20 things : Radical acceptance is going to drive me more crazy rather than make me more serene

1. I was riding the bus home (of course?). The second leg of the ultra-annoying-because-it's-cold-and-two-buses-early-morning-Tuesday-yoga commute. 

2. I felt rather centered. 

3. Plus, I'd been in terrible pain all yesterday evening and this morning. We did some serious shoulder stretching that actually relieved it.  

4. As we lurched along, I reflected on my progress of late and thought I've been doing pretty good. I have been SLOWLY desensitizing myself to the World of People.

5. In order to get better, I have been doing these things, in order: therapy, meeting friends, poetry stuff, and yoga. Every week. And it's still challenging to get most of them to happen --everything except meeting friends.

6. But I'm starting to feel good because it's less challenging now. Thought I'm frustrated with the crawling pace, I'm also starting to be more okay with that too. 

7. So I'm contemplating these thoughts, and I go to get off the bus. 

8. As I'm walking up the aisle, I let go of a pole too soon, the driver slams on the brakes, I severely unbalance and run into a crowd of old people waiting to get off at the front.

9. I could feel myself fall forward, try to stop myself, know I'm going to hit them. I'm helpless in my momentum.

10. I hit them.

11. I rain a hail of apologies on them. Not just like sorry but SorrySorrySorrySorrySorry! 

12. This old man turns to me and gives me the look of death. Like, "you're nothing." Like, "I curse you and your future generations." And then slowly looks away.

13. The bus doors open. They get off and proceed to the intersection. 

14. I stay farther up the street and have a panic attack. 

15. Finally I make my way to my apartment, barely able to keep it together.

16. During my, um, surrendering process, this thought occurred to me: what would it be like for me to be able to forgive myself? Especially for stupid shit. Stuff I can't help. Stuff that's an accident.

17. I monitor my every move. I'm choreographing all the time. I rarely stop being self conscious. 

18. Monitoring and choreographing is a life-long trait. That is not a Jill-had-a-setback-after-her-mom thing. The self-loathing I feel when I slip up is also perpetual. Post-mom-suicide, the amplitude is higher.

19. But, you know, what if it weren't? What if I could somehow stop hating myself so viciously? [I can't believe I'm blogging this to the entire goddamn internet. Well, theoretically.]

20. I see no concrete way forward to this goal. It's like saying I'm going to build a rocket from recycled cereal boxes and shoot myself to the moon.

Here's a photo:

Choose Life

20things : moving / seven years / and

1) All winter my cheeks were windlashed and wet.
2) After this winter I determined I no longer look good w/o makeup.
3) My face has these red flaky areas over my cheekbones. And lots of bumps and blemishes all over.
4) Also I've cried more in the past winter months than I did in seven years previous.
5) The other day I snapped the first buds of magnolia.
6) The picture reminded me of Spain, a raw almond, green and furred, still on the tree; another photo, over half a life ago.
7) I keep running aground on history.
8) It cracks me open every time.
9) I sink further.
10) One night, when I was young enough to barely remember, I cried into the rectangle of orange light that separated my bedroom from the rest of the house, where after dark I knew I couldn't leave.
11) I cried until someone came for me.
12) Sometimes they did not; that night, they did.
13) We were going on vacation in a few days --my first one.
14) I needed to know if the bed would be the same, if the sky would be the same, if I would be the same, were I in another place.
15) The answer was I don't know.
16) That was my mother.
17) That was my mother.
18) And I am again in another place, and the bed is not the same, and the sky is not the same, and I am not the same, and it is still almost too hard to hold onto, like in my childbrain.
19) I hear the present approaching the future, rushing faster and faster toward me. 
20) A train and I am trapped underneath the tracks.

moving on -- new creative project

So they'll be discharging me from group a week from Friday. I was wondering if perhaps I would feel All Better. The answer to this question would be nay. What I've gleaned is that all this time (all this time) spent in group was to give me the skills to enable me to process the emotions --especially regarding my mom, what she chose and how it ended --while taking responsibility for my own safety. I have to say that before I started I was pushing emotions away. Some of you who know me may that is ridiculous --you see an expressive person who is in touch with her emotions. I have been through so much therapy that I can talk about my emotions on an intellectual level. But feeling them is a different matter. I could talk about the origin of the problem, but right now it does not seem appropriate. The point is, the therps stripped off some layers of varnish and I got my emotions back.

But between the times when I'm forced to reckon with Mom and It, I need a bigger-than-ever creative project to pull my attention and charge my brain to do its very best work.

So I had an idea a few weeks ago.

Not gonna tell you what it is yet, but here's some notes as I was thinking about a mission statement, Submission Guidelines, and/or a letter from the editor.

People have bodies. Animals have bodies. Hybrid human animal-bodies exist in the realm of myth or just beyond your closed eyelids. A body can be a force of locomotion, or a body may require augmentation to move itself. A body can be a metaphor. A body can be a source of pleasure. Pain can be a muse. Not psychic pain but actual visceral pain pain. Where does psychic pain end and visceral pain begin? When I say sensuality does that connote pain or pleasure? Senses. Viscera. Writing the body = writing what we know because we inhabit it. Writing your lover’s body so you can keep it on paper. From three dimensions into two. When I hold your hand do you feel it? Do you feel it with your brain or your skin?  Our bodies can make us feel like amateurs. Strength in vulnerability. Taking a risk and writing about the body can make you feel like an amateur. When I wake and put my feet on the floor I feel like an amateur. I would like to reclaim the word amateur to mean risk-taker. Yang energy pushes us forward while Yin energy causes us to reflect. What does that mean? I am forever striving. I’m not good at being. I mistyped there and had to correct it. For a second it said I am not god at being. We are gods of our own bodies. We are slaves of our own bodies. I watch your body when you sit across from me on the bus. I was mainstreamed and then I started to use a white cane, then stopped, then started, now I’ve stopped again. Am I blind or not? Our bodies are signifiers. Our bodies are false signifiers. Our bodies are liars. Our bodies are storytellers. I want to tell stories about the body. I want to hear your stories about the poem that is the body.

