I've said in other posts that I have been busy on a different project which has pulled me away from doing a lot of blogging. Well that's still true, but in the course of doing my other project I came to realize something interesting that I thought might be a good blog. *Disclaimer, because I am writing about real people I will not be using their names. These things happened many years ago, we are all different people now.*
Growing up, I was completely involved in church and church activities. Being a pastor's kid kind of meant I had to but also all my friends were. Acquire the Fire, Christian concerts, etc, were what I looked forward to. My best friends' dad was our youth pastor, every person on the praise and worship team was either a friend or a friend's parent. Most of our church youth group had known each other for over a decade. To top it off at least four of my buddies lived less than a half block away. There was the regular drama from time to time between each other and sometimes even our parents but for the most part life was good.
That all changed the summer going into my junior year. First the youth group leader got mad about something and left the church. My best friend and I could now only talk on the phone (no cellphones yet). It was hard but it also wasn't the first time this guy had done this so I was pretty convinced they would be back soon enough.
Then one Sunday no one from the praise and worship team was at church, well except me and I was the sound chick. Not the pianist, drummer, guitar players or any of the singers, none. It seemed shocking to me, but my parents must have known because they just took everything in stride. Apparently there had been some issues brewing that I was unaware of and honestly it's been so long that I really don't care what they were. Throughout the school year ( I went to a school at the church) there had been some tension between the administrators, one of whom was my father, but again I really didn't need to know, then or now. But suddenly (or so it seemed to me) I woke up, went to church, and had not a single childhood friend was there. The youth group was gone, I mean empty, the closest kids to my age were at least 3 years younger, most of them even more.
Throughout the next week, almost all of my friends talked with me about what they knew, which was mostly, "Mom and Dad said we are going to try another church." Most of the parents were cool with me hanging out with their kids like normal even, except one particular family. It just so happened to be the person from the school that I had had quite a bit of run ins with. This family wouldn't let their kids hang out even if we were at a mutual friends house; if I showed up, their kids had to leave. For years I hated these parents! Just hearing their names would bring back these awful memories. It wasn't until I was in Iraq and I learned what true hatred was, that I realized I didn't hate them at all. I was just terribly hurt. I couldn't understand why they dislike me so much or what I had done that made them not allow me to speak with their kids anymore. Now I realize, who cares? It was so long ago I bet no one remembers why or who did what. And really it doesn't matter anyhow. But finally understanding that I didn't hate them, allowed me to forgive them and let go of the past. I had been holding onto it for so long that I didn't even realize the weight anymore.
While this was such a hard and depressed time for me, I found I wasn't alone. I had some new friends who quickly became close- Amy Young, the whole Overstreet family, you guys will never know how much you saved me. And my old friends, some of them have faded with time but we are still friendly, and others are still incredibly close, even more so than before; I won't use names because I said so early on, but I'm pretty sure my little "sister" knows who I mean!
It's weird what things a person remembers when they grow up, for some reason that summer never fades fully away. Maybe it was because that was when I first learned that things would never be always the same or because I started to painfully grow and do different things. The next year I went to public school for the first time, I started making friends outside of my church, and I stretched my wings a little in the theatre department.
Sometimes I can still feel the old hurt and bitterness try to creep back in; mostly when I'm having a down phase. I just remind myself that it's old, the scars have already faded and it won't hurt anymore unless I start to scratch at them. Instead of being upset over the one terrible summer we had, I remember all the great memories from the years and years of friendship we had before and the new memories we've made since.
Monday, July 31, 2017
Sunday, June 18, 2017
Dear Dad
Dear Dad,
I keep rewriting this over and over trying to make it sound just right. I want to say Happy Father's Day but in a way that let's you know how much I really care for you. I hope this gives you just a little glimpse into how much you mean to me.
My birth Dad- I'm so glad to be your daughter! I have your dark hair, slightly crazy humor, and stinky farts! Ok the last one was for laughs, but the first two are very true! You had to make an incredibly hard decision years ago when you decided to allow another man to raise me. You made the right choice; I say that because I know you did what you thought would be best for me no matter how hard for you. I'm so glad we are able to have a good relationship and get to know each other better. I love you.
Dad- You are the man that chose to be my father. I can never correctly describe the joy I felt when you asked if you could be my dad. I felt so thrilled to know that you wanted me to be your daughter. As I sit here thinking back some of the memories that pop up are you teaching me how to ride a bike, climbing that tree next to our house on Thayer St, and hunting for used flares on the ranges after your military maneuvers. As I got older there were board games, math homework (ugh), the DC Talk concert, and driving practice, you're a brave man for that! You are one of the constants in my life; whenever I need you, you're there. I'm proud to be your daughter. I love you dad.
So now have a great Father's Day and hopefully the rest of the family got you something other than a blog post!
I keep rewriting this over and over trying to make it sound just right. I want to say Happy Father's Day but in a way that let's you know how much I really care for you. I hope this gives you just a little glimpse into how much you mean to me.
My birth Dad- I'm so glad to be your daughter! I have your dark hair, slightly crazy humor, and stinky farts! Ok the last one was for laughs, but the first two are very true! You had to make an incredibly hard decision years ago when you decided to allow another man to raise me. You made the right choice; I say that because I know you did what you thought would be best for me no matter how hard for you. I'm so glad we are able to have a good relationship and get to know each other better. I love you.
Dad- You are the man that chose to be my father. I can never correctly describe the joy I felt when you asked if you could be my dad. I felt so thrilled to know that you wanted me to be your daughter. As I sit here thinking back some of the memories that pop up are you teaching me how to ride a bike, climbing that tree next to our house on Thayer St, and hunting for used flares on the ranges after your military maneuvers. As I got older there were board games, math homework (ugh), the DC Talk concert, and driving practice, you're a brave man for that! You are one of the constants in my life; whenever I need you, you're there. I'm proud to be your daughter. I love you dad.
So now have a great Father's Day and hopefully the rest of the family got you something other than a blog post!
Saturday, May 20, 2017
Memorial Day
I made it thru at least half the month before I saw the first commercial. Big huge letters and bright patriotic backgrounds telling me what a bundle I can save on Memorial Day weekend. But let me start from the beginning.
I dislike May. Maybe one of the few nice things my Iraqi vacation did for me was mash the most shittiest of my experiences into to one approximate 40 day period, starting in May and ending after the first 10 days of June. I don't know if giving pauses in between each thing would have helped or not, so I will choose to look on the positive side and say at least it all kind of happened at once.
For one, the riots were unending, the detainees knew that soon it would be too hot for them to riot so they made sure to do it almost daily. If it wasn't riot, it was escapes, or windstorm/sandstorm patrols; either way nobody got down time from work or even sleep really. Once we did get back to our living areas, hopefully the A/C worked well because the tents and especially the metal pods would bake you will you slept.
Then I found a childhood friend had been killed up north, less than a week later a sergeant from my home base was killed too also deployed up north. In between those two dates, Mother's day came and went and I am positive I did not get to call my mom. It was probably a good thing too, I was pretty full of rage by that point. And work went on, more detainees, riots, and escape attempts; most people now slept an average of 2-3 hours, it was too hot even with the A/C.
The final fun filled day literally exploded into the hottest day I have ever been in. Thankfully no Americans were killed but watching a good friend start exhibiting classic TBI signs is a little scary. The later part of the day was 135 degrees, I gave up worrying about rockets and thought I was dead and living in hell.
I'm not whining and I know many other vets have much more difficult experiences. I'm just explaining why I'm not a fan of May. Even now, most of the month I'm more agitated, angry, and my dreams are filled with Bucca. According to my doctor even my blood pressure spikes during this time. Weird. Compounded with my difficulties for this time period is the fact that Memorial Day is right at the end of the month.
Memorial Day is the day where we honor those who have died in service to our country. It is a day set aside to remember those who gave everything, their lives, their futures, and their safety, to ensure ours. How many children never knew their dad, mom, aunt, uncle, grandmother, or grandfather because they fought in France, Holland, Vietnam, or Korea? How many miss brothers, sisters, cousins, daughters, and sons, who left to fight in Afghanistan and Iraq? And so often this solemn day is smashed into a great day to get 25% off a new Ford or Chevy with a special 2.77% APR; or a 5 for $5 t-shirt deal at any store! Is that showing respect for the price that was paid for our freedom?!
