No Retreat, No Surrender

Well, it's been a "long" week. And it's caught up with me. As I sit here with my glass of red wine, listening to a mix of music I compiled over a year ago - I'm being still. Except for the striking of keys. I felt like it was time to write again. I quit one day job and am waiting to start a new one - which is equally stressful and exciting. Attempting to put myself in the best position I can to remain in Chicago became an evident need when I realized I was returning to life in the "safe rut." For those who don't know, the "safe rut" is what I do when I withdraw. A safety measure of sorts. I've been lucky in that I haven't returned to the food restriction rut that often goes along with withdrawing, which means I've reached a level of actual recovery. This makes me feel kind of proud. Scared, but proud. Letting go of past coping mechanisms is fucking intimidating. So is realizing you need to let some things go, even if that means losing part of a serrated exterior. I also need to return to actively improving myself. I started full force a year ago when I decided to move. I left my family, my friends - in an effort to support myself, to grow up, to fight on my own, to perform again. And I've been homesick, and homesick for the familiarity of having somewhere to crash and fail. I think we all need to have that place or person we can break in front of and throw our fists about and generally splash about in our discomfort. I haven't found that here. And that's been the most difficult part of leaving home. It's even made me consider going back. But I'm not ready to retreat. I think I just need to start being a bit more social, a bit more motivated, and a bit nicer to those who have shown me kindness. So as my lease draws to a close, I will find a new place in the city to reside. I will take my first year in the city as a year of "training," a year of letting go. Year two will find me feistier, but friendlier; motivated and focused - healthier and forgiveness-seeking. Cheers, y'all.

Photo credit - K Leo. I haven't written in awhile. You're probably all curious as to what the little girl in the big city has discovered during the past two months. And in all honesty - I'm not sure I've grown up as much as would warrant a blog entry. Or maybe I hust haven't taken the time to think about what I've learned. It's much like the picture - I feel like I'm moving forward, but I'm still looking down. I work towards moving on every day. But somedays (especially the past couple of weeks)- I've just wanted to sit in my past. And that sucks. I don't know what puts me there; or what triggers me to start thinking I'm worthless and that I should just give up again. But ultimately I know - 1. I will never bring myself back to the point of hospitalization - I've come too far and I like being able to jump again. 2. I am responsible for how I feel about myself. No one else controls my self-confidence. 3. I make the rules now. I never have to stay somewhere I'm not happy. And with that, I'll get over whatever it is making me feel less than the punkster I've grown to be. I've lived a long time with depression, anorexia, and at times debilitating anxiety. But that's just it - I've lived. I'm still learning to cope, and most likely will always be learning new ways to deal. I know I can't withdraw or quit. I get a little too excited to see where I'll be in another year when I start thinking about what I've done since leaving home. And that's me looking forward. So, maybe what I'm trying to say is - while I've recently felt lethargic and anxious - it's nice to know that when I have these bouts I will still manage to come out on top. There's too much cool shit out there, y'all. Too many amazing people to meet. Too many opportunities left. Too much passion left. Too much for me not to look up next time I jump.

On Motivation

Last month was eating disorder awareness month. I watched inspirational videos, read postings, even briefly watched bits of the Nova special filmed over twelve years ago just to remind myself that I'm no longer a face on an eating disorder documentary. My struggle with food has been a sixteen year battle. It's ranged from a control mechanism to a coping mechanism to an addiction to a superiority/inferiority complex. And it's never been about my weight.

Fortunately, I know when I'm letting my disordered eating tendencies compensate for dealing with day to day issues. I've stopped skipping meals because I had a shitty day, I've stopped restricting because I fucked something up, I've stopped seeing how long I could feel hungry just so I could feel something other than being hurt. And that in itself has been a trial. Sometimes I feel as if I don't deserve to be healthy, that I'm a better person when I'm withering. This comes from having put on a little weight. Muscle, actually. But muscle equals motivation. Eating healthy equals energy to accomplish goals I spent years missing out on. I finally feel as if I'm starting to move forward, and I know that regressing is not an option. I know that if I fall again, my odds of getting back up as the Lucky Girl are slim.

