It's amazing how in a very brief space of time what was once unmanageable can become doable and how a place that was once a void of abject blackness can become filled with the brightest light. It's amazing how a spark of hope turns into an inferno of passion and paralyzing stagnation can become purposeful movement.
Two weeks ago if you would have told me that I'd not only be writing these words but believing them with all my heart, I would have shook my head in despair and disbelief. But as I sit here for the first time this year feeling the rush of optimism and positivity, I know that it is more than just a feeling, but God Himself coursing through me, cleaning out the sludge left behind by endless months of sadness and countless years of self-abuse and unhealthy food.
I know that all I have to do is take care of this vessel that I have been given, and treat it with love and compassion so that it may last a long time and enable me to do the work that lies ahead of me. I also know that this is exactly where I'm supposed to be, right here, right now, and that I no longer have to question what lies ahead because all that matters is today.
Today is all any of us has and today is always a gift. And that is why we call it the present.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Misplaced Romanticism
I'm fascinated by the plights of artists and the often amazing, albeit tragic, art that comes about as a result of their pain and suffering. Van Gogh, Hemingway and Cobain may have lived in different times and used different mediums to express themselves, but all of them were masters of their respective crafts and all of them suffered from the same hideous, debilitating disease that eventually caused them to take their own lives.
I can understand how it happened. As the years went by and their brains decayed, they spiraled deeper and deeper into despair until they were so low that they firmly believed the only way out was with the shovel they used to dig their own grave.
I have to wonder if they had moments of clarity leading up to their demise where they stepped outside of themselves and thought "I am in real trouble, I need help." Or did they just head down that dark path without looking back?
As the years have passed, their deaths have come to be romanticized to the point that we forget the brutal truth - that they were sick. It is hard to avoid the bitter irony that the same condition that helped them create such beauty is also the condition that drove them to commit suicide. People have theorized at length about the correlation between creativity and mental illness. College courses have been built around it, people have given speeches about it, scientists have studied it and I have to wonder if that kind of awareness has helped to save lives.
Suffering from depression myself, I know that when I sink to the black place it's a vacuum of my own creation that prevents me from really understanding that I'm not the only one that feels this way. That's the problem with a vacuum - it consumes everything, including rational thought.
I can understand how it happened. As the years went by and their brains decayed, they spiraled deeper and deeper into despair until they were so low that they firmly believed the only way out was with the shovel they used to dig their own grave.
I have to wonder if they had moments of clarity leading up to their demise where they stepped outside of themselves and thought "I am in real trouble, I need help." Or did they just head down that dark path without looking back?
As the years have passed, their deaths have come to be romanticized to the point that we forget the brutal truth - that they were sick. It is hard to avoid the bitter irony that the same condition that helped them create such beauty is also the condition that drove them to commit suicide. People have theorized at length about the correlation between creativity and mental illness. College courses have been built around it, people have given speeches about it, scientists have studied it and I have to wonder if that kind of awareness has helped to save lives.
Suffering from depression myself, I know that when I sink to the black place it's a vacuum of my own creation that prevents me from really understanding that I'm not the only one that feels this way. That's the problem with a vacuum - it consumes everything, including rational thought.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Steps from Inspiration
When I lived in LA I truly believed that moving to New York would make me happy. I had always thought that the lifestyle would fit me like a glove - living the second half of my life in a small apartment in the big city with lots of books, my cat and all the inspiration this bustling metropolis could provide. I thought it would be the perfect setting for me to write that novel that I would option for a couple million and firmly establish my place in pop culture.
And here I am - living on a block on the Upper West Side that would make even Nora Ephron jealous, surrounded by nothing but inspiration and I can't even bring myself to go outside. If no one is counting on me to be somewhere, I find it nearly impossible to leave my apartment. I don't want anyone to look at me - I can't stomach what I think they must think of me and my appearance. It doesn't help that I have to pass a huge mirror as I'm walking out of my building. If I happen to glance at my reflection I will almost certainly have some form of an anxiety attack and go back inside my apartment to scour my closet for clothes that are more flattering - clothes I already know I don't own, but I look anyway.
