Where the Performance Ends and She Begins

For a number of years, the Internet, and specifically Facebook, has been a sort of catalyst for me to build a pseudo-social life, when my social phobia made it very difficult for me to have a real one.

The Internet is easy, right?. You post photos. You post thoughts. You post videos or ideas. You post all of these things that come from you, and you get instant feedback. You keep in touch. You see what your friends are up to. You tell everyone about your period -- wait, what? Yeah... sometimes I might go too far.

Because you don't see the faces of the people you're communicating with  or their reactions, it's easy to say anything that comes to your mind. You become so preoccupied with the fact that you can say anything, that you don't stop to think about whether you should say something. When you're alone at your computer, it's easy to forget you have an audience sometimes.

Even in my pre-connected days, before the social phobia got horrible, I was somewhat of an outrageous human being. I was still really honest in my feelings. I was still a weirdo. I was still a little crazy sometimes. The only real difference was that my audience was smaller and, naturally, more intimate. I'd act stupid in front of a few people rather than a few hundred people. The significant difference, of course, is the former made hilarious memories I still look back fondly on, while the latter has become an expected circus act that I'm not even sure I get joy from anymore.

It's something that's been on my mind a lot for about the last 6 months, and something that a few friends have brought up to me. Why do I post some of the things I post? How much of my online activity is actually something I enjoy that is benefiting me, and how much of it is a performance that's become expected? I really don't like who I am right now. Sometimes it's difficult to differentiate where the performance ends and I begin. There have been days when I post things completely out of character. There are days when I feel like an Internet-powered marionette, dancing and posting and clicking the like button on photos and statuses.

I know why I started, and I know why it got worse about 2 years ago. I don't know why I continue. I look around and realize nobody else posts these things, and so obviously there is a reason for that. I think maybe part of me has kept up the "Girl Who Will Post Anything" show because I'm afraid to stop. I'm afraid that if I'm not posting things to shock people that I'll be forgotten and fade away. I'm afraid I'll disappear. I'm afraid I'll feel alone. Is that a good enough reason to keep making a fool of myself, or are my fears unfounded? I guess I'll find out soon.

I'm going to try not to invest as much time into Facebook, and I want to be more mindful of what I do post. Part of it has been a fun social experiment, seeing how people react to content that doesn't fit into the nice little box of what's expected. Part of it has been hilarious, coming up with new ways to announce my period. But, for the last two months, it's felt more like a chore than anything. While I know that a lot of people enjoy my "monthly" posts, all good things must eventually end. I need to spend more time living in the real world rather than simply existing in codes.

Don't Be Frightened of Turning the Page

In life, change is inevitable. Running away from a new experience or holding onto the past will only end in a dreary sameness that will follow you through your days. So much of the change in my life has been negative... catastrophically so at times, and so I have to remind myself often: don't be frightened of turning the page.

The name of an EP put out by my favorite band, and also a great bit of advice: don't be frightened of turning the page. Fear can run my life if I let it, and I sure used to. I went years without meeting new people or trying new things outside of what I deemed "safe". To this day, I have to really push myself not to dwell in the past and to look towards the future.

Some things will always be difficult for me, like meeting someone new. However, when I force myself to look through that fear; that social phobia, and just do it anyway, it's nearly always ended in a really great experience. Especially recently. Sometimes you just have to let people in and trust they won't mess up the place.

When I look back at all I've done in the last year; all the things that scared me half to death but I did anyway... it's crazy. I think about what my life would be like if I let that fear determine my actions, and it's scary. I wouldn't be going to school to better my career options, I wouldn't have gotten my driver's license, I wouldn't have met some of the people I currently care about. I'd be stuck in an endless loop of fear, followed by inaction.

I think it's important to do what scares you sometimes. You'll never know what you're capable of otherwise, or what happiness awaits you. Whether it's a career move, the ending of a relationship, or the beginning of a new one, change can be a really great thing if you can push your fear aside long enough to embrace it.

