My Demons Are Always With Me

I just got home about a half hour ago from a roughly 3 mile run at the gym. It felt great, and I feel strong, but I didn't start my day feeling that way. I weigh myself every day and track in a spreadsheet, but I take my "official" weight on Fridays, which gets logged in my fitness trackers. I had been on the 187 plateau for weeks and was feeling super discouraged, so when I got down to 184 last night I was excited to finally be making downward progress. Then I weighed myself this morning: 185.5. There is nothing like gaining a pound from the previous night and only losing a pound in a week to demoralize you, especially when early in the weight loss efforts 2-3 pounds a week was the norm. I go to the gym, I run, I do resistance training. I eat a vegan diet. It was so disheartening and frustrating that it triggered some massive self image issues with me today. I felt fat, I felt unattractive, and every time I went to the bathroom, I made myself look in the full-length mirror so that I could see that I wasn't fat, and there had been no real change in my body overnight, and I had to remind myself that today is supposed to be the first day of my period (supposed to) and I always retain or gain weight around days one and two. After coming home from work and eating chips because I was feeling self-destructive, I thought I can just do 1100 calories today it's fine. But that line of thinking is dangerous and even I, who preaches to people that food is fuel, that there is no such thing as bad food or good food, can fall into disordered thinking about food from time to time. I am not anorexic, bulimic, or orthoexic (I do log all of my food and count calories, but I eat what I want) and if you are, please seek help. Thankfully, I am self-aware enough to recognize my patterns of destructive thinking and made myself go cook a delicious, healthy dinner, and then I immediately went to the gym.

My body is strong. I felt powerful while running. But I also need to realize that while exercise helps my mental health, I still live with bipolar disorder, and intrusive thoughts, depression, and mania in their many incarnations are always going to be with me, and I need to pay special attention to my moods when I make the decisions I do when it comes to weight loss. I almost didn't go to the gym tonight because I felt so bad about myself, I was going to take a rest day, be "gentle" with myself, and lay on the couch. Instead, after eating my nutritious, tasty dinner, I snapped out of it, realized I was walking the path of self-sabotage and self-loathing, and got my workout clothes on and went.

I've had self-image issues since puberty. I'd always been overweight, had acne, and didn't feel attractive. I was a late bloomer with relationships so it took my first serious relationship at 27 and being told that I was beautiful and desirable to actually believe it. But even with that confidence, self-loathing and negative body image still lurk, and when my mood dips, or I don't feel great, or I don't see the result I want to see on the scale, they come to the fore and I go back to feeling like shit about my body again. Just like with my manic or depressive episodes, I need to be self-aware of these times and overcome them. These are feelings that will always be with me, and I accept that, but it is in my power to overcome them when they rise to the surface.

Humans are the animal kingdom's best endurance runners, and I aim to live up to that. Negative body image be damned.

2019 Retrospecticus

Last year, I set out on the new year with some goals (not resolutions) in mind, mostly around exploring the world around me. And I did a lot of that. I actively started trying to lose weight in February because one of the things I really wanted to do in Iceland was ride the Icelandic horse, so I started walking, even when it was cold or I was grumpy, I went out and walked, and even a mile was so hard and my legs were so sore at first. But I kept at it, and changed the way I ate from less Western diet to more flexitarian and whole food based. When the local hospital's class booklet came out and I saw one of my old coworkers was leading a Couch to 5k class over a 12 w

eek period starting in April, I signed up, and it was hard at first, but as I lost weight and gained muscle and endurance, I found that I really, really like running; it's great stress relief. I still can't run a solid 5k but I have kept up with running, even now in the depths of winter on a treadmill. As of this writing I've lost about 52 pounds.

