Both my girls are at school, James is at work, and my house is filled with the glorious sound of serene quiet. I never have the opportunity to simply enjoy this kind of peace, so it seems like a waste to pollute it by opening my school books.

You’d never guess that, while meditating by this open window, it is the first moment since Friday that I have been able to calm my nerves. I am waiting for a phone call to confirm that my several-page legal writing sample was impressive enough to make it to the next round of the interview process at the company of my dreams. I figure I have about a 50/50 chance. After two years of unemployment (beyond dance) and hundreds of useless job applications, this company finally graced me with an email that requested more information.

I don’t believe in praying for selfish reasons. I pray for faith, guidance, comfort, strength, direction, healing, hope, and fruits of the Spirit… but I am hoping, selfishly, that each one of those prayers results in a job offer.

After years of floundering through mental health issues, the worthlessness of the unemployed, the loneliness, and the constant employment rejection, I really need this.

Please, please let this work out.

Take law, for instance, since that is what I’m studying right now. Yeah, we all know what a television court room look like. We’ve (hopefully) heard of the constitution, statute of limitations, and due process. We know that it’s a complicated field and a lot of lawyers are douches who get bad guys off on charges they should have been found guilty on. But the fact is, that stuff must seriously be like 2% of what really happens in the legal system. That other 98% is absolutely mind boggling. It’s exciting.

My siblings think I’m a weirdo because I have always loved school. Sure, I’ve had teachers I’ve hated and classes I didn’t enjoy, but in general, I’ve enjoyed it. The studying, cramming, 20-paged papers, research projects- all of it has managed to expand and improve my way of thinking somehow. To me, knowledge is power.

After months of law classes, I feel like I am *finally * starting to get what I’m supposed to be learning. I passed the last semester without too much of a hitch, but I felt like I was swimming through murky waters. Now I’m starting to figure out the process of what to do when your client is slapped with a lawsuit, how to figure out which laws apply, and how to determine whether or not it’s a case that has a chance. I’ve finally figured out where the hell to look when my teacher shouts out, “Court rule 15 says so!” It all seems so simple when you see it on the big screen, but it’s nothing like that in real life.

And in the meantime, I have say that I am very relieved that I have not yet in my life had to deal with either end of lawsuit personally. Holy shit. Just try to stay out of trouble, okay? Avoiding a legal issue is much easier than actually dealing with it in most cases.

Current Mood: Cool

A reader asked me to delve a little deeper into my mental health status after reading yesterday’s post. Understandable. I’ve been pretty quiet about how I’ve been doing for some time. Honestly, I haven’t been quite trusting of some folks who stalk my blog, which is why I haven’t said much, but I’m not going to let a few ugly seeds ruin something positive, so here it goes.

The Lithium I was on for about a year and a half seemed to be doing pretty well, I guess, but I actually had nothing to compare it to. I went from being on Prozac, which worked great in my post-partum and breastfeeding craziness phase, to popping Lithium without a break in between. The Prozac was working up until a few months after I stopped breastfeeding, but it appeared as though as soon as April was done with the boob, I went manic. I couldn’t sleep. I did crazy things. I almost got a divorce. Right then, I feel like it should have dawned on me (or at least one of my medical professionals) that perhaps with the hormone change, the mania was actually a result of the antidepressant doing its job a little too well.

In retrospect, I probably should have weaned off the Prozac before trying anything else. The Lithium did okay, but I had trouble with it. It got the mania under control, but I got depressed. The opposite effect. The Lithium did its job a little too well. So what made logical sense to a doctor? Treat the depression in addition to the mania. See where this is going? Oh, well, since I was showing signs of both mania and depression, I must be bipolar, right? Well, maybe. It’s possible that was a correct diagnosis. Except that the Lithium depressed me and half the medications used to treat the depression side of the bipolar disorder had horrible effects, and two almost killed me. My doc was puzzled because even on the lowest doses they would knock me out completely. Considering that sort of thing has to do with metabolism (which I have a very high one when it comes down to food and health), it looked like I had an incredibly sluggish one, which didn’t seem right to her.

