Death.

Children have no concept of time. Try telling a child to wait for an hour, a week, a month... they'll still ask you constantly if it's time yet. When we're young, the concept of death is also foreign. Maybe, if we're lucky, we only have to brave a few funerals, get kissed on the cheek by a few aunts and uncles and move on, eventually forgetting about the person who just passed (likely someone we didn't know very well or see very often) and the concept of death entirely. We live our life with glory and gusto, the way only children can.

When we get older, we realize just how omnipresent the specter of death really is. The reality of dying hits us... we really could go out to get the mail and get hit by a car. It's a statistically possibility. Some of us are better at hiding this fact that others. We go on about our days as though they aren't numbered, that there's not an invisible number over our heads. Others live with the threat every day, somewhere in the back of our heads. I live somewhere in the middle... the idea of death, of its absolutely finality, terrifies me but I'm usually able to look past it enough to function.

Today, I learned my childhood babysitter is dying. She's 96 years old and the majority of my formative years were spent with her... her handmade Christmas ornaments, her cards, her tiny TV that only showed PBS when I was over. She has been in the nursing home for a number of years and, over time, my visits have become few and far between due to growing up and falling even more completely out of the nest of youth. Tomorrow, I will go see her for what will probably be the last time. Honestly, I'm filled with dread and panic about it. My stomach is in knots. I've shed tears.

There is a difference between death being an invisible threat and watching it play out. Conversing with someone I love, both of us knowing that she is near death and that it will likely be the last time, makes me physically ill. How does one do that? What do you say? How do you encompass a lifetime of love into a single, last conversation? I'm not sure I know that answer.

What I do know is that today, my mortality is a solid figure. It's no longer a ghost or a shadow, a step behind.

Musings from a walk.

After a long, tough day at work I decided to come home and take my usually very misbehaving puppy out for a solo walk.

Usually, when I'm alone, I tend to lean on technology to stay out of my head. Sometimes it can be a scary place and I don't usually have the emotional bandwidth to deal with all the rush of thoughts that can float around in there when I let them.

Today I decided to let them in. I put on Pandora and just enjoyed the walk. It was interested because, instead of judging myself, I let the thoughts come in and leave without judging them. I also learned something things about me.

For instance, when I was younger, I used to think I was an extrovert. It turns out that I was (and am) really good at fooling people into thinking I am... faux extroversion if you will. Truly, I'm an introvert. I like being on my own. It isn't antisocial; it's more that I enjoy observing people from the outside.

The problem with that is that people view me as being antisocial, hard to make and keep plans with. I think that I push people away because I'm afraid of people seeing my vulnerability.

Anyway, the dog was good and I learned some stuff. I'll be doing that way more often.

Just a little Thursday reflection...

When September hits, both of my most recent ex-girlfriends will have moved across the country. One is moving to California, like she's been talking about for ages, and the other to Maryland to pursue new love. I'm happy for both of them, even though I have no right to be and have no real relationship with either of them.

However, this spurs my gypsy soul into motion.

Honestly, I'm not sure I can even find total contentment. I always want bigger, better... confusing movement with progress. I never make enough money to be happy, never live in a nice enough place, never live up to the lofty goals that I've set for myself.

I'm saddled with anxiety and depression to top it all off, reminding me on the daily that the world is much bigger than me and it doesn't tend to be too super concerned with the life of one person (no matter how important I may convince myself I am).

It's weird to think of these people that I used to be so close with moving forward with their lives. When you break up with someone, part of you keeps that person as exactly who they were when you were together. I'm not sure why it makes me uncomfortable to think of them moving on, other than the fact that it reminds me that I'm not.

Don't get me wrong. I love my fiancee and am very much looking forward to marrying her. I love my job. I love my family. But I'm still here. I always thought I'd be somewhere else, somewhere bigger... every day an adventure. I didn't think I'd be approaching 32 with my nose to the grindstone.

I guess this should spur me into motion as well. I also need to remember that envy, desire, comparison ... those things are the root of unhappiness.

