worst case scenario game

 one of the best and worst parts of having a writer's brain is the creativity. the imagination. the ability to think of 100 different scenarios and possibilities.

when you're trying to problem solve or trying to find the right words or having a discussion with someone, the ability to see a thousand different possibilities is an amazing thing.

when you're alone, and left to your own devices, however, as with any gift, it can turn into a curse.

there's things in life i'll never have the answers to. dates who have never showed up. people who made vicious comments out of nowhere. communications that have ended without resolution.

when you can think of a million different reasons and plot lines and scenarios, your ability to think of all think of all those possibilities quickly becomes...it's worst case scenario game lightning round.

it's been 10 years since my dad died. national news level died. there were a lot of questions and investigations and a gag order on the case and then it just...went away.

i never found out what happened.

there were so many questions, so many theories, so many different ideas- was it gang activity? was it something related to the governor? was it something to do with the union? was it the guy that had threatened to kill me after he was deported following a traffic stop? was it an accident? was it intentional? what started the fire? how did all three NOT make it out? medical reports didn't match what people were saying. timelines didn't match up.

maybe they all did in the end. maybe there was a completely basic boring answer in a report no one bothered to tell me about. i'll never know.

and when you have a brain like mine, that's hard. it's been a lot of work to not become obsessed or turn into a gerard butler movie.

 

 

 

 

i had to come terms pretty quickly. i didn't have the time or energy to be curious or worry about getting a real answer. i had kids to raise. i had to make sure there were groceries and sports equipment and a "normal life" after a year long campaign of trauma.

it was a LOT dealing with so much death in such a short time. 

suddenly, here i am 10 years later. 

i think the biggest lesson i'm still learning is how to wrangle that worst case scenario mindset.

yes, the ability to create a all the different possibilities and options and choose your own adventure avenues is amazing.

but of all those scenarios and options and paths my mind has wandered down about my personal life, what's going to happen, all the time and energy i've spent worrying and letting anxiety wreak havoc in my mind, NONE. absolutely NONE of them have been true or real. i could have never thought up the path my life has taken in the last 10 years.

i've spent so many hours. SO MANY HOURS. so much energy. so much time worrying. playing the worst case scenario game. 

and i have had so many completely different absolute worst case scenarios happen anyway.

all the worrying and imagining did was take away the energy for when i actually needed it. i was so exhausted worrying about what was going to happen that when something DID happen i was already drained.

this year in particular i think has been a little bit of that for everyone. the news stories are so outrageous and world events are things writers all over are laughing because they know their script or plot with any one of these events would have been rejected as "unbelievable."

i didn't expect to be fired in the middle of a global pandemic for standing up for mental health care because 5+ months of self-isolation mixed with nationwide social unrest due to police brutality led to massive widespread brutality and the government is being dismantled right in front of us and there's not a damn thing any of us can do about it for MONTHS and we just have to...yeah...you get the point.

that is not even a possibility i could have dreamed up 6 months ago.

and yet, here i am, one week in to being unemployed.

i am terrified.

my brain has moments of not being my friend right now.

that worst case scenario lightening round is right there. i've spiraled a few times already.

it's a real quick trip some really, really dark places.

when you start wondering if it would really be so bad to hope maybe you're one of the bad/quick virus cases...it's time to take a moment and step back a little bit.

i'm learning to not listen to that option. that's all it is, one of the thousands of options.

and just as quickly as i can spiral in the positive direction, maybe i'll find a million dollars on the street tomorrow...

but that's wasted energy too.

i'm learning to just take a breath, and do what i can right now.

 

right now i can apply for jobs. right now i can follow up on financial aid paperwork. right now i can have a dance party in my livingroom. right now i can practice yoga and meditation and work on helping my brain be kinder and not do those exhaustive spirals in either direction.

 

i can channel that energy into writing. into creating, but i need to stop letting that energy run me down and dominate my thinking.

funny how it keeps coming back to writing. it always does. you'd think after 40 years on this earth i'd quit fighting the thing that has been a part of me since the beginning. 

