Body Dysmorphic Disorder- Poor Body Image

Yesterday in the body image group we went over body image and the media. It made me absolutely sick.  Every time I go to the body image therapy group, I get intensely triggered. I have yet to experience a therapy session where I don't break down in tears. However, I have to use my distress tolerance skills and keep going to it in order to heal.

 I've suffered with body image distortion as far back as I could remember.  (I don't think I know of anybody who doesn't  suffer from it female and male included).
I could go as far back as 5 years old. (I wish I had saved the pictures of me from way back then, but I have destroyed a lot of them in recent years.  Sadly, it's because  I was ashamed of how I looked and ashamed of the fact that I existed).

I remember sitting in my kindergarten class and the teacher asked me to point out one of the letters of the alphabet on the board.  She picked me on purpose- I wasn't paying attention.  This was a normal thing for me in school because I was always off in a far away world inside my head.  So, I got up, went over to the board and, anxiously, reached up to point out one of the letters, hoping I had picked the right one.  However, as I reached up, some of the other kids started laughing and pointing at me. Little did I know that while lifting my arm, my shirt came up and exposed my protruding belly. (Mind you- I wasn't a big girl by any means)  I remember being so embarrassed and ashamed of it. I've been extremely insecure about my stomach ever since- no lie.    I don't blame the other children for laughing at me- I can't.  They didn't know any better.  But for some reason, the image of looking down and seeing my belly stick out is an image I can't get out of my head.


During this time period as a young child, my mother never allowed me to have long hair. So I always had a boy cut hairstyle and with it, of course, I looked like a boy.  People would come up to my mom and say "oh two boys and 1 girl" before my younger sister was born. And of course when my sister was born it would be "oh two boys and two girls..how lovely'.  No....not lovely.  I was a girl god damn it.  I hated my mother for this. (I have since forgiven her). I just wanted long hair because in my mind long hair meant beauty. Any time my babysitters came over, they'd tell me my hair wasn't long enough to do braids as they'd braid my older sister's long locks.

One time when I went to the hair dressers, my mom had to use the bathroom as I was being called to the chair. I was left alone with the hairdresser for just a few minutes.  "Thank God," I thought.  When the hairdresser asked me what I wanted done, I told her "I didn't want it cut. I wanted long hair."  But sure enough, my mother came back and said "trim it 2 inches."  I was devastated. I tried to hold back the tears as the little bit of the "long" hair I had fell to the floor. I wasn't able to hold back the tears for too long and the tears streamed down my face. 

I remember the time my parents couldn't afford for me to get a haircut. So my father took it upon himself to be the hairdresser.  Worst mistake EVER!  So in order to make the perfect cut, my father took masking tape and wrapped it around my hair, including my bangs.  So after he strategically placed the tape around my head...he took the scissors and cut under the masking tape. As soon as he was done cutting, he then attempted to pull the masking tape away from my hair. I was in total agony.  So...he then cut above the masking tape. Worst haircut ever! I'm surprised I had any hair left after that cut. (Again..I wish I had pictures to prove.  And maybe this is where the comment of "ugly hair" from my Identity theft crisis post came from. If this is the case, I can't blame the judge then for making a comment like that).

Somewhere around the age of 9 or so, I became very insecure and ashamed of myself because of a birthmark near my left hip. I was so self conscious about it to the point that anytime I was passing people, I'd make sure my hand was covering it up. 

When I was about 11 years old, my neighbor, the devil  (who I've mentioned in a previous post- Happy Re-birth-day) told my parents I was looking extremely anorexic and emaciated. I swear this woman possessed my parents.  My mother then began putting me on ensure while my father for numerous years would make comments such as "are you eating air again?" Meanwhile, my siblings were being siblings and calling me fat.

I think by the time I was 14, I developed some sort of eating disorder due to this. Although I was never hospitalized, as you can see from the bones protruding out in the picture below, I wasn't that healthy looking...and yet..I still believed I was fat and hideous.  The dress was practically falling off of me.

It was also around this age where I became so concerned of having wrinkles and grey hair. I'd spend countless hours weekly examining my forehead making sure I didn't have any wrinkles; examining my hair to make sure there were no grey hairs.  I'm telling you...pure sickness.


Fast forward to when I was 18.  This was the first year I wore a bikini and I remember how uncomfortable I felt wearing one. I'd wrap a towel around my waist to protect my stomach from being exposed in most of my pictures.

And whenever my stomach was exposed in pictures such as the one below, my eyes would go straight to the stomach.  I'd waste time nitpicking and I couldn't help but think- "my God I'm so fat.  Look how pudgy I look."  I'd then notice the girls stomachs to the right and ask myself or God...."why can't I have her stomach?"   Pure sickness..I know :(
. 

 It wasn't until 2 years ago, almost 11 years after this picture above was taken, where I finally felt more comfortable wearing a bikini. I was the fittest I've ever been in my life. (I was riding my bike between 40-100 miles a week during the spring and summer months to get to and from my jobs in Chicago).  I was constantly exercising.  Sometimes, I would only eat one meal a day.  But even though I felt confident while taking the photo, I'd reexamine it after it was taken and be disgusted.  I'd think to myself "I'm not toned enough. My thighs look big...they should be skinnier. Why am I so ugly. Why can't I have bigger boobs? If only I had a different face, a different body."

