Dear Stephanie (age 14),
I see how alone you are, and I know how alone you feel. I see you walking down those halls alone and sitting in bathroom stalls during lunch to avoid being tormented for having no one to sit with. I know how hard you are trying to fit in, to be liked, and to laugh rather than to be laughed at. I know how you often question fate, and why it left you to play the role of the ugly duckling rather than the beautiful swan. Why is there DNA for "ugly?" I used to ask myself why I drew the hand I did, and why my cards represented nothing but pain and punishment.
I have to tell you, you need to take these experiences and all of the other ones, and remember them. Realize that there is a lesson in every moment, but some of them hurt as much as they educate. I am sorry to say, as dark as life is right now for you, you are going to have to hold on for a while longer. There are some occurrences that are in the middle of your path, and they will not be easy or fun to navigate. You will question your self worth and your desire to live. You will violate your morals, values, and ethics, and you will bring shame to yourself and your family. You will take deadly risks going against your gut instinct... I'm am sorry for being so blunt, but I wish someone had given me the truth when I needed it.
The most important thing I can tell you is to keep holding on, because there is a reason to. I promise you, it is always darkest before the dawn, and today, I am living YOUR dawn. Today I have perspective, blessings, love, friends and family. I also have dreams and aspirations that I thought would never be possible to pursue. I am capable, I am confident, I am a leader.
You are capable, you are confident, you are a leader. I promise.
love,
Steph, age 29 (2012)
Monday, January 30, 2012
Sunday, January 29, 2012
between those moments
I have been thinking about my life over the last couple of days, about the changes I have made, and the ones I haven't. I have been thinking about the course of events that have brought me to the mark at which I stand today. The thing is, where am I really? I question everything, but then again, I always have. Nothing is ever good enough, but has it ever been? I find some solace in the fact that where I stand today is as stable a place I have ever existed in. Every day I get closer and closer to feelings of inner strength and personal contentment. At times, there is still an internal reckoning, and a feeling of being stuck, as if I were up to my knees in quicksand and sinking deeper. Occasionally, my reality seems to be based on a perpetual state of visceral discord, but I am learning to feel and connect rather than intellectualize and isolate. My goal is to take more influence from the external, to acknowledge the objective opinions of others rather than listen solely to negative self-talk conjured up in my own brain...
Up until only recently, my hope for the future rested in the futile effort of shaking my head in an attempt to reset my thoughts from the darkness to the productive. It had always been that I could never do enough, say the right things, work hard enough, and accomplish enough to feel anything more than a fleeting sense of internal pride, but nothing lasting. I would wonder, while trying to work out reasons and explanations like a mathematician, why I was so alone, why did I get so little satisfaction out of... anything, really?
I was reading one of my journals from several years ago and I was struck by how little material there seemed to be in the way of recognition of the positive side of things. There were no moments in those pages worthy of a pat on the back. Throughout those pages, there was so much anxiety, so much unease, so much tension. The word "discord" again seems appropriate.
...I used to grasp for the moments that contained some pieces of my dreams, but never could quite reach them. They are, after all, just moments. Solitary units surrounded by the dense, weighty and dark infinity that is so exhausting to wade through. These days, I refuse to waste time waiting between those moments.
Up until only recently, my hope for the future rested in the futile effort of shaking my head in an attempt to reset my thoughts from the darkness to the productive. It had always been that I could never do enough, say the right things, work hard enough, and accomplish enough to feel anything more than a fleeting sense of internal pride, but nothing lasting. I would wonder, while trying to work out reasons and explanations like a mathematician, why I was so alone, why did I get so little satisfaction out of... anything, really?
I was reading one of my journals from several years ago and I was struck by how little material there seemed to be in the way of recognition of the positive side of things. There were no moments in those pages worthy of a pat on the back. Throughout those pages, there was so much anxiety, so much unease, so much tension. The word "discord" again seems appropriate.
