Kathy Trithardt's Blog, page 3

Thought Process

Note to readers: It is help you to think of this as being performed by a slam poet; in fact, it is even better if you picture a very new slam poet who hasn’t memorized their piece and is reading prompts from their phone.

So, I was walking down the street, rehearsing topics of conversation in case someone talked to me at the social event to which I was journeying. You know, the regular thing I do when walking, unless I am listening to an episode of Welcome to Night Vale; not listening is a result of either:

A)�� the episode has ended and I don’t have time for another, or

B) the crappy dollar store battery quit without warning on my mp3 player.

Anyway, earlier that day, I had seen a picture of my nephew in glasses for the first time, which was the potential topic I was going over. It’s hard to go wrong when talking about adorable beings. What made this noteworthy, however, instead of just another adorable tiny human story, was that he is only six months old, and to quote a friend, the addition of glasses made him an unholy level of cute. I had a photo ready on my phone in case the hypothetical conversationist was the type who demanded pictures to prove happenings.

As I was thinking this over, I glanced to the left of my walking path and noted a dead pigeon dangerously close to where I intended to step. I don’t know what killed it, besides likely loss of homeostasis, because, really, that is the cause of most deaths, but I panicked and swerved right. A split second later, I was overcome with the feeling that I should have done something to resolve the situation – or at least made some connection between the new life I was pondering and the death of this creature.

Did it fly into a window because it couldn’t see it? That thought was about as far as I got before the memo app on my phone ran out of space to record charact-

(ers. I didn’t have time to rehearse the rest, so, in case anyone talks to me tonight, I’ll likely mention the nephew and his new perspective on the world, but not the bird.)

I Miss Being Resilient

I’m sorry for the times when I bare my soul to you

And leave it there, exposed

And you don���t know what to do with it

And now you feel responsible

And I can understand you get scared

Because you don���t want to break it.

Perhaps your fear blinds you to the cracks it already has

Or makes them even more apparent,

So you are afraid of making them deeper.

And I���m sorry if this makes you defensive

As though it is something I am casting upon you

I���ve inflicted you with its sight

Instead of sharing with you.

It was meant to be a moment of

���Look at what I found���

Not

���Look at this thing for which I am giving you sole responsibility for making okay.���

My fears aren���t yours to fix,

But they are a talking point

Breaking down my anxiety into

Manageable morsels

That we can tackle in tandem

Through conscious conversations

Instead of leaving me to trial and error in terror, alone.

When I say that I miss being resilient,

Because anxiety didn���t used to taunt me,

It is because what I really fear is being

So worn down that I give up.

Admitting that doesn���t mean I���ve thrown in the towel.

Admitting that means I still have some fight left.

Admitting that to you means I want you on my team.

Admitting that doesn���t mean you have to battle for me.

Admitting that just means I trust you to hear me.

A Visit From Flat Stanley

Dear Mark and Alivia,

Thank you ever so much for sending Flat Stanley to visit me in Victoria, BC, all the way from your classroom in North Carolina!

Let me tell you a little about Victoria. We are on the south end of Vancouver Island, which is located on the West Coast of Canada. Unlike much of the rest of Canada, we don’t usually get much, if any, snow during the Winter! We are in a temporal rain forest, which means Stanley saw a lot of flowers while he was here.

Our city is actually very well-known for Cherry Blossom season, which started early this year, so Stanley simply hand to climb into a Cherry Blossom tree to take a look!

Victoria is a city full of arts and culture. In fact, Stanley arrived just in time for the 5th annual Victoria Spoken Word Festival, which was nearly a whole week of special performances by poets. Since I was helping out at the festival, Stanley asked to borrow my volunteer pass for a photo. It is always nice to help people, right?

While Stanley was visiting, we decided to take a visit to the downtown area of Victoria, where we ran into the Victoria Coat of Arms, which reads “Splendor Sine Occasu”. Translated from Latin, that means “splendour without diminishment“. Did you know that Victoria was named after a lady who used to be the Queen of England? It was once thought that the British Empire was so big, that the sun would never set on it.