The Universe Box and Radical Acceptance

The day I walked into the room where my therapy sessions are held, the words RADICAL ACCEPTANCE were scribbled on the whiteboard in failing black marker. I dimly remembered this skill from last time (199something). There was something else written under it which my mind wants to paraphrase as "This really sucks right now but there's nothing I can do about it."

Easier seen on the whiteboard than taken into the heart and mind. A few days later, a fellow group member let me in on his idea for something called a God Box. You made a special box where you put thoughts and feelings that were just too big, overwhelming, too much for you to handle. The idea was to physically and metaphorically give up control to a higher power, who has the capacity to handle these things much better than you do.

This box works if you believe in any version of a higher power at all.... even if the higher power is just the best parts of your Self, not easily accessed --that strong core that has kept you alive thus far. I called mine the Universe Box because it suited me.

Here's a picture of the top of my box. I didn't have the energy to make the whole thing pretty but I did at least do the top.

That uneven black rectangle is the slot I cut where I put the thoughts. I made it small deliberately, so that I would have to fold up the pieces of paper REALLY TINY to get them in there. And I glued a nautilus to the front because I find them beautiful. It sort of looks like the thoughts might all be pouring into the mouth of the nautilus as well.

Here's more about radical acceptance. This is from the book, by Marsha Linehan, Skills Training Manual for Treating Borderline Personality Disorder (c) 1993. When I first did this therapy, they were only using it for borderlines, but docs and clinicians have since seen the value of using it as a therapy for bipolar, depression, eating disorders, anxiety disorders, and probably more than that.

Btw, if you google Marsha Linehan, the first thing that comes up is all these images of tees and sweatshirts from CafePress that say things like "Marsha Linehan is my homegirl." Not even kidding. Well, her therapy did save my life once, and now we're working on rescuing my sanity 17 years later.

Okay, so the ideas of radical acceptance, straight from "Distress Tolerance Handout 5: Basic Principles of Accepting Reality." There's two sub-sections I'm going to outline here. One is called Radical Acceptance. One is called Turning the Mind. These aren't my words. Please Marsha, don't sue me.

I do have lots of italicized notes though, like this one.

[NOTE: if you are reading this blog and you're pretty well-adjusted, you might think that the worksheet title is odd. You may not have trouble accepting your reality. You may even enjoy your reality most of the time. And for the times when you don't enjoy it, you may be doing things about it that are effectively helping your reality conform to the way you'd rather have it. That person was pretty much me, from about 1998 or so to August 9, 2012. I'm not saying I was super-sane or asymptomatic, but I was relatively good until the flea infestation that started off my downward spiral. Which I am planning on discussing in group today. Anyway, IF you have trouble accepting your reality because something SO world-rocking happened and you have limited or no control over it, then radical acceptance may be for you.]

RADICAL ACCEPTANCE

• Freedom from suffering requires ACCEPTANCE from deep within of what is. Let yourself go completely with what is. Let go of fighting reality.
• ACCEPTANCE is the only way out of hell.  >>> I starred that one
• Pain creates suffering only when you refuse to ACCEPT the pain.
• Deciding to tolerate the moment is ACCEPTANCE. >>> with all the self-medicating I'm doing right now, I really want to work on this aspect some more
• ACCEPTANCE is acknowledging what is.
• To accept something is not the same as judging it good. >>> This one is very important to me. It means that even though my mom killed herself, I don't have to forgive her right now, or even seek my own emotional understanding of her motives. It just means I have to accept, for example, that there was no way I could fix her.

TURNING THE MIND

As I understand it, this means literally re-orienting your mind from a place where you are attached to the pain, where you ruminate and dwell on what-ifs and should-haves and whys --which, remember, you have no control over--to a place where you allow yourself to let go.

• Acceptance of reality as it is requires an act of CHOICE. It is like coming to a fork in the road. You have to turn your mind towards the acceptance road and away from the "rejecting" reality road. >>> Note: rejecting reality is not the same as denial, although it might be. Rejecting could be, for example, going over a problem in your head that is past all help, but you can't stop dwelling on it. I just thought of Adam's t-shirt on Mythbusters that says "I reject your reality and substitute my own." I love that shirt. And it's fine in an imaginative sense, when you are engaging in acts of creativity, or when you need an escape, or if it's a joke printed on a shirt. Or if substituting one's own reality can actually produce a positive change. Damn, I love that show. I wonder if they had a new season when I wasn't paying attention.
• You have to make an inner COMMITMENT to accept. >>> I find that if you believe in a higher power, it's really helpful to lean on that higher power to help you make the commitment. 

• The COMMITMENT to accept does not itself equal acceptance. It just turns you toward the path. But it is the first step.
• You have to turn your mind and commit to acceptance OVER and OVER and OVER again. Sometimes you have to make the commitment many times in the space of a few minutes. >>> I starred this one too. It's so important. I remember when I was in my first year of recovery from self-injury. I definitely had to re-commit every minute in some stressful circumstances. Because it's like your brain has carved these neurological pathways that tell you [insert destructive pattern here] is the only way, and it's not. My pathways for self-injury haven't caused me to act on them for 14 years, even though those neurons that say do it still fire. 

[end handout]

I hope that I can switch my neurons again. Before (in 199something) I felt it was the one pattern I had to work on. Don't self-injure. Don't self-injure. But now I feel like it's a bunch of smaller counterproductive patterns (erm, like a fear of leaving the house, e.g.) that I would like to mend, and it's all complicated by this grieving process that I know barely anything about. Except it's unpredictable, nonlinear, and it can take a long time. Woo hoo.

I guess I still have some poems left in me, though this isn't one of them.

So every time I leave a session with A I dread crossing the street. The immediate surroundings outside the yoga studio are noisy, crowded, and frankly a bit gross. The dive bar on the corner (past which I have to walk to get to the intersection) spawns bees, a smell of decay, extra sidewalk debris, and afternoon drunks milling about. 

