Chris Van Hakes's Blog, page 3

Okay

Yesterday, my dog died.

He was fourteen, and he was old, and he was sick, and it was time to let him go. We miss him lots.

And I am okay. All day people were calling and checking on me, and I am just so completely okay that I don’t know where to put that okay-ness. But there it is, out there in the world, with all the other weirdly misplaced items like floral rompers and acid wash jeans and high-waisted cut-off shorts with the pockets hanging out in the junior section of every department store.

One of the things I am learning about life is that when something sad happens, it is alright to be sad. Isn’t that amazing? I grew up in an environment where if someone was sad, they were shunned, or hurt, or blamed, or neglected. And so I think I had about 35 years worth of sadness to catch up on.

It’s been a bit like using one of those Biore nose strips for the first time, where you go, “EWWWWWWW BARF I CAN’T BELIEVE THAT WAS IN ME WHERE DID IT COME FROM?” Except with tears instead of clogged face pores. (I am the queen of the metaphor, no?) I cry and cry and I don’t know WHY, but then I feel so much better.

Yesterday, when my sweet, sweet Malcolm dog died, I was sad. Gregg was sad. The boys were sad. My kids are teaching me how to be sad when a sad thing happens, and then to let go and live. Kids are amazingly smart like that. They’ve got it all down, and it’s our job as adults to pay as close attention as we can, to figure out how to get back to that place where we knew how to just be.

So, there it is. I am doing a lot to keep my head above water, including more drugs, more therapy (today my therapist clapped and said “yaaay!” after I described how I left the house without cleaning all the dishes and the world did not end!) (it seems that keeping a tightly controlled environment and life was one way I coped with being abused for so long), and so much running that my legs feel like they are going to fall off. 

I’m also trying to not look 50 steps into the future. I don’t make plans farther than the weekend, but mostly not into the hour. I don’t know what I’m going to do with my life. I don’t know if I want to continue this blog or my book or writing, or become a chicken trainer with the circus, or sell fruit on the side of the road, or become a puppeteer. I have absolutely no clue anymore. And for the first time, instead of feeling scary, it feels good. Or at least okay.

I hope you’re okay, too, and hey, thank you. Thank you so much for your thoughts and your prayers and your concern. I can feel it. It helps. Everything helps. Thank you. You are an enormous blessing in my life.

Declaring Email Bankruptcy; Our Malaria-Free Goal; Mental Health Update

That’s a long title, but it seems better to compress everything into one post than three small ones, yeah?

1. I had this GREAT GREAT IDEA. I was going to reply to EVERYONE who left a comment or emailed or tweeted or left me a facebook comment, because OBVIOUSLY I was going to be feeling amazingly better this week, and would be able to do everything I used to do, easily.

It turns out that while I desperately WANT to say THANK YOU, very individually and personally to everyone, I can’t. Not yet. But I am thinking grateful wonderful thoughts about each and every one of you, and until then, I declare email bankruptcy.

2. Did you donate to FHI 360? THANK YOU. If you donated and forwarded your receipt to readingandchickens@gmail.com, then I have your total and am going to match it! If you donated and put my name/the blog name on the “in memory of” spot (or whatever it’s called), I…did not. Would you mind so very much forwarding me the amount you sent? So I can match it and tell everyone else how much awesome we collectively have? (Spoiler: a lot.)

So far, it’s looking like we’ve raised something like $2000. TWO. THOUSAND. DOLLARS.

You all are amazing. (But I will still match until June 12! If you want to donate, do it!)

3. I am better, but not as better as I want to be. I wish I could give you a better update. I made dinner for the first time in weeks yesterday (it was pancakes, but STILL). I took Sachin to t-ball. I haven’t laid in bed sobbing in DAYS. Days, I tell you! I’ve been to all of the doctors. So, so many doctors. I wish I could tell you that everything is fine and back to normal, but I’m not there yet. Thank you for your kindness and your understanding and your prayers. I can feel them all, and they make me cry. A lot. Good tears.

I promise to tell you when I don’t feel quite so fragile about absolutely everything. I hope I can say it will be tomorrow, or Monday, or next week, but I just don’t know yet. I am not there, but I am finally at a place where I don’t care quite so much that I’m not, that I’m okay with trying and figuring it out, and slowly, slowly, finding out that everything here is just as good as everything there. 

