Thanks, Kevin Spacey, for saving my life.

It's Thankful Thursday, and this one's a whole lot harder than I first expected it to be. Of course I have a ton to be grateful for, but I'm pretty sure it's a better read for you, dear reader, if I write about something a little less sappy and a little more entertaining. Here's hoping this'll do!

********************************

It was 1999, and my final Spring Break of high school. A friend of mine was moderately obsessed with Kevin Spacey at the time so for an early graduation gift, her mother sent her off to New York City for a few days to see Mr. Spacey in The Iceman Cometh on Broadway. She also got to bring a friend, and that friend was me.

We were two eighteen year-olds on our own in Manhattan - it was fantastic. We stayed at the Renaissance New York Times Square Hotel, had no parents there to tell us when to come home, and walked around like we owned the place. Getting asked for directions only made it all the more clear: We could totally be New Yorkers one day.

The Iceman Cometh was in its preview run a couple of weeks before the official opening and we were there to see it. I could cut and paste a little synopsis here because I don't remember what it was about, but that's not really the point of the story, is it? Fast forward to after the curtain came down, and we scurried out front of the Brooks Atkinson Theatre, playbills in hand, to collect Mr. Spacey's John Hancock. Sadly, the crowd had already formed by the time we got there, and although we were able to reach through the people when his highness emerged from the stage door to get our playbills signed (if you consider an illegible scribble a signature), there was no talking to the actor. And isn't that what every fan really wants? To engage in the smallest bit of dialogue on which to base an imaginary relationship? We hung around and watched a few other actors trail out before heading back to the hotel. Had I known at the time who Paul Giamatti was, I would have asked him to sign my playbill, as well. And although I knew Tony Danza from his Who's The Boss days, I was somehow unimpressed by his presence. (Weird, since I'm easily starstruck.) The star of that night turned out to be Robert Sean Leonard (My Best Friend is a Vampire, Dead Poets Society, House), but that's another story. Focus, damnit!

The following night we got tickets to see Brian Dennehy and Elizabeth Franz in Death of a Salesman. (This is relevant, I promise.) Now Brian Dennehy I knew from Cocoon (1985), but apparently Ms. Franz was a big deal actress that I should have know, but didn't. Anyway, the play was great and let out just a tad earlier than Iceman around the corner, so instead of waiting around for more autographs, we hightailed it back to the actors' exit door at Iceman to get another chance to rub elbows with the stars.

It was perfect - the show hadn't gotten out yet, so we were the only ones there for the first few minutes. My Spacey-obsessed friend suddenly became too cool to stand with me once people started coming out of the theatre, so I hung out by myself right at the barricade meant to keep the common folk from getting too close to the talent. The crowd grew thicker, as did the anticipation. Every time the door squeaked open everyone held their breath (you could actually hear it) until someone other than Kevin Spacey walked out, to their disappointment. The sad part was every actor who wasn't Kevin Spacey knew who everybody was hoping for, and acknowledged it. I was just thrilled to be right up front, so I was content to wait it out. Mr. Giamatti and Mr. Danza emerged and signed playbills, but the frenzy didn't really begin until the star of the show appeared.

When Kevin peeked out from behind the door, the people went a little nutty. Looking ridiculously sharp in his immaculate suit, he casually waltzed toward his adoring crowd smiling, waving hello and thank you, and was about to start accepting playbills and Sharpies, when my impending doom revealed itself. At the sight of Mr. Spacey, the crowd of people behind me lurched forward as crazy fans tend to do, so I could forgive them that. But what I had trouble with was that I'd been pushed so hard, I was involuntarily doubled over the wooden barricade, my arm swinging to catch myself so that I actually smacked Kevin Spacey with my hand. He stopped and turned to see who'd hit him to find me struggling to stand back up straight, smiling up at him and apologizing for the smack. And then Kevin Spacey talked to me.

"Are you being squashed?" he asked. And he was totally concerned, I could tell.

"Kind of," I replied, concentrating very hard on keeping cool.

And then Kevin Spacey single-handedly saved me from being smashed to death by a killer fan mob. He looked at them and said with authority, "People, back up. You're squashing this poor girl."

And they did. Back up I mean, not squash.

