I am alive!

I promise. Sometime in the near future I will even write a full post.

Internal Triptych

Over the past day or so, I have been reading over one of my journals. It begins in the February of last year and covers up until this summer, so it has a pretty good span of time under its belt. Reading it has been a very interesting experience. And yes, interesting really is the best word for it.

At the time I was going through applying to graduate school and pining after a boy, all while trying to keep my head above water in school. I think one of the things that has amazed me most is the enthusiasm I displayed in my writing then. Everything was about how I hoped I would be wanted in return (by both boy and grad programs) and just how lucky I was to be at that point in my life. I constantly mentioned my Heavenly Father's goodness and trusting His will to be the right course... Looking back, I was so happy and so excited about just about everything.

That person from a year and a half ago is still a part of me. She is quieter in the face of grad school--it is a bit harder to be enthused and happy when you feel like you're constantly running down hill in pursuit of a wheel of cheese. But, I had forgotten about her. It was easy to ignore that part of, to just wallow in the difficulties I have faced since that journal began. Because, really, it takes work to have faith and to find things to be happy about. The world is more conducive to negativity than optimism, and it probably will be until the second coming.

The person I have been lately is humbler than the shiny-eyed SUU graduate, but also a good deal darker. The me of now finds it only too easy to suppose that I will not be accepted into a phd program, and that I will wind up in some awful, dead-end place that will drive me insane. My angst has weighted down my soul to the point that I am even struggling to write creatively. It has been years since I have felt so confined and utterly overwhelmed. The funny thing? It's not even the stress that is making me feel this way. Oh, the work of doing a thesis, teaching, going to grad school, and preparing for a conference is great; don't mistake me there. But, I know it's just ... me. I am screwing myself over, and I hate it. I've even been considering going to therapy or getting medicated for my depression. Maybe then I would feel like I had a fighting chance.

Comparing these two elements of who I have been and who I am has lead me to consider who I want to be. I don't think I can go back to the fluttery senior, but I certainly don't want to remain as I am now (because, really, that'd just suck). The future-me will hopefully still have the humility of now, but perhaps with more of the vigor of the past me. If nothing else, I want to be able to believe in myself, utterly and entirely. Slowly but surely I am becoming a more refined, better version of me; transitioning from one stage to the other, though, is a wench. But, I know I will get there. I will be someone you are proud to know. Eventually.

The Tenderest Mercies

Sometimes, life can be very challenging. We can face periods when everything seems to go wrong: death takes a loved one away, a nightmare can become a reality, or we might loose something we value. Disaster is a part of being alive. Luckily, we never have to face these situations alone.

Lately, everything in my life has been going along just great. Oh, sure, I haven't finished my thesis like I wanted to or completed some projects; but, on the whole, I have nothing to complain about. I have money in the bank, great friends, a loving family, and I am even (kinda) dating again. So why this post?

Tonight I was puttering around Facebook long after I should have gone to bed, and a friend of mine sent me a simple message. She said, "Thanks for playing the Facebook games with me." She'd lately joined one or two games I play, and so we've been helping each other out. I thought nothing of the actions--I help lots of people in those dorky games--so I just told her that it was no problem. This opening sprung into a two hour conversation that was very powerful.

I've not really spoken to this friend, except in passing, since high school (so more than five years ago). Her life is a mystery to me, and when the conversation began I had no real emotional investment in it. Sure, it's nice to say hi to someone, but what do you really say beyond that? I've never been very good at conversations with people I don't know intimately, so I felt like a fish out of water. But, what I quickly discovered was that my simple gaming and just being online late at night were very helpful to my friend. She is currently going through a very difficult time in her life--what I refer to as a Hell Year. Right now, she's feeling utterly alone and lost, because the situation in her life is so out of her control. But, I was able to be there for her. Because of the difficulties I have had in my own life, I was in a position where I could offer her advice and comfort; things I hope help her.

I guess what I am trying to say is that, for once, I got to be the person through whom the Lord exercised a tender mercy. Sometimes just knowing someone is there to listen can be more powerful than anything else. Even in the midnight of despair, we're never alone, because God is always listening. And, when God listens, He sends us the people we need, however imperfect a friend they may be.

Choices, Choices

Yesterday I had a very fun conversation. I was at a wedding reception, and while there I spoke to a friend's mother. Talk about a cool lady! She has always been one of my heroes, so I was very excited to see her again. Her daughter is coming home from her mission in two weeks, and this lead to something of an interesting discussion.

Many of my friends from high school have settled down. Most have been married and had kids, others are settling into their careers, and some have even bought houses. Comparatively speaking, I am a loose cannon. I do not have a spouse, kids, or even a steady job. Instead, I am known as the globe trotting academic. In high school, this particular future would have seemed impossible. I was seriously dating someone I thought I loved, I had no plan for my future, and I was generally just a mess. When I graduated, I was in even worse a state--since I had broken up with my boyfriend the year before and just had...a lot of things going wrong. Over the past five years, I have gained both direction and a steadiness of personality, which in turn has transformed me into a different person. (This does not mean, however, that I am remotely near perfect. Far from it.) The people at the reception all commented on how I had changed, and that the change was for the better.

