Full Circle

30 years ago at the ripe old age of 22 I, along with my friend Kip, sat in the basement of Standard Federal Savings & Loan writing our formal resignations. We took a picture of each of us while writing our letters because we wanted to capture the moment when our lives would change forever. That's right, with actual film kids that took a full week to be developed!

For years I have been writing about what happened from that point, but have never been able to assemble the writings/rantings in some coherent format. Now at the age of 52, I find myself in a strangely familiar position. I have been miserable in my profession for the last 2 years, but have not taken any concrete steps to change it. I have finally reached the decision to retire from Banking and find a new career. One that doesn't steal a little piece of my soul every day. One that will feed my soul and not just my wallet. One that will make me laugh instead of cry. The last two years I have rediscovered my love for creating art, made amazing memories with friends and family, and been present in my life and the lives of people who love me and all the madness that comes with that.

I was never suited for corporate America. It just kind of found me. I have no idea what the future holds, but for a change I am excited about the possibilities. Maybe this second half is what I should have been writing about all along...mash the gas!!!

My Story - #NSPW16 #STOPSUICIDE

We don’t have the power to control much, but we can control our choices. And today, I chose to stay alive.

I made a commitment to be sober on 4/20/12 but did not make the commitment to stay alive until 2 weeks later. The road that lead to these choices was long and paved with pain, anger, erratic behavior, lies, therapy, 30 plus years of drinking, anxiety, pills, a suicide attempt, and then a 2nd suicide attempt.

The 2nd attempt was on 4/16/12. I just wanted to go to sleep. You will hear many survivors of suicide attempt say this because somehow that makes the fact that we tried to kill ourselves more palatable. I was up drinking as usual. Drinking was no longer fun. Drinking was what I had to do just to feel normal, to not feel all the emotion and sadness. I existed on ginger ale and saltines during the day and tequila and Clozapine at night. Then, if I was lucky, pass out and sleep for 4 hours. That night was particularly bad because I was not winding down and like I said, I just wanted to go to sleep. So, I found a bottle of Xanax and dumped some out into my palm and said to myself, 'well, that should do the trick.' 

I only remember flashes from the next 2 days. It was like an intermittent nightmare. Mostly I could hear voices, my husbands' being the only recognizable one. I had something uncomfortable around my neck, which I later found out was a neck brace and a catheter that I kept trying to pull out. My first clear memory was sitting naked in a wheelchair facing a sink and mirror. I felt detached from the reflection of myself, slumped, expressionless, in this stark white room with a female nurse bathing me. Later I was moved to a regular room with round the clock observation. I was not allowed to use the restroom alone. I was not allowed to be alone.

Once the Doctor came in he asked, 'Do you know what you have done to yourself?' There was just the briefest of pauses before he gave me the list:

•   Benzo overdose

•   Blood alcohol level of 206

•   Hemoglobin count of 6, that required a transfusion of 4 units blood

•   And a concussion

I knew I had to quit drinking, but I still didn't want to. I still didn't want to live. But, I did want out of the hospital. This sounds unreal to people without depression and to non-addicts, but all I could think was, I would need to be more careful and figure out better ways to hide it. But, there were a few turning points for me. The first, my husband, who fights to stay alive by going to dialysis 3 times a week, saying, 'I love you, but I can't live like this anymore. And I will leave if you drink again.' I needed that. I needed someone to stand up to me and say ENOUGH! So, on 4/20/12 with my hospital bracelet still around my wrist, I went to an AA meeting, took a white chip, and made a promise to stay sober at the time for my husband. I could not do it for myself yet because I still wanted to drink, but I want my marriage more.

The second turning point came when my therapist read out loud to me the account from the paramedics and team of that night. I was found in the hallway in a pool of my own urine and unresponsive. There was a quote from my husband saying 'she doesn't drink that much. I think she may have had an asthma attack.' Hearing the account all I could do was cry. I had put him in the vulnerable and horrible position of not knowing. I suddenly realized it's not all about me. I am hurting other people. I am hurting the people I love the most. And then, Sally my therapist asked me, 'how does it make you feel to know the extreme lengths you took to lie to yourself?' The question still cuts me to my core. 