This Is Real

There is absolutely, positively nothing I can say about my depression that hasn’t been written by someone else before. And yet, even though I know I’m boring you, the fact remains: writing here helps.

It helps to tell you that I sometimes spontaneously cry, and then ten minutes later have a great idea for a tumblr. (Do you want to know? No? I’m going to tell you anyway.

It would be called, “Is this gluten-free?” And then I’d post a picture of a banana, or an orange, or grass, or a dog, or a fork. Or bread. Genius, right? Someone do this now. I’d do it, but I’m too tired.)

 

Is this wheat bread gluten-free?

That’s the other thing. I’m tired. I’m so so so so so so tired. Of course, this means the very logical thing that I cannot sleep. I can fall asleep, but then I wake up, because I have a bad dream, or because I hear my alarm clock, or because the dog stretches out. Or because air falls on my face. I wake up and then I can’t go back to sleep, and I’m totally and completely alone in the dark, staring at my ceiling.

And then there is the (trigger warning: are you triggered by completely disgusting bodily details? WARNING, HERE IT COMES)…the…the diarrhea. I am losing weight and feeling dehydrated and pooping it all in the toilet. Whenever I have a depressive episode, my insides cannot keep my food in me. I’ve basically had a terrible case of the runs for twenty years.

There are other physical side effects of depression: muscle aches, headaches, loss of appetite.

I wanted to make a video of me taste testing potato chips. (They would all be good.) But eh.

But the worst is where I regret telling Gregg that I was feeling suicidal. I regret that now he’s watching me, and taking care of me. I regret that I don’t have the energy to make dinner, or fold the laundry, or fill out job applications. (I also have been going on every single job interview ever and being rejected. I don’t know why. CAN’T THEY SEE MY SUNNY DISPOSITION?) (I might have some bad timing.)

I am going to get through this. That’s what I keep telling myself. I am not sugar-coating anything anymore. I am upset and I am sad, but the upside is: there is absolutely positively nothing scary right now. I can make phone calls without anxiety, because fuck, that’s nothing compared to suicide. I can have awful diarrhea in a major league ballpark bathroom because WHO CARES. I can tell the Internet that I was sexually abused and physically hurt and neglected because WHAT CAN ANYONE DO TO ME?

So, I hope being squashed to the absolute bottom of the barrel means that I can get up. I’m a tiny bit better than I was yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. But I’m not there yet. I hope that being so honest about how awful this disease is, how it grips people and won’t shake them loose, how it is relentless, will let you know: this is real.

This is real. So if you know anyone who has been in my position, you give them all the love in the world. They need it.

Depressed People Do It Better

And by “it,” I of course mean nothing. 

Need that car cleaned? I’m not your woman!

Need those dishes washed? Don’t look at me.

Those taxes need to be filed? What the hell are extensions for, except depressed people?

Need to harass meat-eaters and hand out PETA pamphlets? My can of red paint is empty.

The baby needs to be nursed? Formula for all! (Sorry, La Leche League. Not everyone can be motivated to lactate, okay?)

Someone on the Internet needs to cause a kerfuffle because every single tragedy can be transformed into a self-absorbed rant? Darn! I’m all out of fucks to give!

The container of sour cream needs to be eaten? Well, why didn’t you say so? I just so happen to have a spoon under my pillow right here. Wait a second and I’ll just lick off the ice cream residue from last night. (Wink, wink, nudge, nudge. I was doing something dirty in bed with ice cream. Oh yeah. Eating a whole container in my dirty t-shirt and wiping my tears and snot on the bed sheets. Oooh baby.)

I told you we do it better.

But seriously.

This is my serious face. It is also my proof that I know I was separated at birth from someone famous.

It’s kind of like discovering I’m Oprah’s long-lost half sister.

But seriously. Thank you for your emails and comments and your messages and well, everything. I’m going to respond to every single one of you (one day, when I’m not eating sour cream in bed), not because I have to, but because I want to, to let you know how much it means to me that you reached out.

Thank you. It really, really helps. It helps to feel less alone, and to know that I’m allowed to be sad for all the shitty things that happened to me, and that the sadness will not consume me completely anymore and I don’t have to feel stuck or trapped or like a victim. I can soar now. I can let it go and let it fly off like a bird or on eagle’s wings or 99 luftballoons.

And I hope that if you’re feeling as terrible as I’ve been feeling, you can reach out to someone, maybe even me, and tell about it. I’ll even share my container of sour cream with you.