And so my workday begins on a note of deep self-loathing that is only magnified by being completely isolated at work. Not that my coworkers are bad people - they're not - we just don't have anything in common. Amazingly enough, the three other women that make up our team of four are all getting married. Talk about being the odd man out - I'm not even in a relationship. Needless to say, I have nothing to contribute to their incessant conversations about wedding rings, wedding receptions, wedding planners, wedding cakes...and even scarier, all of these conversations will eventually mutate into discussions about baby showers, baby names, baby furniture and baby clothes. And that will officially push me over the edge.
I suppose all of this would be easier to stomach if I had a job that was in any way gratifying. I have a job that "a million girls would kill for," or at least they think that they would. But just like my believing that moving to New York was going to make me happy, my job is not all it's cracked up to be - at least I don't think it is. To be honest, nothing in my life has ever been the solution to my problems in the way I'd hoped it would be.
Which can only mean that this emptiness I feel transcends geography and careers. I suspect it's tied into body image, but I've managed to sabotage every attempt I've ever made to fix that one too. So I can only ask myself, what did I ever do to me that makes me hate me so much that I can't stop "going all medieval on my ass?" More importantly, what's it going to take to get me to stop?!
And here I am - living on a block on the Upper West Side that would make even Nora Ephron jealous, surrounded by nothing but inspiration and I can't even bring myself to go outside. If no one is counting on me to be somewhere, I find it nearly impossible to leave my apartment. I don't want anyone to look at me - I can't stomach what I think they must think of me and my appearance. It doesn't help that I have to pass a huge mirror as I'm walking out of my building. If I happen to glance at my reflection I will almost certainly have some form of an anxiety attack and go back inside my apartment to scour my closet for clothes that are more flattering - clothes I already know I don't own, but I look anyway.
And so my workday begins on a note of deep self-loathing that is only magnified by being completely isolated at work. Not that my coworkers are bad people - they're not - we just don't have anything in common. Amazingly enough, the three other women that make up our team of four are all getting married. Talk about being the odd man out - I'm not even in a relationship. Needless to say, I have nothing to contribute to their incessant conversations about wedding rings, wedding receptions, wedding planners, wedding cakes...and even scarier, all of these conversations will eventually mutate into discussions about baby showers, baby names, baby furniture and baby clothes. And that will officially push me over the edge.
I suppose all of this would be easier to stomach if I had a job that was in any way gratifying. I have a job that "a million girls would kill for," or at least they think that they would. But just like my believing that moving to New York was going to make me happy, my job is not all it's cracked up to be - at least I don't think it is. To be honest, nothing in my life has ever been the solution to my problems in the way I'd hoped it would be.
Which can only mean that this emptiness I feel transcends geography and careers. I suspect it's tied into body image, but I've managed to sabotage every attempt I've ever made to fix that one too. So I can only ask myself, what did I ever do to me that makes me hate me so much that I can't stop "going all medieval on my ass?" More importantly, what's it going to take to get me to stop?!
Monday, April 18, 2011
Fending off the wolves
The best part about Monday night is that it means Monday day is already behind you. I'm tucked into bed, laptop on lap, House Hunters on the television, cat kneading the blanket at my feet. It's about as cozy a scene as there ever was. It would be absolutely perfect if it weren't for that pesky feeling of impending doom.
Even though I can't hear them howling outside my door right at this moment, I know that the wolves will emerge sooner or later. Sure, tonight they may be wandering the streets of London looking for beef chow mein, but they'll alight on New York's Upper West Side sooner or later and I'm praying I'll have silver bullets handy.
Even though I can't hear them howling outside my door right at this moment, I know that the wolves will emerge sooner or later. Sure, tonight they may be wandering the streets of London looking for beef chow mein, but they'll alight on New York's Upper West Side sooner or later and I'm praying I'll have silver bullets handy.
Friday, April 15, 2011
One wave at a time
One day at a time, one choice at a time, one step at a time, one breath at a time...it's really all I can do right now. I went to the doctor today and I'd gained 12 pounds since I was there last. It wasn't terribly surprising - I can always tell when I've gotten bigger. Everything is harder - walking, sitting, sleeping, breathing... I wanted to feel the number when I saw it on the scale, but even though I feel like I'm on an upward swing, I'm still almost completely numb.