The First Nations Coast Salish people were here well before the British arrived, so Victoria is actually set up on unseated Coast Salish land. Some First Nations artwork can be found around Victoria, and at the Royal BC Museum.

Did I mention that Victoria is actually the capital city of British Columbia? I didn’t? Well, it is! Many people think that since Vancouver is a bigger city than Victoria, it might be the capital, but they are mistaken. Many people also don’t realize that Vancouver Island – the island on which you find the city of Victoria, as well as many other places – isn’t a part of Vancouver at all. Ask your teacher to point it out on this map – Vancouver Island is really big! (This map is a little out-dated, because it is missing the Northwest Territories, but it gives you a good idea about size. I have circled my island and your State.)

Stanley also got to see the Parliament Buildings, which are home to the Legislative Assembly of British Columbia. Elected officials work there to run our provincial government.

We couldn’t end our day without a trip to the Inner Harbour, so Stanley could see some boats on the West Coast of North America.

He said that the view of the water was one of his favourite parts of the trip.

Another view that Stanley wasn’t expecting was the view from the top of one of our Double Decker busses on the way home from a long walk downtown. He said it was really neat to be up so high but still be driving on a road. These busses are like the Knight Bus in Harry Potter, but without any of the magic.

That was our time together! I hope you liked reading about Victoria, Mark and Alivia, and if you have any questions, I’m sure that if you ask your teacher very nicely, she’ll send them my way! I will send Stanley back to you soon.

All the best,

Kathy

 

Reasons I Am Okay With My Recent Unemployment

I received an immediate lay off notice yesterday, rendering me unemployed. Generally, news like this causes panic, as loss of security is an incredible stressful event to experience. However, although I have noticed some tense emotions in the past day, I am feeling fine overall for the following reasons.

1. This didn’t happen because I was bad at my job, therefore there is no feeling of worthlessness or incompetence (a word that was actually used 6 years ago when I was let go for the first time; I’m not wired to be a hard sales person, but rather a source of information that allows a customer to make their own choices. That word haunted me for a really long time). The company is simply condensing operations, and my former job doesn’t exist any more on the operational chart.

2. I’m thrifty, and therefore not in immediate distress when it comes to financial matters. True, I won’t be able to sustain life as I was living it. For example, I have been making monthly donations to educational video creators and artists for quite some time, which needed to stop, and I won’t have the money to eat out as often. However, much of the reason I was eating out was time-related – I would eat between work and volunteering, or I would grab something to eat because I was too tired from working to make my own meal. That obstacle is now gone. My habit of purchasing t-shirts online needed to be stopped, anyway. Instead of buying books, I use the library.

3. I have a great opportunity to get back to a healthier version of myself. I have gained unneeded weight by sitting in that office 40 hours a week for nearly two years, and now I have ample time to get in both exercise and mental enjoyment (as stress of the job was also a factor in my physical decline).

4. I have more time to read! I have more time to write! I have more time to volunteer for things! I CAN DO THINGS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY, WHEN THE SUN IS OUT! My S.A.D. will be much more manageable now that I am not trapped inside and out of direct sunlight.

5. Severance pay and all of my build up of vacation pay are in my future. My benefits are good until the end of March, which means I actually have time to use the benefits into which I had been paying for the entire time I had been employed.

Honestly, the first negative thoughts I had about losing my job where as follows:

“Crap, I already bought next month’s bus pass” and

“Now the library I am used to is no longer convenient.”

Obviously, I can use the pass to visit that library for the next month, and have time to figure out a closer one to which I will divert all of the holds I put on books.

I will eventually need to find a new job, but I don’t have to do it any time soon. I consider this an extended vacation where I can relax, get my priorities under control, and actually enjoy my life, instead of dreading the stress and using that drain as a reason to stop doing things I actually enjoy.

I plan to only take a job when I find one that excites met; if I stick to my thrifty ways, that is a plan that I should be able to keep.

I’ve been dreaming of cutting back my hours at work so I would have time to experience life as something more than an employee – and that chance has been handed to me. Sure, it is sooner than I would have liked (I wanted to have a bigger savings account), and sure, it is a complete severance instead of having a safety net of working a day or two a week (and all the benefits that come with that), but instead of waffling about taking the leap, I’ve received a push, and I intend to make the most of it.