And I get tired. And I often feel that retreating back to silence and starvation would just be easier. I could shut down and let someone else do the work - save me. But I've lost the desire to be saved by anyone other than myself. I've received so much love and support, even when I fought it - it was still given to me. I lashed out at many people who tried to help me. I was a squawking, trembling mess of a girl for a long time. And I was angry at anyone who dared try to change that about me.

Moving to Chicago was like hitting the reset button. I'm starting to see a little closure on certain elements of my past. I've stopped wanting to hate myself. I've stopped wanting to wake up hurt. I've stopped a lot of things. I know that I will most likely have food hang-ups for the rest of my life. As long as I keep my head up, keep dissolving my past, keep pushing myself to be better - those hang-ups will become negligible. Because I'm finally motivated to be bigger than myself.

I write this blog to share. I also write to push myself. Because we all know that if it's on the internet, it's got to be true. Right?

On Turning Thirty

Thirty.

No meltdown. No panic. Or thoughts of becoming "old." It's actually been a celebration. Maybe it's because I'm more okay with where I am than I have ever been; or perhaps it's just that I'm realizing my worth isn't related to my age or weight. Those numbers are starting to become inconsequential.

It's almost as if I'm growing up and living the childhood I didn't have concurrently. In thirty years I've learned the following (in no particular order):

1. I'm happiest in a theatre. And I brag on Gorilla Tango quite a bit, but I am still amazed (after six months) at how much I love being a Geek. It's the greatest little theatre in Chicago I could have possibly weaseled my way into. And as tired as I sometimes get - it is my happy place. Period.

2. I know so many phenomenal people. And those people outweigh the bad. I can't let one horrible individual ruin the love and respect I get from others.

3. Only I can move myself forward. Staying stagnant breeds self-loathing. No one is responsible for making me happy other than me.

4. If it hurts - stop. This is true on several levels. Whether I'm dancing or whether I'm with a person - if it is painful, just stop. Avoid the injury early.

5. I like being a little Spitfire.

6. If I drink coffee after 5pm, I will be awake until 2am.

So those are my turning thirty revelations. It's been a grand birthday and I'm glad I'm wrapping it up with a post. Thanks to all of you who keep up with my shenanigans and meandering thoughts. And a friend sent me this quote today from Neil Gaiman - "To absent friends, lost loves, old gods, and the season of mists; and may each and every one of us always give the devil his due." I think that about sums it up...

Home

I've now been a Chicago resident for six months. And I've been welcomed by both the people and the weather (so far). It's finally beginning to feel like my new "home." But that doesn't mean I haven't been homesick as hell. I really didn't anticipate just how much I would miss my friends and family when I pulled out of Ruston, Louisiana.

The one drawback to living in a city this size is that no one knocks on my door every day to talk music, drop off a pound of bacon, or split a bottle of wine. I miss that. I knew the greatest band of assholes in my little town and life without their presence has been trying. They also knew it was time for me to leave and encouraged me to go. In fact, a few of them actually kicked me out. I had sat in my own lethargy long enough and begun wasting away again. And for that, I am grateful. I shouldn't even be sad I suppose - I'm in a much better place physically, emotionally, and career-wise. But I'd sell my Joe Strummer t-shirt to have school night/pint night back or another sushi/Sundown Saturday.

What does this mean? Nothing, really. Chicago has won me over. I will stay here indefinitely. But distance makes me appreciate the people who supported me, laughed with me, smacked me when I needed it, and stayed with me when I couldn't be alone. It's just made me think about how I define being "home."

I happen to perform with some of the most phenomenally talented and downright nicest people in Chicago. And they've seen me very tired and downtrodden this week, and if it weren't for the kindness of several Geek Girls I would be a hot mess. The theatre is my home. Even when I'm frustrated, depressed, functioning on too little sleep, and missing my dog - being back onstage and working alongside so much talent reminds me that I made the right decision. As chintzy as it sounds, I'm always happiest in a theatre.

Now I just have to learn how to deal with my homesickness for those I had to leave, and remind myself that my new home is where I've always needed to be.

Burlesque Bit...

