This blog is coming to you in two parts.    

Part One: PAX West

     I went to PAX for the first time ever. I've lived in Seattle my whole life, I've loved video games since I can remember, I worked in the video game industry, and I never went. I thought I wouldn't have people to go with. I wouldn't know what to do. I wouldn't know where to go. I'd end up alone and overwhelmed and scared. I never think I belong anywhere. Anxiety.

     This year, the stars aligned. I live a block from the light rail, so I couldn't use parking as an excuse to not go. I cat-sat Leigh & Ryan's cat's in exchange for a badge, and I got the day off. I honestly had no idea what to expect. It was POURING rain on my walk to the light rail, and every train car was full of PAX attendees. As we filed into the convention center, I had no idea where I was going, but following the river of rain-soaked people seemed to be the only option anyway. When I walked into the dark & neon main hall, I smiled, I felt excitement, I felt giddy. I immediately ran into my friend Joe dressed as a King, who I swirled away from in a rush of excitement. Walking around was sensory overload in the best way. I was with my people. Why do I pretend I have no tribe? Why do I tell myself I belong nowhere?

     We played a game called Blockships, at the PAX 10. Super fun. Leigh and Ryan are into pin trading, so I tagged along with taking pictures and other tasks to get pins. My first pin was Toejam & Earl, I traded it during the Penny Arcade staff trading event for a cute Kemper one.

     After the convention center closed, we ended up at Gameworks for some free event. When Gameworks opened in 1997, I went with my family. I don't remember much except pure anxiety. It was bright, and loud, and crazy. I remember wanting to be a part of the fun, wanting to play games, but being too afraid. Too afraid to look dumb. Too afraid to seen. I hadn't been back since.
    At this event, we got free beer, and free game cards. I played whatever game I wanted with abandon, and we used the majority of our credits trying to win Adventure Time plush toys from a claw machine. It felt like I conquered so much that day. I was reminded how important other people are. How important it is to do things that bring child-like joy. To drop the performance. To do things that cause anxiety and bust through that anxiety anyway. The other side is a sunlit clearing, with cats and friends and hugs. And video games and laughter and good food. There is happiness to be found, and the affects of it leave a shimmering gold thread that outshines the dark gray woolly ones.
     Thanks to a surprise day off and very generous friends, I got to go on Monday, too. It was a chill day of aimless wandering. We played a co-op game called Meekazoo that had me roaring with laughter from our mistakes.
     Ever since Leigh and I have been buzzing about cosplay outfits we want to make. Maybe even in time for Emerald City Comic Con (I've never been to that one, either.) I'm planning to be Rainbow Quartz from Steven Universe.

Anyway. PAX was great. Another story after the break.





Part Two: A Hammock in a Park

     I got asked for a hammock for my birthday, and a good friend delivered! I found Bear Butt Hammocks, and I highly recommend. They're a tiny company making great hammocks at a way better price than ENO. I've always loved being in a hammock, I had one on my balcony for almost a decade. I didn't realize that part of the reason I love it so much, is it hugs you from the bottom. Half a swaddle. The other day, Grace and I woke up and went to Empire Coffee, where we got vegan donuts and coffee. We grabbed a sandwich and snacks from PCC, I filled my hydroflask with ice water, and brought a deck of cards. We found the most incredible spot under willow tree on the water in Seward Park. An absolutely delightful, peaceful day. I do not want to forget the way that feels. In the darkest times, I don't believe I can ever feel joy again. I have to document it. I have to be reminded of how good life can be. To lay cuddled in a swaying hammock, staring at the slowly moving leaves, hearing the gently lapping waves. It is difficult to hate yourself in this environment. Mt Rainier was in perfect, majestic view over the lake. There is something about mountains and trees, so much larger than me. So calm.

I wanted to start this by saying it first manifested as drug addiction, but I was sent to the psych ward for telling a cop I wanted to kill myself before I was ever addicted to opiates. From the very beginning I used substances (the first thing I ever abused was an over-the-counter sleep aid) to feel not like myself. Because I didn't like myself. I still don't.

When addiction became a serious problem, rehab (x3) and AA meetings (x∞) were helpful. The steps and companionship are incredibly valuable, and I have grown leaps and bounds because of the work I did there. So then you're an addict, the fringe scum of society. A junky. The helpless and hopeless.

