it was last october when i promised myself that i would never delete, or edit another post on my blog again.
i get asked the question why? a lot. why do i bare so much of myself here, when i am so careful to be as poised as possible in my real life? why do i talk about vulnerable topics like my childhood sexual abuse, depression, changing relationship with my dis/ability?

the answer is easy: i spent a lot of my adolescence lying.
to people who asked me why i limped, i said that i’d been injured in a football game. to my mother, my homework was always done.
i didn’t drink at that party; i wasn’t bisexual; i didn’t take the 20 dollar bill that was on the counter.

then i realized not only that the people around me didn’t trust me, but that i wanted them to.

not only that, but i was instilling in myself, with each lie i told, a sense of shame about who i was. i look up and see some of the things i did, or denied that i did, and really – i don’t think they’re horrible. i was a hormonal kid – and the more i look at myself, the more i see the sproutlings of depression in the kid i was. (i tend to often tell myself that if mom hadn’t died when she did, i wouldn’t have got depressed. maybe that’s true, but the more i think about it, the more i believe that i just wouldn’t have got depressed this quickly.)

it’s easier for me to write my feelings than it is to speak them – call it being an incredibly talented natural introvert. ;) so my blog was a ripe training ground for me to face the things i didn’t want to face – like coming to terms with the fact that my father did do things to me that shouldn’t have happened; working through my feelings of betrayal at my body, with pain becoming a small part of my life; my perfectionism (which goes above and beyond that term, i think. it is crippling, at times); my tortured codependence with depression.

i wanted to be real here first. the rest, i thought, would follow.
writing here has changed my life.
i am accountable for what i write here, and i know that it is basically anonymous, (because i don’t have access to a digital camera, ;) ), but i know that every word i write here is the truth.
i am not flinching from any of it because there is nothing to be ashamed of.
i hope it helps someone else the way writing it is cathartic for me.

with that in mind, at 7:30 this morning, i woke up to the sound of men coming into my apartment.
i shot awake. it was LITERALLY my worst nightmare coming true.
i could hear their voices, “i don’t think anyone is here. oh my god, it’s such a mess.” ;)
i called back, (indignantly) “yes, someone’s here!”
one of the men said, “miss? you okay? we got a call that someone was worried about you. are you all right?”
i replied, (hiding under the covers): “i’m fine! i haven’t been feeling well lately, that’s all. would you please GET OUT OF MY APARTMENT?”
the man said, “okay.”
the door shut.

my heart was hammering. the jig was up. it was like i’d been caught doing something VERY VERY bad and i felt guilty, and nauseous about it, and terrified. would this mean that i could get evicted? who came in? who called?

i got up, and started to pull a plastic bag around my livingroom, stuffing old pizza boxes and water bottles into it, trying to make a dent in the mess before whatever was going to happen next, happened.
i found out soon enough. there was another knock on the door.
even though i didn’t want to open it, i did. a man in a suit was standing there. he said,
“ma’am? i’m going to have to call the police. i know how unclean it is in your apartment, and it’s a matter of health and public safety. people are worried about you. it’s obvious that you can’t take care of yourself.”

i just started to cry. soundlessly, with these big fat effortless tears rolling down my face. how many times in the past few months has this happened? what would calling the police solve? would i be arrested? i was just depressed – and the ironic thing was is that i’d promised myself the day before that i would spend all today cleaning.

“please, please. just give me three hours. i’ll clean it, i promise. just don’t call the police for three hours. please.”
he scoffed at me, “3 hours? you can’t clean this in three hours. you don’t even have the supplies you need.”
“i do, i do - i’ve just been sick. i have a medical note. please don’t call them.”
he looked at me. appraising.
“well, okay. i’ll be back in 3 hours. this place had better be spotless.”

the police showed up in less than one.

