The Chemicals Between Us

This one goes out to all the married or otherwise attached men I have fucked.

xoks

Shake It Out

I haven't written much about my mental health lately. Mostly because, since I completed my KIT, I haven't felt the need. My depression, which has been like my invisible twin for most of my life, is now just a ghost. That isn't to say I don't have feelings; I have the feels all the time. It's just that issues that used to floor me (mind you, issues that most people would easily brush off) don't have the same impact that they used to. I have the occasional mild anxiety attack but I am better equipt to breathe through it, refocus, and move on. It's a kind of freedom I never thought I would have and I could not be more grateful.

KIT doesn't work for everyone - about 80% of the people in trials seem to get the kind of relief that I am experiencing - and while I would like to think that I will never need another booster, it is a really great feeling knowing that should I ever start to slip into the dark again, I have immediate and long-lasting help. My last booster was on June 18th. I have used the nasal treatment six times. It's a much lower dose with a much lower absorption rate but it does kick start my brain and allow it to do its healing thing. When I brought it home I feared I would use it as a crutch, but that isn't the case. I have two refills before December 15th and I won't have even used an eighth of the bottle.  

I am still at 75 mgs (down from 150) of my anti-depressants. I hope to cut that in half before the end of the year. Weaning off has serious side-effects so I am moving slowly but I am hopeful that one day I will be altogether free of medication.

As for my physical health, sigh, that's for another post. On the plus side, no cancer, on the minus side, no real answers. That's the body for you...

xoks

Sick Child

I have been feeling too tired to write so this might be even more confusing than usual...

Follow-up to my last post - TMI - Warned 

Four days after my ridiculous second period I got a third. You read that right. October 5th, as I was heading to CalJams (Foo Fighters were not going to be missed) I started another cycle. My app, once again, wanted to argue that I didn't know what I was talking about but I MADE it take the entry; it can't beat me!

I rang my doctor who told me that I needed to call every obgyn she knew to get an appointment. I already had one scheduled but it was for October 25th and they wanted me in sooner. After calling six, I finally got an appointment this past Tuesday. 

My mom went with me because she is literally the best. New doc comes in. She is super empathetic and a little pissed off that the doc who initially saw me didn't explain what might be going on with my body (made me like her even more). I can't recall everything but she told me that the fibroids are on the small side and one might be submucosal (I had to read about that in detail and I don't think you need that image in your head) which is less common but likely not the cause of my ongoing visit from Aunt Flow. She believes it is likely hormonal (here I come menopause) but, as a precaution, asked me to have an endometrial biopsy (absolutely do not watch on YouTube) to test for cancer. I did try to offer up my uterus as a sacrifice in lieu of having to deal with this continuous mess but she wasn't into it so we moved on.  

Let me say, I have never, in all my life, experienced pain like that. I passed a kidney stone in my twenties and had a failed spinal tap in my thirties and I would opt for either again before getting another biopsy. Doc wanted three samples, I did not make it past one. I was sweating and hyperventilating. When she finished the first, I basically begged her not to do it again. I was in tears about the thought of having to feel that kind of pain again. My fucking hat is off to all women who have given birth! Unclear how you ever did it more than once...

So now I am waiting on my results. I don't think it is cancer, I am not even concerned that the results will come back positive. Will be happy to rule it out to talk next steps. Doc has me on progesterone for two weeks in hopes of resetting my system. We can only move forward once I am done with the meds. 

I had been hoping this latest round was just a little break-through but no, I am still going strong 15 days later. The progesterone will only make it last longer and my body will think it is menstruating along with all the fun side-effects. So this round I will be experiencing my period for 30 straight days with cramps, PMS and a fuck-ton of chocolate.

xoks

Walk It Back

TMI Warning

Today was a mess. To begin my story, let me take you back to September 9th, the first day of my week-long beach vacation and the first day of my last period. I knew it was coming and the timing sucked but what can you do? However, my period was totally bizarre. It was 10 (TEN) days of nearly nothing. Since I started my period at twelve I have never experienced that before. I thought to myself that perhaps, at 48, I am heading into the peri-menopausal part of my life and put it out of my head to chat to my doctor about at a later date.

Flash forward to last night. Bam! I get my period. It has only been 7 days. When I went to log in the date on my period app (yes, I have an app) it asked me if I was sure...yes I am fucking sure. This time (I warned you at the top) it is crazy heavy. I threw up from the cramps. I was in the fetal position half the night. Basically, I was fucking miserable. 

I finally pass out around 2 AM. I wake up this morning disoriented and super sleepy. I stumble to the kitchen to get my coffee. I sit in my big velvet chair and jump online to buy a ticket to see The Struts in NOLA and I am fighting with the presale code. I go to put my coffee on my bedside table and somehow knock the GIANT cup over. It spills over the top, down the front, in the drawers, onto the floor. I jump up to get paper towels and get to cleaning it up. Takes me 15 minutes. I am so fucking cranky.