I never felt well. I avoided medication for many years because I had been SUPER medicated prior to getting sober from illicit drugs, was prescribed many mental health drugs over the years. I also believed that if I was honest with myself and did The Steps and had the Higher Power, then I would eventually be free from my burden. Depression. Anxiety. Bipolar. PTSD. Whatever you want to call it. If you're not getting better, you're just not working hard enough. I kept trying.

Getting my job at Microsoft years ago was the biggest, longest, most intense anxiety battle of my life: interviewing, getting, and starting that job. But I fucking did it! What a drawn out, disassociated victory! Every meeting I had to go to made me sick (literally) with anxiety. I kept going. I persevered.

I guess once I relaxed a bit, anxiety turned into sitting in my office, working, with tears running down my face. I searched for & found my current therapist while sitting at that computer, and I decided to seriously re-consider taking medication for depression while also sitting in that office. I never poked even the tiniest of holes in my impostor syndrome, or depression, and my performance seriously suffered, as it always has in every job and school I've ever been to, which leads to further proof that I don't belong there. You have so much potential.

So I started Zoloft. And things got really great for awhile. The physical symptoms of my anxiety melted away, and I was able to do little things which led to big things in a really short time. I also moved teams, to one I thought would be a little more uplifting. It definitely was! And I moved out, into my first apartment. I want to shame myself here so you know how embarrassing I think that is, to be moving out at 26. It was a great place. I was very busy and had plenty of great days and have a great blog post about a very happy weekend.

I also felt like I was on the verge of losing it. I didn't feel like it was real, like I belonged, like it was going to last. I worked til midnight thirty and didn't have much of a social life. I started dating someone on my team. I felt new and alive and bold with him, and I enjoyed everything we did together immensely. I entered into an unconventional relationship with him because I couldn't help myself. I hadn't felt like that in years, never so intense. He said the way I smell gave him a physical reaction. What, walk away from infatuation like that? Has any single person ever successfully done that?  He was already in a relationship- an open one. It did not go well. From my perspective, their relationship was an extremely unhealthy co-dependent mess, and I shook up and cracked apart a very fragile framework. I got hit with the shrapnel and I exploded every chance I got after that. It is important to note that I was regularly seeing my therapist as well as sending her lengthy emails about all of this, and I take her advice incredibly seriously. It was nearly a year of off-and-on intense highs (best vacations and sex of my life) and seriously intense lows. I felt like a crazy person, completely out of control. I cried more than I ever thought possible, I bleached my hair so many times I had to shave my head, I screamed and yelled and cried at him when he left me / while we were apart - and it was awful. It was awful. I wanted to enjoy all of those good things and I would have been very happy to enjoy them with him. All while we worked on the same team, on the same shift, and our entire relationship was a secret. I covet my safe space on Twitter,  and I couldn't talk about this there. Everyone we know is on Twitter. I couldn't talk about it anywhere.

During a good patch, while my medication had recently been raised and/or he and I were together- I signed up for Beauty School. I worked 40 hours a week + commute, and went to school 30 hours a week + commute. That lasted from June 7th until my last day at Microsoft on September 19th. Hours or days later he said he didn't love me anymore and wasn't excited or passionate about being in a relationship with me anymore. (3rd time is the charm) And then I moved into a 187 square foot garage-convert with a leaky roof and a 5 gallon hot water tank. In West Seattle. In the winter. It was not good.

I was deeply depressed. I was making friends, and learning a skill that I was good at, still medicated, still in therapy, still feeling worthless. Still feeling unworthy. It is a deep loneliness, a giant sucking black hole between me and everything else. It kept me in bed, it told me I didn't care anyway. Maybe if I just lay there and close my eyes hard enough I will disappear completely. It was a stressful time, I was petitioning the state for the right to be paid to go to school after being fired (I won) and also had intense upper respiratory infections, probably from living in a moldy cave.

And then I was kicked out of beauty school for attendance. And in a lot of ways, that was sort of it for me. I think a piece big of hope inside me died that day. I didn't complete high school, I didn't complete shoreline community college, I couldn't even compete 13 months of Beauty School at 28. I can't do anything right.

