kicking it old school

How do you get to sleep? Burrowing under lots of blankets and taking melatonin.

What happened at the last party you went to? I don't recall... it obviously wasn't exciting if I can't remember.

Have you ever smoked a cigarette? I'm a veritable chimney.

What’s your hair like at this present moment? Long, black, and flat ironed.

Are you more comfortable sitting or lying down? Depends on the surface but as long as I'm not standing, I'm good.

What’s the worst film you’ve ever seen? The Room. There are no words.

Are you an untidy person? I'm careless.

Have you ever been a fan of N*Sync? Nope.

Do you watch a lot of television? More than I used to. Mostly procedural crime shows.

Do you think you’re fat sometimes? Sometimes? Really?

Do you like to flex your muscles? No, I don't like gun shows.

Do you think you’ll ever get plastic surgery? Absolutely.

Have you ever completely misunderstood what somebody was saying? All the time. I don't get most people.

Favorite kind of cake: Cake.

Was it a boy or a girl to text you last? Dude. Shaun.

Name something you are doing tomorrow? Bringing home Trixie the kitty cat. :)

Do you sleep on your stomach? Never. It hurts my ribs.

Where are you going to be at 4 PM tomorrow? Ludlow.

Last time you saw fireworks, with whom & where? Here at work with two of the residences and one of the outreach participants.

Are you missing someone? Not at all.

Do you like horror or comedy? Horror. Most comedies are idiotic.

Who did you last share a taxi with? We're going back to 2006 now... I think it was Alla and Peter.

Dogs or cats? I love both equally. Unfortunately landlords only allow cats... racists.

What were you doing at 12 this afternoon? Getting ready for work.

Do you think you will be in a relationship 3 months from now? Absolutely.

What’s your favorite season? Why? Fall. It smells awesome and Halloween is like my x-mas.

When’s the last time you did something you knew was wrong? I don't believe in "right or wrong" I believe in not getting caught and not intentionally causing bodily/emotional harm to others. Apart from that, I do what I want.

Did you have any unread text messages this morning when you woke up? Yeah from Sharon.

Who was the last person you hugged? Shaun. Before him it was either my mom or Jeanette.

Do you think you would be a good parent? I think so. I'd start by doing the opposite of everything my parents did so that's a start...

When was the last time you cried? When I received Myron's ashes.

Who was driving the last time you were in a car? Shaun.

Does any part of your body hurt right now? Back. Always my back.

Do you like your bed? I like being in it but it's not very comfortable.

Have you ever broken someone’s heart? I imagine so. Not really worried about it.

When did you last talk to your brother or sister? Easter and it was extraordinarily awkward. He's kind of a douchebag.

Do you ever want to know who you are going to marry? I'm already married.

How much cash do you have on you? Like 5 cents?

Are you tanned? Gross. No. I hate tans. It's like a neon sign saying, "I SO want cancer. Please!" Seriously, it's not healthy and people need to stop thinking it is.

Did you get any compliments today? No. Compliments really don't do anything for me unless it's from Shaun.

Have you ever gone to court? And how...

Do you get jealous easily? I used to. When I'm in a new relationship I'm fucking terrible but once I'm settled in I'm good.

Would you ever want to swim with the sharks? I have. Cape Cod has all kinds and when I went to the Islands when I was a kid I snorkled with some. Obviously not Great Whites but they were still sharks. There was also a barracuda in the water too.

What are you doing Saturday? It is saturday and I'm at work.

What is in your back pocket? Which one? I have a work phone in the left and my cell in the right.

What were you doing at 3 AM this morning? Reading a book.

What do you usually do first in the morning? Yawn and stretch.

Are you any good at math? Not really.

Any plans for Friday night? Never. I'm always working.

Do you have a little crush on someone? Yeah, my husband.

This Noise Inside My Head

With the end to the hectic rush of the holidays, it’s on to the final leg of a year that was astounding in all of the changes that occurred. I’ve reflected on this a number of times and I don’t feel that I necessarily have to do another one this time around but when I look forward, I do feel cautiously optimistic about the future that I’m looking at going forward. The job is in place now. I’ve carefully and with the greatest indelicacy pruned my friendships to reflect the person I am now. I am doing my best to care for myself by making better choices. As I jokingly note in some of my comm logs, “good life choices for the win!”

