Martial Arts

It should be obvious by now that I had some serious self esteem issues. When you hear at school five days a week for several hours that you're a loser and stupid. It's only a matter time before you actually begin to believe it.  In the tenth grade I began my training in Tae Kwon Doe. Now martial arts is something you might picture someone who is coordinated and athletic doing. I was neither. I'm actually kind of a hopeless wonder when it comes to sports and my opinion of the more popular televised sports surely didn't help matters. When I decided I wanted to do something outside of school I knew it either had to be Martial Arts or Dance. Both activities have always interested me greatly.
Martial arts won out because one the type of dance I was into the most wasn't offered anywhere, two I thought if would be nice to be able to defend myself, and finally because it was something that my dad got into first. So that right there made the sport a lot more appealing. When anyone joins the martial arts they should be prepared for some hard work. That's a given, but I had an additional set of cards stacked against me.
My epilepsy hadn't really gotten much better. So while most students could really on a steady body that sees everything straight I didn't even have that. My medication was being constantly adjusted so on a good day I was just a little dizzy, but on a bad day I would have trouble walking. For some reason on bad days my legs acted more dizzy than my head, the room would spin with slightest turn of my head, and even when my head was still there was still two or three of everything.
So learning to do a simple jump kick or any kind of kick was very challenging because it took me five times the effort of everyone else to just stand on one leg not to mention trying to throw a kick without landing on my butt.  Forms which are series of movements that usually have some sort of meaning to them and also are exercises to help someone learn to fight weren't much better. All the constant turning usually made me even more dizzy than I already was. While I admit I loved the classes my favorite part at that time was the stretching because we stood still in one spot.
During this period is when I really began to master my dizzy walk. Through Tae Kwon Doe I was learning how to walk perfectly normal even on my really bad days. This is why I have often wondered if I were the type to drink would the intoxicating effects really affect my motion that much. I'm used to having a hard time walking.
Their were times during class when the dizziness would just become to much and I have to sit for ten to fifteen minutes. Sometimes I would only be able to work out for half the class period because of the effects of my medicine. So when I accomplished my first rank award. The yellow tabs on a white belt I was beyond happy. I finally felt some confidence that I could do something and maybe what people said at school wasn't right. It began to become easier for me to just ignore the stupid people who didn't really want to know me, but just saw me as their verbal poking dummy.
While injuries and the epilepsy itself has kept me away from Tae Kwon Doe at times. I still have the goal of acquiring that black belt so I have proof that even if you have cards stacked against you it's still possible to do it. A recent rib injury has kept me away for a little while, but I plan on going back real soon. It was Tae Kwon Doe that gave me confidence in my self and the courage to ignore the nasty things that people said about me. While words can still hurt I find it much easier now to just shrug it off. This is one activity that I'll always be happy I decided to join.

Summer Job

Okay so it's been awhile since my last post. I shall explain my long break. First school has been a bit haywire with me researching for a psych paper. When it comes to psychology I tend to dive in. Also I stepped aside because I had to figure out a way from keeping my story from becoming boring for anyone that is following this blog. If I go chronologically in order there are a couple of problems. One my memory is fuzzy. I've been living with epilepsy for a long time now and my memory wasn't always what it is now. Two going in order will get boring because I'll end up telling scenarios that sound very similar back to back. So where does this leave my blog? Well I've decided to try and go in order as possible, but to only stick to memories that are vivid to me. Why struggle to remember something I wasn't really that present for mentally. Meds did do a number on my brain for awhile.

So I'm jumping to the end of ninth grade. All that need be said is the two friends I was close with I had a great time with. Over all though school was a struggle and I was making it my business to keep people at a distance. I'm finding this is a very hard habit to break. Most people who know me only know what I trust them with, which with most people isn't much. I'm always waiting for the dagger to come plunging down into my back. The only person I can say I truly trust is my husband and honestly I don't know how he did it.

During ninth grade my family was attending a more contemporary church that my brother and I had chosen. At this point while I wasn't furious with God anymore I still wanted to keep him out. I wanted to do things on my own. The only reason I went to church at this point was so I wouldn't hear mom and dad complain if I didn't go. At least the church we were going to had better music in my opinion. No offense to the traditional, but at this time in my life that kind of service never would have reached me. My eyes were closed and ears shut in those services, but this type of church kind of caught me off guard.