If I don't leave the house with payment for A, sometimes I go to the drive-through bank across the street to use the ATM. Lately they have stationed a security guard outside the drivethrough, which has one or two lanes staffed by people, and then a lane for the ATM. The security guard leans against the wall staring down the long narrow parking lot to the street. It makes me feel awkward, much as I feel awkward caning down the sidewalk to my bus stop. There's a whole gauntlet of people slumped along the wall, and they're pretty much watching me. I mean I can literally see their heads turned in my direction, gazing at my progress. Not all of them of course. Some are on the phone or busy attending to children or talking to each other. Incidentally, I felt this way (about the bus stop) before I used the cane. But the security guard is the one I'm thinking about right now. 

So I'm coming out of a rough sesh, and picking my way across this annoying intersection where beer trucks are making deliveries, traffic is backed up, and people like to gridlock. I approach the entrance to the bank parking lot, and I see him. I don't know if it's the same guy all the time. My eyes don't render the face very well. Just a guy, white, stocky build, uniform, mirrored sunglasses. I enter the parking lot. I'm caning down its empty narrow length  toward the ATM. 

I feel like I'm on the runway. Like I'm doing my little turn on the catwalk or something. But (if it's not bloody obvious by now) not in a good way. I'm channeling the fire, the solidity of A as a defense, because she dropped some A-bombs on me at the end of the sesh (I dislike when she does this, but it doesn't happen often) so ironically I'm channeling her spirit because my own aura feels frangible. My brain is a roiling stew of anxiety and racing thoughts. I get closer and closer to the ATM, idly wondering if it's illegal to be a pedestrian using the drive-through. I didn't used to wonder about it, but now there's been this uniformed guy for the past two weeks.

So I've decided to just not look at him, to look at the ground halfway between him and me. And the distance grows less and less, and finally I'm veering toward the ATM. And today he speaks to me. 

"I don't mean to startle you..."

"You didn't." Because he didn't. I knew he would be there and I was watching him watch me. But he doesn't know that. However, it was kind of him to say so, because most people don't think about the fact that 99% of the time, their voices DO startle me because I don't sense them coming. 

"I don't mean to startle you... but ... you're good."

I sort of tilt my head at him, sizing up his comment, and how I'm going to respond. 

On the way to my appointment with A, I already took out my visually-impaired ire on a guy who was loading his car and decided to put all his crap in the middle of the narrow sidewalk and not move it out of the way even though, if he were paying attention, he could see and hear me coming down the block. 

For as much ire as gets channeled into some of these blog entries, I don't actually express it to the appropriate party most of the time. Today though...

When I was finally RIGHT UP ON the car loading guy and his pile o' crap he was like, "Oh shit, sorry," and I muttered something non-amicable. I didn't swear at him or anything, but still felt a little guilty for not accepting his apology. My parents raised me to be polite. Painfully polite. Self-effacing, even. I do accept the apologies of people most of the time, and I felt this guy was being particularly stupid. And he got my push-back. 

Because I think sometimes it *should* be okay to not accept someone's apology if you don't know them, if it's not an accident, if he was being particularly unaware or inconsiderate. And he was. 

I know that I hold most people to a far-higher standard of interpersonal consideration than average, because *I* am *always* hypervigilant of my body, my stuff, where it is and where I am and if it's blocking or inconveniencing anyone. And most people just aren't aware aaat aaaallll. They put themselves where-ever and expect you to just go around them. 

For example, people who hold conversations in the middle of busy sidewalks. I can't get riled about them because there's just too many. Apparently it's human nature and I'm the one overly conscious of my own taking-up-of-space. 

Back to the guard and my already-roiling stew of anxiety. 

I've heard his comment from other people too, the "you're good" thing. From repeated analysis, I believe he means that "although you are using a white cane, you move with the grace of a person who has more vision than I assume you have." I'm not okay with his judgment because it's normative. It's privileging the way "regular" people move. When I am seen as coming closer to the standard, I'm called "good." 

But his expression was friendly. And my brain was already full of too many problems. Personal angst and obsessing about family stuff. Leftover outrage from an essay I read this morning in the Kenyon Review detailing a / the latest egregious human rights violation.

I made a rare decision to let it go. The expression on his face was friendly. He was (like they nearly all are) well-intentioned. He really had no idea what his comment actually said to me. He thought he was paying me a compliment. So I just smiled and said thanks. I used the ATM. And then I bid him to have a good day as I walked away and I knew he was watching me still.

It wasn't a lifestyle choice; I was born bi-visual (pt. 1)

Okay, this is gonna be an epic blog entry. First, two things. Wait, three. First thing)) this is who I have sitting in my lap as I type.

It's Luna, my youngest. Isn't she adorable? She likes to recline with her lower half and then cling to my boobs with her front paws (claws, really). Ouch. But it's nice to have such a supportive friend around when confronting heady topics on one's blog, such as this concept which I have termed for short-hand purposes, bi-visuality. It's Cathy Kudlick's term. I'll say more about her later in part 2 or 3. You know I've been exploring this same concept. What I've found out over the weekend is that there are many blind people doing the same. I read a stat that 85% of blind people who use white canes have some usable vision. I think I got that right. I'm sure about the number at least. Bad academic --I'm not going back to re-locate and document my source.

Second thing)) waiting for my cane and angsting over the vicissitudes of bi-visuality, I found out that there's a list of blind bloggers. I added a link so you can see who they are too! I thought, when I found it, this may be the beginning of the support I'm looking for. And then I promptly "forgot" about it.

You see I have this avoidance problem. Sometimes it manifests as "I forgot." Am I making sense so far? I'm only on my starter coffee, and the adorable kitty that I snapped just moments before is now dismantling the dining room piece by tiny piece, and I'm distracted putting all this effort into ignoring her.