...I used to grasp for the moments that contained some pieces of my dreams, but never could quite reach them. They are, after all, just moments. Solitary units surrounded by the dense, weighty and dark infinity that is so exhausting to wade through. These days, I refuse to waste time waiting between those moments.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
ellipsis: a million conversations that we never thought to start
...I remember those long drives to Disney World while "Man in the Mirror" played on the car radio. Hotel rooms. Dad slept alot, always. The Mickey Mouse doll for my brother's 4th birthday was wrapped in a huge red package. Fisher Price kids flashlights that turned themselves off when we forgot to. Pee Wee's Big Adventure, Look Who's Talking, The Land Before Time, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Independence Day. I remember how you cried when you accidentally ripped our giant Goofy wall stickers... It upset me because you cared so much more than we did. You thought you failed us, but it really didn't matter much... The smell of cedar, and how nothing but the most important things were placed in that old cedar chest... Rest stops, driving down the east coast. Your cherry red pick-up truck. I remember visiting your work, running down that long hallway and banging on the maintenance department door. Would you believe that I walked that same hallway a few months ago? I saw some of the guys you worked with, in the same brown pants and tan work shirts that you always wore. They showed me your badge and a photo of you on the wall. They looked at me like they had seen a ghost. I probably looked the same... The smell of Old Spice and fires in the fireplace. The beach, how you love the beach. Sitting outside on a beach side hotel patio in Daytona Beach with your fingers laced behind your head... Our old dog Kojak was around long before Patrick and I were, a puppy in early photos I remember once seeing. We used to be able to smell him on his collar for a while after he passed away, but now it only smells like the things that have taken its place... World War II, and Trivia on your bedroom floor in the summertime. When you were sleepy, you always asked "Who is buried in Grant's Tomb?" and we knew we had lost you for the night... Did you know that you and Santa Claus have the same handwriting?... You took me to vote for the very first time when I turned 18. You made me feel like what I was doing was important... Christmas trees cut with your very own saw in your own two hands and handmade ornaments, milkshakes, blood red steak, Vietnam. Books. You taught me to love reading and I inherited your illegible script, which I could always read. Chicago and Blood, Sweat, and Tears, "Goodbye, Yellow Brick Road". The Hall of Presidents and One-Dollar Jeopardy, roller coasters, movies, and sledding... You loved the Abraham Lincoln museum in Washington, D.C., and you made it important to me, too... You stopped drinking when I was a toddler. I wish I had stopped before I lost you. I promise I have done right by you now, I just took a few detours... You always put my toys together, and you drove my friend and I to New Jersey and took us to Six Flags. You were so proud of me when I took acting classes, and you were at every performance I ever had, no matter how small the role was... Stained glass and haunted houses in the basement, and the way you could whistle with your mouth closed. Burning everything you attempted to cook, and teaching me to ride a bike... your gold toothed smile...
Monday, January 23, 2012
Solitude 11/19/07
Solitude: written 11/19/2007
by: Stephanie Picher
i like laughing. i enjoy the healed feeling i get from being moved to roaring amusement. laughter seems to help me to forget the darkness which seems to bookend my moods. i am reminded, again, by the simple act of expressing joy, that i am not as alone as i often feel. i also realize that i am not as cold as i sometimes believe. i am capable, even though i so frequently forget, of relating to other people, of being a part of something, of being included. more than all of that, i am also capable of enjoying the most mundane moments of my life, so long as i choose to.
what are the common denominators of depression for me?
-loneliness
-isolation
-grief
-sadness
-guilt
-shame
-self-pity
...depression is a result of the time i spend ruminating in solitude about these problems and situations. the key word is solitude. i have created, and am living a self fulfilling prophecy
i like being alone.
when i am alone i become depressed.
when i am around others, my depression subsides.
...the problem is, i choose to be alone. my choices confuse me. the nature of things is complicated. i'll surely become depressed again trying to work it all out...
by: Stephanie Picher
i like laughing. i enjoy the healed feeling i get from being moved to roaring amusement. laughter seems to help me to forget the darkness which seems to bookend my moods. i am reminded, again, by the simple act of expressing joy, that i am not as alone as i often feel. i also realize that i am not as cold as i sometimes believe. i am capable, even though i so frequently forget, of relating to other people, of being a part of something, of being included. more than all of that, i am also capable of enjoying the most mundane moments of my life, so long as i choose to.
what are the common denominators of depression for me?
-loneliness
-isolation
-grief
-sadness
-guilt
-shame
-self-pity
...depression is a result of the time i spend ruminating in solitude about these problems and situations. the key word is solitude. i have created, and am living a self fulfilling prophecy
i like being alone.
when i am alone i become depressed.
when i am around others, my depression subsides.
...the problem is, i choose to be alone. my choices confuse me. the nature of things is complicated. i'll surely become depressed again trying to work it all out...
A Rhetorical Question
Is the act of helping others selfish if i only do it to save my own soul?
A rhetorical question. I already know the answer.