I go back to the kitchen and grab a new cup, meander back to my chair and...I forgot to change my tampon when I first got up. I have bled all over my favorite chair (again, I did warn y'all up there.)

Now I am just pissed. I haven't had my coffee and I am cleaning up another mess. Once I have finished I say fuck it, I need to get out of this house and start my day. I get myself ready and head to work. 

At this point in my story I would like to say to any of the men reading my post who are grossed out, I am not fucking sorry.

Once crossing the bridge, at the 580, 80 split, I hit dead stopped traffic. My slack starts blowing up from other employees who are also stuck. I find out that on westbound 80 a semi-truck has flipped over and on eastbound 80 there has been a car chase that ended horribly. Both sides are stuck with nowhere to go. It took me three hours to travel 2 miles. 

I head straight to a lunch with my co-workers and blather on about my morning until no one wants to talk to me anymore and then I just shut it and decide this day will get better! I order pancakes for lunch and spend quality time with my co-workers.

I arrive at the office around 1:45 and spend the rest of the day working on various projects; the morning now behind me.

5:15 pm, I go to the kitchen in my office and grab some carrots. I sit back down at my desk and snack while I work. Suddenly, the temp crown I just had fixed (for the 5th time) pops off. I push it back in place thinking I need to be careful not to break it so I can get it recemented tomorrow but it pops back off. I spit it out. It is my fucking tooth. My tooth has broken off INSIDE my temp crown and is now sitting in the palm of my hand. My first thought; I am a little more hillbilly than I was 2 minutes ago. I want to cry but I simply stare at it wondering what the fuck I am supposed to do now. 

I call my boss over to my desk to tell him how my tooth just fell out and our conversation goes like this:

Bossman: "Is it the meth?" 

Me: "Yes, yes it is the meth, thanks for understanding."

Bossman: "Would you hate me if you came in tomorrow morning to find a quarter on your keyboard?"

Me: ".............I am going home now."

I jump in my car and ring my mom to tell her the story y'all just read:

Mom: "Which tooth is it honey?"

Me: "Fourth from the front tooth on the upper right side."

Mom: "So it's a bipolar tooth." (Mom is a therapist)

Me: "......Mom, did you just call my tooth bipolar?"

Mom: *hysterical laughter with mumbles of "Oh my god, I can't breathe, help me."*

Me: "Mom, is it the meth?"

Thank the gods for my mother. She turned an otherwise shit day into a rather glorious evening.

xoks

On Hold

Someone is reading very old blog entries of mine. It made me go back to read them myself. Holy fuck, I am stuck.

I am 47 years old (for 27 more days) and it's like I haven't learned a single lesson about men in all these years. For fuck's sake people, I thought when you made a mistake, you learned something and then worked on not doing it again. It is embarrassing to reread. I sound like a 15-year-old emo chick.

I am on a mission to not put energy into any of the men in my past. Whenever I start to delve into my "misery of love" thing I simply remind myself that I deserve that energy to be spent on myself. There is not one ex in my life that spends a minute thinking about, missing, wondering about how I am so why should I give them anything? I am done. 

When I find myself slipping, I smile, straighten my spine, and remind myself of who is important. Me.

xoks

In Undertow

I had a grand plan to blog about my bizarre trip to Colorado. From my emotional rollercoaster ride in Boulder to my blissful days in Denver. It was going to be brilliant, insanely funny, and terribly heartbreaking. Each night, as I fell asleep, I would write it in my head. It would have been one of my best pieces, but now that I am a few weeks out, I changed my mind. Instead, I give you...stalking.

Actually, I give you cyber stalking, but you were kind of thrilled for a minute, weren't you?

Social media gives me way too much access to people I don't need to know anything about. From celebrities to my exes; I can stalk them all. What I can't (personally) figure out is why I would want to? Especially the exes. Why the fuck would I care about what they are tweeting, IGing, FBing? Why do I want to see if they are happy or broken (although, I seem to be the only one who is openly admitting to how broken one can be.) Anytime I find myself Googling an ex I end up feeling raw for the remainder of the day/week/month. I get distracted and upset. I feel...lonely. Yet, at least once a week, I seem to be stalking someone's page like the masochist I am.

I am pulling back a little from social media. I have locked my Twitter down, blocked a handful of people from accessing any of my accounts, and am posting less and less on FB. I need to step away a little from the ability to torture myself. In my continuing journey to be an emotionally healthier person, I realize that most of my social posting leans towards a specific audience that I shouldn't be seeking. 

I am terribly imperfect. I fight with myself every day to try to do what is best for my heart and it is a tough battle. I know that the more distant I get from the tragedy that was my love life over the last twenty years, the better I will get. Allowing my past to be my past, moving towards a healthier future, is the only way I can move. Sadly, some days, it seems my feet are stuck in cement and when I try to take a step, I simply fall on my face. 

xoks

Burden In My Hands

It has been nearly two months since we lost Chris Cornell. I still have trouble looking at pictures of him or listening to his music. He was such a powerful musician in my life. I imagine my heart will always ache for our loss.