I still find myself grappling with one final adversary that I don’t think will ever leave and that is my mental…whatever-it-is. I don’t deign to call this an illness because I don’t believe myself to be “ill” in the conventional sense of the word. I am, however, different. I endure the mercurial moods of the bipolar with my downs that will turn into the rages that people see on Facebook when I become offended by the wrong color background on a feminist meme when the Sun in trine with Jupiter and Neptune when I couldn’t find my Sephora eyeliner pencil and had to settle for the Kat Von D pencil that day. Thirty minutes later I’m laughing at videos of cats talking to their owners and reposting songs by Julien K and sharing passive aggressive notes and then manically showing everyone around me videos of screaming goats and getting lost in the YouTube worm hole of Jenna Marbles videos. All that is perfectly fine… Really. I’ve lived with this for years. It’s mostly bothersome to people who don’t understand me, those that do just live with it and chalk it up to being part of knowing Dae. It’s a bipolar thing, you wouldn’t understand… The meds don’t help. Don’t even think about telling me to up the dose.

What I’ve never really been able to work around is the paranoia and the fear which are two different things when looked at individually. Paranoia is being afraid that something is going to happen when there’s no logical basis for that belief. It’s probably not going to happen. Fear is being afraid of something that will happen because there is a logical basis for that belief. It really could happen or it IS happening. Paranoia: I’m going to be abducted by aliens. Paranoia: She’s not talking to me so she must hate me. Fear: I’ve have a past history of multiple neck tumors and now I’ve felt another lump. Fear: I’m hearing voices and there’s no one in the room. One just yelled at me.

I’ve been able to put on a brave face with much of the paranoia. Some of it I’ve been able to conquer for the most part. Are aliens really, I mean REALLY, coming to get me? Not likely but if they did. Not much I could do about it. If some girl doesn’t want to talk to me anymore for some half-assed reason then that’s not my problem, that’s hers. I think I’m alright… a little weird… but not bad. The fear is another thing entirely. Having faced a lot of health shit… it sucks. When my head feels like it’s about to cave in it’s really difficult to talk myself out of the, “I’m dying, I’m having a stroke” panic that occurs but I find ways. Usually it’s reminding myself that there’s time and if it really were a hemorrhagic stroke I’d be dead too quickly to know what hit me. If it’s a stroke caused by a clot, I’ve seen enough of those to know that I could survive it. I’m clear for brain tumors according to the CT scan I had a few months ago. So… yeah. That’s how that goes. The voices though… this has been a tough one and working where I do… it makes things very interesting. I feel like a bit of a fraud a lot of the time being this person playing the role of the girl who has it all together when there are some days when I’m possibly in the same boat as some of them. Is writing this probably a bad idea? Maybe but it’s important to me to finally be honest with myself as well as those closest to me. The truth is that it’s hard sometimes to sit there with someone who thinks I’m totally “normal” and have them talk at me, expecting me to pay complete attention when I’m really trying to focus on getting music that playing in my head to be quiet.  Sometimes there will be a crowd talking all at once and the real person cuts through and I shift my focus to listen to them and it’s like changing channels. Crowd, person, person, crowd. Sometimes it’s just the one or two. The child or the man. Does this freak you out? Do you wonder what they say? They say… things. Sometimes it’s funny. Sometimes it’s… not. Sometimes it just makes me sad. They remind me that I’m not like others.

This is why when I see memes that share stupid things like, “I’m not alone, the voices in my head keep my company” I become offended. Or when I see people make flippant comments about meds and crazy pills and things like that. If anyone really understood what it was really like to live in that world, would it really be something to joke about? I’ve tried to convey that at length but it’s hard for people to understand without being explicit. I suppose a similar thing would be if one were to make fun of trans or gay people. Or to make flippant remarks about race. It’s never okay to do that so why is it okay to make remarks about individuals that have to live with a thought disorder? It doesn’t ever get easier, one just adapts and learns how to hide so that the rest of the world doesn’t keep pointing us out.

