appreciate my worth, and help me accept my own worth for myself (which is far more important). People who make me feel worthwhile.

I was reminded of this again today, and so I find it most appropriate and relevant now to share with you the Facebook note I wrote one crazy Monday in the office in tribute to my dearest friends…

Sept 27, 2010
A Message of Gratitude & Love

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking these last few weeks, since the burn and the post-frenzy of stress and sickness. As you may know, I have been struggling lately with issues of the heart, work over commitment, time management, career path and my worth, and so on. And as I’ve attempted to get a handle on all this, develop a plan to regain my sanity, I couldn’t help but realize there is one part of my life that does not bring me stress. The one part that is the glue keeping me clumsily together. And that, my dear friends, is you.

I could never have imagined myself so lucky to be surrounded by such an extraordinary plethora of loving, intelligent, perceptive, strong, and inspired people as you all are! I have come to depend on each of you in some way (and you know I’m not so good with depending on people). I am so unbelievably grateful for the support and guidance you each have given me, in your own way, in whatever part of my disjointed life I’ve unloaded to you.

I know this is an incredibly cheesy note, and I’m not normally this gushy (well at least not while sober), but it’s just become so apparent to me through all this recent self-reflection time I’ve had – that I could never have gotten this far without you – and I felt compelled this very moment to tell you.

No matter where we go from here, or how often we connect – no matter what our context or how our story continues – each and every one of you is an incredible and essential force in my life, and I never want you to forget that.

May you each find the peace and sanity you search for, and know always that you are loved.

Rebecca

The Looming Gloom

20 Dec 2010 1 Comment

by Beats Me in depression

Do you ever feel like crying for no reason? Does the urge to break down in tears ever hit you without really knowing why?

I’ve been feeling very lost and sad lately, but in as much as the sadness has been acute, it has also been equally without logical justification. I can’t say why I’ve been feeling so gray, but that doesn’t make it any less real or frightening.

You might say that I’m much like San Francisco, and my mood much like its weather. I never know what each day will bring, and the range is quite bizarre. There are those seemingly random days where the sun shines brilliantly and all is warm and bright. On those days, my spirits are up and the whole world around me is abuzz with activity and expectation. But as every SF native knows, those days are rare and fleeting, and soon the city will return itself to its most common caliginous state. A fog settles over me and everything seems to grow dull and dreary. Colors lose their vibrancy, goals become hazy, even people seem less interesting. And above all, motivation for forward movement feels exceptionally bleak.

When days like this hit, and they do hit often, I’ve often found solace in the perfectly packaged bliss of a good predictable film. So with this new development of inexplicable depression, I’ve been watching many such movies in an effort to… well I don’t know what, really. Usually, I say it’s an escape from the troubles of my own life, a chance to immerse myself in someone else’s problems for a while.

But the truth is, maybe that’s not it at all. Maybe I don’t even know what my problems are, so I watch these movies to see if mine might relate to what the characters suffer from. Perhaps these films might jog my memory or give more purpose to my own. Or maybe I’d just rather adopt their fictional reasons for being sad, so that when I cry, I actually know what the hell I’m crying for.

It may not be the healthiest thing to do, and I’m sure someone will tell me I’m just avoiding the real issue, and rather ought to buck up and face my own issues than try to drown them in someone else’s imagination.

But at this moment, and in the moments I’m watching those movies, I just want to believe in this feeling that I’m actually getting somewhere, anywhere, through the looming gloom. And right now, I’m going to say that any progress is good progress.

Unrequited Sleep

15 Dec 2010 1 Comment

by Beats Me in sleep

My body kept me awake until 8am this morning. No really, I’m not exaggerating – I wish I were. Last night, I lay me down to sleep round about midnight as usual, and proceeded to lie there… for 8 hours! The previous night, I also lay awake far longer than normal, but 5 hours of counting sheep seems slightly less ridiculous when you imagine staying awake against your will until both the sun and the entire productive world have fully risen. Even my cat gave up on me eventually and drifted off to her own mouse-filled neverland, cozily curled up against my restless legs. All the house was still, the usual late night bass from down the hall having retired some time ago, and the only remaining sound to keep me company now was the ticking second hand of my wall clock.

And I mean, I tried everything. I tried not thinking, I tried not thinking about not thinking. Then I tried actually letting myself think, about anything and everything I could think of. I tried breathing deeply. I tried counting my breaths. I even tried the good old reliable sheep counting. Nothing worked. Daydreaming usually does the trick for me, quieting all the other voices in my head and letting me drift into another fantastical world. But even that failed me last night.