Then he asked if I was alright, and could he sign my playbill, and I was all, Thanks, but you already signed mine last night. I really enjoyed the play, by the way. 

Then he was all like, I'm so glad, and that's how we became best friends for life.

The best part, aside from the fact that my life was spared by an Oscar winning actor, was that I'd behaved totally cool, like I could care less this famous actor was talking to me. Yes, starstruck easily but cool as a cucumber on the spot. I'm pretty awesome. Also, my friend was fiercely jealous of Kevin's and my newfound friendship and I had a great time talking about it for the rest of the trip.

Kevin as "Hickey" in The Iceman Cometh; image borrowed from PlayBill.com

Kevin Spacey, you starred in my very first Broadway play, and a couple of my favorite movies, too. You could have passed me by that March night in 1999, turning a blind eye to the mayhem, and not getting yourself involved with the carnage of Broadway fans, but you didn't. You looked at me and saw a young girl in a vulnerable position (in more ways than one) and you, sir, took action.

And for that, I thank you.

Mom

Wordless Wednesday

The Fringe

For the first Travel Tuesday I'm going back to the Fringe Fest in Edinburgh, Scotland. Perhaps not a travel post in its purest sense, this is certainly a destination for someone looking for a place to visit where they can see classical opera, feminist burlesque, and an improvised musical in the same day. Having just gotten home from this trip, it's the freshest in my mind and I can't believe I haven't blogged about it before. This was our second time at the Fringe, and you know you've found something you love when you're already planning next year's visit half-way through the current one.

The Fringe Fest is the world's largest arts festival where for three weeks every August, you can find everything from stand-up comedy to photo exhibits, musicals to dance, cabaret to art events to move and entertain you. It's not just in the playhouses and halls where you'll laugh or cry yourself silly; these shows happen in club spaces, university lecture halls (or classrooms, for that matter), pubs, coffee houses, and even some churches. The population of Edinburgh is said to triple every August as thousands of performers of all kinds pour in to put on their shows, and thousands more eager Fringe-goers follow close behind, thirsty for entertainment.

It should be said that August is not just for the Fringe, but also a handful of other international festivals, to include the Edinburgh Military Tattoo, Book Festival, Art Festival, and International Festival, which brings even more opera, classical music, theatre, and dance to the city. This year there was even a cinematic addition to the Fringe, called Cinefringe, where you could attend screenings of new independent film shorts. Needless to say, you won't get bored if you happen into Edinburgh in August, unless you hate being entertained and you hate fun. Then you should just stay home.

2011 - a troupe warming up while we breakfasted at Mum's

Walking through the streets of Edinburgh during this time is like being in another world. It seems everyone is a performer and everyone supports their fellow artist in such an exuberant way. In addition to the regulars of the Royal Mile (dancing, juggling, playing a statue), there are a thousand more visiting actors, comedians, dancers, singers, cabaret divas, mimes, writers, musicians, and storytellers filling in the space. The very people who act out the scenes are the ones handing out the flyers, talking to you about their show and giving you a little piece of what you can expect if you give their show a try. For someone like me who gets very easily starstruck, it's crazy exciting to actually have a conversation with someone I've seen act or sing or give a stand-up show. It's a mix of established (and sometimes well-known) performers and newcomers trying to carve out their place in the business, and everyone's having a great time. Shows start early (admittedly, usually the kid shows), and some go well into the night. It isn't strange to walk out of your final show at 3am and then go for a bite. Granted, the only option might be the La Favorita Pizza cart, but that pizza is great at 3pm, and amazing at 3am.

Our first time to Fringe was August 2011, and being the newbies we were, we booked shows that made it necessary to literally run across Edinburgh to make it on time. This year, however, we were smart - I even made a spreadsheet, and what a difference. Here's a rough guide if you'd like a little help with your own planning:




Step One: Comb through the intimidating Fringe catalogue section by section and list out the shows you MUST see. Base this on gut instincts, prior knowledge, and reviews.

Step Two: Fill in calendar of your time there with each of the shows you tentatively picked in the appropriate time slot, and be sure to note the duration. (Some time slots might have multiple shows listed. This was good, it shows all the possibilities.)

