I submitted my first manuscript to a journal last night! Now we wait. Then revisions. Hopefully I'll get something printed next year. Getting it submitted in 2019 was a big deal.
I gave my last lecture in my first undergraduate class today. It's been a blast. I got a really good group of students my first semester, and I got to teach a topic I'm passionate about. And I fulfilled a lifelong dream and taught as Ms Frizzle on Halloween.
I guess I'm moving right along in this Ph.D thing....
12 December 2019
15 March 2019
Linguistic minority
I take a Discourse Analysis course in the Applied Linguistics department. Most of my classmates are international students, many of whom are studying teaching English as a second language. The computer in the classroom is set to display Chinese in most places that I expect English. Last night, the professor showed a YouTube video, before which an ad played. I saw a character with a Doge head and a three-piece suit, and all of my Chinese classmates started laughing. Everyone else looked confused. I thought about asking someone to explain what was going on, but I decided against it. I sat with the discomfort of being in the linguistic minority, for just a brief moment. My opportunities to experience that are few, and the discomfort is important.
Everyone was laughing, except for me. I didn't get the joke.
There are people who live with this all day long. Imagine if it wasn't just a joke. Imagine if it was class.
May I continue to check my privilege and strengthen my empathy.
Everyone was laughing, except for me. I didn't get the joke.
There are people who live with this all day long. Imagine if it wasn't just a joke. Imagine if it was class.
May I continue to check my privilege and strengthen my empathy.
22 February 2019
second semester, first year
i'm busy. i miss you all. school is good and life continues to happen. change remains the only constant.
31 December 2018
2018 in key dates
January 21: attended second Women's
March
January 23: got on the jumbotron at a
Penguins game
January 28: saw Wicked
January 29: got my official acceptance
letter in the mail
February 5: concussion
February 14: the Parkland shooting
April 4: my cat died
April 17: hurt my thumb
missed six weeks of work on short-term
disability, which included the final weeks of my last school year at
the place I worked for 5 years
April 30: hand surgery (first surgery;
first joint repair)
May 19: officially moved into Co-Lez's
apartment
June 1: Dylan won Mr. Pittsburgh Pride
Drag King!
June 19 (this sounds too early to be true): last appointment with my therapist of five years
June 29: got my Pittsburgh three rivers
tattoo
July: turned 31
July 19: Foo Fighters concert!!!
July 26: last day at my clinical job
July 27: paid off the credit card debt
left over from my four-years-ago marriage
July 28: Alec won Mr. Steel City
Softball back!
August 1: moved to the middle of nowhere
August 22: started Ph.D school!
September: started asking for they/them
pronouns in my new professional setting
September 17: my abusive ex's partner
after me reached out
October 27: the terrible thing happened
in Pittsburgh
October 29: committed to a mitzvah to
forgive a grudge (still working on it)
October 31: officially out of my
abusive relationship for longer than I was in it
November 6: voted a straight-party
Democrat ticket
November 22: cooked my first
Thanksgiving meal
November 27: met Frank Warren from
PostSecret
December 7: finished my first semester
of Ph.D school
December 20ish: found out I got A's!
29 November 2018
Time is a monster, part [X]
yesterday was one year since i found out i had been accepted to my phd program.
how did all of this happen so fast?!
how did all of this happen so fast?!
26 October 2018
Boobs.
this has been buzzing around in my head for a few weeks now,
and i started to think
"maybe it's not prose.
maybe poetry will work"
so let's give it a try, i suppose.
something happened recently that hasn't happened since I was about 15.
I had to buy all new bras because
I gained a cup size.
my modest B turned full-up C.
my 17-year-old self rejoiced,
and my 31-year-old self lamented.
above what this means about changes in my weight
and the steady downward march of my metabolism,
there is a gendered layer.
sometimes, I don't want any there at all.
I meet only fleeting dysphoria,
and I'm not concerned enough to change my body.
sometimes, it's still only right to go tits-out
(Rocky Horror comes to mind;
we are all called home from time to time).
I know I read woman.
if my chest doesn't give me away,
my voice will soon enough,
and my face probably already has.
I only ever pass as femme.
Part of what I have loved about this body
is that it provides such a supportive
structure for androgyny.
slight female.
there's so much room to build on that.
Did I just become
less androgynous?
I wore my binder to work today
for the first time.