A rhetorical question. I already know the answer.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
remembering losing you
i think of how it felt to dance with you, to float across the floor together. i remember how your sculpted back and arms felt against your starchy shirt and vest. i remember the way you smiled when our paths crossed, the way you laughed at my jokes, the way your skin looked. soft and unblemished, seemingly untouched by the pain you carried behind your vivid eyes. i think about the innocence of fireworks and board games, of friendly dinners and quiet conversations. i shake my head and think about the hope that came with knowing that finally you were changing your life. the pride i saw in you, i could tell, was a personal triumph.
"are you mad at me?", you asked, as the smell of alcohol drifted from your lips. i think about my answer, still to this day.
"i don't judge you for your choices." i said. "i love you all the same."
had i known that this would be the last night i would see you, laugh with you, dance with you, and respond to that last question, my reply might have been different.
I think about your suffering, and where you disappeared to. did you think of crying out for help? did you know that your last time was, indeed, your last time? or did you believe you would have a chance to make it right again?
i can see you in my minds eye, telling me goodbye as you walked to your car, your back turned to me. how could we have know the weight that word would hold? the horrifying finality of "goodbye"... i think you said you'd see me later with sorrow in your eyes, although i cant be sure. it is difficult to know what is real when something makes as little sense as this...
i remember going on-line and searching for your name among the death notices, trying to find some evidence of what happened to you. i found nothing and hadn't heard anything since i heard the news the night before. there was a part of me, perhaps even most of me, that foolishly believed that maybe there was some mistake, some miscommunication, or something lost in translation.
this, i'm told, is called "denial". it is the feeling of searching in vain, of looking for a grain of sand in the vast, dark ocean. something inside you tells you it is there, if you just look hard enough. i know the truth, despite my attempts at self-delusion. i know, on a fundamental level, that knowing and believing are two different concepts, and ultimately i am terrified of both. i feared my own emotions as much as i feared the reality of losing you.
"are you mad at me?", you asked, as the smell of alcohol drifted from your lips. i think about my answer, still to this day.
"i don't judge you for your choices." i said. "i love you all the same."
had i known that this would be the last night i would see you, laugh with you, dance with you, and respond to that last question, my reply might have been different.
I think about your suffering, and where you disappeared to. did you think of crying out for help? did you know that your last time was, indeed, your last time? or did you believe you would have a chance to make it right again?
i can see you in my minds eye, telling me goodbye as you walked to your car, your back turned to me. how could we have know the weight that word would hold? the horrifying finality of "goodbye"... i think you said you'd see me later with sorrow in your eyes, although i cant be sure. it is difficult to know what is real when something makes as little sense as this...
i remember going on-line and searching for your name among the death notices, trying to find some evidence of what happened to you. i found nothing and hadn't heard anything since i heard the news the night before. there was a part of me, perhaps even most of me, that foolishly believed that maybe there was some mistake, some miscommunication, or something lost in translation.
this, i'm told, is called "denial". it is the feeling of searching in vain, of looking for a grain of sand in the vast, dark ocean. something inside you tells you it is there, if you just look hard enough. i know the truth, despite my attempts at self-delusion. i know, on a fundamental level, that knowing and believing are two different concepts, and ultimately i am terrified of both. i feared my own emotions as much as i feared the reality of losing you.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Walt Disney Blues
not writing for a day or a week or a year is like experiencing muscle deterioration in my hands from lack of use. essentially, if you don't use it, you lose it. my fingers hit the keys with slight hesitation as i search for the right words to fill the blank space provided. i have learned from experience that the longer i go without purging my mind, the harder it is to do so.
...i do have a bit of an excuse at the moment, however, as i am in Walt Disney World with my family for a brief furlough from the increasingly bitter temperatures in the northeast. my mother and father started jamming Disney down our throats from a very young age, and we were riding space mountain when we only just barely met the height requirement. i have an endless supply of memories from the trips i took to this tourist trap, from craning my neck in order to get the best view possible of the parades to approaching the loading area after waiting excitedly in line for one of my favorite rides. i remember how thrilling meeting the characters always was. they were like celebrities to me and my brother at that age. handing our autograph books to Donald Duck or Goofy or Mickey Mouse made our tiny hands shake. there was no one any bigger than them at that point in life. i may as well have been meeting Lady Gaga...