Step Three: Take the venue map and attempt to arrange show schedule in a way that allows you to stay in the same general area of town. This means you're not running 8 miles to get to the next show in fifteen minutes, and that you'll be fitting in 'relax and have a drink' breaks between shows.

Step Four: Only buy tickets ahead for events that you know you absolutely must see, or shows that seem to be selling out. It's amazing how many more shows you'll hear about once you're there that you'll want to fit in, so leave yourself some space to buy tickets on the spot.

2012 - take a flyer; see my show

Keep in mind that there are also an abundance of free shows going on during Fringe, so that's always a bonus. "Free" means there's no ticket or cover charge to get in, but you'll be asked to throw in what you think it was worth as you leave. If you have no problem walking past a struggling comedian with children to feed without dropping some cash in the hat, yeah for you and your cold, cold heart. We always toss in £10 or so, depending on how much we liked the show. Of course, it's up to you.

This year's line-up for us, to give you a taste of what there is to see, with the catalogue description:

The ones we bought tickets for ahead of time -

Tumble Circus 

"No fanfare or sequins, just extraordinary skill from two acrobats on a lifelong adventure."

Billy the Mime

'A one-man variety show depicting the most taboo and controversial stories of our culture.' (NewYorkTheater.com)

Sh*t-Faced Shakespeare

"An entirely serious Shakespeare play ... with an entirely sh*t-faced actor. The legendary Tax Deductible Theatre stagger back to the Fringe with the most raucous Shakespearean performance you'll ever witness!"

Doug Segal: How to Read Minds and Influence People

"Last year's sell out hit returns! A mind reading show unlike any other! Learn to read minds, detect lies and more."

One Man Star Wars Trilogy

"Charles Ross returns with the ever-popular show in which he single-handedly plays all the characters, sings the music, flies the ships, fights the battles and condenses the plots of the first three Star Wars movies into just 60 minutes."

CineFringe Film Festival   

                                     

Knee Deep  

"Australia's hottest new circus company... Walking on eggs, flying from the sky and breathtaking physical magic."                 

                                    

Hannibal Buress: Still Saying Stuff

"Brand new, razor-sharp stand-up show from 2011 Foster's Newcomer nominee, star of The Secret Policeman's Ball and comedy writer for NBC's Saturday Night Live and 30 Rock, Hannibal Buress. Generating laughs through his trademark combination of minimalist delivery and absurdist logic, Hannibal guarantees he'll be saying all the stuff you're hearing."

Daughters of Lot 

"A modern day burlesque act with a twist. The entertainment begins as a sexy and silly retelling of an ancient story, until the performers do a trick that requires more than flexibility. Part Brecht, part Bible, part Suicide Girls, Daughters of Lot is ... titillating, perplexing and [a] vexing exploration of the ways women are taught to be women. Brain Melt Consortium is an NYC-based arts group interested in creating projects that engage audiences in new and evocative ways."

Boom Boom Club

"Cabaret, live music, promenade performance and after-hours revelry... present a three-room immersive extravaganza. Spectacular sideshow, surreal comedy and heart-breaking song rub shoulders at the party which never ends."

Monkey Bars 

"We asked 30 eight to 10-year-olds to tell us about their lives, their thoughts, their world. In Monkey Bars, their words are spoken by adults. Not adults playing children, but adults playing adults, in adult situations. Funny, endlessly surprising, deeply touching, this is a verbatim piece with a revelatory twist."

Lost in the '80s

"Witty, jazzed-up renditions of classic 80s hits. Michael Jackson, Bon Jovi, George Michael, AC/DC, Culture Club and more get a gypsy swing makeover from this platinum-selling Canadian trio. Awe-inspiring musicianship delivered with thoroughly charming humour.

Dylan Moran

"Following his smash hit sell-out tour, Dylan Moran, star of Black Books, Shaun of the Dead and Run Fat Boy Run, returns to the Festival. Ageing, religion, kids, relationships intertwine with the general absurdities of life. Searing observations and sumptuous imagery, painted across a large fraying canvas with cruel, curmudgeonly Moranesque brush strokes and all delivered with Dylan's renowned, shambolic charm… It's simply unmissable."