The woman who was managing my medication happened to be one of the best in the state, if not the country. One very smart woman for sure. But something that I think was missed was that what if, what if, I was diagnosed incorrectly to begin with.

I found out in the fall that Ann (name changed) was retiring. She gave me a list of referrals. For months I stared at that list. Looked them up on the internet. Tried to figure out what I was going to do. There was something that was bothering me about the whole situation. I looked up everything I could about bipolar disorder, depression, mild psychosis, PPD, treatment, and reflected on my own postpartum and life-long situation. An acquaintance died. I had some shocking realizations hit me regarding dance, my situation, and why I was unhappy with my life. And I realized that although it appeared that I was on the “correct dose” of Lithium and Seroquel, I didn’t really feel happy, just blah most of the time. Going through the motions.

I’m smart enough to know that something wasn’t quite right, and so I started questioning my treatment. I also started making major changes. I decided to go back to school. I quit teaching. I ended running my Friday night event. James and I admitted that the world of dance had destroyed our marriage and our ability to function as a couple, so hit with the choice of divorcing or leaving the dance world, we decided that our life together was far more important. And then, two months ago, a few days before Thanksgiving, I had this horrible pain in my lower abdomen that was more excruciating than natural childbirth.

I wasn’t sick. No organs were failing. There appeared to be no source for the pain- just the horrible, crippling pain. I don’t ever go to the doctor for anything other than my regular med check ups. This wasn’t fake or a hypochondriac moment.

I decided then and there that the reason I hadn’t called someone on my doctor referral list because I felt that deep down, something wasn’t right about either my diagnosis, the medication, or both. One thing that rang true the entire time I have received treatment for a mental disorder was the fact that with the exception of handful of incorrect-drug-induced moments, I have always been able to think clearly and rationally. That’s not always indicative of truly having bipolar disorder. All of my worst “bipolar moments” actually happened ON medication. I have had ups and downs my entire life, but nothing compared to the moments of mental haze that were a direct result of medication gone horribly wrong.

In other words, I have a feeling that one I had gotten past the postpartum depression, the very medication that was supposed make me “sane” was the thing making me unhealthy. And I was concerned that my abdominal pain attack was a result of a buildup of medication in my system.

Right after the horrible pain in my abdomen, I started backing off the Seroquel one pill at a time, slowly. When I reached a certain dose, I stayed there for at least a week. When I was down to one small pill, I began backing off of the Lithium a tiny bit at a time. Not too long ago, I took my last Lithium. Not once did James or I notice my sanity starting to shake. In fact, I have felt quite “normal” for a change, except now I have energy again, I can wake up the moment my alarm goes off, and I feel like I can summon up some emotion again.

And before anyone chastises me for weaning off meds without doctor supervision, rest assured I DID go see a doctor about both the stabbing pain in my abdomen and made her aware of my choice to stop all prescription drugs. In addition to her, I went to see a doctor and make an appointment to start neurofeedback. She is also aware of my situation and has doctors to recommend should I start showing signs of needing to be back on some kind of medicaiton.

I’m no idiot. I am fully aware that just because I feel better off medication does not mean that it will always be the best decision. However, because I’m not an idiot, I also have realized that medication may not have been the best route for me once I was done with the Prozac. My depression was possibly situational rather than due to some horrible chemical imbalance, and massive changes in my life have proved so far that it is likely I can live a balanced life with normal ups and downs in a healthy manner seeking treatment other than Lithium and other drugs.

The years of therapy and medication helped. But I am not of the mindset that they are the best route for someone who is otherwise healthy. It appeared as though it reached a point where the drugs were becoming the problem rather than the solution. There may be a point again where they become necessary, but for now I am relieved to feel like my old self and happy to be living a life according to what I want rather than taking care of everyone else’s needs and wants first.

My blog has been published only since the PPD hit, thus my readers have only known me on medication. Of course I probably seem crazy to the public. You have nothing to compare me to. But the people who have known me would most likely tell you that while I’ve definitely struggled with depression, I actually have a good head on my shoulders. In other words, one of your favorite crazy bloggers is quite possibly, in fact, surprisingly sane.

