Staring Down The Barrel At Year 35

In less than a month I’ll be 35 years old (it’s Sept 23rd, if you’d like to write it down, text me, send me a gift, serenade me). Thirty five is a really tough birthday for me, and I don’t say that about a lot of birthdays. I’ve always felt like an old soul, so the fact that I annually move closer to the age that I actually feel doesn’t tend to affect me too badly. But thirty five is rough. To explain, I have to dig down deep and talk about a subject that, for purposes of my blog, I’ve put a complete taboo on up until this point - my former marriage.

I always said that if I had a family, I’d be done by 35. When I got married over ten years ago, this seemed like a very reasonable and feasible goal. We had a five-year plan. As in, we’d start trying to have a family in five years, figured two kids not super far apart, and within seven to eight years - putting me at 31 or 32 - we’d be a happy family of four. Well, six if you counted the furballs. But things changed.

First of all, marriage was both everything and nothing like I expected. I suspect a lot of people feel that way. I tried to be pragmatic, forcing myself to believe that long term relationships must be more slow, steady, and consistent than fiery and emotional and passionate, the latter being my natural tendency toward just about every aspect of life. I tried and I tried to adjust, but deep down inside I couldn’t reconcile that way of thinking with what actually made me happy. It was one hundred percent my fault. Nobody who ever met my ex-husband would say that he was ever a super fiery, emotional person, and in fact, his stability and grounded ways are what drew me to him in the first place. But thinking you know what’s best for you, and living with that day in and day out for the rest of your life, are two completely different things.

As our marriage passed the one year mark, my then-husband decided he wanted children sooner than four years from then. He broached the subject increasingly. Meanwhile, I was twenty five, unhappy, blaming myself for it, and petrified of bringing another life into the world, particularly in the current situation. The more he suggested starting a family sooner, the more I freaked out. There’s no other word for it. I completely freaked out. And eventually, I ran. I ran from him, and I ran from my marriage. The thought of us starting a family opened the virtual floodgates, and I finally couldn’t hold back my emotions. Everything that had been making me miserable came to the forefront. While our divorce was mutual, and as friendly as a divorce can be, I knew it was more or less one-sided. Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t perfect, and there was plenty wrong between us without the family issue, but he would have stayed in the marriage out of love for me and desire to have the settled life he'd always wanted. I couldn’t. My ex-husband is a good person, and I have always felt guilt about the entire marriage. I believe he’s remarried now, and I truly wish him happiness. I hope he ends up with the family that he so wanted.

After my marriage, the idea of children continued to freak me out. I liked my “single” life - not always single, but not tied down to a house and children. I was traveling a lot, and enjoying the freedom that I’d never found in my twenties, having been settled down by the ripe old age of 23. As the years went on and I got engaged again, I reconsidered perhaps having a family once married. I was 30, and getting past what had happened in my marriage. For reasons that don’t need to be blogged about here, my engagement didn’t last. Time ticked away.

About a year ago, I started to realize that I’d been wrong. All those years ago, I’d given up potentially being a parent. I’d allowed that mindset to sink in, and it became part of my identity. Everyone knew I liked kids if I could hand them back to their rightful parents. Everyone knew I was the free-spirited one who wouldn't be tied down to family. It had practically become a joke amongst those who knew me well. But suddenly, it wasn’t me anymore. I desperately wanted children. I knew what a wonderful parent I’d be. Except that now I have discovered that I have this genetic condition that would most likely be passed on to my children. Now, I’m on medication that I’d have to stop if I were pregnant, and that, combined with pregnancy hormones, could be disastrous. Now, I’m going to be 35, and my womb feels like a ticking time bomb. Now, I cry about this on a weekly basis. I know I should get over it. I can’t. It feels like the worse form of karma.

Technically, I could adopt. Except that a non-married woman who barely makes ends meet and has a mental health disorder isn’t exactly the prime candidate for adoption. I could foster, but there are the same issues, and besides, fostering isn’t actually my child. I want my child. I realize it's selfish, but it's true. I want to be a permanent mom, not a temporary one. I do have a lot of other people's children in my life, and I feel incredibly fortunate for them. I know it could be worse. I know people who cannot physically have children and have tried for years. I know people have lost babies in miscarriage, or possibly even worse, lost them once they were born. I cannot imagine going through that. My childlessness was, and to some extent still is, my choice, even though at times it doesn’t feel like it. At times, it feels like a big old “F.U., you made your bed, now lie in it” from whatever powers that may be.