Don't worry, you've not gone crazy. Dylan Moran isn't actually in this picture, as photography wasn't allowed during the show. This is just the stage at the Edinburgh Playhouse before the show got started. 

The ones we went to on the spot -                                   

Nick Beaton: Does Not Play Well With Others

"Not deterred by the social norms of middle class morality, Beaton isn’t afraid to talk about all the things that make us human with blunt hilarious honesty. This is not a show for the uptight or faint of heart. It will be an unapologetic onslaught of both anger and humility. No one and nothing is sacred."

Eat $h*t: How Our Waste Can Save the World

"Step aside Al Gore, the environment has a new champion! The PURU - his honest potty humour tackles the global sanitation crisis."

John Gavin

comedian

The Girl With No Heart

"Their city is made of paper, as are their hearts. The children seek to rebuild an ash-filled world by folding one paper brick at a time. A world where a child's heart holds the power for immeasurable good or unimaginable destruction. From award-winning writer Louisa Ashton, critically acclaimed Sparkle and Dark present a stark yet beautiful fable, with original writing, puppetry, live music and shadow-play." 

Diane Spencer: Exquisite Bad Taste

"Award-winning comedian Diane Spencer returns with her hilarious new show about perspective. Part autobiographical, all stand-up from a rising star compared to Joan Rivers and Sarah Millican."

Me, Diane, & Chris outside her show

                               

...and we wish we could have fit more in.

There's something rather freeing about being in a city bursting at the seams with artists. There is music being played at all times from one corner of the city or the other, and actors falling into impromptu scenes in the middle of the street. And the more shows you see, the more familiar faces you pass as you stroll from venue to venue. Strangers become friendly with easy smiles of recognition and a mutual appreciation for the arts.

Your pockets and bags are stuffed full of flyers, and you've got an hour between now and your next booked show to fill...maybe a comedy show? Or maybe just a drink in the Magners Pasture over by the Gilded Balloon. 

I can only imagine what the Fringe must be like for the performers, though you hear their stories of all night celebrations, especially at the open and close of the events. For a few weeks, people come from all over and fill up rooms in houses and hotels to be a part of this huge festival, and I'm so glad we live close enough to make going to Fringe a habit.

didn't see the show, but loved the poster

Fringe...where you'll have such a good time, you might just lose your mustache.

And also where you can enjoy a deep fried Mars bar in the middle of the night without shame.

Mazel Tov, Melanie & Kristin!

Although my background isn't one that includes speaking Hebrew or Yiddish, I figure most people get what I mean when I say, "Mazel Tov." Literally translated, mazel tov means something closer to "good luck," but it's more commonly used to say "congratulations," and that's how I'm using it here. This is a place where I can throw a little recognition at people who deserve it, people who are doing something worthwhile, something I respect and who am I kidding, am a little jealous I didn't think of first.

This Mazel Tov Monday is for Melanie Crutchfield and Kristin Brumm, of melaniecrutchfield.com and Wanderlust, respectively. Why these two women? I'm so glad you asked.

Melanie Crutchfield, a writer and designer in San Diego, California, decided she was going to invite some of her blogger friends to write about hope when the Olympics first kicked off this past summer in London. Although I can't say what she expected, I'd like to think she was just as blown away as I was when the time came to sit back and take in the grand list of all the blog posts written during this two week period sharing, defining and celebrating what hope is to us. I applaud her initiative to gather stories of hope and give them a place to hang out together. Because regardless of the dictionary definition of the word hope, this "teeny, tiny word [can] unfurl in a thousand different ways" (Melanie Crutchfield, Hope 2012: Closing Ceremonies). When people take the time to organize things like this, it's a wonderful reminder that distance and time don't have to be hinderances when it comes to making connections. Now, anyone can find Melanie's Closing Ceremonies post and read through one hundred snippets from different posts about hope, then follow those links that speak to them and read the words of someone they might feel connected to, if only within the span of those handful of sentences that someone decided to share with the world. No matter where we're from and who we are, there are certain undeniable aspects of life we all share, and laying out these kinds of stories to be found, read, embraced and maybe even understood is a pretty fantastic way of making more visible the things that connect us all.

