When I was 14 a friend of mine died of childhood leukemia. We thought she had mono at first at the beginning of the school year, then discovered it was a form of acute leukemia. We made signs for her hospital room, prayed for her and remembered her at club meetings and assemblies all year. She finally passed away at Duke University in January, and her funeral was in early February. I attended it, but could only sit in the overflow room that was connected by television to the sanctuary. I attended the burial as well, saw the clutch of her best friends hugging each other in the cold.
When I got home, I changed out of my dress and put on jeans and my dad's grey t-shirt that said in the corner, "Washington, D. C. YMCA." I looked around my messy room and then went across the hall to my parents' room. I stretched out on the freshly made bed, and buried my face in a pillow. I can't remember if I cried (if I did it was brief), I just remember the horrible emotional nothing that I felt. My friends had already chastised me about my lack of tears in school, on the bus, in the courtyard. That only added to the emptiness in my soul. When I talked about that day years later with my mom, she recalled that she too had felt empty about this particular case of death in someone so young.
I just read another post, about what is empty being capable of being filled. Not sure who they are referring to as the source (Lao-tzu?), but I thought of all the things that have filled my soul since that day of emptying out, from that day to this. Recalling that day in more detail has brought back that empty feeling. It is good to pour out once in a while. It is good to write about things.
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
Thoughts on the Way to an Intervention
Earlier this year I marked the tenth anniversary of a pact I made with myself. Ten years ago I resolved to take all the pills. That was the gist of it at first, always to be compliant with medication, but it quickly became much more encompassing than that. I have been on a ten year quest to heal myself and make something better with myself, to get somewhere better in life.
Ten and a half years on, I am not even halfway through. In fact, the foundations are barely laid. Every day is a fight to put one foot in front of the other. (Look at you, with pants on! Great job!) These are some of the things I have learned.
1. This is not your problem. This is everyone's problem. One of my acquaintances became severely depressed after the death of his best friend. His teacher said to him, quietly, these wise words. My acquaintance repeated them to me years later. It was an a-ha moment. As recently as six years ago, I had a list in my head of people to call and "vent" to, yell with, sob at, when even the smallest little thing went wrong. One of these friends suddenly quit answering the phone when I called, ever. Being mindful of your loved ones suffering along with you is a must-have change in perspective on the road to healing. Now, when something doesn't go my way, I don't dial the phone first thing.
2. If your external environment is less than ideal, go within to change it. In a new city with few friends? Get independent. Expand your inner horizons. Take that oil painting class. Go to the coffee shop and take something with you, a sketchbook or an iPad. Write, draw, knit, or whatever there for three hours or until you have gotten something accomplished. Family not empathetic enough to suit you? Care about them a little less. No, I'm serious. That will let them off the hook of supporting you, and allow you to accept what is. That acceptance of what is will open up space for inner joy in your own life.
3. Allow yourself to regress (not by drinking or drug use, but emotionally or mentally or spiritually), or move laterally, or progress in a way you didn't see coming. I have never had the best coping skills. When something stresses me, I usually cover myself with blankets and hide for a few days. Sleeping or not sleeping. I call it my cocoon. It usually lasts about three days, then I feel ok enough to move forward with more pro-active steps. When that happens, I go back to the beginning of my journey, of only doing the have-to's. The want-to's or the really-should's can wait. The have-to's get done. Two steps forward, one step back.
4. Creating, or using one's gift, is not an option. This is the hardest lesson of all. Bad things happen to an artist who doesn't allow himself to make art. I am Exhibit A of this theory. I had a traumatizing experience with sharing my work with the world when I was very young, and that is why I thought that I didn't have to share my gift with the world, or even myself. But I was very bad wrong about this. Creativity and neurosis are linked, they are like a balance. Starve creativity, neurosis will grow. Feed creativity, neurosis will shrink. Every day I am not creating something, I am digging my hole a little deeper.
5. Accepting help, aka charity, is a positive trait. It is a sign of motherfucking integrity. There are times when someone will do something for you that you can never hope to repay them for. And that thing is not an option to refuse simply because your survival will depend on it. Be grateful and take it. Never ever forget it and be kind to yourself and all beings in the future because of it.
6. Every day is a fight, for every living thing on the planet. It is a fight each and every day, for a soccer mom in the suburbs, for a deer in the wilderness, for an ant living in a crack in your porch, for Donald Trump (I know because I heard him say it on The Apprentice), for me, for you, for your prom king and queen, for everyone. Each day you fight will make you stronger for the next day, which will be harder. So not fighting puts you in a hole.