Invasion of the Body Snatchers

When I was 22 years old, I lived in the apartments on Washington Street with my three year old daughter. My ex-fiance and I were in the middle of a separation (although we would eventually live together for another few years before my inevitable coming out debacle) and I felt very alone. Although my ex-husband had been deployed a few times, this was the most mature I had been required to be and it scared me to death.

During the fall, I felt a little more down than usual and decided to see my doctor (the very wonderful Dr. Pilcher) to discuss the very aptly acronym'd S.A.D. (seasonal affective disorder). We discussed vitamin D, light treatment and possible SSRIs. Being young and relatively uninformed, I chose SSRIs because they seemed to be the easy solution.

A few days later, driving home at night, I very rationally decided to drive my car into a parked car. Luckily, I realized before turning the wheel that it was a "wrong" thought and was able to finish my drive home without any more suicidal ideation.

I wasn't so lucky a few days after that when I made my three year old sit in the living room and watch a Disney movie while I calmly called my doctor and explained to him that I was going to have a seizure. My pulse was racing, my breath was shallow... it felt like Invasion of the Body Snatchers. I felt like any moment I was going to have a heart attack or a seizure and it would all be over. I tried to position myself away from any sharp furniture in case I fell.

Spoiler alert... it was a panic attack. My first, in fact. To this day I still am fairly convinced that the Wellbutrin I had been prescribed for seasonal affective disorder somehow altered my brain chemistry enough to allow me to have panic attacks. I also, unfortunately, have a genetic predisposition as well (my sister and mother and probably my grandmother all suffer from anxiety as well).

I still get them fairly regularly, although I am not able to minimize their impact with some techniques I was taught by my therapist. They aren't fun and I feel terrified every time they happen, but I can talk myself out of a lot of the major symptoms and just deal with a fairly normal level of fear.

I feel lucky every day that I have a partner who understands me and doesn't judge me for my anxiety. Going through them is scary enough but having someone who doesn't "get it" and actively judges me for "freaking out" is even worse... trust me.

Self.

What happens to you when you grow up? It's something I've always wondered about and struggled with. When you leave each stage of your life, do you grow out of that shell like the butterfly emerging from its cocoon? Is it like evolution, so slow that it's only noticeable much later? Are there versions of you in alternate dimensions, carrying on like your eight year old self (pretending your bicycle is a horse) or your sixteen year old self (full of shaven headed rebellion)?

Do those selves just fade away to nostalgic fondness or a slow head shake when you remember how "silly" you used to be?

As I "grow up," I find myself unconsciously catering to society in ways that would have made my ultra-feminist, chelsea-wearing teenage self ill. I've grown my hair out, I don't "mouth off" as often, I'm working full-time and writing less... the list goes on and on. But the thing is... I choose not to be ashamed of either of those sides of me. I am still a feminist, I'm a proud out bisexual and I use my writing to bring political change instead of protesting and holding signs. In the rush to fix my credit scores, buy a house, "grow up," I worry that I have lost that fire inside me.

Then there are days like today, on a long walk, where Ani comes on and I unabashedly raise my fist into the air, take a deep breath of sunshine and remember.

I am still her. But I am also me, now. I'm the culmination of all of those selves... picking flowers to wear in my hair, fighting "the man"... but I'm also ready for the future. I'm ready to put down roots and grow. I'm ready for my daughter to learn about revolution and change and for her to take of the (hopefully not head shaving) reins. This isn't a world for the young, for the middle-aged, or for the old... this world is all of our responsibilities.

And I know sixteen year old Mell(i)e would be proud of me for that.

Atheism and religion.

Tonight I was blessed to attend the Baby Fold's "thank you" night as part of an amazing team of caring, loving people who regularly donate both money and time to the organization. I truly had a great time, mingling with the "fancy" people and eating a pretty superb (and definitely not diet friendly!) dinner. I listened to all the stories of people touched by the Baby Fold, people whose lives were changed immensely by a helping hand, a shoulder, and an ear.

However, it struck me as the night went on how inclusive the Christian community is. I sat and listened to these wonderful people talk about how they were called by God to volunteer, to adopt, to donate... and how they hope their message serves to continue to preach the word of God to the people.