One of my favorite pieces of inspiration, the anonymous poem “Don’t Quit” says: “life is queer with its twists and turns, as every one of us sometimes learns.” You never know what to expect, and which direction your decisions will take you. I fully understand that it’s my choices that have brought me to where I am, and I don’t regret the decisions I’ve made, as much as they’ve caused me pain. At the times, they were the right ones to make, given my situation, and I have to imagine I’d make the same ones again, knowing what I know now. Perhaps thirty five will surprise me. Perhaps as my birthday passes, as that self-imposed deadline comes and goes, I’ll be able to make peace with it. It will be behind me, instead of looming down on me. In the mean time, I’ll enjoy those that I am lucky enough to have in my life, and be thankful that I have been gifted with them.

One Pill, Two Pill, Red Pill, Blue Pill

I don’t write about medication much. Okay, ever. It’s a controversial topic (not that this has ever stopped me), that people in mental health, and in society in general, tend to feel strongly about. Oddly, despite the fact that I’m generally quite an opinionated person, my thoughts on this topic aren’t so steadfast, at least when it comes to the topic overall. I do, however, have a strong belief about my own treatment, and that includes medication. I also feel strongly that medication shouldn’t be a taboo and isn’t something to be ashamed of, and that’s why I decided to finally write about it.

First, a little background on my own treatment. I was diagnosed because of medication. The wrong medication. I had been given anti-depressants by my GP, and these were increased when I went to the ER several months later with what I thought were panic attacks. I stayed in the hospital for two days, with doctors insisting that I needed to increase my meds to help calm my depression, and me insisting that it wasn't depression and that I didn't need more meds because they actually made me feel worse. After two days the doctors felt proud of themselves that they'd "helped me with my depression" and sent me on my way, taking twice the amount of antidepressants than I'd come in with. I still insisted they were wrong. Turns out, I was right. What I was experiencing were actually undiagnosed hypomanic episodes. The severity of them - noticeable enough to send me to the ER - was due to my anti-depressants. See antidepressants, in the vaguest of terms, elevate your mood. In hypomanic episodes, your mood is already elevated. It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to put two and two together - elevated moods plus a medication designed to elevate your mood equals excessively-elevated moods. The key word here is excessively. As in unhealthy. I started going back to my therapist, and it was she who finally figured out what was going on. She diagnosed me with rapid-cycling cyclothymia, slowly brought me down off of the antidepressants completely, and began the correct treatment.

Now a little about my meds. (For the record, they’re yellow and off-whitish, as opposed to red and blue, but that didn’t rhyme so well). They’re actually anti-seizure meds. So if you’d like to think of my condition in simple terms, think of it as frequent seizures with an internal manifestation instead of an external one.  They work by limiting sodium release, which is needed for certain nerve cells to fire. As sodium release is more tightly controlled, so is the nerve cell firing in the brain, and that helps control my cycling. This is obviously a lay person's description, not the official medical terms. My meds are used only to prevent or limit hypomanic episodes. They generally don’t do so enough to bring me into depressive ones, which is lucky. I can’t be on antidepressants because I cycle too quickly, so by the time they’d take effect, I could be hypomanic again, and I’ve just described how that goes.

I know that there are people out there who don’t believe in using meds for mental health, or anything, for that matter. There are people who think that all mental health conditions can be treated "naturally"- either by diet and exercise, positive thinking, or even just with therapy without meds. Perhaps that’s true for some people, and I truly am happy that they can do that. But I am not one of them. My meds have saved my life. Let me repeat that: my meds have saved my life. They’ve brought back the sense of “normalcy,” for lack of a better word. As in, I don’t feel like my life is one continuous panic attack with an occasional bout of “I can’t get out of bed, my life is useless” thrown in for good measure.

Oh, there are side effects. Not terrible, as far as side effects go. There’s the usual dizziness, disorientation, nausea, along with the possibility of hyponatremia (low sodium levels) and seizures. I occasionally can’t feel my tongue and lips or get tingling in my fingers for a bit after taking my meds. I get nightmares and bad/intense dreams much more often, and I wake up looking like I just went for a swim, which is always super sexy. There’s even the rather rare possibility of developing a life-threatening skin disease called Stevens-Johnson syndrome. But I don’t have the more common side effects found in some meds, like uncontrolled weight gain or horrible dry mouth or stomach issues (I have stomach issues anyways, but it’s unrelated to my meds). I don’t feel dull or emotionless or like I’ve lost my creativity and inspiration, like I’ve heard some people say about being on meds. I also was lucky in that I found a med that worked for me on the first try. That’s very unusual in mental health medication treatment, and I feel very fortunate, overall.