7. You are fucking special. I know you are because I am fucking special, too. There is no one like me on the face of the planet. I am unique in a way that makes it hard for me to fit in. Not everyone appreciates other people's uniqueness, and not everyone sees it. But it's there. Appreciate it in yourself, and try to be around those who appreciate it in you. It will make you feel better, and that's part of healing.
I could go on with these, but that seems like as good a stopping point as any. I hope the next ten years will bring me as far forward as the past ten years, if not more so. I'm not hallucinating in a hospital gown, so I can definitely see some progress. But I still have more work to do, and I can see that too. I am hoping that by writing this, I can make a mark in my mind to go forward from here, as much as that moment ten and a half years ago in the hospital was a mark in my mind to begin from. Onward.
Ten and a half years on, I am not even halfway through. In fact, the foundations are barely laid. Every day is a fight to put one foot in front of the other. (Look at you, with pants on! Great job!) These are some of the things I have learned.
1. This is not your problem. This is everyone's problem. One of my acquaintances became severely depressed after the death of his best friend. His teacher said to him, quietly, these wise words. My acquaintance repeated them to me years later. It was an a-ha moment. As recently as six years ago, I had a list in my head of people to call and "vent" to, yell with, sob at, when even the smallest little thing went wrong. One of these friends suddenly quit answering the phone when I called, ever. Being mindful of your loved ones suffering along with you is a must-have change in perspective on the road to healing. Now, when something doesn't go my way, I don't dial the phone first thing.
2. If your external environment is less than ideal, go within to change it. In a new city with few friends? Get independent. Expand your inner horizons. Take that oil painting class. Go to the coffee shop and take something with you, a sketchbook or an iPad. Write, draw, knit, or whatever there for three hours or until you have gotten something accomplished. Family not empathetic enough to suit you? Care about them a little less. No, I'm serious. That will let them off the hook of supporting you, and allow you to accept what is. That acceptance of what is will open up space for inner joy in your own life.
3. Allow yourself to regress (not by drinking or drug use, but emotionally or mentally or spiritually), or move laterally, or progress in a way you didn't see coming. I have never had the best coping skills. When something stresses me, I usually cover myself with blankets and hide for a few days. Sleeping or not sleeping. I call it my cocoon. It usually lasts about three days, then I feel ok enough to move forward with more pro-active steps. When that happens, I go back to the beginning of my journey, of only doing the have-to's. The want-to's or the really-should's can wait. The have-to's get done. Two steps forward, one step back.
4. Creating, or using one's gift, is not an option. This is the hardest lesson of all. Bad things happen to an artist who doesn't allow himself to make art. I am Exhibit A of this theory. I had a traumatizing experience with sharing my work with the world when I was very young, and that is why I thought that I didn't have to share my gift with the world, or even myself. But I was very bad wrong about this. Creativity and neurosis are linked, they are like a balance. Starve creativity, neurosis will grow. Feed creativity, neurosis will shrink. Every day I am not creating something, I am digging my hole a little deeper.
5. Accepting help, aka charity, is a positive trait. It is a sign of motherfucking integrity. There are times when someone will do something for you that you can never hope to repay them for. And that thing is not an option to refuse simply because your survival will depend on it. Be grateful and take it. Never ever forget it and be kind to yourself and all beings in the future because of it.
6. Every day is a fight, for every living thing on the planet. It is a fight each and every day, for a soccer mom in the suburbs, for a deer in the wilderness, for an ant living in a crack in your porch, for Donald Trump (I know because I heard him say it on The Apprentice), for me, for you, for your prom king and queen, for everyone. Each day you fight will make you stronger for the next day, which will be harder. So not fighting puts you in a hole.
7. You are fucking special. I know you are because I am fucking special, too. There is no one like me on the face of the planet. I am unique in a way that makes it hard for me to fit in. Not everyone appreciates other people's uniqueness, and not everyone sees it. But it's there. Appreciate it in yourself, and try to be around those who appreciate it in you. It will make you feel better, and that's part of healing.