The third turning point was a couple weeks later when I wanted a chocolate lab puppy. My husband was on the fence about it since we already had 2 dogs. But, I had to say goodbye to my beloved Tater the year before and was ready for another brown boy. I finally wore my husband down and he said, 'we can go get the puppy but you have to make me a promise to stay alive.' We both cried, but I promised and we got my 'stay alive dog'. 

Now it is 4 years, 4 months, and 20 days later and I am sober, more in love than ever before, and not only alive but choosing all these things for myself. I cannot promise anyone that it gets easier because it doesn't, but what it does get is amazing!

Keep living. Don't be silent. Reach out. Ask for help. 

Beam Me Up

I googled the word ‘ light', not because I needed the definition, but because if I had to pick one word to describe my recently passed friend, it would be light. I met Michael Epting in 1979. We were part of the 8th grade class at Chapin High School. It was my first year at Chapin, and Mike welcomed me to an otherwise frightening place for a shy band geek. Over the years since, we came in and out of each other’s lives, but mostly in over the last 7 years. We spent many late nights talking, laughing, crying, gossiping, but mostly laughing. He was my self-appointed wedding planner. He took the job quite seriously, and worked tirelessly for no pay. One late night, Mike shared with me that my Grammie, who passed away before I met my husband, spoke with him and she was happy for me. This was exactly what I needed to hear at the time.

The news of his death was shocking and frankly still seems unreal to me. How can such a presence leave this world without leaving some type of worm hole opening in the cosmos? I find myself meditating much more since the news of his passing and my mind invariably drifts to thoughts of him and wishing for a sign from the beyond. As with other friends and family that have passed, I want confirmation that they are in a better place, that they knew I loved them, and that they left a huge imprint on me and the world. But the question is, how do we know this is truly a sign or form of communication and not just some random occurrence. These thoughts are what brought me to the word ‘light’. If Mike wanted to send me a sign, I think it would be in the form of light.

Light is defined as: (noun) 1. the natural agent that stimulates sight and makes things visible. 2. a source of illumination. 3. a person notable or eminent in a particular sphere of activity or place. (verb): 1. provide with light; illuminate.

Both the definitions for noun and verb apply to my friend, but I think he was definitely more of a verb than a noun. Anyone who has been in his presence I think would agree. He was constant motion and gesture with a heavy southern drawl and cigarette smoke for emphasis. He could eat country fried steak and biscuits with gravy then wash it all down with an expensive Malbec, all while never gaining a pound or missing a beat. He was the human manifestation of a hummingbird after drinking a pot of strong black coffee.

We all want to leave a legacy when exiting this plane. In my opinion, Mike’s legacy is one of light. Some of the synonyms that struck me were: brightness, luminescence, gleaming, brilliance, radiance, glow, blaze, glare, glint, shimmer, sparkle, glisten and my favorite dazzle. Each of these words bring a vision of Mike’s face, smile, and eyes to my mind. 

During my meditation last night, a strange thing happened. The sunset was different than I have ever seen in Charlotte. It was a brilliant orange red with streaks shooting from it like you would see in a painting. I attempted to take a photo of it, but it just does not capture the magnificence. It was a Key West sunset in Charlotte, NC in the middle of Winter……I will take that as my sign. I love you Mike.

What Dreams May Come

 I have been taking a break from writing for a long time, but sometimes circumstances prompt you to action, or more accurately kick you in the ass and slap your face. That final hit for me was the suicide of Robin Williams. He was an amazing man and talent and also one of the millions dealing with addiction and depression.

I have written about my own struggles on this blog and poked fun at some truly serious issues (i.e. a wine drinker with a knitting problem) but did not realize how words can touch so many people in such varied ways. When I stopped writing, I found out just how many people identified with my story and were encouraging me to continue the story, which I will soon.

Robin Williams' passing is weighing heavily on my mind. Depression is an insidious disease that does not discriminate. And it is a disease! Chances are you have either dealt with it personally whether yourself, family, or friends. The problem is society treats mental illness as taboo, something that should be hushed. Silence is what kills.

Don't remain silent. Share your story. Reach out to a friend in need. Make sure your voice is heard. Ask for help. Don't leave this earth and all the people who care for you before your time.