BUT, my extremely slow learning curve aside, the point is that i am learning. i am recognizing behaviors that don't work for me anymore. i'm working on changing them.

it's hard. that anxiety spiral is right there. a six shooter on each hip of terrible things, locked, loaded, always ready to go. 

well, isn't that a particularly interesting analogy for someone who does not like guns, at all.

the thing that is the worst for me, my most dangerous behavior, i just compared to an object i strongly regard as dangerous and deadly.

i'm sure a shrink would have a field day with that.

i think it's time to retire from the worst case scenario game, at least personally.

how long have i been saying i'm tired y'all? 

maybe it's time to stop exhausting myself.

maybe it's time to just focus on today. today i can do what i need to do and that is enough.

where's my super suit?

last week i vague posted to facebook mentioning that it had been a rough week and i could use some support.

i don't like vaguebooking, but i wasn't quite ready to dump my brain at that point and really did need something, someone. SOME interaction.

this week i was able to meet up with one of my favorite people, someone who listens without judgement, HEARS what i'm saying, and doesn't sugar coat or water down responses either way- if i'm being ridiculous or if i'm being real. it's hard to know sometimes when it's just your voice on a loop in your head. sometimes real things can take on a ridiculous tangent unintentionally, or after a series of too many things it can start to seem like maybe you're just being too sensitive if THIS MANY THINGS are causing distress.

this week over drinks and dinner she let me take my time getting around to what i needed to say, no judgement, no laughing, no walking away out of disgust or annoyance or triviality or anything.

and as i've continued to process and reevaluate and look at every different angle and possibility and the usual overthinking junket my brain goes on, i've gone back and forth about whether or not it's worth writing about, if anyone else would care, if it's dumb to put my petty little problems out there.

because that's what i worry about. not about the actual problems (well, those too, but not mainly). i worry about annoying people by talking about my problems. i don't want to be trivial or a burden or the person that everyone rolls their eyes when i say there's something going on becasue drama, drama, drama. i don't want to repeat myself, which happens ALL THE TIME in my brain (and in my journal). i don't want people to be like "ugh. this again?" because that's how i feel ALL THE TIME about myself.

but this particular series of crap was BIG. and, i don't know, two weeks out and i'm still having a hard time not getting emotional about it, so it IS big. even if just to me. and maybe it's happening to someone else, and i don't want ANYONE else to feel this way, so maybe getting it out there will let one other person know it's not just them. and if even ONE other person doesn't have to feel this? WORTH IT.

i have finally found my super power, and it's a SHITTY one.

i have the power of invisibility.

and trust me, it's not all it's cracked up to be.

the signs have been there for a while. all the stood up dates, all the times bartenders have blatantly ignored me, the million and two times i've repeated myself to the teenager.

it became crystal clear at the seattle erotic art festival two weeks ago.

i had been looking forward to the event ALL YEAR. last year was amazing. the performances, the sculptures, the photos, drawings, literature, interactive pods, ALL OF IT. the crowd was a gorgeous mix of anyone and everyone at every kink and security level. some people walking around in next to nothing with just pasties on. some people in gorgeous bondage corsets, costumes, gimp suits, stilts, drag, regular clothes. EVERYTHING. it was this mismash of people from every background imaginable i'm sure, all gathered together in a place of mutual acceptance to celebrate sexuality in all forms in a safe space. it's what we were ALL there for, so no judgement, no sideways looks, just people being people.

i was SO EXCITED to go back this year. the ONE PLACE the tattooed fat girl who loves art and music and creativity and sexuality can fit in. the ONE PLACE i wouldn't feel like the freak because i start "those" conversations. the ONE PLACE i could openly admire women and men. the ONE PLACE i could belong.

and i planned the weekend, marked it on the calendar, made a hotel reservation, followed the twitter account and watched the artist selection be announced and the lead up happen and the posts of the whole weekend kicking off and the schedule of all the different parts and pieces.

i drove to seattle (with the teenager and three of his friends...they were attending a concert). i wore a little black dress, did my hair, put on bold red lipstick, took a lyft to the event center.