I could go on with these, but that seems like as good a stopping point as any. I hope the next ten years will bring me as far forward as the past ten years, if not more so. I'm not hallucinating in a hospital gown, so I can definitely see some progress. But I still have more work to do, and I can see that too. I am hoping that by writing this, I can make a mark in my mind to go forward from here, as much as that moment ten and a half years ago in the hospital was a mark in my mind to begin from. Onward.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
A Very Long Day
http://outofthemud-lotus.tumblr.com/post/55093577777/yesterday-i-was-awake-for-23-hours-consecutively
Yesterday I was awake for 23 hours consecutively. It started out as a great day, then it just kept getting better. I cleaned the kitchen, I took the dogs on a walk, I made myself a smoothie. All these tasks a day after wallowing in despair. I got the item I needed to finish my project. I went to therapy. I took all my meds at the right time with proper meals. Then I guess I just missed my window for falling asleep. That window came at 7:00, since I had started my day at three (am). I had also written a blog, so before I went to bed I gratuitously checked my stats. That led to unnecessary and very visible facebooking, and texting back and forth with my bestie. It just kept going.
Also, I forgot to mention that I had stopped a woman from bullying her child in the grocery store. I was in rare form. That decision was made in a split second. I saw what was happening, I thought about what it must be like to be in that kid’s shoes, and about how I should just mind my own business, or NOT, and stand up for the poor defenseless thing, like I would want someone to do for me. So I yelled at her. Then I posted about it on Facebook. I got lots of pats on the back for it, but when I consider that I was probably manic or at least hypomanic, I feel weird. I think it was a good thing that I was thinking so quickly, or else I would not have been able to do what I did. But what if my words came out too fast, like unintelligibly fast, as they sometimes have done in the past? I mean, it took triple the amount of pills to finally knock me out last night, and here I am again, perfectly ok the next morning. I’m trying to decide if I should go into the doctor. This is my superpower. This is my beast mode.
Yesterday I was awake for 23 hours consecutively. It started out as a great day, then it just kept getting better. I cleaned the kitchen, I took the dogs on a walk, I made myself a smoothie. All these tasks a day after wallowing in despair. I got the item I needed to finish my project. I went to therapy. I took all my meds at the right time with proper meals. Then I guess I just missed my window for falling asleep. That window came at 7:00, since I had started my day at three (am). I had also written a blog, so before I went to bed I gratuitously checked my stats. That led to unnecessary and very visible facebooking, and texting back and forth with my bestie. It just kept going.
Also, I forgot to mention that I had stopped a woman from bullying her child in the grocery store. I was in rare form. That decision was made in a split second. I saw what was happening, I thought about what it must be like to be in that kid’s shoes, and about how I should just mind my own business, or NOT, and stand up for the poor defenseless thing, like I would want someone to do for me. So I yelled at her. Then I posted about it on Facebook. I got lots of pats on the back for it, but when I consider that I was probably manic or at least hypomanic, I feel weird. I think it was a good thing that I was thinking so quickly, or else I would not have been able to do what I did. But what if my words came out too fast, like unintelligibly fast, as they sometimes have done in the past? I mean, it took triple the amount of pills to finally knock me out last night, and here I am again, perfectly ok the next morning. I’m trying to decide if I should go into the doctor. This is my superpower. This is my beast mode.
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
Writing Prompt: Why We Love by Albert Einstein
http://outofthemud-lotus.tumblr.com/post/55003309341/writingprompts-759-books-that-for-one-reason
writingprompts:
#759
"books that for one reason or another do not exist, but certainly should…" - Tyler Adam Smith at 100daystyleradamsmith.tumblr.com
Why we love by Albert Einstein
This book will not tell you why we love, only ways that we love. To know why we love is to know that we love, as fully or as inadequately as we are able to do. Mothers may love more fully than some, but some again may love less fully than a four-legged loyal canine. Husbands and wives may love, but what is that compared to the love they both have for their newborn daughter? Men may love one another, but is that love any greater or less than a robin has in spring for its mate? Yes, I submit to you, dear reader, that animals love as well as human beings do, maybe better. Penguins mate for life, but the aforementioned robins do not hate each other the coming spring when new mates are found.
I could write more, but this prompt is only the first page. (Hee hee) I could write the whole book. Maybe I will.
HJ
Monday, July 1, 2013
40 Days
40 Days...
Why 40? Is it Biblical? It must be so. I ate strictly paleo diet for 150+consecutive meals, and I tracked them all in My Fitness Pal. That was more than 40 days; it was more like 50 or 60, but then I had to travel, and my “chain" was broken through not having complete control over the pantry. And now I’ve had to start all over again, even with having the will to be so hard-core. I lost 18 pounds, though, so I definitely have seen results. Always it’s like this in my life, two steps forward, one step back.
