Day 30: Happy Place

What is your “safe place” when you are upset? (This can also be a person.)

A safe place when I’m upset. Hmmm. I used to laugh at people when they’d talk about finding their happy place. It seemed so, well, Stuart Smalley! Now when I look at it, I think if I’d had a happy place (or a safe place), I wouldn’t have had the problems I’ve had to such a degree. There’s nothing really, or no place that’s a go to when I feel horrid.

In the past, and unfortunately lately as well, my happy place has been a cake, some whipped cream, or a pint of Ben and Jerry’s, and when you’re having a hard time it just tends to make it harder with the self-loathing that follows. Bad coping mechanism to say the least.

My safe place should be a cozy construct in my mind that resembles a velvet lined, horse-drawn carriage going down a dirt lane towards a country house in England, a library like something from Beauty and the Beast, or a Gothic house full of history to ponder and discuss by fireside. Until I manage to get myself to my destination of choice, I’m going to have to construct it entirely from my addiction to Masterpiece Classic.

However, this may as well be a real place, like a private room no one enters in your house (the study from Clue anyone? though that was hardly safe…) where you can be alone and look at your volume of British Birds to calm down. Something like that. Alas, I don’t have enough room in my house for a library. It’s been a dream of mine, to have a study. If nobody locks you in and the lead pipe isn’t missing from the locked cabinet, you’re golden. I’d love a real place I could retire to that felt safe. That safe feeling from childhood has been gone for a long time now. Far too often, the world feels nothing but dangerous and uncertain. That makes finding a safe place, be it within or without, a difficult task.

The beach has been a safe place for me most of the time. It’s an immediate calming agent, provided I’m there alone. Again, the boy has saved me more than once. He’s the anchor, the happy memories, the love, the comfort that I need during the worst of times. This morning alone, he asked me if I had a nightmare “because you’re hugging me like crazy!” It’s true that the boy is a little happiness machine for me, though that’s probably not fair nor sustainable since the teenage years *gasp* are a few short years away. I can’t imagine how I’m going to get him to hug me then!

Yesterday, in the middle of trying to write, I had a full on panic attack. It became clear that I really had nothing safe to anchor me. I laid down on my floor in front of the heater. I couldn’t imagine anything to calm me down. I couldn’t even breathe. I was crying and going into a derealization mode when the boy came over and started petting my hair and telling me he loved me. Like I’ve said before, nothing beats that. Nothing. But he won’t be here forever. It’s his job to grow up and find his own way and I’ll need to find mine. Once he’s in college I can always make his room a library, or build a bomb shelter in the back yard. The coping with food has to stop, so something has to happen. A dance floor maybe? As long as I don’t hire any maids named Yvette or Tim Curry as a butler, I think I’ll be alright.

Would anyone care for fruit or…dessert?

Day 20: Expression

How do you usually express yourself?

Let’s see, there’s this, lurking creepily at the cemetery, lurking creepily downtown, lurking…well, I do a lot of creepy lurking. Actually, no, I don’t, not anymore. Ah, the old days. I could also make a bad joke regarding my kid under the heading of breeding monsters, but he’s being a little too sweet today for that. I try to get him in on the self-expression, but so far he’s got his own thing.

Most of my expression now comes with me writing in one form or another, be it here or in my journal (very sporadically) or writing stories that I wish were Gothic. I do create monsters in my stories and actually, in my one finished manuscript I think I came up with some good ones. Oddly enough, most of the things I end up writing are sci-fi or fantasy and God knows I love a good battle scene. I have no idea where any of those things came from. All I want to do is wander the English countryside in a corset writing stories of unquiet souls tormented and longing with some frightening things running through the center of it all. Somewhere some wires got crossed but isn’t that why I’m writing this blog? A lot of my wires have shorts in them, or at least lost their insulation.