I am sure that those who are gone would want us to live, that is what they fought for. But we can live and still remember and honor them. Have a family bbq, hang out with friends, live and laugh. But don't forget, please don't ever forget that those names on gravestones and memorials all over the world, were people who lived and who died to keep us safe and free.
“When you go home
Tell them of us, and say
For your tomorrow,
We gave our today.”
John Maxwell Edmonds
I dislike May. Maybe one of the few nice things my Iraqi vacation did for me was mash the most shittiest of my experiences into to one approximate 40 day period, starting in May and ending after the first 10 days of June. I don't know if giving pauses in between each thing would have helped or not, so I will choose to look on the positive side and say at least it all kind of happened at once.
For one, the riots were unending, the detainees knew that soon it would be too hot for them to riot so they made sure to do it almost daily. If it wasn't riot, it was escapes, or windstorm/sandstorm patrols; either way nobody got down time from work or even sleep really. Once we did get back to our living areas, hopefully the A/C worked well because the tents and especially the metal pods would bake you will you slept.
Then I found a childhood friend had been killed up north, less than a week later a sergeant from my home base was killed too also deployed up north. In between those two dates, Mother's day came and went and I am positive I did not get to call my mom. It was probably a good thing too, I was pretty full of rage by that point. And work went on, more detainees, riots, and escape attempts; most people now slept an average of 2-3 hours, it was too hot even with the A/C.
The final fun filled day literally exploded into the hottest day I have ever been in. Thankfully no Americans were killed but watching a good friend start exhibiting classic TBI signs is a little scary. The later part of the day was 135 degrees, I gave up worrying about rockets and thought I was dead and living in hell.
I'm not whining and I know many other vets have much more difficult experiences. I'm just explaining why I'm not a fan of May. Even now, most of the month I'm more agitated, angry, and my dreams are filled with Bucca. According to my doctor even my blood pressure spikes during this time. Weird. Compounded with my difficulties for this time period is the fact that Memorial Day is right at the end of the month.
Memorial Day is the day where we honor those who have died in service to our country. It is a day set aside to remember those who gave everything, their lives, their futures, and their safety, to ensure ours. How many children never knew their dad, mom, aunt, uncle, grandmother, or grandfather because they fought in France, Holland, Vietnam, or Korea? How many miss brothers, sisters, cousins, daughters, and sons, who left to fight in Afghanistan and Iraq? And so often this solemn day is smashed into a great day to get 25% off a new Ford or Chevy with a special 2.77% APR; or a 5 for $5 t-shirt deal at any store! Is that showing respect for the price that was paid for our freedom?!
I am sure that those who are gone would want us to live, that is what they fought for. But we can live and still remember and honor them. Have a family bbq, hang out with friends, live and laugh. But don't forget, please don't ever forget that those names on gravestones and memorials all over the world, were people who lived and who died to keep us safe and free.
“When you go home
Tell them of us, and say
For your tomorrow,
We gave our today.”
John Maxwell Edmonds
Sunday, May 14, 2017
Ode to Mom
Dear Marmie,
I have started this three times and each time sounded more stupid than the last. How do I appropriately wish you Happy Mother's Day? I mean you are the giver of my life in a pretty literal sense! There is a lot I could say about you but can I show you instead some of the lessons I learned from you?
Do you remember living on Debra Drive? Of course you do, but I do a little bit too. I remember watching The Man From Snowy River over and over, learning a whole new not so good four letter word and singing it out for the whole neighborhood! You were not a fan of that! What I can't remember is ever going without. How you made everything balance on just your salary from Pizza Hut, I'll never understand. But you did. We never went hungry, the heat worked, and the lights and water stayed on. You came home from long days on your feet and still had time to play and be with me. You showed me what a driven mom can do to provide for her child.
I remember when we left New York. I was devastated, but I never really thought how much you must have hurt too. You were leaving your mother and father, almost all the family, everything and everywhere you have known and loved. You were leaving it all behind for a new future, husband, and a military lifestyle that you couldn't have possibly been totally ready for. Not once did I hear you complain about this (the Missouri weather and insects were another thing!), you took it in stride and even tried to make it fun for a sad, pouting 6 year old. Plus a 1,300 mile roadtrip before DVDs, Ipads, and such; all with a curious 6 year old who asked A LOT of questions! How did you and Dad survive? You showed me how to accept new challenges and adventures with humor and flexibility.
Not many people nowadays can say their mom taught them the three basic R's. I can! Just attempting this you had to have the courage of a bomb technician! Or insanity, whichever word you choose. The reading was fun enough but remember trying to teach me math?! Boy, weren't both of us glad when dad came home from work! But I also remember some of the looks, and attitudes of the neighbors at times; it wasn't popular to homeschool and people were pretty rude about it at times. Remember when "someone" called DCFS and the guy had me read a paragraph for him? I still remember the look on his face when I read the whole paragraph and he said I read it better than his daughter! Thank you for showing me that doing things different from the norm is ok and to never let others opinions change what I know is best. Also thank you for letting me got to the ROA and finally public school; we would have killed each other after a while!
More recently, I remember how shocked I was that you guys where actually moving to KC! I couldn't believe you would just pick up and move after 15 years! How dare you teach me that it's ok to be unpredictable! Plus you now run a small business! I remember when you were too scared to fly, now you jump on a plane with or without dad (preferably with I know, but he doesn't go to all your tea stuff), a true world traveler you are!
Marmie, I could go on and on, but you might get tired after a while. I just wanted to say I remember the lessons you taught me but I even remember the ones you didn't even realize you were teaching me. I love that we are finally in that place where we are friends as well as mother and daughter! It's amazing to me that I still get so excited to visit with my mom but also with my close friend, I'm not quite sure when the transition occurred but I'm truly happy it did. I love seeing how you are going through each stage of life with grace, courage, and joy! I'm proud when people tell me I'm funny because I know I got my sense of humor definitively from you! I love you and hope you have a great Mother's Day. I'll be calling later!
I have started this three times and each time sounded more stupid than the last. How do I appropriately wish you Happy Mother's Day? I mean you are the giver of my life in a pretty literal sense! There is a lot I could say about you but can I show you instead some of the lessons I learned from you?
Do you remember living on Debra Drive? Of course you do, but I do a little bit too. I remember watching The Man From Snowy River over and over, learning a whole new not so good four letter word and singing it out for the whole neighborhood! You were not a fan of that! What I can't remember is ever going without. How you made everything balance on just your salary from Pizza Hut, I'll never understand. But you did. We never went hungry, the heat worked, and the lights and water stayed on. You came home from long days on your feet and still had time to play and be with me. You showed me what a driven mom can do to provide for her child.
I remember when we left New York. I was devastated, but I never really thought how much you must have hurt too. You were leaving your mother and father, almost all the family, everything and everywhere you have known and loved. You were leaving it all behind for a new future, husband, and a military lifestyle that you couldn't have possibly been totally ready for. Not once did I hear you complain about this (the Missouri weather and insects were another thing!), you took it in stride and even tried to make it fun for a sad, pouting 6 year old. Plus a 1,300 mile roadtrip before DVDs, Ipads, and such; all with a curious 6 year old who asked A LOT of questions! How did you and Dad survive? You showed me how to accept new challenges and adventures with humor and flexibility.
Not many people nowadays can say their mom taught them the three basic R's. I can! Just attempting this you had to have the courage of a bomb technician! Or insanity, whichever word you choose. The reading was fun enough but remember trying to teach me math?! Boy, weren't both of us glad when dad came home from work! But I also remember some of the looks, and attitudes of the neighbors at times; it wasn't popular to homeschool and people were pretty rude about it at times. Remember when "someone" called DCFS and the guy had me read a paragraph for him? I still remember the look on his face when I read the whole paragraph and he said I read it better than his daughter! Thank you for showing me that doing things different from the norm is ok and to never let others opinions change what I know is best. Also thank you for letting me got to the ROA and finally public school; we would have killed each other after a while!