No one bats an eyelash at my requests for "they,"
unless it is in shock that I didn't feel safe sooner.
I like to know where I am first.
and i started to think
"maybe it's not prose.
maybe poetry will work"
so let's give it a try, i suppose.
something happened recently that hasn't happened since I was about 15.
I had to buy all new bras because
I gained a cup size.
my modest B turned full-up C.
my 17-year-old self rejoiced,
and my 31-year-old self lamented.
above what this means about changes in my weight
and the steady downward march of my metabolism,
there is a gendered layer.
sometimes, I don't want any there at all.
I meet only fleeting dysphoria,
and I'm not concerned enough to change my body.
sometimes, it's still only right to go tits-out
(Rocky Horror comes to mind;
we are all called home from time to time).
I know I read woman.
if my chest doesn't give me away,
my voice will soon enough,
and my face probably already has.
I only ever pass as femme.
Part of what I have loved about this body
is that it provides such a supportive
structure for androgyny.
slight female.
there's so much room to build on that.
Did I just become
less androgynous?
I wore my binder to work today
for the first time.
No one bats an eyelash at my requests for "they,"
unless it is in shock that I didn't feel safe sooner.
I like to know where I am first.
18 September 2018
praying
His partner after me reached out to me last night.
We had a few exchanges that ended after
I told them, "Trust yourself."
I hope it was what they needed to hear.
The whole time,
I remembered sitting on the floor
in the spare bedroom, back against the door,
listening to him scream on the other side
and waiting for him to give up,
texting one, two, three people
trying to make sure that I was sane and this was wrong.
That was the day I finally realized,
I deserve better.
It still took me three days to leave.
You got this.
You deserve better.
You know exactly what's happening.
Trust yourself.
13 September 2018
week 4
this week is better.
the seminar that shook me up last week was much less stressful. instead of discussing research and current practices in ways that made me feel defensive about what i've been doing clinically for the last 7 years, we talked about the peer review process and what it's like to participate. from all sides. the assignment was a mock review of an article we all agreed had unfortunately been accepted.
this week, I step more deeply into two big projects! one is part of the same seminar, where I'm working with a classmate, and the other is with my advisor. it was so exciting to see the lightbulbs going on over each of our heads in turn when we discussed the direction we are developing.
I get to spend time reading and writing about things that interest me!
oh, and i'm pretty sure i passed my first statistics exam.
the seminar that shook me up last week was much less stressful. instead of discussing research and current practices in ways that made me feel defensive about what i've been doing clinically for the last 7 years, we talked about the peer review process and what it's like to participate. from all sides. the assignment was a mock review of an article we all agreed had unfortunately been accepted.
this week, I step more deeply into two big projects! one is part of the same seminar, where I'm working with a classmate, and the other is with my advisor. it was so exciting to see the lightbulbs going on over each of our heads in turn when we discussed the direction we are developing.
I get to spend time reading and writing about things that interest me!
oh, and i'm pretty sure i passed my first statistics exam.
05 September 2018
week 3
today was my day.
the day everyone told me was coming.
the first two weeks of my phd program were great.
i felt like i had a handle on things,
which of course made me feel a sense of impending doom.
today was my day
to wonder,
what the fuck have i gotten myself into?
why would anyone do this?
the theme today was
All the Science is Bad,
And We Know Nothing!!!
tearing apart the knowledge i thought i had.
critical analysis.
why would anyone do this?
why am i signing up to be
a Researcher,
to publish papers I think are great
for other people to tear apart?
what have i gotten myself into.
I am going to do my best,
and I am going to do it
with my whole self.
the day everyone told me was coming.
the first two weeks of my phd program were great.
i felt like i had a handle on things,
which of course made me feel a sense of impending doom.
today was my day
to wonder,
what the fuck have i gotten myself into?
why would anyone do this?
the theme today was
All the Science is Bad,
And We Know Nothing!!!
tearing apart the knowledge i thought i had.
critical analysis.
why would anyone do this?
why am i signing up to be
a Researcher,
to publish papers I think are great
for other people to tear apart?
what have i gotten myself into.
I am going to do my best,
and I am going to do it
with my whole self.
04 August 2018
New home
I live somewhere else now.