How did this become important in talking to Laura's mom?

Well, Laura chose to go on a mission. Unlike many other young women, she decided to put off the husband hunt in favor of serving the Lord. I'm extremely proud of her, and I could not help but tell her mother how I felt. Laura's mother countered with how impressed she was with me. "You have decided to seize the adventure," she said, "and you are going to change the world. Even if you never have a family of your own, you will make a huge difference in the lives of others." Last night was the first time I had really considered that: Some part of me had always believed that I would never be able to face my old friends without a man on my arm. But, there I was, solo and happy. The choices I have made in the past five years have helped me become someone independent, confident, and calm. While a husband would be nice, having a man is not the point of my life. My students and my faith have become more important to me than anything else; a man is more of a bonus at this point. Others who knew how I was were able to see the change, something I had been unable to do. My perspective on life has changed so slowly that I never even noticed it as happening.

I know there are days where my friends and family question the decisions I make--I frequently doubt them myself--but last night I saw they were not flippant or pointless. The choices I've made have helped me become a better person, and I know that it's not my genius at work. God has directed me where I've needed to be over the past few years, and slowly I am becoming the woman He wants me to be. Life couldn't be better, and I can't wait to see what happens next. All I know for sure is that applying for PhD programs is going to be yet another adventure.

Fear and Faith

I have heard time and again that fear and faith cannot co-exist. For a long time, I wasn't sure what that meant. Oh, yes, the logistical side was well ingrained, but the practical application was lacking. It was a mystery, something I assumed was an issue for other people and not me.

Ha.

Since I moved out on my own, life has been a series of ups and downs. I have had the rush of getting an A on a difficult paper and the disappointment of being very ill. As a part of this whiplash, I have become very defensive. I look for reasons to shut people out and I have taken to avoiding certain situations, just because I don't want to be rejected. Silly things like advising have become extremely stressful events, and other things (like dealing with the insurance) were so intimidating that I took to avoiding them. If there was a way, I would hide from any situation I perceived as being threatening in any way.

For a very long time, I have been dealing with depression and post-traumatic stress disorder. It is a difficult set of issues because there is no "magic cure" for either of them. Sometimes medications can help, but the times I've tried being medicated for either I usually had an adverse reaction to the drugs. Therapy can help, too, but it's so expensive that I can't justify what might be an indefinite treatment. Most of the time, I am very good at handling both the depression and the PTSD. At least, I am very good at handling it when someone else is around. Living on my own...it's been more of a battle than it has ever been before. I wasn't even able to recognize the issue until today: It hit me like a ton of bricks while shampooing my hair. I felt so stupid for missing something so entirely obvious--I'm sure several of you have seen signs of it in my life.

I am not certain how I am going to handle the situation. For several months I have been letting fear rule my life, and my faith has been hurt by it. But, I think now is the time to turn to God again. He might not be able to make my problems disappear, but He can give me the courage to ask someone out, the certainty of my own worth, and the guidance I need. Now it is time to start fighting back, and it's time to win.

Too Depressing for You?

The other day, someone commented on my wordpress account (where I keep my creative writing) and told me that I am too depressing. This comment caught me a bit by surprise, if only because in person I am a very cheerful, bright person. Reading back over some of the things I've written, I can understand where the confusion came in. So, I decided to write a blogpost in order to "explain myself." I don't want anyone worrying that I am too depressed or moments away from finding a ledge.

Over the course of my life, a lot of bad things have happened. I've got scars (mental, emotional, and physical) that will not go away until the Resurrection. But, those scars are a part of who I am, now. I have actually had psychologists tell me that someone with my baggage should not be able to function, that I should be mentally and emotionally crushed. The fact I get up out of bed every morning and can smile is a fantastic victory.

My secret is rather simple. I write the bad feelings out. When I am upset, I will put the emotion into a poem. When someone close to me passes away, I express my grief by writing. Any emotion that is too great for me to handle alone, I put into words. By doing this, I remove the pain and distance myself from it. Then, I can objectively look at it and overcome whatever the issue is. Yes, this means I end up with lots of painful nonfiction and poetry pieces. But, it does wonders for my psyche. I can usually tell you a) why I am upset, b) what combinations of feelings are causing problems, and c) how I intend to resolve the situation. In its way, writing has become my therapy.

I have never considered suicide. I have never cut myself or hurt myself to "cope" with mental anguish. I have a strong testimony that God lives and loves me. I have hope that tomorrow will be better than today.

I'm a totally different 1%.

Ironically, sometimes I write poetry that is very "depressing" when I am actually very happy. The result is a totally different kind of poem, but I don't think you would be able to tell the difference just looking at them. Here are two examples: one of them was written when I was very happy and one was written when I was very unhappy. Can you guess which is which?

Just Another Foot
I ripped out my heart
And buried it
Six feet deep,
But I can still feel you
Beat, beat, beating it.
You are my ghost:
The stain on the pages
Of my history,
The taint that bleeds
Through every line,
The story I
Will never tell.