Current Mood: Cool

I gave up dancing. *We* gave up dancing. No, this does not mean you will never see us on a dance floor again, it just means that you will rarely see me out because it is no longer a priority in our lives. BUT WHY?! YOU’RE SO AMAZING! WHY WOULDN’T YOU WANT TO BE ON THE DANCE FLOOR CONSTANTLY?! YOU GUYS WERE HEADED FOR THE TOP– WHY ARE YOU QUITTING?! OMFG!

Look. To a non-dancer, this makes a lot of sense- it grew old, we have moved on. To other dancers, our decision at this point in the game is unheard of because dancers are in love with the dance floor. There’s nothing wrong with that, but it’s not a lifestyle we are willing to subject our children and marriage to any longer.

There aren’t a lot of healthy dance couples in the world of West Coast Swing. That doesn’t mean that healthy, happy couples don’t exist… it just means that from what I’ve seen, they are few and far between- and honestly, I can easily count on one hand the number of happily married couples who exist in the dance world. The demographics are made up vastly of single folks, those running away from stressful work and relationships, careerists who started as young kids and can’t imagine a life doing anything different. There are, of course, the folks who just enjoy it recreationally, but honestly, I have met few of those. Probably 75% that I have met are searching for a partner of sorts, get caught up in the excitement and glamour of competition and temporary fame, and they end up living convention to convention, spending all their money on monthly plane tickets and event passes, and coming home at the end of the weekend of staying up all night long dancing utterly exhausted, exhilarated, and completely distracted from work and life outside of dance. Another 20% Are probably the dance instructors who, like myself, found their way to quick, temporary fame possibilities while knowing full well that time as a dance teacher is generally very limited and the “fame” is quickly fleeting the moment you stop being able to afford the monthly competitions or grow weary of rubbing elbows. It’s not a life that’s easy to maintain, and almost all of us fall short of our true internal goals because, well, they’re unrealistic. Almost none of us have the true, raw talent that takes the minimum of a decade or two to develop. Too many of us get started too “old” in our 20s or so to make it all that far. The other 5%… well, I guess those would be the folks with zero ulterior motive other than the joy of dancing, and few of them regularly attend conventions and none of them make it the focus of their life except for during those moments on the floor. Most of us have far too obsessive of personalities to leave dance at the venue. It’s a sport that attracts not the faint of heart. We commit fully when when start learning those first patterns.

It’s not a bad life for people who really love it. I want to make that much clear. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with making the choice to focus on it, nor do I think it’s unhealthy for some people. For me, though, it’s not conducive to a happy life. It’s far too stressful. I hate competing. I’m surprisingly shy about performing. I get anxiety when a hundred people pat me on the back and hug me and tell me how I awesome I am because I’m simply not that awesome. Whatever it was- it was just a short moment on the dance floor during which the sun shone out of my ass. It’s a teensy moment that will never be repeated. I am proud of those accomplishments, but the bliss quickly turns to anxiety focused on the fact that I must, once again, pull off a great moment if I am going to maintain that reputation in the here and now. It’s all far too temporary for me to feel true fulfillment.

But there is plenty in my life that is so much bigger and more fulfilling than that world. The parts of my life that take the back burner while my head is far too focused on things that really don’t matter all that much. My marriage, my beautiful daughters, the fact that I have the brains to do something more with my life that excites me and makes me feel like I can make a positive difference. You know, like fighting for justice and all that cheesy stuff that more of us dream about than we want to admit. I am that person. I am unashamed.

I cannot tell you how how many of my dance acquaintances have looked at my kids and said, “I don’t know how you do it. I don’t think I want to have kids.” I’ve always found this a big of a biting comment, and I have always felt sad for those who have uttered it. Is it that they don’t see themselves with kids, or that they are afraid to see themselves with kids because they fear that they will never find a committed partner? Or perhaps they worry they’re getting too old to start a family, or maybe they’re unsure how they could split their commitment between dance and family? There is nothing more sad to me than watching some of these people get into relationships with someone who says they don’t want a family or a true commitment. They fail to fight for the fact that they do indeed want a marriage, a family, and ultimately a life outside of the short world of dance.