Now of course, I wish I had the body from 2 years ago (I'd even be happy with the one I had from when I was 18).  I'm embarrassed of the body I have now.  Oh how the sick cycle never ends...and it is this that upsets me the most.  I still have yet to see a picture of myself where I am not critical; where I can say something positive like I'm pretty and move on with life.  Rather than hate the way I look now, nitpick everything I need to change and in a few years look back and say I was so pretty back then. I want to be pretty/feel pretty in the present moment.
I also have yet to experience a moment where after a breakup, I don't think...well if I was prettier (or smarter), they'd still be with me. 
 I need major therapy..I guess it's good I'm in this program.


I know I began this blog talking about body image and the media and want to go over the information given to us in regards to this and how sick cultural ideals are.  It's these cultural ideals that shape the way we think and how we should look.  Throughout history, women's bodies have been "molded" to fit the ideal at the time.  However, we were reminded in this session (as well as all of the other sessions) that it is up to us to not buy into these cultural ideals.  It' is up to us to accept our bodies as they are.

 Take a look below at the timeline of what was classified as beauty during the different decades.  (It's no wonder why there are so many women with body image issues).

In 1800's A large body was a sign of health and fertility.  At the same time, however, corsets narrowed the waist and enhanced the bust.
(Isn't large body suppose to mean large all around?)

1890's- Actress Lillian Russell at 200 lbs is the most celebrated beauty of all time.

 1910's- Paris designer creates slim sheath dresses, declares that breasts are "out."



1920's- Era of the flat-chested, slim-hipped flapper. First dieting craze of the 20th century

1950's/1960's- Voluptuous full figured shapes like Marilyn Monroe and Jayne Mansfield are popular.

(I like how they consider large breast full figured.  To me full figured means having some meat on the bones and in the gut. And although Marlyn and Jayne had plenty of meat where there upper ribs are (known as breasts), they did not have meat when it came to their waist. 
It is said that Marilyn was a size 12.  However, sizes back in the 50's and 60's are not equivalent to the sizes of today.   Marlyn's measurements  were in fact, 5 ft. 5.5 inches tall; 35 inch bust; 22 inch waist; and 35 inch hips, with a bra size of 36D. Plus she was said to have weighed around 118 pounds....that is on the cusp of underweight/lower spectrum of normal weight.  Maybe it's just my opinion, but to me that is not full figured.  That's just called having boobs and having wide hip bones).



1967- British model Twiggy arrives on the scene and the diet industry explodes.   At 5'6''- she was 112 pounds.  (I have no words...other than drugs make people really skinny).

1970's and 1980's- Models gradually become taller, thinner and begin to show toned muscle definition-Breasts make a comeback

 Early 1990's- Waif-like figure Kate Moss presents a wasted "heroin chic" look and a pre-teen body.

Late 1990's- Tall, very thin models with no visible body fat and muscles highly toned by hours of working out. Large breasts remain in style- but are rare in this body type without help of breast implants.

2000 and beyond- It is stated in this timeline that "real bodies come in all shapes and sizes. Set your own trend."
(However, I feel as though real bodies are being transformed into plastic bodies with all the plastic surgery that is all around.  From tummy tucks to breast implants to lip fillers, to botox.  I don't know if body image distortion is really improving among our society.   I think there is a heavy use of makeup as well. I can't wait for the day, where we don't have to wear makeup everyday or feel the need to do so. The one thing I enjoyed living up on the mountain was not feeling pressured to wear makeup.  I felt pure, I felt natural without it and my skin was clear).


So overall, in class we were encouraged to set our own trend.  I'm grateful for Dove's stand on accepting yourself as you are.  I love how their commercials are of "normal" women and not overpaid celebrities.  Why can't more companies be more like this?
I also learned in class, not to blame everything on men.  A lot has to do with women in many ways...one of them being that it is us, the women, who buy into this crap.

Due to the overuse of airbrushing and photoshopping being done, I refuse to look at magazines, let alone buy them.  This was a very difficult transition as I use to waste time analyzing all the beautiful bodies and obsessively wish I had the kind of beautiful bodies I saw on each magazine page.  

 
 I'm grateful we are exposed with some truth behind the illusions created by the media.

Thank you for reading!

The Healing Power of Art Therapy

Earlier today, I was experiencing intense triggers.  My emotional mind was in full blown gear and I was in the red zone. What triggered me most today was a visit I had from a case manager prior to going to my program.  She was asking me questions in regards to my future plans and I just burst into tears. My anxiety increased and I was about to have a full blown panic attack all because of a simple question that I couldn't answer.  My failures, my suicidal ideation increased, my questions of why I am alive all flashed before my eyes.  Because of this, I had to tell the case worker that I couldn't answer the question and that I needed to stop.  She respected my decision and we scheduled for another visit to answer the questions.  I then went into the  kitchen and grabbed some ice from the freezer, held it in my hand while using some breathing techniques. I became grounded. (Thank you DBT skills).

Although I was cool, calm and collected when I arrived to program, I was triggered again when we were discussing being non judgmental.  For some reason, I just couldn't grasp the concept of being non-judgmental and I couldn't understand why.  I couldn't help but think the following racing thoughts:  "Why am I so stupid that I can't understand what non- judgmental means/ how is it humanly possible to be non-judgmental?  I judge myself 24/7; I don't know how to live being non-judgmental...this is my life- this is who I am, I am a failure. I am so stupid.  Why can't I just think normal thoughts?  Why can't I be normal?" 

