Dear Journal

12/2/16

#keepcalmWRITEon Day 2.

Free write.  Let’s see what comes out. 

I’m challenging myself to write every single day in December.  Every.  Single.  Day.  Why? I think it will be good for me.  I think it will provide some way for me to get my mind to shut off when it’s supposed to, a way for my thoughts to find their way around each other.  I've got a big writing goal with a deadline of about a year and a half from now.  I guess that’s a good chunk of time.  I supposed the last year and half has provided so much life experience, it could be a book all on its own.  I wonder what the next year and a half will bring. 

A year and a half ago was………..June 2015.  Where was I in June of 2015?

*******

June 1, 2015

Dear Journal,

It’s been just over 4 months since the Friday night conversation that changed my life. By April, there was no more contact. I’ve lost so much weight already.  I wonder how much more I’ll lose.  I think it’s easier to focus on what I eat and not let myself eat when I feel like this. 

Today was a good day, so I thought I’d try to write a little bit about how I feel.

How do I feel?

I feel like there’s a giant hole inside my body, but I can’t even identify where I feel the hole….it just…is.  Every Wednesday, when I have to drive to Ellsworth for work, I cry.  I’ve taken on a coffee habit.  Every Wednesday on my way out of town, I pull through the North 9^th Street McDonald’s and I get a Large Hot Caramel Mocha.  I have no idea what’s in it, but I get it.  And I sip it while I drive, in between singing as loudly as I can to every Jesus song that comes on the radio.  The ones that don’t make me cry, of course.  (I try to write some of these songs down, because some of them make me feel awesome, and some of them I know are God speaking to me about all this.  Colton Dixon’s “More of You”…Third Day’s “Soul on Fire”… anyway.)  I know something’s different with me, because I survived 4 years of college as a double-major/athlete, while working random shifts at the nursing home---all without touching coffee more than three times that I can remember.  And it was just coffee from the cafeteria.  I wasn’t even one of those cool college hipsters who hung out at coffee shops, with earbuds and wifi, studying ever so intently.  I just poured it into my free mug I got from the Student Activities Board and took it with me to 7:45 am Physics Class, because it seemed like the right thing to do, after I’d had 5:00 am weightlifting. But the only thing that resulted was a huge headache and a newfound determination that coffee in its entirety must make me sick and I would have to figure out a different way to keep my eyes open.

So these days, with my Caramel Mochas…I don’t even know who I am.  At least it’s just on Wednesdays.  I still have too many kids in Ellsworth County for my liking, and work hasn't been able to take me out of that assignment…not that I don’t like the kids, but I just don’t know what’s going to happen now that things have …changed.  How am I supposed to keep setting foot there every week? It’s been so difficult.  I stopped packing hot lunch, weeks ago.  It’s too depressing and anxiety-causing to use the microwave at Kwik Shop.  There’s too many people there.  Too many people who might recognize me, too many strangers-to-me in those khaki uniforms, strangers who know probably way more about me than I know.  I just pack random snacks and eat in my car while I’m parked at the library.  On the days I’m hungry, that is. The library is my safe place.  It’s neutral.

Wednesdays kill me.  I come back to Salina, and I’m an empty shell.  Sometimes I go to the gym, but usually I just put on a happy face for church and go to youth group.  They need me there.

The second job still stands.  It’s been a whirlwind few months.  I’ve been on my schedule there since November, officially.  So, it’s been 7 months of losing sleep a couple nights a week, plus sacrificing my Saturdays.  I know I’m making progress towards my debt-free goals (goal is to pay off my car by December 31^st!), but I get tired.  My coworkers at the main job know I’m exhausted.  They know I’m drained.  I can’t count the times and ways they’ve all shown me support.  I take smoke breaks with them, even though I don’t smoke (LOL).  They let me cry and they don’t judge me.  They’ve analyzed everything with me, from every angle.  All the new, unexpected things that come up---those, too.  It’s been so weird to let them into my life.  I guess I didn’t realize I was keeping them out. 

Church has been good.  I’ve continued to stay involved with the youth group, since I returned to them last fall, about the same time I got the second job.  It’s still crazy to think about how everything got added to my life all at once: the second job, then youth group needed me back...  Sometimes I really struggle with guilt.  How maybe if I hadn’t gotten the second job and maybe if I “hadn’t given up my Saturdays", and maybe if I didn’t want to help with youth group, then maybe things would have turned out differently. 