I’m not writing this to convince anyone to take the meds I’m on, or to take meds at all. It’s not a rally against the “nobody needs meds” people. But I know plenty of people who feel that meds would help, except they are not quite ready to take the plunge into medication. For many people, I think it feels like the point of no return. I think, in a way, starting medication makes you admit to yourself that you really do have this condition, and that’s a tough step to take. Even with a diagnosis, it's not all that difficult to think to yourself "if I try hard enough I can make this go away." But taking meds makes it more "real" somehow. People feel they should be able to battle their condition on their own, and that something’s wrong with them that they can’t. They think that perhaps if they get a different perspective, think more positively, eat differently….  

But if you had diabetes that required insulin or asthma that required an inhaler, would you feel ashamed? Would you try to just fix it on your own? Yes, perhaps there are things that you could do in your day to day life that would help you feel better. But at the end of the day, you may need some medication to help straighten out your blood sugar or your breathing. There’s nothing wrong with that. Some medical conditions, because of their nature, require treatment that may include medication. Mine is one of those. I’m not ashamed; I’m grateful. I’m grateful that there is a medication out there that can help, and that my therapist suggested it to me. Do I believe that we should all have a spare bottle of Xanax lying around for every time we feel the slightest bit nervous? Not at all. But I do believe that taking the prescribed medication, at the prescribed intervals, in the prescribed amount, can be incredibly beneficial for some people, including me.

I’m happy to talk about medications more privately if anyone would like. I can only offer my opinion and my experiences. I’m in no way a medical doctor, and can’t advise on specific medications or anything of the like. However, I am happy to listen and to share my stories, in hopes that they may somehow help others.

I'll Dump Ice On My Head... I'm Not Forcing You To

My grandfather died of ALS.

He was 54. He’d had a really shitty upbringing and life handed him a death sentence at the age of 52. And it was painful, horrible death sentence. He wasn’t out having a great day one day and suddenly got hit by a bus and killed instantly. His body deteriorated until he could barely speak, could barely move. He wasted away in front of his family. He knew he was wasting away, he knew he was dying, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. When diagnosed, he was given two years to live. He died almost exactly two years to the day. On his son’s birthday. My mom lost her father at the age of 24. Her youngest sibling was in her teens. My grandmother was a widow in her early 50s. Only three of us grandchildren had ever met him when we were very young (I was 10 months old), and none of us remember him at all. All of us grandchildren grew up without a grandfather on that side of the family. We celebrated every holiday I can remember for the first 16 years of my life at my grandmother’s house… without him. I think I’ve painted the picture well enough, so let me continue.

I have been challenged to do the ice bucket in the name of ALS, and I’m excited to embarrass myself on video in the name of this cause. I’ve already given my donation that goes along with it (see point number 1 below). I’m waiting to do the ice bucket because my uncle is visiting this weekend and I thought I’d give him and my mom the honor of dumping the ice on my head, since it was their father that passed from ALS. I’ll add that humorous video when I do it.

Ok, so let’s move on to why I’m frustrated to the various negativity towards the challenge:

1. To those who say “donate instead”: Please understand the challenge correctly. You’re supposed to donate either way. If you do the ice bucket, it’s $10. If you don’t, it’s $100. There are several reasons many people do choose bucket option. A lot of people don’t have an extra $100 lying around for a charity they’d never thought of before. But a lot of people have $10 and ice lying around. Also, the ice bucket is fun and something people will post to let others know about the charity, so it gets others to donate that might normally not. And if you say that people might have planned to give more but now they only think they have to give $10 with the ice bucket….No.  They’re not going to say “well I was going to be super generous and give $100, but now I’m just going to dump ice on my head and give $10.” If they’re giving that much, it’s a charity they really want to support monetarily, probably because it’s affected them personally in some way. The ice bucket won’t change that.