So as you can see, my emotional and distorted mind took control of the wheel and was spinning out of control. I wanted to run; I wanted to escape from the room, but I couldn't.  The whole purpose of me being there was to learn the DBT skills and use them in a time of crisis, which I was experiencing.  These skills taught in DBT are to help keep me from being impulsive and from doing my normal behaviors...such as running away and having racing thoughts, or worse- suicidal ideation.  So to help ground myself and regain composure, I sat, I counted my breaths, I did finger breathing, I observed objects, and did progressive muscle relaxation technique. I did these skills over and over again.

When the class was finally ending and the facilitator asked if there were any questions, I raised my hand.  In  my tearful, shaky voice I asked what if the homework is too triggering?  The facilitator responded in a kind manner, stating that "if you find it too triggering, just don't do it and talk about it tomorrow in therapy class." She also commented on how proud she was of me for sticking through and for using the skills.  Class was then dismissed, but I still felt triggered.
 
Although early afternoon art therapy class is strictly for the part time program participants, I asked the therapist if I could be in the class.  I told her I was too triggered to go to any of the other classes offered (Trauma Ed and Food and Wellness) and needed to use art as a distraction skill and that I needed ice. She kindly allowed me to participate and brought me ice.   While sitting, another participant entered the room and stated how happy she was to see me. (Originally I was placed in the track she was in, but was moved to the DBT track and because of this, I didn't see many of the people from the previous track).  I got up and asked her for a hug, which she embraced me with.  While holding her close to me, she whispered in my ear to "imagine yourself surrounded by blue light. In the Native American tradition, The blue light means protection."   After the hug we sat down and she told me me how the lunar eclipse and full moon has made everyone crazy and that I wasn't alone.  I found her words and wisdom to be so inspiring and powerful as well as so comforting.   I felt the connection with her and with what she was saying.  (She's a very holistic, naturalistic type of person that I admire and aspire to be).  The beautiful sweet words she spoke truly helped me out of the darkness I was experiencing.  They also helped with reminding me to embrace the knowledge I have learned from studying Reiki and use it.  (I obviously haven't used my Reiki skills in quite some time).  

Our art therapy session then started.  The quote we were given was so appropriate for what I had just experienced.   "Dare to reach out your hand into darkness to pull another hand into the light; you may find yourself" (Rice). When asked for our opinions about the quote, I stated that I didn't think the quote was complete and that more should have been added.  My addition to the quote would be "and you may help others find themselves."  So, with my rendition, the quote would read: "Dare to reach out your hand into darkness to pull another hand into the light; you may find yourself and you may help others find themselves."

 I wanted to add that addition because with the small act of kindness from my therapist and from the other participant, I found a glimpse of my inner self.



So below is the artwork I did pertaining to this quote.

Because it takes a lot of strength to reach into darkness to help another, I made the figure to the right out of muscle to represent this.  For some people, like myself,  darkness represents their skeletons in the closet.  It takes a lot of strength to allow the skeletons out and give them life, which is why I represented the figure on the left as a skeleton caught in the debris of other skeletal parts.

Since the other participant told me to envision blue light around me- I created the blue aura.  At first I was just going to put it around the muscle man and a tiny bit around the arms of the skeleton to represent the hand going into the light.  But then...I went a little chalk happy and surrounded both figures with the blue.  As I was smudging the chalk, I decided to make the aura into a heart shape because it takes great compassion and love to be able to reach into darkness (whether it be your own darkness or that of someone else).  I added the white then to represent an outer aura of light.
Making this work of art helped alleviate all that I was experiencing earlier on.  I was definitely grounded and I felt at peace.


The art therapist allowed me to also attend the afternoon class, which I was so grateful for.  Normally,  taking two art classes in a day is not allowed.  But, due to the circumstances of the day, I was given approval.  And the quote for this class was by Harrison Ford: "We all have changes in our lives that are more or less second chances."

When asked about our opinions of this quote, one of the other participants stated that she didn't like it because she didn't see how the changes caused by death produced second chances.  Other participants added their views on how they liked the quote.  I didn't know what to make of it, so I listened in on everybody else's comments.  We were then to create art based on our interpretation of this quote.

While pondering what to make, I looked around the room at the beautiful women that surrounded the table- each of them with their own story, their own struggles.  I admire them.  I admire us all.  We are here for the purpose of changing so that we could live better lives.

Overall, we cared and supported each other.  This one participant in particular, created ribbons for Semicolon project day.




With this,  I realized that her second chance was to spread awareness to others about mental illness. I then realized that we were all spreading awareness to others about mental illness in our own ways.   I then became enlightened and made the following work of art:

 I had two meanings going on with this piece-

I wanted this drawing to represent the fact that I see each of us as earth angels. We are the sensitive few with big hearts that spread so much love and compassion to others.  So much so that we had neglected ourselves in the process. But since we are here bettering ourselves, we are learning how to protect ourselves so we can further spread our love and compassion without getting our wings broken.

The other meaning behind this work involves the comment the other participant made. It was in regards to death and how I believe we become angels after we pass to help protect those still living (possibly a distorted thought)
 
I was able to express the following to the group
 "I realized today by making this drawing, that I fantasize about death so much because I want to help people so much. I feel as though I can help people more when I'm dead and in angel form than when I'm alive and in human form."

