Introspective in Perspective

There have been a lot of experiences in my life that I feel have had a large impact on me, though there are only a few that I can remember that I feel changed the way that I actually think and act. Some of them seemed like they were only small moments in the grand scheme of things, but thinking back I definitely think “This is one of the moments where I started to grow up.” Those moments are the ones that have the biggest impact on people, even if at the time you might not realize it. I have always suffered with clinical depression, though I wasn't officially diagnosed until I was in the seventh grade. At the time I thought that the little blue pills that I had to take were the best things ever, because they were what was going to help me to be normal, help me to not feel so awkward, crazy, and lonely all the time. I took them faithfully for a while, until I started to reach a place that I considered to be 'normal', and I would randomly decide that I didn't need to take them anymore, because I was cured. I knew that there was no cure for depression, but I didn't want to think about that, because it meant that I wasn't normal, would never be okay on my own. This vicious cycle continued for many years, where I would take my pills, feel better, stop taking them, become depressed, renew my prescription, take my pills... round and round and round, with me stuck in the middle feeling weak and helpless all the time because I couldn't be 'sane' without something helping me. Even though I was an EMT, even though I knew that this wasn't my fault in any way, there was nothing that could make me believe that. I kept taking myself off of my pills, trying to force myself to be better without them. (It didn't help that the first drug that I was placed on made me gain weight, which made me feel worse about myself and yet more determined to not need them anymore.) For a while, I felt like I was doing fine. My life was becoming more and more stressful, which was adding lots of anxiety problems into the mix, and I would hold everything in for so long that I would eventually erupt like a volcano, spewing toxic words and actions at anyone who happened to be around me, while still trying to convince them that I was fine. It was a sad place to be, and even as I was pushing people away I was hoping that someone would be able to help me, pull me out into the land of the living, where I had been an outcast for so long. I had a few friends, but I tried my best to not let any of them see how bad I actually was, laughing and smiling when I was around them so that they seemed to believe me. There was one person who always seemed to see through all of the bravado and bullshit that I put up as my exterior, saw my nail biting for what it was, and decided that he was going to do something to help me. I remember the night perfectly. I was sitting on the floor next to my mom, begging her to cut off my hair, which was finally growing out and was something that I was absurdly proud of. But at that moment, I needed it gone. My clothes felt too tight, my pulse was racing, and the feel of the littlest thing touching my skin made me want to cry. I was trying so hard to keep a handle on my emotions, and they seemed to be forcing themselves out through my pores, making my skin feel so fragile and new, and making me feel panic and fear like I had never felt before. The lights were so bright that I could barely see, and I just wanted to go somewhere and be alone in the dark. But I felt as if I were an egg, and if I moved my shell would crack into a million pieces. It was at this point that he came in and started talking to my mom, telling her that I was just putting on a show, and was much more depressed than I seemed. Each word hit me like a dart, showing me that he actually cared about me but at the same time feeling like I was being attacked for being not good enough. I crawled back under the table and started to cry, because it felt like all of my secrets were being exposed, like the facade that I had built up around myself was crumbling down around my feet. I remember methodically removing all of my jewelery and putting it in a little pile next to me, so that as little was touching me as possible. All at once this became too much for me to handle, and I ran out of the room, hoping that I would be able to go somewhere and gather myself before I exploded, and at the same time hoping that someone would follow me, comfort me as I had comforted so many others over the years. He found me in the garage, the concrete floor cold under my feet. I was leaning on the hood of an ambulance, breathing heavily and trying to calm down. I heard him come out, saw his boots against the floor, but I didn't look at him. I couldn't, I was too ashamed. Suddenly he grabbed my arms and hugged me, telling me that everything would be okay. For the first time, I believed him. We talked for hours, about his struggle with depression, my feelings, and the fact that he knew that I was going to be okay, even if I didn't right at that moment. Finally I was able to go to bed, with my pride somewhat shattered but mending (and my hair intact.) Soon after that I made an appointment with my doctor and had my medicine changed. On her recommendation I made an appointment with a therapist, which led to me getting a psychiatrist appointment and medication for my anxiety issues as well as my antidepressants. I continued to take my medication until I lost my insurance, where I started to spiral downward again. But this time I was able to take care of myself, and I was recently able to get insurance back and get started on another medication. But that night changed me forever, because it taught me so much. The fact that one person cared enough to confront me, cared enough to let me know that I was not alone, I was fine, they wanted me to get better helped me to realize that I am worth fighting for. I'm also not the only person to struggle with depression, or not want to take pills for the rest of their lives. But they help, so I have come to terms with it. I may never be 'normal' without them, but I would probably not be seen as 'normal' anyway, and besides, being normal is vastly overrated (and not all that much fun.)