His brother, Peter Cornell, began a movement, #23pushups for 23 days to help bring awareness to mental health issues and suicide awareness. Unfortunately, Peter has since deleted his FB page but the 378 members are still going strong. The group can be located here Push-Ups for Peter. Join in support of destigmatizing depression, bringing awareness to the millions suffers from suicidal thoughts, and for those, we have already lost.

xoks

My Chemical Romance

Let me start off by acknowledging my 10 readers (yes, 10! Hooked a new one) that I know the title of my post is not consistent with my previous blogs. All the others are song titles that (loosely) tie to the content of my writing while this one is a band name. I am changing it up for this post because the title is very appropriate for the blah, blah, blah that is to follow. I hope I didn't boggle your brains with the change up!

I started using drugs at a very young age. I was seven years old the first time I smoked pot. I quit smoking at the age of nine due to a bad experience. 

I had my first line of coke when I was 11. My sister, who was well on her addiction path, wanted me to try it with her. I think she was tired of being high alone. I remember listening to Devo on our record player while she nervously smoked out the window waiting for our parents to come home. I don't think I actually got high; likely I didn't get enough of the powder up my nose. I didn't understand why anyone would want to take something that made my sister so anxious and weird. It wouldn't take long for me to figure it out.

I have tried almost all the basics - Alcohol, Pot, Coke, Speed, Heroin, Morphine, Oxy, Hydro, Benzos, X, Nitrous, Mushrooms, LSD, PCP (by accident) and DMT. I have used designer drugs like Moxy and 2CB. And of course, I have used prescribed medication (Effexor and Clonazepam) for 25 years. I have drunk, smoked, snorted and injected drugs. I have never had fear around trying something new. Except for one drug - Ketamine.

There was something about witnessing people in a K-hole that just freaked me out. The way they simply, and quickly, disappeared into themselves. How I felt like there was no way to reach them and was always worried that they might not return. It held no charm from my point of view.

I would never have imagined one day saying that Ketamine saved my life. 

I don't use drugs anymore with the exception of my prescribed medicine. Since I started KIT I have cut my alcohol consumption down to maybe a glass of wine once a month. While I tried a lot of drugs when I was younger, most I only tried once out of curiosity. Even pot is a big deal for me to use. I don't feel the need to alter my state of mind or body. In fact, I feel fiercely protective of my gray matter. Knowing how KIT works has made me more aware of the impact using has on my brain. 

Post-treatment (I have had 8) I started using ketamine nasal spray once every two weeks. I have been able to cut my Effexor from 150mgs to 75mgs with no side-effects. Next month I will reduce it to 37.5. My hope is to finally be off of it by the end of the year. 

Life is not perfect; I suffer from stress and anxiety over the same things everyone else does. However, K has turned my world around. Four months ago I was ready to die. This morning I woke up with an easy smile on my face and the ridiculously loud sound of three Criminals mewling for their breakfast. Simple pleasures.

xoks

Save A Prayer

I was raised by atheists. I didn't officially know this until my 30's because we literally never talked about religion. We are Jewish and it was (and still is) common to celebrate the biggest High Holy days. I don't recall any of the gatherings feeling like religious events. It was more about being culturally connected to the Jewish community, seeing family and drinking/eating. To confuse matters more, my Jewish family celebrated Easter and Christmas. Chanukah followed right by Xmas was the highlight of my childhood holiday experience.

When I was 12 and learned that I could get cash and presents if I had a Bat Mitzvah I was suddenly very interested. When I was informed that I had to attend classes and learn Hebrew I bailed on the idea. I had so little connection Judaism other than the two or three times a year we attended Temple. I always enjoyed being there but I never wanted to go.

I recall when my sister was getting sober (32 years ago) that she told me she was struggling with her second step and many of the prayers. The idea of a higher power or a god was alien to us both. Who was she talking to? As far as we were concerned we were still two little punk chicks who sang along with anti-Christ songs on Broadway. It simply wasn't a part of our make-up. For me it was a part of being a cool punk rocker - of course I was an atheist, what kind of god would allow us to make nukes and starve children? I honestly had no idea what I was talking about. I just wanted to fit in with the cool kids.

Back to my sister. On her path to getting sober, she adopted the moon as her higher power. She would pray to the moon because she could see it, it was clearly something bigger than herself and it would always be there for her. I totally got that. 

The first few years of her sobriety I attended a lot of meetings with her and would open and close the meetings reciting the Serenity Prayer, but I never uttered the first word:

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change

The courage to change the things I can

And the wisdom to know the difference

I loved it. Serenity, accept, courage, wisdom. But I couldn't bring myself to say god. 

About six + years ago when my mental health really started to affect my ability to function, I found myself in a different 12 step room. A place that would save my life. I was back to square one (or step 2 in my case) with a need to find a higher power. I needed to be able to turn things over to something bigger than myself. Without the willingness to let go I wasn't going to make it. 

So hello moon! 

