Project 52 - Week 13

While the weather is still a tad on the chilly side, the sun has been visiting more and more! Soon it'll be warm enough we can start cleaning up the mess and get things looking pretty again!

And it seems Mother Nature is about to help add some pretty to the world, some if the tree buds are getting ready to opening!

Today's Post is Brought to You By...

The letter X, the number 2, and the International Suicide Prevention Wiki.

In my "An Absence Explained" post I mentioned about some self inflicted Xs on the top of my right foot. I made the Xs on March 8th, the day I entered the hospital. I also mentioned that those Xs have meaning. Now it's time to explain.

X can mean many things, it can mark the spot, it can mean a kiss, or the number 10. But that's not what it means to me. To me X is a reminder, a reminder of just how close I came to ending it. I was lucky that the logical side of my brain kicked in and stopped me. But I was on the brink.

As for the number 2, well that means 2. So... two Xs, two attempts. Two moments of absolute desperation. I now see those two Xs every single day. The Xs made the afternoon when I knew I was about to get help. It's a daily reminder of just how close I was.

Taken March 26th, 18 days after I made the cuts. It is going to scar, so it'll be a permanent reminder.

So, now I have a message for you, you that are on the brink. You that are about to cross the edge. One, you are not alone. You are not weak and you are not a coward. Get help. Parents, family members, doctors, and best friends are good places to start. If you don't think you can talk to them.... then make a phone call. Click on the image below and you will be taken to a Wiki that is filled with information on national and local groups that are there to help you. Seek help and you will find it. 

Let logic and reason be your guide. People will miss you, people love you, people want you around. Give people the gift of you.

Disclosure: International Suicide Prevention Wiki has nothing to do with this post, I just think they are a great resource.

Project 52 - Week 12

Yay for a nice sunny day... even though it was very cold and windy out, it was nice to see some sunshine!

An Absence Explained... And I Will Not Be Ashamed About It

During the time from about 6:00pm on Friday, March 8th until 5:00pm on Friday, March 15th... I was nowhere to be found online. Since I'm not huge on Twitter and I don't post a lot here, you might not have noticed the absence. if you are a Facebook friend, well then you might have... since I tend to post a lot and I'm active in a few groups. But with how many people and pages that are on FB, I doubt many noticed I wasn't around. But I wasn't. The reason, I was in the hospital. The St. Vincent’s Behavioral Health Unit to be exact. In layman's terms, I was in the psych ward at the hospital.

Let me back up a bit. I've been seeing my psychiatrist since the beginning of 2011. The day I met him, he wanted to commit me to a hospital. My parents wouldn't let him and it never came up again until earlier this year. At a visit on Tuesday, March 5th with my mom, it was decided. I was going to the hospital. The doctor wanted me to go right then, but we told him we needed think about it and speak it over as a family. Plus, I had plans for that Wednesday I really wanted to try and keep. Thanks to the weather, the plans were cancelled, but the preparing for a hospital stay was in the works. We, as a family, decided Friday once my mom got home from work we were on our way.

Some self inflicted therapy. Photo taken on 3/17,
after I left the hospital.
The fact that they are Xs have a meaning,
but I'll explain that another time. And
this is the only photo you'll be seeing in this post.

When Friday rolled around, I was packed, I was terrified, and I was worried if this was the right thing to do to get on the road to getting better. While it was my parents sending me there on the advice of my doctor, I was also going voluntarily… for the most part. How the rest of the evening went was nothing short of nerve racking, scary, and generally confusing. Dad dropped us off at the door and before he even parked the car and joined us inside, I was in the system with an id bracelet and about to be stripped of everything I had with me. Nothing like a few well placed scratches to get someone's attention. I knew I was going in and I knew I needed to be admitted. I could not be turned away. So I did what I had to do. What I really wanted to do instead of go stay at a hospital. If anything, I'm not stupid. I am aware how the game is played. I needed help and would be damned if I was going to get turned away. If I got turned away... Those scratches would have become cuts and deeper and more deadly.