I am an atheist. I identify as a Buddhist but I do not believe in God. I was raised in the Apostolic Church, attended a few services at Eastview (although most of the time I snuck out with my friend to College Hills Mall) and made the choice, as an adult, to not continue with my faith. It wasn't a single moment that made me "doubt" God; it was the sum of my experiences and my scientific background that made me not believe.

That doesn't make me a bad person. That doesn't make me any less caring, giving, empathetic or compassionate... I truly love people and want to help all of them (sometimes a lot more than they care to or are willing to help themselves). I couldn't help but sit there and wonder how they would feel about me if they knew that I was a non-believer (or gay, but that's a whole other story). Would they adopt to me? Let me foster? Think less of me?

I find that religion is such a polarizing factor in people's lives... most people who would be classified as "bigots" believe they way they do because of religion. Religion is what drives, say, the Westboro Baptist Church. The majority of the people who have been discriminatory towards me based on my sexuality have started the conversation (or attack) with their faith and justified it by quoting scripture at me.

To me, religion is personal and should continue to be so. I hold no judgement towards someone who practices their faith, whatever that faith may be, quietly. The problems becomes when they chose to take that faith out into the world and use it to justify hatred and intolerance. Why not just live your beliefs instead of loudly preaching them (mostly to the choir to begin with)? Why travel to another country to try to convert people? Why blindly follow a book instead of challenging your own beliefs and finding out why they mean so much to you? It's "because I/the book/Jesus/God said so" mentality... the mentality our parents use to get us to come home on time or eat our dinner. I see no logic in that and, most of the time, it hurts more than it helps.

And isn't that the point, really? To help people, to learn, to grow... to be part of a greater global community? If left to their own devices, most people couldn't even get out of their own driveway.

Social networking and self esteem.

To help raise awareness for a pretty terrible bill being snuck through under our noses (CISPA - look it up if you haven't!), I voluntarily took a 24+ hour hiatus from Facebook. At first, it was difficult. I didn't realize how intrinsically my finger pressed that little Facebook icon on the home screen of my phone or how much time of the day was taken up with social networking. Then, after a few hours, it became a little easier (although I did notice at least 4 different times Facebook started to pull up before I even realized I had pressed that stinkin' thing!).

The most surprising side effect of my hiatus was that, toward the end of the day, I started noticing that I felt more at peace. Calmer. I realized that a lot of my self esteem - having people validate how funny I was or how cute the self-portrait/picture of my girlfriend/kid/pets/etc was - was derived from that artificial "social" website. It also reminded me how little human interaction I have with a lot of the people on my friend's list and how much of a recluse I've become since retiring from derby.

It's weird that something that has become so prevalent in our society can be so insidious. We start off trying to find a way to connect, to make new friends and end up letting it overtake our lives. I know, personally, I'm trying to cut down a lot of my daily checking... it's become such an omnipresent thing in my life and I don't like how it makes me feel.

So, tonight, I'm going to go out to Flat Top with my family. I'm going to leave my phone in my purse and truly enjoy my time with those closest to me... and I hope to spend real life time with all of you soon too! Hit me up... you know my number! ;)

Steubenville.

Some of you may have noticed that I've been posting a lot about the "Steubenville rape" trial. I've been following it semi-obsessively since I originally read about the story through both Huffington Post and Anonymous. What a lot of you may not know is the reason I've been following this story so closely...

When I was 22, I was sexually assaulted. Not very many people know that for a variety of reasons. I have often said I wear my scars with pride, that they make me who I am. This scar, however, is particularly deep and painful. Reading all the press this situation has gotten, and especially the most recent press about how terrible everyone is feeling for the rapists, has pushed me to "come out" so to speak.

Sexual assault is more prevalent than people think. I grew up with a cop as a second father and knew that I should report it as soon as it happened. And why didn't I? Society. Slut-shaming. Was my skirt too short? Did I ask for it somehow? Logically, duh... of course not. But reading and seeing all this commentary from educated people talking about all that wasted potential has once again reminded me why I was too scared to come forward in the first place.

