THE NOT-SO BIG REVEAL OUT OF HIDING!

Always have to start with Maybelline.  She's the beginning and the end of my world.

Today sucks.  I hate today.  I feel depressed because I'm fat.  I am having some distressing gastrointestinal issues going on, and they are wreaking havoc on my body and making me feel fat . . . . which in turn makes me depressed.  So I've been hiding in my apartment all day.

So I thought of one thing that might make me feel better today which is to stop hiding behind an anonymous screen and reveal my picture and identity. 

I’ve been thinking about revealing my identity for a while, but up until 2015 I was studying to be a teacher or working as a teacher, and I didn’t think it would be prudent to expose myself in such a vulnerable way in such an important role.  However, I’m not working now, so I can take more risks, and I’m ready to take some now.  I would say my life is boring and safe right now in many ways.  I’m not taking chances in recovery.  I hold up the same walls to Therapist that I usually do.  I just play it safe and if you always do the things you’ve always done, you will always get what you’ve always gotten.

And for some reason, I want more now.  I’m hungry for some type of change.  Something to shake up things.  (I don't know who is saying this because it's not coming from me.) I don’t know what change looks like, what it is, or how to get it.  Normally I hate change.  Still do.  And when it comes time to enacting change, I’ll probably avoid it.  But for now I’ll take my first step and reveal my identity.  


So my name is Becca, and these are some of pictures below.

Hi!  I'm Becca and this is my frizzy, curly hair.

Maybelline and I fell asleep together, and Husband was mean enough to take a picture.

Maybelline loves to rest on my chest.  I think it's my heartbeat she likes to hear.

Always snuggling.  She is my world.

1 of 2 pictures without Maybelline.  What can I say?

Well, now you know.  My name is Becca and I have curly hair.  Not quite an NBC reveal, but it will have to do.  I'll change my avatar soon on IG and Twitter.  I invite you to look at my Instagram page @Run_Becca_Run if you would like to see more pictures of me, Maybelline, and all things inspiration.

I'd love to hear from you!

How do you feel about revealing or not revealing your identity?

Does anything scare you about it?

WEDNESDAY WISDOM - VOL 1

Norman Cousins (1912 - 1990)

This is a quote from Norman Cousins (1912 - 1990) who was an American journalist and editor in chief of the Saturday Review for over 35 years.  He was known for his quotes on life, death, laughter, and health.   

When we think about loss, most times our minds go to people we have lost in death.  But Cousins said losing someone wasn’t the greatest loss of all; he posited that the death of what lies inside us while we yet live is the greatest loss.

For me, I thought about things that I have lost.  For instance, I feel a piece of me was killed when I went through years of abuse.  I lost myself and my potential.  I lost my youth,  my innocence, my ability to be touched without recoil.  I lost my ability to love and be loved, my ability to feel happiness, to feel relaxed and at peace in the moment.  I could continue on about my losses, but I’m sure you get the point  and could list losses of your own.

Here’s the trick though.  I believe it is up to each of us to “resurrect” or reinvent the pieces we have lost, that have died inside us.  See, Cousins said to lose those things was the greatest loss, but I believe they don’t have to remain absent.  Though I struggle in wanting to get better, I am working on reclaiming what was lost, what was taken from me.  Unlike death, happiness, or a form of it, is something I can recover, and even experience now in bits and pieces.  Losing what lies inside us is worse than death, but it doesn’t mean we have to lose it forever.  

I can make the changes now, no matter how small, how much I don’t want to, or how difficult it is. I can work on restoring my life, and I can get back what was taken from me, what died inside me.  It’s simply a question of how much do I want to reclaim what was taken and how willing I am to fight for what belongs to me.  Just like essayist Anais Nin said, “The day came when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”  It’s time for us to blossom, to reclaim what others took and what we lost to our abuse.  

I would like to know your thoughts.

What does this quote mean to you?

What things have you lost?

How do you think we can reclaim them?

ARE YOU READY FOR THE BIG CHANGES?!!

Maybelline loves this heated plush throw I bought, and she has been hunkered down in my arms to share it with me.

Winds of Change

I’ve decided to make some changes to the blog.  First off, every Monday will be considered “Music Monday”, and I will give three songs that I feel have some commentary on recovery.  I will draw from all types of music, country, rap, R & B, pop; nothing is off limits.  I will also add why I chose that song and why it’s relavant to my recovery at that time.  It’s my hope that you will send me your own favorites or music that speaks to you, so we can all share what motivates us to get better.

Secondly, the next blog that will have a specific topic will be on Wednesdays and will be called “Wednesday Wisdom” in where I will find a quote to discuss and relate how it pertains to me or my reaction to it.  A lot of my quotes will center around recovery and where I am in relationship to it.  You can help also by giving your favorite quote, and I will be happy to work it into a blog.