Within 20 minutes of stepping foot into the hospital I was stripped of all my clothes except my underwear. And they watch you undress... It's a member of the same sex and they try to pretend that aren't, but I've watched enough TV to what a one-way mirror looks like. They even took my hair tie. I wasn't even allowed a ponytail. And you all know how I like my ponytails! My parents took everything home with them, except the outfit I came in with and were basically told they could leave. And I wasn't even out of the ER. So there I was in a Johnny coat (they didn't have scrubs in my size), hospital socks that were 3 sizes to big, and my underwear. Laying in a bed in the hallway. And there I stayed for over 3 hours. With a babysitter, because I wasn't allowed to be left alone. Anytime I even needed to pee I had to have security guard escort me. I felt like a criminal. 

My parents were gone. And with them all I hold dear. See, I went in hopeful about technology. I had my fully charged iPad, iPhone, iPod, and Nintendo 3DS. Plus all the chargers and backup batteries one could need. And I had Dali. All of it... Gone. Not allowed. All taken away with my parents. Even my license was gone. I was just a barcode on a band. I felt inhuman. And the worst was yet to come. 

The reason for having to stay in the ER for 3 hours instead of moving to the psych division, was my heart rate and blood pressure were through the roof. It took a bag of saline and some extra blood pressure meds to get it to a level where I was safe to move. 3 hours... with some very scare numbers. But finally at 9:30pm, I was okay to move... to be escorted by security to what is pretty much the worst place you ever want to be. After having a metal detector waved over me, I was let into this area that had about 9 or 10 square rooms with huge glass doors and floor to ceiling windows. Each room contained a single wooden twin bed, a pillow, a thin blanket, and a set of very thin sheets. And the was it. And behind a locked wall of glass was all the nurses, techs, and equipement. It was the saddest and scariest place I have ever been. And the bathroom, while it did have a door and lock, it contained a single steel bowl... the kind you see on TV in every show that features a prison holding cell. It had no seat... it was just a bowl. And then there was a sink and a open shower in the same space. The middle area contained to couches and a small TV, mounted high on the wall and covered in a plastic case. I was officially a prisoner. I curled up into a ball on my bed and just sat there, crying... crying to the point I gave myself a bloody nose. I thought this was the end. My final resting place. Every second I was there, I wish I made the cuts deeper. I wish life was over.

Finally, a glimmer of hope appeared... the psych doc to do my evaluation. She was the one to determine if I went home or if I got sent upstairs. Thank goodness, there was an upstairs. If I had to spend my entire time in the psych ER, I would have left crazier than when I went in. It didn't take long for her to determine I was headed for the 9th floor, however it took forever for the transfer to happen. Thankfully, I was allowed a phone call and called my mom... though I'm not sure if she understood a word I said through all the hysterical crying. When all was said and done, I got upstairs around 2:30am. Then had to go through this whole long admitting process. By the time it was done, it was 4am. I was allowed to put my fleece pants, bra, and tank top back on... but still no ponytail. Was given my nightly pills and curled up in the bed. Between the migraine, the lack of dinner, and the complete exhaustion, I think I just cried myself to sleep...

The next day, the life of being a patient in a psych ward began. I kept a journal the entire I was at the hospital, and I have much, much more to say about the whole experience. The good, the bad, and the down right crazy. So I plan to write a lot more about the whole experience and the all the aftercare that is being required. But I think that is enough for now. I've been home for a week now, I'd like to say things are instantly better... but they aren't. In fact, some days are worse. I went in with 2 main goals:

• Cut back from 16 pills a day
• Get a proper psychiatric evaluation... find out what is really my diagnosis.  

Niether of those happened. In fact, I'm now on 19 pills a day and I'm nowhere near closer to a diagnosis. So was it all for a nothing... I'm going to say no. I learned a lot of things about myself. Stuff I'm happy to learn and some stuff I'm not so sure I wanted to know. I will share all that at another time.