I cooked dinner on the stove tonight, which helped me feel more normal. It's the fourth day of living here. Dinner was nothing fancy--sausage and peppers--but it meant that I have done enough unpacking and organizing to use a pan, a cutting board, a knife, a big spoon, some countertop, and the stovetop. (My original approach to unpacking cookware was to stack it all on the stove so I could see it and figure out what to do with it. That lasted about two days. Combining two full sets of kitchen stuff into one tiny kitchen is a process.)
Oh yeah, that's the other part. I officially live with a partner again. We've been living together for about three months already, depending on how you count, but now we are in the same place, with all our stuff in the apartment (instead of mine stored in the garage), with both our names on the lease. This is only the second partner I've ever lived with, and given how the first one turned out, I've been understandably apprehensive. I'm not nervous about this one--they're good. They're a good person, and they're good for me. But when you've been tricked, goodness doesn't seem as genuine. I'm still rebuilding that trust, and I kind of expect that I always will be.
The view from my front window used to be a brick wall, and now it's trees. The row has a backyard with bunnies in it. There are no tall buildings, and there are mountains everywhere. I'm so disoriented. On day 1, it was an enormous relief to walk into Target: basically the same everywhere.
Every successful drive without GPS feels like a victory.
My partner had to go back to Pittsburgh for another week to finish their job, so I'm alone with both our cats in an apartment full of boxes, and no one expects me to be anywhere until the middle of the month. There is a heady freedom in that, and also the knowledge that two weeks without structure and routine will probably be the most that I can handle. Boxes and furniture and checklists.
I cried when I came through the Fort Pitt Tunnel for what could be the last time.
I am about to be a doctoral student. What an exciting, scary adventure.
I cooked dinner on the stove tonight, which helped me feel more normal. It's the fourth day of living here. Dinner was nothing fancy--sausage and peppers--but it meant that I have done enough unpacking and organizing to use a pan, a cutting board, a knife, a big spoon, some countertop, and the stovetop. (My original approach to unpacking cookware was to stack it all on the stove so I could see it and figure out what to do with it. That lasted about two days. Combining two full sets of kitchen stuff into one tiny kitchen is a process.)
Oh yeah, that's the other part. I officially live with a partner again. We've been living together for about three months already, depending on how you count, but now we are in the same place, with all our stuff in the apartment (instead of mine stored in the garage), with both our names on the lease. This is only the second partner I've ever lived with, and given how the first one turned out, I've been understandably apprehensive. I'm not nervous about this one--they're good. They're a good person, and they're good for me. But when you've been tricked, goodness doesn't seem as genuine. I'm still rebuilding that trust, and I kind of expect that I always will be.
The view from my front window used to be a brick wall, and now it's trees. The row has a backyard with bunnies in it. There are no tall buildings, and there are mountains everywhere. I'm so disoriented. On day 1, it was an enormous relief to walk into Target: basically the same everywhere.
Every successful drive without GPS feels like a victory.
My partner had to go back to Pittsburgh for another week to finish their job, so I'm alone with both our cats in an apartment full of boxes, and no one expects me to be anywhere until the middle of the month. There is a heady freedom in that, and also the knowledge that two weeks without structure and routine will probably be the most that I can handle. Boxes and furniture and checklists.
I cried when I came through the Fort Pitt Tunnel for what could be the last time.
I am about to be a doctoral student. What an exciting, scary adventure.
17 June 2018
on or about the 5th anniversary of my wedding
spending the weekend in my parents' house.
i almost pulled out the computer at 12:30 a.m. when i couldn't sleep,
thinking of you.
i want to pour a work-in-progress, stream-of-consciousness mess
into this text field
and let it simmer,
let it throw steam until it burns to the pan,
that kind of sticky damage that can never be undone,
no matter how you soak, how you scrub.
there is too much i could want to say.
the echo of my younger voice
is screaming against my realization that
more often than not,
my comment does not matter.
my voice is not necessary.
but sometimes it is.
sometimes it is,
and i have been shamed into silence
by those who should know better.
by "advocates."
by "friends."
i tried to save her.
i am still trying to save her.
but how can you rescue
someone whose mind has been poisoned against you?
i remember that, too.
save roux.
save the one after, and the one after, and the one after me.
all i want
is to make the world a better place.
lock him up,
take the alcohol from his veins
and fix the serotonin in his brain,
and any of the other chemicals
whose pathways have been overgrown.
take the monster out of him.
he is just a human being...
isn't he?
in spite of it all, love.
compassion?
i grapple with a question of "choice."
what does it mean to choose behavior?
when are we capable?
what does it mean when we act without capably choosing our behavior?
how long ago did it stop becoming a choice?
when one no longer knows the truth, one can't help lying.
love is big,
and much bigger than my misled affection.
my love needs to know,
How can I warn every woman, everywhere?
