Here I am in My Wonderful Life, Perfectly Miserable

I have written here about my weight loss and how with every pound I lost I had to deal with the reasons I gained them. I talked about the emotional part of losing weight. The struggle of losing the armor that protected me and comforted me. I shared my joys as I shed the image I had of myself- the uneducated teen mom… the hillbilly whose family members sexually abused her just like in all those jokes people tell that aren’t really funny at all… the person destined to be abused in every relationship.

I did it. I am in love with the most amazing person. I lost 110 pounds. I ran a marathon. I graduated from college. My daughter is doing well in college and succeeding in her own path. I got the career I wanted. Life is good. I mean really good.

But I am not. I know exactly when it happened. It was the second to last blog that I posted, if you want to read about it.  But, here is the recap- I had surgery last April. My step-mother sent me an edible arrangement.

Memories washed over me and I ate to feel good. I was mad at myself. I felt like I dealt with these issues and I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. After all, my life was good. I gained 20 pounds. Then I struggled with running. It was hard for me to get out the door. It was hard for me to do something that felt good. Next came the stupid shame cycle. I was ashamed of the way I felt. I was ashamed of losing my healthy mind and body. I was ashamed of not being able to do more. I was ashamed of not being able to talk about it. I pretty much stopped blogging because I had nothing left to say. I was failing myself and that made me feel ashamed.

Twenty more pounds came on and life kept coming at me. I was dealing by trying to pretend that I was dealing. Forget running, waking up was my new struggle. Going anywhere was a problem.

I remember going to the “Chosen Family” Thanksgiving. I cried the hour before leaving the house and the hour and half drive there. I remember thinking that I needed to get myself together. I was being ridiculous.

I gained 20 more pounds. Pretty much stopped running and now find it a challenge to get out of bed to go to work. This is the reality I find myself in today. All because of painful childhood memories I don’t know how to deal with. 

I don’t really believe in depression or mental illness but here I am getting ready for my wife to take me to the doctor. Here I am spending more days crying than doing anything else. Here I am in my wonderful life, perfectly miserable.

It’s time to stop pretending that I am okay. It’s time to start running toward my life again. I hope this includes mental growth, beautiful runs, a stronger marriage, more amazing bonds with my daughter, and life’s beautiful celebrations. I hope to blog more, run more, and celebrate what I have been through.

Run On!

One Goal

Last year a general education teacher announced to me that she did not think it was fair that ‘my’ student got to use a calculator on his math test. I am a special education teacher and one of the things I fight for is making sure ‘my’ students have a fair chance at doing and learning the same things their non-disabled peers do. This often means I make sure they have the appropriate accommodations to help them.

General education and the rest of the world could learn a lot from the running community about providing accommodations for different abilities. When I run the Chicago Marathon this October, I will do it with the top athletes of the world. I will run 26.2 miles just like them. I will cross the same finish line. The only difference is that I will finish around six hours and those top athletes will finish in just a little over two hours. But no one is going to tell me it isn’t fair because I had more time or that only my first 12 miles count. I will instead be congratulated on my personal accomplishment.

 Besides time there will be other accommodations that day. If a person is visually impaired they might run with a guide person. Some people will be running with prosthetic limbs, others in a wheel chair. Still others will be pushed the whole way through by another runner. Some runners will take frequent walk breaks. Some runners will run with headphones to drown out the million spectators.

In the running community everyone gets to run the same race and cross the same finish line, regardless of your ability or the accommodations that you need. Those that cross the Chicago Marathon finish line on October 13, no matter how the runner got there, will be considered a marathon runner. No one will say to me that it doesn’t count or that it isn’t fair because I required extra time than the top athletes. It also will not take anything away from those top athletes because I too got to run the same race as them.

Shameless plug please go here http://bit.ly/10VgYkz read why I am running for Lurie Children’s Hospital and consider donating towards my run!

After finishing the 2011 marathon in 6 hours and 14 minutes.

TW (Trigger Warning)

The night after surgery was a rough. I was in a lot of pain but of course the morning came. I was still in a lot of pain but able to get up, eat, and Lavender had opened the windows so it was bright and cheery. I was feeling better. The miracle of science and the human body… I mean less than 24 hours earlier I was cut open and an organ was removed and here I was feeling better.