A New Nation

I can’t even remember how the idea was planted into my head, only that one day I was told that I should apply to go on the retreat. I had my doubts - it was a religious retreat, and I had parted ways with religion a few years earlier, but my mom told me that it would be worth it for the scenery and the cultural experience anyway. So I signed up, and headed off on a hot July day, not knowing that what I thought of as ‘hot’ was going to get blown out of the water. I met up with a few other people that were going on the trip and loaded my things into their car. We were the only people that were going from Vermont, and it was going to be a long ride to Queens, where we were supposed to meet up with the rest of the group. I’ve never been very good at talking to people that I don’t know, but I soon got over that fear because it’s hard to be shy when there are only three people in an unconditioned sedan for five hours. When we arrived, we found that we were some of the last people there. I clung to the people that I had ridden down with, afraid to be out of their sight for even a little bit because then I would have to talk to new people, as if that was not one of the points of my going on the trip. The night was full of excitement and adventure, checking out places that I had never been and coming out of my shell enough to get to know some of the other people, even if it meant that we only got a few hours of sleep, though the fact that the girls had to sleep on the floor in the basement might have had something to do with that. The next morning came all too soon, and before the sun rose I had been pushed into a taxi which sped its way to the airport. I will never forget going over the median when the driver missed an exit, or being dropped off at the wrong place, and waiting for everyone for what seemed like hours. But the real beauty was not in the details of getting there, it was in the richness of our experience. I had never been to Arizona before, and found the heat and the wide open spaces to be a complete contrast to the lush, rolling hills that I had left behind. One thing that did not seem to change was the fact that it took forever to get anywhere, especially when everyone was crammed into a van. We pulled up to the church and surrounding buildings, which seemed to spring up out of nowhere. The small settlement seemed like the only thing around, and it was to be our home for the next week, out in the middle of the Nation. To be honest, I expected to hate everything, except for the scenery and small children, of which there were plenty. This was everything that I thought that I hated, lots of people, being places that I didn’t know, but most importantly, there was definite focus on religion. We prayed every day, went to church on Sunday, and the main focus of our trip was running a week long Bible school for the Navajo children. I knew that I was going to be uncomfortable, because I had given up on going to Church or anything like that when I had taken a job on the weekends a few years earlier. But here I was, faced with all of these people who had these amazing experiences that they wanted to share with each other, but most importantly, they wanted to share them with me. And the more we all sat around talking, the more comfortable I became with the fact that I was not alone; there were people out there that were in the same boat as me, struggling with what to believe. The longer I stayed there, the more we experienced, and the deeper the feeling of peace that came over me. The best part was when were allowed to take part in a sweat lodge ceremony, even though women traditionally weren’t allowed too. It was so hot, dark, and cramped that I almost wanted to laugh at the picture that we posed, all these teenage girls sitting bent over, knee to knee while hot water was poured over even hotter rocks, until the air was thick like soup. I don’t remember much of what else happened, because the heat and the murmur of voices inside the tent and out had helped me to zone out, allowed me to think about the reasons why I had come on the trip in the first place. I had come to share my experiences with other people, to spend time with little kids. But I had learned so much more. I had found my voice, rediscovered my love of singing. I had broken out of my shell; made friends, talked about things that back home would have been taboo subjects. More water, more steam. More confessions, both to myself and to other people. That I had been scared to be so far from home, but had found myself enjoying the time to explore, not have to be the person everyone expected me to be. Water, thoughts about all of the people that I had met, the experiences we had shared, and most of all, the sunsets. Steam, thinking about the foods I had tried, the rides through what seemed like desert, the blackened trees from the wildfire that had raged just before we got there. Thoughts of cool nights, hot days, lush scenery, and having to explain where Vermont was to children who had never heard of it before. (“It’s where Ben and Jerry’s comes from.") Finally it was over, and I emerged blinking into the sunlight, the heat of the day feeling deliciously cool after what we had been through. I showered and it felt like a rebirth, the first of many steps on my journey to self acceptance.

Glitter Oxfords at Night

What makes a trip the ‘best’, or a favorite? I haven’t done a lot of traveling in my life (well, okay, when I was little I did a decent amount, but only if making the same trip several times counts.) I love each trip that I have gone on, because each one was with people that I love, and each one brings back so many memories. As I sat down to write this, I mentally flipped back through my memories of trips past - the summers that I spent in Vermont when I was younger, my first trip down South when I was 18 months old, the trips with my grandparents in their camper, and the one time that we ended up in a hotel because the camper broke down and derailed our entire trip. I kept going over each of these trips in my mind, trying to figure out why I wanted to write about this one but not about that one, and thinking about which ones my mind kept going back to. Finally I settled on my most recent trip, which was bittersweet in many ways, but an incredible experience that I needed more than anything. This year has been a hard one for me. My grandfather was diagnosed with cancer last year, and I was lucky to be around for his final months - lucky in the sense that I was able to be here with him, unlike my cousin who lives in Germany, unlucky in that I was watching someone I loved become someone that I barely knew. It was hard, especially with everything else that was going on, but there was one thing that helped, made me feel okay, even if it was only for an hour each week. And that was glee. (I know, this seems like a lot of back story, but it is related.) One night in February I decided that I was going to buy tickets to go and see the Glee Live tour, as a birthday present for my mother and as a reason to have hope. And it worked, because even though the show wasn’t for months, each time I remembered the tickets it was something that I had to look forward too, a light at the end of the tunnel. And finally the day came. We rented a car, because we decided to get mine worked on at the same time, and left Vermont around noon. The concert was in East Rutherford NJ, which didn’t seem so bad because when I head down that way normally I am going to Trenton. Other than getting stuck in a traffic jam and panicking a little bit, the drive down was uneventful. We found the hotel, changed, and walked over to the arena. When we got there, there was this palpable energy in the air. Everyone was just so excited to be there. There were tons of people that were dressed up, holding signs, trying to make themselves be known. Our seats were in the nosebleed section, but when the concert finally started it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter because watching the show wasn’t as important as being there. It didn’t matter that I annoyed people around me, or that I lost my voice because I was screaming so hard. It was one of the first times in a long time that I was truly happy. Sure, I knew that I would be going home the next day, back to all of the problems that being me entailed. The drive home was going to start to early and be to long. But that night, as I danced back to the hotel (even though I can’t dance), after walking through a parking lot filled with people, including someone with oxford shoes that glittered against the dark pavement, I felt good. Sometimes it isn’t the trip itself, or even the destination that makes a trip great. It’s how the trip makes you feel inside.