One of the goals I had written in my failed bullet journal (I need to stop doing those, I'm too lazy to keep up with it) was to explore more trails in Maine. I started small and local. I was already running on the Rail Trail in Augusta, and with the help of Pokemon Go (yes, really), Maine TrailFinder (PLEASE make an app!), and Alltrails, I had the incentive and opportunity to visit new places. There was nothing more liberating than researching a trail, putting on my gear, and hopping in my car for a new adventure in the woods. This was also monumentally helpful not only for my mental health, but my spiritual health. While my bullet journal page only lists the trails in Maine I hiked, I did several more outside of the state, including a 9.5 mile loop in Illinois where I got to meet so many beautiful burr oaks, and Þingellir National Park in Iceland.

 

Y'all.

I climbed three mountains this summer, including a 1,700 foot mountain I had always gazed at from the car as a child. I also hiked the rim of a volcanic crater. This has only fueled my desire to hike more and challenging peaks.

Travel was really the big goal I had this year, and I managed to visit two countries and visit a state I had never been to. My dream vacation of Iceland was finally a reality, and as you can see in the (terrible, horrible) picture of me, I did get to ride the Icelandic horse, as uncooperative as he was sometimes during the ride. My sister and I did the typical tourist trip: Golden Circle, Reynisfjara Beach and Vik, and so many waterfalls. We only had a week but we fell completely in love with the country and we're tentatively planning the next, longer trip for 2023. Before the adventures in Iceland, however, I embarked on my first solo international travel to Quebec, which, in my entire 39 years living in Maine, had never visited. I blogged about that trip after I returned, because I came back filled with emotions. You can read about that trip here. My final travel of the year, which was a little bit last-minute, was a trip to Illinois not only to visit my heart, but to go to finally see my favorite band in concert: motherfucking Tool. I'd waited over 20 years to see them live and it was worth the ticket and airfare. Illinois was quite lovely and I want very badly to go back, for multiple reasons.

I've worked really hard to improve myself. I'm proud of my weight loss, I'm proud of myself for traveling solo, for learning to be okay by myself. I've worked hard on being less negative (it's still difficult, sometimes, when I have a bad bipolar day) and am continuing on working on being a better person (my jealousy was rightfully called out). I took the leap and applied for a post-graduate certificate program, and am working toward paying down debt so that I can plan for the future.

In 2020 I will turn 40. It's never too late to do the thing, to challenge yourself, to make changes. I welcome all that comes in the coming year.

A Love Letter to a Lake

Today I hiked a mountain I had only ever seen from the road, driving by every weekend in the summer for over 30 years, its sheer cliff face the vision of danger. But I did it, I hiked Mt. Kineo, and it wasn't bad. I'll be sore tomorrow, but sore with the knowledge that I reached an elevation of over 1,700 feet and did the entire hike in 2 hours.

I couldn't go to Kineo with the knowledge that I was only 15 minutes away from my favorite place in the world, more beloved than Caratunk, more beloved than West Forks, more beloved even, than Iceland. Growing up, I spent almost every weekend and at least one week every summer at my family's camp on a small man-made lake (man-made by virtue of flooding from a dam) called Brassua. A lake I haven't been to in several years since my parents sold our camp. When they told me they were selling, I reacted badly. I was upset and heartbroken, and like a bad breakup, I couldn't bear to look at my lake again, knowing I no longer had a place there to go.

I went back today for the first time in years, stopped at the scenic overlook to snap a picture I've taken hundreds of time growing up. But, I wanted to touch the water, so the only place I could think to go was the boat landing, which was blissfully empty.

I spread her healing waters over my blistered shoulders and cried.

My Brassua, my beautiful haven, the place I, as a baby Pagan explored animism before I even knew what animism was, where I would spring along over the rocks barefoot, swim in the water that most people would call too cold, explore the growing-in clear cuts and old boat landing where the ravens nested, losing myself in my thoughts and listening to the loons at night. My dear, beloved Brassua, I am so sorry I left you for so long. I have many Mothers in this life, my human mother, who brought me to camp, the Kennebec river, who I've always lived near, and Brassua, who held me in her cool waters and soothed my soul. At the heart and soul of my animism, is this lake, this living, beautiful lake that taught me that everything has a spirit, and mine in inextricably entwined with it. When I cried at the shore, it was because I was home and she welcomed me back as if I'd never run away from my feelings.

