Beginning all over again

Perhaps mentally-normative folks have similar issues, but a lot of times when one is mentally ill interpersonal relationships can be the scariest things ever.

 

For me, one of my main fears is that I’m a burden. I’m 10 lbs of crazy in a 5 lb sack, and between my horrid anxiety, terribly low self-esteem, and severe body-image issues I fear that I take too much and never give enough. I rely on partners and friends to listen to me, to take on part of the burden I carry every day. Reassurance is a huge part of it; constantly asking if I look okay, if I’m ugly, if I’m fat, and even if I’m being a pain about it all. 

 

Lately, I’ve been trying to recover my social life. When things get bad I isolate, any social interaction makes me horribly anxious, and just the idea of people looking at me turns me into a quivering ball of fear. Trying to hang out with friends again, trying to go out more, and even going out on dates(!)… it’s terrifying, but it’s one of the best things that someone with mental health problems can do for themselves.

 

Being around other people offers distractions, supports, and anything other than the company of revolving-door crazy thoughts. It also offers an exposure: by being around others and facing that fear, you eventually extinguish the fears. If I don’t see people and go out, I wind up relapsing, and relapsing hard. A couple months ago there was a pretty bad interaction with a partner and I retracted from the social world. Slowly, I started picking again and my eating habits changed. Three months later I know I need to put myself out there and change it.

 

It’s fucking terrifying.

 

New friends, old friends, partners, anyone at all… it just scares me so deeply that they may not really like me and they just feel bad for me. I know this can’t quite be true, but I’m even afraid that I get hired as a performer because people feel bad for me. It may be silly, but I seriously think that I’m too fat, ugly, and crazy for friends. There is evidence entirely against this in the real world, but in my head the repeating thoughts are always the same.

 

People are good, people can be trusted, people are deserving of love and trust. It’s a matter of getting yourself to believe that you are too.

Well then. Fuck that.

I’ve been coming to the conclusion that I think I’ve always been meant to be alone.
I don’t deal well with people. I’m self-involved, head strong, self conscious and negative. But most of all I legitimately hate myself, and that makes trying to have any sort of relationship with anyone too difficult on both (or all) of us involved.
I’ve broken hearts because I’m crazy, I’ve ruined friendships because I just plain don’t know how to handle myself. Feelings scare me, on both ends, it doesn’t matter if they’re my feelings or someone else’s.
Maybe it’s time to just give up on romantic involvement. I clearly have no idea how to do it.

Growing up.

It’s funny how things change so suddenly that it hits you in the face one day.

For three years, I loved aerial to the point of exploding. All I wanted to do was aerial all the time. Every day. Lyra, silks, then flying trapeze came along; I was addicted to flying.

Then I started hand balance and it all changed. I took a workshop with some of the acro yogis in the community, not expecting to be a huge fan of handstands, I just wanted to add some diversity to my skills.

I fucking loved it.

Fast forward a month or two, and I took a contortion workshop. I’ve never been flexible in my entire life. I was a swimmer and we’re MEANT to be straight lines made of power. As I was working on hand balance, my back was suddenly becoming incredibly flexible, which is (as far as I know) the opposite of what normally happens.

I fucking loved that too.

So here I am in 2013: working ground skills more than I ever expected to be possible for me. I’ve been on an aerial apparatus this year, but I have spent the majority of my practice time bending and pressing. I never would have predicted this in a million years. I’m working towards contortiony hand balance, which to me is the complete opposite of what I was working for exactly a year ago.

It just struck me earlier today how crazy this change is. I have friends who are SO passionate about what circus skills they specialize in and always have been. Many of them have tried new disciplines but rarely like them more than the one they started on. I haven’t lost my passion for aerial, of course, I just have found something that is so challenging, gratifying, and different from everything I’ve done in three years that I am EXCITED beyond belief about it.

It brings me right back to when I started circus. It ached how much I wanted to do it before I was capable of even touching a set of silks. Now, I get impatient and practically itch to work on contortion tricks, hand stands, crocodiles, getting my splits back (again), all of it. It’s refreshing, and such an amazing feeling to work myself up to something again.

I guess I’ve surprised myself again. Altogether a great thing.

New video blog (AKA: Finally! An UPDATE!

It’s a quiet video, but here’s a quick synopsis: I suck, life sucks, maybe it’ll get better, probably not. Fuck it.

Done.

Hey, internet. It’s been a while. My life hasn’t been the same since the fire, and I haven’t had the time to write. If I have, I’ve been too worn out to do so. Things keeps getting worse.

I find myself relapsing hardcore. I analyze everything I do in ways all too familiar; examining my skin a bit too closely, watching my steps too diligently, keeping track of what I eat more strictly… I know where this is all leading and I just don’t know if I can stop it.