Like my sister all those years ago, when I started to pray, I started with the moon. It worked. I found a place to lay down all of my pain and fears every night. I would ask the moon to grace me with me serenity, to lend me courage and to show me wisdom. I would often beg the moon for peace of mind. I would cry and scream at the moon for making me unwell to begin with. There were many nights that I would thank the moon for helping me stay alive. Eventually, I would just pray. Every night I would say the serenity prayer as I was falling asleep. I have been doing this for 2,372 nights (give or take). 

I still do not have a god in my life but I believe in the power of turning things over when you can no longer handle them, of seeking assistance from the world around you when you are in need. I don't really think anyone is "listening" when I pray but I like the feeling of putting it out to the universe before I fall asleep. Something about that ritual allows me to settle in each night a little lighter in my heart.

xoks 

Nemesis

Dating is impossible. All options to meet new men suck; Tinder, Match, OKC, FL, CL. They are all sleazy breeding grounds for narcissistic, pushy, cheating, lying creeps who prey on the insecurities of women. Yes, I am well aware that this goes both ways but I am only talking about my experience so hush to my male readers.

Doesn't matter what I say in my profile, the exact opposite will hit me up. I say I like tall men because I am an Amazon, they tell me they are 5'6" and always wanted to climb a woman like a tree. Ummm, no. I say I am a smoker, they lecture me on bad habits and ask if I am quitting. Nope. I state that I am not into heavy partying, they ask if coke counts. Yes, yes it does. 

I have been told I am not pretty enough to look for what I want. I am too old to be picky. I am too fat to be choosy. I have been told I am a "total stuck-up cunt" for not lowering my standards. Anyone who knows me knows I am only a mildly stuck-up cunt, jeez. 

I feel physically drained from my interactions with online dating. I want to delete all my accounts and plan my life as a spinster. Fuck boyfriends, lovers or husbands. I have live music and my friends, family and the Criminals to keep me smiling. Unless you know of an attractive, tall, smart, funny, successful, bearded, tattooed, motorcycle riding, smoking, wine drinking, single guy you want to set me up with? Between 40 and 50 will do. 

Damn, I am demanding.

xoks

Cumbersome

I love my (NINE) readers. They are always so thoughtful and pretty consistent about reading my whacky posts. Thank you for that.

I want to also acknowledge that some of what I write can sound a little kooky and, at times, maybe scary for those close to me. I get it. Reading about someone who you care about fighting a battle with depression isn't easy. Learning that your family member or friend has sat on the suicidal fence is fucked up. I want to remind all (9) of you that I blog because my silence was killing me. I write here because I want to be open and honest about my mental health issues and how I am working every day to get better. 

There are days that I don't want to fight anymore; that I am sick of feelings and having to take my meds. Of waking up to the chatter in my head. Dreading the phone because I don't always know how to respond to "How are you?" I want to be able to say I am fucking fantastic. I am happy and healthy and ready to take on the world. But that isn't my truth. There are days that are wonderful and there are days that are a struggle. That is my reality. 

It has gotten better. The KIT has made a difference. EMDR is helping. My therapist is wonderful and supportive and gets me. My friends and family all show amazing understanding and support. I am grateful beyond words.

If you are reading this and are worried about me, please try not to be. This is my place to get my thoughts out, even the more disturbing ones. It's another form of therapy for me. A safe place for me to just let it all go. 

This is my fight for my life. I pack a pretty serious fucking punch.

xoks

The Last Song

It is hard for me to describe the ebb and flow of depression. I know it is always there, hanging around. I can't see it, taste it, touch it, smell it, but I sure as fuck can hear it. It's my 5th and 6th sense. It screams to me as I am trying to fall asleep; not good enough, not smart enough, not pretty enough, not funny enough, not skinny enough, NOT ENOUGH. I will never be enough for it.

It wakes me at 4 AM after I do something to trigger it earlier in the day. And this week has been chock full of triggers. I had the ability to stop the collision. I chose not to. I allowed a sneaky, persistent ache to poke me over and over again with a stick. So afraid to say no. So afraid of more loss. At this point though, I don't think there is anything more to lose with this one. It's all said and done and yet it still feels like a thorn in my paw.  Every time I try to dig it out, it just goes in a little deeper.

As I am reducing my daily medication, I have to remind myself that it is all about balance. The KIT has been so grounding and helpful so I decided to boost this weekend. It will help with the shift in my brain. It's all chemicals mixed with my actions and I have resigned myself to the fact that I am still not very good at managing healthy boundaries (yet) so I have to keep my head right. 

I still can't wrap my head around how many people suffer from some sort of mental health issue. How I wake up every day hoping it won't be with me only to hear it chattering in the background on good days and screaming bloody murder on the bad ones. Is it like that for others? Do they pray every night as they are falling asleep that tomorrow it's just chatter? That's as quiet as it has ever been for me...

xoks

Mess Is Mine

Been a very long couple of weeks. Between traveling, getting sick, and a few struggles scattered in there, I haven't been up to writing. Fatigue is the main culprit. Could not get enough sleep to save my soul last week. My fucking body keeps betraying me.

