Take a run and hide yourself away.

Went for a run this afternoon. Nothing particularly mind-blowing about that, except that I walked to the track. It's a 1.2 mile trek, one way, but the walk back up is the real ass-buster.    My house is at an elevation of about 1,000 feet and the elevation at the track is 500. So the hike home is uphill. A steep, winding mountain road.  It was around 80 outside and I was feeling it even before I hit the track, but my run actually went pretty well.  The walk back home went better than I expected, too, though that may be because I stopped frequently to stuff my face with the blackberries that line the road.

Blue is the GPS route. Grey is the actual route.

I should be able to sleep well tonight. Got lots of exercise, sun and fresh air. Now I'm off to the state park to see if I can't find Mars and Zubenelgenubi. 

Dazed and confused

I'm officially on vacation until Monday. I'd be more excited about it if I were actually doing something, but the truth is my car is on empty and I'm so broke I won't be able to fill the tank until Friday (payday). 

I had originally taken Friday off so I could go to the Winterhawks home opener, but my cat has been having some health issues lately and I'm hundreds of dollars in debt for her medical care, not to mention all the other debt I have. I can't justify a hockey game right now.  So that fucking blows. I've been to the home opener every year for several years now. 

I can't afford to get my meds refilled, so I'm going on three days off my antidepressants. I would really like to just go to sleep and never wake up again.  I'm tired of everything. Tired of the sadness, tired of the pain, tired of uncertainty, tired of the shame, confusion and things left unsaid.  I don't know how to get out from under it all, and I've about given up trying.  Driving home from work this morning, I was so overwhelmed with everything, I went into a crying/laughing fit. I felt like I was losing my mind. I had to pull over until it passed, and then I just put my head down on the steering wheel and cried some more. 

This is why I don't like to take vacation.

Saturday my friend is throwing her annual party, and I'm looking forward to that. If I stop to think about it, I get nervous because parties aren't really my thing (at all) and I don't know very many of the people attending. I'm a social pirana and I don't really do well in social settings.  I'm an observer by nature, and I'm content to just sit back and watch people, fascinated by how easily they live their lives.

Maybe I'll bring my guitar and find an out-of-the-way place to play and work on some songs. 

I may or may not be going to Virginia for vacation next month around Halloween. I'm also going to see Margaret Cho on the 13th. Pretty excited about that.  I haven't been to Helium since last year when my friends and I saw Scott Thompson and Kevin McDonald. My friend and I met Scott; I'm still in shock.  I really really really hope we get to meet Margaret. I want to talk to her about kidney stones. 

Kidding.

Nothing else to say, I guess. 

"All it takes is one person to tell someone they're not alone."

It's National Suicide Prevention Week. I know, shouldn't we prevent it every day? Point is, there are people out there who have no idea there is help available to them. There are people who feel alone and that they have no one to turn to. 

Suicide takes the lives of nearly 30,000 Americans every year.

Many who attempt suicide never seek professional care.

There are twice as many deaths due to suicide than HIV/AIDS.

Between 1952 and 1995, suicide in young adults nearly tripled.

Over half of all suicides occur in adult men, ages 25-65.

In the month prior to their suicide, 75% of elderly persons had visited a physician.

Suicide rates in the United States are highest in the spring.

Over half of all suicides are completed with a firearm.

For young people 15-24 years old, suicide is the third leading cause of death.

Suicide rates among the elderly are highest for those who are divorced or widowed.

80% of people that seek treatment for depression are treated successfully.

15% of those who are clinically depressed die by suicide.

There are an estimated 8 to 25 attempted suicides to 1 completion.

The highest suicide rate is among men over 85 years old: 65 per 100,000 persons.

1 in 65,000 children ages 10 to 14 commit suicide each year.

Substance abuse is a risk factor for suicide.

The strongest risk factor for suicide is depression.

By 2010, depression will be the #1 disability in the world. (World Health Organization)

In 2004, 32,439 people died by suicide. (CDC)

Suicide is the 11th leading cause of death in the U.S. (homicide is 15th). (CDC)

Suicide is the 3rd leading cause of death for 15- to 24-year-old Americans. (CDC)

It is estimated that there are at least 4.5 million survivors in this country. (AAS)

An average of one person dies by suicide every 16.2 minutes. (CDC, AAS)

There are four male suicides for every female suicide. (CDC, AAS)

Research has shown medications and therapy to be effective suicide prevention.

Suicide can be prevented through education and public awareness.

Last year SAVE educated 10,618 youth & parents on depression and suicide prevention.

Last year SAVE received 810 requests for information from 72 countries.

In 2004 it is estimated there were 811,000 suicide attempts in the US. (AAS)

There are three female suicide attempts for each male attempt. (CDC, AAS)

According to the Violent Death Reporting System, in 2004 73% of suicides also tested positive for at least one substance (alcohol, cocaine, heroin or marijuana).