( I understand for some people that this does not make sense whatsoever, but I think I realized why I may think this. It could just be a distorted thought because to me, I have a hard time coping with death and I want to believe in angels.  I want to believe that when we pass we become angels to protect others in ways we couldn't do in human form. I want to believe this because otherwise, I can't handle death of others and I need to believe our spirits move on to protect and watch over others. In a strange way, I want there to be purpose for death).

 After expressing this to my fellow earth angels, I was told that I help so many people here with my presence.  The one participant who did the ribbons for semicolon day mentioned that I help lift her spirits every day by saying "good morning beautiful," by giving my hugs, and by the artwork I do. She reminded me that if I were to be in angel spirit, I wouldn't be able to achieve what's helped her.

My art therapist added that I do give a lot more than I give myself credit for.  She mentioned how writing my blog is helping more people than that I'm aware of.

I just hope that's what I do.  I want to help others, I don't like seeing people suffer. I want to be able to reach into darkness and pull another hand into the light; I want to find myself in this process and assist others with finding themselves.

Thank you for reading.  

Identity Theft Crisis

Identity theft is all around us.  However, what I'm discussing in this post is not related to the identity theft scenarios you hear about on the news, or see on Dr. Phil, 60 minutes etc.  No...I'm discussing the identity theft crisis that some of us experience within ourselves; where our identity has been stolen and we no longer know who we are, where we are going, what we are doing, what our purpose is, and why we are living.  I can tell you, first hand, that it is a scary, yet depressing place to be when you don't know your own soul.

Many situations can cause this identity theft crisis including low self esteem, trauma, illness, and loss.  Loss can refer to loss of jobs, person(s), limbs, dreams and mind etc. Overall, identity theft is a serious issue as it can create many problems in relationships, as well as cause mood swings and impulsiveness (including suicide).

Being first generation born American has caused me some identity crisis.  I say this because I find myself having difficulty relating to being American as well as being Irish.  Growing up, I've been taught strict Irish rules in the household and American society rules in the classroom/outside of the house.  I think it may have been different had I grown up in a community with other first generation Americans (of Irish decent), but I didn't- I was a minority when it came to this.  I couldn't relate to kids in my school.   So, overall I just feel torn because I feel as though I'm not truly American and I'm not truly Irish.  So I'm constantly questioning, what I am? Who am I? The only thing I can say what I truly am... is a human being.  But I feel like in today's day and and age, that isn't enough.  We are an ego driven society and need to be prideful. 
 I honestly don't like to identify with either- American or Irish.  I feel like I'm a fraud to each nationality.  I don't like being associated with the Irish because in the American Society- I'm expected to drink due to my heritage, and because I don't drink- I'm classified as not being a "truly" Irish.  I don't like being associated as American because I find that Americans tend to be egotistical and greedy and when I have visited Ireland I'm labeled as just another American. (If I'm overgeneralizing and thinking black/white-I don't mean to- maybe I'm ignorant.  I just don't know).  All I know is that I hate feeling like a foreigner in a land I grew up in and feel like a foreigner in the land my parents are from.  I'm ashamed at what I am and what makes up who I am and I have to learn to accept this all. I have to learn to have pride...but isn't pride considered a deadly sin?

Have I mention I suffer from extreme identity crisis?

The other factors that have caused my identity crisis is basically everything that was mentioned above.  I have low self esteem, trauma and illnesses, (which have been discussed in detail in past blogs). I have also experienced quite a few loses (Please note- I'm not looking for pity- I'm just using this as a way to express myself): There have been numerous deaths in my extended family.  My uncle, who was like a second father, died when I was 15.  I never really had a chance to get to know my other relatives that passed away, which was a loss in of itself (I was often depressed due to this).  Most of them lived in Ireland.  Two of my grandparents passed before I was born, while another one passed away when I was 9, the other when I was 13.  I had another uncle pass when I was 16, an aunt when I was 19, and an uncle who passed recently at 30.  My dog died when I was 13 as well.  I remember after my dog died, I begged and begged my parents for another dog. I even saved $1000 that summer for a dog that I was never able to get.  I was told I was too irresponsible to have one.  (It's kind of funny how I was more responsible then than I am now- I don't even have $1000 to my name today...it's also kind of funny how my parents allowed my sister to get a dog when I left for college)  But besides the point, it was quite upsetting as I was experiencing severe depression and suicide ideation during this time (yes..sadly at 13). I was being made fun of and bullied in school, I sucked at dancing; I just didn't belong. I avoided mirrors in fear of breaking them; I fantasized about going to a different high school, I fantasized about my prince charming who would save me (Fuck you Disney), as well as being 18 and  moving far away (I started counting down the years I was going to be 18 at 8 years old- what a waste/loss of years).

Other losses I've experienced include being laid off due to downsizing, as well as quitting jobs.  I've been divorced and have lost many relationships.  I've lost my gallbladder.  Another loss I've experienced that has caused me a lot of bitterness was my Irish Dancing career (or lack thereof).

For about 13 years, I competed in Irish Dancing, which was my main identity (I started when I was 5).  In school, I was known as the Irish Dancer. Every St. Patrick's Day, I'd perform for my class; I never missed a year from 1st grade to senior year of high school.  Of course I was made fun of for this among other things (Yeah...I grew up in a affluent privileged white, non diverse area and I was different), but it never stopped me.  Even though I sucked, I just loved to perform and I loved to dance.  It was my way of releasing all the inner pain I felt.  During my dancing career I had the opportunity to perform at Radio City and Carnegie Hall as well as PNC Bank Arts Center.  (Please don't let this impress you, because I was never good...they just needed dancers).