Lastly, Fridays will be called “Friday Feels” where I will hand out 3-5 self-care tips to help us take care of our selfves, or at least entertain the idea that that is something we need to do.  Again, the community can be a tremendous asset in sharing what helps you, and might also be featured in an upcoming blog.

Why?  

I’ve been thinking about this blog a lot, and it’s really just become a dumping ground for whatever is going wrong in that moment in my life.  You don’t need to read that.  You already have crap-storms of your own to deal with.  As a result, I wanted to put more of a positive focus on this blog, a place you can come to for answers, commiseration, or relatably.  I greatly encourage your participation and interaction because that is truly what makes the community focus itself, reach for higher goals, and get better.

Speaking of getting better

I can not stress how much lately I don’t want to get better.  I’ve even mentioned it in a couple of my recent blogs.  So this is a big step for my transforming my blog to something more recovery focused.  Getting better, or even the appearance of improvement, creates a resurgence of bold insecurity and fear of change.  On this blog, I’ll be trying to keep a positive tone, so staying focused on recovery will be my challenge.

I’m only human

As was just mentioned, this blog will now become a blog of positivity and will be recovery-focused instead of a dumping ground for everything going wrong.  But that dumping ground is where I’ve always felt safe, so I can tell you now we might have some starts and stops at the beginning.  Tonight’s post just about the changes upcoming was made on some heavy medication because I was having a dissociative break.    So please bear with me.  

Somethings will stay the same. I will always put my dog Maybeline at the beginning of the post since she is the beginning of my world. What will also stay the same is I will never B.S. about how I am. I will not write a positive blog post when in reality I'm self-harming or engaged in other maladaptive behaviors. I will always tell you what's going on. I don't expect perfection from anyone.

Despite my trepidation, I am very much looking forward to exploring music tomorrow, Monday, and how the songs I choose impact my recovery.  Remember, you are part of this journey.  Share your recovery songs also.

Until then. . .

This quote is for all of us, especially me as I embark on undertaking a more positive, recovery-focused blog.

Tales from the visits with Mother-In-Law

I went out of town for a few days.  Not a vacation.  More like looking after recently widowed Mother-In-Law.  I love her dearly, but she came back with me for a week, and I'm already nervous.  My dissociation has heightened to an unmeasurable degree.  I don't play nicely with others, and I don't want to share my apartment with her.  I couldn't even begin to write until I heavily medicated myself and put myself into a sleep.

I don't think it's Mother-In-Law.  I think my new apartment has been created as a place of comfort, and I don't even like sharing it with Husband.   He doesn't appreciate it at all. Which is another story entirely.  As soon as I got home and saw him I felt my skin crawl and the chaos in my head began.  Someone doesn't like him and steals from me.  If I don't resolve life with him I don't think there will be a marriage much longer.  He's got less than a year now to show signs he's willing to participate in change with me.

But my happiest times lately are when I get up, have coffee, slowly wake up, work around the apartment, read, take Maybelline for a walk, and continue my day however.

The cutting has subsided, but I crave burning myself.  Being watched by Mother-In-Law 24/7 and taking care of her in return has left little opportunity to comfort myself.  But I think of burning.  I know what I will do.  I crave it.  I imagine and fantasize about it.

I stuck pretty much to my weight loss plan while I was gone.  I weigh in tomorrow, hating what the scale says, hating what it doesn't.

I absolutely don't want to see Therapist for our session tomorrow.  I'm afraid it will be a let-down session, that there will be no true communication, partly me to blame.  The defenses are already being erected early, anticipating on what he might want to discuss.  It will be a waste if he bull shits the first thirty minutes and then tries to raise delicate issues.  If Therapist is going to bring up shit, he should bring it up quickly.  I don't want to wait there wondering when the other shoe will drop.

All in all, except for dissociative episode tonight, I'd say I'm doing well.  It's nice to be able to say that.

More than just another race

Tomorrow I run the Peachtree Road Race, the world’s largest 10k, and, frankly, I am terrified. 

Wouldn’t you be?  Look at all those people!

I’m not scared of the 6.2 miles; I’m scared of the unknown.  Even though I’ve read all the Atlanta Track Club e-mails, studied the start and finish maps, examined photos of previous races, rode the MARTA system, and did a practice run on the course, I still have no idea what I’m doing or what to expect.   

Six months ago, my fear of the unknown would have precluded me from signing up for the race.  I never would have had the audacity to dream of running the Peachtree Road Race.  Me?  Driving the highways of Atlanta to a public rail station?  Navigating the underbelly of Atlanta’s rail system?  Fighting my way through a crowd of 60,000 runners, plus 150,000 family, friends, and onlookers?  Not me.  I run shy away from the unfamiliar.

So if I’m such a scaredy cat, why run this race?  What makes this race so special? 