Resources:

http://www.linesforlife.org/

http://www.sprc.org/

http://www.twloha.com/

http://www.save.org/

A warrior acts as if he knows what he is doing, when in effect he knows nothing.

Has it been a year already? I'm doing the Warrior Dash on Sunday, two days shy of a years since the last one.  Am I any more prepared than I was last year? No. Perhaps less so. Do I care? Not much. There's more mud this year, and I'm ready to get down and dirty. 

When I was 15 I had surgery to lengthen my right leg (three inches). My mom had left the decision up to me, and I was okay with it up until I woke up from surgery.  As I emerged from my anesthetic stupor, I stared down the length of my hospital bed at the huge lump under the blanket.  "That's my leg," I thought.  "What the hell have I done?'  I started crying and told my mom to tell the doctors I'd changed my mind. She explained to me that it was too late and I'd just have to deal with it.  I was terrified of what my leg looked like under the blanket. The only sense I could get was pain. A lot of pain. For the first couple of days after my surgery, my whole life revolved around the clock and how soon I could press the button for more morphine.  Once I was weaned off of it and reality settled in, I studied my freak show leg and began to accept it and I did what I had to do to heal and move forward. It wasn't easy, but I had no other choice. I'd made my decision and I had to live with it. 

One day, a few weeks after I'd returned home, I was sitting on the couch doing "pin care," which consisted of cleaning the pins in my leg and refreshing the pads and foam around the pins.  I was watching TV with my dad (Star Trek) and during a commercial he asked, "If you had the choice to do it over again or not, would you have the surgery?"  I told him yes, I would.  He said, "You're very brave. I couldn't handle what you're going through."  This from a man who served in Vietnam. 

I really had no idea what i was in for when I said I wanted the surgery, and my dad's praising me felt wrong. Not on his part, but mine. I felt it was undeserved praise because I went into it blindly. If I had known how hard it was going to be and did it anyway, that would be one thing. That would be brave. But I foolishly thought, "I'll have this surgery and my legs will be even!" and I went in for the surgery thinking it would be easy. Coming to terms with how wrong I was about the whole thing, that was a mess in itself.  But I made it through that painful experience and I bare my scars (all 14 of them) proudly. 

I had no idea what I was in for with the Warrior Dash, either. I just wanted to get muddy and run around in a fuzzy helmet with a medal around my neck.  It was hard. Really, really hard. And not just because I hadn't trained for it. I put myself through hell last year, and I made it through. I walked most of the 5k, but I didn't fault myself for it; I made it to the finish line and that was my only goal. Well, I had two goals: one was to finish, and the other was to not finish last.  I reached my limit, physically, and I went beyond it, pushing myself harder than I ever had in my life. I quite often felt like I was dying and I thought about giving up more than a few times, but quitting was never an option.  This was the first race I had ever run, and I was facing mud, barbed wire and fire.  I knew I was crazy, but it was too fun to pass up.

There are some new obstacles this year, but I still have a pretty good idea of what I'm in for. What's got me most excited is that I will be doing the race with four of my friends this year, instead of two. Plus another friend is coming along for moral support (and to hold my stuff so I don't have to check it). 

Pain is survivable. I've got scars to remind me what I've been through, how far I've come, how strong I am, and how brave I am to keep going.

I can't wait for tomorrow. 

You cannot find peace by avoiding life.

A few days ago, a friend told me I had an iron tongue. She was telling me about her roommate and how he wasnt really talking to her all of a sudden. She said, "He reminds me of you in a lot of ways. He's got an iron tongue, like you, and he uses it to push people away."

I felt "off" after that. Relieved that she knows how I am and is still my friend; afraid that if I keep this up, she won't stick around. I'm having trouble not being how I am. I thought about that a lot on the way home, and when I finally fell asleep, I had an incredibly vivid dream.

I was sitting alone on a high hill in the middle of the night, surrounded by forest on all sides. There were no lights anywhere but the sky. It was a lot like being in the Upper Peninsula, but even more isolated. In the dream I knew I was the only one around for miles and miles. There was no sound at all except for a faint melody, I could barely hear it, and in my dream I knew it was the stars. I sat there reciting constellations and after a while someone started walking up the hill towards me. Though there was enough starlight for me to be able to see the forest around me, the figure approaching me was dark, just a shadow moving up the hill. It wasn't menacing in the least, but I wasn't happy to see whoever this was. I wanted to be alone. 

The figure (still just a moving shadow) sat down next to me and nothing happened for a long time. Finally, I said, "I don't really know anything about stars." The shadow said, "Tell me what you do know about them." 

I told him that the stars are always there. Some are dying, some are being born, but the light will always be there, for as long as I live. No matter how overcast it might get, no matter how much it rains, the stars are always there and I will always see them again. I look up and nothing changes except their position. My whole life, the stars are the only ones who have stayed and will never leave. No matter how dark it gets, there is always that light, and I can always find it. Even if I get lost looking up there, I can still find my way back to something familiar to bring me home. Polaris, Betelgeuse, Castor and Pollux, the Northern Cross; someone is always pointing the way, no matter how turned around I get. 

