Surprise Sabbatical

I’ve not posted anything new since November, 2015 quite deliberately. Many are aware of the past chaos, but it certainly didn’t seem worth broadcasting. The same-old-same-old, mundane, and even at times gut-wrenching routine finally drove me to the drastic decision to seemingly quit life as I knew it in March of this year. I’d been at Papa Murphy’s Pizza for a considerable amount of time happily making pizza and grudgingly trying to interact with brick walls, but after a scale-tipping, tolerance-destroying encounter, I left. Like a good girl I put in my two weeks, but it certainly hadn’t been premeditated. It was more like a worst-case-scenario response, and I unfortunately finally reached that worst case. And so on February 26, 2016, I apathetically turned in my hat, packed up my locker, and marched out the door without second thought.

The following Monday, February 29, 2016, I started a new, equally awful job at a call center. I lasted two weeks: one full pay period. I was basically working full-time making slightly less than what I did at Papa Murphy’s only  to be snapped at 90% of the time by people who thought I was a scamming telemarketer (at that time, I probably was without realizing it.) After a sudden, completely unanticipated meltdown at work, I packed up my desk, told my supervisor I was leaving, and….left. I cried all the more when I reached my car because I’d never just walked out on a job before. What was I doing?! I went home, called Aaron (was surprised at his cheery reaction to my quitting), and fell asleep on the couch next to my dog.

For the next three months I was jobless. I turned in sporadic applications here and there and filled out literally hundreds online. Having never been without a job since the ripe age of 13, this was a new and admittedly terrifying experience for me. But that was a good thing. Taking my dear husband’s advice to “purposely do nothing,” I became a daytime TV junkie, doing yoga during Good Morning America, watching The Office on Netflix tuning in for moronic court shows, laughing in the afternoons with Ellen DeGeneres, and catching up on oldies like Bewitched, Green Acers, and I Dream of Jeanie. After two straight weeks of this, it tapered down to a couple shows a day, most of my time then being heavily occupied with gardening. I’m sure you’ve all seen my proud pumpkin pictures all over Facebook. When gardening reached its seasonal patience period and I became restless, Pops started teaching me auto body mechanics. This mostly consisted of me tearing apart a couple of cars and eating snickers against better judgement, but I certainly learned a lot about what’s under the hood.

After my surprise sabbatical, God began opening doors I never would’ve imagined being options. At the start of June, I was taken on at Artivities art gallery as a potter and pottery teacher. It’s only a few times a week, but that’s probably a good thing. In addition, I was hired on at CETUSA where I make my own hours as a Community Coordinator for foreign exchange students. Along with these merry blessings, I also started picking up odd jobs like yard work and elderly care, as well as the recent part-time internship at Network211. As a result, I’ve not had a panic attack or meltdown since June 12, stress levels have been significantly lower, and I can finally just be myself again.

Even though I shouldn’t be surprised, I find it rather humorous the ways God provides and takes care of us. Despite not being able to return to school either as I’d originally planned, He’s allowed me to return to the passions I’ve neglected while working elsewhere.  

Fairytale Almost Real

I awoke Wednesday morning from a delightful dream. As many are aware, I am quite the fan of ABC's "Once Upon A Time."

That being said, I dreamt that I was frolicking through the Enchanted Forest donning an identical dress to Regina's in the current season 5: scarlet with gold trim. I hadn't a care in the world. Kicking up the hem of my adornment borrowed straight from Camelot, I laughed and shrieked as I leaped over rocks, fallen trees, through low-hanging branches, hugging bark tightly in my fingertips when I'd abruptly decide to change directions. I never ran out of breath, but my heart pounded rapidly in pure jubilation.

I haven't had a good dream in upwards of two years. It's been all nightmares, or nothing at all. I'd certainly call this an answer to prayer and hope for a new direction.

Summer Update

I haven't blogged since May, probably because I don't feel that I've had much to write about. The summer's going by fast, yet I don't really know what I've been doing.

Aaron and I celebrated our First Years Anniversary on May 18th by going to Chicago for that weekend. We visited my family, explored the city, and went to Medieval Times Tournament and Show. While at Medieval Times, we ran into our dear friends whom we hadn't seen in a year Kim&Caleb who were celebrating their 2nd year anniversary. I do believe that was the highlight of our trip.

My mother got married in June. This was especially surprising given her less-than-savory prior marriage. I had convinced myself she'd never marry again, or if she did, I'd hate him. The latter is amazingly true: I adore the dude and am content with my mom being married again. The wedding was short, sweet, to the point; simple, yet elegant. She was stunning. While she and Keith (he has a name!) were on their honeymoon, we dog-sat for them, resulting in a hardly-existent garden in the back yard. Ho-hum. Maybe next year.

Work is still going well for both Aaron and I. He's in the middle of his busy season, cutting down and pruning trees for Ryan Lawn & Tree. I'm in the middle of my slow season and have switched to the morning prep shift at Papa Murphy's.

Our adorable doofus of a dog is blissful as can be, exploring the neighbors yard when no one's watching, chasing flies around the house, barking at cats on walks, doing yoga in his sleep,


and shedding everywhere! Yes, tis the summer shedding time, and I'm already so over it.

