grunts and squeaks

Me: People tell me I'm brave. But I don't really know any other way to be than to keep it real. I don't know how others do it. I lack that skill. I'm just me. I guess it must be brave to be me in this world.

Coworker: Yeah. (said very matter of fact)


I used to be more brave, you know? I used to blog & keep in touch with myself. I used to be more open. & I had no idea how unusual that was, even though people tried to point it out to me.

Now I find it hard. Blogging, that is. Talking about myself. Exploring what I am really feeling.

& I tend to notice those who are braver than me.

I still feel I owe my life to a friend of mine, who is much more brave than I will ever be. A friend who is brave enough to really & truly be who he is.

But I suppose I don't really believe comparison is to the point. I see now how what I do could be interpreted as brave. But I am in the habit of following my instincts, it's something I am comfortable doing, it is something that has made my life fulfilling & led to all of the good things in my life. It has brought me pain too, but one cannot avoid pain very effectively no matter the methods.

I've been remembering love lately. The ways in which it makes life worthwhile. The mystery it brings. The curiosity it opens within me.

I feel myself changing. Who knows, I may return to a braver self.

strange times, folks

Faith is a strange phenomenon, to be sure. I make so much progress every month on dealing with my anxiety disorder & depression. About a month ago I was at a sort of high point. & then it all toppled down so quickly.

Thing is, I'm not terribly sad very often. But when I am, I get pretty obsessed with the idea of killing myself. It is hard to feel like there is any other option. In other words, I am a woman of little faith.

I lack an understanding of my own value. & I lack any belief that other people could value me either. But I am working on it. 

Current status, I believe people eventually. Especially if they repeat things enough times. Eventually it just clicks. 

I am not hated. & if I am, what does that mean in the grand scheme?

I ground myself by remembering a few things. 

1. My disordered brain is going to cause me to expect a worse outcome than is likely. 

2. My disordered brain is going to cause me to underestimate my own ability to deal with even the worst case scenario.

3. My disordered brain is going to convince me that there is nobody to help me & to forget that others know how to deal with many things that I have no insight into. 

My core

Crawl 'till dawn

On my hands and knees

Goddamn these vampires

For what they've done to me

-The Mountain Goats





I've tried not to let the bastards get me down. I've tried in all things to remain true to my core, even when I've hated myself thoroughly. I noticed from an early age how many adults were empty at the core, or rotten, or simply floating disconnected from it. & I swore that would never be me.






I planned carefully as a child. Every book I read & every song I heard & every person I loved gave me some bit of wisdom I held onto in the pursuit of my ultimate goal. I clung to myself when my life was dark & traumatic. When my parents were harsh & my family was abusive & friends felt hard to come by.






I had a surprisingly robust resistance to the corruption around me. I was damaged but not broken & I survived the Fuck out of my youth.






& then in college the depression hit even harder. & my anxiety got so bad I was terrified to go to the bathroom which was right down the hall from my dorm room. & I had a boyfriend who told me regularly about all of my weaknesses from my weight to my feelings. Who actively worked to isolate from the rest if the world. & somewhere in all of that I sort of lost myself. & I had to rediscover her in the aftermath.






Struggling with severe social anxiety, I still entered a masters program & flew across the country by myself to complete the residencies. & I fought my fear to make a few friends. One of which turned on me, & told me repeatedly how selfish I was & how I wasn't meeting my potential.






& despite all this I still believed in love & I reconnected with my core & I got up the courage to marry the man I loved. Despite my utter disbelief that marriage could ever work out, I chose to gamble that maybe it could.






& still I was true to my core & I loved her. But then the anxiety got real bad. It took over my life. I had panic attack after panic attack for years. I became afraid to write. I hated myself & my life. I found myself unable to answer the phone, even if my dearest friends called. Then even emailing & texting became a great effort. I was so lonely & so isolated & the weight of life fell down on me. & it's unbearable lightness too. & somewhere in all that, without even realizing it. I lost my core. I became inauthentic.






It wasn't when things were worst that I crumbled. It was when I felt like I had to settle for, at best, things being okay. But Fuck that. I may fight depression for the rest of my life. But you can bet your ass, I will fight it hard.