I stopped talking and the shadow said, "Nothing up there can hurt you." I didn't respond and he continued, "As long as you live, there will be pain. You will suffer. You will be alone, but that will be your choice. There is no comfort in isolation, and there is no hope." 

I said, "There is comfort and hope in knowing that any disappointment or pain or anger or sadness comes from me and no one else. No one can hurt me but me."

The shadow said, "Haven't you hurt yourself enough? Don't you think someone is waiting for you with open arms?" I said, "No." He said, "How can you be so sure?" I responded, "Because no one stays, ever." "Why is that?" "Because I'm not worth it." He asked why I thought that was. I didn't know what to say to him. I started to feel sick, so I lay back in the grass and closed my eyes. I could still see the stars but the trees, the ground, the shadow, everything else was gone and it was just me up there with the stars. It was cold and .... soft, somehow. I felt cradled, I guess is a good word for it. Like I was wrapped in someone's arms, like there was no sadness or hurt or anger or fear anywhere in my heart or in the universe. I could hear that faint music coming from the stars and I turned over and that's when I woke up crying. 

It was one of the most lucid dreams I've had in a long time. I'm still surprised I can remember so much of it. I don't need to analyze the dream to figure out what my brain was up to that night; I need to get back into therapy. And I need to stop pushing people away. I don't know how to do either of those things right now, and I'm too tired and empty to care.

Easy now, fuzzy little man peach.

Last week I was introduced to Old Gregg.  I'm in love.

Weird Wind and the Cat Couch

Last weekend I went back to Rockaway Beach for "girls' weekend."   It was me, my friends V and S and two other ladies I hadn't met before (G and D).  Lots of good food, too. My S'mores cupcakes were a hit.  

I got off work Saturday morning, drove home, picked up a few things, hugged Tank and headed to Rockaway. V and G had gotten there late on Friday and when I arrived, they were getting ready to walk down to the beach. I work graveyard with V, so she knew all too well how tired and in need of sleep I was, so I crashed in the back room and asked V to wake me up at two.  She did, and I think I slept for another hour, then got up and hung out with the gals. It was very quickly decided that another walk to the beach was in order, so we spent an hour or so walking by the water, taking pictures, talking, enjoying the sun. 

Basically, we just lazed around, ate, drank, smoked, etc. until dark, and then we loaded up the cooler with some wood and marshmallows and headed down to the beach for a fire. 

(G, D, me, S)

If you've never sat around a fire at night on the beach with the waves crashing (visible) nearby, you're missing out. Oh, it was lovely. I don't know how long we were down there, but eventually we packed up and headed back to the house.  More eating, smoking, drinking (arnold palmers and, I believe, oolong-infused whiskey? sooo gooood), bullshitting. Lots of laughter. I passed out on V's dog for a little while, and then we all went to our respective beds and konked out. 

In the morning, we had breakfast, cleaned the place up, packed up our stuff and hit the road. On the way home, G, V and I stopped at the Blue Heron French Cheese Company in Tillamook. They were there for the cheese. I was there for the petting zoo.  We didn't stay long. V and G took off and I stayed for a little while to wander and take pictures with my Nikkormat. Then I got in my car and headed home.  

A few hours later, I was back on the road, headed to Portland to meet up with my friend A and her four kids (ages 13, 9, 4 and 2).  The plan was to go to Lents Park and see "The Goonies."  I had a great time, though the kids scattered pretty soon into the movie. It was an awesome crowd, cheering in the right places, yelling out lines, cheering for the Goonies. My people. I'm willing to bet I was the only honorary Goonie in that park, though. HA.

(me and the kids. the 13-year old takes great pleasure in being taller than me.)

On the way home, I stopped at Walgreen's because I lost my hair tie thingy.  Walking the store, I noticed two guys standing in the parking lot. One of them was honking. That's when I noticed four ducks standing in the handicap spot.  Long story short, I spent a half hour in the parking lot watching four ducks with two stoners at 1:00 in the morning.  It was awesome. I fed them some graham crackers and an Odwalla bar and me and one of the stoners tried to convince the other stoner that ducks are man-eaters, that they have shark teeth and prey on humans.  I said I'd seen it on National Geographic. We almost had him convinced.   Stoner #2 and I tried herding the girls down to the pond at the bottom of the hill, but they ran into some bushes and waited for us to walk away. Then they waddled after us.  That's when I shot this video:

Good times.  Eventually, I made it back home and the rest is history. 

In other news, I'm teaching myself to play "Wish You Were Here."  I was having trouble getting a handle on it and then I found THIS guy, and viola! 

If everyone taught songs by singing the chords, the world would be a better place.