So thanks again, Melanie. I love that a little piece of my hope made it into this ingenius relay, and here's to more future endeavors that share the redeeming aspects of life.


Kristin Brumm, a writer and California girl living in Australia, is a woman who uses her blog to write through the personal turmoil in her life, and in doing so, has touched countless others battling similar monsters. Instead of allowing the circumstances she's faced trample her into the dirt, she has stood up and become stronger, connecting with others and getting involved in initiatives aimed at shedding light where the shadows tend to take over. Kristin was the spokesperson for Speak Out, a campaign that generated awareness of domestic violence in November of 2011, educating and encouraging abuse victims to step out of the shadows. She has also recently launched Healing through Storytelling, a blog directory on her blog site "where readers can easily locate and connect with bloggers who write about a variety of challenging life experiences such as illness, grief, addiction, trauma and abuse"(Kristin Brumm). Being a victim takes away your power; this woman is a survivor, and shares her own struggles not only to bolster her own strength, but to lend it to others. And again, by organizing a place where stories of struggle and survival can hang together, she has created a wonderful resource for those battling addiction, grief, abuse, and hardship, a place where connections are possible and only a click away. 

These are two of the many fantastic people out there who are making a difference by encouraging connections in this hi-tech world. It's a sad fact that bad news travels quicker than good, and people are far too often remembered for screw-ups rather than successes, so this is me raising my glass to these two amazing women for reaching out and making a positive difference for others. Thank you.

And Mazel Tov, Kristin and Melanie, on being inspirations! 

The 30 Day Commitment...Again

It's 2am and I can't sleep.

What better time to get caught up reading blogs and funny articles online. And to realize I'm not writing as much as I want or should. It's time for another one of those 30 day commitments to establish the daily habit. Daily...that sounds scary, but I've done it before. I've been worrying lately about this blog, that it really isn't about anything, but I suppose I can continue to use it for whatever I need it to be for a bit longer. Then when I become a famous author, it'll be charming and quirky.

Right?

In an attempt to be better organized, perhaps some guidelines for said daily posts would be good. Also, planning and organizing gives me a (false) sense of control and achievement. But I'm really going to try to stick to this. So stop by? Please?

Mazel Tov Monday - for throwing the focus on someone else...another blog, another writer, someone I feel like pointing the good job stick at.

Travel Tuesday - for travel related posts.

Wordless Wednesday - an idea borrowed from The Bloggess, for photos or doodles meant to inspire or confuse. (Even if you've had a blog for a while, like me, this video is still super helpful.)

Thankful Thursday - because gratitude doesn't always come naturally.

Whatever I Feel Like Friday 

Secret Saturday - for telling you secrets just to make you feel special for popping by :)

Sunday (sorry, no fun alliterational title) - lessons learned during the week, because it should never stop, right?

There. These are the blog goals to get me back into writing every single day, and hopefully starting each day here will get me going to jump straight over into Silent Refuge (the YA novel I'm currently revising).

Ready?

...

Give me a few days to wrap my head around the fact that I just posted this?

Get ready, Mazel Tov Monday. I'm coming for you.

Look What I Did!

Do you see it? Do you? No, not the strategically placed green bell pepper, though don't you love the options in some paint programs? And not the fact that we recently had to fill out customs forms to enter into the UK...still having trouble? Let me try again.

It says, WRITER...where it asks for your occupation, I filled in WRITER. Right there. On that very official form, where I'm pretty sure if you lie they send you straight to prison. Because what would the Queen think if people started flying into her kingdom all willy nilly saying they're copy editors and pilots when they're really unethical taxidermists and dog assassins? I understand some people's reasons to be dishonest, but hey, you chose your own path. 

Where was I? Oh yes. I'm a writer now. Officially. Not sure? Just follow that fancy arrow (painted with the paint option actually called pine?). I mean I've always been a writer, but this is the first time in my life that I've declared it as my occupation. This is the first time I've written it down like that. And I realize this will mean nothing to the man who reads over my tiny customs form while he asks about the nature of my visit and duration of my stay in the UK, but it means a hell of a lot to me.