I promise you, I will make the effort to come back, even if I have to go to the boat landing to access your healing waters again.

Learning to be Alone: My First International Solo Trip

Basilique de Ste-Anne de Beaupre

Take the word "international" with a grain of salt, since my first international solo trip was to Canada, and that's just a 4 hour drive, but I crossed a country border, so I guess it counts. For a very long time, I always put off traveling unless I had someone to go with me (and indeed, my trip to Iceland in a couple weeks will be with my sister) because I was always too timid to go on my own. Recently emboldened not only by a job that had me travel all over the state last year, but my own desire to explore more of what is out there, I impulse-booked a trip to Quebec for the 4th and 5th of July. I don't do fireworks or parades, and it was a perfect long weekend to take a trip and still have some home time.

Nana, my mom, and my gradfather,
who died long before I was born

Quebec, I thought, is easy, all I need to do is go up route 201 and keep going, how different can it be? I was a little nervous at the border, but I had nothing to hide and wasn't smuggling anything, and after being handed back my passport I was waved forward to continue on my journey. I have to admit, part of my desire recently to go to Canada is that Canadian Tim Horton's has a vegan breakfast sandwich made with a Beyond Meat sausage and I've been eating plant based lately-- my quick review is that it was fucking delicious if a bit challenging to get since I don't speak French. My first real goal was to go to the Basilica of Saint Anne of Beaupre (Basilique de Ste-Anne de Beaupre if you want it in French). So why would I, someone who uses the label of "animistic shaman," want to go to a Catholic place of worship? I have a few reasons. First, I am, according to 23andme, 31% French and German. My great-grand parents on my mother's side moved from Quebec to Maine (I think, I have to verify this), and you could tell my Nana grew up speaking French when you listened to her speak. I always felt a pull to Quebec, to see where my mother's side came from. And Ste-Anne? I once had a baptism bracelet of Catholic saints from Ste-Anne. Sadly, I think it's gone forever. I looked for one in the souvenir shop but they didn't have any like it. And for my last reason of wanting to go to the basilica: the tremendous amount of architecture and art to behold. And there was an overwhelming amount. I have to admit, after I left the interior and found a shady place to sit outside, I felt a bit emotional and overwhelmed. I reflected on my heritage, my Nana who passed away in 2008, and how little I know about that side of my family genealogically.

Across the road I saw a bunch of statues, and thought it was a cemetery. Well, there were gravestones there, but more interestingly, the entire stations of the cross in huge bronze statues, rendered in such lifelike detail. The path to go to each station wound up a hill (and it was very, very hot, thankfully I had water with me) and there was a woman praying/reflecting ahead of me, so I took my time and gave her space (there were a lot of pokestops so I played Pokemon Go-- if I'm going to pay for international data on my phone, I'mma use it, okay?) but made my way through all of them, snapping pictures as I went.

That's a bridge above, with people on it

My hotel check-in wasn't until 5 and it was, at that point, only about 2 or 2:30 when I was done at the basilica. Pulling up the comments on the solo travel Reddit thread I had made, I looked up Montmorency Falls. Here's a pro tip: if you're using Google Maps to navigate, give it a specific address, because when I typed in "Montmorency," it took me up a very, very steep hill on winding roadways into a residential neighborhood in Boischatel--which is the right town-- but not actually near the parking lot I needed to go to. Once I got that figured out, I paid for parking and drove down, down to the parking lot. As I pulled in, I looked up and yelled "HOLY SHIT" because the waterfall was right there (I also had this same response when I crested the hill and saw the Basilica of Ste-Anne, too, and "Oh wow!" crossing the St. Lawrence river over a huge bridge). The falls were massive (and again, if you want it in French, it's Chute de Montmorency) and there were stairs zig-zagging up a nearby hillside, that connected to a bridge, that connected to another bridge that crossed the falls. No thank you. They also offered gondola rides and ziplining, but I like to have my feet firmly planted on the ground. I did go close enough to get wet (it felt so good though) and then walked up a couple of sets of stairs to go back down instead of backtracking. There were a ton of people there and it was extremely hot. I had toyed with going to Old Quebec City after, but my legs felt really wobbly and I realized I hadn't gone pee since the basilica, so I went back to my car and sucked down almost half of my water bottle in one go. I hadn't been good about keeping hydrated in the heat, especially with my activity level, so I decided to go to the hotel and see if I could check in early.