How can I tell them, Don't!
If You See This Man, Run.
Don't let him charm you.
regardless of gender, regardless of age,
he is still the same.
some people do not change.
i almost pulled out the computer at 12:30 a.m. when i couldn't sleep,
thinking of you.
i want to pour a work-in-progress, stream-of-consciousness mess
into this text field
and let it simmer,
let it throw steam until it burns to the pan,
that kind of sticky damage that can never be undone,
no matter how you soak, how you scrub.
there is too much i could want to say.
the echo of my younger voice
is screaming against my realization that
more often than not,
my comment does not matter.
my voice is not necessary.
but sometimes it is.
sometimes it is,
and i have been shamed into silence
by those who should know better.
by "advocates."
by "friends."
i tried to save her.
i am still trying to save her.
but how can you rescue
someone whose mind has been poisoned against you?
i remember that, too.
save roux.
save the one after, and the one after, and the one after me.
all i want
is to make the world a better place.
lock him up,
take the alcohol from his veins
and fix the serotonin in his brain,
and any of the other chemicals
whose pathways have been overgrown.
take the monster out of him.
he is just a human being...
isn't he?
in spite of it all, love.
compassion?
i grapple with a question of "choice."
what does it mean to choose behavior?
when are we capable?
what does it mean when we act without capably choosing our behavior?
how long ago did it stop becoming a choice?
when one no longer knows the truth, one can't help lying.
love is big,
and much bigger than my misled affection.
my love needs to know,
How can I warn every woman, everywhere?
How can I tell them, Don't!
If You See This Man, Run.
Don't let him charm you.
regardless of gender, regardless of age,
he is still the same.
some people do not change.
04 March 2018
Labeling boxes, 2018
I'm getting ready for big change. That's scary. This is more like a series of changes, culminating in relocation and a completely new life and career path. It's not the farthest move I've ever made, but it is certainly among the most significant.
Packing up this apartment is going to be incredibly strange. I've lived here for three years now. That's the longest time I've ever lived in an apartment. This is the first place that was ever just mine, and I arrived here at such a critical moment. I feel like the entire time I've been here has been one huge purging process, and it's time to begin the final stage. There are pieces of my life I want to lose, pieces I want to destroy, and pieces I can't let go yet. Yesterday, I brought a trunkload to goodwill, and I can only hope that some young drag king loses his breath over Christopher Crash's very first pair of shitkicker boots. It stings to cull my keepsakes to What I Want to Carry Again.
There are different ground rules at every move. This time,
1. If it doesn't fit me, it will fit someone else.
2. I never want to see his handwriting again.
3. If I don't know why I have it, I don't need it.
4. "It once belonged to Peter" is no longer sufficient.
This time, I get to move twice instead of once. I can't stay in my apartment for as long as I need to be in town, so I'm moving in with my person for two months of the summer. I'm excited to live together, and I hope they find a job that will let them join me in my new place this fall. It's becoming less and less surprising to remember that our relationship is healthy. I want this supportive relationship in the next part of my life.
What can I live without for the summer? What can I live without? What do I need for a temporary place to feel like home? What will I need to find immediately once I get where I'm ultimately going?
Lists, calendars, and countdowns.
Packing up this apartment is going to be incredibly strange. I've lived here for three years now. That's the longest time I've ever lived in an apartment. This is the first place that was ever just mine, and I arrived here at such a critical moment. I feel like the entire time I've been here has been one huge purging process, and it's time to begin the final stage. There are pieces of my life I want to lose, pieces I want to destroy, and pieces I can't let go yet. Yesterday, I brought a trunkload to goodwill, and I can only hope that some young drag king loses his breath over Christopher Crash's very first pair of shitkicker boots. It stings to cull my keepsakes to What I Want to Carry Again.
There are different ground rules at every move. This time,
1. If it doesn't fit me, it will fit someone else.
2. I never want to see his handwriting again.
3. If I don't know why I have it, I don't need it.
4. "It once belonged to Peter" is no longer sufficient.