Third thing)) NEW DEFINING EXAMPLE OF IRONY : Yesterday I was practicing another one of my avoidance strategies, procrastination, and I was procrastinating going outside. Some days I just don't have the psychic energy in me to deal with the strangers who make my life-with-cane difficult. And it was raining. And I was doing a LOT of house chores. But I still was feeling bad about myself for not going out. Calling myself bad names indeed. And so, looking for some internet support / advice  I googled  "white cane" "social anxiety." The third and fourth hits were THIS BLOG. I was like really? Universe? Really? 


In Part 2, I finally get my new cane... and wish it came with better-than-IKEA-quality instructions.

a) nightmare b) some good news

So I woke up this morning because Ruskin yowled and yowled. I was grateful because I was having a hard time breaking free of this nightmare:

the university for which I previously taught (and in the dream was still teaching at, or trying to) had a principal. A principal, like at a high school, who disciplined all the students and also made the hiring decisions. He looked like the Bob Kelso character from Scrubs.

I had made him a PowerPoint (as part of an interview portfolio?) in which I described what it was like to be blind. I used both an argumentative approach and also a poetic one. Like, logic entangled with metaphor.

Except I accidentally hit the "send" button (PowerPoint had a send button) and it whisked into his inbox without revision. I got it back with a big silly asterisk in the corner. It said F+ --"your arguments are not strong enough."

I wrote a groveling email in which I tried to explain the accidental hitting of the send button and could I have more time to complete the assignment? Instead of waiting for a response, I decided to just revise the damn thing and send it off again. I got his response. This time it said F* --"_________

and then I woke up.

The good news is that (I think I can share this? I haven't signed a contract but I did receive an acceptance email....) I'm teaching in the Young Writers' Institute this summer, high school level. w00t!!!!!

Small successes

1) I made a to-do list.
2) I've already done at least two items on it and it's before noon.
3) I snagged a late lunch with D and Vivacious P for later on today. Double-yays!

Since I've finally got around to ordering it, I want my new white cane NOW. Instant gratification! No patience! I wonder if it will be heavier, lighter, or the same. I wonder if the white will be just brilliantly white, as it is in the picture. I wonder what the handle will be like, and whether it will resist or accept my decoupaging efforts. The sooner I get it, the sooner I can pretty it up, the sooner I can use it. In my head I've already prettied it and the glue is drying. In my head the glue has dried and I'm taking it for a walk. The sun is wicked bright, and the cane is like, glowingly white.

The sun is not actually that bright outside right now.

But I'm excited anyway. Six inches will really make a difference.

Sorry, my inner 13-year-old thought that was really funny.

Lists

major parts of the eye

aqueous

     humor

vitreous

     humor

cornea

conjuctiva

choroid

lens

ciliary     muscle

orbital     muscle

pupil

iris

Canals of Schlemm

ciliary body

optic nerve

macula

fovea

retina

sclera

lens sac

zonules

optic

   chiasm

     optic

          disk

Sidewalk Q&A

I am lurking at the coffee shop across the street from the coffee shop where the interview is to take place.

With the mini heat wave again, our sidewalk is full of children who have no yards and need to run up and down and scream and whatnot. Past my house repeatedly while I am working. But anyway, not the point. I put on my first day of school dress. Literally, this is the dress I wore the first day of teaching this past year; it feels like more time has elapsed since then. I noticed the dress is rather loose in places where it fit better before. In fact, if I had not grabbed this dress from the closet at the last minute, I would pick a different one out of the attic summer stash. The bodice, um, gapes. I brought a cardigan but I'm not wearing it until the last minute cos it is so damn hot.

Anyway, children running up and down my side of the street, so I decide to walk to the bus stop on the other side of the street rather than walk through them. About one block up, there is yet another queue of children, milling and writhing. Suddenly (because everything in my vision happens suddenly) a big ol' yinzer walks in front of me and asks, "Are you blind?"

"Yep; mostly." This has become my pat answer to anyone who asks this question. I have a white cane. What more do you need to know?

"Well, I thought you should know you are about to walk into a crowd of --"

"I know." I thought he was gonna say children. Because there were children moving in brownian motion throughout and beyond my entire frame of reference.

"--bees."

"BEES?!" That came out rather shrill.

"Yeah, a whole crowd of 'em. They're about to tape off the road and everything. Some little old lady just got attacked --"

"OMG, thank you so much. Bees? Really? BEES?"

"Do you need help crossing?"

"No I'm good crossing. You said a crowd of BEES?"

"Yep, bees. I can help you cross to the other side if you want."

"Nope, I'm good. OMG. Bees. I have this totally paralyzing bee phobia. I mean it's really bad. I'm on my way to this job interview and--"

"Okay, you're all clear to cross now." He walks across with me but does not touch me. "Oh, I like your artwork." He means my tattoos. I'm wearing this summer dress that is feeling very very gappy indeed.

"Thank you. And thanks for telling me about the bees. That would have sucked."

I saw the old lady a few blocks down the road, shaking it off in the driveway of an auto body shop. Her posture looked defeated. But she had an old lady cardigan and long polyester pants on. I have so much lovely flesh showing for those little bastards to sting me until I'm unconscious.

I have always been mistrustful of the kindness of strangers. But thank you, large man in Steelers t-shirt with sleeves ripped off.

Damn this latte is good. I hate to throw it away now. Sigh. If it wasn't for coffee shops I would have no place to bees.

On the potential assets of vulnerability

I know this blog post gets a bit long. First I summarize the salient points of her talk, and then I talk about why they are important to me.

Brené Brown TED talk

Brené Brown is a social worker / anthropologist / ethnographer who studies the connections between people, why and how they happen. She specializes in studying shame and vulnerability. I didn't think anyone had ever studied that, but I was interested to listen. In this talk she sort of explains how she came to study these topics and the most important information she has gleaned on them, from doing thousands of interviews with people. I invite you to go listen to the talk before or after reading this blog entry, or bookmark it if you don't have the time. The quotes here are just-about-right-but-maybe-not-exactly. I was typing pretty fast because transcribing from her talk.