Surprise! My booking said 5 but the hotel starts check-in at 4 so I was able to get settled and start looking for someplace to eat. I should mention here I have been eating vegan for a week (hence my excitement over the Tim Horton's vegan breakfast sandwich) and wanted to stick with it, but all the restaurants within walking distance (I didn't want to drive, I'd been in my car all day and the Quebecois are fucking crazy drivers) had really pathetic options for vegans or vegetarians, so I opted to go to the hotel restaurant across the street from my hotel, and got a veggie pizza and a glass of wine, both of which were delicious. After some Googling, I realized my hotel was in a hotel district that caters mostly toward business travel, so next time I'll try a different location. It was good, though, but their continental breakfast was bagels, toast, English muffins, cereal, and coffee. Some pathetic canned fruit. The coffee was really good though.

Fairmont le Chateau Frontenac

Wanting to beat the heat and the crowds. I decided to get up early to go to the Old City. I paid an exorbitant amount for 3 hours of parking at Place D'Youville and headed off. I didn't have a definite goal in mind, except to see the famed Chateau Frontenac. I wandered around, took pictures, and found myself on La Promenade des Gouverneurs where I had a stunning view of the St. Lawrence river and a pretty nice view of the Chateau. At the end of the promenade, there are stairs that lead to the Plains of Abraham but also a fernuncular, which people online told me to take, but I took the stairs.

All 310 stairs. In writing, that doesn't seem so bad. In humid, mid-80's sunny weather, it was torture. But I walked all of them and... was a little disappointed? I was expecting more, maybe I didn't go in the right place once I got to the top, but it was just a park, being set up for a festival. I followed the trail down until the Citadel (which I didn't go explore) and wandered back into the city (which is great for Pokemon Go) to find a seat and rest my legs. I walked over to the Notre Dame du Quebec (which was under construction and I wasn't sure if the sanctuary was open), found a cafe to rest and have a cold drink, and headed back to my car to go home.

Cities are fun to visit, but man, my battery drained quickly. I will say, though, I wasn't as terrified of city driving as I thought. When I first entered the country, I was doing the speed limit. I paid attention to the other drivers, and started to drive like them (albeit a little less recklessly) which involved changing lanes constantly, going 10-15KM/h over the limit, and not really stopping at stop signs. One thing I didn't see at all were police (except on my way out, at construction zones-- there was a lot of construction) and I didn't hear any sirens, which I expected. I spent a lot of time correcting the voice of Google Map's French accent on street names (I have very little French but my accent was always good) and developing my inner monologue.

I know there is probably a lot more to see, and I'd love to go back some time. This trip has assured me that I can enjoy a trip solo, because I can go at my pace, go where I want, play Pokemon Go while I walk if I want, and eat wherever I want.  This makes me really optimistic for Denmark next year.

That Same Old Dead Feeling

I hate my mental illness. I really do. No matter what I say about learning and growing from it, learning about myself and what triggers me, sometimes it just creeps up on me and I hate it. Lately I have been feeling dead inside again. I have no logical reason to-- I landed an excellent job in less than a month since losing my old position due to lack of funding. I found a job before the state unemployment got figured out (and still hasn't). But all I want to do is crawl out of my skin, find a green place and escape. I want a house set back in the woods where I can be alone and be left alone. Left alone with my cats and some gardens and trees. I want to be on the edge of the wild. My heart longs for it. I feel so empty, my heart feels empty, and I need the forest, I need the solitude, and those things aren't within reach right now. All I can do is sit around and let this emptiness consume me as I prepare for my first day of work tomorrow. The soul-crushing thing is that with my current student loan and car loan debt, I couldn't dream of being able to afford land and a house to put on it. I'll be stuck in an apartment, surrounded by neighbors and noise forever. I hope this spiral into a pit of nothingness passes soon.

