I write. Backspace. A lot. A paragraph gone. That's why I like paper and pen. I rarely redact fully on paper. Here it's too easy. And I know I'm publishing. So that doesn't help this panic.
1/19/17
Fuck it.
Triggers are a bitch for those of us who experience them.
Feelings and emotions are signals and ignoring them is ignorant and downright irresponsible.
Ask me as many questions as you want; don't assume anything.
I'm not a danger to you. I am ashamed to admit I've been more of a danger to myself than anyone.
Not because of war, but because of the many things that have been done to me and around me.
Words you don't want to read or hear or think about.
Because the fucking actions are unspeakable.
I feel like I'm having heart attacks. Symptoms for women differ from those of men. They are much like dissociation or a panic attack or not eating or binge eating or being sick or PMS or side effects of medication or all the normal life things...it piles up and who am I again?
I am no longer who you say I am.
I am me.
And I may be having a heart attack.
But I can't have a heart attack, because I have to move this weekend and teach my yoga class tomorrow and I have waaaaay too much shit to do and...am I dying?
I've been dying all my life. And not in the cliche true way that we all are always dying.
I'm ready to live and it hurts.
Perfect storm always.
How do I trust myself...something is wrong...I'm not done...
But I can't go on.
This is part of my anxiety.
1/20/17
I'm not dead yet.
I am staying present for more than a two-day long series of panic attacks that feels like I'm dying. For the first time I'm staying here to feel it instead of letting my mind wander off and disconnect totally from reality via dissociation or alcohol or drugs or sex or food. If anything I'll use some of these things to stay present.
My heart literally hurts in my chest. It pounds, skips beats, palpitates. Sends waves of nausea down to my belly. Fire and rocks into my chest. And a boulder on top. Or maybe I'm being squeezed by a huge invisible snake that threatens to crush my ribs. My limbs tingle. My breath shortens and stops. Gasps. Sobbing intermittently. Really can't breathe. Stopped up. Throat sore and closing. Wicked back pains. Jaw clenched and head is underwater, drowning...gasp...dizziness...blackness...
Then there's a moment of calm. Did I dissociate? Would I be thinking that if I did? My body is flooded with its own chemicals and that of my medication works with and against it. My mind works with and against it and me. Ebb and flow...hyper-vigilance to numbness...yin and yang...love and hate...light and dark...truth and lies...life and...
I used to
want to die when this happened. I was angry at myself. I hated myself.
How embarrassing! What a fuckup! Just get over it, loser. You're fine. I'm fine. Please someone save me. Nobody's coming to save you. They're better off without you. You ruin everything. What an ungrateful bitch. You have everything and so many people have it so much worse.
I shrink and die inside each time.
2/8/17
It gets easier to come back to Truth as I work through my healing.
I'm still here. Have had many good days. Not good in the sense I accomplish the things I want to, but good in that panic isn't ruling me and I can enjoy parts of my life in love and gratitude and service.
Other days I feel like it's all pointless and I'm defeated already and I'm powerless. I would say it's a nagging feeling that I fight daily, but it doesn't even consume me as much. Maybe a day a week. Still way too much for my liking, but I need to remember the progress...these depressions used to last weeks or months and only months ago.
Mostly the good days since the first writing here came after I decided I'm not going back to Health Right and started weaning myself off of Zoloft. It was making me so sick and causing all kinds of problems. And my "care" was causing panic attacks and flashbacks and dissociation. After two weeks of panic from my last appointment, I reviewed WV Health Right on Facebook and they haven't contacted me to apologize or fight a possible lawsuit for HIPAA violations or anything..."care" hahaha does anyone care???
Sometimes...there I go...slipping into the I don't care...
But after submitting the review I had one of the worst panic attacks I've had in a long time, complete with hyperventilating and vomiting. It almost stopped me from going to meet my friends the next day to see Nahko and Medicine for the People, who help fill my soul and remind me of my purpose beyond this overwhelming fear.
Just now, I read and re-posted one of my favorite authors, Wally Lamb, discuss his refusal to stay silent. With a puppet Wally. Cute.
Rain down your hell, people. I am stronger than my pain and fear. This energy is infinite, and I will keep fighting. No Silence of the Lamb or the Stephanie.