2. To the “you’re wasting water!” people: I don’t put ice in my drinks because I hate super cold drinks. So all that ice I could put in my soda, water, adult beverage…. mine was just used for charity. Also, did you see those videos of Detroit underwater last week? That storm that came this way.. it rained for several days straight. It’s hurricane season here on the east coast. Do you know what hurricanes mean? Rain! Water! We on the east coast, and much of the country, have no shortage of water at the moment. If you’re in a drought state fighting forest fires, I’m ok with this objection. If you donate every month to Charity Water, I’m ok with this objection. If you opt not to take that extra shower before you go out with your girlfriends/buddies/date to look nicer because saving water is so important to you, I’m ok with this objection. If you have a rain bucket in your backyard and use that water for your food/drinks/teeth brushing, bathing… I’m ok with this objection. But if you’re sitting here watching the forecast that says 60% chance of rain at the end of the week, drinking ice in your drinks, not scrambling through a shower to use less water, not donating to water charities, then I have trouble with this objection.

3. The “it’s attention seeking” objection: I can’t even put my pisssed-offness into words about this. See, I really mean it… I had to just make up the word pissed-offness. I have actually seen people say that they think the ice bucket is attention seeking and in the same post where they put a screenshot of their donation amount and say “instead I just donated xyz amount!” So let me get this straight… you think doing something fun/silly to grab people’s attention and spread the word (while also donating) is attention seeking, but saying “look how much I donated!” and posting a picture of it isn’t? You’ve got to be kidding me! (For the record, I’m not judging either action, I’m just appreciative you did something, but if you’re calling one attention seeking, so is the other).

4. The “It’s not actually teaching people about ALS, just raising money” objection: In a way, these people are right - perhaps not everyone who does this is actually reading the information on the website. In fact, a lot of people probably aren’t. But guess what - same is true for people who just fill in a credit card form online or buy cookies at your fundraising bake sale. You can’t force people to be aware. You can do things to bring attention to the cause, and go from there. And if you raise a ton of money along the way, isn’t that what fundraising is? So if you’re objecting to the specific wording of “it raises awareness of ALS” you might be right that people may not be learning a ton more about the disease itself. But it certainly raises awareness of the foundation and the cause. I’ve never, in almost 35 years, seen so many people talking about ALS, and from what I’ve read, the foundation has never seen such an increase in donations.

5. The “some people don’t donate and just do the bucket” objection: So freaking what? The people who don’t donate most likely weren’t going to do anything at all for ALS. Now at least they’re doing something to make people aware of the challenge and suggest a donation, even if they don’t have the means to donate themselves. As I said in point one, they aren’t people who were going to donate a ton and then say “you know, instead I’ll just dump ice on my head.” But maybe they’ll pass it along to someone who will donate.

I want to be one hundred percent clear that I am not expecting every human to dump ice on their heads in the name of ALS.  If you don’t want to pour the ice over your head, or you don’t get the point of it, if you’d rather just donate without the ice bucket, or if you say “instead of the ice bucket I’m going to dress up in a chicken costume and dance around on video in the name of ALS”, I’m perfectly ok with that. I’m thankful that people are doing anything to raise awareness and/or funds about ALS. I don’t even mind if you post your donation amount (or your chicken costume video or whatever you decide to do). I don’t think it’s attention-seeking, I think it spreads the word. But please stop with all the hate posts and negativity about the people doing the ice bucket. It’s fun, at least to them, it’s for charity, and it’s helped the foundation raise a ton of money in the short time it’s been going on.

I’m sure there are people who I’m going to upset with this post. It’s not directed at any one person. I tried to sit quietly and let the negativity die down, but it’s just increasing. If you’ve posted an anti-ice-bucket meme/post/tweet, it’s nothing personal against you. I still like you as a person and hopefully you still like me. But I had to write about it. People aren’t killing or burning down buildings in the name of their cause. They’re dumping ice. On their own heads. Not yours. They’re not forcing you to participate, they’re doing so themselves. So please, let the ice-bucketers raise awareness and funds in the way they’d like, and you do so in the way you’d like. I’m grateful for all of it.

No Shoes, No Shirt, No Problem

Last week I went on vacation with my entire immediate family to St. Simon's Island. By "entire immediate family", I mean my parents, all five of us siblings, all of our significant others, and each family's kids. As we don't all live in close proximity, it's not often that we manage to get the whole crew together - probably every couple of years or so.

St. Simons Island, if you're not familiar with it, is a small island off the coast of Georgia that's rather historic and, while it offers beach rentals, is not built up like many other beach rental destinations. Sure, there are a few cheap beach shops and kayak rental places, but the majority of the island seems to actually live there, at least part of the year. It has a more "off the grid" kind of feel.