I wish I knew exactly when it was, but I think it was around this time we added Wellbutrin on top of Zoloft to help combat crushing doom.


I appealed my termination. I got a letter from my therapist verifying/explaining Major Depressive Disorder and Anxiety. I sat with the director and I made a case for my return. This was extremely vulnerable for me, and I was unfortunately met with the reaction most of society has about mental illness: "Really? Sadness? Just try harder." I said some very strong words and cried and ate my resentment, and she ended up deciding to let me come back.

But then our landlords decided to sell the house, so we found an apartment in Columbia City. We just signed our second year lease here. Security. My job is 800ft from my apartment, and it is low stress. I had a job at PCC too and I made friends. I joke with everyone I talk to and I smile big and I change my hair color and I cry at night. Things are okay and I talk about self care and I am in therapy and I try, I try to do things. I feel the crushing weight and I think "I know I'm supposed to do something" and I try. I go through the self-care list and I wash my hair and I eat things and I try. Some days I have the mental and physical energy to write and perform a one-hour stand up special. I use it to do all my laundry and run a bunch of errands while I can. Other days, most days, my body is 10 pounds heavier with dread. I put on a good fucking act, though.

We changed my meds again, which eventually led to (we think?) horrible side effects and a trip to the ER. Now I'm on another new one.
I can't do this anymore is my prevailing thought. I think it a thousand times a day. I look at myself in the mirror and I shake my head and I think, I just can't. I shouldn't exist. They call this suicidal ideation, and it is loud. Because I'm tired, but I'm not aloud to stop. I barely have the energy to take care of myself, and the world yells "just keep going!"
I used to stay up at night because I dread the morning. I hate going to sleep because I hate waking up & doing it all again. I believe I am worthless, and hopeless, and lazy, and unworthy. I have so much evidence for it.

I have some evidence against it, but it's not enough.

I can't focus long enough to read anything longer than an article. My male psychical therapist triggered horrible sexual-trauma response. I haven't made myself a decent meal in a year. I haven't had sex in 2+ years. I can't keep my bills straight and I'm always paying late fees. I put a lot of my living expenses on a credit card. I can't see more than two weeks ahead and I have a terrible memory. I can't remember what plans I've made. I have a thousand item to-do list, that piles up and piles up as my brain says "Maybe you'll just drop dead tomorrow and you won't have to keep being a part of the matrix? Wouldn't that be nice?"

Last week I went on a hike and I recall feeling absolute bliss. I like hikes because the creator of EMDR discovered it hiking. But right now, I feel a complete disconnect from the Tara-in-the-woods, feeling-bliss-and-wonder.

"I am the saddest person I've ever known" is a thought I just had, and have a lot. I cry in the shower a lot. Think about a time when you felt utter despair, when you can feel gravity inside your chest and you sob until your eyes are swollen. Everyday. Sometimes starting at 9am. Crying is tiring, but the despair is killing me. It is literally trying to kill me. My tears are huge lately. It's been so noticeable I Googled it and mentioned it to my therapist. Just this second I realized it could be that I'm just well hydrated. Or maybe my eyes are just really good at crying. They were meant for it.

Ksenia Anske keeps telling Twitter (and me) to write. She writes every day and she is honest and she pours out herself into her writing.

 So I wrote. I am still crying. I am very, very tired. I do not want to do this anymore, but I will.
I don't know what to call it anymore, it was Bipolar Disorder when I was 15, Major Depression now, or Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which isn't even in the DSM-V but fucking should be, or.... does it matter? I'm struggling, I'm drowning. I talk about it on Twitter a little, but I am not otherwise open about it. It's shameful, it's embarrassing, it's my fault. I thought I could hide it until it went away. I don't know what else to do anymore. So I wrote.

Inspired by Blodia/Lorien,

#DateSomeoneWho

I wanna date someone who goes to fairs and amusement parks and has tons of fun.

I wanna date someone who puts their hand on my heart while I cry.

I wanna date someone who loves dogs and cats and animals as much as I do. Best case scenario I date someone who already owns great dogs. ;)

I wanna date someone who isn't afraid to be wrong, or look dumb.

I wanna date someone who can call me out lovingly.  Be my honest, yet rose colored mirror.

I wanna date someone who likes when I wear really androgynous clothes, and super feminine ones.