Character Data Collection

Happy Sunday, Interwebs.

I have started a survey for which I would like to get as many answers as possible, as part of my research for a project that is percolating in the back of my brain. If you have a few spare minutes, please consider filling it out, or even passing it along to others. I’m not going to sell your information, you can fill out whatever you are comfortable with filling out, and your information is anonymous. It is only for my use, and I won’t be judging it. I won’t even be sharing the results, but I will update those who are interested when the project is done (if you leave your preferred email address in the last blank).

I am still looking for artists from whom I can learn, so if you didn’t see my previous post about Artist Ride Alongs, please check it out and speak up if you are interested/know someone who might be.

Artist Ride Along

Happy 2015.

I’ve had a dream for quite some time of having enough money to quit my day job for a solid year and just focus on being an artist. I crunched the numbers at one point (actually, a few points) to see if this would be a viable possibility as of my 29th birthday. Some of you may remember my “28 Before 28 Project” from last year; I like starting projects around dates that are significant to me (although I am very aware of how arbitrary time is, I still enjoy thinking about the power that it seems to have over us).

I looked at the numbers again, and I won’t be able to completely quit my job in April to follow this dream while still being able to pay rent/feed myself/go to VidCon/do everything else I would want to do in that year. I am no longer receiving a bonus that was significant to my pay cheque (through no fault of my own; my company just switched things up, which is fine), and the way the company works, and how we are expanding our distribution, it looks increasingly likely that I would not be permitted to gear down to part-time. I’ve decided to stay on rather than risk my income. Perhaps I will have enough money saved up for when I turn 30.

It would be pretty awesome if something like Patreon or Subbable (two systems which I used to support video/music artists whose work I enjoy/in which I believe) existed for authors, but I am not currently aware of such a system. (If you are, please let me know.)

Besides freeing up my time and mental space for writing, the aforementioned year away from a day job was going to open up time for a new project that I still want to have go forward, even though I am not gaining any more spare time. I would like to go on Artist Ride Alongs, and to do this, I will have to let you know what I mean, and look to this community for help in attaining this project.

A “Ride Along,” as I understand it, is an experience where someone interested in a field of work (generally portrayed as police work; apparently there was a terrible movie of that name that came out last year, but I only just found out about that as I searched to see if there was a formal definition of “ride along” that I could include here) spends the day (or possibly longer) shadowing someone, learning details of the trade. The shadower is encouraged to ask questions while the shadowee works, and this process is seen as a learning experience.

I love learning. Were I to win some sort of lottery (unlikely, as I don’t purchase tickets, but if my brother wins a lottery of significance, I am promised a sizable cut), I would use it to pay rent while I write, travel, and take more higher education courses. I want to apply this ride along concept to art, so that I can learn about various art forms. The trick is finding artists who would be willing to show me their work, as well as scheduling the travel time needed to get there while still juggling my job and my other activities (volunteering and The Quotidian Project being examples of ties to the Victoria community). For this reason, it would make a lot of sense to find as many Vancouver Island/Victoria local artists as possible, but I would be very open to travelling further for a wonderful opportunity.

Are you an artist who would enjoy having me around for a day, or do you know an artist who might? Please, contact me!

[contact-form]

What kind of art am I looking to explore? The short answer is All Of It, but some examples would be working with other writers (as many genres/forms as possible), musicians, visual artists (painting, sculpting, designers), photography, video content creators, directors – you name it! I plan to write about all of my experiences, as use inspiration I gain from each process to influence my own work.

If you have any questions, please let me know. I really do need help, as I don’t know exactly where to look – which makes me feel rather daunted/overwhelmed from the get go, but I want to learn. I want to slip inside different worlds, even if it is just for a day or two.

I am hoping to keep costs low, but would be willing to purchase supplies I might need as long as they will be put to good use. If you are an artist/know an artist who would rather just talk to me about your/their work over coffee, I would love to purchase said coffee at your/their leisure.

Please give me any information/guidance that you can, or put me in the direction of someone who can do so. Thank you so much in advance for everything.