Over the years my expression has changed. I began with drawing and painting and then moved on to writing when I  hit the double digits. Later I moved on to music, photography, and graphic art and then came back around to writing. I do a little of all of these depending on where my head is and how much patience I have. I haven’t really painted in years since with my son, it’s a hard thing to get time to do. The same with the self-portrait photography though there’s nothing quite like getting a character out in that cathartic sort of way, by becoming them.

Writing is similar in that way. I can pace and say what they’re saying aloud, figure out how they’re feeling and why they do what they do and in the meantime I get to both become someone else and explore a side of myself and give it voice.  It’s an interesting process.

Today, I was making a piece of art for a friend as a gift. That’s also a nice thing to do. Crafting is a new form of expression for me. I was going to take up knitting to make something hilarious and wonderful for DG, but I really didn’t have the patience for it. I may, if I calm down, give that another try.

For now, I get a wild hair and go with it in whatever form that takes. Maybe I want to do Queen of Hearts makeup and take pictures in that character, maybe I write a story about my dad. It’s all very random but that’s what expression is about to me. You have something that you need to get out and you do, whatever it takes. Sometimes you make something beautiful and sometimes it’s something frightening.

It’s probably the one thing I’d go mad without, creating. Whether it’s lasting or transitory. whatever you make is a reminder to the world that you were here and tells a small bit of your story, your point of view. Everyone deserves to have a piece of themselves seen and understood. There are a million ways to do it, to make your mark. Every one of them is worth your time and energy and who knows, maybe it might even be appreciated by someone who never knew they could do the same thing or how to say something you were able to. It’s all beautiful…the most beautiful thing in the world.

Day 12: Family Dynamics *

What’s your relationship with your family?

Like everyone, my relationship with my immediate family is complicated. I’m focusing on the family that’s local since I have family in another state who are really quite different, but I don’t get to see them often, unfortunately. Locally, there is a lot of criticism running through everything like blood through a major artery. There’s non-stop negativity and some high drama, though, also like most people, things look nice and normal from the outside.

My parents were a bit of a mess and honestly, I find it difficult to write about still. Things were not happy growing up. My dad is an unhappy person and particularly self-involved. My mother was extremely caring but had her co-dependence issues. My mother is now ill and in care. My dad remains as he always has, though now that he’s all alone in the house, I believe he understands what he’s lost. He’s a bit nicer but still remains up to his drinking shenanigans and doesn’t take proper care of himself.

The rest of the family is, like I said, critical. There’s a lot of it disguised as lighthearted jabbing, but really, no one has anything nice or supportive to say. If there’s a flaw, it gets pointed out. If there isn’t one, something is found. It’s easier to deal with now that I can see what’s going on, but as a kid, it was difficult to gain any kind of positive reinforcement.

Now that I’m older, I go out of my way to make sure my son gets that from me, since I don’t want him to think that there’s no safe place to be himself. He’s fully accepted for who he is in our tiny corner. Elsewhere, he knows to take everything with a grain of salt, or if he’s upset, I make sure to talk to him about it. Nothing is fun when you feel like you’re picked on 24/7. I know. That’s how I grew up and look at what a ball of positive confidence I am! Bahahahahaha!

These days, in my older age, I’m learning to identify other people’s crap, to distance my values from theirs, and accept my views and identity as ok, even if no one else agrees.  That’s a hard thing to do in that dynamic. I’ve tried to help another member of my family get there, but she’s a mini me if I ever saw it. I keep hacking away.

Coming upon the holidays, I’m starting to fortify myself for the dynamic of everyone being together. It’s its own kind of dysfunction like every family. All the same stories get rehashed, the insults fly, laughter erupts, I have to try to set new boundaries so that I don’t get triggered and hope for the best. Some things still set me off but I’m finally starting to get better at seeing what they are and to diffuse myself. I still get to be the acting babysitter of the drunkards, and that’s stressful for a number of reasons and sets off all manner of bad memories, but all we can do is take it a day at a time. I just got hosed with the hard stuff.

