I just want to live.

There's a lot going on behind the myriad facets of my blood and medical phobia: in seeing others' wounds there's over empathizing with their pain; in witnessing a medical emergency there's a fear of being unable to help; in getting an MRI there's a feeling of being trapped.

I've been in therapy for a long time dealing with generalized anxiety, depression, and some trauma related stuff. What's interesting is that, as I've healed from the wider reaching problems, my panic in relation to blood, injury and all things medical related has become significantly worse. There are two reasons that I can currently think of why this might be: 1) I'm becoming more in touch with my feelings overall and 2) I really, truly, wholeheartedly want to live as long as humanly possible in a way that I didn't during the first 20 something years of my life.

In some kind of comedic timing, my improving mental health was also met with worsening physical health, peaking with a current diagnosis of fibromyalgia. In the larger scheme of things, fibromyalgia (or at least, my version of it) is fairly mild, manageable, and generally not life threatening. Combined with a phobia, however, the symptoms and effects of this chronic illness are maddening.

In these early stages of examining all of the symptoms to make sure that there really isn't anything more sinister at play, I find myself reflecting frequently on my own mortality. When I'm short of breath, I begin to imagine that I have tuberculosis. When I have trouble falling asleep because of my pounding heart, I'm convinced my heart will stop while I'm sleeping. When I struggle to push my stiff body into a standing position, I expect to hear my bones crack irreparably.

All of this comes together into a constant, electric cacophony of anxiety over which I scream, "I just want to keep living". 

I've been convinced that I don't want to die ever since a near death experience I had about 8 years ago. Before that, this belief was questionable. I tended to waiver between indifferent, wanting to sleep forever, and being okay where I was that day.

Comparing this past to my current situation sometimes makes me furious: I finally really, truly want to live and I am suddenly daily reminded of how fragile life is.

I believe it's finally time for me to face this phobia head on: to lower it's volume so I can hear the more subtle notes in the discord. Underneath the daily balance of life and death that we face as humans, I think there is a beautiful waltz; a delicate dance of being able to appreciate what I have without obsessing over losing it; of seeing this chronic illness as life changing but not life ending.

In movies and books a serious illness tends to lead to the story's hero taking some kind of life changing adventure that inspires them to live better. All I really want from this fibromyalgia experience is to find some grounding in reality; to be able to acknowledge the changes in my body without sensationalizing them. I'm strong. I know I can handle this. I just have to convince the rest of my body that it can, too.

The Thing That Did Not Kill Me

NaPoWriMo 2017 #19

It held on as a blinding tumor
Clouding my right eye for two years
Before I ran off to the desert
In search of healing.

When they removed the tumor
What I saw stopped my heart:
A flash, all at once, all of it,
I understood the gift
Of being half blind.

I'm thankful for the fake re-death
Induced by merciful drugs
By angels holding bed pans-
I'm grateful for gradual re-awakening
In this starched white hospital bed.

Boundaries

My fear of people exhausts me.

My muscles ache from holding them clenched so tightly;

always bracing for the sudden impact of

Someone else’s interest in me.

(Who hit you? My therapist once asked.

No one, I said. But if I hold myself like this

There will be less of me for them to judge.)

I consistently avoid eye contact.

Because  if I look at someone directly,

They’ll climb inside me and inspect my inner parts,

Poking and prodding where I feel it the most.

Can you see where I’m going with this?

All human contact is raw and ardent

And most of all, physical.

So I never feel like I’m wearing enough clothes.

My fear of people exhausts me.

I’m tired of the muscle aches,

The lowered eyes, the cold.

No one actually wants to hurt me.

If they're anything like me

They just want to climb through my eyes

To find something of themselves

Some sort of reflection, some validation

That they'll be remembered somewhere.

If they're anything like me (and they are!)

They're looking inside someone else

Just to be reassured they're still alive.

The Lack of Something

"Why do you stay in prison when the door is so wide open? Move outside the tangle of fear thinking." -Rumi

I spent decades of my life in prison and when the door was finally opened it took me years to walk out of my cell. (Today, I still sometimes gaze longingly outside from behind the bars on the window of my house, just to experience that reassuring feeling of confinement.)

Once I made it out of the prison I slowly expanded the spaces where I felt comfortable existing. From my bedroom to the kitchen to my car to the café where I sat for hours suspiciously eyeing strangers who didn't care to hurt me or even steal my food.

When I was locked down I grew to like being alone. the sounds of coughing and clanking and cursing assured me that someone was always nearby, and solitude was consistent and enforced; an opaque wall that kept me unnoticed and unscathed.  When I gained the choice to fraternize, loneliness crept in like a slow growing mold, filling my expanded space with stark, empty, uncomfortable silence.

This year, I tried to find one word to describe what I want to accomplish but there's no antonym for "loneliness." I've finally settled on the word "unlonely"because my desire is so intangible  it can only be expressed by the lack of something. Maybe I need to stop chasing it as if it were something I could tackle and lock up for safekeeping.

