2012?

I haven’t been on Facebook as much as I used to. All the reading is hard on my eyes. That’s why I’m on Pinterest a lot—it’s just pictures. I have a Twitter account that I should do more with, but I just don’t get it. Mostly, I have it because my husband is obsessed with his tweeter.

The hubby has been reading all these Best of Whatever in 2012 lists. That’s got me thinking about how I got here, where I am, and where I want to go. Hopefully, you, whoever is reading this, if anyone is reading this, can take something from it.

I’ve talked a lot about how I always liked alternative fashion, but was afraid to branch out beyond. When I started PTSD protocol, this was just a grounding technique to keep me focused. After I decided to stop being afraid, my yard sale got me to the next level.

My husband has a good job, but he doesn’t bring home fat cash and probably never will until he writes a bestseller. So I made $400 selling a bunch of crap I didn’t use, didn’t need, and didn’t want. That with a tad bit of help helped me build the start of a sweet wardrobe. And you can build your wardrobe too. As you do, you’ll make mistakes. I sure did—there was a point where I think I owned like 27 strawberry skirts—and that’s okay. I fixed it and moved on. Like Henry Rollins said, “Half of life is fucking up, the other half is dealing with it.”

After getting a wardrobe I started posting pics and talking to people. That’s how I made friends. I mean actual friends on Facebook, not just some people who click like on my posts. That’s fantastic. We all need people.

I pushed forward and now I do things I thought I never could, like being allowed to write for the Gothic Lolita Wigs Blog and post videos, helping out with My Lolita World, and being featured in Dark Parlour magazine. Recently, I’ve begun what I hope is a long collaboration with Mandy Childress of Captured Memories Photography. And winning the Ditch the Label contest. All of these are important to me, but especially Ditch the Label—I began PTSD protocol because of the way my parents treated me, but school offered no escape from the torment.

Find something, my Fiends, find something purposeful and be a part of it, be involved. You don’t know what’s going to happen during your brief time on earth, so you need to be present and engaged.

When my eye specialist told me that all options had been exhausted and the next step was to begin immunosuppression therapy, it was pretty devastating. I’m still upset, but I think I’m finally moving past it. The realization that I probably don’t have much time left where I can still see has pushed me to think about what I want 2013 to be.

2012 was the building phase, 2013 is the doing. I want to try to keep up with everything I’m doing now, but I want to travel and meet some of these amazing people who’ve come into my life while I can still see them.

You know, everyone tells me that I’m so strong. The thing I want you to know, my Fiends, is that you are too. Sometimes you don’t know it and won’t know it until you’re forced to face the adversity that life throws you, but you are. Don’t let life get you down. Meet it and live it.

Because it's just a ride.

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Dolldelightful: Pink Parade: GIVEAWAY for MAY: To cut it short: Hi everyone! Here is some exciting news. After an entire month of liking and sharing, we have a winner for the p...

Clean Slate

One of the things you use to deal with panic attacks is something called a grounding technique. A grounding technique is something you do that returns your focus to the present. If your mind exists in the now, then you can regain control of your body and break the heart-pounding, breath-catching fury of the panic attack. It can be as simple as brushing your teeth or as complex as a body-twisty, meditive pose.

What works for me is putting on my make-up.

I know it sounds silly, but it's true. Something about cleaning my face, then sitting down in from of the mirror and going through my whole ritual relaxed me. It pulled me out of my head and banished the fear and the worry. Exorcised all the anxiety.

Over time, I began to realize something else about putting on my make-up and I know it's going to sound silly too, but it's true -- I like it. I really do. I like it a lot. Looking good makes me feel good. Feeling good makes everything better, makes everything easier.

And all those feelings? They unlocked some other things...I had always liked this hadn't I? Make-up and flourishes and experimenting with new looks? Yes, I had. And I was good at it, wasn't I? Yes, I was. People had complimented me on the sweep of my lip gloss, the fine arch of my eyebrows, and the blended shades of my eye shadow. And I wanted to do more, didn't I? Yes and not just more with make-up, but more with outfits and styles and sharp dramatic looks.