I just remember that everyone has their particular family issues. Everyone has the holiday battle to fight. Most of us make it through relatively unscathed. My job now is making sure my kid comes out less damaged than I did. If I can manage that, I will truly have a happy holiday season.

** You know, I was looking at this this morning and realized something that further shows me how skewed my thinking can be, not that any of it is untrue. It all is. It’s just the view from the family from when I was a kid. What it doesn’t show is just how lucky I’ve been in the family lottery. While I realized that I tend to see only the dark side of things, (I’m learning that’s a big part of this) I realized that my family has been there for me when no one else was. My uncle’s family took me in when I had nowhere to go. He just found me a car and fixed it up when my last car tanked it. Despite my differences in some values and beliefs, I really like them, a lot. They’ve put up with my neuroses as well, regardless of the cause and have, I believe, always wanted the best for me and my son. So, that makes things a bit more even and equal and shows that every family, and every person, is made up of the good and not so good; of what works and elements of things broken. Somehow all the pieces come together to form the intricate emotional experiences of our lives. I just needed to remember that mine aren’t all black. There have been bright colors too.

Day 11: Anchors

Is there anything you do that helps keep you grounded?

Why yes, Professor. As a matter of fact there is. It’s less something I do and more something that keeps me from going too far afoul of where I should be.

My son.

It’s not an off the wall answer. In fact it’s pretty typical but I can say, like so many others before me and mean it, that my kid has saved my life. I wouldn’t be here without him.

During every depressive episode where I’ve thought of doing myself in, he’s the thing that keeps me holding on. The past several days, I’ve only made it through the day by looking forward to seeing him at the end of it and having a cuddle on the couch. When I cry, though I try to shield him from such things, he comes up to me and hugs me and gives me kisses so I’m not so sad. Last night, for example, when he could see that I was struggling and trying not to cry, he came up and smiled and wrapped his little arms around me and told me that he loved me. No amount of affirmations, vision boards, or goals can compete. Nothing beats that. Nothing.

My therapist yesterday was talking about anchor thoughts to hold on to when I’m going off a cliff into the ocean of big emotions. Even if I can’t see the shore, or even have faith that there is a shore to swim to somewhere out there, I do have the thought of my son. In my darkest moments, no matter what he’s done or how mad I get, it’s the thought that he would never understand if something happened to me that keeps me afloat.

Of course there are other things, my writing goals, my family, the things I’d like to see, and places I want to visit. My grand dream of getting to England is one of the stronger anchors, but in the really dark times, I can’t see the foggy forest for the trees. Singing is another. Singing is great if you’re in the midst of anxiety or any other fit of emotions really. It releases so much. Sing out those feelings! I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sung/cried the lyrics to a song I love to just get it all out. It also helps you to keep breathing regularly and fends off anxiety attacks. Singing is great.

So, for right now in my time of bitter regret when I’m thinking of how I’ve been had and what a maroon I am, you can bet your butt that I’m singing…loudly and possibly badly just waiting for the time when I can go home and cuddle with my kid. It’s those small things in life that turn into big things when you look. For right now I’m digging into the rock on the side of that cliff and slowly climbing up. It may take a while, but the weather’s nice and at the end, though I can’t see what’s ahead, I’m going to just pretend I get cake!

Why not? Whatever keeps you afloat!

Day 8: No. 2 Pencils Only

Question 8: Do you have any other diagnoses? Which ones?

This is a cheerful list of questions now isn’t it? Next they’ll ask why my Aunt Griselda decided to disown the family and why, or what that growth is on Uncle Otto’s shoulder. Seriously I should have read them…Anyway, other diagnoses.

It’s a rather short story.

I was first diagnosed a while ago with general anxiety and depression back when I pregnant and getting divorced. It was a hard time, They put me on antidepressants and that was the end of it. After a while, I  stopped the pills because I had to breastfeed. That was my first cold turkey stop of the meds.