Because in the end, there is not a soul on the face of the planet who would tell you that they regret the decision to have kids. Kids are not the end: they are the true beginning. They are that one thing you can create that you love unconditionally. There is never a convenient time to have them, but every moment with them is nothing but a richness and an enhancement to one’s life. And a solid, happy marriage? It’s the best thing ever. Period. I have the most amazing family, and I am so fulfilled that there is no reason I should choose a distraction like dance over them- I’ve done it, it wasn’t worth it.

To the people who have looked at my life and commented on how the hell I’ve managed to raise kids, I suppose if I could say anything in rebuttal it would be that hey, at least I wake up every single day knowing that I will never regret my decision to have kids. On the other hand, there are too many people wishing secretly that they could have a family but have chosen a life without them. I would never want to be that person. Not a single parent regrets having kids, and I am glad I can say I’m one of them.

We quit dance because we were losing sight as a couple and as a family. We, too, were so wrapped up in the glitz and excitement that we spent all our extra money on weekends of frustrating, damaging convention life. We watched our kids’ little faces sink in disappointment when, at least twice a week, we told them the babysitter was coming for the evening while their daddy and I left to teach and dance until the wee hours of the morning. We fell into a lifestyle of extreme exhaustion from the manic high of dance adrenaline, over-stimulation, and bizarre sleep schedules. Our marriage suffered from years of neglect because our main focal point was an outside activity. At least 75% of our fights centered around dance. Jealousy. Choreography. Competition. The amount of distraction seen constantly in our relationship was so extreme that it’s a true miracle we are still a couple.

My mental health? Well, try being on bedrest for a month before birth and recovering after birth with a husband who leaves you every week rain or shine because he MUST GO DANCING lest he turn into an complete asshole until the following week’s dance opportunity. Any new mom would lose it. I promise. A huge part of my mental health issues- the depression, the mania, the supposed bipolar disorder have been a direct result of dance being an unhealthy part of my life. It’s not James’ fault. It’s both of ours. We allowed something ridiculous take over. We escaped, though, and we are recovering.

In the last few months we have made major changes: we realized that there are more important parts of our life than dance, and we mutually and separately made the realization and decision that it’s just not that important to us anymore. Both James and I want to focus on our family, careers, and most importantly, each other. This decision is what prompted us to no longer teach or run a large dance event every Friday night. It is also the decision that gave me the courage to go back to school, apply for jobs that interest me, and get myself on a schedule that includes going to bed and waking up at at decent time. This is no small feat for a dancer. We have picked up on hobbies and activities that used to be more important to us than dancing, and our girls have enjoyed being a part of our life rather than sitting at home waiting for us to be done with our dance commitments.

This has been a wonderful change. I am actually feeling happy. I am off medication, I have been stable for the first time in three years. I would apologize to the dancers who keep asking me when I’m coming back, to the people have continually asked me for dance lessons, and to my friends who have written me off because I haven’t stepped foot in a ballroom in over a month… except that I’m not sorry. I’m not sorry that I’ve made this decision because for the first time in the decade that dance has run my life, I see a future for myself outside of uncomfortable strappy dance shoes, arthritic aches and pains in my feet, and constantly feeling the pressure to perform. Leaving the dance scene has given me the chance to focus on the people I care about and the career I am excited to pursue.

I don’t owe anyone an explanation, but there it is. I left dance, and I am glad I did. It’s a shame that most people who were my friends haven’t bothered to call, but you know what? That’s fine. There are more important people and activities in my life that have kept me far too busy to dwell on the crappy things. It is a decision, like having kids, that I will never regret.

Current Mood: Cool

Seattle is a cool city. Full of San Francisco-esque steep hills and close enough to the ocean so that the weather does not fluctuate to extremes very often. Unfortunately, that means that when a few layers of snow cover the city, every driver forgets where their brain is located, me included, and everyone manages to step on ice and eat it at least once. If you’ve never slipped on ice, you’re a lucky bastard. It hurts.

This, ladies and gents, is my pear tree:

It doesn’t actually bear fruit besides a few rotten duds, despite the fact that it should because there are plenty of healthy neighboring pear trees. Do you think icing over for a few days might kick its reproduction in gear this year?