After Bottlerock I was very worn down physically. Even though I was on my best behavior (only had a few cocktails over three days, got to bed at reasonable hours, didn't make out with any strangers) I still got my ass handed to me via a superbug. I blame it on the hippy crowd at Tom Petty.

Instead of continuing on my path of being a good kid, on a Saturday morning, I hopped on a plane to NOLA for a week of...NOLA. I arrived sick and exhausted. Not my usual self. I did what I could to push through but by Tuesday it was clear that I needed to be home. Closer to my doctor and in my own bed. This is the first time I have ever had to bail on a vacation and the last time I ever want to leave my home away from home of New Orleans as I only get so much time there every year. I was so sad getting on the plane, doped up on cold medicine so my fellow passengers wouldn't throw me off mid-flight, that I actually cried a little as the plane took off. My happy place was slowly fading away from my view and I was simply too sick to do anything else but go home. I am grateful for every minute I get to spend there and spoiled that I get to go at all. I am just doing a bit of whining...

In terms of my mental health, things have been going relatively well. My last booster was about 6 or 7 weeks ago and I am still feeling level. I have reduced my medication by half (I have been on anti-depressants for 22 years) and am not sliding backward. My goal is to live my life off of meds, but I will take it one day at a time.

When Chris Cornell passed away, I was very shaken and confused. It hit me so hard (and still does) that some people actually teased me for crying over a person I had never met. I can handle the teasing. The thing some people don't get is that Chris was my guy. My favorite vocalist, my musician crush, my hero. Losing him to suicide made me feel lost and scared. My heart is not healing. 

I have spoken about the spiral many times here and how easy it is to wake up on the bottom and not know how you got there. Afraid to tell your people you are down again because they are so afraid you won't get back up. It is so much to manage all the time. But I am blessed with the people in my life, the community I found online, and the fact that I know there is relief and joy out there. 

As a reminder, to my readers (all eight of you) please read about, talk about, and support KIT. It saved my life and gave me a path to living rather than just surviving.

xoks

I'll Stick Around

I took a little hiatus to attend Bottlerock this weekend. It did wonders for my head and heart. I was insanely lucky and blessed to have had such an experience.

Music makes my soul fly. When it is live, the feeling is 100 fold.  It reminds me that even though there are hard days, there are also blissful ones to pursue.

On day one I got to do a Meet Greet with Silversun Pickups and Macklemore and Ryan Lewis. I then got to see half a dozen bands perform on different stages - Saint Motel, Fitz and the Tantrums (I met the singer later that weekend) Galactic, Macklemore and Ryan Lewis and Maroon Five.

Day two I did a Meet & Greet with Michael Franti. He was the most genuine artist I have ever met. He came out to sing the group a song and then insisted we take a group photo. When we lined up for our solo shots, I waited until everyone had gone and asked him if he would mind hugging me in the photo (he hugged everyone, then posed them with his guitar). I just wanted to melt into him. When the shot was done, I said "I don't want to let go" and he replied "me either" so we just stayed like that another thirty seconds. I let go before the security team swept in. 

I saw Andra Day, Michael Franti and Spearhead, and Tom Petty. In between shows I hung out with Jessica Childress, Michael F et al., and met dozens of really lovely people who went out of their way to make conversation with the lady who was possibly the one of the few flying solo there. 

Day THREE! I went early and started the day off with The Helmets, a group of four boys between the ages of 12 and 15 playing metal just like their fathers do! They were hard! I ran to another stage to see Arizona and then back to the main stage to see Cobi (dear lord he is beautiful and brilliant). Then Gavin Degraw, Live, Band of Horses! It was gorgeous. I snuck out at one point to do a Meet & Greet with Gavin Degraw who was very charming and tried to lean his head into mine for the photo before it dawned on him that the brim of his hat was knocking me in my head. 

Then the unthinkable happened. While holding a front rail spot, waiting for the Sunday night headliner, one of the women I made friends with who worked the festival grabbed me and asked if I wanted to meet the Foo Fighters. The FUCKING FF's! The one band I was willing to stand in the blazing sun for 4 hours just to claim a front row seat. She promised I would get my place back and dragged me out. I have had dreams about this before. I had briefly met the drummer once but now I was going to get to hang out with the whole band. My poor little heart was fluttering like a hummingbird.

I walk back to the artist area with seven other people. We are all giddy and acting like 16-year-olds. They bring us into the Foo's private area and put us in a little area. We mill around like cattle waiting for the band to arrive. I decide to sit down and do a little meditation so I don't come across like a crazed fan (which I am) and then I see Dave, Pat, Chris, Taylor, Nate, and Rami. I am in the far corner watching them walk in, unsure what to do.  Pat walks straight over to me, puts out his hand and introduces himself. We shake hands and he smiles at me, asks me if I am feeling a little nervous, and when I say, a little, he tells me to put my head on his shoulder. I do. Then he asks if I am feeling better, I AM!