I do want to make a special note about friends and extended family and their knowledge of the whole events... I texted or emailed the four people that I considered my closest friends letting them know where was I going and that I may or may not have access to the outside world. And I let my Enjoying the Magic staff know I was going to be away for a bit and that my mom and my editor in chief were going to be in charge if they needed something. That was all that was said. It wasn't even until Saturday night that my brother found out and that was because he called to talked to my mother and my dad said " she's at the hospital visiting your sister". By the end of my stay a close friend of the family, my uncle and his girlfriend were all that were told. When I was allowed on FB again I did mention I was in the hospital, but left it at that. I don't believe anyone on my dad's side of the family knows... at least until they read this. At first I was embarrassed about the whole thing. I felt weak and like a failure. And I know why my mom didn't shout it from the rooftops or mass email everyone we know, even family, it was due to a fear that I'll become known as the crazy girl, because in today's society   there is this nasty stigma that comes with the term "mental illness". She didn't want to see me judged or thought of as broken. She wasn't embarrassed about me, she was worried about me... and how it would be taken that I had to go into the hospital in order to save me from myself. 

But I've decided that is society's issue, not mine... and I will not be ashamed that I needed help... that unlike others I took the steps to get help, rather than make that final cut. So I'm not embarrassed I'm telling you all this, I refuse to be. And if just one person reads my story and it causes them to get help rather than end it all... then it will all be worth it. 

A Brief First Look of Spring

As I mentioned in Sunday's Project 52 post, I spent some time outside looking for signs of spring on the trees. Much to my surprise I found some! I can't wait for these little buds to start opening up!

However, just a few hours later, that fickle filly Mother Nature decided she wanted to give us some more snow. So I reshot some of the same buds... this time with a coating of the dreaded white stuff! It wasn't a lot, but it did put a damper on my nice springy photo shoot day!

I hope in a few weeks that cold and snow will finally say goodbye and I can retake these photos once the buds have had a chance to mature.

Project 52 - Week 11

I always take my picture of the week on Saturday, and was pleased to find that while it was really cold out, buds were starting to form on the trees and there were signs of springs starting to appear. I took my weekly shot, then went around to get some signs of spring photos for a post later this week.

The photos came out great and I can't wait to share them... however, this happend just a few hours later...

Yup, snow. It wasn't a lot, and didn't amount to anything, but it did leave a coating on the trees. You just have to love March weather in New England!

Project 52 - Week 10

When I asked for some color in the world last week, white was not what I had in mind! Let in snow, let it snow!

The Friendship Cycle

I'll be honest, I am not, nor was I ever really good at friendships. Maybe it was because I tried too hard, I always acted like I thought I was supposed to and not like I was, or maybe I'm just too selfish to be a good friend. It was always easier to try and buy the relationship then to try and be what was needed. Plus I always got frustrated feeling like I put in so much work and got little in return. 

Stacey is behind me on the
left. I'll update the photo
when I find the original.

And it's been going on all my life. When I was little and living on an Air Force base in Florida, the street was full of kids to play with. And there was one girl, Stacy, who was my age and we spent a lot of time together. But as is life of an Air Force brat... you move, and followup has never been something I excel at. So bye-bye Florida, bye-bye Stacy. I was 5 at the time, so I guess not much was to be expected from that, at least we had a few good years playing Barbies and Strawberry Shortcake.

Then came the move to Connecticut and with it, multiple schools. In 1st grade I met Kirsten. Best of friends... at least I thought. But come 4th and school changes... we were no more. At least it was a couple good years. At the next school, I don't remember much, wasn't there long. Mom was desperate to get me into the magnet school my brother was in and by 2nd semester of 4th grade she succeeded. Yeah, it was a great school, but nothing worse than being the older kid and being known as your younger brother's sister. Shouldn't it always be the younger known by the older? But it was what it was and I dealt with it. That includes getting punched in the jaw by 2 boys on my first day. Yeah for middle school! Now the school was fairly small, only 2 classes per grade and you got mixed up from year to year... so everyone know everyone and for the most part we all got along. There were cliques, but they weren't anywhere near as bad as it is today. There was teasing, but no down right bullying. And I know about the teasing... I was normally on the receiving end.

While we were fairly friendly as classmates went, there was alway that best friend longing. I even went as far to use the whole "I'll be your friend if you'll be mine" bit with a new girl... and it worked... for about one grade level. Then she found her people and I finally found mine. But while we all seemed BFFs in school, there was very little outside interaction. Maybe a random phone conversation, someone would have the occasional party... but that was it. After graduations, we picked different high schools and that was that. Again no follow-up. Did manage to have a pretty sweet 13th birthday sleepover before we all parted ways, so those memories are there.