More recently, I remember how shocked I was that you guys where actually moving to KC! I couldn't believe you would just pick up and move after 15 years! How dare you teach me that it's ok to be unpredictable! Plus you now run a small business! I remember when you were too scared to fly, now you jump on a plane with or without dad (preferably with I know, but he doesn't go to all your tea stuff), a true world traveler you are!
Marmie, I could go on and on, but you might get tired after a while. I just wanted to say I remember the lessons you taught me but I even remember the ones you didn't even realize you were teaching me. I love that we are finally in that place where we are friends as well as mother and daughter! It's amazing to me that I still get so excited to visit with my mom but also with my close friend, I'm not quite sure when the transition occurred but I'm truly happy it did. I love seeing how you are going through each stage of life with grace, courage, and joy! I'm proud when people tell me I'm funny because I know I got my sense of humor definitively from you! I love you and hope you have a great Mother's Day. I'll be calling later!
Thursday, April 27, 2017
Spring!
I love and hate this time of year. Everything is alive, trees blooming, baby birds, and yet the creepy bugs haven't quite arrived yet. Spring is such a fun time! It's finally nice to be outside again; taking a walk doesn't require wrapping up, of course here in AZ it rarely ever does. But you all get my drift, at times I think I can feel the earth inhaling after its winter. I love the feeling of new life, the energy of earth gearing up for the summer!
But this is also the time that my mood starts to spiral. I feel so alive and also crabby that everyone can't keep up with me. I want to spend money, getting my taxes back is somewhat of a life saver. I have only bought about half of a new wardrobe so far, I'm quite proud of myself. I want to be a little crazy, live a wild life! And I get so frustrated because I know I can't. I can't allow myself to let loose, at least not the way I want to.
This is the time of year that occasionally my medications don't work, as if life isn't difficult enough now I get to try new meds or different doses. Last year, I went through two different medications, one of which wasn't even supposed to be used as a mood stabilizer. It was a lovely anti-psychotic that was a very small dose and I didn't care about anything! It was quite relaxing, but not the best for someone in a job that occasionally has aggressive interactions. But at the time I thought I was really going nuts, and was freaking out at the doctor's office. Thankfully he told me that med changes are not uncommon and that many bipolar people have certain times of the year that are more difficult.
My brain wants all the alive feelings that bipolar me can create! I don't want to sleep at all and when I do I dream of all the fun things I could be doing when I'm awake. I actually dreamt about going on a bender the other night, I could literally taste the alcohol. I woke up feeling guilty as hell but also wanting to have it again. I can almost literally hear my brain whispering to me that one drink wouldn't be so bad. Then I think I'm going even more crazy because I can now hear my brain!
As always in the back of my head there is the fear that if I do go all in, the crash is patiently waiting to strike. It's like I'm playing Truth or Dare, using only Dares and I'm playing against myself. It would be so tempting and right now it looks so fun but do I really want to pick up the pieces after I wake back up? I have finally gotten to a place of trust with friends and family, and (some) respect at work, do I really want to piss it all away? Rational me says of course not, but crazy, albeit more fun me says, come on, I dare you! Damn you, Springtime!
But this is also the time that my mood starts to spiral. I feel so alive and also crabby that everyone can't keep up with me. I want to spend money, getting my taxes back is somewhat of a life saver. I have only bought about half of a new wardrobe so far, I'm quite proud of myself. I want to be a little crazy, live a wild life! And I get so frustrated because I know I can't. I can't allow myself to let loose, at least not the way I want to.
This is the time of year that occasionally my medications don't work, as if life isn't difficult enough now I get to try new meds or different doses. Last year, I went through two different medications, one of which wasn't even supposed to be used as a mood stabilizer. It was a lovely anti-psychotic that was a very small dose and I didn't care about anything! It was quite relaxing, but not the best for someone in a job that occasionally has aggressive interactions. But at the time I thought I was really going nuts, and was freaking out at the doctor's office. Thankfully he told me that med changes are not uncommon and that many bipolar people have certain times of the year that are more difficult.
My brain wants all the alive feelings that bipolar me can create! I don't want to sleep at all and when I do I dream of all the fun things I could be doing when I'm awake. I actually dreamt about going on a bender the other night, I could literally taste the alcohol. I woke up feeling guilty as hell but also wanting to have it again. I can almost literally hear my brain whispering to me that one drink wouldn't be so bad. Then I think I'm going even more crazy because I can now hear my brain!
As always in the back of my head there is the fear that if I do go all in, the crash is patiently waiting to strike. It's like I'm playing Truth or Dare, using only Dares and I'm playing against myself. It would be so tempting and right now it looks so fun but do I really want to pick up the pieces after I wake back up? I have finally gotten to a place of trust with friends and family, and (some) respect at work, do I really want to piss it all away? Rational me says of course not, but crazy, albeit more fun me says, come on, I dare you! Damn you, Springtime!
Thursday, April 13, 2017
Drumming on
For as long as I can remember, I have always been a little bit "different." Not weird, per se, but not like most other girls. My mom used to say that I marched to the beat of my own drum, heck some people might say I made a totally different drum too! I'm not upset about being a little untraditional from female stereotypes. Actually I think it's this reason that has helped me become a strong, out of the box individual.
As a young girl, I rarely played with dolls, I thought it was too boring. I did play with army men, GI Joe, and toy guns though! Once my grandfather gave me the Happy Birthday Barbie as a gift, you know the collectors item one. I took her up to my room, tied on a homemade parachute and threw her out the window! I just wanted to see her float....She didn't.
I always disliked putting on makeup, actually I still do. Not that I have anything against it, I just don't like doing it. It takes a lot of time and feels weird on my face. In middle school, a bunch of girls in my school ganged up on me and held me down while trying to put lipstick on my face. I'm not really sure where they got the idea from but they never tried it again. As soon as the lipstick got close to my face, I bit it and then spit it out on the ground! Ahh, victory!
Prom, many people wish they could redo their prom night or go with someone else. I hated my prom. I was so bored! I could have had so much more fun staying home, eating pizza, and playing football in the house with my brothers! I mean actual football, not a videogame, we didn't have one in my house. Seriously, my biggest prom regret was actually going to it. I was so bored and uncomfortable in my dress.
These memories hopefully gave you a chuckle, I laugh every time I think of them. For a long time though I thought being feminine meant being girly. Which is why I'm in my thirties and still learning to cook! Really it's not my parents fault, they tried but I was stubborn and defiant against learning.
The more I look back on this stuff, I see more and more how being a little odd, different, whatever you call it has helped me in my job now. I work with kids who have problems, real issues like drug abuse, criminal actions, abuse, no parents, the list only gets worse. They are what society call "different." They don't conform with 99% of their peers, they are the odd ducks and all they want is to be treated just like everyone else. Of course, my growing up was nowhere near as traumatic as theirs, but I understand being odd and not quite fitting in. So I don't regret being a little "different," many times it actually helps me build a report with the youth I supervise. And if it helps a few of them realize that different doesn't mean damaged or that they can recover from setbacks, than I will be more than happy with being "different."
As a young girl, I rarely played with dolls, I thought it was too boring. I did play with army men, GI Joe, and toy guns though! Once my grandfather gave me the Happy Birthday Barbie as a gift, you know the collectors item one. I took her up to my room, tied on a homemade parachute and threw her out the window! I just wanted to see her float....She didn't.
I always disliked putting on makeup, actually I still do. Not that I have anything against it, I just don't like doing it. It takes a lot of time and feels weird on my face. In middle school, a bunch of girls in my school ganged up on me and held me down while trying to put lipstick on my face. I'm not really sure where they got the idea from but they never tried it again. As soon as the lipstick got close to my face, I bit it and then spit it out on the ground! Ahh, victory!
Prom, many people wish they could redo their prom night or go with someone else. I hated my prom. I was so bored! I could have had so much more fun staying home, eating pizza, and playing football in the house with my brothers! I mean actual football, not a videogame, we didn't have one in my house. Seriously, my biggest prom regret was actually going to it. I was so bored and uncomfortable in my dress.
These memories hopefully gave you a chuckle, I laugh every time I think of them. For a long time though I thought being feminine meant being girly. Which is why I'm in my thirties and still learning to cook! Really it's not my parents fault, they tried but I was stubborn and defiant against learning.