So she started off her doctoral work interviewing people about their human connections.

"When I asked people about connection, the stories they told me were about disconnection." 

These interviews gave her the opposite data than she expected. "I found something that totally unraveled the idea of connection for me, and that was shame. Shame is the fear of disconnection. The idea that underpinned shame was excruciating vulnerability. In order for connection to happen, we have to allow ourselves to be seen, really seen."

So in her research, she set out to "deconstruct" shame and the idea of vulnerability. 

"If I roughly took the people I interviewed.. and divided them into people who .. have a sense of worthiness ... a strong sense of love and belonging ... and folks who always wonder if they are good enough... there was only one variable that separated [those people]  people who have a strong sense of love and belonging ... believe they are worthy of love and belonging."

She examined all the interviews of the people who were living with a strong sense that they are worthy and wanted to figure out how they did that. She described these people as "wholehearted." The three characteristics of wholehearted people she enumerated as "Courage, compassion, connection. The original definition of courage being, not a synonym for bravery, but to tell the story of who you are with your whole heart. The courage to be imperfect. The compassion to be kind to themselves first, and then to others... They had connection as a result of authenticity." The fourth thing they had in common was that they "fully embraced vulnerability. What made them vulnerable made them beautiful." 

OKAY HERE'S WHERE I COME IN:

This talk really hits home for me, especially right about now. I still have to force myself to go outside using my white cane. Yesterday the light was such that I could almost convince myself I didn't really need the cane. It wasn't searingly bright; it wasn't dark; it wasn't raining. I could have just gone out without it. Never mind the street crossings, people on bicycles, endless and different-every day construction that forces me to walk in the street and off the sidewalk on our hill, which cars just fly up and down at a high rate of speed. I thought, "I am not going to make it outside today if I have to use this f*ing cane."

But I told myself, I PLEDGED to myself that if I was going to start using it, I would use it full time, as I had originally been using it in Columbus. Why did I do that? Well for starters, probably because I knew it would be too easy to "take back" my vow if I didn't put that clause in it. I'm very good at rationalizing what I don't want to deal with. Secondly, it would allow consistency in my own brain and the brains of others. The idea here is to not only incorporate the cane for practical reasons but integrate it into my overall identity. If I'm able to say, "oh, but not today," then my progress, as a person, would stay where it's been for the last x-number of years. I would not be accepting a fundamental part of myself. 

And that's where the shame comes in. I have a *lot* of shame about my body. The disability stuff is only the half of it. And using the cane is basically taking that festering shame sore, or whatever, and rubbing gravel into it. Like HERE I AM WORLD, SHOWING OFF MY SHAME.

Not that I intellectually think I should be ashamed of having a disability. The opposite actually. All my parts, even the broken ones, are a part of me. I would not be me without them. I'd be some other girl.

It's just that I got so many messages as a child that I should be ashamed. I don't think the people sending the messages meant to indicate that I should have shame, but that was the lesson that got communicated. 

Here's an example: You are just like everyone else and you can do everything that a normal kid does.

The goal of this person / people was probably to encourage independence in me, to foster self-esteem. The thing is, I wasn't just like everyone else. I couldn't do everything that a normal kid did. But I tried. And failed. And felt shitty about it. And failed again. And again. And again. And the other kids made fun of me and let me know just how absolutely I was failing. So there were two subconscious lessons that my brain took in here. 1) You suck at being normal and 2) It is better to be normal than being what you know deep down you are.

There was a part in the talk where Brown speaks of how her research was affecting her personal life. She likes to control and quantify, so she was devastated at first when she found out that the issue of vulnerability was at the core of her research. And she said something like [paraphrasing here], "You know the kind of people who find out that they have an issue with vulnerability and they just decide to surrender and walk into it? Well, I'm not like that. Furthermore, I don't even hang out with people like that."

That's me. I've been told by some very good, smart people whose opinions I respect that the way to get through shame is to allow myself to be vulnerable and I'm like F*** THAT.

I know I've been going on about this blog and "radical openness" and all that. But it's a freaking slog to be radically open. I hate it. It does not come naturally. I am private. I am guarded. I am mistrustful. I have some anger management issues. And a big Sword of Damocles sized anxiety hovering over me if not at all, then at most times.

Today I have a job interview. It's for a job that I've been chasing for nearly a year now. It's with a good organization that I really believe in. I'm having paranoid thoughts though:

a) even though there has been no indication of this being a factor, they will somehow decide that, because of my visual impairment, I am unfit to do this job;
b) that I will have an attack of fibro fog in the middle of the interview and start losing words, getting flustered, losing more words. The cats kept me up all last night cos Mike wasn't home. So I didn't sleep well. I'm pounding the caffeine. I used to be GREAT in interviews. Charming. Charismatic. Genuine. Now today I worry I will show myself as genuinely unable to have a conversation.
c) That they will google me (I bet all bosses or potential bosses do this now), find this blog, and tell me to shut it down or I can't have the job. 

I am praying that these thoughts have no merit to them. Because part of me is like, "Yes Brené Brown! [and other people who tell me this stuff] You are amazing! Your work is amazing! You are right! I need to let myself be vulnerable and authentic and live whole heartedly, etc." 

But the world doesn't work like that. Overall, it doesn't. And she addresses this in the second half of her talk. She addresses it, but there's no solution except for everyone to decide that "genuine" is the way to live. At the top of Corporate Reasons to Not Be Genuine is profit. Second on that list is Covering Your Ass. So my mistrustful side and my trying-to-heal side are going at it. In my head. Especially today.

Please send me some good energy so I can deal with whatever happens.

The Manuscript

So I've been shopping this full-length MS around for some time now. Honestly, not that long, in the grand perspective. But since late December, I've been writing so much more, in a newer, more risk-taking style, that this MS is starting to feel foreign to me. Like, it should be well and published by now, because the material is already starting to feel old.