"You need to be glad that the door is shut, things are happening like they are supposed to, the pain will teach you something..." I hear variations of this speech from those who care about me.  I’m still not convinced.  I’ve gotten sick like three times since the end of January.  I had gone 4 years without a sinus infection, but as soon as I landed in El Salvador (4 weeks Post-Conversation) -- BAM-- sinus infection and horrible fever.  Then I got one again mid-April.  I’m starting to feel not so great now, and I can’t decide if I’ve just been exercising too much (because exercise numbs my mind) or if this summer weather is messing with my sinuses. 

I’m actually really glad my Saturdays are filled with work at my second job.  I’m on a pretty good routine.  I either stay late and work til like 6 or 7, or if I actually get off at 4, I go straight to the gym.  Sometimes I see Dean there so that can be hard because I wonder what he's thinking or how much he knows about the situation... but I do my workout anyway.

I know I’ve come a long way since February, though.  I don’t cry as much.  I’m starting to socialize more with friends from church.  At least, I think it’s socializing.  Monica and Jennifer have started to force me to watch “classic” movies with them, to culture me, because they found out that I haven't seen a lot of movies.  We watched “A League of Their Own” the other day, and I had them over in my apartment! I was so nervous.  It was only the second time that I’ve had a “group” over to my house, and I’ve lived here three years! We ordered pizza.  I had never ordered pizza to my apartment before, isn’t that crazy?? Anyway the movie was good.

At the end of July, we are taking our youth group kids on a weekend mission trip to Kansas City.  I’m super excited about it! When I focus on things like mission trips and service, I really feel connected to myself and to God, and that gets me through the bad days. 

Debbie’s been so awesome too.  She’s always there when I need to take a break and get a hug! I hope I’m not bothering her when I stop by to say hi.  I try to make up for it by helping her with Salina Shares.  Speaking of which—we are going to do our Disney at Del Rey party next month too! July is going to be busy, but it will be great.  I just have to get through June first. 

Well, I’m going to get to bed, I guess.  I work both jobs tomorrow so I’ll need my energy.  Hopefully write more soon!

******

8 Months Free

May 1, 2014

So it’s been 8 months since I stopped taking any anti-depressant or anti-anxiety medication, after 5-and-a-half years of being on them. (Over the course of those 5+ plus years, I took 3 different medications. Number 3 was the one that worked best for me)

 I think it’s time to update everyone (and myself) a bit on what I’ve gained and lost from this process.

I made this decision on my own, and asked for my doctor’s support.  We designed a “taper off” plan for me to follow, which I proceeded to do, and before I knew it, I didn’t have to remember to take a pill anymore.  I didn’t have to call in refills, or budget for the cost of the medication.  When going on an overnight trip, I didn’t need to pack my pill.  I didn’t need to worry about keeping it in my carry-on while flying.  I could stop worrying about all the horrendous chemical reactions going on inside my body.  Shedding all these things made me feel like I freed up tons of brain space.  I gained confidence, for a while, and optimism about my ability to cope with my emotions and stressors using my own skills and strength.

So, how do I feel?  What is it like?  Am I “cured”?

I wish it was all good news, or that I could say I’m all better now.

I feel like I’ve lost my energy, my sparkle, the pep in my step.  I can’t help but notice how much more taxing it is for me to get up early, and stay up late.  I enjoy being active.  For the last two years, in addition to working my full-time job, I had a class, a Bible study group, or something I was volunteering for, at least 4 evenings a week.  Plus, sometimes I work overtime on Saturdays, and was volunteering at my church on Saturdays, and then I added some volunteering time on Sundays twice a month.  Sometimes, I would attend all 3 of my church’s services in a weekend, because I had the energy and desire to.  I enjoyed hanging with friends, and sharing about my life, smiling, talking, and laughing.  

When I stopped taking my medication, one of the first things to go was my motivation for evening commitments.  Out the door went youth group, for which I volunteered as a leader, and Bible study.  I started skipping out on my Tuesday night dinners that I had at a friend’s house.  I lost interest in being around people and making small talk.  All I wanted to do was go home, and be home, with my cat.  (She has been the best companion for the nearly 4 years she’s been part of my family)

“It is like” not really knowing how to get my old self back.  Is this reserved, independent person who I’ve been all along?

“It is like” I have to work really hard and plan ahead all the time, to make sure that I’m going to be in the right mood at the right time, for whatever it is my responsibilities are at the moment, be it work, volunteer, or social.

“It is like” I’m excited about not depending on a drug anymore, but I don’t feel as proud of myself as I used to feel.  

“It is like” every day is just a routine, something to get through, something to accomplish.  