One day a client said to me, “You couldn’t handle it if you were like me.” They have absolutely no idea what I live with day to day because I would never self-disclose the way I just have. It’s absolutely unethical in my opinion and serves no purpose to try and one-up the individuals I try to help. Just knowing that I can empathize in my own way is enough for me. But when they said that to me, my first thought was, “I am like you and for a long time I couldn’t. But it’s made me stronger than most people I know.” I used to just tell myself that to get through the day but now I really believe it. Yes, it’s difficult and, yes, if I could make a lot of it stop I would. Who wouldn’t? But if I could reply to that individual honestly… I would tell them that I can handle it, I do handle it, and because of that I’m here to help… and because of what I’ve learned from you… you’ve helped me too.

This little light of mine…

These are strange days inside my head. Strange days indeed. A year ago I was another person entirely. Injured. Scared. Unsure of where my place was in the world. Very alone even thought I married my best friend only a few months prior.

Now I find that my mind has been replaced with someone else’s. She’s nothing like the girl that lived inside my head before. This new girl is caring, sensitive, emotional, goal oriented, and she is genuinely happy. I love this girl. I love me. I did a lot of soul searching, trying to understand how this came to be and I think it’s ultimately the result of working for what I wanted and not accepting anything less. I wanted to be respected by those in my life whether it be my co-workers, my family, or my friends. Anything less than that resulted in me discarding, walking away, or outright demanding that I have what I wanted. At times I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I have been overbearing to the point of being a bully but, for me, I feel that the ends justified the means. In order to have peace sometimes there has to be a war… sometimes that war is violent. Sometimes it’s devastating beyond any realm of comprehension. Sometimes there’s nothing left and all that can be done is to rebuild on the ashes and the wasteland that is left over. I think, for me, that’s what happened.

I literally carpet bombed my life into a decimation that was beyond all hope but then I began to build. I had done this before but I put it together with chewing gum, popsicle sticks, and hay and it all came apart again. This time I used the strongest materials I could get and I made sure it would stick. My supports, friends, were only the best that I could find and if they weren’t positive or good people that would be there when I needed them and would allow me to do the same in return… they were placed outside the wall. My job, career, took time to locate but when I found it, I made sure it was the right place for me and now I have gone from a temp staff member to a full time member of the team in as little as a few months. I wake up each work day excited for any challenge and opportunity that I’ll experience. My family has been repaired once my expectations were set that I would not be treated poorly any longer and those wishes were respected. 

The results of all of this are nothing short of remarkable from the perspective of my own eyes looking back on a life that is so marred by anger and depression. Sure, I have moments where I get annoyed and I lash out but to see a happy video or a post about something that genuinely affects me to the core and to be able to exhibit an emotion such as joy or sorrow is something so foreign to me that I embrace it. To be able to see an individual I’ve been working with begin a path to recovery after a struggle for many months and feel so overwhelmed with happiness at their progress that I burst into tears on the way back from the visit shows that what I do means something to me. My life simply isn’t a day to day existence any longer. It truly is a life being lived and it’s all lived away from the reach of technology.

This is where my segue occurs… I watched a video today of a gentleman who, for lack of a better way of putting it, pulled a stunt in a Hannaford grocery store. He was singing “This Little Light of Mine” loudly and after a time people joined in and soon the whole store was in on it. For a moment the whole group was connected in this rare display of human interaction that so rarely occurs these days. Watching it had me feeling truly overcome with emotion because I felt a) happy that these people were having fun but b) sad in some ways because our society has lost a bit of itself because we no longer connect on even the simplest levels. Friends don’t call one another to chat. They text. Even when hanging out at dinners or at each other’s houses it’s never a surprise to see people pulling their phones out to check for messages, Facebook, texting someone else, or just looking around online. They’re not engaged with the individual they’re supposed to be with in the room. In society, people don’t talk at bus stops or in subways, they play Candy Crush or whatever game is popular or they pretend in order to avoid the “risk” of having to talk to each other. They listen to music. They insulate themselves from the world and hide.

