In Which I Am Alive

So. Hi. I don't post about my actual, day-to-day life very much on my blog. But for some reason, today I really want to. So here you have it: an update on the life of Riss. I'm in my last semester of school before I student teach. I would say it's bittersweet, but it's not. It's just straight-up sweet. I love school, and I love learning, but if I had to spend one more semester sitting at a desk listening to someone else lecture at me about how to teach, I would tear my hair out. I am so incredibly excited to start practicum next month, and then to start student teaching in January. Not so excited for the job hunt that will inevitably follow graduation, but...c'est la vie. After 3 years of living in the same apartment complex, I've finally moved. I'm living in a house called Ingleside with two friends I've had since I was tiny, and three fantastic new friends (yes, the name of our house is an Anne of Green Gables reference. Yes, that may be why ...

Let me tell you a secret: During my month working at camp this summer, I think I took my medication...twice. And guess what? I was fine. No, I was happy . Let me tell you another secret: Last week, I only took my medication twice. And... I was not fine. I was miserable. The world fell apart and I found myself crying about things like not being able to eat at Chick-Fil-A because I'd forgotten my debit card. And so I've been asking myself...what made the difference? Why could I be blissfully content without my medication at camp, if I still depend on it for my happiness back at home? There has to be something, and if I only could put my finger on it... Maybe it was singing all day, everyday, sailor songs and whaling songs and songs about nature and songs about fish heads and songs about friends, just letting my voice ring out because that's what humans do, they sing. Maybe it was always having opportunities to help others, or seeing the effects of my wor...

Here is the bizarre thing about antidepressants: I know that they work. I know because the times I have forgotten to take them for more than 2 days in a row have been miserable. Picture a weepy mess unsure why she can't get off the couch. Picture 5 naps a day. Picture grumpy and snappy. Picture...picture me before the meds, I guess. But I also know that really, I can go 2 or 3 days and be safe. Except that these little pills make wonderful placebos. So if I start to feel down and I remember I haven't taken them yet, I just pop a pill and feel much better (Even though I know that it is physically impossible for Zoloft to have that quick of an effect). And if the depression strikes on a day where I have taken the meds, I just have to tell myself over and over again that I took them that morning, so I should be feeling all right. And, pretty often, that does the trick. It's kinda like how when you realize that you forgot your deodorant that morning you instantly start dr...

For the past few weeks, I've felt myself disappearing. It was terrifying, because it was reminiscent of these days , or these ones ... dark times. (heck, I'm not afraid to say it: pre-Zoloft times). I couldn't remember what I loved, or even what I liked. I didn't want to do anything. But not doing anything was even worse, because it turns out...when you can't remember who you are, being alone is unbearable... because you don't even have yourself to keep you company. And so you stay busy, you stay around people, and you sleep a lot. But then, over the last few days, I found myself waking up a little bit, like a perennial popping back through the soil in the spring. It wasn't ever dead, the bulb was there all winter long, waiting for the sun to come back. And I don't know for sure what it was... but it might have been being in a classroom, teaching music for the first time in far too long and then spending almost an hour just chatting w...

Those days happen...those days where a cement boot is slowly but steadily...very, very steadily..pressing on your chest. Those days where you see yourself turning into your nastiest self, attacking those who aren't present to defend themselves, and just being all around snarky. The days where getting off of the couch sounds too hard...and doing your homework sounds too hard...and staying awake sounds too hard... And talking doesn't help. And sleeping barely helps. And ultimate frisbee only helps a little. So those are the days when you sit on the floor with a bottle of Miracle Bubbles and watch the fragile orbs float, burst, and vanish. And that helps.

I miss having my own room, because I miss laying on the floor. It may sound strange, but when life takes a toll on my emotions, laying on the floor soothes me faster than anything else. Feeling that solidness along the entire length of my body, knowing it isn't going anywhere. You can't fall any lower if you're laying on the floor. Even better if it's a tiled floor, with its hard coolness saying, "I am here. I am real. You're safe." Back home, I've  been known to take many stress-induced naps on the bathroom floor. But here...well, with 6 busy college students sharing a bathroom, it doesn't get cleaned much. No way am I laying on that. And as nice as my roommates are, I don't know what they would think were they to find me stretched out on the bedroom floor, staring at the ceiling, or pressing my face to the carpet, or hyperventilating. Which means the best I can do is lay on my bed and pretend to read, longing for the trustworthy rea...

Dear 2011, You have been my most intense year yet. You've brought me some of my happiest times and greatest adventures. You have been a year of romance, of friendship, of hiking, of random dance parties with roommates.  You started with me slaving away at the piano preparing for my sophomore recital, which I somehow managed to prepare for and perform. You brought me new friends and reminded me how much I love my major, even when I feel insecure about it. You took me to Italy, Austria, the Czech Republic and Germany. I learned how to survive in airports by myself, how to deal with homesickness, and how much I miss my family when they're far from me. You haven't been the kindest year. You took my brother and my best friend from me, replacing them with letters and weekly emails. You gave me scary and exhilarating questions about my future, which started full of excitement and optimism, led to confusion and doubt, and eventually ended in heartbreak. But even then, 2011, you ...