This Is The Vague Story of a Suicide That Didn’t Happen

You wouldn’t think it to talk to me, look at me, even live with me, but I’ve had a rough month.

See, I decided to stop lying about things. I thought it would be a great thing, telling the truth, but…can you imagine?

Before lying: 

“Wow, what great hair!” I would say to the be-mulleted lady at the airline ticket counter, hoping she’ll seat me somewhere nice.

After lying:

*silence*

*blink*

*horrified stare*

It gets worse than that, though. So, so much worse. I decided to not only stop lying to other people (and hey, sometimes I slip up, and then I have to put on my hairshirt and repent), but to myself. I decided to stop lying that I had a non-shitty childhood, that I didn’t thrive because I was abused and neglected to a crazy degree. I’d tell you the details, but…I’d be lying in saying that I’m comfortable telling you the details. I’m not. Maybe one day.

I can tell you a few things, though. I was almost constantly harassed. I wasn’t ever taken care of. Teeth fell out of my mouth, rotted, because I couldn’t go to the dentist. Things were…dire. Hopeless. Like, 50 Shades of Grey up for a Pulitzer type hopeless. Google Plus becoming popular type hopeless. Kim Kardashian being classy type hopeless.

But why I am I oversharing this? Because a few weeks ago I told the truth about how bad my childhood was to some of the people involved. It didn’t go well. I didn’t expect it to go well, but it really didn’t go well.

And then I had all these feelings. Don’t you hate feelings? Me too. I had feelings I’d never had before. I cried all the time. All day long. In the bathtub. While eating cereal. While cooking dinner. While reading 50 Shades of Grey. 

And I thought, “This is good. I’m getting it all out.” Except it wasn’t good. It was too much. My brain overloaded. I had more fights with some of those people. They denied things. It made me feel sick and sad and alone. Then I found out a very nice, healthy father of two I know was dying of cancer, and I thought, “That should be me.”

That’s a normal thought, right?

Right.

I wanted very, very much to die. And that’s why I’m telling you this. I wanted to die, and I didn’t die. I had a plan. I had a detailed time and date and method and location. I researched things.

I told you it was dire.

And here is what saved me: telling. I told Gregg. I didn’t really want to, but I also didn’t want him to think any of it was his fault. I wanted to let him know that I was simply a waste of space as a human being, and it had absolutely nothing to do with him or the boys, and there was nothing he could do.

Of course he talked and talked and talked to me. Hours and days. He’s still talking, because I am still there sometimes.

Then I cried some more. I upped my meds. I went to therapy. I cried even more. I wrote a scathing letter to the people who abused and neglected me. Then I deleted it, because I’d already told them and it hadn’t mattered. (Well, it hadn’t mattered to them. It mattered to me.)

And then I prayed, and I meditated, and I ate all of the food I could get my hands on. Honestly, I’m still eating it. I’m gaining quite a lot of weight. I’m cool with that. I’m reading a lot of self-help. I’m not doing nearly as many self-destructive things. I’m looking at photos of my kids, and taking lots of walks, and being gentle with myself, and telling you. I’m not there any longer. And I’m telling you because if you’re ever in the place I was, tell someone. Anyone. The lady at the airport with the mullet, even. Don’t lie about it. I’m telling you because maybe there’s a chance all of this happened so one of you could read it and know that whatever you’re telling yourself: it’s a lie. Don’t. It’s a lie.

So I won’t lie to you about this, either: sometimes being the survivor of childhood abuse and neglect is a miserable, terrible existence, but sometimes it is the most amazing, amazing thing to be here. Sometimes I just have to hold on to the little moments of amazement, to be here, to be present, to be alive and seeing and hearing it all.

 

 

A Few Things I’ve Liked Lately

First off, I like that my dear friend Chantal has a new book out:

You can buy it here. I haven’t read it yet, but I’m going on a mini-vacation and my books are packed! (Not my bags, of course. I’m also taking The Goldfinch, which I’ve been reading for approximately 100 years, very slowly, and Bread and Wine, because books about food mean that you can eat more…for your brain.)

Second, we have raised a nice fat sum of money for eradicating drug-resistant malaria in Cambodia. Over $1800! But! The goal is $3200, and if you can even just give up a fancy cup of coffee this week and donate to them, everyone who might get drug-resistant malaria in the future would be deeply indebted to you. (Oh God, I sound like an NPR host during Pledge Drive week, don’t I? Except I DON’T EVEN HAVE TOTE BAGS.)