Is this really living if we only take part in a small piece of life? If we’re chained to a piece of technology and we don’t allow ourselves to reach out and connect with one another without the use of a text-based system? If we don’t use our voices to pick up on the subtle nuances of the conversation? If we can’t grant each other the eye contact that is so important to show we are interested in what our companion is saying? Are we afraid to do so now? Have we lost that ability because we are so insular now that technology has bred two generations of socially phobic technophiles that depend on their phones and computers and tablets just to communicate, who become verbally constipated when asked to use their words? I think we have.

This is where I drew the line for myself. This is where I said no more and I've been learning to end my dependence on such things. Friends are encouraged to talk with me in person when they're close enough. If they aren’t, we talk on the phone. When working with participants I insist they put their phones down and look at me while we speak. Or I ask that they turn away from the computer and face me out of respect for our conversation. In our home, my husband and myself don’t have our phones out during serious discussions out of respect for one another and when I’m with family for gatherings, I make sure the phone is on silent and it’s away. It's taken some time to break the habit of checking over and over but in time, the addiction and the insecurity has started to go away and I'm finding my voice. The excuse of, “I’m too socially phobic,” is becoming lost and the truth of “I’m too busy” is really true or if I don’t want to get together, it's a legitimate, “I really don’t want to hang out with you,” because those people are outside of the wall and earning their way back in.

The reliance on technology concerns me and I think part of it has to do with the fact that technology contributed a great deal to my damage as a person. Growing up I was a gregarious child in spite of the fact that I had a lot of shitty experiences. Even still, I didn’t let that stop me from trying to make friends and being a good one in turn. It wasn’t until I got online that I became an angry, shitty person who bordered on narcissistic and didn’t care what others felt and allowed my emotions to rule over me. On the internet, you’re the most important thing in the world and when you’re not looking at the person you’re talking to, it’s easy to disregard their feelings. Text messages can work this way too. It was easy to hide away and become mired in this so-called “social anxiety” that I supposedly had. If there’s one thing I learned in my current line of work, the best way to combat anxiety is to expose yourself to the thing you’re scared of… so if you’re scared of being around people, the last thing you need is to be online or hiding behind a text message. We all could do with a lot less of that shit in our lives. Sometimes just saying hi to a stranger or seeing an old friend changes the course of your life in ways you wouldn’t expect. Sometimes you make new friends in the process. But how are you going to know if you’re stuck behind a computer or staring at a phone?

It’s not a rhetorical question. The answer is that you won’t.  

Overcoming Madness

Right now I really should be working on a response essay for my pointless remedial English class that Capella seemed to feel I needed to take. I protested to various counselors asking them to review my transcripts citing that I had taken two English courses at the art institute and then an advanced placement English course at NYU but they still insisted that I would need this class for my psychology degree. I think it goes more like they needed the $950. I decided that I needed to transfer out of the school… this came after a confrontation with a professor who insisted that “I statements” were never to be used in discussion posts and I, having enough with her foolishness, decided I would rather not learn anything from her. So now, down to one unnecessary class, I’m finishing my requirements to avoid being charged by the school and withdrawing at the end of the term. Next destination? Westfield State.

But this isn't why I’m blogging today. My school drama has always been present and I've always been nomadic. Thankfully this time around I've decided on my major, I've obtained employment in the field to ensure that I LIKE what I’m going to be doing, and I’m going about this the right way now. So that’s that.

Today, however, I've been reflecting on the journey I've experienced in the last six months. Leaving my job in medical after a mental break, deciding to downgrade my medications, finding spirituality again, backing off on my medication, and reevaluating who/what is important enough to have in my life going forward and what it is that I’ll accept from others as appropriate as well as learning to identify when I’m not being fair to others as well. It has been… illuminating to say the absolute least on the subject. I’d forgotten that I’d had this amount of strength inside of me and being able to pull from it has been invaluable.