Tonight, my friend’s car was broken into. Two purses were stolen (mine and a friend’s) along with some bike equipment. I want to blame myself, even if it’s not possible. I feel like there was SOME way I could have stopped it from happening, even if I couldn’t. Part of me knows this is the OCD talking… but I hate myself for “letting” it happen, still.

I need to find a way to replace and pay for my meds. Maybe I’ll be able to sort everything out with another visit with my psychiatrist. Maybe we can help my moods and the terrible new intrusive thoughts. Maybe.

Numb

I am currently sitting on my best friend’s roof, red wine to my left, dark chocolate and an incredibly interesting book to my right.

I can’t focus for the life of me. I’m so numb, my brain is no longer in my body. I can barely accept that the fire even happened, and the idea of the incredible amount of rebuilding is too overwhelming for words.  

On top of this, I’m currently a gypsy. My best friend is amazing and is letting me store my stuff and spend a few nights a week here… But I need to spend more nights elsewhere. I’ve never lived like this before, an trying to hermit crab my way around the city while trying to set my self back straight… It’s too much for words.

The past few days I’ve found myself unable to focus. On anything. I can only compare this experienone other other in which all power was taken from me. I’m not equipped for this.

I just want to live like a PERSON again. Yet, the apartment search, getting what I need just to live day to day when I barely know where I’m sleeping that night… I can’t handle this. I’m quickly becoming a shell of a person. I’m ashamed enough of things I said and did when I wa acting out because of the fire… I’m more afraid of what I will do now that I have no feeling whatsoever.

Challenge Accepted

Finishing up my first week here, and all of this still seems so surreal. The resort itself has kinks and quirks that are odd to deal with, but that’s an entirely different side of things that I don’t really need to talk about.

First off, part of the job is to socialize with guests, eat meals with them, stay at the bar until late-ish to hang out with them, and generally make them feel like they have friends here already. They have all been really cool people. I’ve had some awkward encounters, but the guests have all been happy, excited, and so much better than who I’m used to dealing with coming from the service industry. They’ve been making that part of my job unbelievably easy.

The other staff are all very cool, too. Everyone is in the same age range, and you can tell that they space out their staffing to keep things from getting too clique-y… which is refreshing for somebody with horrid social anxiety issues. Coming in was terrifying because of rejection fears, but it’s gone so much more smoothly than I could ever ask for. We’re all on the same page when it comes to cynicism too, which makes my life better since I don’t have to disguise that I am a bitter, terrible person.

Another new circus folk came in two days after me. My first day another circus folk came in with me, but he’s worked at several other resorts before so I was kind of thrown in without much to cling onto. D (I’ll call the other new guy) is a first-timer too, and to have somebody else with me who is so excited that we’re getting paid to do circus. He and I get to be giddy together, and it totally off sets some of the bitchiness that comes with the long circus days here.

In the mornings we have a couple hours of teaching lessons to the little kids on the resort. 4-7 year olds and 8-10 I believe, and we’re either outside on the rig flying them out, or inside teaching them to juggle, balance, or swing on a sling. Nothing difficult… kids just don’t listen and it gets really frustrating. Then we have some training time, and then pool games before lunch. Then we have some time before more training time. Daily we have about two hours to ourselves to train, which is pretty sweet.

Then 4-6 we have adult hours on the rig or inside on silks/web/static/what-have-you. The adults are all very cool, they just don’t listen either. Also frustrating. Once we’re past that, though, we have some time to change, then go to dinner. Some nights we have family juggling lessons and we’ll have dinner after that, though. Then at 8:30 we usually have a show to go to, play some games after, and then we’re at the bar until 10:30 at least.

Yep, adds up to almost a 14-hour day, throw in an hour or two off just to make us less murderous. The socializing and eating is kind of nice, and getting paid to train is awesome, though. Spending 6ish hours in the sun is KILLER, though. My Irish skin is not happy with me. I’m getting really rough patches, but I think once my skin gets used to it and I perfect my moisturizing routine it should be okay… right?

I’ve been given the impression that the resort is trying to make shows the biggest thing the resort has. Great choreographer, lights, sound, costumes… we have it all. We have shows every night, too. I’m excited to throw myself into them, for sure.

The circus show was Saturday night, and D and I were involved. The show was Cirque-o de Mayo, because we’re clever, and we all had some mildly racist stereotypes… except for me, but there weren’t too many left by the time I knew what I was doing. I did a silks piece, we had a “bull fight” doubles trapeze, luchadores duo-lyra (two lyras, not double), aerial triangle, mini-tramps, and an amazing mariachi triple trapeze act. Everyone did some amazing stuff, and I am so excited to see what else we can do. Oh, and I forgot to mention that we threw the show together in 24 hours and D had never done static trap before.