This time, I get to move twice instead of once. I can't stay in my apartment for as long as I need to be in town, so I'm moving in with my person for two months of the summer. I'm excited to live together, and I hope they find a job that will let them join me in my new place this fall. It's becoming less and less surprising to remember that our relationship is healthy. I want this supportive relationship in the next part of my life.
What can I live without for the summer? What can I live without? What do I need for a temporary place to feel like home? What will I need to find immediately once I get where I'm ultimately going?
Lists, calendars, and countdowns.
22 January 2018
afterlife
Peter and I used to have conversations through music, and occasionally, we still do.
"Under Pressure" is playing on the turntable in my living room.
in my mind, i tell him, "i'm sorry i didn't get your record player."
in my mind, he answers, "you got out. that's all that matters."
veritas.
"Under Pressure" is playing on the turntable in my living room.
in my mind, i tell him, "i'm sorry i didn't get your record player."
in my mind, he answers, "you got out. that's all that matters."
veritas.
09 October 2017
as the flowers fade
I stopped trusting you the night you didn't make sure I was okay after I ran out of that show. My trust for you vanished, and it never came back. In that moment, I learned that your public image was more important to you than I was. In that moment, it was over.
If I surround myself with people who prioritize their vanity over my safety, it is dangerous to my mental health. I need people who will check on me when I do things that are out of character. I need people who react when I show signs of panic (like squeezing their hand under the table with all my strength). If I surround myself with people who ignore my mental health, I put myself in danger.
You apologized for me. That felt like taking the side of my abuser. No matter what role you may have played in my escape, these have been your actions most recently. For someone who preaches living in the moment, you have spent an odd amount of time encouraging me to stay in a certain past.
I don't know if I will ever be able to rebuild trust after it's broken. I don't know if I'm supposed to be able to do that.
*****
Black-eyed susans still get me.
One of the nights you helped me escape from my house, we ended up in nature, or some semblance of it. You plucked a black-eyed susan and tucked it behind my ear. For the first time I could remember, you made me feel pretty. If I am worth decorating with beautiful things, then maybe I am beautiful.
Maybe that's how I can reshape memory. Black-eyed susans can just remind me that I have beauty. They don't need to go through you to get there. But they do. The smell of them can still stop me. My heart skips. You loved me, once. I trusted you then.
If I surround myself with people who prioritize their vanity over my safety, it is dangerous to my mental health. I need people who will check on me when I do things that are out of character. I need people who react when I show signs of panic (like squeezing their hand under the table with all my strength). If I surround myself with people who ignore my mental health, I put myself in danger.
You apologized for me. That felt like taking the side of my abuser. No matter what role you may have played in my escape, these have been your actions most recently. For someone who preaches living in the moment, you have spent an odd amount of time encouraging me to stay in a certain past.
I don't know if I will ever be able to rebuild trust after it's broken. I don't know if I'm supposed to be able to do that.
*****
Black-eyed susans still get me.
One of the nights you helped me escape from my house, we ended up in nature, or some semblance of it. You plucked a black-eyed susan and tucked it behind my ear. For the first time I could remember, you made me feel pretty. If I am worth decorating with beautiful things, then maybe I am beautiful.
Maybe that's how I can reshape memory. Black-eyed susans can just remind me that I have beauty. They don't need to go through you to get there. But they do. The smell of them can still stop me. My heart skips. You loved me, once. I trusted you then.
10 September 2017
Now I'm 30.
Part of not writing for months at a time is not knowing where to start up again. Re-traumatization. Anxiety. PTSD. The never-ending story of financial and psychological abuse, with and without direct action by my abuser. The complicity of my community. Alienation from everyone I thought I knew. Re-learning healthy relationship (if I ever knew it in the first place). Feeling confident enough to move forward a little. Spending a lot of time with one other person in particular. Getting a couple's tarot reading at a Renaissance Festival on a whim. Making plans for myself, regardless. Taking steps to create positive change. I am ready for different scenery. I am planning and procrastinating and trying to be good with my money. I am grateful that my brain chemistry is working well enough to allow me to act within my life, even though I don't do it perfectly all the time. Doing stuff every weekend Camping trips in two different parts of PA, one of them solo. Visiting lakes and valleys. Carrying a pocketful of rocks, especially while Mercury is retrograde. Burning sage. Reorganizing everything. Living too much in the future; working to remember that now is still happening.