Part of me almost wants to laugh when I think about how I was insistent upon the fact that I absolutely needed to be on disability back in April. That I would never be able to work again. Little did I know that my mental illness hadn't even fully exploded yet and that the worst of it was going to come in the form of a full on auditory hallucinations, dissociative episodes, and anxiety attacks that would rival anything I’d experienced up to that point. But I was so sure that I was fucked up THEN. The government disagreed with me though and told me I was fully capable of working even if I found my interactions with people difficult and I conceded to their ruling and looked for work. We all know now that I have a job that I love working with people who have similar histories to my own past as described in my last entry.

What some don’t know is that in the time it took to get to that point I put myself through some of the most rigorous mental work that I’ve ever gone through alone in a long time. My therapist had been dismissed and the new one was next to useless (he’s no longer in the picture now either) so I was left to figure it out on my own. Learning to cope with the fact that I felt disconnected with my body whenever I left the house was a new one. Up to that point I’d had shades of this experience, feeling “loopy” when I’d go to stores, events, performing, etc and I would breathe through it. However, as time went on this became more intense and I started to feel like I wasn’t actually there but observing the entire experience. I came to learn that I was dissociating and doing something called depersonalizing. I was there but I wasn’t. I was on autopilot and this was a result of trauma, years of it, the last of it had been the extreme shit I’d gone through with the medical job and my family issues. With a lot of journaling and self-awareness I’ve been able to recognize when this is coming on. When it does, I don’t fight it because it’s not harmful. It’s just weird and as long as I can do what I need to, it works. It’s even come in handy during a few crises at work. So I consider it a superpower now. Positive spin helps!

Sadly not all of the reflection time had positive results and it was during this time that my anxiety attacks at home took on a new form and meaning. In the past I’d have these attacks where I became hyper aware of my surroundings, I’d get scared, but after a time they would pass but I think they were perhaps a precursor to the later development of the voices I now hear. Initially it started with whispers that sounded as if they could be coming from other apartments in the building but upon investigation they weren’t. Not long after that they become fully formed voices that would say things that I didn’t care to hear. Was it scary? Yes. It still is sometimes and when I’m stressed or extremely tired they become more… present. But having a logical attitude toward them has helped. Sadly the doctor had been seeing up to that point, who is now thankfully retiring, was dismissive and said it was “just anxiety” and “you know how you get.” I stopped seeing him after this. I figured if he wouldn’t help me I’d help myself and I did all the research that I could on hearing voices. I’ve learned a lot and I’ve been fortunate to have a few supportive friends to talk with about it when I was going through the initial stages of accepting this new development. This blog now is me officially outing myself as someone who hears voices. Part of me hopes that there are no adverse effects but at the same time I hope it serves as a means to help others who experience similar issues. It will be okay. You’re not going to die and even if the voices say they hate you, it’s best to reality check and remind yourself that there are many others that don’t. Sometimes I think it’s just a part of myself that is saying these things to push me to be a better person. It’s the best I’ve got to try and make it work for me.

The big hurdle of delusional thinking was terrible. Medical issues were my fixation. Any ache, paresthesias, headache, skipped heartbeat, or bout of confusion had me convinced that I had a tumor in my brain, some horrible neurological issue, or that I was just simply dying. Identifying the triggers for these thoughts was incredibly helpful. My own were easy to find and when I was able to get a handle on my Dr. Google addiction and stop looking up every single issue I had, my visits to the doctor ended and my persistent belief that “something” was wrong and “they’re all lying to me” began to abate. I fear it still sometimes but it’s always something that I work through. My second delusion was that my friends really didn’t like me and that they were just going to hurt me or they were planning to. I found basis for this in the actions of others I had known in the past. By realistically assessing everyone I knew and eliminating contact and the ability to look in on those that I’d had a bad history with, I was able to focus on my positive interactions with others. Sometimes I still have intense debates with people, they know who they are haha, but I’ve learned to understand that this doesn’t mean we’re not friends anymore. We just disagree and when they post something later, it isn’t about me and if I worry that it is, it’s better to ask than assume.