Reflect and Renew

It is only natural when one year is ending and another beginning, to look back and reflect. The air if full of talk about what we did, how we did it, and how we will change in the new year. In thinking of this yearly ritual, I wonder why we only assess our lives yearly. That being said, I still look back at 2011 with all it’s ups and downs and think, what does 2012 have in store for me and mine.

Reflect: Lessons I learned in 2011
1. Kindness can come from where you least expect it.
2. That which does not kill you, truly does make you stronger.
3. I can no longer party like a rock star.
4. Laughter until you cry or pee your pants is awesome.
5. Honestly actually feels good and does not change the way someone who truly loves you feels.
6. Unconditional love....period.
7. Parents are cool and I want them around all the time.
8. Live life one moment at a time, otherwise it is too overwhelming.
9. Live music feeds the soul.
10. The love I feel for my family, friends, and Husband is more than I could ever imagine.

2011 was an interesting year. Overall, I am so thankful for the life I have and all the people, experiences, and opportunities that I have been given. So, for 2012, I do not want to make a typical resolution.

Renew: What to look forward to in 2012
1. Simply live ever moment to the fullest.
2. Look forward not back.
3. Say “yes” more often.

These three simple themes will be my mantra for 2012: Live, Love, and Laugh.

I've gone missing

Lately, I have been reflecting on the person I was 15 years ago. I constantly dream of that time and seem to romanticize it a bit. Have I lost my former self? And if so, can I get it back?
My life, me, in Arizona, was free. Or, at least I thought I was free. The only responsibilities I had were to go to college and go to work. And both those things were completely negotiable if there was a party, a Dead show, or hell if I had a hangnail. In Flagstaff, I felt home, at least for a while. My biggest worries were will I make enough in tips to go to the Monte Vista and drink? When I left Flagstaff, I was fed up. I knew that if I stayed there, I would become a barfly at best. Now when I look back on that time, I see it differently. I was spontaneous. I didn't think of the consequences, I just did it. But now I often think, was I a poser?
My life now seems in total conflict of who I was or at least who I thought I was. I work for a large bank. I have a 401K. I am going to be a Mom. And crap, I even pay my bills on time. I find myself sucking up, kissing ass, etc....and all I want to do is shower it off! Who am I? Where did the "cool" me go?
After much thought, I realized that the former me is not lost. I may work for "the man" but I do it for a good cause. I still enjoy a great live show, but I just stay out of the mosh pit now. I still live in the ghetto. Now I just do it by choice.
I also realized that that time, that place doesn't exist anywhere anymore except in my head and the head's of the other people who where there. I did not appreciate it while I was there and in it. But, it was special. It was magic. I am a firm believer that you are right where you are supposed to be at all times. So, I may not be willing to camp out for a Dead show for 3 days in the desert anymore, but it is not because the former me is lost. It is because the current me knows that Jerry isn't going to show.

Phoenix

Phoenix
People have asked to get some preview of the book I am working on. So, here it is. Obviously, names have been change to protect people's privacy. I hope you will read with an open mind and heart.
Thanks

By 1990, I was dying slowly, intentionally, literally. Phoenix was hot. Don't let people tell you "it's a dry heat". No matter how dry 126 degrees is, it's above all else unbearably hot and miserable. Phoenix was an Eagles album cover. It was wavy with heat on the horizon of palm trees, stucco buildings, and strip malls. There wasn't any grass except for golf courses. I was tired of driving, sitting, and listening to the sound of the road.

I was scheduled to attend Glendale Community College and major in Finance. But why, I have no idea. But, I think mainly, I was searching for someone to save me from myself. I wouldn't find that someone in Phoenix, but I did find Isaac. He was as messed up as me, and FUN. He loved to drink. The night I met Isaac, I was drunk and high from hunger. He thought I was beautiful and I hated myself. We were a perfect match.