I realized only recently that I was pretty vague in a previous post about the big shift that's taken place in my life in recent months. In the post Bubbles, I mentioned being "released from soon-to-be-no-longer commitments, and therefore able to dive headfirst into the new ones," and I now realize this was not just vague, but downright fuzzy. I had reason to be vague then, as I hadn't yet done the official paperwork to resign from my job, but now when asked what I do, I can no longer say that I'm an educator who works with children with special needs. Now, all I can say is what I've been longing to say all my life...I'm a writer. And if I could just run away at that moment, all would be well, but when you want the people in your community to not to question whether or not they should have ever trusted you with their children, that's not really the best move. So back in June when I made the decision and signed the form, thus confirming my tiny corner of gossip that circulates at the end of any school year regarding who's leaving and who's coming back, the questions began.

Every teacher, aide, specialist, & parent I know at work: I hear you're leaving us. Are you moving?

Me: No, no, we'll still be around. I've leaving to pursue writing full-time. (Gulp. I've said it OUT LOUD. Deep breath.)

ETAS&P: Really? That's great! What do you write?

Me: Fiction. (Smile)

ETAS&P: Oh, what sort of fiction?

Me: Um, nothing genre. I'm working toward literary fiction, but more accessible. (Smile & nervous laugh)

ETAS&P: What are you working on right now?

Me: A few short stories and a novel. (Heart fluttering)

ETAS&P: Oh yeah? What's your novel about?

Me: Umm... (Panic & racing thoughts...how to describe) It's um...it's a young adult novel, you know. Angst, heart break, that sort of thing. (Pretty sure I don't want to say 'sexual abuse' out loud in an elementary school.)

ETAS&P: Sounds good! When will it be out?

Me: Ha! Well? Um, I'm not sure. It's still in the works. (Feeling faint)

ETAS&P: Well let me know. I want to buy a copy!

And whereas this conversation was wonderful and encouraging, it made me realize how very real my decision was and that this time, I'd really have to commit. Because now it wouldn't just be me I'd have to tell if it all goes down in flames, but every person I worked with, too. The good side of everyone suddenly knowing your plan: support. The bad side: pressure. But pressure is good, no? Pressure is motivating. Let's hope!

Which brings us back to the top of this post, the fact that one insignificant act of filling out a form suddenly smacked me in the side of the head and made me start to see myself as a real writer. One, because I don't want to hear the Queen screaming, "Off with her head!" and two, I wrote it without thinking. That was the most important part...I just wrote what has always been true, whether or not there are paychecks headed my way. Yet.

So thank you to all the amazingly positive people around me who believe I can do it. I'm incredibly fortunate to have the opportunity to chase this dream and I aim to succeed.

Hope Relay 2012: My Hope

When I first got wind of Melanie Crutchfield's Hope Blog Relay, I was instantly in. Ready to contribute. Excited, even. 

That was at least a week ago. I guess when it comes to exploring what hope is to me and the role she plays in my life, there are so many directions I could go, it's difficult to choose one. I suffer from Too Many Choices-Induced Paralysis, you see. It seems also that the older I get, the more easily I get - SQUIRREL! 

What was I saying? Anyway, I've spent the morning reading other people's hope blogs with a hot chai tea latte in my hand, crying here and commenting there, seeing myself in so many of their words. I am inspired by their stories of struggle and growth, pain and relief. And isn't this the purpose of putting ourselves out there? To connect, inspire, comfort, and relate?

I've found myself thinking about my hopes, but confusing them with my wants. I want to be a size 8 again. I want to be successful in writing. I want to live happily ever after with my husband. I want to see the world. But wanting and hoping are two entirely different animals. To want and not get is uncomfortable, maybe painful, but life goes on. We're okay without it, even if we say we're not. We heal. But to hope and fail leaves a deeper mark, one that sinks past our skin and into the fabric of who we are. Yes, hope is why we keep pushing, the beacon of light when we're lost in the dark. Hope is the flicker of possibility in the distance that reminds us of what could be, if we just keep trying. To lose hope is to lose, period.  

And what is my hope? My hope is to one day be completely happy with myself, at peace with myself, and to prove that there is something I can contribute. My hope is to one day be a mother. My hope is live a life full of love and without regret. 

This is my hope blog. 