“It is like” I have to work really darn hard to create the life I want, all the time; the feelings I want, the choices I want, the opportunities I want.  

“It is like” all these questions come up.  

“Was that person not really me?”

“Have I been fake for the last 5 years?”

“Do all my friends only know - and like- the medicated Gilda?”

“Does no one want to hang out with me because I’m depressing to be around?”

“Can I even handle my own life?”

The only choice I see is to keep trudging forward.  Because even at a crawl, I’m not waving that white flag.  The only thing I can choose to believe is that it does get better with time.  That I’m (STILL!) not done growing yet.  

Some days, I’m pretty miserable.  I get fed up with people and commitments; I find myself overly critical, feeling envious of those who possess things or live lifestyles different than mine.  There are moments where I let myself start spiraling down the black hole again, being angry at God for my circumstances, placing my worth in other people instead of in what He has said about me.  

Eventually, I distract myself.  I pick a coping skill (usually rigorous cardiovascular exercise) and go with it.  I hope to write more about the methods of self-defense I use against the enemy of the ever-looming cloud of doom.

Am I cured?  Choosing to separate yourself from something is the first step to ridding your life of it.  I work in the mental health field, so I’ve seen and know what Severe and Persistent Mental Illness looks like.  My level of anxiety and stress doesn’t fit that diagnosis, so I don’t know that “cure” is even a correct term (or that "cure" is a correct term for those who DO suffer from Severe and Persistent Mental Illness).  I believe that anxiety and stress should be managed, and if they are not, then they can lead to a chronic condition.

I know that my stress and anxiety have come from years of building certain thought patterns.  I continued to build these thought patterns as I grew up because I didn’t know any better.  So now, as a young adult, I start the hard work of undoing all those patterns of toxic thinking.  It isn’t easy.  There’s scientific research on this, folks.

So the truth is, if you decide that you can beat toxic thinking, and believe with all your heart that you will, it will still be difficult to do so, and take time.

I choose to be public about this because I refuse to be labeled or judged.  If I put everything out there, then there’s no stories people can make up about me, or judgements that people can make about “how it all started”.  And I can be an example of determination and strength.  

So.  Eight months down.  

There may or may not be a huge celebration involved for my 1-year anniversary.  :)

Becoming an Athlete

Something I’ve really been thinking about lately is my desire to assistant coach middle school throws.  So tonight, while scrolling through my list of “blog topics” I want to write about, my eye rested a little longer than normal on the one about my athletic history.  I thought I could try my hand at writing out the story of how this pudgy, big-boned Mexican became an athlete.

Let me start by saying that I was never, ever in a club sport, little league, or after-school dance, soccer, basketball, or anything else-team.  My reasoning behind this is that my parents were both from Mexico; new to the county, they didn’t know what Little League was.  My parents both grew up on ranches.  They lived simple lives in rural, deep-down, nitty-gritty Mexico, and didn’t have any luxuries, so club sports were unheard of.  Thus, my sister and I never experienced the stereotypical soccer mom, after-school rush. 

Most of my youth, I spent rather inactive.  The most exercise I got was walking a lap at Smucker Park in Yuma, Arizona with my mom every once in a while.  I remember in 5^th grade, my dad started taking my sister and I out in the mornings before school with the dogs, in an effort to speed up our pre-adolescence metabolisms that were contributing to our expanding waistlines.

I was always big.  I was wearing training bras in second grade.  I was always, ALWAYS, top row, center in every class picture.  I was 5’4” and weighed 134 pounds in 4^th grade, and 5’6 ½” and weighed 186 pounds at the beginning of sixth grade.  I remember being embarrassed to eat in front of my peers, beginning in 5^th and 6^th grade, and continuing on through 9^th grade. 

But, in the spring of 6^th grade, spring of 2000, something happened.  Twice a week, during PE class, we completed a warm-up lap around the playground, probably totaling about 300 meters or so.  I think most everyone tried their hand at jogging this lap, but nobody ever stuck with it.  It became routine that my friend Cecilia and I were the only two people in the entire class jogging that lap.  We jogged the whole way around, and would wait 5 to 10 minutes before everyone else was done.  I remember I started stretching out that semester, after I hit puberty.  And I kept jogging those laps.  I think I felt this burning desire to prove myself to my peers.  I was tired of them laughing at me.  I wanted to be like everyone else, and like no one else at the same time.  I wanted to do more.  I wanted to be better than everyone walking the lap. 

What I didn’t know was that this simple act was the beginning of my athletic career. 