I ripped out my heart
And buried it
Six feet deep,
But it wasn’t deep enough
To escape you
Beat, beat, beating it.
You are my demon:
The curse that haunts
My storm tossed sleep,
The shadow lurking
Over my left shoulder,
The pain of my
break, break, breaking heart.

How many feet does it take
To escape the taint,
The stain,
The bruise
Of you?
Pieces of me are
Flake, flake, flaking away
And soon nothing will be left.
Maybe if I rip out my heart,
Bury it just another foot
Deeper,
I won’t be able to feel
You beat, beat, beating
My heart.


Color: Me
I’m white
–skin the color of a fine piece of parchment.
The world tells me, orders me, to hate that
To hate myself.

All of the crimes of the past:
A skin color?
Nobody ever committed a gross injustice–
Unless they were white.

White. Caucasian. Trash?

I don’t believe it,
That I’m worthless because of my flesh.
Hate me for my mind,
Disregard me for the words that come out of my mouth,
Loathe me for the things I do–
But never judge me by my skin.

I am not a portrait of the past.
I am the present, the future, the inside–
Me.

--

At first glance, I probably seem like a very depressing writer. I just want to assure you that writing is just...a form of expressing. Sometimes it helps me heal my soul, and at others I just want to put interesting rhythms together. Thank you for the concern--it really does mean a lot that you would worry.

Modern Monsters

As a Renaissance scholar, one of my areas of scholastic interest is the field of monster studies. This is an admittedly odd pursuit--it is neither in vogue or particularly well regarded--but I persist in it anyway. The other day, one of my colleagues asked why I liked monsters so much. I smiled at her and said simply, "Because I understand them."

During the sixteenth century, a man by the name of Ambroise Pare published a book called Des monstres et prodiges (or, in English, On monsters and marvels). This book represents one of the first attempts to explain birth disorders and acts as a foundation for monster studies. In it, Pare covers everything a girl with fur to a unicorn. Some of the monsters in the book are particularly difficult to believe (after all, there are very few half-ox half-human beings roaming around). Others, though, hit very close to home. After all, I have a feeling that twins would be very upset if they knew they would have been viewed as monstrous entities.

One of my favorite monsters in all of literature is Richard III (from William Shakespeare's Richard III). He is traditionally played as a heavily handicapped man, usually with a humped back and at least one gimp limb. Normally this sort of figure would be comical or dismissed, but Richard's too cool for that. Instead, he's the villain and protagonist of the play. The entire story focuses on his rise to power and subsequent fall, but he's such an awful person that it's almost impossible to call him a hero. The opening lines of the play are delivered by Richard. He is alone on stage and says,

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
And now, instead of mounting barded steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.

Basically, he's saying that the conflict between the House of Lancaster and the House of York has temporarily subsided, because his brother (the son of York) has become king. With the war put aside, Death is instead busy getting up to shenanigans, and pretty everyone is having a great time. Except Richard. He goes on to say,

But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun
And descant on mine own deformity:
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.

Richard is bitter, because he is unloved. His deformity caused him to be outcast since "monsters" were viewed as subhuman. In revenge for this mistreatment, Richard decides to get some revenge by destroying everyone's happiness. The rest of play follows the outline of his plans--though there is a small hitch in the form of Richmond (your prototypical heroic pretty boy). I understand entirely where Richard is coming from. Nobody, not even his mother, loved him. If I were in that in position, I would probably not be a very nice person either.

Of course, I think I understand him so well because I am a monster too. I have a genetic skin disorder by the name of epidermolytic hyperkeratosis, which causes my skin to grow fast and form thick scales all over my body. (Yes, even there.) Had I been born during the Renaissance, my birth would have been the focus of a broadside. I probably would have been lauded as the Alligator Human. Oh, wait, there's a site that has an article about that: Human Marvels. Point in fact, any time up until the mid-1900s I would've had to make my living as either a beggar or a side-show freak. Or, like Richard, I could've just been a diabolical villain. Take your pick.

Sadly, it took a long time for life to get better for the "monsters" of the world. Disabilities are still taboo. Going through stores, walking the street, even just attending class--I get stared at. People whisper (thinking I'm deaf) about how offensive they find my existence. "What is a freak like that doing out in public?" "That thing has no right to live." "It better not reproduce." Yes, people have said all of those things about me and to me... and worse.

Times are changing. In 1977, America finally emancipated its disabled citizens. Congress signed the American's with Disabilities Act (ADA), and we finally had rights. But why did it take so long? Am I really that different from you? I don't think so. There's a documentary by the name of Lives Worth Living, and it tells the story of the fight to pass ADA. If you want a taste, watch this:

Watch Scaling the Capitol Steps for Disability Rights on PBS. See more from Independent Lens.

In a way, my study of monsters is studying my heritage. All of the stigma, all of the hatred, and all of the determination that come with being disabled are mine. But they belong to millions of other people, too. Through my writing and scholarship I hope to shed light on the evolution of how disabilities have been viewed. I hope that it creates conversation and understanding. I hope that it encourages people to not be afraid. Most of all, I hope to make a difference.

I am a modern monster. A mutant. An ichthyosaur. But I'm also human. Maybe you should treat me like one.