The more I look back on this stuff, I see more and more how being a little odd, different, whatever you call it has helped me in my job now. I work with kids who have problems, real issues like drug abuse, criminal actions, abuse, no parents, the list only gets worse. They are what society call "different." They don't conform with 99% of their peers, they are the odd ducks and all they want is to be treated just like everyone else. Of course, my growing up was nowhere near as traumatic as theirs, but I understand being odd and not quite fitting in. So I don't regret being a little "different," many times it actually helps me build a report with the youth I supervise. And if it helps a few of them realize that different doesn't mean damaged or that they can recover from setbacks, than I will be more than happy with being "different."
Friday, March 17, 2017
Madness
I have a confession to make. I love the madness a little bit. The beginning of it is magical, I can feel my true self waking up. The excitement of uncertainty and the overwhelming just raw feeling is intoxicating! Colors are prettier, jokes are funnier, everything is just more! When I get feeling this way I can't help but want to continue into the madness. Anything might happen here! I might party all night or get arrested, either way I'm having a great time!
I try to remind myself that this isn't the real me, but it doesn't feel true. How could the real me need pills and therapy? What if the "real" me is the wild, mad one and the fake is what I become when forced into my medicated shell? Do I really want to be medicated or is it better to be deliciously mad, wild and free?
If only I could stay a little mad then I would be happy and content. But I can't and a part of me knows the truth, my madness will never stop. It will take away everything that I value and hold dear. My family, my friends, they will eventually disappear, pushed away by me and my madness. Madness allows no place for anyone else, not even me. She will burn and burn until my brain boils and collapses. Then madness will suddenly leave having used me all up.
If I get lucky the cycle will begin again, medications and therapy. Reconnecting with family and friends, regaining trust. My head will slowly recollect its wits and I will begin to reset myself. If I'm lucky.
But the madness might have pushed to far, pills and therapy might not be enough at first. Hospitals and nurses might be the first stop, maybe jail. Madness might have taken me much farther than I wanted, because it never takes no as answer. Sometimes I worry madness will take over completely that there will be no return.
And yet, when it first begins I love it. The first stirrings are a thrill to my soul. I try to remember that there is no such thing as a little bit mad just like one can't be sort of full. But the call is always nearby, madness will call me relentlessly until one of us gives in.
I try to remind myself that this isn't the real me, but it doesn't feel true. How could the real me need pills and therapy? What if the "real" me is the wild, mad one and the fake is what I become when forced into my medicated shell? Do I really want to be medicated or is it better to be deliciously mad, wild and free?
If only I could stay a little mad then I would be happy and content. But I can't and a part of me knows the truth, my madness will never stop. It will take away everything that I value and hold dear. My family, my friends, they will eventually disappear, pushed away by me and my madness. Madness allows no place for anyone else, not even me. She will burn and burn until my brain boils and collapses. Then madness will suddenly leave having used me all up.
If I get lucky the cycle will begin again, medications and therapy. Reconnecting with family and friends, regaining trust. My head will slowly recollect its wits and I will begin to reset myself. If I'm lucky.
But the madness might have pushed to far, pills and therapy might not be enough at first. Hospitals and nurses might be the first stop, maybe jail. Madness might have taken me much farther than I wanted, because it never takes no as answer. Sometimes I worry madness will take over completely that there will be no return.
And yet, when it first begins I love it. The first stirrings are a thrill to my soul. I try to remember that there is no such thing as a little bit mad just like one can't be sort of full. But the call is always nearby, madness will call me relentlessly until one of us gives in.
Friday, March 3, 2017
Decade
February officially marked 10 years since my deployment to Iraq. 10 years. Yet at least one thing every day reminds me of that place. It might be a news story, Facebook meme, picture, or getting a text from an old buddy, but at one point everyday I think about it.
There are times were it seems so long ago, like that Heather doesn't even exist anymore. She was in great shape; not so much now! She was also tough and yet so broken. I had very little fear of death but only because I thought I was dead already. I didn't think too much about "back home" because it slowly became an unreal place; only Bucca was real, everything else was just too good to be real.
When I left all I thought about was how long until I could deploy again. Not for any well intentioned reason but because living where I felt dead was easier than trying to become alive again. 10 years and I have made many baby steps forward but some days it feels like I'm still there.
Some days Bucca is in almost every thought of my mind. I dream about it, yet not nightmares, sadly it feels almost like wishful thinking. Life was easier there, don't die and try not to let your friends die; everything else is window dressing. It's probably the only place where I felt truly alive, ironically while being prepared to die. I would wake up and everyday I went to work I thought, "I might die today or I might kill someone today!" Sick, yes, but the adrenaline rush is unlike anything I can describe.
It's hard to explain the odd slight depression I feel when I realize that probably nothing in the rest of my life will ever give me that type of terrified excitement. I know it's not a healthy excitement, but it's like a hit from a crack pipe, it only takes one time to get hooked.
I remember coming home and people telling me how proud they were and what a service I did for my country. All I could think was, "If you only knew some of the things we had to do, you wouldn't be proud. If you saw me on the bad days, you wouldn't be proud." Not that our actions were so terrible but that our hearts were hardened, twisted, and misshaped. 10 years later and it's still not soft or in its regular shape but it's a little better.
Yet through it all, I don't regret going. It sucked, messed my brain up, and many more things, but it showed me that I can survive. I might have broken at times but I'm still here. 10 years and I'm still fighting.
There are times were it seems so long ago, like that Heather doesn't even exist anymore. She was in great shape; not so much now! She was also tough and yet so broken. I had very little fear of death but only because I thought I was dead already. I didn't think too much about "back home" because it slowly became an unreal place; only Bucca was real, everything else was just too good to be real.
When I left all I thought about was how long until I could deploy again. Not for any well intentioned reason but because living where I felt dead was easier than trying to become alive again. 10 years and I have made many baby steps forward but some days it feels like I'm still there.
Some days Bucca is in almost every thought of my mind. I dream about it, yet not nightmares, sadly it feels almost like wishful thinking. Life was easier there, don't die and try not to let your friends die; everything else is window dressing. It's probably the only place where I felt truly alive, ironically while being prepared to die. I would wake up and everyday I went to work I thought, "I might die today or I might kill someone today!" Sick, yes, but the adrenaline rush is unlike anything I can describe.
It's hard to explain the odd slight depression I feel when I realize that probably nothing in the rest of my life will ever give me that type of terrified excitement. I know it's not a healthy excitement, but it's like a hit from a crack pipe, it only takes one time to get hooked.
I remember coming home and people telling me how proud they were and what a service I did for my country. All I could think was, "If you only knew some of the things we had to do, you wouldn't be proud. If you saw me on the bad days, you wouldn't be proud." Not that our actions were so terrible but that our hearts were hardened, twisted, and misshaped. 10 years later and it's still not soft or in its regular shape but it's a little better.
Yet through it all, I don't regret going. It sucked, messed my brain up, and many more things, but it showed me that I can survive. I might have broken at times but I'm still here. 10 years and I'm still fighting.
Saturday, February 11, 2017
Poor Me Rant
I wish my head wouldn't mess with me so much. Or maybe I wish it would be visible so others could see it and realize I'm not a nutty as I seem. Yeah, that would be nice. I'm to the point that getting odd looks, or having people tell me, "no that's not acceptable," while backing away, doesn't really bother me anymore. But some days it does. Like when I'm actually trying to prove that I really do know my job, but no one really pays attention because they just expect me to blurt out some off-topic thing. Or when every solution I offer to a problem gets looked over because it sounds weird or insane; think it over again it just might work.
Most of the time I like my head, it's a little strange and comes up with some weird stuff that surprises even me, but that's what's so fun about it. I like never knowing what great idea will take hold in my brain, I just hope it's not too illegal or dangerous. Sometimes my head gets caught in a rut and I find myself stuck on a topic or task, relentlessly trying to figure out everything and anything about it. For example, for the last two hours I have been looking for a particular song, I can't remember the name of it, who wrote it, or what cd it's on. Hell, for all I know, it's not even a song but some weird figment of my crazy head! But I have been stuck searching online for songs that sound like it, or might trigger the name of it, etc. This is not enjoyable, mainly because as I close in on that particular song, I will suddenly find another one, I MUST listen to. It's relentless, until my brain gets bumped to another topic.