As you may know, I often times have a tough time unwinding. I can get lost in a good book for hours, or spend some time in quiet contemplation writing or meditating, but "chilling out" isn't really my thing. Partly, I think it's my general type A personality. Partly, it's my cyclothymia. My brain is always going. I mean always. Reading works because it gives my brain a story to get enraptured with. The same with writing. Meditation works because, quite frankly, I don't do it for all that long, and even then, I'm much better with guided meditation which allows me to focus on a story, than I am just sitting there quietly. In day to day life, I'm the queen of sticky notes, calendar reminders, and"to do list" alerts on my phone. I have numerous methods of jotting down notes, thoughts, or things I must remember at any given time. My phone, computer, and ipad are never far from my sight, lest I miss an email, text, or push notification. I am made instantly aware of the Facebook comments on the comment to my comment - and get an email about it in case I miss the push notification. When I put it in writing, I have to admit, it sounds a bit over the top.

So two Fridays ago, when we left on our drive to Georgia, I did something remarkable: I ensured that my Out of Office messages were enabled, shut down my computer, and turned off almost all of my push and email notifications, including those for social media. As I got into the swing of the week, surrounded by loved ones, the sun, the sand, and the casual way of life on the island, I left all of my electronics for hours at a time. A couple of days into the trip, I all but abandoned shoes, and barely wore anything except my bathing suit during the day and pjs at night. I relished coming downstairs in the mornings to the chatter of my family - usually my parents and a couple of the kids who arose earliest - and the smell of coffee brewing. I began to let myself be free of the "rules" I somehow managed to create for myself about constantly being in contact with everyone and having to constantly be working on something. I didn't worry about the workouts I was missing or the extra few calories I was eating, because I knew it was temporary. Eventually, I'd have to get back to "real life". Without realizing it, I was absolutely "working" on something - my peace of mind.

I was incredibly sad to leave the island, and the family. Being with people who love all of me, including my condition, as opposed to despite it, was incredibly healing. I felt free to completely be myself for the first time in ages. Upon returning, I chose to keep a large number of my push and email notifications turned off.  Oddly, the decision wasn't as difficult as I thought it might be. Yes, I now have to check for work and client emails more frequently. Yes, I have to watch a bit more carefully what I eat, and include a bit more activity in my daily routine. But I'm forcing myself to re-examine the rules I've set for myself and ask myself why they are there in the first place. Are they really helping me? Now? In the long run? I'm also trying to retain a bit of that sense of love, acceptance, and self-freedom that I acquired there. It's tough for someone like me who's never had a whole lot of self love and confidence to begin with, but I'm trying.

I realize I can't be on vacation every day, and that we must, of course, earn the money to take those kinds of vacations in the first place. I'm back to work at my part time job and back to running my company. I haven't completely abandoned my computer or my phone.  But perhaps now, when I do pick up my phone, I'll be more likely to choose my meditation app, or my skyguide app that allows me to find all of the constellations in their current locations, instead of replying to that Facebook comment on a comment of a comment.

The beach on St. Simons Island on an overcast day.

20 Questions... Or Something Like It

I recently read an article entitled "How To Grow Close By Asking the Right Questions". While the post is intended for dating or at least getting to know someone new one on one, it got me thinking about the ways in which we do actually size people up, and how well people actually know us. I think the way we answer questions, at least questions that go slightly deeper than surface level, says a lot about us, and I became curious as to my own answers. So I answered the questions for myself, at least the ones that didn't require back and forth rapport with another party that was supposed partake for purposes of "growing close". I found that more than a few of them made me actually pause and reflect. I also thought it might be interesting for my readers to see my answers, and for me to learn some of theirs, if they chose to share. I'm always up for a study in people, and this seemed to provide a good platform for one. Below are the questions, copied word for word, along with some of my answers. Curious how you'd answer? Play along!

Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?  

Assuming they mean a famous person, or at least someone who wouldn't normally come to dinner such as a loved one, this answer was easy: the Dalai Lama. 

Would you like to be famous? In what way? 

No, unless I was well known for doing some sort of charity or philanthropic work, but not in any other way. I don't like attention or limelight focused on me. 

Before making a phone call, do you ever rehearse what you're going to say? Why?

Absolutely, unless it's to a loved one or close friend. I have phone anxiety. 

What would constitute a perfect day for you?