That's pretty much it for now I believe.

Think Outside The Box

Well, this is it. I'm taking another leap into another great adventure: an adventure into the unknown, with nothing in sight, but endless possibilities. What adventure is she going on this time? you ask. This adventure, dear friends, is called "College Drop-Out." Yes, that's right, folks, I am dropping out of college-perhaps not permanently, but maybe permanently. We'll see.

I'm sure this announcement is creating a multitude of responses in everyone's mind. Mixed ones like,
"You're throwing your future away."
"Good for you."
"But you have such potential."
"It's good to take a break."
"You'll never get a good job."
...Etc....

Well, before meriting responses of any sort, I think I owe an explanation for such an announcement. The reasons why I am dropping out are:
1) I won't receive financial aid anyway, just loans, because of income increase (petty reason I guess)
2) Mentally, I struggle under the pressure extreme class disruption partnered with the lack of teacher intersession.
3) I'm sick and tired of credits not transferring after being promised otherwise, and being passed around like I'm a show-and-tell.
4) Emotionally, I am not currently able to handle the stresses of the academic world due to trying to deal with conquering those problems.
5) I felt such an overwhelming peace when I dropped my classes this morning

To ease some of the worry I know some have, I already have a job that I love, so I'm not worried about employment issues. I plan on exploring my talents through workshops, apprenticeships, classes unrelated to a traditional school, I.e. the art museum. All the while, I'll be perfectly content not fitting the mold.
"Think outside the box!" my mother has always told me. And that's what I'm planning to do.

Home Sweet Home

I'm obviously not doing well with my New Year's resolution to blog more often (weekly...ahem), but that aside, we've had some delightful changes as of late:
As most know by now, we've moved out of the apartment and into a house, and what a delightful little 60's cottage it is. We unpacked rather quickly and it looks as though we've been there longer than we have, which I think is a good thing. The main thing we're missing I think is pictures on the wall, but that's a quick and easy project. We've already begun quite a bit of yard work to make room for a garden and flower bed.

We've also welcomed a new addition to the family: Bengal, our two-year-old Great Dane-Retriever mix who's already bringing lots of laughs and smiles to everyone he meets. Already well-behaved, our goal is to train him to be an emotional-support dog.

Aaron continues to work at Ryan Lawn and Tree and loves it. I'm working at Papa Murphey's and, yes, still enjoying it. Overall we're doing rather well and, as always, having fun with every adventure life presents.

My Deepest Darkest Secret

*WARNING: Content in the following blog post maybe be heavy and uneasy to read for some*

            Why is it that people feel the need to share secrets? Why is it that they feel the needs to keep secrets in the first place? Maybe people keep secrets because they are ashamed, they are embarrassed, or for fear of being judged. Personally, I think the reason is often a combination of all three.

            I have a secret that I have been keeping for the past year and six months. In fact, it’s my deepest darkest secret. While I’ve attempted to tell some, the awkwardness it’s posed on those individuals had me feel the reason to shut it away altogether. But now, after starting to come to terms with it myself, I feel even more awkward holding it in. So here it is:

On Monday, August 5, 2013, I was interning at the Little Beaver Youth Camp in Wasilla, Alaska. This particular day began as nothing extraordinary. I ran my usual routine serving in the kitchen, cleaning up camp, and preparing for later meals for campers. Between meals, I had a habit for going on short hikes by myself.

On August 5^th, I went out on my usual hike and decided to follow the road that would ultimately lead me to Maranatha Camp had I walked far enough. As I walked and enjoyed the summer afternoon, a small pickup truck suddenly sped by on the wrong side of the road, sideswiping me and knocking me to the ground. As I staggered to my feet-my hands and knees freshly scraped, my shoulder throbbing and sore- the truck skidded to a stop and a man jumped out and ran to me. He promptly apologized, inquiring of my injuries, but I said I was okay and began to limp back towards camp. The man offered me a ride home since I was hurt, but I politely refused and kept walking. Long story short, he grabbed me and began trying to force me into his truck. It only took me a split second to realize that I was being kidnapped when I remembered that this method of abduction was actually fairly common in the Anchorage and surrounding areas. I screamed and fought and struggled to get away. It wasn’t until I pulled my knife on the man and held it to his throat that he released me, sped off, and was never seen again.

This incident has haunted me ever since. While at first, I morbidly joked about it to myself and tried to mention it to a few, I found my ultimate reaction to the trauma delayed. I never reported the man because by the time I opened up about it, a few days had already passed, and besides, everything happened so quickly that there’s no way I could describe the man in detail to anyone.

I returned to Missouri at the end of the summer falsely believing that I was also leaving the incident behind, never again having to face it. I was sorely mistaken. Shortly after my return, I found it harder than ever to sleep at night. I was restless and began dreaming uncomfortable things, but not quite nightmarish. I thought at first that this was attributed by recently acquired health issues. I took the matter to a counselor. After describing the situation to her, and later another counselor, I received the same answer from both: “Well, you seem fine now.” This answer became simply another reason to keep the secret withdrawn. Later on, I approached another counselor. Her response wasn’t as dismissive, but still unhelpful, “Yeah, I can see why you can’t sleep.” No suggested solutions entailed. That was it so I left even more discouraged than before.