My mind and mental issues are a work in progress. They always will be thanks to the genetics that I was given. Profound mental illness runs in my family. Suicide is common. Substance abuse is almost always present in virtually every person on the more recent tree. Schizophrenia, psychopathy, and sociopathy are badges pinned to my father’s name when I give a history in my doctor visits due to his horrible actions. My mother is a depressed narcissist, my brother is… something not good. My grandparents are beyond fucked on both sides. This deck was stacked against me from day one without even adding in the environmental shit that occurred. But by working hard to revise my view of the paradigm and reaffirm that I am NOT my illness and that it doesn’t run me, I run it, I’m able to live my life with a high level of function and, now, peace. That was all I could ever ask for and now I’m working to give that to others. I hope I can do them justice and give them what many never felt I deserved: A chance to be. Some say you make your own breaks but a little help and guidance is invaluable. 

The Road to Recovery Counselor

If you asked a teenage Dae if someday she’d be the “asshole staff” that would be working in a residential home like the ones she found herself living in for most of her adolescent years, I’m almost 99.9999% certain that her answer would be, “Fuck no, I hate those guys. I’d [insert some horrible action to myself] before I sold out like that.”

Going on through the years I, again, never considered residential counseling. It wasn’t even on the radar. Writer, musician, and medic were the Big Three up until recently. There had been that stint when I was about 27 when I had kicked around the idea of becoming a Psy.D but that went through the window when I realized it was “too much” schooling and, at the time, I couldn’t be bothered to deal with other people whining at me about their problems. I was still nursing the wounds from the battle (compassion) fatigue of being an emergency tech and the drama that comes from that. I was still trying to figure out who I was after investing years into my failed relationship. I was just still trying to just be.

I never had the chance to just BE when I was growing up or really ever when I got to thinking about it. As a child, mother dictated everything. When I lost my shit and found myself locked up in residential homes and hospitals they dictated even more. Back then it was a different game. They had restraint protocols in the residential homes that got intense if you got too intense. The hospitals had a chemical restraint program and if your parent signed off that it was okay to drug the shit out of you then, guess what, you were going on a vacation whether you wanted to or not.

The very sad and very frightening reality is that I don’t remember a lot of my teens because I was either self medicated or I was medicated against my will. When I wasn’t medicated I was emotionally shut down so that I didn’t have to think about where I was because I had no idea when or if I was going home. I had to deal with level systems, begging for rides, no alone time because one always had to be in the milieu during awake hours, asking for permission to piss, counting out loud when I was in the bathroom just so that they knew I wasn’t harming myself. I could be barged in on in the shower at any moment just in case I was taking too long. Shaved legs? Forget it. The bohemian look was something I just had to deal with. I learned to like it for a time. Shared rooms with up to three other girls, bunk beds, people stealing your clothes and make up, sometimes more. People getting in your space after lights out. It was… not fun. More to the point, it wasn’t fun when you finally got sick of it and broke and the staff had to hold you down and put you in the “quiet room” where you sat alone until you were willing to process. If you didn’t process you stayed there. I spent a lot of time in this room when I found myself at my final destination of Harbinger House. It was the only way I had any alone time. They got wise to this and soon found that my acting out (swearing at staff) wasn't going to get me alone time and I was forced to go to the next level if I wanted to be alone. Not a recommended course of action... 

I lost so much of integral development living in that environment. Up to the point that I’ve never really been able to understand the outside world much at all. The coats now say it’s because of the Asperger’s but I think it’s because I was never socialized properly to begin with. I watch TV shows about teenagers and I see them going through their rights of passage and I think, “I never got any of that.” I went from pre-teen to adult. I went beyond that, I went to adult who was homeless for a time and on tour with a band and I saw shit that I shouldn’t have. I ran away from everything I had just seen and I tried to be someone else. I divorced myself from the residential years. I wanted to live and…. I sure as fuck did.

Now, I’m 33 almost 34 and I’m one of those staff working with an age range of 19 to 78 year olds who have seen some of the same shit I have, some who have seen far worse than I could ever imagine. I think about that every day that I walk into one of the homes and I think back to that young girl that I was, screaming at the staff, throwing chairs at walls and threatening all manner of bodily harm. Some days I meet some version of myself in the people that I help every day, when they’re screaming at me, threatening me, crying for what some of you would think is no reason, telling me the same story they told me last week, and, yes, sometimes attacking me (though this is very rare) and I think to myself, “No I never imagined that I’d be doing this. But I’m glad as hell that I am. Because sometimes I think I’m the only one who gets them and I’m the only one strong enough to do this.” Because of my past I love what I do. Every. Damn. Day.  I can't see myself doing anything else. 