Until now I've kept the MS apart from the new work that I've been writing. The new pile I've just been calling The Sheaf. However, a lot of my publications since The Sheaf started have been Sheaf poems and not MS poems. Soooo, combining that with the fact that I'm starting to see the MS as too tame, not exigent, enough, if that makes sense... I'm attempting some integration from the Sheaf into the MS.

Even the title, Rounding Down, doesn't seem to fit any more. It was (perhaps) better than the previous title, but it doesn't speak about the whole MS.

With the chapbook (Borrowed Bodies) I went through about three different titles until I settled on The One. That title did not come from a poem title or even an image within the book. It just fell into place one morning, in the shower.

Best thinking. In shower. Seriously.

Even after I had the title I wanted, the ordering did not come at once, nor what poems to include. I fussed with it until all of a sudden it fell into place organically. I was like oh yeah. That's how it's supposed to go. After that, I was a finalist at the next place I submitted to. After that, the book was taken by Pudding House.

This new MS has about 40 poems in it, with four sections. I have no idea if all of a sudden coming upon a form that seems organic for it is a realistic goal.

I get impatient. Really. I'm in my mid-late thirties. No first book out yet. Every poet whom I like, if I can track down their birth date, I figure out when that first full-length book came out.

It's always when they were younger than I am. Usually right around 30.

Except, except, except. I have a lot of exceptions. I'm not going to list them here. This isn't a sob party. So many things have derailed me from pursuing this project that I get to do now. And the reason I get to do it now is purely a gift, from someone I love dearly. But it was a gift. I feel guilty that I needed a gift.

When I graduated from college I thought I would be in grad school by 25. That didn't happen. I totally fell apart. Then I got in a few years later. I could feel time creeping.

When I graduated from grad school, I thought I'd be done with the adjunct gig and on to teaching creative writing full-time, in, I dunno, three years.

That for sure didn't happen. I changed. The world changed.

Since I went into recovery (13-14 years ago now) I've learned to love a plan. To cling to it. It is ridiculously hard unlearning that.

I compare myself and always come out wanting. I'm not saying it's rational. I know it's not. But it feels... it feels. I feel it.

Everything I do is a solitary act. Does that make sense? Sometimes the loneliness fills me so completely that I don't have words for it. Sometimes, and I know this is fucked up AND I'm putting it on the internet ... but I wish I was in recovery for alcohol or drugs. AFAIK, there is no meeting for what I'm in for. Done with. But sometimes I could really use a meeting. Not because I feel that I am in imminent danger of breaking my recovery, but because I want to feel less lonely in my process.

There, I said it. But that is what this blog is about for me. Radical openness. Presenting the good with the flaws and allowing it all to co-exist in one big me-mess. Me-mess. Me-ness. Something like that.

Maybe I'll look back on this post once the MS was published and think, yes, on that particular Sunday everything really started to come together. Or I'll think, shit, I was really in for a long slog after that. What will it be?

Mike is afraid I will always level up, after each accomplishment. Never enjoying, always wanting the next thing. I worry about it too. I don't know how to be content I guess. Or, I'm learning. But I have always been a striver, obsessed with the way forward. It's gotten me to where I am --i.e. through some pretty difficult situations.

Signing off now. Safari and/or Blogger just crashed and I thought I lost this entire fucking post.

Might as well call it neurotica

[just ocd thoughtfragments, not poem]

I am freaking out about bugs
specific bugs
glossy black
three lobes
legs
feelers
mandibles
wood eaters
the shower
wherein this morning
Mike found
a silverfish
he stoically dealt with
the silverfish

SILVERFISH

my coffee is rich and frothy
my skin vibrates right off my body
I tune into
tv shows
about disasters
bridge collapse
train
folds into itself
kills a small village
subway tunnel
on fire : to a living corpse
dancing in a puddle
of flaming diesel
a silverfish
would not seem like much

Cane Coming-Out Day

So I've been trying to integrate the long white cane back into my life. When I lived in Columbus, it was easier to do so. There was so much disability awareness around campus, and well, campus and its adjacent neighborhoods made up most of the parts of the city I hung around in. In Pittsburgh it is not as easy, especially in my neighborhood. People are free with their comments. Sometimes (most of the time) I don't want to be noticed for my cane, or to be a one-woman disability education-service (e.g. "Not all people who use a cane are completely blind...")

But the cane needs to come back. I'm just safer when using it, not only at night, but in the rain, in bright sunlight... lots of lighting and terrain conditions are made easier for me when I use it. Also, cars and people tend to stay out of my way. It's taxing to my identity though. I can't "pass" any more. So yesterday there was supposed to be this really cool reading / talk at Pitt about / from the Beauty is a Verb anthology. I was so stoked to perhaps meet Jennifer Bartlett (if I was lucky) and to maybe have her sign my book (double lucky) and to maybe even have a five-minute conversation with her (triple-extra lucky). With this emotional energy bolstering me, I vowed that yesterday would be Cane Coming Out day. Kind of like the opposite of cold turkey. I was going to give a big push to my psyche and just start using it. Every day. All the time when outside. Like I did when I lived in Columbus. I wasn't going to share my little goal with anyone, but my reward for the first day would be to go to this awesome reading.

And then Pitt canceled both their events. I heard they postponed them until September. The University has been plagued with bomb threats (if you didn't hear) and I had this shivery-up-and-down-my-spine feeling that they were canceling the event on the potential of a threat because of the idea of evacuating so many people with disabilities. And I didn't like to dwell on that thought, or what it implied, because it put me in a very-much-NOT Cane Coming Out Day headspace. I talked to a friend on the phone about it fifteen minutes later and she also brought up this thought (that they canceled it because of the idea of evacuating, etc. etc.). I do wonder if the reading had been some "ordinary" poets, and not had a draw specifically for people with disabilities, if it would have been canceled. To repeat: there was not an actual bomb threat made.

But I kept to my goal and used the cane for the whole day. It was a reallllllly emotionally taxing day though. I talked about anger so much in my therapy session that I felt like beating things and whipping rocks at houses I passed when I got out. But then the anger dissipated. And, double-yay, no one gave me any shit about the cane.

