Three Things, 4

So this isn't exactly week 4, but the past month and a half were pretty hectic. I did definitely lose sight of the project for a while but I'm happy to report I'm back on track.

What Makes Me Happy

1 - I took care of the problems from week 3. I broke up with my boyfriend, got a full-time job, and powered through the withdrawals.

2 - I just totally cleaned and re-designed my new room.

3 - Even after a short stint on the pessimist side of life, I was able to pull myself up pretty quickly.

What Doesn't

1 - I unnecessarily alienated a few people during this process.

2 - I went broke during this process.

3 - I have not managed to learn how to be comfortable alone, which was one of my goals.

How I'll Fix It

1 - Open myself up to those people and apologize - then it's their choice.

2 - Be more responsible with my money from here on out.

3 - Force myself to spend at least an hour a day alone, without television or the internet. I can read, or meditate, or write, or draw, or make more inspiring signs for my wall, but I can't have any contact with a human, directly or through the internet.

Three Things, Week 3

What Makes Me Happy
1 - I still haven't had a cigarette since Sunday night, and I only had one noticeable craving.
2 - I started working full-time again.
3 - I got to see an old friend of mine this week and have a really nice catch-up talk.

What Doesn't
1 - I didn't make any progress on the job search.
2 - There's a problem in my life that's relatively easy to fix but I'm too lazy to take it on.
3 - I have been feeling and acting like total shit what with nicotine and Valium withdrawals combined with starting work again and the problem in #2.

How I'll Fix It
1 - Combine #1 and #2 from above in my head, because taking care of #2 requires doing more of #1.
2 - Grow some balls and just do it.
3 - Hopefully I will start feeling better which will make me act less like a snotty 12-year-old.

Scars Part 2

This weekend someone who doesn't know me very well told me that my scars are cool.

And he didn't ask what they were from.

It was nice.

Three Things, Week 2

What Makes Me Happy

1 - Nine hours ago I had my last cigarette, ever.

2 - I am finally done with college!

3 - I have a new friend & workout buddy.

What Doesn't

1 - Today is the first day of "real life" and I have to face the fact that I'm working four days a week for a lot less money than I want, or need.

2 - I have to face that fact sans nicotine.

3 - I have to face that fact after sleeping 20 minutes, total, last night.

How I'll Change It

1 - Write a new resume today and ask my boss to proof it.

2 - Wear a nicotine patch and make sure to work out as much as possible this week.

3 - No TV tonight when I get back from the gym - straight to bed instead.

Liking My Job

All my life I've heard people say "Figure out what you love, and find a way to get paid to do it."

This job market is not necessarily the greatest environment for that, so this morning I turned it on its head. "Take what you're getting paid to do, and find a way to love it." To be clear: I already love my job, and the work environment is amazing, but some of the tasks are a little tedious (as at any job).

The interns at work have a quarterly project. It takes several full-time employees a few days to set it up for us, and then a handful of interns work a week and a half of overtime on what is essentially 52-Card Pick-Up: we have thousands of individual letters that have to be matched with other individual letters in hundreds of different combinations. The letters must be triple-checked, including a check by a full-time employee, and every quarter we end up with a handful of letters that we just can't figure out. The letters often go out just as the next quarter is coming to a close. Every quarter someone says, "There has to be a better way to do this," but we can't figure it out.

This morning I figured it out. To oversimplify it, most of the intern's time is spent looking for half-completed packets to match them with other half-completed packets. With what I came up with, there is no need for that: you can make the packet all at once and have the next intern double-check it immediately, and hand it off to a full-time employee to triple-check it five minutes later.

I emailed my supervisor, who happens to be in charge of the project (and who often expresses exasperation at this fact) at 7:30am with the solution. I haven't heard back yet but my hopes are high - I can't imagine that anyone actually likes dragging this project out for two weeks.

Next time I walk into work I can be proud, even if my idea is shot down - I showed I was enthusiastic and motivated, I proved I can think outside the box, I demonstrated that the job is important to me and I think about it even when I'm taking time off, and I offered a suggestion that saves time and money. Who wouldn't like that?

Cutting Scars

In the post below I mentioned that I've recently overcome several self-abusive behaviors.

One of them was cutting.

I first cut myself on Christmas Eve when I was 12. I think I used a thumbtack to scratch away at my leg until it bled. I stopped around 14 when I got caught doing it at school and my mother told me I was only doing it for attention.