And behold, the most interesting part of my snowed-in day… feast your eyes upon our, um, dangerous icicles:

“BE CAREFUL Ralphie! Those icicles are known to KILL PEOPLE!”

You know, all three inches.

I’m starting to feel a little stir crazy, and I’m oh-so-grateful that we didn’t make a big move to some place like Denver. I suck at this snow bunny business. At least it’s pretty, right?!

Current Mood: Alarmed & Mischievous

1. Trendy/misspelled baby names
2. Cheesy, “motivational” posters and sayings
3. Sticking those massive flowers/bows on newborn baby girls’ heads

First, names. Why am I being a hater on that one? Take it from a girl with a “misspelled” name: I have dealt with 30 years of people screwing up the spelling and pronunciation of what should be a simple name. I cringe when I see weird spellings because of my own misfortune. The trendy names? They’re all just pretty much one name, misspealled. Aiden. Jayden. Jaidyn. Fryayayaden. Not that they’re bad, I’m just sick of them. And there’s 10 boys and girls with the same damn name in every grade these days. Poor kids.

Second, motivational propaganda. Those sayings that are supposed to make you feel powerful, ready to step up to the plate. I always brush by them and head for the snarky, sarcastic vintage-style posters instead, “I just sleep with him so he’ll buy me shoes.” I get why people like them, but I find them cheesy. I’m sorry. If it works for you, that’s awesome. I wish they worked for me, but I’m just a bit cynical about them.

Third: silly baby head gear. Look, it’s just overkill when a newborn has to have a flower bigger than her head to prove she’s female or to hide the stereotypical misshapen skull. That poor little thing- a headband of those proportions cannot be comfortable on her delicate skin. Enough already.

I know, hate me. These are for nobody in particular, but just trends that annoy me and have for ages. I need to stop being so practical and just live a little, huh.

Current Mood: Bored

Get it?

Good. It’s simple.

Sometimes, I wonder how certain people manage to make it through the day without being punched senseless because of their stupidity.

Here’s another one: There’s really no such thing as “being there in spirit” or “supporting you in spirit even though I’ll never be there or make it due to 156 different reasons!” Fact is, if you’re not there, you’re not there. Don’t tell me you’re at my birthday party “in spirit” while you’re watching the game on Sunday afternoon from your bedroom. Don’t tell me you’ll miss my Facebook posts about my Friday night dances now that I’ve stopped hosting it… you know, since in the last year and a half, YOU NEVER ONCE SHOWED UP. You were not “there in spirit” and you were not “supporting me” by never showing up. You’re a fucking moron. Just avoid saying something about it. You weren’t there. That’s cool. I didn’t actually notice until you told me you were there “in spirit.” Moron.

Fuck you. And anyone else who tries to tell me you “supported me in spirit” or spread assumptive lies.

My brother-in-law named her Svetlana. Svetlana’s kind of bitch when she says in her irritated tone, “Recalculating,” at every traffic light or so because I seem to lack the ability to follow directions, but thanks to her I’ve quickly found my way to a winery, my doctor’s appointment, Trader Joe’s, and just about everywhere else I go.

If I ever get a job, I have a feeling Svetlana will be an integral part of my daily traffic routine for at least a few weeks. And as a side note, it’s very nice to have someone to blame other than myself if I miss a turn, “Svetlana! You bitch! I thought you said LEFT!”

Current Mood: Cool

I’m trying to stay optimistic despite the shitty duration of daylight. It’s certainly trying, though, being exhausted and having dealt with the holidays and two sick children while decreasing medication and really trying to increase the positive things in my life. The only crappy thing about significantly decreasing the medication is the lack of sleep. Other than that, I feel great. The insomnia I have fought my entire life was replaced with the drugged Seroquel stupor that was impossible to wake from unless someone shot me in the head. It was nice, but after several months, I realized that the damn drug was causing a plethora of harmful side effects. I feel a million times better being off of it minus the sleep, which is once again replaced by the familiar racing of a thousand thoughts. I’m working on it, though. Neurofeedback is supposed to help. I start next week.