Apple Pie Logic

One time an adviser I greatly respected, laughed affectionately as he told me he liked my essays best that followed "apple pie logic". I had to have him explain what he meant by that. Apparently, sometimes I write deep truths as if they were all part of some logical & simple recipe. It's a compliment that stuck with me.

When I know something I just know it, I've processed it long enough, carried it around in my mind, & eventually I just say what I know, or what I think I know. Unfortunately, I often need to write about something before I'm ready & then it often comes out incoherent & insincere.

I loved what little Deleuze & Guatarri I've read. & they certainly don't read as a recipe. It's hard to write past a certain complexity with any real sense of logic. I like the idea of being more conversational & playful & engaging the reader on this quite human level of thought instead of conclusion or decision. I like that idea, but that was not how I learned to write. That is not what comes easily.

& how much this dependence on logic & essay & English has influenced my mind is hard to overstate. There is so much of what makes us who we are that is so far beyond our control. But my stubborn yearning for control, ah yes; that is another thing I did not choose & I find difficult to change.

I believe I'm really emotionally intelligent. I haven't been tested or anything. But it seems pretty likely.

I had a fairly manipulative & abusive boyfriend once, who had a great fear of emotions. He spent a lot of time telling me I was overly sensitive & overly emotional. It's weird how someone I knew for a few years a decade ago could still effect me so much today.

He liked to notice things I was good at. Compliment & flatter me. Try the thing out. Get me to help him learn how to do it. & then get really good at it. He was super intelligent. Most things were excessively easy for him. He'd spin it how lucky I was to be with such an intelligent guy. Once he got better at the thing than I was, which usually only took a few weeks, he'd show off. Tell me how easy it was. He'd laugh at me if I got frustrated.

Nobody liked him much. Because he was a jerk. & condescending. & afraid of emotions. I remember one time he was going on about how he was a better writer than I was. & we got into one of our typically epic fights. & I said at some point "you're pretty smart. But there are some ways I am smarter than you. & you can try all you want, you'll never beat me in those areas." & he laughed & said "yeah, right. Like what areas? Because whatever you're thinking I'm smarter in that area too." 

& maybe he was right. But I doubt it.

"Take me by the hand & tell me you would take me anywhere." Tegan & Sara

Who is the hero in my story? I've been torn for a while now. I'm trying to be my own hero. Pull myself up by my bootstraps. Slay depression. Gain back what is lost. Inspire the world. Change something for the better.

I used to imagine some character popping into my life & bringing me on all sorts of adventures. I used to want that brave impulsive creative friend always getting me in trouble. I wanted to be a vicarious hero I suppose. The Gus to somebody's Shawn Spencer. 

Because I swear I have all this power for good somewhere in me. I swear my heart is impulsive & mighty & wonderfully breakable & regenerative. 

But I feel paralyzed when I try to decide where to go with it.

& I've been so lonely. I know how much my life could change in a day. I've got amazing friends all over the country. Somebody will come along someday & it'll just click & we'll laugh & talk & do all the things that I miss.

But things aren't so bad right now. & I can't sit around waiting for them to appear. I guess we all want to change the world. I just want to live a life that matters in some small measure.

"I met the wolf alone/ and was devoured in peace." Edna St. Vincent Millay

What is it that keeps me coming back to the wolf? Even my husband, I was drawn to him initially because he struck me as a wolf in sheep's clothing.

There's this moment in Moonstruck: I seen a wolf in everybody I met, and I see a wolf in YOU! 

For me, the wolf is that in us which is still wild. It's not good or bad. It's wild. It's a wolf. It might hurt you. It might amaze you. You might try to cage it up. But it will still howl.

My wolf is, among other things, a writer. I've been away from blogging for a while now. My wolf was sleeping for a while. Or gnawing on the same old bones hoping for a bit of sustenance. Or growing silently & practicing it's howl in a lonely forest. 

& I thought I was happier that way. But I wasn't. I wasn't my whole self. I was broken. Self-suppressed. Afraid. 

I still am. But my wolf is back. I am back. This is where you'll find me. To some extent. If you'd care to.