I have mixed feelings about cutters: I do believe it's for attention, but I don't think it's in the selfish way that is often implied.

When I was 20 I cut myself again. I was drunk and high and I took a box cutter to my legs, earned 125 stitches and a very severe warning that if I came in for stitches again I'd be put on a 5150 (mandatory 72-hour psychiatric hold). Having already been 5150'd (and nearly escaping it half a dozen times) I resolved to avoid it, so I continued to cut myself but just didn't go to the doctor.

The doctor who stitched me up told me that in 25 years of ER service he'd never seen anyone so dedicated to hurting themselves who didn't actually commit suicide. My reaction was pride. I was so low at that point that being considered the best at anything, even cutting, meant something to me.

I won't bore anyone with the details of recovery, but I will say that commercials for the It Gets Better Project (www.itgetsbetter.org) make me cry even now.

For a year I wore pants or knee-high boots every day so no one would see them - they're pretty obvious. Explaining it was painful and there is no excuse I can give to justify why I have so many ugly, poorly-healed scars (the doctor suggested I tell people I was attacked by a shark).

They're a little faded now, but they're still visible. I can't wear pants to gymnastics so I get questions all the time from other gymnasts. I alternate between the shark excuse and telling people I had an accident with a lawn mower and the people who don't buy it seem to at least accept that I'm unwilling to discuss it.

Whenever anyone asks me the question with serious concern, however, I just tell them the truth. Am I ashamed of what I did to myself? Yes. Do I wish my legs were unscarred? Of course. But I don't have to lie about it.

I like to say I'm lucky, because everyone has scars, but mine are on the outside. I may have handled my pain in an immature way but it doesn't mean everyone else in this world hasn't felt similar pain. Every time I talk about them, I feel a little better, and people aren't nearly as judgmental as I'd once assumed. Most people just say they're sorry, and that they're happy that I'm better. The other advantage of having your scars on the outside is that you can see how they've aged, and see that none of them are new.

This spring I read a book called Little Bee by Chris Cleave. It's a quick read and it's completely worth the $15. Inside I found the quote that has empowered me to be able to share my story more often and let go of any lingering shame:

"... I ask you right here to please agree with me that a scar is never ugly. That is what the scar makers want us to think. But you and I, we must make an agreement to defy them. We must see all scars as beauty. Okay? This will be our secret. Because take it from me, a scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, I survived."

The Ring / Quitting Smoking 1

I once read in a very scientific book (When You Are Engulfed in Flames by David Sedaris) that it is best to quit smoking along with some other major life change. The idea being that you can associate quitting with the other change and further distance yourself from it, like, "I smoked before I had children, but now that I have them I'm healthier and I'm not going to smoke," instead of just relying on your own willpower, which is famously ineffective against nicotine cravings.

My life change is graduating college. College Me smoked; Post-College Me won't. Post-College Me loves yoga and gymnastics and doesn't like having to wash her hair in the middle of the day because she smells like an ashtray; she cares about herself and her health and she doesn't like putting all of that in danger ten times a day.

My best friend is my partner in quitting. I told her about the theory and she agreed - but she graduated last year and her life is pretty stable now so what was her change going to be?

Very recently she bought herself a ring as a present. Without going into too much detail about her life because I'm sure she'll read this one day (hey girl!) I will say that the ring is symbolic for her. It's a celebration of various accomplishments she's made and is rightly very proud of.

The ring is her change. Pre-Ring, she smoked; Post-Ring, she won't. The ring is a daily reminder of her accomplishments and every time she looks at it she will remember why and when she decided to quit smoking.

In the past three years I have overcome an eating disorder and a host of other self-abusive behaviors. After a particularly intense hospitalization I got a tattoo, in white ink, of my patient number. For weeks I'd look at it every day and remind myself that if I didn't get it together quick, I was destined to always be a number - a patient in a hospital, or an inmate in jail. It helped. And now that it's faded (as it was intended to - I didn't plan on explaining it to strangers for the rest of my life) I only catch it every few days, and it always fills me with pride. I'm not a number. I'm not known by the student ID number I had to give every time I checked into the counseling center at school, or the insurance ID number I had to give every time I ended up in the hospital. I have a name, and people call me by it, instead of "The girl in Room 7" or "Dr. So-and-So's 3 o'clock appointment."

So here's to you, best friend: may your ring be the change you need to come closer to your ideal self, just like my tattoo was the beginning and graduation is (hopefully!) the last big step before the end.