i went inside and ALL THE ART. oh my god. ALL THE ART. everything you can imagine. photos of legos doing bondage play. a d-rex battling a tri-cera-cocks. a storm trooper doing suspension bondage. live demonstrations of suspensions. live drag/costume/shoe contests. poetry readings. electric play demonstrations. a piercing suspension (can't watch, i can feel too much of the pain. thanks empathic abilities). it was another AMAZING show. there was a huge crowd of people wandering all over, taking it all in.

and i was invisible.

three hours. i walked around for three hours. i looked at ALL the art work, every single piece. multiple times. a massive wall piece of sheet metal air brushed in perfect patterns then stained and sealed to make a gorgeous textured/colored vagina. the craftsmanship and skill to so carefully manage the metal air brushing strokes and get the stain in exactly the right places...it was gorgeous.

i walked around for three hours. THREE HOURS. not one person said a thing to me.

i was invisible.

people would literally bump into me and not even say anything. i would try to start conversations and people would walk away mid sentence.

the ONE PLACE i thought i would fit in and not only did i NOT fit, i didn't even exist.

i'm not a petite girl. i don't blend in very well. i was in a sleeveless dress which means ALL my tattoos were visible. even people in the taco bell drive thru notice my tattoos.

and NOTHING. i didn't exist.

fuck man. that was a kick to the gut. the event i had been waiting a full year for. the place i thought i would find my tribe. the place i thought i could be myself and talk to people and make connections.

fuck.

that hurt.

(**IMPORTANT NOTE: this was not, in any way, the fault of the art festival, just my own issue. if you get a chance next year or any year, GO TO THE FESTIVAL. it's amazing. the artwork is outstanding and there's classes, demonstrations, workshops, it really, really outstanding.**)

the next night my oldest son wanted to meet up and talk. we've been communicating a little more via text recently...not just the usual "i need money" texts. i haven't had the opportunity to SEE him in several years. things haven't been smoothing sailing since he moved to seattle, to put it lightly. and he wanted to meet up in a hookah lounge in seattle and talk. i was so excited. i was going to actually get to meet one of his girlfriends and get to see him and just...hang out.

it didn't exactly go that way. he spent 45 minutes dressing me down, calling me a liar, saying every horrible thing he could think of, demanding i tell him details about things that have happened to me so he could "decide if it's real or not." he tore me apart for never dating but dating the wrong people in the same sentence. he said some terrible, horrible things about the death of his step mother/baby brother that...holy fuck. if he even said half of it or implied any of those thoughts to his dad...no wonder things are so terrible between them right now. it was bad. it was REALLY, REALLY bad. after 45 minutes of spewing every venemous, terrible thing, he told me that i could contact him when i'm "ready to finally tell the truth and stop beating around the bush," then he walked out on me. the kid that used to yell at me for telling too much truth and answering all his questions, as honestly and age appropriately as possible, now calling me a liar and walking out on me.

fuck.

strike two.

that's a really fucking shitty back to back.

that's a one-two punch that left my ears ringing a little bit.

so i came home after the weekend and tried to process as much as possible.

oh, and my therapist is out of the office until july recovering from surgery. just a fun little side note.

so. i'm processing. functioning. struggling. REALLY, REALLY struggling.

then my brother called for his monthly check in.

why do i even answer those calls? especially after a shitty weekend like that?

it's all fine until he hears me refer to our mother by her proper name. she's no longer a "mom" to me. she's just a person i (barely) know, so i refer to her by name. he literally laughed at me. LAUGHED. AT. ME. "that sounds so weird. why do you call her that?" because she hasn't been a great person to me. "oh, i just thought you had issues with her husband, not her." DO YOU EVER LISTEN DUDE? i've said the same. damn. thing. every. single. time. this. comes. up.

so i try to explain it again. "oh. i didn't know any of that."

yeah. thanks for not listening to me. ever.

brought to you by the same brother that was shocked when i wrote a short story for his son a few years ago. "when did you start writing?" WHEN I COULD HOLD A PENCIL. thanks for noticing me, ever, in our childhood.

the power of invisibility. it started young. apparently.