Shameless Plug

For all of you tech types, “The Andy Project” can now be purchased for the Kindle.

Parties (Working Title)

Unbeknownst to those whose radars only

Register high fliers

I was at that party. It was fine, as parties go

But for me, the wide open world

Of high voice, loud energy

Has me crammed into corners I never asked for

A stain on a torn blanket set ablaze by extrovert energy.

I can’t connect if I can’t

Hear

See

Understand

Relate

So the shell I shell out to parties

Is my body, but not my full mind

Body critically conscious of how it is

Missing it’s biggest asset

The part that can make it pass for attractive

While the mind is confined by

Barriers, thinking it’s been left behind

Because it has nothing of worth

To contribute to anyone

And no one notices its efforts anyway

The way I write online is the antithesis of my anonymity.

It is the way I wish my vocal cords could vibrate at parties.

While chat rooms are dive bars and

Forums are convention centres filled with competitors

My blog is my personal table for two where I do all the talking.

I don’t even know that anyone is listening

But the unshared pieces of myself I don’t bring to parties

(For fear someone will take a bite and unceremoniously -

Or worse, exuberantly -

Spit me out)

Those pieces have to go somewhere

Or they’ll go to waste.

Writing is a desperate attempt to show

Who no one really sees,

Fill in the shadows that few

Recognize as my features,

Give substance to that social shell

So people have something to miss

If I’m not around.

The way I’m viewed at parties

Is Dorothy pre-Oz

A sketch in black and white

With none of the colourful details

Ready for discussion.

But I can’t connect if I can’t

Hear

See

Understand

Relate

So my online words feel like whispers

Barely leaving my lips

I don’t know l they’ve had an effect

Until someone whispers back.

I cannot connect by simply yelling

THIS IS ME over and over and over again -

Connection is formed when someone

Hears my pleas, and decides to answer

Directly. Until then, I wade through the

Chatter in my mind of

Oh my God, why would anyone want to read what I wrote?

Waiting to hear,

I read your words. Can we talk?

Confession

I have a confession to make. Once it is expressed, some might think that I’ve been living a lie of omission; some might understand my need to not string up my dirty laundry, either out of compassion or the opinion that people like me should keep their shit to themselves. I’m hoping that still more people will comprehend the stigma behind making this information known, and understand why I have kept it to myself.

I’m living with depression. I feel the word choice is important; I could say I am suffering from depression, which would be accurate, but I want to phrase this struggle in a hopeful way. My life shouldn’t revolve around this one aspect of my existence, as I am just as complex an individual as everyone else. Although I haven’t seen a doctor to verify my condition (more on that later), depression is a constant part of my life. I want to expand on how it affects me specifically, and note that it is different for everyone who experiences it.

In my first draft of these notes, I felt a vulnerability so intense at the above words that I sidestepped the issue for a moment, and babbled from a removed, academic, scientific standpoint. The rest of this paragraph is the garbage I created as a way to deflect: From an evolutionary standpoint, this chemical imbalance makes no sense to me. If my brain were going to give me the impulse to make an end to my genetic line, why wouldn’t it have just been miscarried in the womb. That seems more efficient, Evolution; however, I know evolution cannot be to blame, because I haven’t always felt this way. It is hard not to parallel this situations with contracting an illness; I just picked it up somewhere and cannot seem to figure out how to get rid of the virus.

Marshall Rosenberg once wrote, “Depression is the reward we get for being good”. Out of the entire weekend course I took in Non-Violent Communication, that was the point that stuck with me. I try really hard to do my best, but fear of my own inadequacies, real or imagined, keep me from feeling success. They keep me from feeling worthy of the time of others.

It is important to note that my depression’s grip is ever-changing; some days I don’t feel it at all, while other days it inhibits my will and ability to get out of bed. I want to make it very clear that the prospect of people dissecting past or future conversations with me to see if they can detect this defect makes me very uncomfortable. I don’t want to be treated in an alienating way. This prospect is one of the aspects that makes it difficult to share my battle.