today things are a bit different. i am older, wiser but also with a touch of pessimism and poetic darkness. the lights don't shine as brightly here, the colors are less vibrant. i explained to my brother today that being here feels like a graveyard, a place filled with grief and recollections of a childhood lost. i have tried to make the best of it, to enjoy the experience through the eyes of my young nephew, but when i see my brother with his son on his shoulders i feel tears welling up. i have not a single doubt that if my father were still with us, he would be so proud of the directions my brother and i have taken in our lives. he would be a doting grandfather, boasting and bragging about the wonderful child that has been brought such joy to all of our lives.
i remember being pushed by my dad through the Magic Kingdom in a stroller. how young i was exactly, i am not sure, but it couldnt have been much older than 3 or 4 years. even at that tender age, i fell in love with the atmosphere and fantasy that is and was Walt Disney World. sitting next to my father on rides like Big Thunder Mountain Railroad and Splash Mountain made me feel safe as my shoulders rested against his large frame. twists and turns, as well as large drops would elicit a loud roar of laughter from him that always made me smile.
my dad is not here anymore, having taken his last breath just over 8 years ago on New Years Day, but i see and feel him everywhere. when i see a particular ride or shop or restaurant, i only think of him. i close my eyes and try my hardest to conjure up those memories as accurately as possible, but the human memory is fallible. as time goes by, i feel more and more distant from the sound of his voice or the feeling of a strong, supportive hand on my back or shoulder.
they call Disney World "the happiest place on earth", but there are exceptions to that phrase. at times, it feels like a place that harbors sadness and pulls the memories from my body to behind my eyelids, where i can feel the tears trying to push their way out.
after dozens of trips over the years, i no longer get as excited at the prospect of going into the parks. i fear losing control of my emotions and ruining the experience for everyone else. this place, it carries far too much weight in my mind, body, and spirit. this time, i came for my nephew, and i am glad i did. watching him take in the sights and sounds, smiling and laughing, asking questions and experiencing curiosity has helped to fill the hole inside me with a level of connection and acceptance.
i can feel my Dad everywhere, and i often wonder if i have ever stepped on the exact spot where he walked as he pushed my brother and i through the parks. my brother tells me that the memories i carry are a good thing, and that i should embrace them rather than let them steal the joy of the experience away from me. i know he is right and he is the perfect model of my father in the way that he parents his son as well as how accurate the advice he gives is. he speaks from a controlled place, balanced evenly with wisdom from both his heart and his mind. he has learned to take the best from life and leave the rest. it is a skill i have gotten better at over the years and through experiences, but i still have alot to learn...
i dont want to see this place as a graveyard or a place of mourning and sadness. especially now that i have a young nephew who wants to share this experience with me as much as i want to share it with him. seeing him experience what to him is akin to magic is worth putting my discomfort aside for. i watch him grow from month to month, and time is limited. he will not always want to be cradled in my arms or to read a book in my lap. bright lights and fireworks and his favorite characters will not always thrill him like they do now, and i dont want to miss a second of it, despite my own grief and anxieties.
i have to believe that this is all part of my process of growth. god knows, ive been through them before. they can be uncomfortable as hell and paralyzing in their intensity, but the most effective remedy is to walk straight into the fire the i fear so much. approaching that which makes us uncomfortable gradually, but certainly decreases that level of discomfort... really, its a cost/benefit analysis of what is worth fighting for versus what is not.
my family, my nephew, and my own mental health is worth fighting for. my fathers pride is worth fighting for. being a part of something as opposed to a part of nothing is worth fighting for... the prospect of winning the fight with a sigh of relief and a smile on my face is worth fighting for.
...i do have a bit of an excuse at the moment, however, as i am in Walt Disney World with my family for a brief furlough from the increasingly bitter temperatures in the northeast. my mother and father started jamming Disney down our throats from a very young age, and we were riding space mountain when we only just barely met the height requirement. i have an endless supply of memories from the trips i took to this tourist trap, from craning my neck in order to get the best view possible of the parades to approaching the loading area after waiting excitedly in line for one of my favorite rides. i remember how thrilling meeting the characters always was. they were like celebrities to me and my brother at that age. handing our autograph books to Donald Duck or Goofy or Mickey Mouse made our tiny hands shake. there was no one any bigger than them at that point in life. i may as well have been meeting Lady Gaga...
today things are a bit different. i am older, wiser but also with a touch of pessimism and poetic darkness. the lights don't shine as brightly here, the colors are less vibrant. i explained to my brother today that being here feels like a graveyard, a place filled with grief and recollections of a childhood lost. i have tried to make the best of it, to enjoy the experience through the eyes of my young nephew, but when i see my brother with his son on his shoulders i feel tears welling up. i have not a single doubt that if my father were still with us, he would be so proud of the directions my brother and i have taken in our lives. he would be a doting grandfather, boasting and bragging about the wonderful child that has been brought such joy to all of our lives.