An Unreasonably Belated Kindersley Post About Farm Life

In between school semesters last month, Darwin and I took a trip to the now-familiar town of Kindersley, Saskatchewan. Being Dave's home town and where his family lives, I try to take every possible opportunity to get up there to visit family and experience the farming lifestyle.

We spent about 2 weeks there, which coincided with the beginning of seeding season. Being a city kid for the majority of my life, spending time on a farm is like walking into another world. It's a world I always seem to have a thousand questions about, and while I'm there, I try to ask as many as I can without being too annoying.

The opportunity for Darwin to spend time with his cousins, aunts & uncles, and of course Grandma and Grandpa is always a lot of fun, and he enjoys it a great deal. It'd been a year since we'd last set foot in Kindersley, and with Darwin a lot older, he got to experience more than he had last year. He even got a ride in the seeder, which Grandpa let him drive for a little while on our last evening there.

Meals in the field are a common theme. Everything is precooked by either Glenda (my mother-in-law) or Briana (my sister-in-law) and packaged up to take out. All the food, dishes and other supplies are loaded into a van, which has a table installed in the back, and, communicating by radio, a hot meal is taken directly to the men in the field. It's eaten quickly, often while discussing work, and then they're all back to their tasks.

It's amazing and inspiring to see how everyone works to well together. The days are long, the work is hard, and I never heard a single complaint. It certainly makes the typical 8-hour work day look cushy in comparison, and it's all done with the noble goal of helping feed the world. It makes me happy that Darwin can be exposed to, and experience the farming lifestyle, as it is certainly one I respect a great deal.

Everyone eating in the field.

Beginning to clean up 

With Grandpa by the seeder.

Contemplating the field.

Helping grandpa seed.

The Joy in Solitude / The Joy in Company

I think most of us are either one or the other: introverts or extroverts. The basic difference between the two is that introverts recharge when they're alone, while extroverts recharge when they're surrounded by people. To those of you who know me only online (which, lets face it, is nearly all of you), you might be surprised to know that I am a full-blown introvert. While my online persona is outgoing, and occasionally hilarious, the me in my daily life is much different. Quite awkward, really.

The Joy in Solitude - If I don't get at least 4 hours of total alone time each night, not many days have to go by before I start to become exhausted. This has been a challenge in the past when I lived with whatever boyfriend at the time, and is largely why I'm such a night person. I usually get my alone time after everyone else goes to bed, and I will gladly forgo sleep (I average about 5 hours a night now) in favor of time spent alone. I spend much of this time reflecting inwardly and enjoying the fading away of the mental noise brought on by having people around me for the entire day. I listen to music, write, draw, work on homework, play video games, watch YouTube videos, or sometimes I'll just sit in silence and think about whatever is plaguing my mind that day.

The Joy in Company - Some people think that just because a person likes being alone, that they like being alone all the time. While this is true for some people, it isn't for me. I like spending time with people, but I tend to be picky about who I spend my time with. Rather than having dozens of friends I have to juggle spending time with, I have only a few I see regularly, and a few more that I see on an infrequent basis. I love them all dearly. All of my friendships tend to be quite deep and meaningful. I've had intense and thought provoking conversations with each of them and know their fears and secrets. I've laughed and cried with them. We've been through horrible things together: leaning on one another at our weakest and celebrating triumphs at our strongest.

I think that, no matter who you are, having both is healthy. Sometimes you need to be alone and other times you just want someone to sit with you. Some people like hanging out in big crowds, while other people (like most of us introverts) would rather hang out one-on-one or with a very small group of close friends. Alone time and time spent with others has to have a balance; too much of either will only make you feel burned out or lonely after a while.

The Bullshit Necessity of Positivity and Happiness

If you'd asked me, in my teens and early twenties, what I thought about happiness and having a positive outlook on life, I'd have told you it was bullshit. This brooding, jet-black haired misfit with her eyes painted to match would have scowled at the notion of happiness; dismissing it before jamming a safety pin through the skin on her arm just to feel... something. Yes, the Wendy of yesterday was worlds different than the one typing these words at her computer at 2 in the morning. At least I like to think so.