Then I got a delivery, an Edible Arrangement and a get well soon balloon. The card was signed “Mom ‘C’.” It took me awhile to figure out that it was from my step-mom. At first I was like whatever and ate a piece of the fruit.

In the last 17 years I have had less than ten phone conversations with my step-mom and my father. When people ask why I don’t talk to my father I say something like “I got pregnant at seventeen and kicked out of my house.” That usually is enough information to get people to move on to the next subject. It’s not a lie just not the truth to that question.

See the truth is 17 years ago my father and his family were living overseas. He had flown to the states on business and decided to stop by and visit me. We were catching up in his hotel. I was telling him all about his granddaughter. He was filling me in on my brothers and sisters. Fast forward thirty minutes to him on top of me, I said, “Please don’t do this daddy.” Up until that point, even with all that went wrong between us in the past and the fact that I was 20, I still considered myself a daddy’s girl. But when the pain became too much in my soul and body as he forced himself onto me, I willingly took him in my mouth.

When I talked to my step mom on the phone in the coming weeks she first told me that she heard I had gotten fat and then informed me that she knew what happened. My father had told her that stuff had gotten out of hand. She said something about how bad he felt and that I should call him. I hung up the phone, shocked.  And so began 17 years of minimal contact.

The day that I got the delivery from my step-mom, I drifted in and out of medicated consciousness. The pain grew worse. My thoughts were getting uglier. My dreams were haunted and I felt like I couldn’t move. I felt miserable. By night time I had a slight fever and started dry heaving and then throwing up. Seventeen years later and I still could taste him in my mouth. Recovery from surgery didn’t go as planned.

I want to wrap this up with a nice neat little bow and talk about surviving and managing and things getting better but it might always be a mess. I might have to live with triggers and the pain of that night forever. I might always feel like white trash. I might always mourn the loss of that family. I might always replay the details in my head. I might always have dark and twisted thoughts. I might always be afraid of him. It might not ever get easier.

I keep getting up and I keep going on.

The "Get Well" balloon fixed up with a pair scissors, canvas, and oil paint.

Time for Change

After a discussion about urban violence, race, gangs, and poverty my seventh graders were directed to write about what we just discussed. They had very little instruction except to write. Please read some excerpts from different student’s writings.  

“The question is why? Why, such tragedy? Each and every day bullets are taking our young people out of the land of the living. The tragedy is over ridiculous things such as money, drugs, arguments, fights, power, revenge, and gangs.”

“Young people are getting into gangs for different reasons. They do it for protection from other gangs, to keep from being bullied, and for respect. Some people are just born into it like from generation to generation. Like a boy I knew. His dad, uncle sister, mother, and cousins are all in the same gang. He sold drugs shot people and even killed. He represented is gang to the fullest. One day he yelled at a group of guys and they killed him.”

“I shouldn’t be saying this but my family is in a gang.  I was born into it. I don’t tag or put anything up because I’m not ranked like my dad. I hate to be looked at like I am a low life. I have big dreams and smart stuff. But, being what I am in there is no way out. But I am going to be an intelligent and smart member, I don’t steal and kill.”

“My older brother joined a gang because his friends talked him into it. One day my baby brother was outside with my older brother when a different gang came by and shot three bullets.  They killed my baby brother. Young people don’t want to be in a gang but sometimes they have no choice. “

If they mentioned names of people or gangs, I left them out to protect the students who wrote these but otherwise this is the words of OUR children. These students are amazing and have the ability to change the world for the better. WE must figure out how to give them the tools to succeed.  WE must stop thinking that gang violence is not our problem. The time for change is NOW.

Pineapple Ginger Crisp-You have to try this!

Lavender and I decided to start this year off with a 30 day healthy eating plan. We are eating mostly whole foods, no white sugar, no artificial sweeteners, and no alcohol. We are also starting yoga on Monday! It’s our plan so if we decide to eat that piece of chocolate or taste that adult beverage there’s no shame. The 30 days is what we make of it. What surprises me are the unsupportive people.  I have people putting cookies in my face trying to get me to eat one. This is one of those no big deal things in my life but it takes me back to two very big deals that involved unsupportive people.

