Monday, July 18, 2016

A Letter to My Readers

Hello readers!

To those of you who still follow me, you deserve more than a gold medal.
To those of you who are new...well.
Here's your welcome letter.

Bear with me, this is an incredibly long post.
But it's important.

So once upon a time, I ran a blog called All the Stars and Boulevards.  Some of you may or may not remember it.  I was young (high school into early years of college) and I named it after a song by Augustana (pretty sure they aren't around anymore).

I was so very good at updating.
It was like a personal diary and I couldn't stop.
I wrote about my job.
I wrote about my life, my friends, people who made me mad, people who I loved.

But then one day I decided to drop it.
There were too many things going on.
I couldn't sort personal from what is acceptable to share.
So I walked away.

I tried a knitting blog, inspired by the Yarn Harlot.
That didn't work well.
It was too hard for me to stay on top of pictures and projects.
I gave up.

I created a book blog.
That was a school project for a Young Adult Literature class I was taking.
I was very proud of it (I still am) but try as I might, I can't get myself to go back to it.

Somewhere in the middle, this beautiful blog came about.
The quote is from Rumi, and it's always resonated with me.
The point of this blog was to do what the original blog did, but better.

And then I stopped blogging altogether.

There are periodic posts here and there on this blog, jumbled and confused and whatever else.

But I want to be back for good this time.  I have so many things in my head and what better way than to skewer myself on the Internet.  Maybe I should keep things private; after all, so many things have happened.

Keeping it private doesn't help anyone else though.  And besides, I'm learning people online mean well overall, and if anyone wants to talk, it opens me up for that.

Alright.  Up to speed so far?
Excellent.
This is where the tornado starts.
Hold on Dorothy, this isn't Kansas anymore.

So what happened to make me stop?

Maybe I explained everything in a previous post somewhere, but I have no desire to go through my archives.  I might actually burn them so this can be a fresh start.  So let's go with a fresh start.

My sister's fiance killed himself.
Wait, let's go back further.
I got married.
Wait, stuff came before that.
Let's go back to the beginning, actually.

2014 was the most stressful year I'd had in a really long time.  I had just figured out, after an associates and a year at a four year school, what I wanted to do with my life.  At first I thought I wanted to be a park ranger.  But if I had paid attention to what my associates said ("creative writing"), I would have realized sooner that I'm drawn to words.  English Education finally came to me, and it's a fantastic fit.  So I was switching from a highly stressful education path to an equally stressful one, the key being I was (and still am) in love with it.

That was the summer of my sister's fiance as well, a man who could be charming and funny but turn on a dime.  He had Type I Bipolar Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, and several other things going on.

 Mental disorders tend to get glossed over.  We're afraid to talk about them, and we're afraid to deal with them.  I'm ashamed to say that I was afraid to deal with his.

What ended up happening instead was a summer of him harassing me to the point where I was afraid to go home if I saw a car that even remotely looked like his, and me not knowing how to deal with it and not knowing how to sort what was just manipulative from his environment (because there was a lot of that going on) and what was biological.

The records of text messages I kept that summer filled a file folder.
My sister still loved him.
I started seeing a therapist and psychiatrist.
My anxiety attacks went through the roof and I was put on low doses of antidepressants (which didn't make me feel better) and Xanax as needed.

The year passed.

2015 showed great promise.
I brought my GPA up a bit, planned my wedding, and just generally loved life.  School ended well in the spring semester - I got to try so many things, a painting class and meeting authors and just so many wonderful things.

I got married.
It was beautiful and simple and I felt like a princess.  My husband and I have been together since 2011; he's the only person I've ever been with, and I love him so much.  We spent a week afterwards trying to figure out further plans.  We still lived (and still do live) with my parents because the economy is so bad and we're both full time students, but it works out.  It worked out.

Everything was wonderful and my life felt right.

And then everything wasn't okay.

Suicide is a very difficult thing to talk about.  It's hard, it's stigmatized like so many other things, and it scares a lot of people.  But that's what happened, and I'm tired of sugar coating it.  I've tip toed telling people what really happened.  I'm sick of pitying looks and I know everyone else is too.

My therapist once told me that when someone dies of cancer or other illness, we are sad, but we often say that they're no longer in pain.
The same should go for suicide.
It's not something we wish on anyone, and so many people react in anger to the person who left.
But we can't know how much pain that person was in, and on some level, they aren't hurting any more.

Life is so complicated sometimes.

So here it is:

My sister's fiance shot himself in the head.

We were on vacation to see my relatives who live out of state.  We were sharing our wedding and our photos, how beautiful everything was.  My husband and I were happy, and even though all five of us (my sister, the two of us, and my parents) were crammed in a single hotel room for a week, it was good.  Every time I see my family, it's good.

He was not invited, for reasons listed way above.

We dropped my sister off at her apartment, my dad walking her up to the door.
They found the body.
They found an extra bullet waiting for her on the night stand table.

She later told us that if my dad hadn't been there, she would have used it.
We still cry when we think about it.

I still remember hearing her scream and knowing exactly what had happened before anyone could tell me as I sat in the van.

I still remember thinking I had to go to the bathroom but would rather wait than ask to use theirs.
I would have seen the body as well if I hadn't waited.

I still remember that he was only a month older than me.

