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Letting Go

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I saw Disney’s Frozen in theaters. I fought going because December 2013 me felt extreme shame of her tics, especially in large crowed rooms where she was supposed to stay silent for 1 hour and 49 minutes plus previews. I did end up spending a cold afternoon watching Anna and Olaf run about the Norwegian fjords, but the movie was so much more than that. Frozen started my process of recognizing the hurt inside of me, the damage it was doing, and how to (begin to) let go of it.

Recently, I have had an uptick (no pun intended) in anger and resentment towards the individuals who hurt me in the past, regarding Tourette’s. I have become embittered and harsh in my thoughts, and I am sure this has carried over in my words and actions. For a two and a half years, it was as if I was drugged (well, I was I suppose), and went about life in a robotic fashion, not “making waves” for anyone. But when I lessened my dosage of Olanzapine, my memories came back, sharper and more vivid than they have been in all that time. I have woken up, and every emotion from those years of repression is hitting me like a hurricane hits a shack on a forgotten island. The hurt is gnawing on my being every day. And I know I have to let go of it.

I think about Elsa often. Adults telling her that if she could just hide the thing that her body most normally does, and just not feel anything at all, then maybe she would pass as normal. About her hiding in her house, because the adults who were supposed to protect and teach her are scared that what she would do will reflect poorly on them. And I think about her when a bit of magic slips out. How embarrassed she is, and scared. It’s as if she truly feels less of herself. Throughout the story, no one helps her with the thing that makes her, her. People are scared of her, they resent her, they try to take advantage of her. But they never, not once, help her. She is the person, who through her own acceptance of her life and situation, makes the thing she has beautiful.

I certainly recognize that unlike Elsa, I do have support systems which I am extremely grateful for, and whose blind love and compassion I will never understand. But I also recognize that they cannot help me let go of the bitterness inside. Because like Elsa’s fear and hurt made her ice jagged, my anger has made my insides very much the same. And so begins the process of changing the pain into something that is not hate. Making beautiful ice is a challenge, but it is one I am finally ready for. I am going to talk about that now, in probably the most nerdy way I can imagine. Fair warning.

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If you know me personally, you know I love science. I have spent (actual) years thinking about the symbolism of the element Hydrogen, and have landed on this. Hydrogen is this amazing element that exists on its own. Let’s think about Hydrogen gas (which is really 2 molecules of Hydrogen paired up together). This gas is extremely finicky. As in, it likes to catch on fire (think Hindenburg airship). At this moment in my life, I feel like Hydrogen gas; volatile and ready to explode on anyone who lights the smallest spark. But remember, Hydrogen is an amazing element. Hydrogen bonds with other elements to create new versions of itself. Take water, which is 2 molecules of Hydrogen (yikes!) plus 1 molecule of Oxygen. Yes; add one molecule of Oxygen, and what was once dangerous and explosive becomes a foundation for life. **It’s a bit more complicated with bonds, polarity, etc., but for the sake of the post** What I need to do is find my Oxygen. The thing that will transform the awful inside into new life (or water of the frozen variety, your choice of analogies).

A good place to start is with peace and forwardness. I am at a place where I totally and fully accept myself and my tics. I do not, however, fully accept my younger life’s memory and the people who reside there. But one thing I believe with all of my heart, is that I can take those past memories when I felt fear and shame and unworthiness, and turn them into advocacy. I know that those people will never own what they said; in fact, they likely do not remember. But that is getting okay-er with me, because despite what was said, I am strong, independent, and fiercely passionate about the people with this disorder, including myself. And I am going to make pretty ice.

–KMJ

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medication, Uncategorized

One Week Later

Dancers_-_Statues_in_Okayama_City,_Japan_-_DSC01742.JPGYou have probably noticed I have been absent for the past week or so. This is for 2 reasons: 1) I have had finals, and grad school finals are like exams on steroids so I spent most of my time studying last week and 2) The Great Olanzapine (aka Zyprexa) Lessening of May has begun! I wanted to allow for a break so I could accurately report on what my brain has been up to, and I presently feel I can do so! Let’s begin.

In the past when I have had GOLs, there have been quite a few adverse side-effects. These include two to three weeks of severe depression, nausea, insomnia, and disinterest in most everything. Overall, it is a crummy bit of time. But I am rewarded after those few weeks with more energy, a clearer mind, and a better-working memory. I accept the trade as unfair, but a necessary part of getting myself back.

This GOL, as the times before, I was preparing for the worst. I had stocked up on inspirational quotes and calming pictures, and I had contacted close friends so they knew what was coming and how to help. Except I didn’t end up using any of the resources that I put into place because something weird happened: the awful didn’t come.

Instead, parts of my brain woke up from the dark world its been dormantly existing in for the past two years. It started with my sense of touch. One afternoon, I was lounging with my rabbit, and I was astonished by how soft he felt. I thought perhaps his diet was going well and thought nothing of it. But then I started noticing fabrics: the intricate criss-cross pattern in a 500-ct sheet; and the short velvet on one of my dresses, where each piece had a starting and ending point. My fingertip could softly press against another, and it was like the butterfly kisses my mom used to give me as a child. And then my taste started coming back. Coffee tasted darker and richer; chocolate tasted grainy and sweet. It was like being re-introduced to the world. Being born again. I was a child tasting soda for the first time. A teenager holding hands with her partner for the first time. All of this laid out before me, and honestly? It was intensely overwhelming, and it still is. I am living in a world of firsts, and it is a lot to get accustomed to. But it is also exciting. The world is new and fresh, like after a spring rain. And I have the pleasure of savoring every second of joy and sensation this life has to offer.

There is one other part of my brain that has woken up this week. I used to love music, art, plays, novels, and dancing. But these past two years, I haven’t sang in the shower a single time, auditioned for a show, read more than two books for pleasure, or been to the art museum once. This Thursday, however, I felt a spark. The lights went on and everything lit up in full technicolor. Out of seemingly nowhere, I wanted to dance and sing and read and look at art all at the same time. A part of me that had been a huge part of my identity had come back to life, and I am happy to report she is still here.

I am thankful that this GOL has not brought distress, but rebirth. I know this is not typical for me, or for others. If you or someone you know is having issues with Olanzapine (Zyprexa) withdrawal, please feel free to comment, or send me a message. Although I am not there this time, I have been in the dark spaces this drug creates, and I would be happy to offer support or a listening ear.

–KMJ