Some days, I have so much energy to write and be creative! Usually it's when I'm laying in bed desperately trying to go to sleep. I realize this is not just a bipolar issue, but one many people have; however many people don't take around 8-10 different pills to knock them out and still they don't work. That's the joy of mental illness, your brain is fighting against you trying to get better. Every time you find a medicine or therapy that works, the brain will begin to fight against it! Argh! It's incredibly frustrating, trying to find a balance between ill and well, where each side can just be happy.
I would love to find the "perfect" amount and type of medications, I don't think I would even whine too much about the side affects. It's awful knowing that some times no matter what you do or take, the meds won't work. Take the other day, even taking my prescriptions, I went almost a week of sleeping only 3 to 4 hours. Why? Hell if I know, maybe I need new ones or maybe my brain just peaked up with our unseasonably hot weather. One of those days I did skip my medicine because of some appointments; I was afraid that if I took my meds I would miss the appointments. I told my doctor this, just to be honest not because I was planning of skipping them again. I told him how exhausted I was with just taking them and that I missed one day and why. I was treated to a five minute lecture about medication compliance! He totally missed the point, but what really pissed me off was the way he talked to me; like a child who had forgotten to make the bed. Umm, the last I checked I was all grown up, I might not be working with full mental capability but I know when I'm being treated condescendingly.
I think that's what hurts the worst, having people not take what I say seriously, or expect me to make a joke instead of actually provide substance to the conversation. Most people probably don't even do it on purpose and I'm so used to being expected to have a joke that I don't really try to be in the conversation anymore. Well my "poor me" rant is over now, I guess I just needed to get it out. But as a reminder, don't underestimate those of us that are mentally ill, not only does it hinder us, but we can feel condescension even if we can't put words to it.
Most of the time I like my head, it's a little strange and comes up with some weird stuff that surprises even me, but that's what's so fun about it. I like never knowing what great idea will take hold in my brain, I just hope it's not too illegal or dangerous. Sometimes my head gets caught in a rut and I find myself stuck on a topic or task, relentlessly trying to figure out everything and anything about it. For example, for the last two hours I have been looking for a particular song, I can't remember the name of it, who wrote it, or what cd it's on. Hell, for all I know, it's not even a song but some weird figment of my crazy head! But I have been stuck searching online for songs that sound like it, or might trigger the name of it, etc. This is not enjoyable, mainly because as I close in on that particular song, I will suddenly find another one, I MUST listen to. It's relentless, until my brain gets bumped to another topic.
Some days, I have so much energy to write and be creative! Usually it's when I'm laying in bed desperately trying to go to sleep. I realize this is not just a bipolar issue, but one many people have; however many people don't take around 8-10 different pills to knock them out and still they don't work. That's the joy of mental illness, your brain is fighting against you trying to get better. Every time you find a medicine or therapy that works, the brain will begin to fight against it! Argh! It's incredibly frustrating, trying to find a balance between ill and well, where each side can just be happy.
I would love to find the "perfect" amount and type of medications, I don't think I would even whine too much about the side affects. It's awful knowing that some times no matter what you do or take, the meds won't work. Take the other day, even taking my prescriptions, I went almost a week of sleeping only 3 to 4 hours. Why? Hell if I know, maybe I need new ones or maybe my brain just peaked up with our unseasonably hot weather. One of those days I did skip my medicine because of some appointments; I was afraid that if I took my meds I would miss the appointments. I told my doctor this, just to be honest not because I was planning of skipping them again. I told him how exhausted I was with just taking them and that I missed one day and why. I was treated to a five minute lecture about medication compliance! He totally missed the point, but what really pissed me off was the way he talked to me; like a child who had forgotten to make the bed. Umm, the last I checked I was all grown up, I might not be working with full mental capability but I know when I'm being treated condescendingly.
I think that's what hurts the worst, having people not take what I say seriously, or expect me to make a joke instead of actually provide substance to the conversation. Most people probably don't even do it on purpose and I'm so used to being expected to have a joke that I don't really try to be in the conversation anymore. Well my "poor me" rant is over now, I guess I just needed to get it out. But as a reminder, don't underestimate those of us that are mentally ill, not only does it hinder us, but we can feel condescension even if we can't put words to it.
Friday, February 3, 2017
Prison Problems!
Tonight will more than likely be rant night. You have been warned. It might be pms or the crazies, but it's going to be a straightforward post. First off, I'm still trying to stay away from the more political aspects that are occurring but I can't hold back my thoughts on what happened in Delaware. Because I have a job in a corrections (yes, even a juvenile one) type environment any time I here about a jail or prison official being injured or killed, it strikes a little close to home. Yesterday, there was a large scale riot and hostage situation in a Delaware prison. I don't live or work in that area so I won't pretend to know whether the riot was "justified" or not; personally, there is no justification about it to me. Instead I would rather focus on the corrections side of law enforcement and some reasons that may or may not add to issues within the corrections field.
1. Qualifications: Most people don't know what qualifies a person to work in a prison. In Arizona, you must a) be over 21 years of age (in some states such as New Mexico, it's 18), b) have a high school diploma or GED, and c) pass a background check. There are some physical requirements but they aren't really difficult. Really, this is it. Oh and the pay is pretty crappy around $13.00 an hour, especially since this is a metropolitan area and the cost of living is high. Plus, you get mandatory over-time occasionally! Who wouldn't want that?!
So to work in an incredibly dangerous environment where people may actually try to kill you, you don't need any more special skills? I realize that at 19 I was in a war zone but shit at least I had a gun and the option to use it if necessary! Most CO's have to worry about getting in trouble for excessive force if they even slip up in the heat of the moment. There are inmates with higher educational degrees than the CO's! And who has time to do school with the mandatory OT?! Not that "higher education" is necessarily always good; some of the dumbest, most dangerous people I have ever worked with had college level educations. Having that kid that just finished school and this is their first real job as the person that is watching your back is a terrifying feeling!
2. People want more prisons, stricter laws, immediate justice! That sounds beautiful, but where do you want the prisons? Not near cities, or towns, and heaven forbid, near housing areas! Who pays for these new prisons? Nobody wants their taxes raised to buy the land, build, and employ people. So where should they go, Mars?
Ah, more strict laws, a personal favorite of mine! I do love the idea of law and justice being strict and swift, yet I am also aware that prisons are overcrowded, terrifyingly so. What do we do about over-crowding? Don't jump right to building more prisons, I believe we covered that; so what to do? Have you seen what happens when prisons overflow? The violence that occurs between inmates, CO's, and the rapid escalation of force because of overwhelming numbers? I have, and it's ugly. Yes, justice should be swift and strict but not overly cruel.
3. I find that people are largely split about prisons and inmates. About half don't want to even think about inmates; out of sight, out of mind. But they really aren't, more than 70% of prison inmates will one day be out on the street. So while they are in prison, isn't it our responsibility as a community to ensure that a) they are getting rehabilitated, and b) getting some type of training for when they are released? We cannot turn a blind eye to ineffective prison systems and then blame the inmates for not being rehabilitated!
The other side of people are all about getting inmates rehabilitated, treated, and trained; sometimes to the point of forgetting that these people did commit crimes. They should not be treated with kid gloves and people should never forget that some of them can and will be violent again. What is needed is for inmates to be penalized for committing a crime while being offered options of things they can do to ensure they don't need to commit the crime again. In short, penalize but also teach.
I realize I am not a subject matter expert, I work juvenile corrections, they aren't adults but the beginnings for both are eerily the same, underfunded and overlooked. People don't want to know the problems that exist in corrections because then they would be responsible for finding a way to fix it. Many people love to scream and protest about injustices in corrections but they don't want to work in the system and bring about change. And most of those that do work in it, will retire, jaded and angry; if they don't quit first.
1. Qualifications: Most people don't know what qualifies a person to work in a prison. In Arizona, you must a) be over 21 years of age (in some states such as New Mexico, it's 18), b) have a high school diploma or GED, and c) pass a background check. There are some physical requirements but they aren't really difficult. Really, this is it. Oh and the pay is pretty crappy around $13.00 an hour, especially since this is a metropolitan area and the cost of living is high. Plus, you get mandatory over-time occasionally! Who wouldn't want that?!