And you know what? That is FUCKED UP. I should feel safe in my town, in my community. I should feel like this very awful thing that happened to me isn't a stigma... but it is. We should be talking about THE VICTIM... how this will effect her every day life. How every single facet of her life will be effected by the stupid decision that these boys made and then LAUGHED at.

Every part of my life has been somehow touched by my assault. The way I relate sexually is effected, I don't feel safe outside by myself, I had obsessive compulsive disorder about checking my doors for awhile... and the perpetrator was someone I knew. I look back now and can see his cocky attitude... his nice car and nice house and how he felt he somehow deserved everything... and I no longer see any fault of my own and entirely the fault of society/his parents/etc.

If we can't talk about how wrong this is, if we can't look at those young men and see them as RAPISTS (not as victims), we as a society need to take a serious step back. It doesn't matter how drunk you are, you never deserve to be taken advantage of. You never deserve to have pictures taken of you against your will. You never deserve for other women to call and threaten you. That is fucking sick and wrong and people should be ashamed of themselves.

But she shouldn't be ashamed. I shouldn't be ashamed. We deserve to hold our heads high, deal with the ramifications and move forwards. But, as Henry Rollins said, we're somehow the ones left with the life sentence.

My life.

I have spent most of my life as an extrovert.

I've always thrived on attention, even lying to get it when I was younger. I was sexually active far earlier than I should have been for that same reason. I've made a lot of mistakes in my life in that same quest for attention... many I'm unable to forget or take back.

Now, approaching my 32nd year of life at a faster speed than I would have liked, I am finding that I spend much more time sitting back and reflecting. Who am I? What do I want out of life? I debate everything in my life... if I'm a good parent, partner, daughter... and I tend to beat myself up to repent for any mistakes I've made.

My daughter will be entering junior high next year. I remember junior high so well... I felt so awkward and wanted so badly to fit in. I had a few close friends (Moxie, I'm looking at you!) but mainly I was a chameleon. I want so badly for my daughter to find her place, but I worry that I've handicapped her by giving her a family that society says she should hide.

Being one of only a handful of gay parents I know locally, it's tough. I don't know what to do or say to her... how to make it better, how to explain the bullying and teasing that may happen. To know it's a direct result of my life, even if it is a life that I am happy with and couldn't change even if I wanted to, makes it that much worse.

Springtime in my mind...

This winter has been a tough one for me and, although Punxsytawney Phil didn't see his shadow, I'm still heading outside in a few minutes to defrost and scrape ice off of my station wagon.

It's been a winter filled with self-revelation - my seasonal affective disorder can get worse than I ever thought it could. I've gained and lost and gained 10# again and I'm officially back up to my starting weight (which is the heaviest I've been since having my daughter eleven years ago). Some days, when I look in the mirror, I don't  recognize or much like the person looking back at me.

I just finished a fiction book on bullying and school shooting. After an entire education career being shoved into lockers, spit on and called names, one of the main protagonists walks into school and kills 10 kids. I've spent a lot of time recently worrying about my daughter going to middle school where bullying is more prevalent. Will she get picked on? Will she be the one picking on other kids? How did I survive?

It occurred to me some time after that bullying never really quits. Although I wasn't picked on much (in fact, I can't remember an instance of bullying - unless we're referring to myself as the bully), now that I'm older the bullying is all internal. I look in the mirror some mornings and pick myself apart. "Look how fat your face is." "Look at that stray hair where it doesn't belong." "How could you let yourself get this out of control?"

I don't know if I've ever learned to except anything less than perfection. My mother loved my sister and I very much, but I was definitely pushed to be the best version of myself. I know I disappointed her when I married and had my daughter young but, looking back, that is the same way I would feel if it were Caitlin in those same shoes.

I can't accept less than perfection from myself and I'm so tired of all the stress and disappointment that comes with that.

I just want it to be spring.

Growing up

There are some days I feel like I'm really bad at this whole "growing up" thing. I always thought, or was told, that having a baby when I did made me grow up quicker than I was supposed to. While I don't disagree with this statement as a general fact, with me I'm not sure it's entirely true.