and it just...it sucks, you know?

and i'm not a very social person. i don't keep hoards of friends. and i'm not great about keeping in touch with the ones i do have. and i ALWAYS feel like a burden when i try to make plans...my schedule has NOTHING and i always feel like it's such a pain in the ass to try to arrange meet ups because other people actually have lives, and so i just don't do it. i don't want to make them feel bad for being busy. so i just...don't. and when i do go out...i just...don't fit in. i'm the awkward one that's moderately tolerated. i'm good for bringing the weird factor, the inappropriate stories.

and so i just sink further into invisibility.

it's just me and the puppy at home every night and i'm not sure if you know this or not, but no matter how stoned you get, puppies don't talk back.

and i HAVE people. i know i do. but they all live in my phone. i know if i really need to i can text, snapchat, message, tweet people and chat. and they are all AMAZING people that i am so lucky to know. they're positive and supportive and really, really just beautiful people.

but that doesn't really...i mean...it doesn't really help with the invisibility thing. you know?

and so, here it is. i'm struggling.

i feel like i don't exist outside making sure the teenager has food and money, the puppy gets fed and walked, and all the necessary papers get shuffled at my jobs.

PLEASE DON'T TAKE THIS THE WRONG WAY OR READ INTO IT: I'M NOT IN A DANGEROUS PLACE: i'm really, really not.
but if i just disappeared, road trip to mexico style, would anyone *really* notice?

if i just attached a teardrop trailer to the back of the jeep and started driving...it may be inconvenient for a few people for a day or two...but then?

and i know. find a group! volunteer! get out there! meet people!

yeah. we all know how good i am at that. you mean like just going to the concerts alone? or the art exhibits? dinner and a movie? maybe try speed dating? puppy play dates? community events at my apartment? maybe i should start a book club? what about trying an app to meet new people? you know they have ones for just making friends now, right? maybe if i have TWO jobs it will double the circle of people i interact with and get to know, right?

or would all that just give me a chance to see how my invisibility cloak looks with several different pair of shoes?

spoiler alert: it's the shoe thing.

so. i'm still processing. i'm trying to find new solutions. i'm still plugging along.

but if anyone else out there stumbles across my random corner of the internet and sees this: you're not the only one. you're not invisible. you do exist. you do matter. and i know, exactly, how hard that may be to believe. but don't stop trying to believe it. I SEE YOU. maybe you can recognize the shimmer on my cloak the way i can see the shimmer on yours. i don't know where i belong. i haven't found my place yet. but i'm not giving up the thought that maybe some day i will. maybe i'll find a space where i really belong with people who see me. it's out there for everyone. so me of us just have to look a little harder. and i'm going to keep looking.

anxiety

a few weeks ago i was sitting in my living room on a nice quiet evening, watching the great british bake off on netflix, nice and mellow, and all of a sudden BOOM: massive anxiety attack.

i had just been offered a part time job and was working over a new budget and suddenly FREAKED OUT. full on tears, chest pain, full on panic: OH MY GOD. HOW AM I GOING TO SURVIVE ON A SINGLE MOM BUDGET?

yes, how am i, the single mother, who has survive on a single mother budget for the last 20 years, going to keep surviving now on a single mother budget?

that's right. i retro-actively freaked out about the last 20 years of my life.

i told myself i should have been kicked out of every apartment i lived in...it takes 2 people to pay the rent more often than not. I SHOULD HAVE FAILED.

2 people working full time can barely make ends meet...HOW AM I GOING TO AFFORD ANYTHING?

well, let's see...my kids never went naked, our power was never shut off, they never went hungry...

it's a special kind of crazy that makes you panic about something you've already done. FOR TWENTY YEARS.

this has been my mind the last few months...never. ending. anxiety.

i've battled with depression. i've battled fear. i can't remember a time i wasn't under some kind of stress. i've dealt with domestic violence, divorce, sick kids, family dying. this isn't the first time i've left a "career" job. this isn't the first time i've taken a part time job. this isn't my first go round with lonely holidays. this isn't my first run in with a moody hormonal teenager.

i'm older. i've been seasoned, earned my grey hair (that i immediately colored over).