As for my summer job. It was my first job. I had decided to try getting a part time job for the summer. I hadn't had any seizures in a few months and thought it would be safe. I ended up getting a job at a movie theater. They had the popular two screens in one building and the other screens with the not so popular movies in the other building. When I first started out I was always in the popular building. Which was a good sign. This meant that the managers thought you were doing a good job.
While selling popcorn (I still can't eat movie popcorn to this day! I won't ruin it for you!) isn't anyone's dream it provided a paycheck. A paycheck that was my money to spend however. It felt good to be earning my own cash.

So things went well. My only complaint was people were a bit clicky, but I'm not the best judge. I do have major trust issues. The free movie bonus was awesome. I saw a lot of new releases that summer. Things took a turn for the worse when I had a very small seizure at work. It just had to happen when we were slammed.

For me a small seizure is some mild shaking I can't stop. I'm conscious of what is going on and am able to communicate the problem to others. Usually people understand me through the sobs. Crying usually starts mid seizure in these types and my emotions really go wacko. So I struggled to call my parents on a pay phone because apparently no one cared enough to call for me. Even though my hands were shaking so badly I had to hang up and redial about ten times.

Before I left with my parents I did my best to assure them everything was fine and that I would be able to work my next shift. So I did my usual sleep off thing. When I return for my next shift that's when things start getting weird. Instead of asking me questions about what precautions to take and stuff others have with me in the past I noticed that where ever I went an employee would follow me.  Even to the bathroom. When I took breaks I ate up stairs as was routine for me and was in full view of many people so thankfully I got some time to myself on break.

Despite the weird change in behavior I continued to work hard, but I quickly noticed that employees were double checking everything I did. Like my seizure had caused me to leak I.Q. or like what I had was contagious. It wasn't long before they moved me to the other building all the time. Because this building had no upstairs I would sneak out on my break so no one would follow me. When I would leave the room to go bathroom or something a employee would shout "hey would you follow her! "
It even got to the point of my fellow co workers being afraid to be alone in the room with me. So they would take their break in their designated spot so their other co-worker wouldn't have to be alone with the leper. In the B building there was always three on shift. One working tickets and two selling popcorn. One could have handled the popcorn job, but no one wanted to be alone with me.

It finally got to the point where I just had a break down during break one day. I just couldn't stop crying. I couldn't understand why a little seizure would cause these people to treat me like I was two. Worse like I was something that needed disposed of. Of course this whole thing just deepened my trust issues and confirmed my ideas of how no one on the planet can be trusted.

I patiently waited till they were short staffed and had no choice to put me in the A building on a busy night. I'm not proud of the following moment, but I was sixteen and stupid. Plus I had been mistreated and I didn't find out till a few years later I actually could have sued over it, but I waited misery and all. After the break down I pretended everything was fine. I waited till the line at the counter was really long and then I left the two others there who were swamped and looking to me for help. I walked up to a manager told him I quit. Used the payphone to have my parents pick me up. While the method was stupid admittedly it felt good to do. In my own way I was standing up for myself and showing them what they did was wrong.

True a confrontation and explaining things would have been a better solution looking back on it now, but I was a teenager. My brain was not fully developed yet and not capable of making well thought out decisions. So I quit in one of the worst ways you possibly can. I don't recommend the storming out method. It's one of my life's regrets. I could've taken the high road and given them some notice.

Importance of Music and Fiction

So I've stated in my previous blog post high school wasn't exactly fun for me. I also began to realize I couldn't handle this whole epilepsy thing alone like I had originally thought. So I began searching for something that would make me feel better.
For me this is when I really began to appreciate music and when my story writing really began to take off. In fact it was in high school that a story I'm currently working on began to evolve. Of course that story has become much more complex and intricate over time, but it was the story that at the time was called "Trinity" that helped me through a lot of issues.
First I have to explain that while yes I came up with Trinity I can't take full credit. As many fiction writers would say it was the character that introduced herself to me and asked me to write her story. She came to me and still talks to me when I listen to music. Music is probably the thing this character is the most passionate about. 
While outlining and writing the first version of the story it felt like I wasn't alone. The strange thing is that even though I was angry at God and didn't want him near me my character was christian and loved God deeply. Maybe I was expressing feelings I didn't know I had.  The truth is that when I wasn't ready for God Trinity kind of stepped in and helped make me ready.
I know it's sounds strange and crazy that a fictional character could do all that, but she was and is with me all the time. She knew and knows how I feel and what I've been through. All though she isn't real she was the part of my mind that wasn't afraid to call me out when I was wrong or being a wuss about something. 
I suppose part of the reason I haven't finished her story yet is finishing her story means letting her and her sister go, but I think it's time I move on and let other fictional characters get to know me, but writing her story has been fun.
In high school it was fun to just shut the world out and spend time in her world while writing her story down. A world where I didn't have epilepsy and anything was possible. I found myself spending much of my spare time there even if I wasn't writing. This is why the story I am currently writing is so vastly different from the original. It was a place where everyone knew me and was content to leave me alone. It was perfect and if it weren't for my music and imaginary worlds I never would have been able to find God or deal with the epilepsy.