I moved to Chicago five months ago. I settled into my snug shoebox and fell in love with Gorilla Tango Burlesque. All I knew when I got here was that I had to return to performing. And I stumbled upon an audition notice for an Indiana Jones burlesque show. Unbeknownst to me, that audition and subsequent casting and rehearsal process would benefit me more than just providing me an opportunity to perform.

I am a trained actor, dancer, combatant, and vocalist to some degree. I have also struggled with an eating disorder for fifteen years. So delving into the world of burlesque seemed an odd route to attempt. But after watching my first burlesque show, "Fellowship of the Boobs," I was enamored at the confidence and empowerment that radiated from the performers. It was clever, funny; and while boobs made many an appearance - the sexiest thing was the talent and confidence. I realized it wasn't about physical perfection or having the perfect set of ta-ta's. It was about what you did with them. And I wanted in on that.

I'm still learning to look in the mirror and see talent, not a body. What Gorilla Tango Burlesque shows epitomize are beautiful, confident women whose sexiness is exuded through their skills; not just their bodies. It's character, it's dance, it's humor - all with shimmying boobs.

And while I'm starting to flex my performing muscles again, I'm also developing a desire to take better care of myself. I want the energy to perform, to scale doorframes, to stretch - I want to eat better so I can be a better performer. It's not about restricting what I eat to fit into some ideal; it's about obtaining the actual muscle strength to last through performances and give the audience the show they deserve.

I'm proud to work with a company that promotes smart, sexy comedy. And I'm honored every single time I walk into that theatre and I am give the opportunity to do what I love with a remarkable cast and crew. That's my inspiration. And I'm thankful every time I walk on that stage and I have the strength to dance. That's my blessing. And I'm a lucky girl to know when to claw back the bullshit and eat a peanut butter sandwich. That's my resolution.

New Year, New Lucky Girl

I've never been one for New Year's resolutions. But with 2012 rapidly approaching and having started over in a new city, I figure it might behoove me to at least reflect on the past year and maybe set a goal or two.

2011 was a strange, stressful, adventurous, and revelation-filled year. It saw a break down, an intervention, a move to Chicago, and many new opportunities. And it's over. 2011 also saw me finally beginning to realize that my life isn't defined by what was taken from me; rather it revolves around those who give me more than I possibly deserve.

I left my hometown, my friends, my past, my safety net that also strangled me. I had fancied myself a hardass, a serrated soul with a penchant for social disregard. My low points had become a source of pride. I was the bluntforce barfly and I had ruled an insignificant kingdom of self-deprecation. And it was time to leave who I had become. My friends saw it before I did. And there are two friends whom I don't even know how to thank for sitting me down and verbally backhanding me back into reality.

So I moved to Chicago. And I began to see that my Lucky Girl status went far beyond the fact that I survived an eating disorder and various addictive behaviors. Honestly, I know the best people. I have family and friends that stuck with me when I was nothing more than a skinny shell. I have met people who have given me strength, laughs, and the means to keep going in a new environment. I have learned I have people in my life who fight for me harder than I fight for myself sometimes. And that means as shitastic as the world gets sometimes, I am never helpless.

So what does all of this mean for 2012? I suppose it gives me a reason to try to better myself. And in the new year (with the ominous 30th birthday in less than two months) I will hold myself responsible for accomplishing the following:

1. Remind myself of what I have instead of dwelling on what I've lost.
2. Quit quarantining myself from life when I don't want to deal with it.
3. Learn to persevere with grace.
4. Let some shit go. Whether it's injuries from childhood, rejection, or hurtful comments - holding onto it isn't worth the sleeplessness.
5. Realize that I've come an effing long way and it's okay to do things in my own time.
6. Drink more water.

A new year should be an opportunity to improve, move forward. Recognize your strengths, appreciate what you have, learn how to deal with the horseshit - that's really all you can do. I'll leave this post with my favorite quote from Christopher Moore (fantastic author, you should read him)-

“Don't drive drunk. Ever. Don't shag anyone you don't like, or who doesn't like you. Get a look at how people live in a place where you don't. Suffering is over-rated, don't pursue it. Ask for help when you need it, don't when you don't, and learn to recognize the difference. Don't confuse movement and progress. Be kind. Be forgiving. Pay attention.”