So to work in an incredibly dangerous environment where people may actually try to kill you, you don't need any more special skills? I realize that at 19 I was in a war zone but shit at least I had a gun and the option to use it if necessary! Most CO's have to worry about getting in trouble for excessive force if they even slip up in the heat of the moment. There are inmates with higher educational degrees than the CO's! And who has time to do school with the mandatory OT?! Not that "higher education" is necessarily always good; some of the dumbest, most dangerous people I have ever worked with had college level educations. Having that kid that just finished school and this is their first real job as the person that is watching your back is a terrifying feeling!
2. People want more prisons, stricter laws, immediate justice! That sounds beautiful, but where do you want the prisons? Not near cities, or towns, and heaven forbid, near housing areas! Who pays for these new prisons? Nobody wants their taxes raised to buy the land, build, and employ people. So where should they go, Mars?
Ah, more strict laws, a personal favorite of mine! I do love the idea of law and justice being strict and swift, yet I am also aware that prisons are overcrowded, terrifyingly so. What do we do about over-crowding? Don't jump right to building more prisons, I believe we covered that; so what to do? Have you seen what happens when prisons overflow? The violence that occurs between inmates, CO's, and the rapid escalation of force because of overwhelming numbers? I have, and it's ugly. Yes, justice should be swift and strict but not overly cruel.
3. I find that people are largely split about prisons and inmates. About half don't want to even think about inmates; out of sight, out of mind. But they really aren't, more than 70% of prison inmates will one day be out on the street. So while they are in prison, isn't it our responsibility as a community to ensure that a) they are getting rehabilitated, and b) getting some type of training for when they are released? We cannot turn a blind eye to ineffective prison systems and then blame the inmates for not being rehabilitated!
The other side of people are all about getting inmates rehabilitated, treated, and trained; sometimes to the point of forgetting that these people did commit crimes. They should not be treated with kid gloves and people should never forget that some of them can and will be violent again. What is needed is for inmates to be penalized for committing a crime while being offered options of things they can do to ensure they don't need to commit the crime again. In short, penalize but also teach.
I realize I am not a subject matter expert, I work juvenile corrections, they aren't adults but the beginnings for both are eerily the same, underfunded and overlooked. People don't want to know the problems that exist in corrections because then they would be responsible for finding a way to fix it. Many people love to scream and protest about injustices in corrections but they don't want to work in the system and bring about change. And most of those that do work in it, will retire, jaded and angry; if they don't quit first.
Tuesday, January 24, 2017
Are We More Violent?
I have been noticing that many times when a person commits a terrible act, we automatically assume they are mentally ill or the press tells us they are. I for one find this annoying and many times downright angering. As a person with a mental illness, I find it degrading that someone would think I'm more capable of violence simply because I have an illness. That's like saying, left-handed people are Communists! Almost any person with an illness is no more likely to commit violence than any other regular person.
It angers me because it seems that mental illness is being used as a crutch to get the person out of lifetime or death sentences. I have bipolar, guess what I have never thought nor am I more inclined to commit mass murder. I've been severely depressed even suicidal and I've never tried to fly a plane into a mountain! Even at the height of my illness, I know the difference between right and wrong, I may be harmful to myself (not that that is ok) but rarely have I done anything more than raise my voice to others. Even if a person has a mental illness it does not play the final role in their actions, they deserve to be tried and convicted based on all their actions not just an illness. The very few mentally ill individuals who are truly a danger to society and themselves usually don't have the capacity to plan, prepare, and execute mass violence; their brain simply cannot work that way and many times they are hospitalized due to being unable to function in society. And if a person can think this way and prepare, plan, and execute such an operation, then that's fine proof that they are clearly thinking quite rationally in terms of right and wrong.
When people are told that the mentally ill commit more violence it just feeds the myth that they are scary and violent. When people believe this, then the mentally ill are more isolated and in some circumstances even harmed because others believe they may be hurt. This is many times even more noticeable if the person is a veteran with a mental illness. What is it about being a veteran that makes us more scary to people? Why do so many think that we will "snap" and begin killing everyone? This doesn't even really hold true with most mass killers, yes some are prior service but by far most aren't. So why are we even scarier?
Some may say it is because we have been violent or seen violence. That because of our training we are more quick to use violence as a weapon. I say that it's because of these reasons that most veterans are actually less likely to resort to violence. When a person has seen the damage violence can do, when they get the brutal final lesson of combat which is the ending of another's life, then they are much less likely to ever want to repeat it. If people think that veterans are possibly so "violent" then why are so many of us having problems returning home? Why do we have the nightmares, flashbacks, paranoia, anxiety, and depression? Because we are trained violent monsters who love to harm and kill? No, it's because we did things that for some of us went against the way our minds operated and now our violence has become our nightmare.
Most of us, both veterans and those with illnesses, just want to belong to a society where we don't have to hide. I'm grateful that I have a group of friends who I can tell them when I'm having a difficult day. When things are making sense in my head, they simply allow me the space or try and help me figure it out. I don't have to feel like there is a part of me that I have to conceal from them. But there are many people who don't have a support system or are too afraid of rejection to tell others.
It angers me because it seems that mental illness is being used as a crutch to get the person out of lifetime or death sentences. I have bipolar, guess what I have never thought nor am I more inclined to commit mass murder. I've been severely depressed even suicidal and I've never tried to fly a plane into a mountain! Even at the height of my illness, I know the difference between right and wrong, I may be harmful to myself (not that that is ok) but rarely have I done anything more than raise my voice to others. Even if a person has a mental illness it does not play the final role in their actions, they deserve to be tried and convicted based on all their actions not just an illness. The very few mentally ill individuals who are truly a danger to society and themselves usually don't have the capacity to plan, prepare, and execute mass violence; their brain simply cannot work that way and many times they are hospitalized due to being unable to function in society. And if a person can think this way and prepare, plan, and execute such an operation, then that's fine proof that they are clearly thinking quite rationally in terms of right and wrong.
When people are told that the mentally ill commit more violence it just feeds the myth that they are scary and violent. When people believe this, then the mentally ill are more isolated and in some circumstances even harmed because others believe they may be hurt. This is many times even more noticeable if the person is a veteran with a mental illness. What is it about being a veteran that makes us more scary to people? Why do so many think that we will "snap" and begin killing everyone? This doesn't even really hold true with most mass killers, yes some are prior service but by far most aren't. So why are we even scarier?
Some may say it is because we have been violent or seen violence. That because of our training we are more quick to use violence as a weapon. I say that it's because of these reasons that most veterans are actually less likely to resort to violence. When a person has seen the damage violence can do, when they get the brutal final lesson of combat which is the ending of another's life, then they are much less likely to ever want to repeat it. If people think that veterans are possibly so "violent" then why are so many of us having problems returning home? Why do we have the nightmares, flashbacks, paranoia, anxiety, and depression? Because we are trained violent monsters who love to harm and kill? No, it's because we did things that for some of us went against the way our minds operated and now our violence has become our nightmare.
Most of us, both veterans and those with illnesses, just want to belong to a society where we don't have to hide. I'm grateful that I have a group of friends who I can tell them when I'm having a difficult day. When things are making sense in my head, they simply allow me the space or try and help me figure it out. I don't have to feel like there is a part of me that I have to conceal from them. But there are many people who don't have a support system or are too afraid of rejection to tell others.
Wednesday, January 18, 2017
Meds
I love seeing those memes on Facebook that talk about big pharmacy companies and how they are just creating more addicts instead of helping heal people. I agree to a point that it is the truth, got a headache? Pop a pill. Earache? Pill. Toe ache? you guessed it! Many times we no longer use the home remedies we learned as children, mint tea, warm milk, hot washcloth etc... We have become reliant on instant feel good medications.
But I only agree to a point. There are some things that require medication, serious illness, bad injury, and of course, mental illness. I hate that I must rely on stupid medications to make my brain work somewhat correctly! I love how people, doctors included, try to gently break the news that you're going to be medication dependent for a long time or maybe the rest of your life. "Your brain works different, or has quirks, a glitch. You feel emotions more deeply than most people. You see things differently than others (my personal favorite)" are all things I have heard from people in the medical field. All I hear is, "You're broken and there is no cure. Take this pill." I would love to have some homeopathic remedy that would work! There are some types of herbs that seem to make some symptoms lessen but not well enough for me.
