“Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.” ― Friedrich Nietzsche

I last posted on this blog in June of last year and I'm not quite sure if I'm quite ready to discuss all that has happened to me since that time or even during that time, but I know that I miss writing and am in need of an outlet. It's strange that I finally landed on this blog as the way I was going to start talking about how I'm feeling and coping with life, as I really didn't start it that way. In fact, it was a gateway to telling my story, which I still intend to finish.....eventually. However, I think I always had it in my mind that one day I would be on the other side of all that I have endured and would be able to tell my story from the perspective of someone who overcame. Today I finally accepted that it might be better for me to tell my story as it is happening. Not because I really feel an overwhelming desire to broadcast my life to the world, I actually am extremely terrified about that aspect of what I'm doing. I tend to be a very closed off person and opening up to people in the ways I need or they need me to is not my forte. I guess I also worry that people will feel a need to guide the little "wounded bird" as they read what I'm discussing and I guess I'll have to accept that as it comes. I mean, what else did I think would happen by discussing my life in a public forum? So, I guess for the next little bit, my posts are going to be more journal-like in nature and less the chapter book I was working on. I guess this way, you all get to see the "action" as it unfolds.

Lucky you. (She says sarcastically.)

I am coming to the end of another school year. It has been full of wonderful and terrifying experiences and in many ways my head is still spinning from trying to make sense of it all. The first two weeks of the fall semester I cried nonstop. My poor therapist was on the phone with me every day talking me through my fears, insecurities, and pain. If I'm being honest, I wasn't certain that I was even going to continue with school after the horrendous events that defined my summer. 

I distinctly remember the first day of my performance class for opera and hoping that no one would notice me. I picked a side of the room that I felt I could melt away into, avoiding any notice for the entire year. I was convinced that if anyone saw me perform or sing, everyone would realize that I was a fraud, unworthy of being in the vocal performance program with little hope of ever having a career. I imagined all the comments people would say about me to their colleagues in the program, the faces that they would pull as I performed. I just knew that it was going to be a disaster. I couldn't get my brain to envision any other outcome. These are not super helpful thoughts for one who is majoring in performance. I don't know how else to describe what was going on, except that I was shaken to my core after the summer and had little confidence that my future would be successful. 

The instructor wanted everyone to introduce themselves, their voice type, and one word to describe how they felt about the coming year. Hiding was no longer and option, and finding an acceptable lie to describe how I felt about the coming year was beyond my capabilities.

"Terrified." 

The instructor didn't like my answer, but it was my truth. I felt like saying anything remotely hopeful would have been fake. My body had been shaking for the entirety of the class, sometimes the anxiety is more than I can contain. 

Throughout the rest of the year, I have fought through that terror, attempting to hide it as much as I possibly could. Two days before auditions for the opera's, I had a conversation with my voice teacher about how I didn't think I could pull off a successful audition. She wouldn't let me give up. Twenty minutes before that same audition, I called my therapist in a panic. He wouldn't let me give up. 

I survived.

I was given many wonderful opportunities because I was encouraged to push through. I think somewhere along the way, I was able to start pushing myself through all of it. But I'm tired. I've had many glorious successes this year. There have been wonderful mentors who've encouraged and supported me along the way. And still, I look back at this school year, which isn't quite finished yet, and I want to crumble. I look at the amount of music still needing to be memorized, compositions that need to be finished, tests still needing to be taken, and an opera still needing to be performed and I want to curl up on my floor and close my eyes. I feel this way not because of the stress from school, but because I'm tired of picking myself up. 

The secret of life is to fall seven times and get up eight. 

Toward the beginning of spring semester, I decided that the only way I could possibly protect myself, was to accept hard truths or lessons I had learned about myself. It helped for a time. Right now I desperately want to list all the things I've accepted about myself, but I don't know that I'm ready to share that much with the world. What I can say though, is that accepting some of these things about myself has left me in such a raw place. I don't feel myself to be on solid ground.

Summer is just around the corner, I can smell the change in the air. 

I still feel the same terror I felt that first day in class. That terror wasn't about performing. It wasn't about my apprehension for the requirements of school. The terror comes down to one thought that spins in my head constantly.

How am I supposed to live this life knowing what I am, knowing what I'm not?

It seems too much. But each day that I pull myself up off the floor, is another day that I was able to find some kind of strength. I'm so tired. This journey is a difficult one to take alone. I can hear the responses that sentence will bring. I know people will want to tell me I'm not alone. That there are people who care about me, that there is a higher power who is only a prayer away. This is a topic for another day. My only response to that is that I feel alone and in many cases have forced myself to be alone to protect other people from me. (That sounds strange. But in March, I found that it was a choice I had to make.) 

The secret of life is to fall seven times and get up eight.

My life is so far from what I imagined it would look like as a child. 

I think every little girl wants to imagine that she is the princess in her story. What happens when she realizes she is the princess trapped in the tower and the wicked witch who put her there? My story is a jumbled mess because I'm both the protagonist and the antagonist. 

That makes me a monster. Are monsters allowed to get up eight times? 

This post has been strange. It makes absolutely no sense to anyone but myself. In coming days, perhaps I can offer more details as to what any of this means. For now, I'm writing to get some of it out of my head. I'm writing to help myself attempt to make sense of what I'm feeling. And I'm writing to let myself know that I am still here. 

The secret of life is to fall seven times and get up eight.