Thursday, July 28, 2011

Measuring self worth and finding connections

I have become quite accustomed to vegging out in front of a television lately - it dulls my mind and lets me escape from the chaos and crumbles that have enveloped me.   All the while, continuing to contribute to my depressive mood as studies have show television and computers will do.   However, whenever I see "So You Think You Can Dance" on television, something ignites inside me and I get emotional.  Cheesy perhaps but I think it is stirring a part of me that has been in hiding for a long time.  I may not be able to dance anymore but my heart really feels the music.  (You may be of the opinion that I can still dance if I want or choose to, I however, believe I am not willing at this time to allow myself that raw vulnerability just yet).  When I close my eyes I can see myself moving, much like a beautiful, flexible willow tree in a rainstorm.  Twisting, bending, reaching and flowing with the environment surrounding me.  I can still feel the pounding of my toes in my pointe shoes on the floor, hear the crackling of the resin on my shoes as I sweep across the wooden dance floor.   I can feel the rise and fall of my chest as I breathe in deeply to catch my breath and feel the warmth of my muscles working as I stretch across the floor.  I can hear the voice of my dance teacher as she counts out the tempo of the movement or corrects me and recall the scent of the dance studio.  My body remembers moves that my mind lost some time ago.  Every time I am brought to tears.  Perhaps my soul is sad because I stopped dancing.  Perhaps this is one of the few places that I truly felt like I was honest to myself, honestly Brie - loved and accepted just for me throughout my dreadful middle school and teen years.  Instead of trying so hard for acceptance much like I felt the need to do in middle and high school, I was okay, actually, I was more than okay at my dance studio.  I was accepted and liked and even perhaps looked up to.  I enjoyed my classes, the rehearsals and the recitals despite the nerves of dancing on stage.  I loved teaching the little ones ballet classes on Saturday morning when all of my "friends" from school were still warm in their beds. 

Even in college, when my skills had dramatically vanished, I still craved being in the studio - I took ballet, lyrical, jazz and hip hop while at college.  I subjected myself to feeling incredibly vulnerable at Western by taking a ballet class after several years of being out of the loop with a ton of well polished college students studying to be dancers.  I embarrassed myself constantly attempting to complete moves that I was no longer flexible enough for.  However, I went back every week without even a second thought. 

 I loved dancing.  It was me and nothing about it felt fake, forced, coerced or half-assed. 

Jade and I took Irish Step and swing dance lessons one summer while I was home from college- we had such a blast taking dance together.  We would practice all the time at home and laugh at our goofy attempts to do more difficult dance moves.  Perhaps dance is not only a physical release for me but also about the emotional connection to others.  My sister and I had a tumultuous relationship for the first 13 years of her life - I had issues and was constantly picking on her and being awful to her - I was jealous and with my level of immaturity that translated to being a huge jerk to her on almost all occasions.  When we finally began to get along, it was a wonderful experience to ENJOY something with her - to spend time getting know the kind and loving person she was and still is and laugh with her, not at her, because we were spending time together.  I think that was one of my favorite summer memories while I was in college.  Thinking about it now, I miss her terribly.  I think about her pretty much every day and am so angry at myself for how mean I was to her when we were younger.  I do not think I can forgive myself for being so awful.  I worry about her health and well being all the time.  I pray for her all the time and hope that God hears me asking to him to watch over and protect her on a daily basis.

 I wish we lived closer together. 

I feel certain we would sign up for another dance class together. 

Remembering my heart strings

It has been so long since I have felt comfortable in my own skin that I know this journey is going to be a long re-connecting with my true self process.  I was trying to think back to the last point in my life where I liked my self physically and felt confident in my abilities emotionally.  I do not remember.  That makes me really sad.  I can't quite think about when I started to be so down on myself and quick to point out my physical flaws but I have noticed my increasing negativity.  I am envious of those that are physically beautiful yet lack intrinsic motivation to better myself.  Depression at it's best I suppose.  I am surprised that people even want to be around me still.  I am grateful that my friends and family haven't given up on me and love me enough to continue to trudge through this mud with me.  Lately this mud has really felt like quicksand that I can't get a hand out of to reach solid ground.  Even if I could reach solid ground, I think that my grasp to hold on would be so weak at this time I would just slip back into the quicksand.  My ability to focus on anything has dwindled to mere minutes and my patience and understanding has probably gone out the door with it.  I need to change, I need to feel better and thus I have started this journey.