I had forgotten all that. I had allowed the tide of self-doubt to sweap it out, far out to the deep places where there was no bottom for you to touch even with your tippy toes, where there was nothing but the choking tentacles of fear that pull you under the churning seas to fill your lungs with bitter and salty water.

But I didn't have to allow that anymore, did I?

No. No, I did not.

I could use this to resurrect the confidence experience beat out of me. Make-up and clothes and wigs could be my route to a second breath of life.

Yes, I could.

Yes, I will.

Lesson #1: To evolve, to transform, you must bare it all.

Although I See A Darkness

I’m blind in my left eye and have been since I was a little girl when the doctors discovered a tumor behind that eye. The procedure to remove it cost me the sight in that eye and left the pupil misshapen.

Round about three years ago, I started getting bad headaches. The pain was focused around my blind eye and eventually that eye began to hurt. A specialist here in town ran a number of tests that revealed my eye pressure was high. Like ready to pop high.

That’s a scary thought. *POP*

That doctor prescribed a cocktail of eye-drops and sent me to a specialist elsewhere. Without insurance it was pricey, but we made it happen and eventually, the right combo of drops kept the pressure under control. Now, I see the specialist here in town couple of times a year to monitor the level. My husband’s new job comes with insurance so the specialists, while still expensive, aren’t the same burden.

Everything was fine until about six months ago.

Around the time I started having the panic attacks, my right eye started hurting. My good eye. The one I can see with. Then came headaches and dizziness. And now, most recently, floaters—swirly black specks blurring my vision.

So, it was back to the local doctor who ran tests and couldn’t find a cause.

Then back to the specialist in Indy. He examined my good eye and couldn’t find the culprit. So he proscribed a whole range of new tests I’d never heard of and, apparently, the hospital hadn’t either—they had to look them up.

It was a nightmare. An absolute fucking nightmare. They were testing me for some horrible, horrible things that offered nothing but suffering. Hell, at one point, they thought I had Behcet’s disease. Let me tell you, stuff like that really doesn’t make therapy and trying to deal with near-crippling panic attacks any easier.

Thankfully, the doctors decided it’s not Behcet’s disease—I don’t have the lesions. Instead, they diagnosed me with fibromyaglia. Sill a terrible disorder, but not as terrible as Behcet’s. The bad thing is even with that diagnosis they still don’t have a clue what the fuck is wrong with my sighted eye other than some kind of Vasculitis, a swelling of the blood vessels.

A Whirlwind of Razor Blades

This blog started out as something very different under a very different name. See, I walked through a whirlwind of razorblades and came out the other side bleeding but still standing. With my vision stained crimson, I took a look at life and said, “Ha! I beat you! You threw nothing but shit my way and I’m still here.”

I was proud of myself and I believed it, believed I had won...until the day I thought I was having a heart attack.

It was just like that. Everything fine and then—bam! Trouble breathing. Heart racing. Pain in my chest. Thoughts flying: What’s happening? What’s wrong with me? Oh fuck, I’m gonna die!

Somehow I drove myself to the medical clinic close to my house. The nurses called my husband at work. He rushed over. The clinic ran all sorts of tests and then sent me to the hospital for more.

Turns out I wasn’t having a heart attack. It was a panic attack.

That revelation blew me away—a panic attack?!?! Really? Are you sure? I’ve had panic attacks before and—

Nope. You have not had panic attacks before. You’ve been anxious. You’ve been worried. And you’ve even been fearful. This, however, is your first panic attack and it’s a big mean bitch....

The panic attack sent me back to therapy to face the monster in my head-space. I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about the monster yet—to name it. Maybe soon. But first? It gets worse...In the midst of everything else came some other health issues.