So after a while, I see those memes and I either want to scream or take it's advice and stop my medications. Don't worry, I haven't done that...yet. I have offered to some people that I will come live with them and quit my meds just so they can see how much "fun" I get. So far no one has taken me up on this offer! Now I know the stupid meme is just about the over use of medications for shit we don't need it for but still it irritates me. Possibly because what I struggle with is not visible, no can see my brain misfiring or shorting out. It's not a physical disability and so it's easily forgotten by the people who don't have to deal with it daily. It's like this post, you get to read the finished version, edited, hopefully properly spelled, and formatted. You don't see the deletes, misspells, and eternal wandering thoughts that are pushed and rewritten to make sense. That's how a mental illness works, on the outside everything might look fine. We're punctual, do our work, smile, talk, interact and go home. No one sees the anxiety, brain confusion, depression, irritability, insomnia, and of course, the pills.
Now I know the meme is just supposed to be funny and most times I just laugh and shrug it off. Really I don't hate the poster but some days it just irritates me. But today is not that day. Today was a day where I felt constantly brain broken, not for any particular reason just a part of my "glitches" that my head now has. I'm not trying to whine or sound pitiful, I just get frustrated and don't like to struggle so much.
But I only agree to a point. There are some things that require medication, serious illness, bad injury, and of course, mental illness. I hate that I must rely on stupid medications to make my brain work somewhat correctly! I love how people, doctors included, try to gently break the news that you're going to be medication dependent for a long time or maybe the rest of your life. "Your brain works different, or has quirks, a glitch. You feel emotions more deeply than most people. You see things differently than others (my personal favorite)" are all things I have heard from people in the medical field. All I hear is, "You're broken and there is no cure. Take this pill." I would love to have some homeopathic remedy that would work! There are some types of herbs that seem to make some symptoms lessen but not well enough for me.
So after a while, I see those memes and I either want to scream or take it's advice and stop my medications. Don't worry, I haven't done that...yet. I have offered to some people that I will come live with them and quit my meds just so they can see how much "fun" I get. So far no one has taken me up on this offer! Now I know the stupid meme is just about the over use of medications for shit we don't need it for but still it irritates me. Possibly because what I struggle with is not visible, no can see my brain misfiring or shorting out. It's not a physical disability and so it's easily forgotten by the people who don't have to deal with it daily. It's like this post, you get to read the finished version, edited, hopefully properly spelled, and formatted. You don't see the deletes, misspells, and eternal wandering thoughts that are pushed and rewritten to make sense. That's how a mental illness works, on the outside everything might look fine. We're punctual, do our work, smile, talk, interact and go home. No one sees the anxiety, brain confusion, depression, irritability, insomnia, and of course, the pills.
Now I know the meme is just supposed to be funny and most times I just laugh and shrug it off. Really I don't hate the poster but some days it just irritates me. But today is not that day. Today was a day where I felt constantly brain broken, not for any particular reason just a part of my "glitches" that my head now has. I'm not trying to whine or sound pitiful, I just get frustrated and don't like to struggle so much.
Wednesday, January 11, 2017
Writing to feel
Lately I've begun a new writing project and it's quickly become a little obsession. I've actually have to make myself take breaks just so I don't overwhelm myself. I'm simply trying to write out my deployment, at least the last one; I feel this intense urge just to put it on paper. Not because I'm all that important or did anything more than thousands of others, but sometimes I feel myself forgetting things and that terrifies me. I get scared that I will not remember it, the good and the bad.
Some days it feels so real that I can still smell it and taste the sand. It's too real and overwhelms me. I can't really do anything but focus on the actions of a 10 year ago me. The anger and hatred can feel suffocating. It scares me that there are still parts of me that can function in such an animalistic way. That I can still easily cut off any emotions and not let myself feel; I get worried that all the hard work I've done to feel again will be erased and this time they won't return again. On these days I won't do any writing, I instead find quiet things to do that remind of who I am now not what I used to be.
But other days, it feels like a dream I once had but I can't remember all the parts. Actions and things are hazy, not real. I panic when I feel like this; I'm terrified I will forget things. This was a moment in time that was historical, and even though minute, I had a little part in it. It puts a little extra meaning into life, one that makes me proud of my service. When I feel like this, I write as much as I can. I write out of sheer desperation to remember, to feel again what I once felt daily. At points it consumes my brain, I will walk around trying to make sentences and paragraphs to write down later. I could type for hours when this occurs. But I have to be careful because once I do this for too long it pushes right back into the first scenario where I get overwhelmed. It's a vicious cycle.
Mostly I write about it to heal. As I finish a portion or a typically difficult area, it's like I feel a little of the weight lifting. The more I can get out of me, the less it can overwhelm my senses and brain. As each part gets done, I breathe a little easier. I've found I am actually beginning to see and emphasize with certain people from that deployment that I hated for years. I'm beginning to be able to get past my small view of the situation and see it from their point of view. I know only time is the reason I can do that, maturity and experience are something that can't come overnight. But being able to put myself in their shoes has given me an added way of healing, they had orders to follow too and it must have been incredibly difficult to do that knowing it alienated you from your people.
As I finish each point, I'm actually allowing someone to read it. This is a huge step for me! I have written about things I've never really talked about. Some parts of it are not particular proud moments for me. So to be able to open up about certain things is incredibly difficult but exactly what I need to do. I'm very glad to have a friend who I know I can trust with my not so pretty moments. You know who you are! But all that to say that is why I haven't been blogging as much! I'm trying to prioritize it more!
Some days it feels so real that I can still smell it and taste the sand. It's too real and overwhelms me. I can't really do anything but focus on the actions of a 10 year ago me. The anger and hatred can feel suffocating. It scares me that there are still parts of me that can function in such an animalistic way. That I can still easily cut off any emotions and not let myself feel; I get worried that all the hard work I've done to feel again will be erased and this time they won't return again. On these days I won't do any writing, I instead find quiet things to do that remind of who I am now not what I used to be.
But other days, it feels like a dream I once had but I can't remember all the parts. Actions and things are hazy, not real. I panic when I feel like this; I'm terrified I will forget things. This was a moment in time that was historical, and even though minute, I had a little part in it. It puts a little extra meaning into life, one that makes me proud of my service. When I feel like this, I write as much as I can. I write out of sheer desperation to remember, to feel again what I once felt daily. At points it consumes my brain, I will walk around trying to make sentences and paragraphs to write down later. I could type for hours when this occurs. But I have to be careful because once I do this for too long it pushes right back into the first scenario where I get overwhelmed. It's a vicious cycle.
Mostly I write about it to heal. As I finish a portion or a typically difficult area, it's like I feel a little of the weight lifting. The more I can get out of me, the less it can overwhelm my senses and brain. As each part gets done, I breathe a little easier. I've found I am actually beginning to see and emphasize with certain people from that deployment that I hated for years. I'm beginning to be able to get past my small view of the situation and see it from their point of view. I know only time is the reason I can do that, maturity and experience are something that can't come overnight. But being able to put myself in their shoes has given me an added way of healing, they had orders to follow too and it must have been incredibly difficult to do that knowing it alienated you from your people.
As I finish each point, I'm actually allowing someone to read it. This is a huge step for me! I have written about things I've never really talked about. Some parts of it are not particular proud moments for me. So to be able to open up about certain things is incredibly difficult but exactly what I need to do. I'm very glad to have a friend who I know I can trust with my not so pretty moments. You know who you are! But all that to say that is why I haven't been blogging as much! I'm trying to prioritize it more!
Sunday, January 8, 2017
Mistake?
The other day I was talking with a friend about the military sending more troops to Iraq. Now I'm not going to get political here, just giving the basics of the conversation. At the end of the conversation, my friend casually said, "The Iraqi war was just a useless waste." Now I know this person didn't mean this in a rude or demeaning way. They would never mean it to be hurtful, it was just a casual comment that is becoming very common nowadays. But still, umm, ouch! It got me thinking though, about the ways that being there wasn't useless at all.