All the other band members come over to us and introduce themselves to me. They are sweet and funny. We chat about shows I have attended and how excited they are to perform after a two-year break.  Other commoners (like myself) meander over and I decide that if I am going to actually say more than hello to Dave, I am going to have to go to him.

I walk over and lean in on a conversation he is having with a lovely couple from Virgina. I wait until he is done and he turns and runs right into me (I was basically blocking his way, on purpose.) Here it the transcript of our conversation:

D: Oh, hello (handshake) I am Dave

K: Hello, I am Kimberly, nice to meet you

D: Nice to meet you, thank you for coming

K: Thank you for having me

D: Shall we take our picture?

K: Let's

I am positive I made a HUGE impression on him with my wit and sassy conversational skills.

I am first in line to get my photo taken. I had made a deal with Pat to stand between him and Dave because I am so tall and they are the two tallest band members but somehow I am standing in front of all of them, they are arm in arm, and I have nowhere to go so I flex my muscles in front of the band (to the applause and quiet cheers of those watching) and SNAP, the photo is taken. As I am turning to thank them, I accidentally semi-punch Taylor and the face. Yep...me in a nutshell. Taylor said, "geez, thanks." To which I reply, "I tried to warn you, I am an Amazon!"

We are all ushered back to our original places in the front row and then I wait. I wait to see one of my favorite bands of all time come on stage and tear it up. And they deliver. They played for two straight hours. Song after song, the crowd sings along. Dave sang and screamed and told stories in between. It was a perfect show.

At three minutes to 10 PM (noise ordinance curfew for Napa) they broke into Everlong, their last song. At 10 on the dot, they venue cut the sound. The band didn't miss a beat and the crowd sang at the top of our lungs through the end of the song. For me, it was perfect.

I walked out of there on a music high that has stayed with me. I will never forget the day I punched a Foo Fighter. Bliss.

xoks

PS - I am really tired so forgive my rambling writing patterns.

No Rain

Dear chubby 8-year-old,

I hardly know what to say to you. You were so well developed by your surroundings. I always thought that you arrived much earlier in my life. I always saw myself as a gigantic 2 year-old that no one could lift so no one could hold comfortably in their arms. 

Food was a huge comfort for us. While we were always emotionally expressive, the harder emotional times would lead us to eat anything that made us feel better. It felt both safe and rebellious. Especially since society was in our face telling us how important it was to be thin and beautiful.

So many of the people around us rejected, criticized and taunted us for being over-weight. They told us we lacked self-control. We lacked pride in ourself. We would never fit in, never be liked, never achieve anything in life because we were fat. Our physical appearance was more important than our mind or our heart. We believed them.

I have carried you with me for almost 40 years. I have starved myself to fit in. I spent years isolating and being self-critical for not being beautiful enough because my body was never "perfect". Even at my thinnest, it wasn't enough. I didn't have hips, big breasts or an ass (that never changes at any weight for my build.) We never achieved "perfect" because there is no such fucking thing. 

So to the chubby little 8 year-old pumpkin, I bid you farewell. I no longer want us judging ourself for the shape of our body. I want to find beauty and peace in our skin. I want to let go of all the mistreatment we encountered growing up as a result of not embracing what others thought we should look like. I want you, in particular, to know you were as perfect as any other little 8 year-old out there and let all the shaming wash away.

Welcome little one to our adventure of loving us just the way we are.

xoks

I Love You, Goodbye

My therapist has given me yet another homework assignment (thanks Kat!) I am to write farewell letters to the parts of me that are no longer useful and/or that never belonged in the first place. Since this is where I do all my writing, my next few posts might be even more of a downer than usual (How is that possible you ask? Wait and see.)

Dear unloveable four year old,

There is nothing a child can do that makes them unworthy of love. All children, even the rotten ones, deserve to feel and be loved. You did nothing wrong. You were sensitive, vulnerable, afraid and lonely. You tried everything to make it known that all you wanted was to be safe and noticed. You craved the affection and attention of your father who wasn't available to give you that. As a result, you felt unworthy of anything resembling love. This simply wasn't true. You were and are very loved. However, it is time for you to go. I must embrace the sensitive side of me without being punitive with myself. I will sometimes be vulnerable, afraid and lonely, but the person I need to be today will be able to take care of me even in the darkest of times. 

I want to thank you for being a sweet, loving little pain in the ass, but I am moving on without you.

xoks

DOA

Living with depression is a very complicated thing. People, for the most part, do not understand what it is like to suffer from Major Depressive Disorder. There are many kinds of depression; Episodic, which usually lasts a few weeks, Chronic, which might last as long as two years, and Major, which lasts two years or more. That last one is my baby. I have suffered from depression (mild to extreme) for as long as I can remember. 

I have tried many types of medication and therapy. I believe those things kept me alive all these years. When seven plus years ago I bottomed out I tried new meds and intensive therapeutic treatment. Again, it was enough to keep me going. In the past few months, when the wave rode over me again, I turned to KIT. This has by far been the most successful treatment I have used. However, as much as I had hoped it would just be the six sessions and I would be "cured", I believe now that it is likely I will be using monthly boosters for the near future.