So then of course there is so much to deal with.
My sister's pain.
His family and how in their hurt, they handled my sister so poorly.
How all of us felt some piece of guilt.
How when I threw that file of text messages away, I wondered (and still do) if I could have somehow made thing different.

I used to have nightmares where I could hear her scream still.
I would close my eyes, see her face and hear her sobs as I held her with my mom and husband.
I tried to change the tracks.
I tried to not take Xanax daily.
I tried to avoid it until I couldn't any longer.

I couldn't imagine how hard it hurt her.

I still can't.

Somehow we made it through the summer.
School started again in the fall.

I was diagnosed with Type II Bipolar Disorder on the first day of school.
I would have been diagnosed sooner if I hadn't spent a year lying to everyone because I was afraid of turning out like him.

It wasn't the end of the world even though I thought it was on that August day as I cried on the train.

The world still hasn't ended.
If anything, it's gotten better for me.
I'm back to rapid cycling, but it's no longer daily.
I cycle about weekly now.
And I have an appointment to tweak that this week.

There is always hope.

But before that, I couldn't see it.

And then, my husband got me interested in something.  There is a game series called Metal Gear Solid.  Perhaps you are familiar with it.  I don't play video games, but he's played it from the first game all the way through the Phantom Pain, the last installment.  I watched a few of the missions, and I was blown away by the care put into these characters.

I researched.
For the first time since I graduated community college, I started to write.
I wrote a character.  I wrote in the world of the established characters with the support and encouragement of my husband.
(He loves that I'm part of something, especially something he can talk with me about.)
I found something to give me purpose when I couldn't see through term papers, middle schoolers, the pain of the holidays.

I can't explain how much it saved me.
It still does.

Every time I write verse fics or read other fics or look at fanart or RP or even watch cutscenes of the games, I get out of my head for a little bit.  My therapist and I talk about it sometimes, how writing again with established characters takes some pressure off me and actually lets me write without criticism in my head, how I've created two original characters (OCs) that are the parts of me I can't handle in real life.

Actually, let's pause here and, in the words of the Good Mythical Morning boys, let's talk about that.

My first OC, a teenage girl on Mother Base who isn't quite sure where she fits, is all the emotions I've squelched (my therapist's words) my whole life.  She lets me escape being an adult, even if it's just for a bit.  I don't write her much anymore.  I think I don't need her right now; but I know that when I do need her, she's there.

My current one is...well...she's the parts of myself I struggle with.  She has my anxieties and my disorders and my insecurities, but she's also got some serious strength.  When I start to feel like I'm drowning, there's a part of me that remembers that if she can survive the scenarios I've placed her in, surely I can survive mine.  It doesn't take a hero to make it through; sometimes it's just being soft and kind, even if you're crying.

Knitting can only do so much, after all.
Reading patterns (with the exception of lace) doesn't help quiet the voices.
If anything, sometimes it makes them louder.
There's a reason I watch the Weather Channel while I knit.

I digress.

The best part of this discovery last year?

I met my best friend.

It's always funny to me how paths cross, those golden strands fate weaves, how nothing is by chance.  Not a month after being in this fandom and writing for the first time in so long, he crossed my path.  At first, it was just to talk fanfiction.  But honestly, after a week, it wasn't that.

Personal life spilled into it.
I never open myself to anyone.
If you open up, it gives a chance to get hurt.

But I did with him.
I opened myself wide and I let him into my Cancer shell.
I helped him through struggles.
He helped me when I couldn't get out of my head.

He still does.

He lives several states away, so visiting in person is more than a midnight drive, but I know that if I call at 1am with a crisis, he'll answer the phone.
When my moods are out of control, he's there.
When something good happens, he's the first to know outside of my husband.

He's fantastic and I don't know how I got so fortunate to have him in my life.
He's my family.
I don't know what I would do without him in my life.
And to think, if I hadn't gotten interested in a fandom of a game I don't play, I wouldn't have met him.
Life is strange, isn't it?

I think life comes down to personal connections.
Even when I cant see straight, I still believe that.

My parents are amazing.
My sister is too.

And my husband.
God, I don't even know where to begin.
He takes better care of me than I do myself sometimes and I love him so much.
He's my rock.
He loves that I'm doing things again.
He loves that I met a great friend.
He loves that somehow, I'm finding myself again.
(Even if this month I've been completely off kilter.)

I've given him opportunities to leave.
Loving someone with mental illness can be hard.
But he's steadfast.

God blessed me with the people around me more than I can express.

School started again.
I made some connections with classmates that have carried.
I brought my GPA up, even though I still have a bit to go before it's where I want it.
I graduate in three semesters, and one of those is student teaching.
I'm terrified and it exhilarates me as much as it gives me nightmares.

I refuse to stop because of it though.

All of this is to say in a very long winded way, it is now the summer of 2016.

I am still here.

I still write for fandom.
I still paint periodically.
I've started taking walks and exploring around where I live, something I've not done before.
Sometimes I play my violin.
I've started singing in the shower again.
I went through Year and a Day, and took the mantle of Raven, the Seer.
I can read tarot like no one's business and if you need a spell, well, I have candle magic down.

And of course I still knit like a mad woman, sometimes until my hands hurt.

I am still here.

I am not leaving again.

So welcome back, old readers.
And welcome welcome, new readers.

We're caught up, so lets venture forward, shall we?

~Birdie

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