My name is Lindsey. I was not physically abused as a child. A close friend of the family never sexually molested me. (I never even walked in on my parents.) My father was an electrical engineer, my mother a preschool teacher. Neither one of them was an alcoholic. High-school sweethearts, and still happily together after 45 years. My older brother never went to prison, my dad never hit my mom, my mom never cheated on my dad, and my older sister didn’t have 2 kids by the time she was fifteen. She was twenty-four. I never ran away from home for more than a few hours, and never farther than a couple blocks, and I never stole candy from the 7-Eleven. When I was six I thought we were rich. By the time I was thirteen, I thought we were desperately poor because my family didn’t get to go to Italy every summer. At nineteen I realized we were very middle-of-the-road - an average, all-American family living in central Florida an hour and a half from Disney World. We had everything we needed and most of what we wanted. I am middle-class, privileged girl from a nice home in suburbia incarnate.  

So it wasn't until I was in the seventh grade that I first gave serious thought to removing myself from the sorry situation I saw my life to be. Of course at this age, I had no real idea of what I was contemplating, or what it would really mean to me and my family if I pushed that knife a little deeper into my skin. Being sad all the time made no sense to me, so I came up with reasons the best I could. I hated myself anyway, so it wasn't so hard to believe there was plenty I should be sad about. I deserved to be sad because I was worthless.

It's called depression, and it doesn't make sense. As a very wise woman once said, "Depression is a liar." There is no reasoning with it, no arguing, only frustration. It would take me twenty-something years to finally grasp this and know, even when in the grips of a bad day, that it will pass and I will climb back out again. She, Depression, will always tell me I can't, that I'm not worth it, but now I know her tricks and that I will, and that I am. In the beginning, she told me I was stupid and ugly. No, low self-esteem told me these things, and whereas I wasn't entirely sure, she was and agreed – loudly and confidently.

For the person who has never struggled with Depression, imagine her like this...I call it 'her' because she has been a life-long presence for me, practically another person. And sometimes it's easier to understand something when we give it its own life. I've named her Dee. 

Dee is the worst kind of friend. What at first is offensive becomes slowly acceptable, tolerated, then not only expected, but anticipated. She's convinced you this is what you deserve.

Dee is a liar.

Dee is a master manipulator.

Dee is a bitch.

She is quiet, but she is large, watching, and encompassing.

Sometimes I think she really is another person who slides very smoothly beneath my skin, until it is her face I see in the mirror. Criticizing me. Hating me. It's an easy place to go; I know it well.

Only when I’ve climbed out of this pit do I realize I am not her, she just lingers within me, waiting for me to slip.

Is she the part of me that needs the most love?  Isn’t self-love the key? Perhaps she is less confident in her destruction, and more scared. Like a bully. The bully I am to myself at times. Is it understanding she needs, to fight her demons and give her peace? Let her rest, and settle back down within my bones, the crevices of my mind?

Should I hug the bitch better?

I think no. There's no nurturing this kind of presence; it must be exorcised and shown the door. And this isn't something that can be accomplished alone. 

This has been my struggle, or at least the thing that has always lingered beneath the surface making normal, manageable struggles more intense, more hurtful, and slower to heal. But something changed for me when I was 24 years old that hit Dee where it hurts, and the ripples of that strike have reached outward from deep within me and touched everything. I see the world through a different lens now, and for this I am grateful. I have a wonderful and amazing life, and I'm so happy that I'm able to more fully appreciate that now.

My hope is to continue this journey toward radical self-acceptance, to continue this climb until I can rest and look back and smile without worry. My hope is to allow my experiences to speak to others who might be on a similar path and to assure them that the darkness doesn't last. At some point, the clouds break, even if only for a moment, and that there is hope in the momentary sun that breaks through. My hope is that if I'm speaking to you, you will grab onto that moment and trust that you deserve happiness in this life. You are not the dark that surrounds you, but the light on the other side.

      Thanks for reading.

      Be sure to keep a look out for the other amazing bloggers participating in the Hope Blog Relay of 2012. I challenge you to add some words of your own as this relay spreads across the globe. Here is where it began... 

http://melaniecrutchfield.com/2012/07/27/hope-2012-a-blog-relay/#comment-1055


There is a lot of hope out there in countless forms - I hope you'll find your own.