Third, I went to a fancy party and this happened:

That was supposed to be a photo booth photo with THREE people, but it turns out that lifestyle bloggers don’t tell you how freaking difficult it is to pose in a photobooth. IT’S HARD. Be warned. Now you know.

 

 

Uncertainties

Status update: my library job has ended until next school year, my book is still a disaster, and I’ve somehow managed to gain more weight than I did while gestating a giant baby. Oh, and I had a huge, explosive fight with some of the people who abused and neglected me when I was a child, where I realized: they are never, ever going to get it, and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.

On the outset, life isn’t looking so hot. Everything feels up in the air and uncertain and I get very verklempt over Instagram photos of sunsets and Pinterested motivational sayings lately. That’s pretty grim, you’ve got to agree.

But in reality: things are kind of great. Everything is up in the air! I have no control over the people who abused me, and I never will, so I don’t have to worry about that! I get to work on my book and I happen to love writing! Etc. etc. etc.

But.

I’m a big fan of control. I like things to be a certain way. I’m always on time. I like to straighten my wavy hair and then pin it down because otherwise it might end up looking crazy halfway through the day and I wouldn’t know it and people might look at me weird. I have a set time that I wake up, that I make dinner, that the kids do homework, that I exercise, that I answer emails, and so on. I don’t like changes in my routine. There may be multiple spreadsheets involved in my life. And sometimes I read the ending of a book before I’m even halfway done with it because I NEED TO KNOW THINGS WILL BE OKAY.

I’m giving that up. I stopped wearing a watch. Yesterday I didn’t even cook dinner, and the day before that we spontaneously went out for pizza at a local place we were driving by, just because. I got my hair cut in a way I’ve always wanted but was afraid to because 1) it means keeping my hair it’s crazy wavy self and 2) what if other people didn’t like it, because it’s so…quirky? (I also cut my own bangs this morning even shorter, because. Even though it might have turned out terrible.) (It didn’t. It looks even better, even if I’m the only one who thinks so.)

I eat whatever I want. I eat breakfast FIRST, even if I have school lunches to make and the clock is ticking and OMG I MIGHT RUN OUT OF TIME WHY AM I EATING I CAN DO THIS LATER!!! (I never run out of time.) I put a call to action out that we could $1600 collectively even though I am not really sure how that is possibly going to happen with this little blog. I am giving away $1600-plus of my money.

EVERYTHING IS UNCERTAIN AAAAH.

It feels really, really good. I’d write more, but I didn’t plan out what I was going to say, and I think I’m going to go on a little walk with my elderly dog instead. Because I have no control over what’s going to happen next, but I’m sure it will be better than anything I could have planned.

Help Me Do A Thing? (Update with donation link)

Oh, hello there, darlings! I was just discussing navel gazing with Jesus H.

Have you met him?

He’s my new friend. The H. stands for, naturally, “Hanes.” He thinks his name has a Middle Eastern origin, but he’s not sure. We’re looking into it.

So, Jesus and I were just hanging out, eating raw vegan brie (Jesus doesn’t consume animal products), discussing how I’m completely done with navel gazing, both on the blog and in life. Because, get this, I had my navel surgically removed. It is no longer possible.

The thing I’ve been doing with my time instead of navel gazing, and recovering from the quite traumatic navel removal surgery, is figuring out how to do something really, really fun. And I think I know what it is. Are you ready?

MALARIA PARTY! There ain’t no party like a malaria party, unless it’s a dengue fever party, because both are transmitted through mosquitoes with similar symptoms!

Wait, I’m getting ahead of myself. See, when I had navel removal surgery, I had to decide what I wanted to do for the rest of my life (unfortunately the surgery shortens life spans considerably, but I’m assured it was worth it AND I got a free eyebrow wax with it if I used my Groupon deal, which I did, because I’m no dummy). What I wanted to do was 1) have as much fun as possible and 2) try and make the world a teeny, tiny bit less sucktacular. Just  a little. That’s where the MALARIA PARTY! comes in.

I think we, as a group, should get rid of malaria in Cambodia. Wooooo! Keg stand! That sounds pretty fucking fantastic, am I right? And I totally think we can do it.

First, the details:

See, malaria in western Cambodia is becoming drug-resistant, which is bad news, so organizations like the Gates Foundation and FHI 360 have the task of trying to make the entire country malaria-free, so that this drug-resistant strain doesn’t spread to other regions of the world.

