Love, Perservering

 

Grief is a dastardly little shit. If you stop and think about it, you may actually experience some level of grief almost every day. It is deeply personal. It is a reflection of shared intimacy. It is a profound emotion. It is the price we pay for love. It reshapes our world in ways we never anticipate. It is the quiet absence that lingers in the corners of everyday life... and it is one of the most complicated yet common of human emotions no one really teaches how to deal with in a way that feels true to each of us. I hope that this brief essay may help those who knew Amber learn to weave these feelings into our days, allowing joy and sorrow to coexist whilst honoring the love that made this grief possible.

I met Amber (of all things) on Twitter, in 2014. Those who believe personal relationships can't truly be formed online can be disproved by the hundreds of us who knew her via these silly little interwebs. Through the years we shared memes, red panda gifs, Disney + passwords, laughter, cat pics, gifts, and tales of life. She gifted embroideries, cross stitches, an intricately pieced together and sewn Sherlock handbag, a custom made Baymax plushie, and so many hand written birthday cards. In turn, I made her silly Doctor Who cross stich pieces, sent random Sherlock themed Etsy gifts, and more cat pics. Her generosity was truly unmatched.  I found out years ago she had a folder on her personal laptop of pictures I posted on Twitter of my cats, simply because she loved them. One of the pieces she made was an embroidery of my two now rainbow kitties, wearing helmets and floating in space. She had that gift, to make you laugh unexpectedly over something so adorably absurd. All I need to do is turn to my bookshelf, or wall, or open a storage box, and she is everywhere.

When a friend told me the other day, "Sadness shared is sadness halved", a scene from Fleabag popped into my head while I was struggling with how to say goodbye to Amber in a way that did her justice with care and grace. The main character is talking to her best friend, having just attended her mum's funeral, unsure of how to proceed in a world without her:

"I don't know what to do with it."
"With what?"

"With all the love I have for her. I don't know where to put it now."

"I'll take it. No, I'm serious. It sounds lovely. I'll have it. You have to give it to me."

"OK."

"It's gotta go somewhere."

To have known Amber was to know someone extraordinary. Her humor, her wisdom, and her unique creative spirit will not likely be something I will find similarly again in this lifetime. She was a soul as vibrant as the threads she wove, a warm and grounding presence whose boundless curiosity and academic brilliance caught the images of our world's hidden wonders. My only wish and deepest sorrow is that I will never be able to meet her in person, and time is something I can never get back to do so. I continue to carry her with me, and I hope you do too... even as some images and memories inevitably become softer at the edges over time, like autumn leaves gently fading into the grass. Loss may change us, but love remains.

Cross Stitch Queen, It Me

It's 2019.

I should write a blog post since it's been an entire year since I've written one.

Instead, by popular* demand, I am posting all the completed cross stitch projects since I got back into it in 2014, and one WIP (work in progress). 

Please to enjoy.

(this is in my guest bathroom and people love it, fight me)

(I actually made two of these)

(This took me seven months, 18k+ stitches, and 76 colors)

(WIP)

*not popular at all demand

MUZAK

Every once in a while, I like to torture my readers with lists of songs/artists/albums I'm currently listening to. Also, it's been almost a year since I've written a post. A YEAR. Crikey fuck, by all means, listen to the shit that's been getting me through one of the worst years of my life because it's amazing and you need to make a playlist or something and and and and just...just do it, ok?

Sunsetz - Cigarettes After Sex
Island - Wet
Silk - Wolf Alice
New Ways - Daughter
Bring Me Sunshine - Richard Walters
Peace of Mind - The Jezebels
I Never Learn - Lykke Li
The Louvre - Lorde
Keep Running - Tei Shi
Mr. Sandman - SYML
Englistan - Riz MC
Tennessee - Kiiara
Slow Slippy - Underworld
Phenomena - Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Delicate Dream - Shana Halligan
Helium - Sia
All Night - Beyonce
Sweet Disposition - The Temper Trap
Innocence - Halestorm
Unsteady - X Ambassadors
Elegie - Art Tatum
Issues - Julia Michaels
Lover I Don't Have to Love - Bright Eyes
Skin Against Skin - DJ Krush/Deborah Anderson
Silicone - Mono
Dancing On My Own - Calum Scott
Cutting Ties - Wish I Was/Cameron Walker

...to name a few.




But trust me on Silk by Wolf Alice.

Nevermore

*please note this post has references to self harm, depression, and suicidal thoughts*

A while ago, I took several Xanax, a sleeping pill and drank a lot of wine. A LOT of wine. I was hurting a lot; I hadn't seen my therapist in many months (and this was before I went on new meds that seem to have helped IMMENSELY), and still mourning what seems to be the loss of a very good friend 6 months ago. Not to mention, I am and have been undergoing massive change with a new job and an impending move. So...I drank. As previously mentioned I believe, I have self-harmed before and it's never been with the intent of ending my life, but pain is pain and those of us who feel it feel it ever so deeply sometimes do this to feel escape from the emotional grief. So that eveing, when I was good and shitcanned, I accidentally broke a wineglass putting it in the dishwasher. Pulling it out, I looked at the jagged, razor-edged remains and immediately began carving the glass into my left wrist, which is where I have consistently self harmed as I am right handed.