I wanna date someone who thinks I look awesome without makeup and also awesome with a full face & black lipstick.

I wanna date someone who never, ever uses my mental illness against me.

I wanna date someone who isn't afraid to try new things, and will hold my hand and help me do new things when I am afraid, too.

I wanna date someone who is kind.

   I could watch another episode of The Leftovers tonight, but as I was queueing up the show I thought "is there something better (self-care related) that I could be doing with my time?" And, the answer was yes. Write.

This blog is coming to you in 2 parts, Part One: My Planner

   I have an absolutely terrible memory. I thought using a paper planner might help, being able to see everything at once, write my appointments longhand. I backed a Kickstarter project for the Basics Notebook, a planner that seemed to have all the things I wanted. I finally received it the other day, and it has features I didn't even realize it had or think I wanted.
Daily tasks- what 3 things do you want to do every day this month?
Daily Priorities (under schedule)
Goals - What the goals do you have this month, and what 3 tasks can you complete to get closer to this goal?
What is your monthly focus?
Weekly Activity - There is a weekly positive activity for every week in a year.

   Was this written specifically for self-care? It is too perfect.
Are you able to answer these questions pretty easily? I find it incredibly difficult. What do I want out of this month? Umm... uh... to feel better? The goals I come up with are all huge and unattainable or vague and unattainable. My mind goes blank. What do I want?


Part Two: Gratitude.

   In order to get better I have to do things. I have to take care of myself, I have to grow, I have to build trust in myself. I have to move through it. I decided I'd challenge a friend who was struggling with writing regularly, we'd come up with a topic and each write on it. I imagined how varied our writings might be, what the topic made us think of. I gave a due date of November 11th. Neither of us had written it or mentioned it. I have plenty of time. I have plenty to say. I'd still rather be distracted than think about gratitude, and write about it.

I am grateful for the month of November and the memories I have of AA gratitude dinners.
I am grateful for my bedroom. I like the way it looks, and smells, and feels. I am proud of my nest and I am grateful I've gotten to build it.
I am grateful for my sisters, and my nephews. Those babies have changed my entire perspective on the world, and I am thankful for feeling all of the love that I didn't know I was even capable of.
I am grateful for the fact that I just thought "Am I going to write EVERYTHING I am grateful for? That would take all night..." damn, right?

   Gratitude doesn't feel simple to me, though. It feels... tied to shame. The more I sat here thinking of things, the weirder I felt. I've never thought about it that way before. I shouldn't feel grateful for what I have, because I haven't yet paid for what I've done. I don't deserve what I have.

   Oh, the first week's activity in my planner is: "Each day this week, before going to bed, write down three things that you are grateful for" The planner has no dates, you fill it in yourself & can start any month. So I will start on November 29th, every night that week. I'm doing the things, even when it all feels silly and pointless. Even when I'm tired. Even when I feel fine.

I was saying how I wish everyone would admit more often how clueless we all are. Let's talk about how we are all doing this for the first time, and we have no idea "where we are going." We're all hurling through space on this rock together, pretending like we have it all figured out.

Art is our way of saying 'we're in this together'.

I'm trying to sound smart, and relevant, and introspective. I have so many feelings, but none of them form themselves into cleverly arranged words. I am not a writer. I'm trying to imagine what a painting would look like if I started it, and completed it, and liked it. I am not a painter. I held a guitar and I tried to find the music in me, but music is not math and I am not a musician. If reading was an art, I could do that- I could call myself a reader.

I like to create loaves of bread. I like to create laughter. I like the colors my mind makes when I listen to incredible music lying in the dark. I like the shapes your face makes when we're lying in the dark.

I like the way the clouds looked, bright and lit from within. And it is cold, and I am quiet. I don't process moments until I am long out of them. I am looking out at the water, and I am feeling the pebbles beneath my feet. I am quiet and I am safe and I don't have a plan. Is my brain more quiet than average? What does it sound like when I'm alone, awake, and not looking at a screen?

The secret is, you will find yourself in the space between distractions. Tiny slivers of vulnerability.
I don't have to talk about it, I just have to do it.

I had therapy today, it had been two weeks. The whole hour was spent talking about how well things are going- how I have taken risks and it has paid off tremendously.