• Is it because of the 42,500 ripe, refreshing, sweet Georgia peaches asking for me at the finish line? 

• Is it because of the highly coveted Peachtree Road Race t-shirt that runners would sell their children for?

Tempting, but no.

• ·       Or maybe it’s because I get to wait in line with tens of thousands of people who have to pee and take care of the common runner’s GI issues? 

• Maybe it's because of the unconscionable hot, humid, muggy, intense Georgia weather for which I want to risk heatstroke?

No. Not that either.  Although it certainly adds to the appeal.  But this race means more than that.

This race is a defining moment for me.

This race is either the beast that I will tame, or that will eat me alive. 

This race means more than my Reeboks plowing across the finish line. 

• It means breaking out of my comfort zone and putting me in an uncomfortable situation. 
• It means the unknown.
• It means surrounding me with a crowd I can’t control.
• It means “running” toward the healthy, fulfilling life I want to live; free of an eating disorder and dissociative symptoms.
• It means taking a risk, taking a chance, and not hiding from life anymore. 
• It means ripping me out of my comfort zone.
• It means all that and more.  

Mostly it means progress, and, even though I’m afraid of that too, these are risks I have to take to get better.

I’m ready for it.  So I’m putting it all on the start line tomorrow.  At 7:45, in Corral D, when the gun goes off, I’m proving to myself I can tolerate new, unfamiliar situations.  I’m proving I can succeed in places that normally I would run from.  I’m proving that my fears don’t have to dictate my life.  I’m proving I can do what “normal” people do. 

I saw a t-shirt at the Peachtree Expo from www.onemoremile.net that said (I paraphrase), It’s not that I finished the race, it’s that I started. 

Bring it on, beastie!

Empty words = pink hair

We've been working on the piece for our writing class at the university. this class is on how to teach writing to adolescents and high schoolers; however, we have to go through the writing process ourselves so we can empathize with the road blocks and issues our students will face when they produce text. The semester just started two weeks ago and already we are panicking. We get certain accommodations but we still have to do the work. The piece we had to produce this week is called "I remember"...not an easy piece for anyone with a dissociative disorder. We were supposed to draw memory maps in our journal, which we went out and bought a cool skull journal that makes ME (a member named ME) happy. She loves skulls, crossbones, Johnny Depp. Anyway, so we gave in to the sucky assignment and drew the memory map of the neighborhood in which we lived. The assignment was that the memory map would jog our "memory" and we were to choose and write about three memories. WTF? WTF? WTF? i wrote down things. i don't know what they are now. I'd have to go back

and look in the fucking journal. whatever. don't think so.

switches all over the place. can we please get to it already.

i was thinking about it this afternoon on the exercise machine. Some of the best thinking is done working out. We came up with some memories but decided to leave out the ones that were the least repulsive. In other words, we chose to write about the memories (and embellish them for privacy sake) that were not happy or at least neutral or benign. The harder things were decided upon. i know this sounds like rambling.

For instance, we would rather write about doing 100 jumping jacks when we were ten because we ate a chocolate chip cookie than about the watching cartoons with another girl in the neighborhood or making "survival kits" of stickers, tootsie rolls, and bubble gum. The short of it is this: we are attracted to the bad. don't know if it means we are pathetic and are harping on what will destroy us (where is the woman with the words? this makes no sense.)

i can tell when she's not around.

i don't want to write about happy shit. there was nothing happy about anything that took place in that house. i have to wonder why i don't want to know or hold on to anything that is good.

i don't want anything to do with that hell hole; i don't want the stinking memories. i think it's similar to what we go through today. if we let go of any of the bad, if we stop cutting, if we eat write, if we stop cursing Randy out, okay, if I stop cursing Randy out, who will we be? who will love us with out the bad? who will care about us if we are happy?

the movies and stories people remember and want to know again are the sad ones, not the comedies or memories that weren't impressionable. how can we have an identity without embracing, clinging, clutching, and squeezing the life out of everything that had destroyed us? yet, we walk such a fine line. how can we live and die at the same time? how can we be functionally miserable?

all that came from some writing assignment about remember three things from the age of ten. i've maintained to most every one's chagrin that writing about issues doesn't let them go and this is supportive of that. i write and write and write and it doesn't get gone, for lack of better English.

it's all about change and i hate change. maybe i will do what we've wanted to do for a while and change our hair color to pink. what other changes could we try that don't mean death or the desire for death. we could change our professor's assignment to what we want, but then we'll get an F. to skydive is to die. i think i'll stick with pink hair, although i just became a "natural" blond again with the aid of my colorist.

i hate these types of writing. i feel like i said so much and said nothing. The Woman with the Words is missing and we have no hope in coining our words the way we want them. We can tell a vast difference when she's here and when she's not. We don't feel like we got our point across and like we made sense. it's more confusing than anything. what a waste.