You know how sometimes when you cry, your makeup smears, and then some of that makeup gets trapped behind your contacts and then it stings really really bad but you don't want to take your contacts out because you like being able to see and your glasses are broken? Yeah, that's why crying is a poor choice. In other news, the semester is almost over. So, ya know, that's good.

You know you're in the right major when simply doing your homework for hours relieves your anxiety, loneliness, and worry more than any of your leisure-time activities do. I've been in a bit of a funk all week, and though I felt better while I was playing with my Callie, hiking with Warren, watching Rifftrax movies with Cindy and Josh, and singing in my choir concert, it was a distractional relief, gone as soon as the distraction ended. But spending hours and hours today and yesterday reading up on child development, studying classical concerto forms, analyzing a Mozart piece, and writing a paper about social competence in 4 year-olds has brought a lasting, permanent mood change. It's like the difference between...I don't know, a pain-killer and an antibiotic? I think the fact that I'm doing something productive, challenging, and enjoyable (to me) has some kind of magic to it.

So, one time there was this psychologist named Harry Harlow. He liked to study monkeys. In one of these studies, some baby monkeys were separated from their mothers, and had two choices of fake "mothers": one made of wire with a bottle attached, and one made of cloth with no food source. The baby monkeys would use the wire mother when they were hungry, but then would instantly jump back over to the cloth mother to cuddle with it. Harlow's conclusion? Attachment is based more on contact and comfort than mere physical needs. Today I feel like one of those monkeys...except that I don't have a cloth monkey to cuddle with. My basic needs are being met, I have friends and people to talk to, everything is going right... But I am definitely not meeting my hugs-per-day quota. And some days...that is really hard to take.

So, you may not have known this, but I recently made the move from little old Utah to Vienna, Austria, to study German and Humanities for the summer. And I feel like I'm supposed to be documenting that somehow. But documenting my life...that's never been the purpose of this blog. I thought about making this into a travel blog, updating about every week with what I've been up to. But I'm already writing travelogue-esque emails on a pretty frequent basis to my parents and to my boyfriend, and keeping a detailed journal. I don't really feel like writing out all my adventures in yet another medium. I'll hopefully be putting a big load of pictures on the book of faces pretty soon, for those who truly need to live vicariously through me. So this blog will stay what it's always been. A place for me to share my thoughts and feelings when I feel like it, hopefully to the enjoyment and edification of those who read. (There will however, probably be more pictures f...

I'm really trying to break my addiction to xkcd. I really am. Promise. But today...I went to go check if there was a new comic up and I saw this one . And it hit me pretty hard. Thankfully, it doesn't apply to my life right now. But oh goodness does it remind me of how I felt all summer. Without going too much into the unnecessary, gory details, I will state that this summer was one of the darkest times of my life. I spent much of it feeling alone and broken, not knowing where to turn for comfort. I worried that I was doing something wrong. After all, they teach us that if we do all the right things, share our toys, and believe in ourselves, everything will work out hunky-dory, right? So if you hurt or you're scared or you're alone or you can't go a day without locking yourself in your room and bawling you must be making a mistake, right? But I couldn't figure out what I was doing wrong, and that made me mad. Every inspirational quote about the...

Dear Karissa, Where have you gone? I miss you. I know I agreed to cover for you, live your life while you were gone, but I thought you were only taking off for a couple of days. Not the whole semester. I mean, I know you've stopped in now and again and I appreciate that. You came to the music preschool last week to play with Leyla and Niko and all the other kids. And there is that certain boy who can sometimes tempt you to come back. But then you disappear as soon as you arrived. I'm pretty good at pretending to be you, but my disguise is slipping. This morning Sister Kenney commented that my teaching lacks passion and commitment. If it had been you teaching, there would have been passion and energy up the wazoo. And it's only a matter of time before Dr. Shumway notices, since I simply don't play the piano as well as you do. I don't do school as well as you do. I'm terribly shy and can't even handle basic social situations as well as you. I just ca...

Sometimes, I get lonely. That's pretty normal I think. Right now, my roommates are home, but I don't want to talk to them. And yet, I'm craving human contact. So i browse facebook, hoping to see someone I know on chat. I write this blog post, both to figure out my thoughts and to quietly say, "Hey world...um...i exist. Just thought I'd remind you..." Somehow, this need for people makes me feel weak. I've been staring at my phone for half an hour, knowing all I have to do is text Jeff or Brenton and, odds are, I'll have myself a conversation. I could pick up the phone and call my Mom, or my grandma, or Jessie. But I don't because, for some reason, I feel ashamed that I need people. I should be able to sit by myself and do homework without having this unsettled feeling in my stomach, without wishing someone would call me just to say hi. I shouldn't NEED anyone except for myself! And yet...I do. Maybe that's the way I'm supposed t...