A few years later my doctor put me back on antidepressants because of my anxiety and once again, after a while I didn’t feel like they were working and I wanted to go all natural so I stopped all of the pills I was on. I felt good for a long while but as it always did, the anxiety and depression cycled through and snowballed until I got so run down I couldn’t function, think, focus, or even stand up without dizziness. This was the time leading up to my breakdown. I call it a breakdown because it culminated in me unable to get up off the floor and unable to stop crying. It was a scary time.

Once that pile of fun occurred, I was finally sent by my doctor to a therapist and a psychiatrist. I’m still in the midst really of finding out just exactly what’s going on with me. I was first diagnosed with Severe Panic Disorder and Severe Depressive Disorder. Then it progressed and my upswing happened and I was showing signs of possible BPD, Bi-polar and maybe even PTSD, which are under one umbrella of dissociative personality disorders. I’m still not quite sure what exactly is going on. I’ve just begun to travel down the rabbit hole to discover my particular brand of madness. Everyone has their own.

As time wears on, I may discover something wholly different from what my current labels are. For the meantime we’re sticking with the Severe Panic and Depression because apparently the other things aren’t deemed serious enough to be covered, which amazes me since those things have ruined my relationships for as long as I can remember. I’m thankful that I’m now aware of it. Hopefully no more labels fall my way but if they do, I’m ready with sword (pen) in hand to start hacking away.

 

Day 20 – Shock and Awe

Describe your most difficult breakup and what you learned from it.

This has been one I’ve avoided all day. It’s still painful to revisit even after all these years, probably because we remain in each others’ lives. We share a son, we are still friends, but the breakup itself was one of the most devastating times of my life. I’m referring here to the breakup of my marriage.

We were married five years when my husband decided to leave. We married way too young. He was 19, I was 23. We had such high hopes but as these things go, it was just too much too fast for him. I thought that everything was fine. He ended up telling me some ridiculous story to explain his decision which I tried so hard to believe because it was easier than seeing the truth. The weeks leading up to his leaving were the most painful of my life. It killed my heart in a way that I’ve never come back from. I helped him move out and cried every second of it. He finally walked away on the 4th of July, which is probably why to this day I can’t stand the holiday.

Shortly after he left, and he left as far as a person could leave, in the midst of my grief I began to get sick. I was crying all the time and couldn’t cope. I had my first serious panic attack symptoms during that time, but the nausea never quit. It wasn’t long before I realized that the man who just left was about to be a father and I had no way to tell him. It was the worst time of my life. I had done all of the divorce paperwork myself before I realized my condition. He wasn’t coming back. I was alone, pregnant and shortly to be jobless as well as our company was downsizing the department. My whole life fell apart in a few short months.

Since, of course, I managed to get in touch with my ex again.  He stayed in touch and checked on me, he was there when our son was born, he visits often still. We developed a friendship mainly because of my belief that the kid deserved parents that got along, not that hate each other. I had a lot to forgive, but my son was worth it. Still, things never felt truly over. Some days they still don’t. It took me years to get over this experience. I’m still smarting from some of the effects but I did learn a hell of a lot about myself.

One thing is that I’m stronger than I realized. We all are, every one of us. Yes, I have my anxiety and depression to contend with which adds some extra flavor to the struggle, but I managed to survive a devastating breakup and a solo pregnancy at the same time. I somehow picked myself up off the floor and rebuilt a life for my boy and I, one Lego at a time.

Another is that letting go is crucial. I can’t tell you how many years I spent waiting for him to come to his senses and come back, even after everything that happened. I stewed in my grief until I was so overcooked a cat wouldn’t touch me. If I had loved myself enough, I could have let go and moved on for me.

That last one is probably the most important. It just keeps coming up doesn’t it? Maybe I should listen! I’m still working on it. I didn’t like myself much. I didn’t treat myself well or with respect, so why on earth would anyone else? I was a squishy pink thing crying on the floor. With that departure my self-worth plummeted. I blamed myself, figured I wasn’t enough; that no one could ever love me. It’s easy to wallow and obsess in loneliness. I’ve learned, finally…finally how important it is to put yourself and your life goals first. I gave up so much of myself and stopped so much of what I loved in that relationship so in the end it was a good thing that it ended. It never feels like it at the time, but I had lost myself and if you lose you, you truly do lose everything.