I don't want to die, truly. I have had thoughts that lead me down the path of "perhaps it would be easier...not to feel anything..." which, as the brilliant Mark Gatiss and Stephen Moffat recently wrote for BBC Sherlock, your life is not your own. Keep your hands off it. Your life is over; the people left behind are the ones who have to pick up the pieces. And I could never do that to the many people I love with all my being.

I wish my brain understood all things in life are impermanent, especially pain...one has to simply feel it without masking it via addiction of any kind and...just feel it. Buddhist teachings tell us so. But addicts have an extremely difficult time with acceptance, therein lies the masking of our brilliance with substance abuse. I wish I didn't know glass cuts much more deeply and scars more than a knife will. I don't want anyone to know or experience this, which is why I feel the need to try to help others. And I hope I do help by telling you...don't leave. Don't leave us. Don't leave me. Don't leave YOU.

Now comes the tattoo tale.

I hate tattoos. Hate them. I don't currently have any and in the past I have expressed very strong opinions against them; a bit close-minded to be sure but I associated them with a certain, well...class of person. I think it's because I grew up SO damn conservative with very Republican, opinionated and restrictive parents that I shut myself off from the idea of permanently marking myself with something I might regret later. On many people, it is art, but for myself, small steps. (Tangent: It'll be fucking hilarious to see how this goes over with the fam when they see it). *cackles*

I chose a Chinese symbol (verified with my sister's father-in-law, who is Chinese and reads and writes it every day) to make sure that I'm getting the symbol correctly done. Not terribly big, small enough to be delicate and still classy.

Behold:

 The Raven.

So the significance of the Raven tattoo has multiple meanings for me. First of all, it is and always has been my favorite Edgar Allan Poe poem. The juxtaposition of darkness and the light is sublime. It will be a constant reminder recognizing my darkness and I'm a powerful being who will acknowledge the demon who sits ever-present, whose "eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming."

My demon is there.
On my wrist, there the Raven tattoo shall be.
Where I used to harm myself.

Nevermore. NEVER. MORE.

The multitude of other reasons for my choice are as follows:

^ French anthropologist Claude Lévi-Strauss proposed a theory that suggests the raven obtained mythic status because it was a mediator animal between life and death (how very, very fitting). As a carrion bird, ravens became associated with the dead and with lost souls. (I am not lost. I was lost. There are many who feel lost, but we find ourselves eventually, do we not? Just say: I am not lost. I am wandering. And I am simply perfectly imperfect.)
^ In Greek mythology, ravens are associated with Apollo, the god of prophecy. They are said to be a symbol of good luck, and were the god's messengers in the mortal world. (The lightness comes into play, because I carry it too, like a white raven on my shoulder.)
^  For tattoos, the raven is typically seen as a symbol of darkness, mystery and death, but it can also symbolize the good attributes within a person. (I carry my darkness and mystery with me, but I am a good person. I know this because I KNOW I am a good person.)
^ The symbolic meaning of the Raven in Native American lore describes the raven as a creature of metamorphosis, and symbolizes change/transformation. (No better time like the present!)
^ To the Vikings, the raven is a common iconic figure in Norse mythology. The highest god Odin had two ravens named Huginn and Muninn ("thought" and "memory" respectively) who flew around the world bringing back tidings to their master. (Honestly, no related impact for my tattoo, just, you know...calm the fuck down, Odin.)
^ So why a Chinese character? My niece and nephew are half-Chinese. Two additional reasons to not drink or self-harm. How could I? They are my light and life...there is no darkness there.

^ Last but not least, if Ravens ever leave the Tower of London, London will fall!!!!! (Just like if Mrs. Hudson ever leaves Baker Street...)*

Today's lesson: the pain you feel now will lead you down the road to believe in the beauty you possess, because you ARE beautiful. And if you need to permanently etch a reminder on yourself reasons to keep going, to you I say...why not?

Today is day 1. There will be a day 2. And many, many, many more.

My appointment is tomorrow. The rest of my life simply follows. Namaste.

(Comic relief: please to enjoy Thug Notes Summary and Analysis of the Raven)**

* too many literary references? Fuck off.
**always leave 'em laughing

Untitled

I hadn't had a good day today. I've been slipping in and out of these little depressive episodes that when I can and I'm able, I will stay in bed the whole day. It doesn't make for a super awesome life right now but it is what it is. I don't tell many people when I'm not doing OK anymore because I feel I'm a bother. I'm missing some friends and I felt a little bit alone tonight but I wanted to just tell a quick tale before I went to bed.

I have no food in my house. It was almost 6 before I finally and got the energy to go and grab something. Not anything healthy of course, because when you're depressed and trying to stay away from things that will really be unhealthy for you like drugs and alcohol, you tend to gravitate towards awful fried gross wonderful depravity. So of course, I'm waiting in the fast food drive to get my burger, not feeling good and already irritated because I had a feeling that some impoliteness was headed my way.  I was preparing myself to basically be a total bitch because I was grumpy and then something shifted in side me, and I remembered that I'm a human being and so is the person on the other side of this window.