Glendale Community College and Doc Oz, my abnormal psychology professor, ultimately saved my life. I had an odd schedule of classes: Finance, Accounting, 2D Design, Spanish, and Abnormal Psychology. I signed up for abnormal psych as an elective. The first day of class I was hazy, hung over, and drinking a big gulp…breakfast. Doc Oz came into the classroom of approximately 40 students, me being the oldest at 24, and told us to each share something about ourselves that was abnormal. I was terrified. I can't share. I can't speak in front of people. Hell, I can't speak out loud when I am by myself! People judge me. I judge me. I can't. I can't. I can't. But, I had to. And, it was okay. I talked about the time when I was only 16 and my boyfriend, friends, and I broke into a bowling alley that was being built and started a bonfire. I told my story and he moved on to the next person. She had a crystal meth habit in high school. It was uneventful. I didn't die.

The semester progressed, not effortlessly, but surprisingly okay. I participated. I was involved. I was fascinated. Crazy made me feel sane, and at home. It made my world make sense. I went to school from 7 a.m. to 12 noon. I took a nap ant then went to work from 3 p.m. to midnight. I would get home at 12:30 a.m. and Isaac would be waiting for me…drunk. I would have some wine to wind down and go to sleep with Isaac. It was simple. It was sad. But, it was mine. And, I felt as loved as I could. And then, I passed out for the first time.

Our abnormal psych class took a field trip to the state mental hospital. It was very exciting, at least to me it was. It was hot as usual, and the bus trip seemed long, but of course I had my big gulp. We were herded in like cattle through the areas that we were allowed to see. For the most part, everything was very sterile and somewhat "cleaned up" for us. But, then we went to the children's ward. There wasn't anything grotesque or shocking, but ther was a sense of hopelessness. The room seemed not as tall as normal. It was small. I tried to separate myself from the group and hug the back cinderblock wall. There was a display of brochures next to me that I tried to focus on…abuse, attention deficit disorder, bulimia;…I started to slide down the wall. I felt paper and metal. Then, I saw Doc Oz's face. "Are you okay? Do you want to go outside?" he said. I must have said yes. It's unclear to me now. But, Doc Oz and I went outside on the steps of the children's ward at the State Mental Hospital in Phoenix. "Are you pregnant?" he asked me. And all I could think was….am I that fat? "No, no, I'm not pregnant. I probably just drank too much last night." That excuse seemed to appease him. We resumed the tour. I succeeded in covering up my secret. So, I must be okay. Right? I am. I am okay. Isaac hasn't noticed. And Lola and Henry are oblivious. They are in love.

Lola wants me to love Isaac. And by love Isaac, I mean be "in love" with Isaac. Henry is an alcoholic and so is Isaac. We could commiserate together. I can't love him. Not really. I can only spend every night with him, and hold him, but I don't have love to give to anyone. I just can't. I have another lover. But, my apparent lack of love is causing tension with everyone. It's unbearable. I have acquired a tic. It's odd. I chop carrots. I buy carrots in bulk from Mega Foods on 67th avenue and chop carrot sticks whenever I am home. I clogged the disposal with the peelings. Lola thinks I am crazy. I am sure of it. But, for some reason, the repetition of the chopping motion seems to calm me. I wrote my final paper on obsessive compulsive disorder.

Our final project for Doc Oz's class was to pick a disorder that we identify with and write a paper on it. I picked OCD, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I don't pick the disorder that is eating me from within because I still think I have hidden it so cleverly. I can hide my pain from the real world with OCD and carrot sticks. If I can chop enough carrot sticks to clog the disposal, I can mask the real pain. I got an A.

Isaac….he calls to tell me to dress up and he will pick me up for our final date. He doesn't say "final date", but it is. I am moving. Moving on. I am moving to Flagstaff, Arizona. Phoenix is too hot and I think Lola and Henry know my secret. Of course they know. But, I am going to move to Flagstaff with my friend Duncan. But, tonight, I will be with Isaac. We went to the Hyatt revolving restaurant in downtown Phoenix. I don't remember what we ate, but I do know what I felt. I felt special. More special than I have ever felt in my life. He was a drunk, but he had passion. It pierced my soul. I got lost when I went to the bathroom because the restaurant rotates around while the center stands still. Isaac found me.

Isaac got a room in the Hyatt for us to stay the night. The view was beautiful and we had champagne. He gave me roses and told me he loved me before he passed out. I wonder to this day, if he remembers.