Our Story: Part III

Continuing our story... Read Part 1 and Part II by clicking the links.

That year long engagement was a whirlwind of activity. The prince was involved in every activity from setting the date, picking out the cardstock for the DIY invitations, deciding on the color scheme, and choosing flowers. He even attended a Bridal Expo! The princess knew she was very lucky.

As months turned to weeks and then windled down to days, the two became more committed to one another and more excited about their life together.

The September 8, 2007 wedding was a beautiful evening affair. Amongst candlelight, the two pledged their lives to one another among their dearest family and friends. They committed fidelity through better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health 'til death do them part them "and even then will I love you."

In those early months the princess knew more love and laughter than she ever imagined possible. The two grew together as individuals, as a couple, and in their faith. They truly believed the "honeymoon period" would never end as each day they found themselves more in love than the previous.

****

But, in life, as in fairytales, good things do come to an end, at least for a time. In the fall of 2009, Duke Depression started weaseling his way into their happy home. By the following June it became obvious the princess was not experiencing an unusually long bout of seasonal affect depressive disorder (SADD), but was in "big D depression."  The winter of 2010 was the darkest the two ever went through as the Duke held the princess in his grasp.

The knights and ladies of the Monday Night Posse circled around the two, surrounding them with physical, emotional, and spiritual support. The nearly two years that followed would have been much darker, and maybe had a sadder ending, without them.

While the Duke held the princess captive, the prince set about managing life for the both of them - cleaning the house, making meals, paying the bills - while attending school and working full-time. His caretaking was so appreciated by the princess who considered getting out of bed and going to work a victory.

***

With the loving support of family and friends, counseling, severing unhealthy relationships, and an 18-month dose of Lord Zoloft, the princess began to reclaim her life bit by bit. By April 2012 she could confidently say she felt like herself and she fearlessly kicked the Duke to the curb.  

Reunited, the prince and princess celebrated their victory, became excited about hopes and dreams they thought lost for a time, and looked forward to their brighter future with the same unbridled enthusiasm they had entered their union.

The two didn't realize they were merely in an intermission and a bigger story was still playing out. Soon life would take another unexpected turn.

Thankful Thursday: Promises

I haven't written a "Thankful Thursday" post in awhile and today I realized I'm thankful for promises.

My history is, as I'm sure everyone's is, littered with broken promises. Some that caused tears, some that caused scars, and still others that resulted in a complete loss of trust.

The thing with broken promises, though, is they make the promises that are kept that much sweeter.

Today, I'm thankful that my friend who said she'd always be there for me when we were eleven is still one of the few people I talk to on a regular basis.

I'm thankful my husband has truly stood by me in sickness and health, richer and poorer, good times and bad, especially the sick/poor/bad.

I'm thankful that the promise I most doubted, the one that people I trust most uttered one after another, seems to be coming to fruition. I'm going to be okay.

Stronger

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who are we to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so other people won’t feel insecure around you… And as we let our light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.” ~ Marianne Williamson

War Wounds

"And you know what the worst part was? He was one of the Army guys who just got back [from Iraq on Tuesday]." 

My brother's voice reverberated in my head as I drove through the back roads and geological wonders of central Oregon, racing towards my first home. My weekend plans for a run with my BFF in Bend, shopping, and picking up our anniversary project from the ceramic shop cut short by a 7 am phone call. A night in the ER, seven stitches total, missing teeth, possible jaw fracture. The Flag didn't drop to the ground and neither did he.

The story I had heard played over in my head, despite Safe Haven audiobook on level 15 volume trying to drown out my sobs. A night with friends, two beers, visiting with the bartender who used to be our neighbor, leaving at 1 am for home. Hearing a crack as he left, turning the corner to see what was going on. Then it happened.

My brother, full of righteous anger, grabbed the Flag from the ground, drenched in urine, started folding it, and asked the guy who the f *ck he thought he was pissing on the American flag. The "kid" rose to the challenge and asked Bobby what he knew about the damn flag. My brother told him he was a Marine for six years, fought for the flag, had friends that died for the flag, that he almost died for it, so who the hell was he. He was one of the Army guys, young, just returned from Iraq. Then the kid charged.

My heart caught in my throat again as I remembered that part of the story. "You know what the worst part was? He was one of the Army guys who just got back." My brother and I had started sobbing three hundred some miles apart. "I couldn't hit him. He was my brother. He was wrong, but he was my brother. I took three to the face like a champ, never hit the ground, and had a death grip on the flag. I should have killed him, and I would have gone to prison and I'd be okay with that, but I couldn't even hit him back."

At first, in the confusion, the crowd had held my brother back, but when the fourth punch landed they realized there was only one aggressor in that "fight." The kid walked away and Bobby went back inside to wash his hands. Then he caught his reflection.

Three missing teeth, one barely hanging on, seven stitches total, possible jaw fracture and oral surgery, liquid diet. And one heck of a swollen lip. He never raised a hand to the kid who obviously had war demons of his own. The Flag didn't hit the ground and neither did he.