14 January 2017
paragraphs from quarantine
I woke up this morning with my right eye crusted shut, confirming last night's suspicion that I was developing pinkeye. MedExpress opened two hours later (what's this adult thing of waking up at workday time on the weekend?), so I wasted no time in seeking prescriptions to heal it. Now I'm quarantined alone at home until at least tomorrow.
I'm an introvert, and I appreciate my alone time. But there's something different about being told you're not allowed to be around other humans. I value the choice to seclude myself, or to seek others, or to be alone in a place where I might encounter someone. I had plans today! I'm supposed to be somebody's birthday wish fairy! Fortunately, their birthday isn't really until tomorrow, so I have a little time to let antibiotics work and make me less contagious. I'm upset with my body for spoiling somebody else's plans.
I'm reading a book that I'm really excited about. Uniquely Human by Barry Prizant. One of my autism research idols wrote a book reflecting on his 40-year career in the field. He trained as a speech language pathologist, too. It's been a while since I've picked up a book and wanted to keep picking it up until I read every page. The basic drive behind the book is that we ought to stop trying to fix people with autism, and try to understand them instead. I'm positively delighted every time I encounter someone who shares this belief and articulates it meaningfully.
So that's what I'm doing today. I suppose I could provide some life updates, too. I guess the biggest one is that I am legally divorced, as of late December. Happy New Year, indeed. Getting that piece of paper evoked such a complicated mix of emotions. Functionally, it changes nothing. We have lived apart for over two years, and most days, my life does not involve him at all. I am independent. The divorce decree represents the close of a chapter, the conclusion of a long, expensive, and emotionally exhausting process. People expect me to feel some kind of closure, but there is none. This is merely a long overdue legal measure that does nothing to change my feelings about him or the situation, and little to advance the stage of my healing. There is far more to my recovery from my abusive relationship than just the dissolution of my marriage.
An interesting thing happened right around New Year's. This is the calendar year in which I turn 30. Yeah, age is just a number n'at. But something about it feels significant. And maybe it is this realization: I am an adult. Therefore, whatever I do is what an adult does. Having that realization has relieved some of the pressure to act like a grown-up.
I still plan to apply to PhD programs, and I'm going to wait another year. I went to a big ol' speech pathology convention in November, where I made some connections and discovered that my niche is even smaller than I thought it was. I need to learn some more things before I can feel confident committing to spending the next several years of my life in a place. The likelihood of attending school in Pittsburgh is incredibly small. I am putting off confronting the reality of that.
I am okay.
I'm an introvert, and I appreciate my alone time. But there's something different about being told you're not allowed to be around other humans. I value the choice to seclude myself, or to seek others, or to be alone in a place where I might encounter someone. I had plans today! I'm supposed to be somebody's birthday wish fairy! Fortunately, their birthday isn't really until tomorrow, so I have a little time to let antibiotics work and make me less contagious. I'm upset with my body for spoiling somebody else's plans.
I'm reading a book that I'm really excited about. Uniquely Human by Barry Prizant. One of my autism research idols wrote a book reflecting on his 40-year career in the field. He trained as a speech language pathologist, too. It's been a while since I've picked up a book and wanted to keep picking it up until I read every page. The basic drive behind the book is that we ought to stop trying to fix people with autism, and try to understand them instead. I'm positively delighted every time I encounter someone who shares this belief and articulates it meaningfully.
So that's what I'm doing today. I suppose I could provide some life updates, too. I guess the biggest one is that I am legally divorced, as of late December. Happy New Year, indeed. Getting that piece of paper evoked such a complicated mix of emotions. Functionally, it changes nothing. We have lived apart for over two years, and most days, my life does not involve him at all. I am independent. The divorce decree represents the close of a chapter, the conclusion of a long, expensive, and emotionally exhausting process. People expect me to feel some kind of closure, but there is none. This is merely a long overdue legal measure that does nothing to change my feelings about him or the situation, and little to advance the stage of my healing. There is far more to my recovery from my abusive relationship than just the dissolution of my marriage.