I was pissed off at the world. I felt victimized by society. I was a girl who had walked the plank of life and barely held on. I burned in fires of hatred towards those who had wronged me in my life. I was afraid. I was bitter. I was angry. Surrounded by people, yet I still felt alone. I saw psychologists. I was sedated with medication. Friends meant well but opening up to them was difficult or impossible. Half the time I just wanted to disappear. The other half was spent on various forms of escapism. I wasn't a happy girl, and I hated myself.

Fast-forward a few years and the pure, honest love I find in Dave has me uprooting my life to be with him. I leave behind everything (including my cigarette addiction and well-established life) to start over with a man holding a promise of love. True love. How romantic. For the first time in my life I felt adored, and I adored him. One beautiful year and a baby later, life kicks me in the face once again, taking Dave from me.

If you're a long time reader, you know the rest of this story already. I blogged every thought in my head over the months following his death. It was all I could do to stay sane and to stop the dreadfully lonely feeling I held inside. Therapeutic, it was, and I made a very important decision in those post-death months.

I made a conscious decision to be happy. Of all the things Dave taught me, the most important was that life is so preciously short and beautiful. As much as I instinctively wanted to drown in my inner well of melancholy; to paint everything in my life a shade of black, I couldn't let myself do that. That little fire inside me kindled by the love I found with Dave wasn't ready to be snuffed out. Instead, I wanted to use that fire to light a path for Darwin and for myself moving forward.

Making a decision to be happy and positive about your life when nothing has ever gone according to plan isn't easy. It's one of the hardest things I've had to do, and keep doing. Each and every day I need to remind myself to look for the beauty in ugly things; to find the light in the dark; and to focus on the positive rather than the negative. It seems my mind's default setting is still firmly in "depressed" mode, but when you make the conscious effort to think about things differently rather than dwelling, it makes a pretty big difference in how you handle the stress of daily life.

All of the horrible things that have happened in my life can only control me if I allow them to. They've shaped the strong woman I've become, but I can't let them define me. I don't want to give them that power over my life. Sure, occasionally the old Wendy makes her way to the forefront of my mind, in all her depressive glory,  and I'd be lying if I told you I didn't try to hide her, so as not to appear weak. I remind myself that light is meaningless without darkness, and that life is meaningless without experience: good and bad.

Am I happy? I mean... truly happy? Has all this "choosing happiness" shit made a difference? Yeah. It's made a difference. While I've not yet met a point in my life where I see myself as being truly happy, I'm an ever-changing work in progress. There are still some missing pieces, but I'm working hard to have the life I want, and I now try to take the bumps along the way in stride. At the very least, I'm worlds away from what I very well could have turned out to be, given my circumstances. I don't think I'd have survived it if I didn't force myself into a more positive mindset.

I'll Place You in a Tiny Pocket in My Heart

In life, nothing is ever certain. You could drop dead at any moment, or live to see 100. Life can turn on a dime, and there is often no way to prepare for or alter the direction a path takes. This is never more true than when it comes to the people we walk those paths with.

Whether it's a friend, a lover, a life partner or even a family member, nobody is permanent. This is something I've learned, and re-learned the hard way. All our lives are a series of places, and who we share those places with. The sad fact, in all of this, is that everyone you love will leave you eventually. Everyone. There might be irreparable damage from an argument, or you may cease having anything in common. Perhaps they'll die or you lose touch when one of you moves away. Maybe one of you will hurt the other in a way that can never be forgiven. Perhaps they will leave without ever really saying why. 

People come in and out of our lives all the time. Some for 5 minutes and others for 50 years. Logically, I guess it makes sense to keep your heart locked away, so that the pain of loss is never too great. It makes sense to remain cold to those around you so that you never truly get attached to their presence in your life; so it won't hurt when they inevitably go. Life is so much easier when it's all a blur, void of detail or familiar faces.  Yet, as hard as I've tried, I've never been able to live that way for very long.