My depression manifests as an unjust punishment; I just want to be a good person, do great things, and connect with amazing people. I feel punished for trying; I feel that all dreams of doing great things need to be suppressed during times of depression because it takes extra energy to run my day-to-day life. I constantly have to sacrifice energy to the voice in my head that, among other things, brings up the notion of suicide.

Mind: So, suicide is a thing.

Me: Yes, so you’ve said. I don’t know why you keep bringing this up, as I have expressed I have no interest in it.

Mind: Just saying, it is an option.

Me: No, it’s not. Settling aside the obvious reality that I couldn’t follow through with the physical actions one would have to take to complete suicide -

Mind: Should we talk methods?

Me: No, shut up and listen, for once. Setting aside that I couldn’t take the action, I would also never do it because my death would hurt others.

Mind: They’d get over it.

Me: That is likely true, but ultimately their ability to do so should not be tested because my brain is an asshole.

Mind: Fine, go out there and do something to prove that you deserve to exist. I can wait. I’ll just be here, bleeding away all your mental energy, but if you are so great, you should be able to create and participate regardless…

Being at war with my own brain is fascinating, infuriating, and vehemently lonely.

I told my closest confidant about these types of thoughts for the first time today. I delayed this confession because I didn’t want to cause worry. I am guilty of having conversations in my head instead of out loud, and that isn’t fair to those with whom I share a connection. I didn’t want to be thought of as lesser than I once was, but it would be unfair to assume that people would think less of me. I didn’t want pity. My depression is a part of myself in which I find no attractive qualities, and sharing this inner dialogue makes me fear losing connections that are important to me, or blocking future connections from forming. I don’t want to make this even more awkward than is my default.

My depression takes away the things I like to do. When I am alone, time required by introverts, my mind won’t let me focus on reading a novel or putting my full attention toward writing. I am either forced to watch something (which, to be far, is a pastime I enjoy, but I would rather that to be enjoyed on my own terms instead of being used as a way to silence my asshole brain) or sink into a restless nap. All of my usable mental energy is purchased via the time I spend being employed, and there seems to be no life left for me.

My depression tricks me into believing that I don’t already positively impact others. My depression makes it easy to forget the good, and impossible to ignore the bad. It intensifies my feeling of invisibility, and magnifies the successes and attributes of others. I find myself doing things I want to do, but since I lack the energy to do them in a positive mindset, I don’t received the same joy those activities once brought. I do them out of duty, and flip-flop between believing my half-assed approach is ruining everyone else’s experience, and believing that it would be more inconvenient for others if I drop out. Regardless, I always do my part when I make a commitment, so they might not even notice if invisible me takes a slight misstep from time to time.

Lie of Omission: I don’t wander around telling people this is my personal struggle. It doesn’t feel like an easy way to connect with others; it feels like a way in which I can be painted as negatively different, not good enough, and deficient. A few weeks ago, someone was discussing something (I can’t remember the exact topic) and offhandedly mentioned that people who weren’t like us, people with depression, would have a different reaction. That fleeting comment cemented my knowledge that I’ve been hiding my depression successfully. Keeping my darkest secret hidden is something attractive to me; people can’t look down on me or look at me differently if they don’t know that I am “other” to them.

My depression is cruel. I crave companionship, but depression makes me feel incapable of having it. I feel incredibly drained, and don’t have the right amount of energy to contribute to getting to know anyone else. My brain is operating really poorly these days, and it is often difficult for me to tease out morsels of interesting information, let alone remember social protocol. I don’t want to make connections just so people will have to listen to how sad I feel. I want to get to know people better, and to make more connections with people I find interesting, but this process is near impossible while I feel incapable of meaningful contributions. I don’t want to waste other people’s time; I want our companionship to have a positive impact on both of us.

We live in a culture where we are taught to telegraph our triumphs and successes, and try to diminish the blows of defeat. It feels very counter-intuitive to tell the world my faults. I already operate under the assumption that, if people want to, they can find most of my faults themselves, or even unjustly create exaggerated faults. Why give them more ammunition? Thanks, leftover damage from being bullied.