My depression is a sneaky little thing. I feel fine one moment, and without noticing any trigger, I can become overwhelmed with feelings of sadness. I can have spent an amazing evening with friends, yet when falling asleep, my mind starts writing suicide notes all on its own. Do any of you do that? Fall asleep thinking about the last thing you want to say to people? It's fucking disturbing.

When thinking about the loss of Chris Cornell last week, I tried to imagine what might have been going on in his head. How easy it is to become overwhelmed with grief and to want it to stop. People say it is a terribly selfish thing to do, to take one's life. I hope they never have to feel what it is like to think there is no other way to stop the pain. It isn't selfish, it's freedom to them. 

I am not giving up. There are days when the idea seems reasonable. When all I want to do is fall asleep and not wake up. When I feel like I will cry myself to death over the smallest of things or nothing at all. But there are things I want to experience, demons I want to slay, people I want to love, places I want to go. When I blog about my depression, it is not a cry for help or a threat that I am falling. This is one way for me to process my feelings remind myself that some days are simply harder than others but that there are still beautiful moments ahead of me.

xoks

End Over End

"Maybe I just feel too much"

Empathy is a blessing and a curse. Cliche, I know, but true. When you haven't learned proper boundaries or developed tools to assist you in protecting yourself it can become unmanageable. This is one of the many reasons I spend so much time alone. Sometimes I can't handle all the feelings rushing around and through me. 

I am exhausted today. I have a grief hangover. I want to be in my bed, record player blasting, snuggling The Criminals. I want the weight of my comforter wrapped around me, soothing my tired body and mind. I want to talk about nothing with my friends on the phone like I did when I was 15. I want the world to slow the fuck down. I need some rest.

xoks

The Criminals

Fell On Black Days

I attended a show last night with a good friend. As we waited to go inside, he teased me about all my musician crushes. Eddie Vedder, Dave Grohl, Chris Cornell. I told him that Chris was my one true love and that, was he not married with two kids, I would stalk him until he married me. That made my friend laugh; little does he know me.

This morning I woke up to the news that Chris had died. I sat in shock for a moment then went to read every article I could find. As soon as I saw that they suspect that he committed suicide I lost it. My heart broke. I felt like throwing up. In the middle of mental health awareness month, one of my icons committed suicide. A few months ago I was in his shoes in my depression.

Chris was a husband, a father of two children, a rock legend. He had been sober for years. He was respected, loved, admired and had "everything" to live for, and yet, in the end, his demons won. 

I want to remind everyone how important it is to destigmatize depression and other forms of mental illness. There are so many people suffering in silence, so close to the edge, and we need to do more to bring light to the subject and help those in need. 

If someone who seemed to have it all can hide their pain so well that one day they are tweeting about how amazing life is and that night end it, it is painfully clear that we as loving people, must step up and reach out.

Sleep peacefully, my friend

xoks

Heavy In Your Arms

We are all a little mad here. It is nearly impossible not to be at least a bit broken. Generationally I believe that we are working to raise children better than ourselves; not an easy task. I watch my friends do their very best to avoid passing on their brand of kooky to their little ones. My mother certainly tried. I don't think my father was even aware that it might be necessary to change his behavior so as not to leave his kids with wounds. He did better with his boys than his girls. That much is clear as I see those boys excelling in life in a way I can't.

The bottom line for me, I can be a heavy heart to carry. I am passionate, I love intensely and deeply. I am easily wounded and can strike out when feeling defensive. I can find many reasons to push you away if I am afraid. I have boundaries that I will set and then allow you to roll right over them with your kindness and excuses. I am highly independent but also needy. I have this True Romance, Princess Bride kind of fantasy that is simply unachievable in real life.Yet I keep trying.

I want something different for myself. I want to live outside of fantasy and feel satisfied and fulfilled with a close connection. I don't want to give up passion, great sex or real intimacy. I want to meet someone whose crazy matches mine but that means finding someone who is ready to admit to their kind of crazy and most men I have met refuse to even acknowledge their flaws. I think they feel like it is a sign of weakness. I think it is a sign of real strength.

I am flawed, I have been damaged, I own my crazy. I am human.

xoks

Fireproof

Here's the thing, you never know how you are going to feel from day to day. Yesterday was a roller-coaster of emotions ranging from pleasantly happy to a tearful commute home. Thankfully I was already off the freeway when it hit me.

My last EMDR session left me with this one nagging feeling; I am unlovable. At least I believe that I am unlovable. Some would say that isn't true. That they love me deeply and that I am easy to love. I appreciate that they feel that way; unfortunately, it doesn't change this core belief inside of me.