Here’s a nifty graphic that makes things that are horrid look pretty:

Image via 

So here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to donate money to the organization mentioned up above, FHI 360. I’m going to donate 100% of proceeds from the sale of my book via Amazon and B&N (links down below) (no, you dirty bird, not THERE), from May 12th, 2014 to June 12th, 2014, to FHI 360. I’m also going to MATCH any of your donations to FHI 360, up to $1600. All you have to do is send me proof (a photo of a check you’re mailing in, with your bank info covered, naturally, or an email receipt, or…something else). I’ll post our final tally and the big old check I mail in to FHI 360 on June 12th.

You can donate directly to FHI 360 HERE: https://donatenow.networkforgood.org/fhi360

So, you can either give me $3.99 via my book and read it, or gift it, or you can just plain old donate, if you don’t want to buy my book. I promise, I do NOT care which way you choose to donate. If you can’t do either, maybe you can spread the word of this blog post to people who DO want to donate. Or you can send some good thoughts to Cambodia. Or you can send money to FHI 360 and not tell me about it! Who cares, right?

Goal: AT LEAST $3200 to FHI 360.

But I think we can do more, don’t you? Do it for the world, do it for Jesus, or do it for your deity.

(I found this article on the issue really helpful, too.)

Lost and Found at Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

Help Me Do A Thing?

Oh, hello there, darlings! I was just discussing navel gazing with Jesus H.

Have you met him?

He’s my new friend. The H. stands for, naturally, “Hanes.” He thinks his name has a Middle Eastern origin, but he’s not sure. We’re looking into it.

So, Jesus and I were just hanging out, eating raw vegan brie (Jesus doesn’t consume animal products), discussing how I’m completely done with navel gazing, both on the blog and in life. Because, get this, I had my navel surgically removed. It is no longer possible.

The thing I’ve been doing with my time instead of navel gazing, and recovering from the quite traumatic navel removal surgery, is figuring out how to do something really, really fun. And I think I know what it is. Are you ready?

MALARIA PARTY! There ain’t no party like a malaria party, unless it’s a dengue fever party, because both are transmitted through mosquitoes with similar symptoms!

Wait, I’m getting ahead of myself. See, when I had navel removal surgery, I had to decide what I wanted to do for the rest of my life (unfortunately the surgery shortens life spans considerably, but I’m assured it was worth it AND I got a free eyebrow wax with it if I used my Groupon deal, which I did, because I’m no dummy). What I wanted to do was 1) have as much fun as possible and 2) try and make the world a teeny, tiny bit less sucktacular. Just  a little. That’s where the MALARIA PARTY! comes in.

I think we, as a group, should get rid of malaria in Cambodia. Wooooo! Keg stand! That sounds pretty fucking fantastic, am I right? And I totally think we can do it.

First, the details:

See, malaria in western Cambodia is becoming drug-resistant, which is bad news, so organizations like the Gates Foundation and FHI 360 have the task of trying to make the entire country malaria-free, so that this drug-resistant strain doesn’t spread to other regions of the world.

Here’s a nifty graphic that makes things that are horrid look pretty:

Image via 

So here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to donate money to the organization mentioned up above, FHI 360. I’m going to donate 100% of proceeds from the sale of my book via Amazon and B&N (links down below) (no, you dirty bird, not THERE), from May 12th, 2014 to June 12th, 2014, to FHI 360. I’m also going to MATCH any of your donations to FHI 360, up to $1600. All you have to do is send me proof (a photo of a check you’re mailing in, with your bank info covered, naturally, or an email receipt, or…something else). I’ll post our final tally and the big old check I mail in to FHI 360 on June 12th.

So, you can either give me $3.99 via my book and read it, or gift it, or you can just plain old donate, if you don’t want to buy my book. I promise, I do NOT care which way you choose to donate. If you can’t do either, maybe you can spread the word of this blog post to people who DO want to donate. Or you can send some good thoughts to Cambodia. Or you can send money to FHI 360 and not tell me about it! Who cares, right?

Goal: AT LEAST $3200 to FHI 360.

But I think we can do more, don’t you? Do it for the world, do it for Jesus, or do it for your deity.

(I found this article on the issue really helpful, too.)

Lost and Found at Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

I Seriously Review High Heels

A very serious review video. I also appear to have a double chin. I blame it on potato chip Nazis.