Friday, December 30, 2016

A Beautiful Life

My belief. My story.

I've lived through emotional and physical abuse.
I've lived through rape.
I've lived through depression and self-harm.
I'm living with chronic illness--chronic migraine, depression, and anxiety.

You can let it break you down, or you can keep going. I used to say you can overcome it, but I've since learned (thanks, chronic illness) that some things can't be overcome. They CAN be gotten through, lived with, and we can live in SPITE of them, though.

Some days are harder than others, no matter what you're going through. Some days I'm a quitter. Some days I give up. But there's always a new day and a new chance to reach inside yourself for that spark that keeps you going.

"It's not what happens to you, but how you react to it that matters."
Epictetus

I've found this to be true, whether it's what has been done to you or just what life throws at you.  Bad things happen. Horrible, unjustified things happen. Things or people scar you and wound you. You can't always control what happens to you. But you can control what you DO with what happens to you.

You can chose to let it make you do bad things, to give up on life, to be frightened of life, and/or be bitter.
Or you can chose to let it make you compassionate to others going through it, a fighter, and/or a victor.

Don't get me wrong. I've chosen the first set of options before. I've hurt people and done things I knew were wrong. I've lived in fear of getting close to others and in fear of betrayal. I've lived in fear of myself, and with anger of epic proportion. I've lived without caring if anyone cared for me or about what I did.

I've learned that it hurts you more than anyone else to live that way. It keeps you tied to those hurts and those who hurt you. It gives them the power to keep controlling you and your choices.
Plain and simply, what it is IS giving up control and responsibility of your own life.

It's why I eventually came to choose the latter options.

It's not easy, but it IS worth it. It can become beautiful.

Wednesday, December 28, 2016

On Depression and Losing My Childhood Icons

I haven't done a new post in a while--I've been fighting monsters.

No, really.
I've been fighting my daily chronic migraine without meds for a month, and it's been really an exercise in willpower to find reasons to keep fighting while I wait (and wait and wait) to hear anything on my application for disability.

Depression has been my constant companion lately, and the death of yet another of my childhood and adult heroes has affected me deeply.

Carrie Fisher was the princess we girls needed in the late 70s and early 80s--a tough, take no shit lady with a vulnerable side. As an adult, her openness and advocacy for mental health has been amazing and a role model for my own advocacy.
Her death on top of the loss of so many other pieces of my childhood has left me reeling.

It's also made me think (scary, I know)--why do the deaths of my childhood icons affect me so profoundly?

Because they've been a part of the many lives I've lived. Imaginary lives, but still...I've been a Rebel Princess, a warrior princess, a crime fighting "angel," an amazon princess, a smart arse teenager with a stolen baby sister..I've been in a galaxy far, far away, in the Labyrinth fighting a goblin king, and my own house simultaneously. I've fought with lightsabers, blasters, a lasso of truth, my fists, and my wits. I've journeyed Middle-earth and Narnia. I've been a wizard, a mutant, an elf, a hobbit...all before second breakfast.
I've been a glittery rock star and a soulful crooner (not for an audience, thankfully). I've sworn to never dance again the way I danced with a good friend.

But mostly, I lived and dreamed and breathed through other characters when I was a kid still trying to find out who I was and who I would be.

The people who brought to life all those pieces of me...have been pieces of me. They've given me heroes and adversaries worthy of them. They gave me an escape when I needed one, sang to my soul, and gave me the courage to become me in all my many facets.

I mourn what they were to me and the loss of the people they were in their own lives.

Rest in peace, Carrie. You are one with the Force now. Thank you for all you gave me.