Memory time: Adventure: Dae and Anna go to Chemlab

2007-01-04 

   So I just got back from an adventure about two hours ago. Tonight was the long awaited meeting of Anna and I to see the Chemlab show at Great Scott in Allston. I took off from here around 6:30 to grab coffee, buy gas, and then head down to Randolph to pick Anna up. The first leg of the journey went off without a hitch. I made it to Randolph without getting lost although I did pass Anna's street and have to turn around and ask her where she was at. 

About 5 minutes later I was at her place and we were on our way acting like two typical girls - laughing, chatting, and... getting lost. haha Actually that was my fault since I didn't print off the directions from her place to the bar so we pretty much had to follow the directions from the bar to her place backwards. That didn't work and we ended up on 93, passing through Boston, then having to turn around somewhere in Somerville I think in order to get back over the Zakim bridge (which is WICKED pretty at night by the way!) and then back to the Pike to take the Brighton/Cambridge exit that would take us to Allston. After lots of calls and Anna and I putting our heads together we finally made it to Allston but... "Where the <i>fuck</i> is Commonwealth Ave???" 

"I have a feeling it's parallel to us." 

"There's a 7-11, Ima go in and ask them." 

Stop the car, get out, two people yammering at the counter... enter in Dae in cheerful/cutesy voice, "Hiiiiiiiiiiiie! I'm soooo lost can one of you tell me how to get to Commonwealth Ave pweaaaase?" They smiled at me, gave me directions, and I flashed my grin and went back outside. "Yerp. It's parallel to us." 

So we <i>finally</i> get on to Comm Ave and we're riding along the access road. At a stop light I look over and see a couple making out and I go, "Ewwwwwwwww! Don't make out on the corner!! That's GROSS!!!!" 

Anna laughs, "Dae!! The window's down!" 

Ooops. Oh well. That'll learn 'em! Onward we drive and we notice that 1. We're on the wrong side of the street and 2. Numbers are going up. Blarg! So we turn around and <i>finally</i> get on the proper side of the street going in the proper direction and <i>finally</i> make it in time. Not a moment too soon because call of nature and all. Hey! Chicks. We always gotta pee when we arrive somewhere haha. 

So... we arrive. No bands have gone on yet and we settle in at the bar for booze free drinks and good conversation. The first two bands were shitty as all hell. No idea who the first one was but they absolutely murdered "Terrible Lie" and just sounded stupid I think. The second band, Tragedy Ann, was performing their "last show ever" and as soon as their singer started... erm... singing (??) I could see why. Ho.ly.SHIT was he terrible. I thought I was bad. His personality was even worse because he kept flipping the audience off, saying things like "Shut the fuck up" when he would talk between songs, and then said something to the effect of, "You people standing in the back go to Ceremony. It's okay we don't fucking like you either." Hmmmmmmm... that's not very nice. He should be happy people weren't chucking their drinks at him for being a meanie head! I would've if I could get away with it. 

So finally Chemlab came on and that actually was pretty awesome to see. I wasn't sure I was gonna dig them too much because I'm not so much into the industrial tunes anymore but the singer, who looked like Andy Warhol kinda, was actually pretty cool I think. He had a great stage persona even if it was a bit theatrical in a not-so-cool/effective way. I liked what they had going on musically though and I would've loved to stay but it was a long drive getting to Anna's and it was gonna be a long drive going home. Plus week night shows are hard. Work and all the next day. Not for me but for Anna. So we left about 4 songs in but it was okay. :) Trying to get out of Boston was a bitch. We got lost again because I went the wrong way. I should've gone left instead of right, we had to go back onto the Pike and take exit 17 to turn around and head east but then there was a detour since there was something going on. Blarg! But we made it to Randolph in one piece and then I drove back and made it home in one piece as well. It feels refreshing to finally have gone out again and seen a friend I've been talking to forever on here. I definitely am glad that I went. 