Time with my loved ones doing something carefree and without set rules, most likely exploring some place new. 

When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else? 

All the time. Probably 10 minutes ago. Does my dog count as "someone else"? I sing to her daily. 

If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or body of a 30-year old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you choose?

My mind. I know what it's like to feel like you can't control your mind momentarily. I can't imagine 60 years of that. 

Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?

Nada. Despite my tendency for foresight and premonition dreams, I don't have a clue. And I don't want to. 

For what in your life do you feel most grateful?

Family and friends. No doubt about it. 

If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?

Not a thing. Though I wish I myself had been a bit more daring, but that's no fault of my upbringing. 

If you could wake up tomorrow having gained one quality or ability, what would it be?

Better confidence/self-esteem. I don't want superpowers (though teleportation would be cool). I just want to wake up every day believing in myself. 

If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future or anything else, what would you want to know?

Nothing. Life's an adventure, meant to be lived out and adjusted to as it comes along. It freaks me out enough when I have premonition dreams. I want no part of a crystal ball, unless it would help me help loved ones somehow. 

Is there something that you've dreamt of doing for a long time? Why haven't you done it?

A round-the-world trip. Why not? Money, and responsibilities in my life here. But I'll do it one day! 

There are plenty more questions that I plan to answer in another blog. In the meantime, I'd love to hear some of your answers, so feel free to comment! 

The Event That Has Changed My Life

This past weekend, I participated in one of the most moving events of my life. The Out of Darkness Overnight Walk is an annual event, traditionally held in just one city in the U.S. every year (this year it was fortunately held in two, Philadelphia and Seattle). It's a walk I've wanted to do for several years, and with it in my backyard, I had no excuse. Oh I could have made excuses - it's a long walk and I have some reoccurring injuries; will I be able to raise $1000 for a cause that people are leery to even acknowledge let alone pledge?; I go to bed at 10 PM, how will I stay up late enough to walk that many miles? But I didn't allow myself excuses.

If you're not familiar with the Out of Darkness walk, though if you follow my Facebook page I'm not sure how this is possible, it's a 16-18 mile walk to bring awareness and funds to suicide prevention, hosted by the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, or AFSP. The obvious point of holding the event from dusk to dawn is to point out that no matter how dark it may seem, there is hope. (I feel like this explanation might not have been needed, but I also feel that you can never point out too often for those who are experience deep depression and suicidal feelings that there is hope).

Walkers and their supporters before the opening ceremonies. 

I have done charity walks before, and I know the sense of accomplishment felt at being able to raise the money and complete the mileage, along with the adrenaline that occurs during the actual walking/activity. But this event touched me in ways that I never expected. It started when we got to choose which honor beads we would wear for the night. There were different colors which indicated your reason for participation. They ranged from "support the cause" to having lost different people in your life to suicide - different colors for family/friend, parent, and child - to military or first responder, to personal struggle. As I chose my honor beads, I took careful consideration. Of course I chose blue, for support the cause. I then chose purple, as I've lost a second cousin to suicide. Finally, I picked green for "personal struggle". You see, I write this blog, I post all over facebook and twitter, and I run and support events and organizations, but choosing those green beads was akin to walking around with a t-shirt that says "I struggle with mental health". It's not that I'm ashamed or even worried what people will think. It's simply the first time I've physically worn something out in public that indicates my condition, and for some reason, it felt like a big step to take.  I wasn't alone. I'd say at least a quarter of people walking, and that's an eyeball estimate that might be rather low, were wearing them with me. And nobody looked at us funny or edged away or made an ignorant comment. In fact, before the event (I'd gotten there quite early to register) I went with my family to a nearby restaurant, and when others from the event walked in wearing their own beads and walk shirts, we just nodded at each other and smiled. A silent "I get it. You too."