So I read an article on elephant.com about a book called 40 Days of Yoga: Breaking Down Barriers to a Home Yoga Practice. More interesting than the premise, the reviewer said not only had she achieved a daily home yoga practice, she also blogged about it and then decided to do the same thing with writing. Yes, writing.
Really, 40 days can lead to anything you want it to lead to. It only takes 21 of those days, I hear, to create a habit. So that’s basically half of it. What are the other 19 for? Just for good measure? For erasing those ugly self-doubting mechanistic thoughts of the ego? I know from my experience with the paleo diet it can take longer than 40 days to do that.
And what about that experience with paleo? Sixty days and still, no prolonged habit. What if I travel again? (I most certainly will.) Will I be strong enough to break out my mat/laptop in the home of my parents? In my defense, I did buy paleo food while I was there last, just everybody else ate it all. I can’t complain, it was mainly produce and I’m glad it was there for them.
I just don’t adapt well to transitions, as part of my condition. It takes me forever to roll with the punches. I had control and that was good. I lost that control for a time, and now I can’t get used to having it again, or to just having it when I have it and not when I don’t. Anybody got any tips for making adjustments like this? Boiling it down to a cliche that I can repeat as a mantra? I’m good at that, sometimes. Maybe it goes like this, "I do the best I can, when I can."
It’s just so hard to get back on track….
Thursday, April 18, 2013
On Creativity and Neurosis
Creativity. If you have it, you need to use it. I didn't believe this or know this for most of my life, until recently. It never occurred to me that not using my gifts as a writer, artist, dancer, crafter, and yes chef was actually doing harm to me. I thought, arrogantly, that I could avoid the "tortured" life of an artist (how cliche would it be to live that life?) simply by not being an artist.
I know now that just the opposite is true. I was born with many gifts, but I wasn't born with the drive to use them. Or rather, I wasn't born with some sense that I should use them. Some of my friends were. And because of that, they have pursued their talents in school and in their careers and it is paying off. I didn't. And because of that, part of me is not as fully developed as it could be by now. I'm trying to change that.
Due to an early trauma with the creation of my first work of writing, a short story I wrote in second grade, creating isn't easy for me. It's actually painful. But what's more painful is being stagnant in my life, being only partially developed, being deformed in soul.
I'm working on it. Through this blog and my fledgling handmade undertaking, I try to do something creative for a little while each day. Sometimes I fail. I haven't quite made it to the point where I can spend all my free time doing what I really want and need to be doing, but I'm getting there.
I am a slow processor, and I have to think about things. A lot. It can be annoying, and I recently read research that says we're less happy when our minds wander. So I'm trying to be more busy while being focused and mindful. It seems like a paradox when all my yoga teachers and religious teachers say to be less busy, to slow down. In fact, everything I surround myself with (yoga, the teachings of Buddha and Jesus, Real Simple magazine) points to the conclusion that I am already on a higher plane of being. I spend much of my time in a meditative state. But the truth is that I have to come down from that plane a little in order to be more successful in my life.
So in this blog, not only will I try to stay on topic, which is mainly how I deal with significant mental illness, but also expand that topic to creativity and how I'm trying to heal. I'll continue to post my insights and this will not become a craft tutorial blog. It will still be writing based but I want to update it more often. It's hard to do that when it's only about one small, albeit influential, segment of my life. Think, "Holly's eye-view."
Thanks to all who read this. You're helping me heal too.
I know now that just the opposite is true. I was born with many gifts, but I wasn't born with the drive to use them. Or rather, I wasn't born with some sense that I should use them. Some of my friends were. And because of that, they have pursued their talents in school and in their careers and it is paying off. I didn't. And because of that, part of me is not as fully developed as it could be by now. I'm trying to change that.
Due to an early trauma with the creation of my first work of writing, a short story I wrote in second grade, creating isn't easy for me. It's actually painful. But what's more painful is being stagnant in my life, being only partially developed, being deformed in soul.
I'm working on it. Through this blog and my fledgling handmade undertaking, I try to do something creative for a little while each day. Sometimes I fail. I haven't quite made it to the point where I can spend all my free time doing what I really want and need to be doing, but I'm getting there.
I am a slow processor, and I have to think about things. A lot. It can be annoying, and I recently read research that says we're less happy when our minds wander. So I'm trying to be more busy while being focused and mindful. It seems like a paradox when all my yoga teachers and religious teachers say to be less busy, to slow down. In fact, everything I surround myself with (yoga, the teachings of Buddha and Jesus, Real Simple magazine) points to the conclusion that I am already on a higher plane of being. I spend much of my time in a meditative state. But the truth is that I have to come down from that plane a little in order to be more successful in my life.