High School was pretty much the same thing. Teasing got a little meaner, but it was manageable. I'd almost gotten used to it. Expected it even. Sometimes it went a little to far, but isn't that part of the high school package? During those 4 years I was myself to a point... yes, I was crazy, animation loving white girl with the camera, but the rest of me was to be whatever it took to fit in. But I always had S. She was a true friend. To say we were BFs would be correct. We did things after school. We hung out, we talked, we shared secrets. There were a few others people I connected with, but between acts on both sides those bridges got pretty scorched. And it was at this stage in the game that the frustration started to set in that while I thought friendship was a two way street... I was finding it wasn't. Other than S, if I wanted to do anything with a "friend", I had to do all the work, the calling, the planning, heck half the time the paying. Not really what I though a friendship was supposed to be like. But hey, high school... the real world will be much better right?

Nope... same deal. Headed to college, roomed with S the first semester before scorching that bridge. And any bridges still standing from high school got totally burned to the ground, thanks to rumors and idiots. But all that... I'm over. S and I are FB friends, so I can see what she is up to. She looks very happy, looks very her, and I miss her like crazy. Maybe one day I should tell her that. But there is still a connection and that's what matters.

Now I have a point to all this rambling, and I'm getting to it now. The years 1995 through 2003. They were the best of times and the worst of times. I found a group... a group similar to the real me. No needing to fake it. But it didn't start out smooth... and I can fully admit that was my fault. I was annoying as heck. It wasn't that I was trying to be, I was just like an over excited puppy that pees on everything. I wanted so much to belong to this group. It took a bit of making up, but I finally was one of them. I loved them all, we did things together. Sometimes as a complete group, sometimes as smaller parts. And it was all good. Then the girls became crafting buddies and we did a lot of that. And we ate out... a lot. And we had some serious fun. We had a number of weddings and babies started coming. Families were being made. Time was growing thinner, but we managed. If not all the time, we seemed to always make time for birthdays. Times were good.

Then came the no good, very bad thing I did. It was bad. Fueled by a number of Mike's Hard Lemonades and a number of raw emotions - betrayal, sadness, loss, change, loneliness - it was horrible. I can't even remember the exact details of what went down... but the damage was great. I didn't just burn a bridge... I pour gasoline on it and watched it burn. Me on one side and the rest of the group on the other. It was the end of the good times. I'd say I'm surprised anyone even let me get behind the wheel of a car that night because I was a mess, but a crash would have been a fitting - and deserved - end to the evening.

Thanks to the power of Facebook, it seems a few have either forgiven me, or really never got involved, because we've reconnected a bit... not at all like it was, but baby steps. But I doubt after 10 years, there will ever be anything that can be said to repair the major break. And it sucks. But it was my fault. That night was also the last time I ever drank. As for photos of these years... as I mentions in my photo memories post, they are being passed on to those that forgave. 

Not sure if you'll read this, but I'm so very, very sorry. And I miss you everyday. We may never speak
again, but I think of you often. Thanks to pictures posted by a mutual friend, I can see that you look
very happy, very loved, and fantastic.

As for now, thanks to the internet, I have a few people I can call friends... but they live in different states, so we never see each other. We talk on an off, through texts and FB chat... but some of them are in rough patches right now, dealing with aging parents and their own health issues, so I keep most things to myself. If you were to ask me if I have a BF, my answer would most likely be my mother... which is good, but also has it's flaws. But most days it's just me and my cat, sitting in my room, hoping some more friends will appear in my garden of friendship.

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Memories...

And not all of them are always good.

Since I can remember, I've always had a camera in my hand. I loved taking photos of anyone that would let me and everything that was around me. When I was little I was a bit of a ham... loved having my photo taken. As I got older I became more behind the camera and but still enjoyed being in a picture. Until recently... packing on those extra pounds really makes you stay away from the from of the camera. But this post really isn't about photos of me... it's about the collection of photos I've gathered over the years.