I remember the school formed a softball team that spring, and I kind of wanted to participate, but I didn’t.  I didn’t know anything about softball, I was too nervous to learn more or to ask my parents, plus you had to buy a whole bunch of equipment I had no idea about.  So I didn’t play.

That fall, I tried out for my first athletic team: 7^th grade basketball.  I remember spending my fall break in the gym, running, sweating, learning, trying.  I still remember my first free throw.  It was, as we say nowadays, an epic fail.  It sort of drifted limply out of my hand and didn’t even make it halfway to the basket.  I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.  The only thing I understood was running up and down the court.  Running the sprints was my favorite part of tryouts. 

I did not make the team.  I was angry.  I was hurt.  I was upset that my fall break had gone to waste.  So what did I do? I marched back into the gym and looked at the tryout list for the rest of the school year.  I found the dates for the track team.  I said, “Fine; I will do track.  They don’t cut anyone from the track team.”

That was, unknowingly, the most pivotal decision of my life up to that point!  I went out for the track team that spring and threw the shot put for the first time (in Arizona, junior high doesn’t throw discus).  I liked it.  I tried high jump.  I failed at it.  I tried running some 800’s and some 400’s.  Something interesting about my city was that there were weight classes for junior high.  They were called “A’s, B’s, C’s, and D’s”.  The A’s were the big girls; the D’s were the tiny girls.  I was an “A”, and I won a few 400m runs here and there.

I had now entered the world of the athlete, in which, at least in junior high, if you were good at one sport, you must be good at them all.  I proceeded to try out for and make the soccer team and volleyball team that 7^th grade year.  I didn’t really like volleyball, but felt pressure to get better at it.  I remember the coach made me nervous.  I ended up taking myself off the team because I got a “D” in algebra one quarter.  I have never quit anything since.

Just before the school year ended, we had a really cool substitute in our English class.  Her name was Mrs. Fahl, and she told us stories of her basketball playing days, showed us her college rings, and inspired us to be better.  She was then hired on as a PE teacher, and came to me and encouraged me to sign up for Summer League basketball.  I told her I had not made the team, but she told me she would work with me and I could get better.  I asked permission from my dad and signed up. 

That summer, I fell in love with basketball, with hard work, with running up and down the court, and with being on a team.  We won one game that summer, but Coach Fahl worked with me on hookshots, layups, and free throws until I could at least fake confidence in myself.  She also inspired me to use my size on the court, and planted the “defense seed” in my brain.  It was very rare that anyone ever got around me on the court. 

By this time, I had slimmed down to about 170 pounds.  I had started to develop my muscles, and was gaining confidence.  I will never forget that I never, ever attempted softball.  It was always the first sports season of the year in junior high, and sometimes I think if I had played in 6^th grade, I could have been a year-round athlete in junior high.  But, I waited patiently for basketball season. 

This time when I tried out, I made the team.  Coach Fahl was the new 8^th grade girls’ coach.  Coach Foote, the 7^th grade coach, couldn’t believe how much I had improved.  After basketball season, I repeated my pattern of the year before: track, soccer, and volleyball, this time, completing my volleyball season.

I also participated in Summer League basketball again. 

During the last semester of junior high, Cecilia, my friend from 6^th grade that I ran laps with, said she was running “cross-country” in high school, and that I should too.   By this time, I had already decided that I wanted to attend the private Catholic high school in town, had applied, and been accepted.  I asked Cecilia to explain what cross-country was, and she said it was “running miles”.  I said I would do it.

So that summer, I ran my first 30 minute run with Coach Farr.  When he said, “We just ran about 3 miles”, I didn’t even really know what that meant.  But it was the beginning of a beautiful high school athletic career. 

For four years, I ran cross-country in the fall, played basketball in the winter, and did track in the spring.  My main event was the shot put, and I started learning the discus as a freshman.  Occasionally, Coach Farr would throw me in the 2-mile run at track meets, if he needed someone extra to knock somebody else’s girls out of the running.  He would only ever do this when it didn’t interfere with my throwing events. 

I also took “girls’ PE for athletes” my sophomore, junior, and senior years as an elective.  Most of my peers asked, “Didn’t you already take PE? Why are you doing it again?” My answer? “I have to do it for track.”

I knew inside my heart that being strong and being healthy was not just a fad for me.  I knew that what most people considered a workout, I laughed at.  I knew that I lived for running 5 miles at a time.  I knew that the road trips we had to take to compete for all three of my sports were where I found my peace.  Because we were the private school, we didn’t have a league in town, so we had to travel a minimum of 2 hours for every competition, during cross-country and track seasons.