Right or not, we went there with good intentions. Again, I hate anything political and try to stay away from it because well, I think most of it and the people in it are bullshit. But in the end, we did free the Iraqi people from an evil dictator who suppressed his people. I don't care if you don't believe me, until you have been there and seen some of the opulent palaces mixed with dirt poverty. Better yet seen the torture chambers that were Saddam's sons playground don't act like you know anything about it. We gave the Iraqi people a chance to decide what government they want, now it's up to them to create a new future or fall back into the hands of another dictator. But at least for one moment they had a choice to make a new history.
I learned about myself. I found out that physically I could do a lot more than I thought. Not that I wanted to learn it but I did! Mentally, I found where my limits were; I also found that minds can break. Monsters live in everyone it's just how you decide to deal with them that decides whether you beat them or not. Trying to act like they don't exist will bottle you up until you explode. But letting it out to run rampant will ruin your life. It's a fine line of acknowledging it and yet not letting it run your life but also not hiding from it either.
It's truly the little things in life that matter. I grew up with seeing my parents and brothers every day, I figured once I joined the AF I would miss them but I had no idea how much that it would really be. Just a simple phone call, hearing their voices reminded me that they were real, and there was life outside of this crazy one. I never really appreciated how much I love them until it was almost impossible to call them.
Probably the most important reason I will never call it a mistake; by saying the whole war was is a mistake, we say all the thousands of men and women who died there were for a mistake. For me, that's the most disgraceful thing we as a nation could ever say or imply. It's simply not an option to me. I won't over glamorize some political opinion about Iraq, but I will say that when their nation called, thousands of men and women gave up everything, including their lives to answer that call. Who would ever dare say that was a mistake? No rational thinking person would.
Right or not, we went there with good intentions. Again, I hate anything political and try to stay away from it because well, I think most of it and the people in it are bullshit. But in the end, we did free the Iraqi people from an evil dictator who suppressed his people. I don't care if you don't believe me, until you have been there and seen some of the opulent palaces mixed with dirt poverty. Better yet seen the torture chambers that were Saddam's sons playground don't act like you know anything about it. We gave the Iraqi people a chance to decide what government they want, now it's up to them to create a new future or fall back into the hands of another dictator. But at least for one moment they had a choice to make a new history.
I learned about myself. I found out that physically I could do a lot more than I thought. Not that I wanted to learn it but I did! Mentally, I found where my limits were; I also found that minds can break. Monsters live in everyone it's just how you decide to deal with them that decides whether you beat them or not. Trying to act like they don't exist will bottle you up until you explode. But letting it out to run rampant will ruin your life. It's a fine line of acknowledging it and yet not letting it run your life but also not hiding from it either.
It's truly the little things in life that matter. I grew up with seeing my parents and brothers every day, I figured once I joined the AF I would miss them but I had no idea how much that it would really be. Just a simple phone call, hearing their voices reminded me that they were real, and there was life outside of this crazy one. I never really appreciated how much I love them until it was almost impossible to call them.
Probably the most important reason I will never call it a mistake; by saying the whole war was is a mistake, we say all the thousands of men and women who died there were for a mistake. For me, that's the most disgraceful thing we as a nation could ever say or imply. It's simply not an option to me. I won't over glamorize some political opinion about Iraq, but I will say that when their nation called, thousands of men and women gave up everything, including their lives to answer that call. Who would ever dare say that was a mistake? No rational thinking person would.
Thursday, January 5, 2017
Tattoo!
Hello all! I hope your holidays were happy and joyous. I know it's a New Year and everyone has resolutions, but I find them to be far too difficult to keep so I don't make any. If I have to make one it would be probably something like to get more tattoos. Seriously, I have some space left on one arm and almost a whole arm to get done. I love getting tattoos, the art, even the needle pain seem to produce a meditative state for me.
I'm not the only one who finds it peaceful! Many people with mental disorders, especially bipolar, say that the whole experience gives them a comfort and type of peace. I think some of it may be because you must sit or lie (depending on the body area being tattooed) completely still. This forces me to not move and in order to do that I must calm my mind. My breathing has to slow down and without being really conscious of it, my mind begins to shut off some of the thoughts.
That's all nice you might think, but what about the pain? I actually like that to an extent. Now there are areas that just flat out hurt, no way around it! But at least at first, I find the needle to be quite soothing. Weird I know, especially since I'm terrified of needles; like I can't even hold them without feeling queasy. But again once the guy starts with the needle, I can't move, I just need to suck it in and embrace the whole experience.
For some people they've stated that the needle part helps them feel less self-harming, I can kind of see where they are coming from. Having someone go over and over your skin with a needle hurts after a while and your brain will begin to focus on that pain. However instead of doing it to yourself and possibly severely harming yourself, someone else is doing it and creating something beautiful. A kind of "beauty from pain" concept. One way to explain it is, for me, I don't tend to hurt myself like cutting or burning but when I get really overwhelmed, frustrated, or my head races too much, I like to hit my head with my fist. Nothing crazy, and I don't do it that much anymore because I feel more stable. But I don't do it to really cause pain as much as to jar my brain. For some reason the jarring motion feels comforting to me; another more helpful I found to do this is jump rope. The jumping does the jarring with no head trauma!
Finally the combination of being motionless, the tattooing and the buzzing of the needle motor, has this almost hypnotic affect on me. It's like I'm awake but my brain is napping. Many times I feel like I've taken a nap after getting done. I've seen some people actually go to sleep while getting tattooed. I'm not that good! Also in a totally non-cathartic way, getting tattoos is said to possibly help the body fight off sicknesses, like colds or flus. By the needle piercing the skin rapidly apparently that opens the body's' immune system up for small periods of time and helps it create immunity to various sicknesses.
So all that to say, don't worry about making a New Year's resolution, just be you! But if you just have to have a resolution, maybe get a tattoo! They are fun, can be totally unique, and any reputable shop is going to be incredibly sterile so don't you worry about getting needle disease! Seriously, though I really do need to get another tattoo.
I'm not the only one who finds it peaceful! Many people with mental disorders, especially bipolar, say that the whole experience gives them a comfort and type of peace. I think some of it may be because you must sit or lie (depending on the body area being tattooed) completely still. This forces me to not move and in order to do that I must calm my mind. My breathing has to slow down and without being really conscious of it, my mind begins to shut off some of the thoughts.
That's all nice you might think, but what about the pain? I actually like that to an extent. Now there are areas that just flat out hurt, no way around it! But at least at first, I find the needle to be quite soothing. Weird I know, especially since I'm terrified of needles; like I can't even hold them without feeling queasy. But again once the guy starts with the needle, I can't move, I just need to suck it in and embrace the whole experience.
For some people they've stated that the needle part helps them feel less self-harming, I can kind of see where they are coming from. Having someone go over and over your skin with a needle hurts after a while and your brain will begin to focus on that pain. However instead of doing it to yourself and possibly severely harming yourself, someone else is doing it and creating something beautiful. A kind of "beauty from pain" concept. One way to explain it is, for me, I don't tend to hurt myself like cutting or burning but when I get really overwhelmed, frustrated, or my head races too much, I like to hit my head with my fist. Nothing crazy, and I don't do it that much anymore because I feel more stable. But I don't do it to really cause pain as much as to jar my brain. For some reason the jarring motion feels comforting to me; another more helpful I found to do this is jump rope. The jumping does the jarring with no head trauma!
Finally the combination of being motionless, the tattooing and the buzzing of the needle motor, has this almost hypnotic affect on me. It's like I'm awake but my brain is napping. Many times I feel like I've taken a nap after getting done. I've seen some people actually go to sleep while getting tattooed. I'm not that good! Also in a totally non-cathartic way, getting tattoos is said to possibly help the body fight off sicknesses, like colds or flus. By the needle piercing the skin rapidly apparently that opens the body's' immune system up for small periods of time and helps it create immunity to various sicknesses.
So all that to say, don't worry about making a New Year's resolution, just be you! But if you just have to have a resolution, maybe get a tattoo! They are fun, can be totally unique, and any reputable shop is going to be incredibly sterile so don't you worry about getting needle disease! Seriously, though I really do need to get another tattoo.
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