they came in and i felt so betrayed. at this point it was just past 8:30 (i think) and i had started the intense process. i was BEYOND terrified. and ashamed. dry-mouth scared. it’s ironic in the sense that the worst thing i could think of – me having complete responsibility for myself and become overwhelmed by it – was happening. i had shot off a panicked email to field: “this is what they’re doing. i’m scared. help.” and he had given me support, “go out and get non-hippie cleaners – mr. clean, vim, etc. do it now. i love you. now is not the time to freeze up. don’t freeze up.”
they came in and told me the ambulance was coming and that i should just sit on the couch. when the ambulance arrived, they would make the assessment of whether or not i should go to the hospital. when i heard the word “hospital”, i knew exactly where they meant.  only this time, i wouldn’t be going in voluntarily, so anything could happen. i could be drugged, i could be incarcerated in the hospital for months. who knew.

i started to cry, and cry, and cry.

i have never felt more alone and more scared in my ENTIRE life. this is one contingency that i NEVER planned.

the ambulance people came in, and right away they told me to get dressed and go with them. i tried to be compliant, so i went in to write a message to field, (one of the police officers read over my shoulder), to let him know what was happening, i went into the bathroom to change out of my robe (they kept the door open), and i made sure my wallet and keys were in my purse.

i’d never ridden in an ambulance before. it would have felt sort of cool, except that i was praying that nobody would see me. 
(oh, also, a detail you should know: i tripped over my dog in the middle of the night a few nights ago and gave myself QUITE the shiner, so i looked AWESOME – puffy face from crying, black eye, no kleenex.)

we get to the hospital and i got processed pretty quickly, all things considered. a nurse came in to give me a clear plastic bag and told me that i had to put the blue gown on. i kept crying – at this point i was convinced they were going to admit me.
nobody would let me take my medication, and i wasn’t allowed to buy a coffee, so i was one sleepy bee. sleepy and a supreme space cadet. a physician came to take my blood pressure and listen to my breathing. he asked me if i was suicidal. he said i had to wait for a psychiatrist.

i climbed up on the bed. i pulled my wool sweater over my knees, curled on my side, and drifted off to sleep.

after a number of hours, i woke up, and still hadn’t been seen. i went to the bathroom, and cribbed a cup of overbrewed tea from one of the orderly’s dinner trays, and then the psychiatrist came to see me.

thank god, it was the same one who saw me in november.

she asked me how i got there, and i told her. apparently, what my super (or whoever those men were) did to me this morning was completely illegal – there was no 24-hour written warning, there was no need to call the police, they should have stuck to the verbal agreement we struck. etc. my rights were apparently grossly violated.
i’m not suicidal.
i’m just overwhelmed. she heard what i did (my four advanced classes, my weekend job, alone in this great wide metropolis) and said i was managing quite well, all things considered.

that was really nice to hear, because lately i’ve been sucked into this vortex of stress where assignments have been late, and even though i’ve been granted justified medical extensions, i’ve still been kicking the internal crap out of myself. even field hasn’t been getting through to me.

so, she helped. this wonderful doctor helped. she wrote me a PRESCRIPTION to get professional housecleaners (they’re coming tomorrow). and while i’m slightly ashamed that i need professional housecleaners, at least they’re going to get me out of here.
she upped my medication.
she wrote me notes to get out of my assignment deadlines.

and my beautiful friend, e, who picked up the phone when i needed her to, came down for me no questions asked. and hugged me, and went out for coffee with me afterwards. thank god for her.

there’s a part of me that feels a bit like a failure, i won’t lie. in my head, the perfect bee that i am is effortlessly clean, and nurturing to her pets. she laughs a lot and gets her assignments done on time, and studies a few hours a night. her job is a joy. she goes out a few times a week to socialize. she spends part of each day doing something fantastically creative.

but i’m me. i’m real. and i’m learning so much right now, i know i am. i’ll look back on this time in my life and i will know why i’m here now.

you know, up until a few days ago, i didn’t know that the lotus grows in mud and water. i never questioned where it came from, or the conditions it needed to bloom – i just loved it for its beauty and its connection to yoga. now i definitely know why it’s been coming up more and more for me. right now, it is such a metaphor for my life. out of the depths, great beauty can grow. if you make space, peace will come.

Things that I Am Grateful For In This Moment:
- vibrant, strong, supportive friendships, human and animal.
- nina simone.
- how jazz makes my animals sleepy and cuddly.
-hot chocolate.
-knowing that it will be a lot better, soon.
-a home to come home to.