We have a big murder mystery production in the works, and I think we’re going to do something amazing with it. We have really strong aerial performers, jugglers, and everything else circus has to offer.

Oh, and barely a week in and I am so close to being able to juggle! I’m surrounded by circus artists who bounce off of each other to teach, learn, and improve… and I love the challenge. I’m going to be working on my web, hand balance, juggling, partner acro, and double aerial work in the next few weeks to plan the show out. I’m aiming to be a circus powerhouse by the time I leave, and I hope that it all keeps going well!

It begins.

It’s slowly coming together in my mind. I’m sitting here on my flight from North Carolina to West Palm Beach, and an odd calm is settling in. I didn’t expect to feel anything but panic, but I will fucking take it.

First off, this is my first time traveling by myself like this; I’ve never been on a plane without my family. Hell, the furthest I’ve traveled on my own has been Boston to central New Jersey, but 5 hours in a car barely counts compared to something like this. A good friend from high school dropped me off at the airport at fuck o’clock this morning, and from there I was all on my own. I had some baggage troubles (An extra 90 dollars for 15 pounds? Fuck you very much; I’ll bring books in my carry on.) And moments of high anxiety when dealing with others in the airport, but overall I’m pleased with how I’ve made it through.

The real question at this point is how I’ll react when I land and have to go to the resort. I have to face all of these new people, in a new place, while trying to keep my head on straight. Either it’s going to go really well and “Fonda” will come out, or I will completely break down.

Fonda can be amazing. She’s what I WANT to be; Vivacious, brash, open, confident, honest, and fearless. I wish I could be like that on my own, but it takes a mask. As far as I’m concerned, no one likes who I really am. I’m anxious, self-conscious, self-centered, cunty, and overall preoccupied with what goes on in my head.

I actually had a really great date last night, and at one point we got to talking about social anxiety and club nights. I’m a go-go dancer, so I end up at clubs quite a bit, and since he’s seen me at them he didn’t believe that I actually panic in club situations. I explained how Fonda takes over when I work for a night. Performing, go-go dancing, what have you… Fonda can handle it. Me? Not so much.

On another note, I forgot how much people suck when it comes to traveling. First off, just like with anywhere else no one can walk in a fucking airport. Don’t stop in the MIDDLE of the walkway to check your goddamn phone, or the boarding lists. Don’t suddenly veer off, possibly into a dazed circus artist half your size. And I don’t care what I’m wearing, or what’s marked up on my neck, if you’re going to stare at least hide it better.

I was in the middle seat for my flight from Boston to Charlotte. First of all, fuck that shit. I am claustrophobic and I have a heightened startle reflex because of trauma. The guy in the aisle seat couldn’t seem to understand that by leaning his whole arm on the armrest, his elbow was constantly on my arm. Granted, my shoulders and arms are so wide at this point that I fill the whole seat armrest-to-armrest, (no joke) but pay attention to a person’s personal bubble. To tope that off, he’d get silently indignant every time I bumped his arm a little. Part of me was hoping he’d say something so I could tell him to go climb a wall of dicks, but business men are apparently pussies.

The woman on my other side kept stealing glances at me. As far as I’m concerned, she’s just jealous of… the awesomeness? Maybe? Perhaps I’m too sensitive, I dozed off for a bit on the last plane, but I’m on 26 hours without real sleep. I just kind of want to reset my internal clock so I can wake up when they need me at the resort. My natural circadian rhythm goes 4am-2pm, and that’s probably not acceptable.

I will say, though, that through all of this I’ve been realizing that this is the beginning of where all of my hard work is leading. In the last 2-3 years I’ve gone from completely bed bound with OCD to a successful producer, and now to a full-time circus artist being flown in to live on a resort. It blows my mind a little to think about it, honestly. It still hasn’t fully hit, and I’m wondering when it will… but a really good friend keeps telling me that this is when my dreams start coming into fruition. I know he’s right.

Actually, early in my flight I got teary because of it. I didn’t quite put together why, but it’s the beginning of that realization. Since I first discovered aerials, I knew it was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. I knew it was where I was supposed to go. It’s pushed me through all of my mental illness, the hard times with friends and with my performance career, through the moments big and small that tested everything I can possibly have. I’ve said it before, and I’ll stand by it: Circus saved my life.

My best friends are both very tough on me because they know that it’s what I need. I was doing lyra at a party where several of us wound up, and one of them (actually, the one who took me to the show where I saw my first aerial acts) came up to me at the end of the night and gave me a stupidly awesome hug.

What he said almost made me cry.

He said something along the lines of being so happy that I found where I belong. That he had never seen me look more comfortable or happier than I do in the air. That he’s seen how hard I’ve worked over the years, and that it’s all coming together in the way that I need.