An interesting thing happened right around New Year's. This is the calendar year in which I turn 30. Yeah, age is just a number n'at. But something about it feels significant. And maybe it is this realization: I am an adult. Therefore, whatever I do is what an adult does. Having that realization has relieved some of the pressure to act like a grown-up.
I still plan to apply to PhD programs, and I'm going to wait another year. I went to a big ol' speech pathology convention in November, where I made some connections and discovered that my niche is even smaller than I thought it was. I need to learn some more things before I can feel confident committing to spending the next several years of my life in a place. The likelihood of attending school in Pittsburgh is incredibly small. I am putting off confronting the reality of that.
I am okay.
03 October 2016
magnetic poetry 13
Been a while since I've done one of these, hasn't it?
borrow one day
every year or so
love me as the sun does the moon
your shine on my light side
pulling the earth between us
****************************
give me
only loud soft favorite fruit
full and sweet
the tenderest of summers flavor
***************************
get me through every fire
revitalize my garden
let me grow like fresh life
flowers drinking freedom
borrow one day
every year or so
love me as the sun does the moon
your shine on my light side
pulling the earth between us
****************************
give me
only loud soft favorite fruit
full and sweet
the tenderest of summers flavor
***************************
get me through every fire
revitalize my garden
let me grow like fresh life
flowers drinking freedom
29 September 2016
Freedom Day 2016
Two years after escaping my abusive relationship, I still...
...think of him every day.
...have a physical reaction to reading his name.
...struggle with feelings of worthlessness and inadequacy.
...wonder if my finances will ever be what they were before.
...cringe to see his handwriting in my home.
...have a hard time trusting new people.
...double-check my locks.
...double my heart rate every time I see a grey Jeep.
...smile with relief every time I find my car where I left it.
...am not legally divorced.
Two years after escaping my abusive relationship, I now...
...live independently.
...make plans for my own future.
...speak honestly about my experiences.
...have money left after I pay the bills.
...manage my mental health.
...set and maintain the boundaries I need.
...go where I want, when I want, with whomever I want.
...am dating two fascinating people who respect me.
...have confidence I didn't notice I'd lost.
...think of him every day.
...have a physical reaction to reading his name.
...struggle with feelings of worthlessness and inadequacy.
...wonder if my finances will ever be what they were before.
...cringe to see his handwriting in my home.
...have a hard time trusting new people.
...double-check my locks.
...double my heart rate every time I see a grey Jeep.
...smile with relief every time I find my car where I left it.
...am not legally divorced.
Two years after escaping my abusive relationship, I now...
...live independently.
...make plans for my own future.
...speak honestly about my experiences.
...have money left after I pay the bills.
...manage my mental health.
...set and maintain the boundaries I need.
...go where I want, when I want, with whomever I want.
...am dating two fascinating people who respect me.
...have confidence I didn't notice I'd lost.
23 August 2016
I'm alive
I have a sink overflowing with dirty dishes, and I had plans to attack that tonight. Living alone means I can put it off another day (or two...or four...) and no one will be upset but myself.
Everything is still good. Legal processes still refuse to end. Life goes on. I have steady work, and I'm looking at going back to school. I've been in my apartment for a year and a half. I painted my bedroom green.
I'm embracing polyamory and striving to do it right this time. I'm learning a lot about myself and others and relationships and boundaries. I remain surrounded by good people. I am taking steps to meet new folks.
I am alive, and life is good. I remind myself every day.
Everything is still good. Legal processes still refuse to end. Life goes on. I have steady work, and I'm looking at going back to school. I've been in my apartment for a year and a half. I painted my bedroom green.
I'm embracing polyamory and striving to do it right this time. I'm learning a lot about myself and others and relationships and boundaries. I remain surrounded by good people. I am taking steps to meet new folks.
I am alive, and life is good. I remind myself every day.
07 March 2016
Neural Journey
I ran out of refills on a prescription and had to go off my meds this weekend. My SSRI. The one that keeps the happy molecules moving the right direction in my brain. Don't worry, I got it refilled today!
I hadn't been off my meds for longer than a few hours since I started taking them 2 years ago. I knew it was going to suck, but I wasn't entirely sure what to expect. My first missed dose was Friday night. I planned to run some errands Saturday morning, because I knew I wouldn't feel any different until later in the day. (I bought a new sofa! That was a weird adult experience.) Around 1:00 Saturday afternoon, I started getting a headache, which could also have been attributed to hunger or a nicotine craving. I treated myself extra gently, stayed close to home, and took an almost 3-hour nap through the afternoon. In the evening, I met with a small group of friends to do arts and crafts. By 8:00, it felt like time to go home, where I fell into bed and stayed there.
