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