I want to feel my life so I'm going to a new doctor who will hopefully be able to find me a drug that will help me to do that. I know that I can't do this on my own, but for whatever reason, for every aid that I put into place, I put up an even more hideous obstacle. Like I put a trampoline down to help me land safely, but I put it right next to a brick wall covered with razor blades.
I really don't know why I can't just take care of myself the same way I take care of other people - why I will always choose to inconvenience myself rather than someone else. Not really sure what it's about, but it's been that way just about my whole life. So maybe it's time to start being a little more "self-centered," in a good way. Maybe it's time to really figure this all out.
My therapist told me it's up to me to be the captain of my own ship and not be buffeted about by the waves. I suppose I should learn how to tie knots, or perhaps, how to UN-tie them. I've always been prone to sea sickness so this should be interesting...
I want to feel my life so I'm going to a new doctor who will hopefully be able to find me a drug that will help me to do that. I know that I can't do this on my own, but for whatever reason, for every aid that I put into place, I put up an even more hideous obstacle. Like I put a trampoline down to help me land safely, but I put it right next to a brick wall covered with razor blades.
I really don't know why I can't just take care of myself the same way I take care of other people - why I will always choose to inconvenience myself rather than someone else. Not really sure what it's about, but it's been that way just about my whole life. So maybe it's time to start being a little more "self-centered," in a good way. Maybe it's time to really figure this all out.
My therapist told me it's up to me to be the captain of my own ship and not be buffeted about by the waves. I suppose I should learn how to tie knots, or perhaps, how to UN-tie them. I've always been prone to sea sickness so this should be interesting...
Thursday, April 14, 2011
My family of origin
My therapist says I have a problem with justice. She also says that I can't seem to break from my family of origin, despite the fact that I live half a country away from them. I know that I'm seriously conflicted. No matter how much I miss my family and feel an obligation to them, the idea of living out my days in middle America makes me a little queasy.
Don't get me wrong - the HGTV junkie in me is completely aware of the fact that I could buy a big ol' farmhouse on several acres for $200,000 less than I'm spending on 300 square feet in New York City. And yet I can't seem to bring myself to do it. What is it about needing to live "in the middle of it all?" It was probably that damn Tom & Jerry cartoon "Mouse in Manhattan." Jerry forsakes life with Tom in the country and heads to the big city where he stows away on a train that takes him right into Grand Central. He then wanders around, seeing the sites, taking in the grandeur that is New York City. I was completely mesmerized by his experience and wasn't even swayed when it all went terribly, horribly wrong in the end and he high-tales it back to the boonies and that old devil he knows, Tom the cat.
But cartoon mice aside, there is something in me that just won't let me move back to the breadbasket and "settle down," even when it all goes terribly, horribly wrong, which it seems to do on a semi-regular basis. OK, maybe not TERRIBLY, HORRIBLY wrong - I've never been to jail (Good Lord -I just realized there's no wood anywhere near me) and I somehow keep hanging in there, be it by the grace of God or the goodwill of friends and family.
So - despite not living in the same city as my parents, I've never been able to make the very necessary, healthy break that will enable me to really grow up. I know that I need to lay down their pain - the pain that I've been carrying around all these years because I believed it was my duty, even though they never asked me to. It's time to lay it down and head down a different path because I want to go down it, not because I believe I'm obligated to take it.
So...is this me...laying down this pain...? I'll let you know if I notice any difference in my shoulders tomorrow.
Don't get me wrong - the HGTV junkie in me is completely aware of the fact that I could buy a big ol' farmhouse on several acres for $200,000 less than I'm spending on 300 square feet in New York City. And yet I can't seem to bring myself to do it. What is it about needing to live "in the middle of it all?" It was probably that damn Tom & Jerry cartoon "Mouse in Manhattan." Jerry forsakes life with Tom in the country and heads to the big city where he stows away on a train that takes him right into Grand Central. He then wanders around, seeing the sites, taking in the grandeur that is New York City. I was completely mesmerized by his experience and wasn't even swayed when it all went terribly, horribly wrong in the end and he high-tales it back to the boonies and that old devil he knows, Tom the cat.