High School Hell

So I'll be honest if epilepsy had been my only issue in high school I would have been a well adjusted, happy teenager. School was never a happy place for me. In fact when I thought of hell I pictured school. I couldn't think of anything worse. To this day I still think of my old high school as the halls of hell. I understand that a lot of people have a great time in high school, but there is one thing that everyone needs to understand. Everyone knows about the cliques and fortunately the cliques kind of take a backseat after high school. Although I will say that because of my seventh grade my skin was thicker, but I was also extremely untrusting. I didn't let anyone new in in high school and I didn't make any new friends and I planned on keeping it that way. Something else needs to be said I also have a distrust to a certain degree of teachers because of Junior high and high school. I've had to many teachers that for some reason singled me out and picked on me because I'm an introvert (quite), played favorites, or showed up to school drunk. This makes my college experience more challenging because I'm always wondering if they grade fairly, if they actually know what they are talking about, but their are a few teachers I've come across that deserve praise. Mr. Sanders, Mrs. Williams, and one exceptional librarian at Davis College named Peggy. They all went out of their way to help students. They went above and beyond and treated students fairly.
As for cliques I wasn't in one. Between medication side affects and half worrying about having a seizure in school I forgot to try and fit in. So even many of what populars would call geeks and dorks ignored me not to be mean, but because they didn't know I was there. When someone uncomfortable with my quite ways decided to make it clear I wasn't welcome in their presence I would simply stop listening. Making them angrier and giving me a weird sort of pleasure out of watching their frustration. Although when their words did sink in I'd dive into a horror story or poem and usually through it away quickly after. I only kept a few to remind me of the hard time I went through.
Although my friend Lindsey seemed to make friends without trying and she made sure to drag me along to a few things. This is how I became involved in the high school drama club. She forced me to go and I'm happy she did. That's really the only fun thing I did in high school.
My hatred for math became ingrained in my blood in highschool. I had one fantastic math teacher and a couple awful ones. One didn't really teach. He'd pass athletes and tell people to seek help from a student in class who was really good at math. This advice doesn't fly for the mathematically challenged.
Lunch was a toss up for me. If I knew there would be someone there I could sit with and talk to I didn't mind lunch, but otherwise I may as well have been told I was going to math class.  So what I was really looking for at this point in time was a support system.   As a teenager I didn't want to have to use my parents for support all the time. I was feeling lost as where to look. I wrote a lot of free verse poetry just about being lost. Sure I frequented places with answers, but my eyes weren't open yet.

Jumping Ahead

Before I jump ahead to high school I will quickly sum up the rest of my eighth grade year. The rest of the school year seemed to go by without incident. This allowed me to have a good time with friends at school. Because of this break in incidents I was able to develop a friendship I still value to this day. Lindsey is a friend I could never replace and has always been there for me. Darci is a precious friend to. One that I don't get to see enough of and probably should call more often. 
I also feel the need to mention that the doctor I despise. Dr. Kooky didn't last long because he accepted another position in another state. Which was very much a relief to me. My new doctor Dr. Nagel a neurologist I would recommend to anyone looking for one made me feel my actual age. He explained things and a bonus he didn't measure my head. He explained that might be necessary for very young children but not necessary for someone of my age. When summer came I had a seizure and he raised my medication and added another one. I don't remember the names.
So in the fall when school began I do believe Lindsey was attending, but I'm not positive how long my friend Darci went to Start. Maybe a little over a year. I remember walking home with her and getting grilled by the railroad police.
It was at this point that my meds. began to have an affect on me.  There were points of the day when the room would spin and I would see two to three of everything. I became very good at walking perfectly normal when my world was lopsided. The days that were worst were when I didn't have time to eat in the morning.
Also at this point I beginning to realize I might not be able to do this alone. I had begun to wonder about my Nana and how she handled things and my friend Lindsey was an influence as well. I knew she had a faith and from what I could see it didn't seem so bad. I was starting to rethink my warped thinking of God goes out of his way to make those who love him suffer. The new church we were attending also was helping as well.
As much as I love and appreciate a traditional service. At this point in my life I really truly believe a service and church like that would have just pushed me farther out the door. So I'm very grateful for my time at the contemporary church I went to. They helped show God to me not as some dominating tyrant, but a friend who just wants to know who I am. Most of all wants to share my burdens not make them worse.