The beautiful, tired, slightly round woman at the window handed me my strawberry shake and kind of just sighed. She was waiting for the rest of my food and it took a couple of minutes then I heard her say, "What a beauuuuuutiful evening" in a manner implying it was not beautiful at all but exhausting instead. I caught her eye and laughed. She looks at me and she said "Oh I'm sorry, your food will just be a couple more minutes." And I said "Really it's no trouble, take your time. Rough night?" She smiled slightly and said, "No, just ready to go home. Two more hours." She handed me my food and I said "May it go by quickly for you! You have a good night, OK?"  She also smiled, said good night and I was on my way.

It's not much on the outside, but compassion is so overlooked most of the time when it can be easily found. No fancy blog post today, just a message to go out and spread a little care on this Sunday.

No, it's not Sunday here yet, but I'm always on London time.

Good night.

You and I

"And I find it kind of funny

I find it kind of sad

The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had

I find it hard to tell you,

I find it hard to take

When people run in circles it's a very, very

Mad world, mad world."

When you look upon the face of this woman, what is it you see? 

Do you see joy? Someone enraptured by melody and bass? Carefree singing? Do you see someone beautiful? Do you find yourself wondering about almost too perfect makeup. skin. and teeth? Do you see love? Happiness? Some familiarity in sensation? A kindred spirit? Passion?

...Freedom?

Shatter your illusion of what you think no one else could possibly feel or understand... It isn't real. It's an outside facing mirror so others may see a glimpse of themselves. Me and you, you and I, in a perfect symbiotic frolic. Happy on the outside, a storm on the inside: that's what we hide, our honesty, our pain, our sometimes everlasting darkness.

We disappear so that we may intertwine. 

Don't disappear. Everything you have ever feared, someone has too. Every doubt you've ever had, someone shares those same doubts. Many people tell me I'm an inspiration, I'm brave, I'm honest. They say they admire my story, my struggle. The thing they don't know is I'm not winning at life, but I am living it. I struggle every day. EVERY. DAY. I'm not brave. I only no longer have anything to hide.

I want you to know we're the same.

This is the face of someone who is insecure: about herself, her relationships, the future, the past, the present. This is the face of someone who couldn't get out of bed on Sunday due to feeling depressed.This the face of someone who cried herself to sleep two nights ago, after crying in the shower for 45 minutes. This the face of someone who feels some level of depression, anxiety and addiction every day. This the face of someone who doubts herself and her abilities every moment. This is the face of someone who is alone, yet fears the very thing of being alone and feels very alone, especially in a room crowded with people. This is the face of someone who is going it alone; no partner, no supplemental income, no support, and too proud to ask for help. This is the face of someone who has new frown lines in her face now when she's paying bills. This is the face of someone who worries that people are watching her move through cities, head down and shy, but she's working on raising her eyes to meet the world's curious gaze. This is the face of someone who has cut herself, ripped off toenails, picked at skin until she bleeds. Sometimes she doesn't feel it. This is the face of someone who has come close to drowning, falling out of a car, and tripping into fire because she was drunk and didn't care. This is the face of someone who actually did consider drowning herself, shooting herself, overdosing, ending it all. This is the face of someone who knows what it means to sacrifice yourself, as a partner or friend, and lose yourself in them. Not anymore. This is the face of someone who tries to be present and 'on' and sometimes spectacularly fails. She doesn't always have to be the clown. This is the face of someone who is not one-dimensional. This is the face of someone who feels fat some days, looking in the mirror hurts but she still gets up and sometimes even climbs mountains. This is the face of someone who wants more, thinks she can be more, hopes she's brave enough to try and steadfast enough to hold against what may come should being 'more' become too much. This is the face of someone who lives in her darkness. This is the face of someone who has survived. Like you.

Is it not the same as yours?

Marvel at the way your fresh skin smells. Wonder about the stars. Sip wine if that's your thing, laugh, look at the sparkling city lights. Hear the cars but pay no attention: you are so much more than a small cog in the wheel. You are important. You are indestructible. You are real, and thriving, and you want more. Don't live a mediocre life. Live to live. Live to love. Live to feel anything but the darkness. Read everything. Find joy. Acknowledge and try to not let your demons get the better of you, but if you can't....play with them. If all else fails, smother them with a pillow and don't let go. Get them gone if you can, out. Don't hide, conquer. Expel the internal twilight by accepting it and letting it be, but know it is nowhere close to permanent, because nothing is. There's a clock counting down. 

Don't leave before you have gazed at the stars and said, "You are bright, punctured holes in a vast, dark space...but you are still light."

Darkness may always be there. But this is me. without my makeup, without my armor. No touch up, no face slimming touch up. This is me. And it's also you. 

I'm still listening to the music. And I'm OK.

And so you are, too.