Day 7- Where to, Lady?

Day 7. I’ll give you yet another topic. Where you are in your life vs. where you thought you would be at this point. Discuss…(That only worked if you read it in Mike Myers’ Linda Richman, Coffee Talk voice but that’s how I keep reading them now!) So…the Where Are They Now special of the 30 day challenge…

It’s kind of hard to say where I thought I’d be but I know I’m way far off course. I named this blog Tangent Off the Lifeline for a reason…My mind has changed so many times over the years I mean, I couldn’t even pick a major in college. For a while I wanted to make films, for a while I wanted to paint, and I loved photography like nothing else…I still do. I have a passion for creating the weirdness I see in my head and making it tangible so that other people can experience it, therefore I also love to write and saw that as a possible future (preferably on the moors of England in a corset, but that’s another, very long, story). I wanted to study marine biology and then had a real serious push towards meteorology for a while and pictured myself in Washington state studying another passion, lightning. I love storms. I more than love storms which is ironic for someone who lives in a spot where there are hardly any. There’s a real feeling that I’m not where I’m supposed to be…

Most of the time when I was younger, I pictured myself at this age, living in a house or a little cottage with a dog, a fireplace, a mantle and a big library, maybe a roommate, and doing one or a few of those things listed above living sort of carefree. I thought by now I would be in on the joke and have my life in order. I would understand the talk about escrow, trading, and finances and it would somehow hold my interest now. I would be nodding with the best of them. I would be secure and set up. I would have complicated taxes. I would own property and be at least a moderate success in my occupation of choice. But then a guy came along. I didn’t see that coming. I never did.

I was a fat kid… or I was told I was. Looking back, it wasn’t true, but it became my identity and became true so I just always expected that I’d be alone. I certainly never expected to get married and never in a million years would I expect to be a mother. I never wanted to be. The thought of children made my face curl into an expression you’d expect to see on someone who’d just walked past last night’s dorm party bathroom. I wasn’t into it.

On top of that, I never thought I’d ever be divorced. A single mother? What? Never.For the past several years I’ve been swimming in uncharted waters, shark infested, without a life-jacket. It’s not bad, it’s just…different and a little scary. (Now, no worries, I really do like my kid, actually I like him more than anything ever in the universe  that was or will be *sniff*  getting a tissue *sniff* ok…) As hard as it all was and is, I can see it now as necessary change that I wouldn’t have undertaken otherwise. I sort of see my marriage as a brief hiatus from myself. I stopped my studies, I stopped my interests. I stopped everything for so long, even after it ended out of grief and shock that I lost myself all over again.

I ended up in a town I don’t particularly like. My family moved here from the city a while ago. I came to live with them after the fallout. I stayed not knowing what to do with myself. I made roots. I have a job, an apartment, the kid has his school and his friends. It’s…ok.

Ok isn’t really cutting it though. Ok isn’t living. OK has been slowly making me fall apart.

It’s taken a long time for me to get here but I really feel like now is another one of those crossroads moments; a moment to choose my beach instead of letting life dump me on whatever heap it decides on. It’s that movement that really affects change, like Frances Mays buying her Tuscan villa and finding the rest of her life…

So I’ve decided to not give up on my dreams. I wrote my book. I’ve decided to take pictures again. I’ve applied for my passport so that I can finally make it to Britain to write my next book (I don’t know how, I don’t know when, but I’m getting there!). I’m doing the things that bring me back to life. I want to see where it takes me one small step at a time. You never do know what can happen. One day you look up and you’ve come so much farther than the amount of steps you’ve counted and you find yourself in a whole new place.That’s what I’m hoping for. I’m not quite sure where we’ll end up, but it’s an exciting idea. It’s the sunrise of a new day and so far it’s looking like butter…sorry…like butta!