So in this blog, not only will I try to stay on topic, which is mainly how I deal with significant mental illness, but also expand that topic to creativity and how I'm trying to heal. I'll continue to post my insights and this will not become a craft tutorial blog. It will still be writing based but I want to update it more often. It's hard to do that when it's only about one small, albeit influential, segment of my life. Think, "Holly's eye-view."
Thanks to all who read this. You're helping me heal too.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Spring Cleaning
Yesterday I created some major new, open space in my body through an awesome yoga class led by the lovely Amber Shumake. I also lost 1.5 pounds in the last three days thanks to my new paleo diet. So that helped create some space, too.
I think when it comes to weight loss, you truly have to be INSPIRED to do it. You can't phone it in. I gained this weight due to a medication that I'm not on anymore and it's taken some time to find the right way to get it back off. I hope I've finally found it: a major change in nutrition (no more dairy and very few grains, if any) plus exercise in moderation. I try to do a yoga class at least once a week and also on my own at home, I work out {also at home} with some 15-minute strength training workouts I found in a magazine, and I take the dogs on long, fast walks.
I don't think weight loss is possible without exercise. At least, not healthy weight loss. You have to protect your muscles or else that's what you'll lose. And you don't want to lose muscle because muscle burns fat.
Anyway, enough of the diatribe. Back to the space. Back to the lovely Amber Shumake. Because she said something during that class that gave me an epiphany. She said, "Send out the bad stuff that is getting stirred up when you are opening up these joints," {paraphrasing}. "Don't just let it be stagnant and stay inside you."
I was like, "OH!" Because as simple as that sounds, and as obvious as it may seem to some, I hadn't been doing that. It's harder than you might think. There are a lot of stories my ego tells me about why I can't let go of my pain. "It might land on someone else in the room. You wouldn't want them to suffer, would you?" I was noticing how I was telling myself this absurdity while lying in bed last night. I heard an airplane pass overhead. I tried to send the "bad stuff" out, out of my apartment complex into the atmosphere into the far reaches of space, never to be heard from again. Until, light-years away, an alien race in tune with such things travels across the universe to destroy us all because of my horrible pain. Or at least, that airplane falls out of the sky because of it.
I listened. It didn't fall. That's when a small voice told me, "Your pain is not that powerful." I realized this was true. Even if it did "land" on my sweaty neighbor in yoga class, it probably wouldn't even bother her much, not like it burdens me. So I am sending out, out, out, and bringing in the new and the good. Creating space. Thanks Amber.
I think when it comes to weight loss, you truly have to be INSPIRED to do it. You can't phone it in. I gained this weight due to a medication that I'm not on anymore and it's taken some time to find the right way to get it back off. I hope I've finally found it: a major change in nutrition (no more dairy and very few grains, if any) plus exercise in moderation. I try to do a yoga class at least once a week and also on my own at home, I work out {also at home} with some 15-minute strength training workouts I found in a magazine, and I take the dogs on long, fast walks.
I don't think weight loss is possible without exercise. At least, not healthy weight loss. You have to protect your muscles or else that's what you'll lose. And you don't want to lose muscle because muscle burns fat.
Anyway, enough of the diatribe. Back to the space. Back to the lovely Amber Shumake. Because she said something during that class that gave me an epiphany. She said, "Send out the bad stuff that is getting stirred up when you are opening up these joints," {paraphrasing}. "Don't just let it be stagnant and stay inside you."
I was like, "OH!" Because as simple as that sounds, and as obvious as it may seem to some, I hadn't been doing that. It's harder than you might think. There are a lot of stories my ego tells me about why I can't let go of my pain. "It might land on someone else in the room. You wouldn't want them to suffer, would you?" I was noticing how I was telling myself this absurdity while lying in bed last night. I heard an airplane pass overhead. I tried to send the "bad stuff" out, out of my apartment complex into the atmosphere into the far reaches of space, never to be heard from again. Until, light-years away, an alien race in tune with such things travels across the universe to destroy us all because of my horrible pain. Or at least, that airplane falls out of the sky because of it.
I listened. It didn't fall. That's when a small voice told me, "Your pain is not that powerful." I realized this was true. Even if it did "land" on my sweaty neighbor in yoga class, it probably wouldn't even bother her much, not like it burdens me. So I am sending out, out, out, and bringing in the new and the good. Creating space. Thanks Amber.
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