 Unfortunately, at 18, I had to quit due to financial hardship.  My parents had both lost their jobs (my father at age 15, my mother at age 17) and  I was at a point where I was paying for my own lessons, shoes, costume and I couldn't keep up with the Kardashians of the Irish dancing world.  My dream was to perform and to own my own school- but those dreams are long gone.

Even though I did teach dancing for about 6 years (from 21 to 27), I haven't taught since and I miss it.  I'd love to continue to teach young girls and incorporate the importance of self esteem. When I taught- I made sure every girl had their time to shine whether they were "good" or "bad".  They didn't have these labels in my eyes. They were all beautiful dancers in their own right.  They each were able to take lead of the class- one wasn't favored over the other just because they caught on quicker.  I taught my students how I wanted to be taught growing up and treated them how I wanted so desperately to be treated.  You see...I was a slow learner and because of this- I was in the back a lot.  I sucked and I never wanted my students I taught to feel the way I felt when I was a dancer.  I idolized each of my students.

 However, with my lack of self esteem, I never thought I was a good enough teacher.  I never made it to the worlds in dancing (similar to the Olympics), I never placed at the Nationals, I never made it to Riverdance or Lord of the Dance- (a dream I had) etc. Without these prestigious credentials, I'd always think and say to myself: who would want to learn from me?

The reason why I haven't taught in the past 4 years was due to my move to Chicago. When I reached out to traditional dancing schools (where they taught ballet, tap etc) in the area, nobody was interested.  There are a lot of big name schools in Chicago- I was a nobody and therefore, nobody really wanted me.  Besides, everybody and their mother living in Chicago knew Irish dancing (and..distorted thought).

 Now that I'm living back on the east coast- I don't think I have a chance to teach- especially not in NJ. Again, everybody and their mother are teachers of Irish dancing now a days.  And living in the society we are living in, it's all about the winning.  My style of teaching is not wanted.

 I despise the Irish Dancing competition world, which is where my bitterness comes into play.   I think some of my despisement is due to the fact that Irish dancing is geared towards rich people who can afford the up to $3,000 costumes, the thousands of dollars put towards competitions, lessons etc. And the fact that most of the people involved in Irish dancing are not Irish bothers me. (I'm sorry- it's just that Irish dancing has lost its pureness in my opinion.  The innocence of it is lost and has become Americanized just like everything else.  I feel as though the loss of innocence is another identity crisis in itself).

I am also bitter because I believe that a lot of my self esteem issues stem from this competitive Irish dancing world.  I remember when I was a beginner- I was probably 6 or so and one of the judges added as a comment "Ugly Hair." I was just never good enough and the marks and the comments the judges made proved it.  Even when winning a few firsts in a few competitions, I was never good enough.  I didn't place in the big competitions, so these small competitions didn't mean anything (Distorted thought I've been carrying around for over 20 years)

I remember being at my peak in dancing and a few people, including my teachers, stated that I would make top 5 in the regional competition (my dream was always to make top 10 (8 years of dreaming) in order to get to the World's and go to Ireland.  To me- it wasn't so much about dancing at the Worlds, it was more about being able to see my family over in Ireland).  Well, when the results came out, I placed 17th and my heart sank (even though this was the highest place I got).  I put all my hopes and dreams into this competition and I was crushed, completely heart broken.  All the hard work, the hours, the blood, sweat, and tears didn't mean much with that result.  I think to this day, my heart hasn't healed properly; There is scar tissue created from this loss that is painful to this day.

So, the next day, there was a ceili competition (8-hand) that I was in.  This one girl in the group was being such a bitch (and was just a bitch in general).  As we were practicing, she kept stating how we had to win. It was all about the winning.  I finally put my two cents in and blurted out that "We should be enjoying ourselves more and having fun rather than focus on the winning."  (I had made the mistake the previous day of focusing on winning rather than having fun. From that I realized the importance of enjoying the moment and I didn't want to make the same mistake twice).  Well the comment I made became news that spread like wild fire and made it to my teachers within minutes. Within the hour, I was taken aside by them and chastised for making such a comment. I was told that "it is ALL about the winning".  Later, when awards were given out and our ceili placed, no medal was given to me...I guess this was to prove whatever point they were trying to make (It was my teachers that were handing out the medals).  It was all good though, but not really.  Anyway, the next day I did another ceili; this time it was the 4-hand and my group was competing against the bitch's.  The focus of the 4 hand group I was in was about enjoying ourselves, of course.  And who do you think won???  If you guessed the bitch's group-you are............wrong!   Unfortunately, I had to go home early before the awards were given out and wasn't there to get the medal.  However, my fellow group member made sure she got one for me.

Although I'm glad to be out of this dancing world, I am saddened at how much pain I felt being involved in it as well as how much it has changed. I don't believe it has changed for the better.  It's become superficial and has lost it's original roots.  It's become all about the winning, the trophies, the wigs, the dresses, the tanned skin, the fake eyelashes, the glittered poodle socks, the psycho dancing moms.  When I look at some of these mothers, I can't help but think...how am I the one in the psych wards? This then brings me to my other loss: My loss of mind.  