i remember being pushed by my dad through the Magic Kingdom in a stroller. how young i was exactly, i am not sure, but it couldnt have been much older than 3 or 4 years. even at that tender age, i fell in love with the atmosphere and fantasy that is and was Walt Disney World. sitting next to my father on rides like Big Thunder Mountain Railroad and Splash Mountain made me feel safe as my shoulders rested against his large frame. twists and turns, as well as large drops would elicit a loud roar of laughter from him that always made me smile.
my dad is not here anymore, having taken his last breath just over 8 years ago on New Years Day, but i see and feel him everywhere. when i see a particular ride or shop or restaurant, i only think of him. i close my eyes and try my hardest to conjure up those memories as accurately as possible, but the human memory is fallible. as time goes by, i feel more and more distant from the sound of his voice or the feeling of a strong, supportive hand on my back or shoulder.
they call Disney World "the happiest place on earth", but there are exceptions to that phrase. at times, it feels like a place that harbors sadness and pulls the memories from my body to behind my eyelids, where i can feel the tears trying to push their way out.
after dozens of trips over the years, i no longer get as excited at the prospect of going into the parks. i fear losing control of my emotions and ruining the experience for everyone else. this place, it carries far too much weight in my mind, body, and spirit. this time, i came for my nephew, and i am glad i did. watching him take in the sights and sounds, smiling and laughing, asking questions and experiencing curiosity has helped to fill the hole inside me with a level of connection and acceptance.
i can feel my Dad everywhere, and i often wonder if i have ever stepped on the exact spot where he walked as he pushed my brother and i through the parks. my brother tells me that the memories i carry are a good thing, and that i should embrace them rather than let them steal the joy of the experience away from me. i know he is right and he is the perfect model of my father in the way that he parents his son as well as how accurate the advice he gives is. he speaks from a controlled place, balanced evenly with wisdom from both his heart and his mind. he has learned to take the best from life and leave the rest. it is a skill i have gotten better at over the years and through experiences, but i still have alot to learn...
i dont want to see this place as a graveyard or a place of mourning and sadness. especially now that i have a young nephew who wants to share this experience with me as much as i want to share it with him. seeing him experience what to him is akin to magic is worth putting my discomfort aside for. i watch him grow from month to month, and time is limited. he will not always want to be cradled in my arms or to read a book in my lap. bright lights and fireworks and his favorite characters will not always thrill him like they do now, and i dont want to miss a second of it, despite my own grief and anxieties.
i have to believe that this is all part of my process of growth. god knows, ive been through them before. they can be uncomfortable as hell and paralyzing in their intensity, but the most effective remedy is to walk straight into the fire the i fear so much. approaching that which makes us uncomfortable gradually, but certainly decreases that level of discomfort... really, its a cost/benefit analysis of what is worth fighting for versus what is not.
my family, my nephew, and my own mental health is worth fighting for. my fathers pride is worth fighting for. being a part of something as opposed to a part of nothing is worth fighting for... the prospect of winning the fight with a sigh of relief and a smile on my face is worth fighting for.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Thursday, January 5, 2012
you love me
you love me. i know this, have for years. you are one of my best friends and i mirror the love you feel. i have always been grateful for you- for your laughter, loyalty, and honesty. no matter how much time passes between us, out connection will undoubtedly remain strong and true...
but you are IN love with me. a bombshell i could have never expected or predicted. flattering, but shocking, unexpected. and then i think of the hypothetical "what ifs?" what if our timing had been better? what if you had vocalized your feelings, at least once, over all these years. what if you had told me instead of letting me go?
it's a hard bunch of questions to answer, im sure. they are impossible to answer for me, because i had absolutely no clue that you felt anything romantic toward me. you seemed so surprised and even unsettled when i revealed to you that i was a lesbian. i understand now that those reactions likely came from a much different place than i had originally thought. i believe that had i known, i would have given us a chance. i cant imagine not being close to you, so had our lips met, i would likely have felt myself split in two.
i would have wanted you, im sure of it. i would have wanted us to be something more than i could have ever imagined, because i could never not love you for loving me the way you say...
i wish, with so much intensity, that you hadnt shed your fears and your truth while at the same time inviting me to your wedding.
...there goes that regret again.
Monday, January 2, 2012
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