I think this is a good year to stop expanding. I think I will finally give up the handcuffs and even the prison bars in order to become the lack of all the things that have prevented me from letting people in.

Jesus said the truth will set you free, so I'm opening my prison door.

As many of you know, I have been dealing with some pretty severe anxiety problems for most of my life. Over the past three years I've come to recognize that a large majority of my anxiety comes from self hated and being afraid to be who I really am. I've been afraid to be honest about what I believe and what I want and who I want to be. I've been afraid of being wrong, of being judged, and of going to Hell. Because of that fear I conformed to a mold of what I thought I should be, even though that mold made me miserable.

This fear and self hatred reached a climax in October 2009 when I purposefully overdosed on anti-anxiety medication and ended up in the hospital for a week, in a place where I wasn't allowed to have shoelaces or pens or freedom.

The overdose was a true awakening. I am a good person, I realized, and there isn't a good reason for me to be hiding like this and pretending to be someone I'm not. Over the past three years I've chipped away at that stupid mold and allowed my body to stretch and reshape to its true form.

For the first time in my life, I know freedom.

Unfortunately, there is still an aspect of my life that is causing me to feel panic and fear. I have still been hiding from the people who have known me the longest: family, friends from college, people from church, Christians in general. For the sake of my mental health, it's time for me to be completely honest with everyone, not just the people who I know for sure will accept me. So, without further ado, these are some things that you should know about me:

• I don't want to get married and I don't want to have children. Ever.
• I believe it's okay to have sex before marriage and, in fact, I have done so myself.
• I believe it's okay to be gay.
• I don't want anything to do with church or religion. (This is something I haven't talked about a lot, but there are many, many aspects of Christianity that were harmful to me and I want to distance myself from them)
• And (here comes the hardest one to admit) I am queer. I am not a lesbian, but I am truly sexually and romantically attracted to women. I fought this truth back for years and it was torture. I'm done with it.

I'm nervous as I post this, but not anxious. I need to take care of myself and love myself and I can't do it with out being honest. I would rather deal with backlash from people who don't approve than stay in hiding. I am confident that I am a good, beautiful, and amazing person and I no longer need the approval of others to continue to believe that. 

Changing myself through altered books

There's a chance that I might appear on the entertainment schedule for the 2nd Saturdays event here in Tucson. Not my name specifically, but the demo that I'm doing for a workshop on altered book art that I'm helping to promote through a place called Arts Marketplace.
I'm doing the demo and promoting the workshop because, along with my fabulous friend Lauren, I am leading the workshop.

This might be as much of a shock to me as it is to you. I have a degree in social work, and all of the art that I've created has been for my own personal use. My experience with teaching art is non-existent. Yet somehow I am finding myself being paid to teach other people how to create something beautiful. I am beyond thrilled, incredibly excited, and terrified.

I stumbled upon this opportunity in February when I saw this altered books sign hanging in Arts Marketplace. Therese, the woman who runs Arts Marketplace, was thrilled when she saw me taking a picture of the sign and discovered that I was interested in this workshop. Despite having only know me for about 30 seconds, she eagerly petitioned me to take a leadership role in the workshop. I told her I would think about it.

To make a long story short, Therese was elated when I officially agreed to run a workshop despite the fact that I have no idea what I'm doing and I don't have any experience with altered books. She even told me that she screamed when she received my e-mail acceptance.

When Lauren, Therese and I met last week to plan, I literally began shaking at the thought of having a group of 8-15 people watching me while I create something and looking to me for instruction on how to do the same. Not only will I be teaching something new, I will be sharing my art with people who I only just met. I will be making myself vulnerable by sharing something that has previously only been shown to people who I trust. That, my friends, is a recipe for a panic attack.

But it is also a move in an exciting direction. I will get to meet new people who share a love for all things crafty. I will get paid for making art. I will get to teach! And, most importantly, I may have the opportunity to teach further workshops. When Therese mentioned to Lauren and I that we could teach other workshops of our choosing, I began to develop plans for teaching children and teenagers how to use art to manage stress and express hidden emotion.

Since I officially agreed to this and began planning, I have been alternating between breathless giddiness and trembling anxiety. One moment I will be imagining myself retiring from social work and making a living as an art teacher without ever returning to college. Then, one hour later, I will be close to tears thinking about how inexperienced I am, how many other artists are out there, and how terrified I am to teach, even with Lauren by my side.

Paul reminded me that this opportunity could go as far as I want to take it. It could stop with the altered books workshop or it could grow into more art and more workshops. It could be a realized dream or a realization that art is not something I really want to do. No matter what happens, I will be proud of myself for taking a risk and stepping way out of my comfort zone to do something that makes me happy.

To learn more about altered books, check out this website. If you're in Tucson and want to join in on the workshop fun, contact me. The actual workshop will be taking place on April 9th from 3pm to 6pm. We would love it if you would pre-register- in fact, we'll give you a discount if you do! The cost is $10 for pre-registration and $15 for drop in the day. Price includes supplies and refreshments.