He’s right. I’m never happier than when I’m in the air. I don’t obsess, I don’t over think, I don’t beat myself up. All that matters is the movement, the shapes, the feeling of being so free. All I can do is compare it to how one would imagine actually flying would be.

I’m neither Fonda or me in the air… I’m pure joy.

Rejection

I won’t be going to Protrack in September. Honestly, had I not said that I didn’t want to go to intensive, I may have been accepted into it. But right now, I need to keep up any work I can do in the open. I couldn’t live in Brattleboro unless I was 100% behind the program. Yes, Intensive gives people an amazing opportunity where they can really push themselves… but for me I need the extra push. Whether is comes from protrack or from my own damn perseverence, I honestly feel like I may “rest” a little bit.

I didn’t choose intensive as an option. I know myself by now, and between the feedback I got from them and the strength that I can muster when I need to pick myself up from my bootstraps… this was the best way to go if protrack wasn’t happening.

For those of you not familiar: NECCA is the New England Center for Circus Arts. Intensive is their 10-month program to hone circus skills like strength and flexibility, and Protrack is to turn students into a pro circus artist or instructor. In a nut shell. Of course, people more familiar with NECCA can correct me but that’s pretty much all you need to know if you aren’t aiming for circus school.

Anyway, the bright side of not going to pro-track is that I get to continue to push myself as my stage persona while still working at what I love to do. Because I won’t be moving to the middle of bumfuck, or filling my schedule with NOTHING BUT ACRO, I can pick back up on promoting myself. Where I was before I started the long hospital stint back in November. Perhaps, someday I’ll make it back to cosmetology school. Granted, mirrors and only talking about weight loss is probably not an okay idea just yet… We’ll see when that can happen.

I am sad. I’m very sad. Circus saved my life. I’ve never been as passionate about anything as I have been about circus. I pour my heart and soul into it; practice, performance, whatever it may be. I put my all into circus, sideshow, performance… it hurts in a way that I can’t describe. Feeling like the way you express your love for the thing that keeps you alive is not, and will never be good enough.

Of course, the actual rejection I can get over. My personality is strong and I am very, VERY high-anxiety. So living with me for nine months can be tough on some people. I’m not the most flexible, but I’m fairly strong. The combination wasn’t good enough for protrack, intensive… probably. I’ll be optimistic and a bit conceited on that.

I will stand by my audition and my video, though; I was myself through the whole thing. I was my weirdo, dirty-sideshow, burlesqueing, gothy self. And I was passed-over by NECCA while I stayed true to who I am. For that reason… I couldn’t be happier with the circumstances.

Sure, I was a bit neurotic and had some trouble making it through parts of the day without ritualizing… but I made it through. I stuck around through countless triggers, through all of my self-doubt and every pang of self-hatred. I put myself out there among peers in ways that I haven’t been able to in years. Give me an audience and I can do anything… a group of my equals is a different story entirely.

I am so beyond proud of how I handled the audition day that I don’t care how arrogant I sound. A year ago, I would have frozen up on the drive to Brattleboro, panicked for a good amount of time, then turned around to go home and sob in bed for a day or two. This was HUGE step for me, and just because it didn’t go according to plan, I’m not losing my momentum.

Eight hours among people who I respected, compared myself to, and was completely terrified to interact with… and I pushed myself through to the end. I looked like a fool doing a lot of things that I normally can because my hamstring was a mess. My splits were gone, my walkovers failed, my backbend bounced up…but I smiled and kept going. The “Crazy” in me wanted to run away, to hide, to never face NECCA again. But fuck that. Fuck that so hard,

I was shaky by the end of the day. Every look someone gave me was a judgement on my looks or who I am. My makeup had worn off and I hadn’t looked in a mirror all day, so my heart would jump whenever I saw someone looking in my general direction. When I left, I felt good about how I represented myself… but I was terrified of how I came across.

It’s close to being rejected in a relationship. When B and I broke up, we did agree and it was a clean break. But being rejected in any way automatically set me into a spiral of “What’s wrong with me?!” How ugly am I? How annoying am I? How dumb am I? In the end, it was never about him. It was about what the break up said about me. I’m past it now simply because I have the tools to handle these thoughts now… but it feels so real at the time.

Things like this don’t really help my fear of rejection when it comes to individual people. Romantic relationships, friendships… they all scare me. Moving forward makes me freeze up, and sabotage myself. I don’t want to say too much, but there are things going on right now that could go really right… or really wrong. I just hope that I gain my footing before I fuck myself up.

Again.

Social life… Or not so much

I come to you from excess, a club night here in Boston that many of my friends frequent. I’m sitting in a corner flipping my shit.

I feel ugly. I feel like people are judging me because I’m ugly and that they never liked me in the first place. This is horrific.

Why can’t I just live?