 





 

Run Away..Run far Away.....from relationships

My track record when it comes to healthy relationships has never been quite up to par.  Actually, I don't think I have ever been involved in a healthy relationship (other than female friendships). With this, I could probably pass as the non-celebrity version of Taylor Swift.

There was a point in my marriage where I thought it was healthy, however, that deteriorated quickly.  I won't go into detail- just know there were a lot of pieces that put the bomb together that ended up exploding..as that's what bombs do.


So I sit here wondering "is there such a thing as a healthy relationship?"

 


 I guess for me, due to the fact that I don't have (and never did have) a healthy relationship with myself, there is no way in hell I could ever be involved in an external healthy relationship. And it's no surprise that all my previous relationships were unhealthy due to this. My problem with relationships is me. I'm my own nightmare...my own worst enemy...my own abuser.  I keep myself from having healthy relationships because when I'm approached by healthy guys.. I run away.  But give me a fucked up guy...and my legs will naturally spread wide open.

Now that I have this time to really reflect on myself, my own behaviors, and the hamster wheel I've been running around in year after year, I'm obviously learning a lot about myself.  I'm diving in deep and questioning more and using my analytical thinking skills.  Oh you analytical skills, you left side of the brain...my.... aren't you filled with so many....cobwebs and weeds. Honestly, I think if my brain were to be really examined:  My left side would be filled with cobwebs and weeds.  While my right side, the emotional side, would look like the effects of a tsunami.  So obviously lots of work is needed on the brain.  Where is the Red Cross disaster relief for my brain when you need them? Oh yeah...they are a scam...never mind...I don't want them.

Okay...getting back on topic.  So...when I look back on the relationships I have had in the past, I can't help but cringe.  I feel disgusting just thinking of the types of guys I have dated.  When I spoke with my friend Danielle yesterday, she asked me why I would feel that way when it was the idiots I dated that were the disgusting ones.   I didn't know how to respond to her question, other than I just do.  To me...it's kind of like the question: whose the actual idiot...the idiot or the person who dates the idiot?. ....YEP...it's the person that dates the idiots...it's me- I'm the IDIOT!!!!!

As I pondered more in regards to this question and wonder why I date these idiots and why I, myself, am an idiot....I realize it's all because I ignore the red flags.  The red flags are there. They are there screaming at me, waving in front of me before the relationships even begin. I've come to the conclusion that I'm selectively color blind. Yes..that has to be it.  Red flags??? What red flags?  Those flags are... grey...not red!  Those grey flags screaming at me...what scream???...I must be experiencing selective hearing.  Wait..that flag doesn't say danger...it says something else...er..uh...never mind....I can't read... wait a minute... I can't see..I'm currently experiencing selective illiteracy...or is it selective blindness??? ...oh wait it's both...oh....it's all of them!   

So, I won't go into detail of all the relationships I've had...as I could probably write a book or 10.  To summarize some of the relationships: I've dated guys who didn't believe in depression, who told me "if you loved me, you wouldn't be sad" (Oh...yes...I did say guys- you think I'd learn a lesson after the first guy....NOPE... did I mention I'm a      s    l    o    w        learner?  I've also dated guys with kids who were still living with their ex-wife or ex-girlfriend, who actually happened to not be exes. (Nope..I'm not making this up and YEP..I  did say guys again!!!)  I've dated narcissistic, controlling, possessive, cheating, and VERY cheap guys. There are definitely other types of guys...Grade A real winners!!!  And I'm the real winner for picking them!! Go ME! Or is it just fact that these qualities make up men?? Nah...it can't be because my father isn't like this, unless he is the rare species of the male homo sapiens. Hmmmm...I could be on to something here!


So my most recent relationship ended a few months ago and I still cringe just thinking about ever getting involved.  Thank God it only lasted about 4 months, but while living up on the mountain and dating- it felt like eternity.
I remember how it all started..actually I remember before it all started.  My friends from the mountain and I were on a road trip to Mount Rushmore.  During our trip we talked about guys from the mountain etc.  One of the girls mentioned how this cook from there was interested in me.  At first I was like...oh no...no no no no no...NO....not happening. I had no interest whatsoever.  I didn't want a relationship at all (oh the wise mind- if only I listen to you).   But as the girls continued to talk and say things like "I'd date him if I weren't with ...." and "oh give him a chance...he's so nice" (don't all guys 'seem nice' when they are desperate to get laid???), I gave in.  Did I mention how bad I cave into peer pressure?  So of course as we landed back at the mountain, my legs spread wide.

 And talk about disaster....talk about fucked up guys...this guy was fucked up and this relationship was a disaster. And...I was the idiot that continued along on this sad pathetic ride. I look back now and can't help but question why??? Why in God's name would I allow somebody like this into my life...and worse, allow them to treat me the way he did?  I'm too nice...I'm too caring...and  Oh yeah...there is a thing called self esteem...or lack there of.

Okay...I've written way too much..this post will end up being a book if I don't stop here.

Thank you for reading! 

A nephew's love

My nephew is currently visiting for 11 days.  He arrived on Thursday, the 10th, and the last two days have been some of the most joyful days of my life (until he starts crying jk... or I'll say this now and on day 11 have a different outlook..:)  ).