As time continued, my uncomfortable dreams became nightmare, which became night terrors, which became day terrors (same as daydreaming, only horrifying.) Though I can honestly truly say that I have a wonderful life, I can also say that once the trauma began to affect my waking hours, life became border-line hell. I began having dreams about and flashbacks of childhood abuse, my occupation at the time with a behavioral health facility where I was required to physically escort and restrain aggressive clients became traumatizing for myself, and even some movies that would otherwise seem harmless became disturbing (most recently Alice in Wonderland)

Psychophysiological Insomnia is not for crazy people, nor is PTSD only for soldiers who’ve fought I battle (do NOT mistake my statement for insensitivity towards their own cases.)  Though I am currently receiving assistance from a new counselor and persistently seek God for His help, this doesn’t mean that the problem is immediately solved. On a day to day basis, I have to remind myself that the world isn’t out to get me in order to counteract certain paranoias. Constantly in a state of hypervigilance,

·         I hate going to the bathroom with the door closed

·         I hate hallways lit or unlit.

·         I always have easy access to a weapon which I always have on my person: knife, kubaton, mace, keys, and rape whistle.

·         I either jump at sudden loud noises, or uncharacteristically fail to react at all.

·         I desire friendship, but now find the thought of making friends unappealing (it’s nothing personal.)

·         I sleep with a nightlight.

·         I find bedtime terrifying, causing myself to take an hour+ to fall asleep.

·         I have vivid, chronic night terrors. Sometimes they wake me, sometimes they don’t (sometimes resulting in sleep paralysis)

·         I have mental breakdowns which caused my muscles to seize and cramp, making the meltdowns 10x worse.

·         I desire alone time to chill out, but often panic when I’m alone.

·         It’s more difficult to handle large crowds for extended time periods including school, church, family gatherings, parties, Walmart, etc…

I supposed I have chosen to publically reveal my secret because I am getting it off my chest in order that I may be held accountable for my journey in healing and am asking for support. By support, I don’t mean that you have to hold my hand 24/7 or even understand my situation. I honestly just want to know that you’re there. Also understand that “being there” doesn’t require you to physically be with me all the time. I know everyone has their own lives to tend to. I just want to know I have your support as I try to get used to a new lifestyle change.

How to help:

Please DO:                                                      Please DON’T

1.      Be respectful.                                                   1. Pity me

2.      Acknowledge the depth of the struggle.                       2. Fear or avoid me

3.      Encourage                                                       3. Judge me

4.      Try to imagine yourself in the predicament.     4. Assume you understand

5.      Accept that you’ll never fully understand                    5. Say things like:

6.      Offer to explore resources together.                            “Aren’t you over it yet?”

7.      PRAY for me                                                                “You are crazy./”You’re just paranoid”

8.      Listen to me                                                                 “It’s all in your head.”

9.      Love me                                                                       “Just be stronger.”

10.  Realize that every day for me is a victory                    “At least he didn’t hurt/rape/kill you.”

 “I had that but I got over it.”

“Chill out!”

“Pull yourself together.”

“It’s in the past now.”

“Forgive and forget.”

 “Move on.”

           

For more information on ptsd, visit HeartsMovingMountains.com

Potty Mouth

Ever met a person who swears all the time and when you think about it, the context in which they used the swear word(s) makes absolutely no sense?

Why are swear words even necessary? Often they’re referred to as “adult words,” but why exist at all? In my humble, or maybe not-so-humble opinion, swear words are immature, unprofessional, inappropriate, and frankly unoriginal uses of English vocabulary. I honestly don’t care the mood someone is in, or the presiding situation at hand. Swear words just sound... dumb.

            Why do people find it so cute or hilarious when a child swears accidentally? I admit I’ve laughed on occasion in similar situations (these incidents are often shown on “America’s Funniest Home Videos”) but really it’s an awful slip of the tongue that should immediately be corrected. If it’s being caught on film, you know it’s been going on awhile which teaches the child that swearing is okay. We laugh, so they laugh. The parent pulls out the camera and prompts a repeat, and the child thinks it’s acceptable. Yuck.

            Depending upon my audience, some may recall my “Potty Mouth Jar” I had in high school. Anytime I caught a friend swearing, I charged them a quarter. Surprisingly well, this carried on for a while, to my benefit of course, and even though it tapered off, but my friends knew to watch their mouths (around me at least.)

I’m not necessarily offended when people swear. Honestly, I have a hard time taking people seriously when they swear. If they do it “jokingly,” I tend to think them altogether immature. If done out of anger, I view it as lack of control over anger. Label it judgmental if you like, but let be honest: if you walk up to someone at random and start swearing at them, chances are it won’t be received with smiles and hugs.

            Why swear at all? I won’t pretend that I’ve never done it. Yes, a swear word have slipped from my mouth before, but it left me feeling filthy and depressed the rest of the day, not out of guilt, but just because swear words are in general not uplifting or encouraging. They’re depressing, discouraging, and derogatory.

That’s pretty much all I have to say about that.