The times that I have felt loved have been in relationships. I have allowed others to validate that I am a lovable person. And when they leave, I am again, unlovable. How fucked up is that? How does anyone who relies on another person to feel loved learn to love themselves? I am not going to the top of the mountain to chant, I am not sitting in a drumming circle, I am not sweating it out in a Shamans tent. I am not trying to make fun of people who find their paths any way that they can; it just isn't who I am. 

I don't know how to reconcile with a core trauma. How to shift the balance in my best interest. I believe that loving oneself (to the best of our ability) is key to being truly happy. As I cried in my driveway I became angry that I am this old and still haven't learned what every child should be taught from the day they are born; every creature is lovable in their own way. I simply haven't discovered in what way that is for me.

xoks

Break It Down Again

Been remiss in writing the last few days. I have been very busy between work and, umm, work...

It is clear that the last KIT was really good for me. It was the exact lift I needed to stay positive and in motion. I have no problem making the treatment a regular every 4-6 weeks addition to my therapy routine. The effects are profound and delightful.

I have recently begun EMDR. It is possibly the most intense therapy I have ever participated in. Without fail, I find myself lightly crying after each stimulation set as I discuss what I am noticing. Images, memories, and thoughts come quickly and at times it is very hard to articulate back to my therapist what has happened during stimulation. However, it is moving very quickly and at times, painfully, into darker tunnels that I need to discover. In all honesty, I am both excited and scared. Pandora's box, you know?

Yesterday I visited my previous employer. I love popping in to say hello to past co-workers and hearing about what is new with both the company and in their lives. While chatting with one person, she gave me a really big hug and said: "I have been reading your blog." I replied with "oh?" and then "OH!". My immediate gut reaction was that the woman - who is very high-functioning and successful - likely thought less of me due to my mental health issues. I assumed that she was shaming me. The reality of the situation was that she was letting me know that she cared, that she supported me and that she thought I was brave to share my story. I have to constantly remind myself that putting my issues out here, for anyone to read, doesn't automatically mean that the people who read it will shun me. That most, in fact, will show their love, sympathy, and understanding. This is the world I want to live in. 

Some people ask, "where have you been?"
My answer short, "I've been within"
And if they nod and walk away
They do not hear the words I say

xoks

Dependin' On You

Happy Birthday to my amazing mother. She reminds me daily of what love is all about. Thank you for always showing up and reminding me that I am worth it. 

xoks

Only If For A Night

I am five days post my 7th KIT. It has been a little bit less familiar or steady. Small hits of anxiety out of nowhere. Manageable. Foursquare breathing, feet on the ground, what can I see, smell, hear, feel? 

Where I am struggling is adding additional techniques into my life. I hate exercise, always have. I like to eat what I want to eat. I am a skeptic so anything that feels too touchy-feely, hippy, new ageish instantly makes me growl like a wolf to ward it off. No idea why I am so reticent (resentful?) around the idea of meditation, energy, crystal work, or what not. I have done small amounts of meditation and it has felt very good, yet, like any hobby I take up, I stop very quickly after stopping. 

I have all these people in my life who enjoy SO many things. I like sleeping, smoking, eating, drinking (which I haven't done in months) reading, live music, sex, Netflix, and Amazon Prime. I am a simple girl. I wish I could find just one additional thing that I LOVE that also included leaving my house a few times a week. I am going to purchase a few single classes to see if anything sticks. Music can't be the only reason to get out of bed...

xoks

Love Is The Drug

This past Saturday I had my first booster since my initial six treatments. It was intense. While going through infusions every two days, you are building up K in your system, so while the experience is wild, you are sort of prepared. Not so much when it's been over a month and you get your top dose. 110 mgs and I was in a new world.

That being said, it was a beautiful place. I felt safe there. The processing in my head was very different than other times but it was also refreshing. It focused a lot on me as an individual. On the fact that if I am going to stick around, I need to be of use to other people in pain. That my job here isn't done.

The other main thought was that I didn't truly miss any of my previous partners. What I missed was the attention, the sex, the affection, the promises, the fantasy. That isn't to say that the men in my life weren't worth the time we spent together, most of them absolutely were, but I am not sure I have met a partner who was on the same path or shared the same long-term desires that I have. The chemicals between us were just not enough. 

xoks

River of Deceit

While I am very aware that I do not need to be dating at this time, I can't help but poke around on one dating site because I miss getting some attention. Truth. It feels good.

That being said, I have had the worst experiences. Here is my basic profile:

Let's get off on the right foot; if you voted for 45 swipe left because I already think you're an asshole...

Ex-punk rock girl all grown up. I drink and smoke. Tattoos and piercings but still very presentable to the folks. 5-9 so I like 'em tall. Beard fetish.

Non-vanilla. If you don't know what that means you should swipe left.

Nothing too scandalous and pretty to the point. 

I have received 40+ messages in a week. 80% are from people who want to tell me what a libtard-snowflake I am and how I should kill myself for my left-wing political views. I kid you not. The kicker is that when I go view their profiles, EVERY-LAST-ONE of them are under 5' 8". I am starting to think that it isn't really my 45 comment but that I have insulted the vertically challenged...

xoks