My nephew will be 3 in less than 3 months (I have no other nieces or nephews).  For the past year and a half he's been living in Luxembourg so I haven't been able to see him often. I remember when he was 6 months and I decided to give up drinking.  I realized I wanted to live and  I didn't want him to grow up knowing his aunt drank herself to death.   (Although I was never a full blown alcoholic, I was a terrible binge drinker and I'm sure had I not decided to give up when I did, it wouldn't have taken much longer for me to become one).



 So I don't know what it was that had me lose touch with reality this past winter.  Perhaps it was just not seeing/not having a reason to live. Not seeing my nephew for quite some time, I lost touch.  However,  being close with my nephew these past few days has brought zest back into my life. My feelings of loneliness, my insecurities, my depression have diminished tremendously (all within these short few days with him).

 I'm grateful to say I'm happy to be here today because I get to experience his love and the love for life he has. I get to experience his soft, tiny hands grab a hold of mine as he begs me to watch him play with his trains or pretend to drive my sister's car.  I get to experience him make funny faces as I have him taste a variety of things! I get to experience him state he doesn't like something and convince him otherwise (especially with things he doesn't normally like to eat).   I get to experience him repeat every word out of my mouth like "shit" (whoopsies) or "Super Aunt Aoife". Overall, I get to experience him not holding any judgements for my past and for my illness.

 I tell you, this love from my nephew and the love I have for him is like no other.  It's a type of love I never experienced before. I guess that's because it's pure, it's genuine and there is no bullshit with it.  Being loved by a child makes you feel like you're a good person, makes you feel wanted/needed, makes you have a sense of purpose and, overall, just makes you want to live another day longer.

I love young children (ages 2-6)  for many reasons: they are not poisoned by society, they are truthful, they have no shame, they are full of curiosity, life, fun,  innocence, and unconditional love. I love them also because they are able to live in the moment!   To me, children are true geniuses and it's sad to see them grow up and grow into boring, superficial, materialistic, insecure adults who think they know everything when they know nothing at all..boo adulthood!  (Okay- I'm sorry...Distorted thinking-  I'm overgeneralizing and being judgmental)
A reason why I have trouble with being an adult is because I don't want to let go of my inner child.  I don't want to grow up...I want to remain truthful, full of curiosity, full of life, full of innocence, full of fun and full of unconditional love.   I want to live in the moment.  Like children, I want to create my own rules.  It's just harder as an adult to get away with this unfortunately.  But I'm determined to find a way! Being with my nephew has helped me find that way!


So..I think what I find most joyful of all being with my nephew is knowing I wore him out rather than the other way around :)

Thank you Seamus for being my true anti depressant. I don't remember the last time I smiled with pure joy in my heart.

(Although I love children very much, I don't think I can have children of my own. Unfortunately, I wouldn't be able to handle passing this illness onto any of my children. I wouldn't want my child to experience anything I've been through. I wouldn't be able to handle seeing them suffer/ have them suffer. I'd hate for my child to pick up my plethora of insecurities.   It would just break my heart. It's too much of a dog eat dog world out there...however, I'm glad my sister was strong enough to have Seamus).   

Loneliness

When the feelings of loneliness overwhelm me, I get sucked into darkness.  My breath becomes shallow and my chest begins to ache as if my heart has been ripped out of its cavity.  It hurts.

So right now, I'm attempting to use the skills taught in my program.  What I'm experiencing now would be impulsiveness for I am in somewhat of a crisis mode as I feel myself getting sucked into the dark hole. I have to use my distress tolerance skills.  I know I have to ride the wave and not let the feelings take too much control over my mind, body and soul.  I'm riding the wave, I'm riding the wave...I keep telling myself I'm riding the wave.  But,  I feel as though this wave is too strong for me. I feel as though I'm being crushed by it and pushed under water, panicking because I feel as though I'm drowning. I'm drowning. I'm drowning. I can't reach the surface, the tide is too strong and like a rag doll I get thrown around below the surface.  I'm drowning.  There is nobody to save me, but myself and I can't do it.
 
To me...this is what it feels like to be lonely.  I hate this feeling (I don't know anybody who would like it), but it's an all too common feeling for me and I absolutely hate it.  I hate feeling disconnected.  I hate feeling alone. I hate the feeling of my heart bleeding and being shred apart.  I hate being alone especially in a world filled with 7 billion people.  How can anybody be alone or feel lonely with this many people in it?!
I can answer that question easily.  I feel as though I'm living proof of someone who is/feels alone and is/feels lonely.  I am this way due to my fragility.  And it's true.  I am fragile.  Forget being easily bendable- I'm easily breakable.   I'm already broken and I'm like glass that keeps on breaking. My emotional distress tolerance is 20 feet below ground- meaning I can't tolerate stress of any kind.     I have to push people away from me because it's my defense mechanism, yet I hunger for their closeness to me.  But..I know they can easily break me and for some of them- they make it a point, consciously or subconsciously, to break me into a million more pieces.

  I feel as though sometimes I'm the dead carcass at the side or middle of the road being eaten by vultures.  There are a lot of vultures out there and they do feed on the weak.
 Although, I'm attempting to build up walls, it's hard to do.  Forget thick skin, forget thin skin- my skin is transparent. My bruised, swollen, raw, bleeding, shredded heart can be seen a mile away and because of this, I'm the weakest link.  

The Demons can not hide forever

Today in art therapy, my art therapist suggested I have a one-on-one art therapy session with her.  I guess my artwork has been very dark and deep lately that she wanted to discuss it in further detail.  I had no idea something like this would be offered, but I'm kind of glad she suggested it. 