With the digital age, it's easy to deal with a photo attached to bad memories. You can just delete it, or you could toss it in a file and bury it away. But printed photos. They just sit there, waiting to be framed or put in an album or if they are lucky enough, scrapbooked. And I am/was a scrapbooker. Used to be really into it, scrapping every little event. Now, if I feel like scrapping anything it's only pictures of high school or earlier, Disney trips, or maybe my childhood. That's it. Everything from 1995 to present day that isn't Disney related... I don't even want to look at them.

And there are many, MANY more photos than this. About 3 more boxes full.

That brings me to current emotional dilemma. What to do with years of photos, some which are actually painful to look at? See, a lot of pictures from `95 to about `03 are of mostly the same people. And a number of those people I am no longer friends with, but that's a story for another post. The short version is I pretty much suck as a friend. Thanks to Facebook, however, a few have reached out and we've sort of become at least FB friends, and maybe someday we can be back to the level we once were. Anyways, these people are for the most part still friends with the rest of the group. So, since I can't bare to toss a photo... I've been mailing the photos to them. I've kept a few that still make me smile. And sets I've asked them to pass on to those I've done wrong, I've removed all images of me. What happens to the photos when they leave my house is up to them. I just hope they find a place that brings more smiles than tears.

Oh, and I did get a little pyromaniac on a few of them... all ex-boyfriends and all not so great photos - blurry, closed eyes, stupid faces. I thought it would make me feel... I don't know, better? But it didn't. All it did was almost set all the dead trees around the old stone grill I used. I can see the headline now "Fire Captain's Daughter Sets Fire to Backyard Woods." Ugh, neither dad or I would ever live THAT one down! Thank goodness we still had piles of snow around... it makes a great fire extinguisher!   

Anyways... the reason it didn't make me feel any better? It's never been a problem with ex-boyfriends. There was always closure, no longer love. The problem is with ex-friends... people who deep down I still love and miss very much. That's were the hurt is. And it's a hurt I'm just either going to have to live with or move on... because it's been 10 years and I don't think mending the break is an option any longer. 

I can only work on the photos a little at a time, some because I just don't know if I should pass them on or toss and because a number of them... I don't remember what the memory behind the photo is. Not sure if it's selective memory, a side effect of 16 pills a day, or my one sharp memory is starting to fail. And after an hour of all that... it just becomes too much to deal with the frustration.

At least the postage of mailing on the pictures and having a mini bonfire cost is a lot less than a visit to my therapist!

Project 52 - Week 9

Ok spring... it's time for you to arrive. I need to start seeing some color and we need to get some of the mess cleaned up!

The Long and Short Of It

A month ago, I wrote about how I was going to get a lot of my hair chopped off and donate it to Locks of Love. It's one month to the day since the cut was made and it has taken me this long to come to terms with the new shorter hair. The main point of the cut really wasn't to donate it, that was a perk... I was getting it cut because I'm on a pretty nasty drug that is more or less used in chemo treatments and it was really doing a number on my hair. Not damaging per say, more like thinning, falling out, just making it ugh. So before it got any worse... I wanted it to still be usable for someone else, that's where the donation perk came in.

Also, with it being so long, it was really hard to manage and generally looked awful on most days from lack of energy to deal with it. And forget when I did manage to get out of the house to a toy or blogging event. I saw how it looked in some pictures from a toy event in December... can you say hot mess? Just not professional at all. So it was time.

Thanks to my awesome mom for taking to photos of the moment - you can see her in the red and white sweater in the mirror. And to my stylist Monica. The total donated to Locks of Love came to about 14" of usable hair. In total though, I cut off around 17".  The same day I did mine, a Facebook friend in CA cut off 23"! It was a good day for Locks of Love!

Here are some photos I took yesterday of my hair with different accessories. I've grown to like it. It dries really fast, is low maintenance, and I did manage to keep a little bit of my curls. Sadly, a lot of the color variety seems to have gone with the ponytail... it's pretty uniform now and the silver/white strands really stand out. During the spring it might be time for a little bit of color enhancing. At least I now know when I head out for an event, I won't look like I have a real horse's tail hanging off the back of my head!  

Oh, and the best part... I can still rock a pony for every day I don't have somewhere important to go... which is about 350 days of the year! And it's a really cute pony at that, little like Pebbles from The Flintstones! 

The pony makes me very happy. 

Update 3/8: Got this in my email today...