Last night, I was being punished. Though I honestly can’t say what for. See, I’ve been getting a solid 10 hours of sleep nearly every night for the last two weeks. I’ve been faithfully going to bed by 12 or 1am each night, and waking around 10 or 11am each morning. I was paying off my very large long-standing sleeping debt, appealing to the slumber bookies. I was trying to get my health back on track, do good by my body for once. And this is what I get? This is how I’m rewarded for actually trying to take care of myself? You might as well just end the foreplay now and tell me that it’s hopeless, that I’ll be a weak miserable wretch the rest of my life.

Well about 5am, I saw the pattern from the night before repeating itself, and I decided I had to do something. So I reluctantly rose (for as awake as I was, I was still extremely weary) and attempted to occupy myself in the hopes of tiring. I signed online, found the one friend still awake and tried to engage in some friendly chatter. I went to the kitchen to consider a (very) late night snack. I went to the bathroom and re-brushed my teeth. I danced around my room like a marionette in the hands of an epileptic. I must have looked like a complete fool, but I had to do something! I don’t know how long I went on. But when I finally ran out of fresh ideas, I slumped back to bed, nestled deep into those familiar flannel sheets, and closed my eyes.

And still nothing! Not even the slightest faded feeling. I’m starting to wonder if I’ll ever fall asleep again. I’m lying here, physically exhausted, mentally wiped, psychologically drained, and now I’m actually starting to imagine that I’ll be stuck like this forever. I don’t know what else I can do. It’s maybe the first time in a very long time that I’ve felt unequivocally utterly lost and alone. Have you ever felt like that? Have you ever felt like all your hard work, all the hopes you harvested, all the time you’ve invested, all of it was worth nothing? All is wasted in the end and can no more bring you solace than a fish can fly. You are what you are ever and always, and no amount of desperate effort can change that. In this moment, and the lifetime of moments ahead of me, I will forever be an incomplete restless soul.

I suppose that’s the message I’m supposed to take from this. No matter how hard I may grit my teeth and brave through the labyrinth of my twisted mind, no matter how long I try to give my body rest, in the end I will still be the same person with the same defects and the same unrequited dreams.

It’s all worth nothing… And if nothing is at stake, then nothing can be lost. So to be lost myself is to have nothing to lose, and thus everything to gain. I know that may make no sense, but I was up till 8am this morning, so you’ll have to forgive me.

Self-Validation

14 Dec 2010 Leave a comment

by Beats Me in Uncategorized

I went to a movie by myself today. It was an experiment; a social experiment. Except this time I wasn’t analyzing how people interact, or how I interact with other people, but quite the opposite. This time I was trying to uncover something much more important and much harder to pinpoint; how I interact with myself. And hopefully ultimately, what it is that I’m really searching for. And believe me, I realize that’s a lot to hang on one 2 hour matinee.

So I drive myself to the theater, with the nervous anticipation of a kid starting their first day at school. I keep reminding myself I’m doing this for myself, and nobody else. But I can’t help wonder what other people at the theater might think of me, or how pathetic I’m sure this will look to them. But I buy my ticket for one with my head high and the confidence of this decision in my heart, and I can feel their eyes on me as I calmly purchase a snack and make my way into Theater 4.

Or at least I think this is Theater 4. I’m so preoccupied with myself that I don’t really check the theater number that carefully before walking in. But now I’m inside, and I’ve walked far enough in that the other people in their seats can now see me. And now I don’t want to look lost or stupid by walking back out. So I hesitate for a mere second, and then I just gather myself and go straight to my assigned seat.

Now that’s the great thing about the Kabuki Theater, you get to pick an assigned seat. So even when the theater is nearly empty, and you usually have the complicated task of trying to decide where would be most comfortable to sit relative to the few others in the theater, here you don’t have to worry about any of that. You’ve already been assigned. You already have your place. So you can walk confidently to that exact seat without thinking twice or questioning your identity.

I sit down in my usual favorite seat, my sweet spot. You know, that exact middle seat in the first row of the back section. The row with no rows in front of it, but only that staunch metal railing, always there ready to hold up your feet for you and let you relax without the bother of some annoyingly chatty or antsy person in front of you. But once I’ve settled into my little centered oasis, the concern about the correctness of the theater returns. So I swallow my pride, and turning to the pair of guys behind me (who are the only other people in the theater by the way), I calmly ask, ‘This is Theater 4 right?’ They smirk and reply, ‘Yep, Theater 4. So if you’re here to see Love and Other Drugs, you’re in the right place.’

I thank them, relieved, and turn back around to resume my privacy. The two guys continue with their interrupted conversation, and I begin to notice myself eavesdropping. I catch a few words I recognize, and I have a momentary urge to turn back around and pipe in my two cents. But then I catch myself. I’m not here to learn about interacting with other people. To be honest, I already know I’m good at that. No, I’m here to learn how to interact with myself, while the self is in a particularly uncomfortable place for a self to be alone.