It didn’t take long to catch on that I was serious about my sports.  So serious in fact, that it left me little time to socialize with people who weren’t on my teams.  I consider this a blessing now because it kept me too busy to make some of the really awful and dangerous choices that most of my peers were making (drinking, having sex, etc).  I was focused: school and sports. 

My senior year of high school set the direction of the rest of my life.  I was recruited to be on the track team and run cross-country at Bethany College in Lindsborg, Kansas.  I visited the campus with my mom, signed my letter of intent, and put down my enrollment fee all in one visit, over my spring break.  In the fall of 2006, I moved to college and began the next phase of my athletic career.    

While there are many fond, specific memories I have of each sport I have participated in over the years, I believe those are for another time.  For now, I leave you with the thought that something can indeed come from nothing.  For me, discovering my athletic abilities helped me piece together my future, and continues to inspire me to this day. 

More to come on my collegiate career. 

Scientist vs Christian

...More from September 3rd...

 

I’ve started to thank God more.  I didn’t used to do that.  But now, I make a point of saying, “Thank you God, for my perfect little car.  Thanks for the roof over my head, this perfect little house that you have placed me in, that I can afford, and that I can come home to every day.  Thanks for my friends.  Thank you for my church family, a place I can really belong.  Thank you for all the new people you are constantly bringing into my life.”

I was not used to actively thanking God all the time!  But once you come to realize that his will is perfect and he knows what he’s doing, you start to get thankful. 

And then, I lose sight of that gratefulness a lot.  My brain chemistry is not always my friend.  I have not been blessed with a great upbringing and loving, supportive family.  I’ve been blessed with a messy upbringing, and a small, difficult, challenging family.  But, it’s made me who I am.  It’s made me able to appreciate people more.  It’s taught me how to love unconditionally, and give of myself, constantly, over and over again.  And, it is not always possible or easy to see this as a blessing!!  ßanother challenge.  Good grief. 

Because of my upbringing, my past experiences, my past challenges, and the way that I was supported or not through those challenges, my brain chemistry is wired a little differently than most.  I am blessed with the mind of a scientist as well as the mind of a spiritual leader, and so this can be very challenging as well.  I say this because I would not be able to understand brain chemistry, had I only been blessed with a spiritual mind and heart.  I am very in-tune with the physical world, very aware of our choices as physical beings on a physical planet.  And understanding the human mind is part of this.  Brain chemistry is a touchy subject, especially for Christians.  God is supposed to heal all, be in charge over all.  And he is…..BUT, I live the daily challenges of having your brain and mind fight you!  My brain fights me every day.  I have to fight back to make it line up and do what it’s supposed to.  I have to work very hard, relying on God of course (confusing as HELL, right??) to not let my brain chemistry constantly create clouds of darkness over my life.  It sucks.  It is not fun.  I have to take a little pink pill called Pristiq every morning to help balance stuff out in my brain, to help chemicals release when they are supposed to.  And then, I have to constantly work at self-affirmations, reminding myself that I have a God who created me wonderfully and fearfully, and for a purpose, thus fighting every single thing, physical, spiritual, or otherwise, that has always told me that I’m not good enough and not doing what I’m supposed to, and that I’m difficult, and that I’m whiny and I complain and I cry too much.  I have to fight all of that, every single day! What people rarely understand about mental illness or struggles is that we don’t CHOOSE to feel bad about ourselves or feel sorry for ourselves; we are in a constant battle with the chemicals and hormones that are creating all these feelings.  And it sucks! 

So, all these challenges, add to my challenges. They make the things that God wants me to do that much harder.  They make the things that I want to do, that much harder.  They make seeing my purpose, that much harder.  They make the desire to push through, that much harder to come by.  They make the desire to be better, that much harder to come by.  They make positive thinking, hard.  They make getting up and exercising and taking care of my body, hard.  I am in a constant battle.  With hormones and chemicals.  Really??!!

So I have no choice but to take my life one tiny step at a time.  One choice, one bite, one breath at a time.  Each choice is carefully calculated not because I’m an overly-analytical type-A, bitchy personality, but because I have to be so very careful with my brain chemistry and emotions.  I have to be careful because I have to protect myself.  I have to protect myself because I am constantly under attack; attack from my own body, and attack from The Enemy, who doesn’t want me to take care of myself, or listen to God.  So either way, it all comes back to God. 

And this is my greatest joy, and my greatest struggle.

Yup, I’m complicated.