Turning my heart to stone was the easy part: Avoid interaction; reject any advances; make excuses to stay home. Keep people at a distance; keep interactions short (and digital, where possible) and avoid asking or answering too many questions. Soon you'll have yourself convinced that your heart is bulletproof, and it might stay that way for months and even years. For as many walls as you put up, however, there is someone who is apt to break them down.

When someone comes along with just the right weapons to break through your barricades, it's terrifying. Terrifying because you've forgotten how to react. Terrifying because you realize it's something you want. Terrifying because if you let yourself hold it, you won't want to let it go. Terrifying because you know you'll have to, sooner or later. 

I'd rather feel pain after having cared for someone than to feel nothing at all. When someone breaks through the walls I've been guarding for so long, I will place them into a tiny pocket in my heart. There they will remain for all of my days, and whether they were in my life for a few months or several years, I will look back fondly on the memories we shared and the gift of their company. I no longer carry the romantic delusion of "forever" that a younger me believed in so passionately. It makes it easier to appreciate what you have, when you acknowledge that it could be gone at any minute. A steady hand holding your heart long-term is a beautiful thing in its rarity, but expecting it will likely end in disappointment. Appreciate the people in your life for as long as they're in your life, know that the experiences you have with them will remain in your memory until your last breath, but never hold on too tightly. 

Her Morbid Fascination

Something I've never shared with you guys is a weird addiction I've had, which started just a few weeks after Dave passed. If you asked me for a reason why I started, I'd say I just wanted to feel like I wasn't alone.

I might as well just come out and say it: For the last two years, I've been obsessed with death and everything surrounding it. There have been times where I've spent hours watching videos of people dying. Hours clicking link after link, each one taking me to some new horror: Here's a man putting a gun in his mouth and pulling the trigger; I see blood pour out of his nose and mouth like a faucet turned on full. His white shirt turns red in seconds. Another link takes me to a video of a beheading, where a man's screams turn to gurgles before falling silent as a machete removes his head from his body. Another video shows a group of angry people in some part of Africa burning men and women alive. They keep kicking them back into the flames until they stop trying to get back up. One man submits to his fate and I watch his skin char and peel away, exposing pink flesh underneath.

A slew of suicides. Violence, hard to comprehend a reason for. Murder, up close and personal in the era of camera phones and surveillance streams. All of these video clips sought out by a girl who desperately wants to desensitize herself to her past. A coping strategy that, rather than hiding from it, brings death front and center and stares it in the face. No death is unique. It's an inevitable part of life for each and every one of us. After watching thousands of people meet their end, it's become apparent that no death is special or more tragic than another. Life is life. Loss is loss. Whether you get sucked into a jet engine or bleed to death from a fatal stab wound, the end result is the same. People will mourn the ending of your life, and for those closest to you, it will be earth shattering.

Has subjecting myself to this morbidity helped me in any way? It's hard for me to make that judgement. I do know that it has provided a sort of comfort during some dark times, but I don't believe I'm desensitized. Where Internet pictures and videos are concerned, I can watch anything without flinching or really reacting at all. While it doesn't apply to real life scenarios, it's disturbing to me that I can watch a video of a woman hanging herself and not be affected by it. The people I see in the photo files and video clips mean nothing to me, aside from the fact that we are of the same species. When I look at their faces: the eyes, noses and mouths of people who had lives and loved ones, I don't see anything familiar. They are just faces. I feel nothing for them.

It is only when someone close to you dies that the mechanics of death begin to suffocate you. You know what was lost. You felt them; heard them breathe. You had conversations and secrets. You knew what made them happy and what made them cry. You made memories.

I'll never be desensitized to the icy sting of death. I no longer want to be, because that would mean I'd have to lose more people I care about. I'd have to keep losing them until I couldn't feel anymore, and what kind of existence is that?