Gaming while Female

I love video games. I've written about it before. I've been playing World of Warcraft off and on for about 10 years, among other games. When I'm not running around solo,  I typically play with a small group of people from my guild; we all know each other, and many of us have met. Sometimes, however, we will have to invite a stranger to our group, this is fine. What I've noticed, however, is that almost every time-- and also when strangers interact with me in game-- I am misgendered. The kicker was when a guildee who knows better  misgendered me in guild chat. I have wracked my brain to understand this. Even when I played a typically "female" class-- my mage or priest-- I get called "dude" (which I see as kind of gender-neutral, honestly), "bro," or "man."  But I primarily play a melee class these days. To the right is my demon hunter. Yes, I play a female character, but a lot of guys play female characters too. Armor sets tend to look... better on them. But why is it I am constantly being misgendered? Let's unpack this, list style!

A) The pervasively inaccurate myth that women don't play video games. In fact, women in my age bracket are a main demographic

1. Also, toxic masculinity 
2. The myth that female gamers are casual, when there are female players soloing end bosses of raids

B) My play style

1. I play a melee class now, although I used to play ranged DPS. But women are expected to be ranged DPS or healers
2. I am competitive. I don't like to lose
3. I am an aggressive player. I like to be big-dick DPS in dungeons and raids and I go balls-deep into player vs. player
1. The fact that I even PVP is often seen as more masculine, however one of the best PVPer's I used to run with was female, back in the day
2. The fact that I rarely bother with a dungeon any more unless it's a keystone mythic and I want to do higher and higher ones

C) My goddamn mouth

D) The fact that I also tank, which is seen as masculine, although there are excellent female tanks

E) The fact that some of my female characters are nearly naked

I've stopped correcting people any more. It's not worth the time, especially if it's some random person I'll never encounter in game again. The exception was the guildee, and she had rubbed me the wrong way prior to that. What do you think, gentle reader? Have you experienced misgendering in a video game, whether male or female? Do you stay out of voice chats so that you avoid people knowing your gender?

ungandiR

Photo credit to this person

In the last several months, I have been really feeling more in tune with my spiritual nature than I have in a long time, to the point that, when I say the word "shaman" in the context of myself, I don't feel weird or Pagan-hokey. Heathenry is an intellectual curiosity, but way too prescriptive for my nature. But listening to Nordic-inspired/proto-Nordic-inspired music stirs my soul, and makes me realize that my spiritual nature needs to be fed, yet I feel like I have no outlet.

I need an altar.

I feel like such a creeper when I ask my hunter friends for bones and skulls, but I desperately want a deer skull to the the focal point of the altar. I feel so closely tied to the forest, and to honor that, the bones of the lord of the forest are needed. I would ask his spirit for his blessing, and surround him with objects honoring the forest and the earth.

I need space for my altar.

I need easy access to the forest to feed my soul. I need a place where I can build a fire and dance around it to the beat of a frame drum.

More and more, I want a house, set away from people, on lots of forested land. I want to be that shaman in the woods. I want to have gardens full of herbs and mumble wise things, like observing the leaves showing their backs and knowing it'll rain.

As much as I hate the winter in Maine, I feel so connected to it. I'll always be a child of springtime, but this winter has given me a lot of time to reflect on my shamanic tendencies. It makes me think I'll live a very lonely, solitary existence.


ungandiR roughly translated means "I (am) the priest, I (am) invulnerable to sorcery" is from the Nordhuglo rune stone in Norway.

Norse/Scandinavian folk I've been listening to:

Wardruna (will be seeing them in concert in February)
Heilung  (watch their amazing concert Lifa on Youtube. Serious shaman headdress envy)
Kaunan (very folksy)
Danheim (only recently discovered yesterday, already love them)