***

Author's Note: I wrote this post a number of ways on my four hour drive on Sunday from Bend to Baker. I cried a lot and I cried more remembering the pain in my brother's voice as he told his story. In the end, I decided to leave out the commentary in my head on lack of veteran support and reintegration and tell the story simply as it played in my head. What struck me the most on the drive home was until this point my brother's war scars had been mental. Now, a civilian for a month, he received some very physical war wounds on the street of his hometown, from a fellow soldier and veteran. That is the part that hurts all of us the most.

Thankful Thursday: Just Dance in the Rain

I received a special treat today - an introduction to a new music artist. I've always identified with music more than any other medium. My brother and I always joked, "Things too stupid to say are nearly always sung," (that is an actual quote from someone famous) and I don't think I'd have it any other way.



Between the depression I've had for the last year plus and the fact that it's winter in the Willamette Valley and that's always hard on me, I'm finding this song beautiful and encouraging. A huge thank you to A{muse}ing Mommy on a Pink Park Bench for sharing Rhyne McCormick's work with her readers this morning.

Just let the rain fall down and be free...

Thankful Thursday: Health

9 members of Monday Night Posse at White Canyon Trail

Today, I am thankful for health. I'm thankful that I can wake up in the morning and get out of bed without pain or assistance. I'm thankful my body is capable of running 4.5 miles without fatigue, even if I'm not as fast as I would like to be. I'm thankful that, despite my lack of coordination, I can follow a Belly Butt Thigh aerobic class without fainting. Tripping maybe, but no fainting.

I'm also thankful that for the first time in three years I can consistently take my wedding ring on and off easily, hike up mountains without feeling like I'm suffocating, and live an active lifestyle without wanting to throw up. I'm thankful to finally be seeing results as I consciously make decisions to improve my whole mind, body, spirit. I like the changes I'm seeing - physically and mentally - and I'm feeling very hopeful for the future and appreciating the now.

Tomorrow I will join my best friend in Bend, my husband, and several other crazies at the Riverbend Park. From there, we will plunge into the icy waters. I've never been one for cold water, but the cause is worthwhile. Special Olympics of Oregon is the beneficiary of the Polar Plunge Oregon events. I am healthy and getting more athletic by the day. Nothing moves me more than people with the odds stacked against them doing incredible things - Special Olympics of Oregon helps athletes with intellectual disabilities be the best they can be every day, in every season, at every age. (If you'd like to donate to this awesome cause, you may do so by clicking on the Polar Plunge link on the right side of my homepage or click here. Do it for the kids.)

What inspires you to be better/healthier?

Thankful Thursday: Compassion

The last couple weeks have been really difficult and therefore difficult to find things to be thankful for. I made a short list yesterday...

I'm thankful for friends that will listen to my deepest darkest secrets without judging.

I'm thankful for friends that upon hearing those secrets will come clean my house, make me dinner, and rearrange my office. It doesn't fix the problem, but I felt very loved.

I'm thankful for my babysitters. As ridiculous as it is to need a babysitter, it's good to know no matter how unloved and lonely I feel sometimes there are people who will step in and ease that ache.

I'm thankful for my husband who doesn't yell back when I start to verbally vomit, left work during the busiest part of the day so I could make it to my counseling appointment, is always supportive, and gives the best hugs in the world.

No, things aren't easy right now and I'm getting to the point I can't pretend otherwise. But amidst the darkness I've found an amazing support system and the freedom that comes from being honest about how difficult things are. As one friend lovingly told me, "You're going to be okay because we all love you and we're going to help you through this. You just have to let us."

Miss Goody-Two-Shoes Got a Tattoo

At some point in my life, notably around age 13, I got a reputation for being judgmental and a goody-two-shoes. (Would someone please explain that term to me?) I'm not sure what spurred that or how it followed me into adulthood, but that is precisely what happened.

As best as I can tell, I am perceived as judgmental because I hold myself to a very high moral code. Please read that again. I hold myself to a very high moral code. I do not expect that others live by my standards. Where would be the fun in that?

The goody-two-shoes part I more easily understand. I don't drink (much). I don't swear (often). And I don't smoke. I don't have an aversion to any of those things, I just don't have any use for them in my life. Alcohol is not a social lubricant for me - it makes me sleepy and less fun to be around - so I limit my intake. I was profoundly influenced by a  For Better or For Worse comic strip about the beauty of language when I was a child and never had any use for swearing. (Sometimes nothing less than a good swear will do, but for the most part I sound ridiculous when I swear, so I don't.) Smoking is a nasty habit I never picked up. That's really all there is to it. I do enjoy a good "chick cigar" from time to time, but it's not really something I have occasion for often. 

Somewhere along the way I also got the reputation, mainly among my mother and siblings, that I am a horrific prude. Which I find hilarious and take advantage of often. We'll just leave it at that. 
 
So, all that said, I should not have been surprised by the reaction to my coming home with a tattoo. (Coming home used metaphorically, no one in my home was surprised.) I have talked about getting a tattoo for six years, but never knew what I wanted or where I wanted to put it. Tattoos became more mainstream my Junior year of high school and many girls went to Boise on their 18th birthdays to get what are now known as tramp stamps. So glad I didn't go through with that plan.   
 