SO WHAT THE FUCK?

anxiety man. it's the worst of it all. it's this never ending voice of terror. of destruction. of certain doom. it's this constant sound track of every. single. thing. wrong. that i've done in my life. it's a constant slow motion replay of every. single. decision. over the last 6 months reviewing every one over and over and over and over. it's every horrible thing i've ever thought about myself BLARING over a megaphone all day long and even in my dreams. 

all my writing has ground to a heartbreaking stop. i have so many project i want to finish but i just...can't right now and it's making me so mad.

i've cried more in the last few months than i have in a LONG time.

we got a new puppy this weekend and it's been CONSTANT terror the last few days that i can't handle it. a puppy. i have myself convinced that i can't handle a puppy.

i believe, i really do believe, that things happen at a specific time for a specific reason. i believe in the balance of the universe. i believe that things happen when they're meant to, that there's lessons to be learned in every experience.

i believe that out of all the jobs i applied for and interviewed for, there's a reason this job was offered to me. THIS is where i need to be right now.

so why can't i quit questioning it and worrying about it? why can't i stop looking online at indeed and craigslist to see what else is out there?

i believe that out of all the jobs, state jobs, corporate jobs, big businesses, small businesses, government jobs, out of ALL the possibilities over the last few months, THIS is the place for me.

can you believe and not believe something at the same time?

i know the universe is SCREAMING at me to just trust myself.

and i just can't do it.

JUST WRITE. GET IT OUT THERE.

and then the doubt and questions and hate start.

so what if i finish writing something? what's that going to do? it's not like it's going to be something that i can make a living at. do you know how many people WORK for YEARS to make a living at writing? and i think that whatever hack job i throw out into the universe is actually going to be anything more than a blip?

WHO CARES IF IT ISN'T A MILLION DOLLAR BOOK DEAL? haven't i always said that as long as ONE person connects with it, it's worth it?

SO WHAT THE FUCK IS MY PROBLEM?

i've been trying to meditate more. find a calm space for my mind free of judgement and hate and anxiety.

spoiler alert: quiet time just means all the negative voices have less to compete with and get louder.

i worked my way through the meditation basics on the headspace meditation app a few times. even with the guided meditation i still haven't been able to shut off the anxiety spiral for more than a few minutes at a time.

anxiety man.

it's a whole different beast than depression.

it's way fucking meaner. just a relentless. it's much more active than depression. anxiety is like depression on meth: all the horrible thoughts, seventeen times the speed ricocheting around your brain! it's an endless choose your own adventure OF TOTAL DESTRUCTION. no happy endings here kids, no matter how many different ways you follow the rabbit trails. go ahead. try EVERY option. NOPE. still terrible.

and i know i'll figure it out. always have. always will. it hasn't always been stars and rainbows and pots of gold, but i've made it through the last twenty years. i can make it through this too.

i'm not giving up, as much as...whatever it is in there is screaming how much easier that would be.

i'll research. i'll keep trying. i'll keep kicking cans until i find an answer for this new challenge.

man. you have to give credit where credit is due.

just when i thought i had shit dialed in and on the right track. just when i thought i had figured out the tricks to my own mental health and how to catch myself when i'm slipping and get myself back on track...life was like OH REALLY BITCH? TRY THIS FASTBALL THEN.

just when i was like- i'm going to take three months to make shit happen! make myself the best i've ever been! spend time on me! chase dreams! believe in yourself! DO IT!

then life was like...but first...

and, somewhere in the deep corners of my brain, there's a theory percolating: ok. so. if life is so scared of you becoming healthy and being your best self that it has to distract you THIS HARD, what kind of fucking powerhouse of awesome does it know you are? and what happens if you are finally able to actually believe that and tap into it? if you can get past these distractions, if you can do what you set out to do...

what if anxiety is like the boyfriend that constantly puts you down because he knows once you stop listening to him and realize how awesome you actually are he doesn't stand a chance in hell...

huh.

given my track record you think i'd be much better at kicking a crappy boyfriend to the curb.