I did run into a gaggle of neighborhood girls on last bit of the way home, walking up my hill. Long child-legs in shorts. Hair braided with springtime colors of beads like bright greens and pinks. They were the cutest. I would guess they were somewhere between 8 and 10 years old. I'm bad at guessing the ages of children.

Our sidewalks are really narrow, plus cars park on the sidewalks because the street is narrow, occluding half the narrow sidewalk. There's lots of awkward walking situations on my side of the sidewalk up to my house because of the cars. They came toward me in an oblivious (?) wall. We all sort of stopped in a heap, because no one could go into the street on account of an SUV or 3 was parked, blocking us.

I said, "excuse me" in a tiny voice. I'm rather shy. I know they're just children but there were so many of them. This one girl looked up at me incredulously and said, "are you blind?" like she was observing a solar eclipse or something. It was so cute; it touched my heart because she was small. I said, "a little bit." Then, "mostly." They parted and let me pass and they were on their way and I was on mine. I hope I didn't sound mean. I felt very tense. But little kids get a free pass, especially girls. Yes, a blind person can look like me, I will be happy (genuinely) to let you know.
*******
This morning everything is making me cry. I'm crying about submitting another MS to a contest because of the money. $20 here, $20 there. Since January I've felt really tense about money. I'm crying because I'm thinking about going outside again and who will be out there. In Oakland people didn't seem to notice, which is fine with me. But the South Side is where I get hassled in general, mostly by guys who like to say things to petite young women walking alone.

Just a note: If one person comments and says "just let it roll off you," I'm going to work out my anger management issues on you, or your blog, or your Facebook wall. If I could "let it roll off me," I wouldn't be blogging about it. I'm thinking about one specific person here. My brain lasers are trained on you.

But.... but I am going to try to breathe through it. And make my aura big.

Sometimes you just have to make a list

I dislike Easter. This may be socially unacceptable. But I do. Something bad to me happened on / around Easter a lot of years ago. Also, I would not call myself "Christian." So today is just sort of meh for me. Mike suggested buying plastic eggs, putting catnip in the eggs, hiding the eggs around the house and seeing if the cats could hunt the eggs by smell. But we didn't do that. Funny idea though.

Blargh. So I have the Yesterday Was Awesome But What Has Today Done For Me Lately Syndrome. I think it's congenital. I don't mean to be this way; it just happens. I live in the uncertain future.

A. told me I had to make a list of at least one accomplishment per day, even if it was "take shower," if "take shower" was all I could manage that day. I thought that was a valid strategy. I swore I would show the list to no one, buuuuut in stead I'm letting you see an excerpt. Just in case any of yinz have that "living for the future" thing that makes you feel not so good. Yep, this is gonna be out there for the whole Intarwebz to see. But don't worry it's not like I tortured puppies or went to see the lady-parts doctor or anything.

4/1 Went to Barb's art opening.
4/2 Did journal submission. Blogged Barb's art show. Made / blogged more jewelry for shop.
4/3 Renegotiated project with M. Survived Cloud Nothings concert. Saw Daniella reading awesome!
4/4 Made necklace for shop. Went to yoga.
4/5 Started poetry cards. Rec'v email : publication by Prick of the Spindle!
4/6 Finished poetry cards. Did 2 loads laundry.
4/7 Bought dress for reading. Did reading. Met new ppl & reconnected with frenz tho was anxious about the mingling. Sold some books and collages.

Making jewelry keeps me from going over the deep edge sometimes. Actually at 2 x 4 last night I had three people ask me about the jewelry and only one of them was someone I knew already. Thanks for reading, blogosphere. Or however these things get around.

What will go down for today? Probably "take shower." AND, I'm writing a poem about Chocolate Zombie Bunny, this confection in our kitchen that I've been eyeing for weeks. My husband bought it from ThinkGeek and is taking into work as part of an Easter basket. Knowing that CZB will be going away tomorrow, I've been carrying him around all day today. Sorry Mike. I promise I'll put him back.

Earrings for the shop

So I made some more earrings this morning to go into the (still nonexistent) etsy shop. I want to have nine items before creating the shop. My aesthetic for this new shop is focusing on asymmetrical pieces and mixing of textures (specifically metallic and natural).

First pair:

I actually made these over the weekend but cut and filed the ends this morning. Thanks for the jewelry files mom!

Second earring:

I really like the way this one turned out. I can't decide if I make it a plain and simple partner or if it gets sold by itself. Feel free to weigh in on this. The bone got overexposed cos I was taking this with my cell. I'll photograph these again when it gets closer to the time of needing better photos. I might also need ear models.

And here is one I made for myself. It's for me instead of the shop because I'm not happy enough with how the wirework turned out. It was my second attempt at a wire earcuff. When it didn't work out; I went hammer smash smash! Actually more like tappy-tap. And flattened it. And recycled it into a charm.

Here's a detail of the two charms on the end. Also, I finally figured out that I can use bails (top left corner) as earcuffs! I don't know why this didn't occur to me before. Probably because I don't regularly use bails in my jewelry. The bail/earcuff has a cute tribal design on it, which I didn't take a picture of. It came that way.

PS: I finally did make a wire-wrap earcuff this morning. It's cute but not pretty. It stays on my head. The End.

Crafternation

So I went back to the craft store today (only took 3 hrs 10 mins round trip as opposed to... whatever it was the other day) to exchange $6 worth of merch. Yes, I know. But. I didn't need the stuff, and I got better stuff, plus $0.43 back. That's 1/4 of an Americano.

And then I went to the hardware store, which is like a bigger version of the craft store. And I got some of these:

And some of these...

And I intend to have my way with them when I get upstairs, but sadly may need lunch and / or nap first.