Thanks again Anna for the invite and for putting up with my silliness. Next time I'll get the drinks :) So that's "The Adventure of Dae and Anna go to Chemlab." I'm sure the 69 Eyes show is gonna be even better since it's a Friday and we will be having a guest in the form of Dietrich Thrall joining in on our craziness. If anyone is in the area and would like to join the three of us, get in touch with me via cell, IM, MySpace, or e-mail. It's going to be happening on the 26th of January and I can give rides to anyone who is along the general route. 

the story behind the guitar photo

I’m not one for selfies. I think they enable our most narcissistic traits and bring out the worst in people. Blogs are a close second in many cases as well. There are, however, exceptions and I think it’s when those selfies or those blogs capture a moment that is so exceedingly special in a person’s life that they absolutely have to remember it. Our memories are just that, memories. Intangible things that we’re unable to take out of our heads and review with the aid of a pensieve (sp?) as they did in the world of Harry Potter. So what do we have otherwise? Selfies and blogs.

Today I had one of those moments that I need to remember in both places. They say a picture is worth a thousand words but the picture I took could simply be interpreted as this girl playing her guitar. Those that know me as Dae Noctem might think, “Oh, she’s writing a new album. Cool!” They would be wrong. Those that know me as Dae Sloat might think, “Oh, she’s practicing her guitar. How nice.” They, too, would be wrong. My husband would think, “I don’t think she’s played that thing maybe once or twice in the three years we’ve lived together… what’s changed?” He would be asking the right question.

That guitar, an Ibanez GAX75 , a beautiful guitar that was given to me for Christmas in 2005 as a “I’m sorry I’m cheating on you and I won’t be here for Christmas, have fun,” gift has essentially sat unused for the past 9 years. It has the original strings, I’ve maybe picked it up to play it once or twice and I’ve tried, unsuccessfully, to sell it but was never able to get what it was worth. To be honest, I lost my desire to ever play guitar after so many things happened that year and beyond it. I lost my love of music finally in 2008… pretty much after I released my album. I did some live shows from 2011 to 2012 but trying to write music was impossible. I just didn’t have any joy in it. I was dead inside when it came to creating anything. Who or what killed that could be blamed on so many things. I could blame people, I could blame medication, I could blame life. It could be depression. But the fact remains that my first love (sorry Shaun) had left me and there has always been this ache without it. Taking music away from a musician, not being able to play anymore when that’s all I’d done from the age of 5 is like losing a limb.

Something was different today though. I had some music playing and I heard “I would for you” by Nine Inch Nails playing and I’ve always loved the chord progression in that song. Though sitting down and trying to play it proved there really is no chord progression per se. Nevertheless, hearing it made me want to try and I got my guitar and I began to noodle like I used to as a kid in my room. The surly teen playing along to “Broken” and “Pretty Hate Machine” thinking I was so cool because I figured out the line to “Wish.” But it was U2 that did it for me then and did it for me today. Forgive me as I become a bare and emotional person for a moment but sound has always been my memory maker.

It was either my 8^th grade year or my freshman year but I was mercilessly teased because I was a geek and didn’t fit in at all. But for whatever reason my mother agreed to get me guitar lessons with a woman named Jodee whom I thought was the coolest person in the world at the time. She taught me how to pick out songs by ear and for that hour in Mr. C’s each week we would take songs I liked and learn how to play them my own way based on the bass lines, turning the root notes into bar chords. Today I heard “Every Breaking Wave” off the new U2 album and found myself homing in on the bass notes and just like that 13 or 14 year old kid I was back then, sitting with Jodee, in that small as hell room, I began to play like I’d just put the guitar away yesterday. A day hadn’t passed. I didn’t realize that I was crying until I felt the tears on the fret board and my fingers. Whatever it was that I was feeling, that was hurting inside me, that still hurts a little, was coming out as I strummed those notes. In the photo you can see the tears on the fret board and it’s the most painfully honest selfie I’ve taken in a long time.

I’ve sworn to you all that you’d never see me cry. But maybe that’s not so true… You can see some of it. J