Vaginas

Tags

Austin, Austin Texas, Australia, Olympic, Special Olympics, Sport, United States, Vanity Fair

Logo of the 2006 Special Olympics USA National Games (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My vagina’s angry and I need to take myself to a time out. No Austin for me this weekend, no.
I’ve been crazy all week, starting with leaving the country music bar and yelling at Tim on Saturday night in an alley way while he withdrew money for me to go and spend elsewhere. I don’t know if it’s because I went off my cleanse, suddenly, in a big way with all sorts of booze and Mexican food (oh and yummy chocolate and cheese at Wholefoods) or because I’m tapering off my antidepressants that make me sleepy or because I just got a super early dose of PMT starting right in the middle of my cycle (Tim LOVES that) or all three. I don’t remember being this crazy before the meds – just sick, sad and really exhausted.
But I’ve been like really unhappy with EVERYTHING, unable to appreciate anything and with this huge, overwhelming, what feels almost psychotic drive to be famous, live in the limelight and get HEAPS of attention. Jesus Christ I’m not 21 anymore.
But it’s not just that. My appetite has returned, I have a voracious appetite for food and for my life which is a good thing.  Back in Australia, I didn’t care what I ate or even did most of the time – almost all of the sweetness of life seemed to have gone.  But it’s just hard now balancing my enjoyment of life with being healthy (and sane).  I’m having all these urges, appetites that perhaps in my former life I would’ve shut down as they weren’t healthy.  But the problem was, I shut down my spirit at the same time.
I do know one thing though, will all this newfound energy and passion I’m experiencing since recovering from cfs, I need to go back to dancing a couple times a week. I’m already at the gym every day and Tim and I joke about sending me twice a day.
The beautiful thing is that we can tell Tim’s friends why I’m not coming to Austin this weekend and, not only do they get it, they don’t make me wrong for it. Here in America, the feminine doesn’t seem to be suppressed, it seems more understood and in general people are given more space to express themselves authentically.  In Australia, we always have to pretend we’re just like men and aren’t allowed to have any emotional or hormonal issues publicly.

Special Olympics
Speaking of people expressing themselves authentically, I’m on the treadmill looking over the running track that looks down onto the basketball courts where the special Olympics are going on and I’m moved, almost to tears by the athletes. In ancient cultures, people with disabilities like down syndrome etc were viewed as special and valuable because they offered wonderful qualities and gifts that others didn’t.
Every time I look up from my screen my eyes fill with tears and I’m struck by an overwhelming urge to volunteer at the next SO. I cant look at them too much because I’m getting embarrassed crying at the gym and thinking this is further evidence of my craziness. There’s just such a “go get ’em” intensity on the faces of the athletes that is so balls out genuine. They don’t seem to be concerned with looking good or even achieving success as we know it. And seeing all their parents and friends cheering for them, they look like they experience a different kind of joy to other sports fans. Boys and girls play together and the boys have their last names on the back of their shirt but the beautiful girl playing in this game has her first name, “Samantha” on hers.
The happiness of the kids doing their stretches with their coach, we just never seem that joyfully happy.
Tim just came up and I told him I’m so moved and inspired that I’m crying. And he said “Oh it’s ok to cry at this. When I volunteered at the Special Olympics, a guy tripped in the 100m sprint and all the athletes stopped and waited for him to get up before they continued.” I’m now a weeping mess of moved inspiration and tears trying to stay on the treadmill. So much beauty and love ❤
This was the best workout ever, way better than reading my Vanity Fair magazine on the treadmill. I’m not so angry anymore…

Related articles

• Behind the Lines – Special Olympics Coach Talks About Experience (thegazette.com)
• Special Olympics Summer Games at URI (wpri.com)
• Wonderful Athletes. 3 holes-in-one (as he walks away mumbling to himself).. (oforchristsakes.wordpress.com)

Dancing in my Underwear

Tags

Alcohol intoxication, Australia, Captain America, Dallas, Jessica Alba, Recreation, Saturday, Undergarment

I used to spend hours dancing alone in my living room, imagining my SAS boyfriend at the time (who was always away), was watching me.  What happened to her? Slightly crazy, zany, passionate woman with dreams.  I decided at some point the things I was feeling were not appropriate and that I needed to grow up.