{sigh} I miss the hardware stores like the one I used to work at, more like mom n' pop establishments and less big-box-extravaganza. I thought at least I was more likely to be anonymous, and that would be a good thing, but wouldn't you know it, some dude asked me if I needed help. However, I will point out (so you guys don't think I'm a total misanthrope) he was nice and our interaction was fortuitous. I wouldn't have found the Specialty Washers drawer for awhile. But I know the aisle and rough location now, and the delights that await within.

a drop in temperature leads to

me not wanting to go outside today, even though it looks sunny. So:

This morning started off with an acquaintance telling me about a situation. This person is a guardian for two special-needs teens. The teens were molested repeatedly by a family member when they were growing up. The perpetrator was convicted and served his legal punishment for it, but now that he is out, he is being all stalky and intimidating to these teens. I am not mentioning any names/details here on purpose. If you know more about this situation, please keep it to yourself and not comment on the blog or fb. The only reason I bring it up is, my productivity was kinda trashed there for awhile. Listening to my friend go on about this story of violence reminded me of a time in my life when I was young and there was violence and what would happen to me if I told, etc. I sorta had a big ol' ptsd panic attack there. Every time my acquaintance updates me about this situation, I want to tell them, can we not talk about it? because it makes me freak out. But I want to be supportive. This conversation led into a longer one about victims' rights, how they have fewer rights than the prosecuted, then the Treyvon Martin case --for which I think there's a rally at CMU today... and I just ... didn't want to go there.

I read a cool article about meditating and almost did it but then did not. My mind was too stormy and I was alone... it was maybe a bad time to "go inward." So I answered 10,000 (approx) emails --this is what happens when you don't check your email over the weekend I guess. Then I went on YouTube and watched some jewelry tutorials that I had intended to get to. One video led to another and there I was for two hours watching videos. The last one(s) were of these pendants made out of watercolor paper --so amazingly gorgeous that i started to think how / why would anyone ever buy MY stuff on etsy this guy has an art degree from Pratt... and the self-esteem started to go into decline-mode.

After two potential knocks to my productivity I decided it was time for a shower. It must have helped because after the shower I submitted to Sixth Finch, which was a good idea I had been sitting on. Then I sent out a bunch of withdrawal notices.

Sending out w/d's is a good thing --it means acceptance. But I have this paranoia that when I send out the w/d, the editor is going to be like, "Okay, you really want me to go through my 4,096 submissions to find your ONE poem that you withdrew and keep looking at your other stuff? No thank you." And then they'll hit the REJECT button.

Mike points out that 1) The journal assumed the burden when they said sim subs are okay 2) The editors are probably writers too, who also sim sub, and thus they will be empathetic and 3) Sending a w/d makes you look Wanted, like "you waited too long to ask me to the prom; sorry."

I'm not sure I believe his relentless optimism. But I am glad it is there. In my life. Close to me.

The Saga of the Bajoran Earring, pt. 4

So at last, here's the pic of me with the earring on. I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. The clip-on finding does not look too bulky to me, although I might place the top charm a little below it next time so it doesn't look so overshadowed. I wore it to Writing Renaissance today and didn't feel that uncomfortable pinchy feeling I was apprehensive about.

Also, Writing Renaissance was fab. It's great to get hugs from so many people you care about and haven't seen in like forever. Also, I got applause, actual applause, for a writing exercise. I mean, the prose-poemlet I wrote in response to it, called "Ataxia." That made me happy. We did three exercises. Molly Bain facilitated. She was fantastic.

Also-also, speaking of fabulous poets, Katie Pierce, a woman I went to grad school with, is on Poetry Daily today. Laaa!!!!

The Saga of the Bajoran Earrings, pt. 3

So I spent all day getting those earring parts, and spending more money than I thought I would ($50 instead of $25), partly because I wanted to get different findings and see what worked best, and secondly because I saw some stuff at the end that I just "had" to have and it oops! jumped in the cart. Ear cuff findings were nonexistent at the craft store, and this is a big craft store. You can order them online, individually, from Fire Mountain Gems though, and I've seen them on other sites for less money but with a minimum order of $25 and a not-as-good user interface. So I decided that clip-on findings were the next best thing. I also found some toe rings in my jewelry box that I may adopt... and also-also, I just wanna get my cartilage re-pierced so that I don't have to put a clip-on or cuff up there --I can just use a stud.

Here's the Process

Step 1:

Here you see the main components: 20 ga. craft wire, 2 lengths of silver-plated chain (I would estimate it's about 3 or 4mm chain), a filigree clip-on earring finding, 2 lever-back earring hooks, 6 jump rings (though I miscounted and ended up needing 7) and the elements of my charms: a hexagonal spacer bead and a hematite cube.

Step 2:

First I made the charms which were to go on each segment of the earring. This is the left ear again,  so the longest charm will go closest to my chin and the "cuff" will go up on my cartilage.

Step 3:

Here I've built the charms and connected them to the findings, so you can see the earring starting to take shape. My last step is to connect all three segments with the chain so it becomes one big earring that goes all the way up my ear.

Step 4:

And here it is! One big earring. I had to cut the second piece of chain (on your left) down because, although I do want a bulky "hardware" feel, I didn't want that chain between my two lower piercings to get caught up in the two charms.

When I wake up I'll have Mike take a pic of me with the earring on... moment of truth! I am worried that the filigree clip-on will be a bit bulky looking next to the charm which looks more delicate, but we'll see. I thought I would be done in an hour. I started at 5:28 and finished at 6:07. Yes, I woke up very early to do this because I was just too beat yesterday after getting home to put the earring together. Because of public transit, rush hour, etc. it took me 4 1/2 hours to complete my journey. I thought it would only take 3. I'm just happy I got it done because I want to wear it to Writing Renaissance this morning... which starts in three hours. Wonder if I'll get a nap between?

I also have to give major props to these craftspeople at Chainmail & More or I would have never thought to do an earring that utilizes that double-lower-lobe-pierce I got in the 80s cos everyone was doing it.

If you like this tutorial or the jewelry, please leave a comment on my blog or on the Facebook link.