When I was in elementary school, there was one thing I loved to do in gym class: the crab walk. You essentially walked on your hands and feet, facing the ceiling, with your hands and feet taking equal body weight. Since I've always had a great center of gravity (read: huge ass), this was easy for me to do. Kids couldn't make fun of my lack of athleticism, or pick me last for a team. I rocked the crab walk, and I enjoyed myself!
This past week, I had a meltdown. A good old-fashioned, "holy crap what do I do now?" freak-out. When I freak, I usually cry for long periods of time, and then sleep for weeks. No, not kidding. My body retreats like Hitler from Russia. Just gets the hell out of Dodge and into bed for huge periods of time, getting up to go to the bathroom and eat once in a while. The reason for this particular delve into Hell, using my 20/20 hindsight, was two-fold; I was taking on way too much at once, and I was losing my voice because of it. I still don't have my voice back completely, and it's cost me a few gigs. I had to pull out of a concert run in the middle of the performances, after I'd already worked my ass off, and then take myself out of a couple more before I worked my ass off again and figured out my voice truly couldn't be pushed anymore. The emotional and physical toll of the past few months has been too much to bear, and my voice forcefully took the vacation I was unwilling to give. To quote Mr. Whedon: "Grrr.... Arrrgghh".
What is interesting to me is that when this was all going down, I was still kind of in control....OK, maybe not at first. Crying hysterically in front of friends and family, and then in front of BSO management, is probably what most people would not deem "in control", but let me do a comparison for you.
In my spectacularly crazy years, I would have pushed myself to do the performances anyway, wailing and gnashing my teeth in the downtime. I would have completely "stripped the gears" of my voice, and then I would have landed swiftly in an ER, because I pushed too hard, and was ready to jump off the Tobin. An alternative scenario is that I would have pulled out of the performances, and then ended up in an ER because I disappointed people, including myself, and was ready to jump off the Tobin. (I wish I was being facetious.)
My brain cannot handle "bowing out" or "saying no" to anything. As I walked to the Hall on Thursday night, I had to convince myself with every step across Mass Ave and down the stairs at the stage door that I would not do bodily harm to myself just because I had to bow out of a gig. (*clomp* You will NOT hurt yourself, *clomp* you will NOT hurt yourself.) The thought of disappointing colleagues, friends, family, people-I-don't-even-know-but-who-expect-me-to-do-something is paralyzing and so enraging that I would rather die. That is the nature of my illness: Step 1, take on too much, Step 2, have to pull out of something/ say no to someone, Step 3 figure out how not to hurt myself over it. Stupid, eh? Welcome to my crazy-ass brain. Population: 1 ridonkulous girl called Laura.
OK, so I took myself out of performance #1 of last week's gig, tried to do a bit more anyway, failed, and then took myself out of everything for a few weeks in order to give my voice the rest it needed. And I'm here typing this blog in the comfort of my own home, and not a psych ward community room with internet access, because I stayed relatively "in control". I had a horrible crying jag, but did NOT let my body retreat. I can't sing right now, and it sucks not to do the thing I love most in the world. I lllloooovvveee to sing. But I also enjoy sanity. I am functioning as an employee of 2 different institutions, cooking for my husband here and there (God Bless Pinterest), and keeping the rest of my life going. As a very very very very super-smart friend said to me, bewilderment in her voice: "You're taking care of yourself. Why would that ever be wrong?" Stupid Laura wants to answer: "Because I've let people down. Because it's now proven that I can't do it all!" Slightly-Less-Stupid Laura is now going to answer: "Oh yeah, that's true. I guess this decision is the best thing for the moment."
Stupid Laura wants to see this as a huge step backward in the journey toward a healthier brain. Slightly-Less-Stupid Laura is going to see this as a bit of crab walk. Because I rock the crab walk, and I'm going to enjoy myself.
This past week, I had a meltdown. A good old-fashioned, "holy crap what do I do now?" freak-out. When I freak, I usually cry for long periods of time, and then sleep for weeks. No, not kidding. My body retreats like Hitler from Russia. Just gets the hell out of Dodge and into bed for huge periods of time, getting up to go to the bathroom and eat once in a while. The reason for this particular delve into Hell, using my 20/20 hindsight, was two-fold; I was taking on way too much at once, and I was losing my voice because of it. I still don't have my voice back completely, and it's cost me a few gigs. I had to pull out of a concert run in the middle of the performances, after I'd already worked my ass off, and then take myself out of a couple more before I worked my ass off again and figured out my voice truly couldn't be pushed anymore. The emotional and physical toll of the past few months has been too much to bear, and my voice forcefully took the vacation I was unwilling to give. To quote Mr. Whedon: "Grrr.... Arrrgghh".
What is interesting to me is that when this was all going down, I was still kind of in control....OK, maybe not at first. Crying hysterically in front of friends and family, and then in front of BSO management, is probably what most people would not deem "in control", but let me do a comparison for you.
In my spectacularly crazy years, I would have pushed myself to do the performances anyway, wailing and gnashing my teeth in the downtime. I would have completely "stripped the gears" of my voice, and then I would have landed swiftly in an ER, because I pushed too hard, and was ready to jump off the Tobin. An alternative scenario is that I would have pulled out of the performances, and then ended up in an ER because I disappointed people, including myself, and was ready to jump off the Tobin. (I wish I was being facetious.)
My brain cannot handle "bowing out" or "saying no" to anything. As I walked to the Hall on Thursday night, I had to convince myself with every step across Mass Ave and down the stairs at the stage door that I would not do bodily harm to myself just because I had to bow out of a gig. (*clomp* You will NOT hurt yourself, *clomp* you will NOT hurt yourself.) The thought of disappointing colleagues, friends, family, people-I-don't-even-know-but-who-expect-me-to-do-something is paralyzing and so enraging that I would rather die. That is the nature of my illness: Step 1, take on too much, Step 2, have to pull out of something/ say no to someone, Step 3 figure out how not to hurt myself over it. Stupid, eh? Welcome to my crazy-ass brain. Population: 1 ridonkulous girl called Laura.
OK, so I took myself out of performance #1 of last week's gig, tried to do a bit more anyway, failed, and then took myself out of everything for a few weeks in order to give my voice the rest it needed. And I'm here typing this blog in the comfort of my own home, and not a psych ward community room with internet access, because I stayed relatively "in control". I had a horrible crying jag, but did NOT let my body retreat. I can't sing right now, and it sucks not to do the thing I love most in the world. I lllloooovvveee to sing. But I also enjoy sanity. I am functioning as an employee of 2 different institutions, cooking for my husband here and there (God Bless Pinterest), and keeping the rest of my life going. As a very very very very super-smart friend said to me, bewilderment in her voice: "You're taking care of yourself. Why would that ever be wrong?" Stupid Laura wants to answer: "Because I've let people down. Because it's now proven that I can't do it all!" Slightly-Less-Stupid Laura is now going to answer: "Oh yeah, that's true. I guess this decision is the best thing for the moment."
Stupid Laura wants to see this as a huge step backward in the journey toward a healthier brain. Slightly-Less-Stupid Laura is going to see this as a bit of crab walk. Because I rock the crab walk, and I'm going to enjoy myself.
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