In beginning this new journey of healing I began to think that in order to reconnect with my writing I probably also need to re-connect with the things (the heartstrings) that defined and fulfilled my life.  I thought about how I would go about doing this and I guess to start I am going to free write a list of things I used to enjoy and perhaps begin to write about one thing at a time from there on out.  Who knows if it will be of comfort to me but if nothing else, the triggering of memories may motivate me to move forward on this journey instead of sitting on the sidelines watching the movies of everyone else's lives pass me by. 

When I close my eyes and contemplate the things I enjoyed in life, so many images, sounds, touches and smells come flooding back into my memory. 
*The very first thing I think of is ballet - the touch of the satin on my pointe shoes, the noise of the dance studio and the feeling that I belonged.  For almost 13 years of my life - the studio was the one place where I felt like I had friends and people liked me because I was Brie. 
*The summer time in St. Claire Shores.  The smell of fresh cut grass after the morning dew has dried by the sun.  The bike rides with Dad to the pier at Blossom Heath - stopping off for a New York Seltzer (do they make those anymore?) and a bag of chips.  Fishing off the pier.  Listening to the small waves lap against the pier pillars. 
*The days spent at the library with Mom and Jade.  Checking out 80 books every two weeks and reading until our eyelids closed on us at night.

Writing - all the time - any way I could about anything that came to mind.

Camping - spending days immersed in the natural beauty of our planet.

Laughing - I mean really laughing - finding something humorous and laughing so hard I am brought to tears and my belly hurts and my face aches from smiling too much. 

Rollerblading

Swimming

Playing Soccer

Ice Skating

Making things - crafts and gifts for people.  Creating.

Naming pets

Hugs and snuggling

Game nights and evenings in

Red wine

Naps on a rainy afternoon

I believe this list will be a web of ever flowing memories that I will add to and write about throughout this process.

Cheers to the journey of making sense of my own mind and the paths I have chosen to travel in the past several years....Trudging through the mud off the beaten path in my best attempt to create my own new and beautiful path. 

Thursday, July 21, 2011

I am here

I am not quite sure where to begin pick up.  It has been so long since I have been connected with myself; with what I have enjoyed that I am not even sure I remember.  I feel like some people in my life over the past five years have sucked the marrow out of my being like deatheaters.  They have left me feeling weak and weary and unmotivated to move forward.  Who the hell are they to take anything from me?  I want to scream and swear and tell them to go find a hobby or perhaps take some time to look at themselves instead of using a microscope to harass me.  I am angry and resentful, wanting retribution, but recognizing that my heart needs healing and peace instead. 


This is my starting point for healing and peace.  So, I guess for now, it's day one.  My best effort at regaining my footing; what makes "Brie" Brie, begins here.  No promises.  No expectations.  It just will be whatever it is. 


I am slightly apprehensive of what my hand will unlock in my heart once I start really digging deep in my writing - things that used to be at the core of my makeup and are now locked tightly somewhere in the crevices of my mind/heart/soul and they have been there for a long time .  The cobwebs need a thorough rinsing in order for me to see clearly what my core once was or perhaps the hazy sight is the beginnings of building a new, older, wiser Brie? I think that is a fat chance but at this point, who knows. 


The depression has been here for a while - I somewhat welcome it like an old friend - I know him well and he seems to enjoy my company.  He causes me great pain and physical issues but for some reason, like a love story gone awry, I can't seem to let him go.  He has made me believe in some twisted way I need him.  I am a counselor, I know , TRUST ME, I know, yet, I still struggle to really SEE.   I recognize I must serve him his eviction papers but I think I should do so slowly and gently.  That way, perhaps, I can avoid a rapid meltdown and transition slowly into  me again, whoever the hell that is.  The tears, the damn, hot, salty tears are frequent already.  It's quite ridiculous the things that cause me to cry these days.  But, tears bring sleep and quiet my anxious mind so I let them keep coming.  I feel better after each cry.  Perhaps the amount of time of my feeling better will increase substantially the more tears I allow to be released...at least that is what I am going to continue to tell myself for now. 


 I do not want anyone to tell me it will get better - because quite frankly, I felt that would happen when I left my last place of employment and now see that it landed me in an even more emotionally exhaustive place.  I know it could be so much worse, too.  I know.  Maybe one day it will be different, but my reality and perspective are a tab bit askew from anyone else and right now I am here. 


I am HERE. 


And you know what, today that is best that I've got and I am OK with that.