The River Denial

Sorry it's been so long since my last post. I was away from my computer enjoying Christmas and soon the new year. Last post I took a little detour from my story and told you a little about my nana because of the influence she had on me during this period of my life. I think now is the time I start talking about how I tried to deal with everything on my own. Yes, I mean on my own. As much as I love and cherish my family at that point in my life my trust issues where much larger than they are now and I didn't trust them either. I felt I had to fight this one on my own.
The medication my doctor gave me knocked me out for a good forty eight hours while my body adjusted to the new medication. After my body adjusted I don't remember any lasting side affects as this particular medication wasn't at a strong dose yet. I hated taking my meds because it was a reminder of the incident and I didn't like thinking about it. I was good about taking my meds though. I didn't want to risk any chances of a repeat incident.
My friends had finally picked up that what had happened was a topic that was off limits. That it was something I didn't enjoy talking about let alone thinking about. To make sure the topic didn't come up again I distracted them with a horror story I had been working on. Something I have since thrown away. Of all the stories I write horror stories are the ones I hate to share because there more for me personally than to entertain a possible reader. Horror stories of mine are me putting all my rage and frustration onto paper. I kill everything and everyone I'm angry at in those stories so I wasn't thrilled about showing them "The Christmas Killer" but it got them to forget about what had happened.
In case your wondering that particular story was written when I was still angry at a lot of people and at God himself. At the time I didn't want to celebrate Christmas I wanted to destroy it. I didn't want people to know that though so I wrote the story which disappeared shortly after it was finished. When I was around people who cared for me and vice verse I put on my happy mask and I got really good at it.
So things seemed to get a little better after. Things were going well with friends and I had actually begun to forget that I just might be a ticking time bomb.

That didn't last long though. One day after coming back from checking out a contemporary church I was sitting on the couch eating leftover apple pancake. I was a bit tired because I hadn't slept well the night before. The next thing I knew I was on the floor and confused. I also remember being upset that my apple pancake was gone. I had my heart on finishing that. I had saved it just for me. I don't remember much of this episode, but what I do know is that it marked a wake up call for me. That this wasn't over and it wasn't something that I could just ignore. I was going to have to find a way to deal with it.

Childhood Heros

Everyone needs someone to look up to. Someone strong and that truly shines when they themselves are going through rough times. For me that person was extremely important to me. This person was a shining example to me of how someone should endure the tough times. This person had an extremely powerful faith and despite all she endured with her health and in her past she found reasons to smile and laugh. She was never angry and spiteful like I was at least not that I saw. My nana was my childhood hero and even when I grew to old to really have a hero she still continued to be that for me.
She had every reason to be angry at God. She had a past that  could make one heck of a novel that would leave you on the edge of your seat. For a long time my family didn't believe a lot of her stories to be true until we came across a historical novel that backed everything up. She carried her mother on her back and walked with her sibling to Korea or China. It's been awhile since I heard the story. She refused to cut her hair at the buddhist temple and was taken in by christian missionaries and became a devout catholic. She had to be married three times before the United States would accept her marriage to my Pap.
She was blessed with a husband who loved her and three wonderful children who would give her grandchildren. Grandchildren that she loved to spoil with food and tell her stories to while cooking in the kitchen. When I knew her she fought an ongoing battle with diabetes and Macnia Gravas (sorry about the spelling) a battle she fought for a long time.
During her healthier years you really wouldn't have known. She wasn't going to let it slow her down. She took her meds and did her best to stay healthy. She was one of the strongest women I've ever known. When my epilepsy began it was to her I looked up to. I looked to her as an example of how to deal with all the crap that comes your way without falling apart. For awhile I thought faith and dealing with things were two complete separate things, but in watching her I learned that wasn't true. I learned that she dealt so well not just because she had a loving family willing to support her, but because she gave what she could not control to God.
Telling about my nana is important because honestly if I hadn't had her example to look up to I might not be the person I am today. I might not have the faith I have today. I most certainly would not have come out the other end of my ordeal in one piece. I'm sure that it would have broken me if I had not stopped and wondered how my nana did it.  My nana is a major reason my soul is saved today and I look forward to the day I can thank her in heaven. LOVE YOU NANA!