Three years ago I decided I wanted a memorial tattoo for my friend, Rhiannon. I thought about getting something similar to the 4sailors.com logo, but was (appropriately) mocked for that idea. I still wanted some form of sailboat, though, but could never find the right design for the size I wanted (smallish). Sailboats get cheesy really fast. The second inhibitor to my getting a tattoo was I really didn't want to go by myself. 
 
During the hike to Lonesome Pine on Sunday I was carrying on with my whining about the girls going to get tattoos without me earlier in the week. (Ya'll have realized I don't let go of things easily, right?) Lynn, Rhiannon's mom, had asked me what I wanted to get and I told her a sailboat for Rhiannon and she said, "You could do that, but what about a compass rose?" I instantly loved the idea and knew that was what I should do. At that moment my friend said, "Actually, we found a tattoo parlor in Baker and were going to take you there this afternoon." (What she didn't say was, "So you'll quit your whining," but it was understood.)

Lynn, Nike, and artist Lindsay at Shifty's Tattoo.

Lynn helped me pick the design and colors at the tattoo parlor, which was conveniently open on Sunday because the owner's girlfriend was out of town, and she and my best friend sat with me while the work was done. Having them there made it that much more meaningful.

The work was painful. Some of it was more irritating than painful, but pain was involved (think having a needle drug over your skin and bee stings). The thing I can't explain is somehow going through that process and having a beautiful piece to remember my friend with released something in me. I went home to my parents that evening and cried, really cried, for the first time in three years. The pain of loss has always been there, but I've never acknowledged it. 

Part of me feels as though I've taken a step back because I am actually feeling the grief and hurt. Another part sees this as a huge stepping off point. During my counseling session yesterday I did some more crying and told my counselor about my weekend. As I was blabbering I realized there's a part of me that has been holding back from life because Rhiannon's gone. She experienced everything first - driving, boyfriends, moving away from home, etc - and in many ways paved the way for the rest of us. Her choices weren't always wise, but she set out to do whatever she set her mind to. 

Part of me feels guilty for living life and doing things she'll never experience. Turning 23 was really difficult for me cause all I could think was Rhiannon didn't come home for her 23rd birthday and for the first time I was older than she'll ever be.

From this point on I am taking steps to live life intentionally and with purpose. Being consumed by grief is not what she would want. Holding back from experiencing life to the fullest does not honor her memory. She is with me in memory and in spirit and the best way to acknowledge that is to chase after my dreams as fearlessly as she did.  

Compass Rose for maritime direction.
As long as you know where North is you will always find your way home.

The Journey: Rediscovering Self

 "You must dare to disassociate yourself from those who would delay your journey... Leave, depart, if not physically, then mentally. Go your own way, quietly, undramatically, and venture toward trueness at last." ~ Vernon Howard

 

I have been on a journey of sorts for the last several months. Trying to remember who I am... my values... my beliefs... my true self. It's been upsetting. Challenging. Unnerving. And I'm not finished yet. In fact, the real work is just beginning. 

 

Last fall I learned some things, and re-remembered things, about my past that have had an unexpected affect on my present. I've shared before that I have always been the one to take care of everyone else and in doing that I have neglected to take care of myself. I didn't think that was a problem. Then the irrational anger started, followed by spontaneous cry-fests, leading up to a glorious two months of not sleeping or having night terrors when I've always been a sleeping pro. (They would be called night terrors if I was two, I don't know what the term is when you're 25, so we'll just go with that.) Now I have all of it.

After several months of fighting against it, I have heeded the advice of people who love me and have started the path to counseling. I met with a professional last Friday and have decided to try working with her starting this Wednesday. 

 

When I first realized there were bigger issues than I could handle on my own, or with the love of my support system, my husband and I knew this may be where the path led. I have held my cards, so to speak, very close to the vest for a number of reasons, none of which were shame. I want to be very clear on that: there is absolutely no shame in admitting you need help and if talking to a counselor is where your path takes you, embrace it. 

 

I told my husband at the beginning of this journey that if/when I began counseling it would not be a secret, but until then I felt more comfortable with as few people knowing what was going on as possible. As I recently told K, "I can't be an advocate for reducing mental health stigma if I am not honest about my own struggles."

 

That is not to say I'm not struggling with an onslaught of emotions. I'm still pissed to be in this place to being with. The rational people in my life are telling me those feelings are valid. I want to forget and move on, but that hasn't worked out so well the last few months. My foundation has a fracture in it and its put everything else helter skelter as well. 

 

I'm hopeful that seeing this counselor will help me move past this to a place of healing. I'm terrified of what else might come out over the next several months, but mostly hopeful. I know the work I need to do, I just really need direction to get it done. (I know ya'll just said, "Git R done," admit it... okay, bad joke.) Most of all, I am feeling so blessed to have a husband who has stuck by me through the roller coaster of emotions and such a wonderful support system. That makes all the difference.