The first is when I went to college. More than one person told me I was being selfish and not thinking of my child. I was also told I would fail. They said there was no way I would be able to go to school full time, raise my child, and work full time. I did. I raised a beautiful child and we both graduated with honors. It would have been nice if I didn’t have to second guess myself along the journey… if I didn’t have to wonder if me having goals and doing what needed to be done to achieve them were selfish.

The second was after I ran my first 5k. This guy that I knew congratulated me. I said thank you and then told him my plan to run the Chicago Marathon the next year. He actually laughed in my face and then while still laughing told me that I was getting a little ahead of myself. I was embarrassed. Honestly though, when I crossed the marathon finish line I didn’t think about him.

Why do we do crush people? Why do put tear each other down? If someone tells you a dream or hope, just try not to take it away from them. Try just asking “is there anything I can do to help?”

Back to this 30 day challenge, we are in week one and the payoff for me has been my new food invention. Pineapple Ginger Crisp, it’s so good.

Ingredients
1 fresh pineapple peeled and chopped
2 inches of fresh ginger, grated
1cup oatmeal
½ cup pineapple juice
1 very ripe banana
1tblsp coconut oil

Cook ginger with coconut oil on low heat for about 5 minutes, add pineapple to the pan and cook for another minute. In a bowl mix oatmeal, pineapple juice, and banana. In an ungreased pan add the pineapple mixture and top it with the oatmeal mixture. Bake at 350 for about 40 minutes.

My Shameful Secret

                I have a secret. It’s something I find hard to talk about. It’s the shame that I feel that keeps me from talking about it. My wife is bipolar and suffers from clinical depression. That is not a secret. If you have a question about that, my wife will welcome them and engage you in an open and honest conversation for what that means and has meant in her life. The secret is that I refuse to talk about it.

                I don’t talk about because I am ashamed of the way feel about it.

                I feel selfish. I have read books on how to cope when you have a loved one that is depressed. They say things like make sure you are taking care of yourself. No one tells you how to not yell and take out your anger on your depressed loved one. They don’t tell you how lonely it feels. They don’t tell you how to get over that selfish feeling of wanting to make this about you and scream, “I know you’re depressed but what about me!”

                I think the bigger issue is how afraid it makes me. It scares me. I’m scared because I don’t know how to handle it. I’m scared because it is full of what ifs. I’m scared because I can’t stand the thought of losing Lavender to this disease.  I’m scared because I don’t know how to say the right things. I’m scared.

                The truth is in the past 4 ½ years it hasn’t been a big issue. Lavender is doing well. She has great self-awareness. She takes time for her emotional health. At this time, she doesn’t require medication. Then why you ask do I refuse to talk about it. Well, the moments, the very brief moments this disease has shown itself in our relationship, I did a horrible job of handling it. I was selfish and scared.  I said the wrong things and acted the wrong way. If I can’t handle these brief moments, how can I ever handle a full blown major depressive period? How can support the person I love during this? How will I be able to sit in the darkness with her? This is what scares me.

                When Lavender tries to talk about it or someone else mentions it, I shut down. I know this hurts her. I know she wishes I was able to have an open and honest conversation with her. I know she is patiently waiting. I’m getting there. I need to let go of the shame and talk about how it makes me feel.

What Version of the Truth Do You Want?

I haven’t blogged in a while because I can’t decide what version of the truth I want to say.

I have slowed down on running and it makes me feel terrible inside and out but I have been running ten mile distances almost every week and that makes me feel great.

I have gained 5 pounds and that makes me feel like a loser but I am not training (yet) for a marathon so thinking I could maintain a 0 pound weight gain doesn’t even make sense.

I am happy that my daughter is doing so well at college but when I hear talking about moving out of our home for good, it makes me sad.

I am grateful that my mom came to see me and even more grateful that she said she would probably never come see me again.

I love my job and where I work. I hate that if the wrong person/people find out I am gay I could get fired.

I need to start looking for a new a job but I don’t want to.

I hate living in chaos but have never known anything else so all this stability in our house is great and making me miserable.

My life is amazing and I can’t fully enjoy it because I can’t stop thinking about all the things that might happen to mess it up.

The truth I know for sure I am surrounded by great people full of love.