You see...back in high school, I was in a gifted and talented art class my junior and senior year.  I remember my teacher in junior year being very concerned about some of the artwork and thoughts I was producing in my homework. (We had to draw for an hour, write a fact relating to art, and write a thought).

Here is an example of one of my homework assignments- I think I destroyed all of the other pages to my sketchbook- The thought with this one was a positive one- "Is senior year really suppose to be the best year of your life? Will it be my best year? I wonder what next summer will bring")

So...this one day in particular, my teacher approached me and asked to speak with me in private. He discussed my homework and expressed how concerned he was about some of my depressive, deep, and dark, sometimes suicidal thoughts I had written about. (I did not expect him to actual go through our homework thoroughly).  All I could do though, was laugh it off and say "oh it's nothing...they are just thoughts- I didn't mean anything by them".  But that was a lie.  Back then I had a great way of smiling and shrugging things off. I had the greatest ability to keep my demons hidden and I hid them well- for they weren't strong enough...yet.  At this point in my life, people were unaware of the self hatred and the darkness in my soul that years later would engulf every part of my existence.
It was then after my teacher's inquisitiveness that I made sure to make all of my other thoughts bubbly, filled with positivity (such as the one above), filled with big fat lies, filled with superficiality.    I couldn't let my soul be exposed any further...that was too close of a call...too close of a call to be sent to therapy and labeled a crazy.

So fast forward 13/14 years later. And here I am again approached by someone having concern with my artwork.  However, this time I can't get away with smiling and shrugging it off. Unlike last time in h.s., this time I am labeled a crazy- I have the numerous psych ward visits to prove it.   Although, the demons have taken over, my art therapists notices the small flickering light within my soul that is crying out for help. (It reminds me of the exorcist- when Help is etched into the girl's skin- it's her small flickering light within her soul crying out for help.)


 In each art therapy class, we start out by reading a quote written on the board by our therapist. (Although I don't have the specific quotes, I will try to attain them within the next few days and update them in this blog)
So last Monday, I created the following pieces of art work.  (If you read my Happy Re-Birth-Day post, you've already seen some of them.)
The purpose of the art work for Monday had to reflect a metaphor.  So, I produced two products of art- if that's what you'd call them.

 

The metaphors I used in this one are: 'My heart  It bleeds  It hurts  As if it were stabbed a million times.' and  'My heart bleeds,  Blood dropping like raindrops falling from the sky'.  This piece of art was made with glitter paint, chalk pastels, and a sharpie marker on regular paper.

This piece of art was of a tornado destroying a heart with the words "All I had is destroyed.  It's as if a tornado wrecked havoc on my mind, body and soul" This was made with glitter paint and pastel chalk on construction paper.


On Friday- we had another project to work on.   It was basically to do whatever you want, but the quote had to deal with therapy and suffering.  (Again, I'll attempt to get the quotes within the next few days and repost them on here).

For this drawing, I used chalk pastels as well as oil pastels.  It was inspired by a painting I did years ago (also shown in The Land of Misfit Toys post).  I call this piece "The fallen broken angel".  As you can see, it's of an angel on a rock surrounded by fire burning all around her. You can't really see, but I put teardrops falling from her face- with the color of blood.  Although this piece of work is dark and depressing, I added a tiny light of hope in there with the sun and the sun rays shining through.  I guess this depicts the therapy that helps alleviate suffering.  The white things near the sun, which kind of look like mountain tops- are supposed to be wings of another angel.  Washed out- I have the words "Will we burn in Heaven like we do down here"  one of my favorite Sarah McLachlan songs. 
One last thing I'd like to add about this piece is in regards to the fact that when in a depressed state, it's sometimes so hard to see the light that shines above- especially when you are looking down. You also forget to realize you have wings- however, when lightening strikes- it is hard to fly.   






Today in art therapy our quote was in regards to paths.   When thinking about what to draw- Robert Frost's poem- "The Road Not Taken"  as well as Dr. M. Scott Peck's book "The Road Less Traveled" came to mind.  So again, using pastel chalk I made the following:

In this drawing, I was depicting an aerial type of view of the 2 paths.  You can clearly see the beaten path on the left, which depicts the idea of instant pleasure leading to future pain.
 Although from the view I show, you can see the huge fire/destruction, if a person were standing on the path- they wouldn't notice the fire for it is obscured by the abundance and beauty of the trees.  This path represents instant pleasure- A path I constantly go down.


The path to the right is of course, the path less traveled.  The reason why it's less traveled is because I continue to go down the wrong path, the path to the left and not learn from my mistakes. The reason why I go down that path is for obvious reasons- to avoid the pain I have to deal with at present moment.  So the path on the right clearly shows you that you have to experience the pain now and in doing so, your life will be more at peace and less painful than it would be taking the other path.  Notice also how I made the size of the fire in each path a different size.  The instant pleasure side has a bigger fire due to the fact that avoiding the present pain will bite you in the ass and cause more damage in the future.  While the fire on the right just shows you that if you accept whatever hell you are facing at present moment, it's not as big as it would be when you ignore it.

My advice- Take the path less travel, The road not taken. It's the same advice as Robert Frost and Dr. M. Scott Peck have given.  Trust me when I say this- it will keep you from suffering tremendously- take it from someone who knows!

Thank you for reading!