The fact that I am absolutely sick to death of job hunting isn’t helping my view of the lack of daytime. I’ve lived here for two years. Two. I have been filling out applications, making connections, having lunch with possible networking links and employers, and all I’ve heard thus far is, “Wow, impressive resume. I wish we were hiring. I’ll pass your name along.” Nothing. It sucks. Two years of this crap and honest to God, I’m ready to pack my bags and move back where I came from. And I hated living in Tucson, but dammit, at least I have job options there.

And the random side note of the day: I had to make an annual dreaded appointment for tomorrow. Fun fun. Especially since some stabbing crippling pain in my lower extremities has me fearing either the worst or an ovarian cyst, and I have a small lump in my breast that I’m a bit concerned about. Sucks that my grandmother died from breast cancer at 36 and my sister was a cancer survivor at the age of 16. The odds scare me a bit.

What’s new in your life? Is the daylight longer than our measly few hours? Entertain me. I’m bored.

Current Mood: Bored

I swear, I’m not half as much of a negative bitch in real life as my blog seems to promise. This spot is my dumping ground. You hear the worst of my frustrated fleeting thoughts right here, condensed into paragraphs of angry meditation and despair, but in my daily life I promise I’m usually smiling and looking for the positive. Like the whole resolutions business. And I don’t want them to be the cliche “I’m going to lose ten pounds,” or “I’m going to take up yoga at 6 a.m. every morning.” There’s nothing wrong with those- they’re great, in fact, but I’ve made those kinds of resolutions nearly every year of my life, and I usually manage to fall short and feel like a failure. Why? Because in many cases, those are unreasonable goals for the time and place in which they fall in my life. There’s no point in getting up at 5 a.m. to get to the gym for the ass-crack dawn yoga class. It’s not happening. I go to bed much to late and would prefer spending those morning hours with my family. It’s just not a reasonable goal.

In many ways, 2011 was both great and horrible. Did you know I nearly slapped James with divorce papers on two different occasions? Yup. And it wasn’t a mere threat, it was real. It wasn’t because I didn’t love him or because I wanted our marriage to end, it was because I couldn’t see living life and raising a family together with our priorities stuck on two very different pages. He learned a lot, re-prioritized, and realized that he was missing the best things in life because of an addiction to something rather peripheral and adolescent. I realized that my priorities were far out of whack as well. I’d spent so much time immersing myself in shit so utterly unimportant that I’d forgotten that I moved to Seattle for personal growth not just for the sake of myself, but for my husband and girls.

We learned a lot, and we have slowly removed the extraneous commitments and unhealthy constants that have just somehow pretty much become our lives since we’ve moved. Unsurprisingly, this has resulted in a much healthier relationship and life in general. And for me, it has become the key to positive mental health.

How much of our mental illnesses are circumstantial versus chemical? How do we tell the difference? For me, bipolar triggers were never really much of an issue until my postpartum depression took over three years ago. When that happened, I just plummeted into the perfect picture of mental “unhealth”. I’ve always struggled, but so many of the triggers were pieces of my life that I was aware of and failed to fix. Fear, being settled into routine, not understanding how to set boundaries; all of those accounted for poor mental health triggers.

Much of that is in my control. I get that now.

This year, resolutions for 2012 are far simpler for me to commit to because I am finally understand and implementing the whole “live life to the fullest” aspect. I have been far too selfless and focused on ensuring everyone else’s happiness to the point where I was creating my own misery and making life harder for others. It’s impossible to please a freaking martyr, intentional or otherwise. I’ve never pulled the “poor me” mopey bullshit that I’m far too accustomed to dealing with, but I have certainly allowed everyone else’s problems and issues become my own.

For 2012, I am focusing on my own goals. They’re simple. To finish school. To get a job. To backpack the Washington Peninsula and the Grand Canyon. To pull out my rock climbing gear and start using it again. To take care of my girls to the best of my ability. And most importantly, to work on my marriage so that there are no more threats of divorce.

Those are all finally doable goals. I’m excited to see them through.

Current Mood: Cool