When I recognize a person I would like to befriend, their intelligence, energy, creativity, and even appearance can become intimidating to me. My default is to see all of their positive points as being higher than my own on each respective trait scale, and I feel unable to catch up or “play at their level”. How could someone like me be of interest to someone like them? My depression deepens my social anxiety; I feel completely inept when it comes to keeping up my end of a conversation. The upside is I am a great listener. The downside is no one has a chance to get to know me. The only way I am currently able to get all these words out is to write them down, and despite the act of vulnerability it will take to post them, I’m more focused on the flaws in my writing style. If I have to come clean about this, I at least want to do it eloquently; this would serve as self proof that I am capable of intellectual conversations, albeit in a non-verbal medium. I’m trying to be at peace with the fact that this piece won’t be perfectly written, but it is the content – full exposed – that is the most important aspect.

I also understand that being honest with people is, in itself, a way to build connection with those who aren’t loading up an arsenal against me. I am intellectually aware that “the cool kids” aren’t ganging up against me, but fear that disconnection, nonetheless.

I promised to touch on why I haven’t been to a doctor regarding this condition. I fear the closure/legitimacy that such a visit would bring. I fear being told that I am just looking for attention and if I think happy thoughts, I’ll be fine. I feared other people learning about my mental incapability by witnessing my trip to a doctor. I don’t want to be labelled as deficient. I don’t feel it is fair to have to use my limited energy on paying someone to listen to me talk, or try to prescribe me pills. I don’t like having to pay for being different, both figuratively and monetarily. I work hard, have little energy for myself and don’t want to sacrifice my earnings because my brain is an asshole. I am stubborn and really do believe I should be able to do things on my own. I am fully aware that some of these thoughts are foolish, but I fear all the stigmas that have been placed upon people with mental illnesses. I want to be treated as a complex human being, not as a person with a problem.

I have always been independent, and my depression is a huge threat to that. I feel I should be able to function just as well as the next person (especially since I have often excelled in areas requiring efficiency and organization), but seemingly simple tasks cause me more mental energy than I deem necessary under normal circumstances. Feeding myself seems to be a huge challenge. This horrifies me, as feeding myself is one of the earliest skills I obtained. If I cannot do basic human functions without fighting my mind, how am I going to be able to positively contribute to the lives of others? I have been incapable of asking other people to help me, because I don’t want them to feel an advantage is being taken. I don’t want to inspire the thought, “She’s so lazy, why can’t she make her own dinner?” I want to be able to take care of myself, and don’t want to be reminded more often than I already am that I’m not very good at self-care. Failure is one of my biggest fears. Being perceived as stupid may as well be the same thing as being perceived as unworthy. My mind is on a constant loop:

I want to be great at this thing.

I’m not great at this thing and if I keep doing it badly, people will know how bad I am.

I need to work harder, as this is important to me. I can learn.

I’m tired, and I’m physically sick again, and I just won’t be able to do it.

I’m a failure. I didn’t even give it a real shot, because that’s how much I suck.

I want to be great at this thing.

I don’t know how to ask for help, and I don’t know how to accept it. I don’t know how to describe what would give me the greatest/most efficient support.

My academic training is screaming that this confession is not properly formatted; my critical side says it is more of a wild rant than a document that will help people connect with me. I constantly ask this voice to shut up. I could honestly go through this document thousand more times, and not be satisfied that it would be read in the exact way that I intend it. Through that process, I might find slight ways to tweak my run on sentences. I might make it more cohesive. I fear that putting too much time between beginning this discussion and posting it will decrease my available bravery to let it out into the world. One final read through, and then I have to take this leap of faith, or this will be a substantial side of myself that I continue to hide from the world.

I hope, if you know me, you’ll treat this as an opening to a respectful and supportive conversation. I’ll be shy at first, even with compassionate responses I receive, but know that I will appreciate that you reached out.

Air

Struggling, lungs draw in

Air, not quite meeting their

Quota. Head spins,

Dizzy without its usual

Take from the lungs’

Acquisition. They tumble

Together into soft sheets

And mourn the missing

Element together,

Slumbering, hoping

It will return soon.

(This is my October 31st, and final, contribution to Poem A Day October. I used the following writing prompt: Write about smoke, clouds, air, wind, or gases.)