Me, pre-walk, with my three colors of honor beads

As I listened to the opening remarks, speakers discussing their loved ones lost to suicide, I watched the faces around me. You could see the acknowledgement in their head nods, the tears forming in their eyes. At one point, one person with each color of honor beads step forward on stage, with the speaker explaining why that specific person was walking. The second to last person stepped forward wearing green beads for "personal struggle". The speaker described how she'd spent most of her life feeling like she just didn't belong in the world and just didn't fit in anywhere, but there, that night, she finally felt like she wasn't alone. I lost it. I let the tears fall freely, feeling absolutely no shame, especially as I looked around and saw others doing the same. If you have read my blog before, you know how I've never been close to cool and always kind of jumped around life, randomly maybe fitting in here or there, but always always feeling like something in life was just off, like I just didn't belong. But finally, finally, I realized that there, I too, fit in. I was not alone. Not even close to alone. The people there that night understood how it felt, a feeling that is impossible to fully describe, that you don't really know until you experience it. Trust me, it's not a "group" that I wish my friends and loved ones to be part of. I'm glad most of them don't know what it feels like. But the knowledge that you're surrounded by people that do was something I've never experienced in person. While I'm terribly saddened that each and everyone one of those people do know what it feels like, I finally felt like I belonged. The nods and tears of my fellow walkers told me that they felt the same.

Those called to stage to represent the different honor beads

As we walked, a few of us - most walking by ourselves - formed our own unofficial team. We openly asked each other, and just as openly explained, why we were walking. There was no taboo. There was no "what will they think of me?". Despite the fact that everyone had a slightly different reason, we all had this one, hugely personal, thing in common - depression or suicide had somehow affected us all deeply. I have to say, that's a much deeper connection than I suspect you can get in one book club meeting or one sports practice, and yet we had this as the result of one walk.

You learn a lot doing an event like this. You learn who supports your cause, through monetary donation or moral support. You learn how much physical and emotional strength you have to push through the walk. You learn how much water you can drink without having to use a port-o-potty, and that if you've walked long enough without eating, generic snack products actually become appetizing. You learn you can indeed stay up past your usual bedtime, and easily, if the reason is right... though I do have to say I'm glad and proud to have finished by midnight. But most of all, you learn that no matter how much it hurts at times, no matter how isolated you may have felt, no matter how dark things get, there is hope and you are not alone.

Luminaries lit for lost loved ones, waiting for us at the end of the walk. 

To learn more about Out of Darkness Walks, including the Overnight Walk, and three to five mile Community and Campus Walks, click here. If you are interested in getting involved with AFSP, check out their opportunities, including finding your local chapter, here. 

A Father's Day Quiz

For Father's Day, my dad did a quiz about his father, which was part reminiscent from things I'd known, and part a bit of new trivia. So I thought, in turn, I'd do a quiz about my father. In the days of Facebook, when even those who don't see him weekly as I do can be updated on family happenings, this quiz is probably a bit easier than that about my grandfather who passed away fourteen years ago, and grew up in the first have of the previous century. Still, though, I thought it would fun - mostly to share some fun facts/funny stories, but also to reminisce as well. So here we go:

1. Dad was involved in the march on Washington and other protests during the Vietnam war. However, he nothing to worry about when it came to personally being drafted - he'd never have been "approved" because he's allergic to penicillin.

2. Dad was the first person in his family to graduate from college. He originally wanted to be a veterinarian but his studies led him elsewhere.

3. When we were young, one of our favorite games created by dad was to put the kitchen wok in the middle of the floor on a bed sheet, pop popcorn in it, and run after the popcorn as it flew out of the open wok.

4. Dad has held all of the following jobs during his life: paper boy, bus driver, pizza delivery man, shoe salesman.

5. When we were young, dad used to create scavenger hunts for us around the house and yard, with little prizes at the end.

6. Dad's parents were originally from North Dakota and North Carolina.

7. Dad is the only one in our immediate family (parents and siblings) that is left handed.

8. Dad has lost his camera on at least three continents.

9.  Dad used to be a picky eater, but he's now gotten quite adventurous.

10.  While dad has adjusted to the way we speak on the East Coast, he still says pin and pen the same way, as he learned growing up.




Answers:
1. False: He wouldn't have been drafted, but it's because he's allergic to bee stings. It's Eli and I who are allergic to Penicillin.

2. True: He ended up as an educator in numerous facets.

3. False: While we played this game, surprisingly dad was not the one that created it.

4. False: Have you ever seen dad's shoes? He did hold the rest of the jobs, however.

5. True: This was one of my favorite activities as a kid.

6. False: His mom was from North Dakota, but his dad was from Virginia.

7. True: Though I believe at least one of his grandchildren inherited the left-handedness.

8. False: Believe it or not, I can only think of two continents on which he's lost his camera on - North America (numerous places) and South America (Argentina).

9. False: I honestly can't name a food dad doesn't like, and I don't think they were allowed to be picky eaters growing up with seven kids in the family.

10. True: While I've never heard it particularly, he says he can't distinguish between the two.