So I sit still, and try to focus on myself. But what the hell does that really mean? I sit silent, block out the ambient noise and conversation around me. My thoughts start to wander, and as usual, I start to think about my schedule. I think about what I plan to do with the rest of my day after the movie. I think about Christmas gift shopping, and what errands I’ll need to run on my way down to the Peninsula tomorrow. All trivial things, you notice, about what might happen in the future. As usual, I am failing at letting myself just be present, in the present, with myself. And the failure of it starts to upset me. So naturally, the next stage sets in of frustration and self-doubt. And then the fidgeting starts.

By the time my phone rings, I’m starting to go mad inside my head, wondering when the hell this damn movie is ever going to start. But saved by the ring. It’s Gayle. She’s returning my call from earlier to talk about plans for the week. I pick up, but have to warn her right away that the movie I’m waiting on might start any second, and so we agree to hang up and just have her message me. Disappointed at my loss of a momentary distraction, I reluctantly hang up and return to my former state of anxiety.

I’m just about to sink into its familiar depths, when the big screen springs to life, and the previews begin. I can hardly contain my sigh of relief, and I happily nestle further into my seat, with my Sour Patch Kids on my lap and my feet comfortably perched on that trusty railing. The movie is typical but good; the usual arc of a good romantic drama. Boy meets Girl. Boy is a messed up commitment-phobe, but wait, so is Girl! So Boy and Girl start getting it on, but then of course strings start to attach themselves, and Boy falls for Girl. Girl is wary and doesn’t let herself fall, until Boy starts to doubt. Then Girl finally gives in, as Boy starts to get scared. Girl sees Boy get scared, and breaks it off in tears. And we reach the point in the drama where it is socially acceptable for audience members to cry. Then time passes, and Boy realizes what he’s lost. So Boy chases after Girl, tracks her down and confesses his undying love, at which point you can bet every woman in the audience is pumping the water works. And it all ends happily and neatly, as we all expect it to, though we complain endlessly about how archaically unoriginal it all is.

The credits roll, and as expected I’m in tears. As expected, I cried when Jake Gyllenhaal set his true pale blue eyes deep into Anne Hathaway’s and declared that he needs her. But also as expected, I come out of my movie trance without any deeper understanding of my life beyond the usual, ‘oh why can’t that be me?’ thought. And I must admit, I’m a bit disappointed. But what did I expect? I come to the movies – people come to the movies – as an escape from daily life, not as a means to dig deeper into it. So why did I think this experience would be any different.

I sit through all the credits, as I always do, and try to catch glimpses of the names scrolling by, scanning for something somewhat familiar or eye-catching. I listen to the song accompanying credits, and I hear Regina Spektor sing ‘I never loved nobody fully / Always one foot on the ground.’ And I smile to myself, feeling for that brief second my story told in those few lines. And when the credits finish, I dry my eyes, pack up my trash, and walk slowly out of the theater. I’m calm, but the disappointment still lingers. Now, on top of the usual automatic depression from seeing a unrealistically happily ending romance movie, I also have the addition of something worse – the heavy truth that my experiment failed.

I get to the bottom of the stairs, and decide to pop into the bathroom for a quick pee and face check, which only ends up making me feel worse as I now also have the reassurance that the zits on my face have gotten just noticeably redder. And let me digress for a second to say how ridiculous it is! Depression and stress have been proven to encourage the appearance of acne, and then the presence of the acne causes even more depression and stress. It’s such an unfair, unnecessary, vicious cycle.

Anyway, coming out of the bathroom, I remember that I should get my parking pass validated before leaving. So I pull out the little pink slip and head to the ticket counter. There is only one woman working just then, and she is clearly in no hurry whatsoever. So I get to stand there patiently while the couple in front of me puzzle excessively over which seats they should select to maximize their movie experience. (So maybe there is a downside to having assigned seats here after all).

I’m trying not to be annoyed, when I look to my right, and there on the edge of the counter is the damn ticket validation stamp, positioned all nice and friendly right there so you can do it yourself! What a brilliant idea! I waited all this time, only to find out that – well it really doesn’t matter now. So I walk nonchalantly up to the counter, stick in my ticket, and imprint my own validation.

And then it hits me. I just validated myself! I went through this whole damn experiment, sat through 2 hours of adorably routine romantic fiction, and gained absolutely nothing new or insightful out of it until this. All it was for, all I really wanted out of this experience was simply that; self-validation. I went to a movie by myself today. No scratch that. I went to a movie for myself today. And in the end, I found self-validation. And I wore that smug self-satisfied smile on my face the whole drive home.

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