Here is a note to men and boys everywhere (and women and girls, if this applies to you), and if this offends you...please kindly shove it up your ass and go away as it's not up for debate:
Do not touch anyone against their will, without their consent, when they are asleep, when you are joking, when you later apologize but still do it again, when you are holding and exerting power, coercing, threatening, hugging with your arms folded in front to feel breasts, and for the love of god, please don't hump ladies on the dance floor and try to knock them over with your crotch.
In addition, do not expose yourself, send or ask for nude or sexual pictures, or tell people that it's their fault if it happens to them. Don't rape people. Don't kiss them against their will. Don't put your hand down someone's pants while they are saying no repeatedly. Just fucking don't. These things aren't OK. Don't smack someone's ass because you can or because you think it's funny or because you're a disrespectful asshole.
Why aren't we teaching our children this? TALK TO YOUR CHILDREN about sex and boundaries and bodies and natural things and our rights and other people's rights!!!
I was taught it's OK to give a BJ for an inspection sticker. Told that I should use men the way they use women. My mom started taking me to redneck karaoke bars at age 13. "Fancy" was my mother's and a crowd favorite. After so many years of practice, I am great at that song; but it's almost too real. It's a Reba song about a girl named Fancy being turned out from her shitty home to be a prostitute for rich folk. Movin' on Up! Thank goodness mom didn't become a nurse and stay connected to doctors...although I was taken to a doctor she later told me had abused her for years.
Mom, if you read this, know you'll eventually understand why I haven't talked to you in so long.
People are so baffled. Why? They weren't there. Were you? If you start to think about it, it's easy to see and understand. This isn't love, and hurt people hurt people. You hurt your children with wounds so deep that we will spend our lifetimes healing them or ignoring them. Heal and love yourself so you'll be capable of love. We all have a long way to go. I send you love and peace and healing. Your unhealed self traumatizes me repeatedly and I prefer to block that energy. I appreciate your compliance and truly wish you the best.
It doesn't help when family silences you and won't hear or acknowledge you or your pain or abuse or the resulting illnesses or brain injuries. Or when you can't even tell them or anyone. When you deny your own pain and suffering. I believe this is where much of our anxiety and depression and disconnection comes from in this world. This has been the norm for far too long.
And look where humankind is because of all this fear and silence and hate:
Not united.
The cycles persist.
I commit to resist.
Our ripple movements matter <3➽
2/9/17
Last night after I was writing and while I was talking to a good friend from Trauma Recovery and Empowerment Model (TREM) Group Therapy, I finally received a reply on my Health Right review. The CEO apologized and assured me that she takes privacy and care very seriously and offered to see me herself.
It was amazing and I'm so grateful.
I call her today after 10. I am impressed that my words can make things happen. I am afraid part of that will be getting someone in trouble or fired, and that's sad and terrible and unwanted. But I am thankful I'm standing up for my rights and those of others, and sometimes people pay for mistakes they make; it isn't my fault.
Between my support system and my practices for strength and peace, the periods of depression are much shorter and easier to bounce back from. There are fewer of them all together.
Everyday is still a struggle.
But I have hope.
I spoke of hope in my last blog, which was October 2015...yeah...I was getting ready to write, right? Wally Lamb helped female inmates find hope in despair by helping them write their stories.
"Started the ball rolling yesterday so that I may volunteer teach in our local prisons. Thankful for this calling and opportunity to serve." 
<3
I feel so honored to meet and hope to share my yoga/mindfulness class with the women at the only all-female prison in West Virginia. I hope that it's something I can continue to do, so that later I may lead a writing workshop as well. I am certain I have a lot in common with the inmates. More than most people care to talk about.
Hurt people hurt people. Sometimes ourselves. Sometimes others. The ones we want to love the most. Heal the hurt. Rid the poison in your heart towards yourself and others. Move towards that which heals and warms you and feels good (not heroin though...try to get away from that, please, get help and talk about it...TALK ABOUT IT ALL).
This violence against ourselves and each other doesn't become us as the beautiful, peace-powerful beings and protectors that we are.
"If I make it out alive, I will make a change."
Hoka, baby.