When I got married at 18, I thought I was grown up. I had been out of the house for a year, living in a dorm at NIU. My ex-husband asked me to marry him and my mother's first reaction was shock. She told me under no circumstances should I be getting married, that I was throwing my life away, etc. As a teenager, I heard blah blah blah "no" blah blah so I immediately got married. Looking back on it, it was more a simple act of rebellion than really being in love and my mother was, at least partly, right.

However, I live my life with no regrets. If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't have Caitlin. And, although I spent a lot of her childhood also trying to finish out my own, she really has changed my outlook on things. Being just 20 years apart, I feel like I can understand her better when she actually lets me in. It's a relationship that means so much to me.

Most days, though, I feel like that grown up thing is juuuuust out of my reach. I would really like to buy a house, but the truth is I'm not entirely sure I know where I want to settle down at or that I'm necessarily ready to make that big of a commitment. Honestly, it feels weird to even think about buying a house. No house could possibly be the house I grew up in, no neighborhood could have the feeling of my old neighborhood (even though kids don't even really go outside anymore!). It feels like failing before I even get started.

This year, a lot of the stupid debt I got myself into in college will finally roll off my credit report. My car will be paid for. I'll be married. I'm transitioning, at 31 years old, into adulthood... but I don't even know where to begin. I have a job that I truly love and look forward to going to every morning, but the idea of working in one place for the rest of my life still terrifies me. Am I doing what I should be doing? Is this my life? Is it my turn to sit back and watch my daughter grow up and cross "being a kid" off my life list? It's all new and scary.

E.E. Cummings once said "It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are." Maybe my problem is that, through all my brashness, I truly lack courage. But I guess until I've truly leaped without looking I won't know that I have that courage. Or maybe true courage is knowing where you're going to land without having to look.

SAD and shit...

I suffer, and some days that term is more literal than others, with seasonal affective disorder (aptly SAD in acronym form).

It's kind of an embarrassing thing to admit, like a failure in my chemical composition. The truth is, even with fairly massive amounts of vitamin D in my system, my mind in the winter is a barren wasteland of snow and land mines.

I can't imagine I am too easy to deal with. Usually, I come home from with (in the dark), flop down unceremoniously on the couch and proceed to move as little as possible until it's time for bed. Repeat cycle x 3 - 4 months.

This year, however, it seems to have hit me with a vengeance. I've been plowing through the vitamin D like candy, but it's not making a dent. It's affecting my love life, my work life, my personal life... I've gained weight and lost a lot of desire to do anything about it.

I say these things not to be "poor me'" that's not my style. I want to raise awareness for a very real health condition. There is nothing wrong with getting the winter blues and I, personally, spent far too much of my life feeling like there was.

It's a simple fact of life. That said, I'm still waiting impatiently for spring. Bring on the sunshine!

Past lives...

I often tell stories from my childhood, stories about running away from home, nearly scaring the babysitter to death by covering my little sister in ketchup... generally designed to make the listener laugh and shake their heads at the terror I was when I was younger.

Looking back, though, it often feels like telling a story about someone else. I often describe it as the feeling of past lives, all intersecting in one body. When I talk about being 16, I can't remember what it felt like to have that much anger and rebellion in my body. When I talk about having my daughter, I don't recall the pain or the feelings involved. It happened, it changed me... and it is in the past.

People often say that the past comes back to bite us when we least expect it. I find it odd that we are judged by our past failures and choices, as though people can never change or grow or adapt. I think that is an awfully grim assessment. I know that I, personally, have made mistakes. I've hurt people, I've hurt myself, I've refused to change even in the face of pain.

But that doesn't mean I'm that same person. My failures have taught me lessons, made me grow. If I met myself back when I made those choices, I wouldn't like myself much. I have no regrets, but I'm also not proud of those decisions either. 

So, my question to you is... do people truly change? Are we all just better, 2.0 versions of who we used to be and/or prototype versions of who we will be? Or do we remain stuck in the purgatory of our youth?