Coming back from an awesome weekend of partying, indulgence and too much drinking in Austin, I find myself dancing in my underwear again.  I’m slowly tapering off my anti depressants, my energy is returning and so is my passion.  Only thing is, I don’t know what to do with that passion, an energy so powerful that if it’s not channeled, it becomes destructive.  I haven’t felt like this for so many years and I hope that nothing’s wrong with me.  For so long in Australia I’ve been told there is.  Hopefully in America people are granted permission to express their emotions.  When I was younger I always had my dancing as an outlet for passion.  Maybe I need to take a class again.

I’ve finally fallen in love with Austin in all its grunge and weirdness.  I’ve stopped looking for high class Dallas in Austin and begun surrendering to my own inner grunge and weirdness.  The only thing is, me weird involves me sometimes not being completely socially appropriate like on Saturday night when I was out with Captain America‘s beautiful friends (people whom we both love very much and, living a few hours from them, miss very much).  I decided, in a tired, drunken haze that I wasn’t getting enough attention so thought it would be an excellent idea to take it out on Mr Wonderful (>_<).  I really thought causing those sorts of drunken scenes had passed along with my twenties and a wrinkle-free face.  Apparently not.

So, being familiar with causing drunken social scenes amongst people important to my boyfriend, I awoke on Sunday morning with my old bed buddies, shame and guilt, and the fear that I had not only ruined my relationship but my and my beloved’s life.  We met up with two of our friends for brunch and, despite my inner awkwardness, all seemed to be well and us girls ended up going for wine and cheese at Wholefoods later.  What followed was something I had not experienced in Australia with women I hardly know – a conversation in which I got to share and be straight about all the ugly bits of my personality and ego and what had led to my drunken tears the previous night.  And I was not judged or encouraged to change any part of me to fit with social norms.  The opposite in fact, I was accepted, validated and even told I’m not as bad as I think I am.  And my beautiful friend shared with me her vulnerabilities and ugly bits.  That was some of the best wine and cheese I’ve ever drunk and eaten.

So now I’ve got my “me” playlist playing whilst dancing/writing in my underwear and I’m feeling a little uncorked.  I’m slowly letting that girl out from her inner bottle.  I’m wearing brighter colours, not the muted, soft tones I was taking on as dignified and “age appropriate” since I realized I wasn’t Jessica Alba anymore.  My old passion is flowing through me and I must admit to being a little afraid of this energy that moves me but I know that suppressing it led to my illness.  Hopefully now that I’m living in an environment that seems much more accepting of people’s inner lives, I can find the same sort of acceptance for myself.  And finally silence the ghostly voices of my family that I’ve been carrying around inside my head, playing over and over whenever I find a new “something’s wrong with me”.

 

Related articles

• Partially Naked and Alone: A Halloween Story (didwedosomethingtodeservethis.wordpress.com)
• Blogging in your underwear (jeffesposito.com)
• Made in America: Finding Inspiration in Underwear (abcnews.go.com)

Dishes

I’m just allowing myself to be free, the time to be me, allowing myself to unfold from the inside. And it’s scary. What if I dont have time to do everything that I planned for the morning? Can I trust that if I allow myself to experience what is unfolding, I’ll be ok? That the world won’t fall apart?
Sometimes it’s hard to trust that the universe has got it, to have faith that it will all unfold perfectly if I just follow my instincts, rather than controlling all the outcomes.
So I’m spending this time doing the dishes, listening to new age radio on Pandora and writing instead of completing my tasks for the morning. I wish I could let go of the fear completely but it does feel wonderful.