But cartoon mice aside, there is something in me that just won't let me move back to the breadbasket and "settle down," even when it all goes terribly, horribly wrong, which it seems to do on a semi-regular basis. OK, maybe not TERRIBLY, HORRIBLY wrong - I've never been to jail (Good Lord -I just realized there's no wood anywhere near me) and I somehow keep hanging in there, be it by the grace of God or the goodwill of friends and family.
So - despite not living in the same city as my parents, I've never been able to make the very necessary, healthy break that will enable me to really grow up. I know that I need to lay down their pain - the pain that I've been carrying around all these years because I believed it was my duty, even though they never asked me to. It's time to lay it down and head down a different path because I want to go down it, not because I believe I'm obligated to take it.
So...is this me...laying down this pain...? I'll let you know if I notice any difference in my shoulders tomorrow.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Aim Adjustment
I spent the better part of my day with a bunch of coworkers traveling to and from a wake. I mean, it sounds like a joke, right? "A group of coworkers went to a wake..."
So there I am, trapped in a van with nothing to do but listen in on the conversation of four women, all of whom are getting married in the near future. They discussed ad nauseum the number of wedding dresses they had tried on, the numerous meetings they'd had to take with various caterers, their favorite trends in cake design, what islands they were considering for their honeymoons and even their favorite baby names.
And all I could think is "Jesus, I've got NOTHING in common with any of these people." It wouldn't be a big deal except that THESE people, these coworkers and fellow passengers of this Econoline van, make up the sum total of just about everyone I know in New York City, which is where I now live. For better or for worse. And I wonder why I'm depressed.
Truth be told, I've been trying to keep some sort of perspective in the midst of being dealt a number of challenges from the universe. I'm in financially dire straits yet again. It is a state of being I'm far too familiar with, having been broke most of my 41 years. And at a certain point you kind of have to ask yourself what you're doing wrong. I mean, I work hard, don't I? I went back to school in my thirties and got my degree and set about getting what I thought would turn out to be my dream career.
When I got my "promotion" after four long years as one of the oldest assistants in the department, everyone was thrilled, telling me no one deserved it more. And now I'm alone and broke in NYC, but I get to be a publicist for a big movie studio in the greatest city in the world. But it could seriously be worse - I don't live in Japan. Gotta keep reminding myself of that.
But I also gotta ask myself, what am I doing here in this current situation and how do I get myself OUT of it? And moreover, why am I always in a situation I need to get myself out of? Why does everyone in the office seem to have a better quality of life that includes traveling and theater tickets and shoes and restaurants? Clearly I'm missing the mark. Not sure if it's bad eyesight, a faulty bow, crooked arrows or weak triceps, but I seriously need to readjust my aim.
So there I am, trapped in a van with nothing to do but listen in on the conversation of four women, all of whom are getting married in the near future. They discussed ad nauseum the number of wedding dresses they had tried on, the numerous meetings they'd had to take with various caterers, their favorite trends in cake design, what islands they were considering for their honeymoons and even their favorite baby names.
And all I could think is "Jesus, I've got NOTHING in common with any of these people." It wouldn't be a big deal except that THESE people, these coworkers and fellow passengers of this Econoline van, make up the sum total of just about everyone I know in New York City, which is where I now live. For better or for worse. And I wonder why I'm depressed.
Truth be told, I've been trying to keep some sort of perspective in the midst of being dealt a number of challenges from the universe. I'm in financially dire straits yet again. It is a state of being I'm far too familiar with, having been broke most of my 41 years. And at a certain point you kind of have to ask yourself what you're doing wrong. I mean, I work hard, don't I? I went back to school in my thirties and got my degree and set about getting what I thought would turn out to be my dream career.
When I got my "promotion" after four long years as one of the oldest assistants in the department, everyone was thrilled, telling me no one deserved it more. And now I'm alone and broke in NYC, but I get to be a publicist for a big movie studio in the greatest city in the world. But it could seriously be worse - I don't live in Japan. Gotta keep reminding myself of that.
But I also gotta ask myself, what am I doing here in this current situation and how do I get myself OUT of it? And moreover, why am I always in a situation I need to get myself out of? Why does everyone in the office seem to have a better quality of life that includes traveling and theater tickets and shoes and restaurants? Clearly I'm missing the mark. Not sure if it's bad eyesight, a faulty bow, crooked arrows or weak triceps, but I seriously need to readjust my aim.
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