Sunday morning, I woke up--more or less--at 8:30. My head felt foggy, almost like I wasn't in it. My bed was the only good place to be. I knew I needed to get up for a cigarette, coffee, or breakfast, but I couldn't tell which one. Somehow, I managed to make it through a morning routine of all three. It felt like I was moving my limbs through thick air. Initiating movement became difficult: Once I crawled back into bed, there was no getting up. I hid in caves of my blankets, playing in my phone. At one point I watched a 30-second video of a couple dancing to Bad Romance at their wedding reception, and I burst into tears. I barely moved until almost 3 PM.
I was surprised to realize in the midst of Sunday morning that I could tease apart what was withdrawal, what was depression, and what was anxiety. I worried about unlikely things: What if the doctor's office has to cancel my appointment? What if this new doctor won't write my prescription? Anxiety! I didn't want to leave my bed, and even when I was in it, moving was hard. Anhedonia found me again. That deep, dark place where there is no joy. I felt guilty and worthless for doing this to myself because I couldn't just make an appointment before the prescription ran out. I felt helpless. Depression. I'm not sure if I remember saying aloud, "Who unlocked the cages on these beasts?!" It was a solid reminder that I need these pills for more reasons than just avoiding physical withdrawal. I had been starting to question that. I wrote in my journal, "Life is ugly when my serotonin is fucked. My brain doesn't regulate that on its own, so I need to take medicine to help it."
I had saved an emergency dose for sometime Sunday so that Monday morning didn't have to be so awful. Within 5 minutes of taking it, I knew that I was going to get my brain back. Within 30 minutes, I felt like I lived in my own body again. What a simple solution for a brain disease that kills thousands of people every year, and almost killed me.
I hadn't been off my meds for longer than a few hours since I started taking them 2 years ago. I knew it was going to suck, but I wasn't entirely sure what to expect. My first missed dose was Friday night. I planned to run some errands Saturday morning, because I knew I wouldn't feel any different until later in the day. (I bought a new sofa! That was a weird adult experience.) Around 1:00 Saturday afternoon, I started getting a headache, which could also have been attributed to hunger or a nicotine craving. I treated myself extra gently, stayed close to home, and took an almost 3-hour nap through the afternoon. In the evening, I met with a small group of friends to do arts and crafts. By 8:00, it felt like time to go home, where I fell into bed and stayed there.
Sunday morning, I woke up--more or less--at 8:30. My head felt foggy, almost like I wasn't in it. My bed was the only good place to be. I knew I needed to get up for a cigarette, coffee, or breakfast, but I couldn't tell which one. Somehow, I managed to make it through a morning routine of all three. It felt like I was moving my limbs through thick air. Initiating movement became difficult: Once I crawled back into bed, there was no getting up. I hid in caves of my blankets, playing in my phone. At one point I watched a 30-second video of a couple dancing to Bad Romance at their wedding reception, and I burst into tears. I barely moved until almost 3 PM.
I was surprised to realize in the midst of Sunday morning that I could tease apart what was withdrawal, what was depression, and what was anxiety. I worried about unlikely things: What if the doctor's office has to cancel my appointment? What if this new doctor won't write my prescription? Anxiety! I didn't want to leave my bed, and even when I was in it, moving was hard. Anhedonia found me again. That deep, dark place where there is no joy. I felt guilty and worthless for doing this to myself because I couldn't just make an appointment before the prescription ran out. I felt helpless. Depression. I'm not sure if I remember saying aloud, "Who unlocked the cages on these beasts?!" It was a solid reminder that I need these pills for more reasons than just avoiding physical withdrawal. I had been starting to question that. I wrote in my journal, "Life is ugly when my serotonin is fucked. My brain doesn't regulate that on its own, so I need to take medicine to help it."
I had saved an emergency dose for sometime Sunday so that Monday morning didn't have to be so awful. Within 5 minutes of taking it, I knew that I was going to get my brain back. Within 30 minutes, I felt like I lived in my own body again. What a simple solution for a brain disease that kills thousands of people every year, and almost killed me.
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