Haunted.

The title of this post is very dramatic…

     
 
       You know when something happens to you that will change your life forever, whether good or bad? Well, my something would be my surgery. You know when certain things remind you of that certain happening… And they either drive you mad, or they fill you with momentary bliss? Yea.
I've been noticing these things, the most recent was the most dramatic, but I will talk about that in a minute.  Smaller things, like smells, get to me, and I have a sudden flashback to the hospital bed, or the car ride home, or lying in bed, or my medical boots, or the scars (mostly the scars remind me of my scars…) but none of these things are enjoyable… Scents are the worst though, because they can either be really good, like the pancakes, or flowers, or soap… or they could be just terrible. I will see someone on the street and feel like I have seen them before, in the hospital maybe? I don't know, and quite frankly I could care less, if it wasn't always nagging my brain about who they are or where I saw them.

       Then there are things I see daily, in my room. My crutches, for instance, were in my room until maybe December of 2011… My medical boots… Still in my room! Sitting under my desk, right now, at this very moment… Creepy… Or, there will be a pair of socks I had to carefully take on and off while being in bed… And when I see those particular socks I feel like tossing them in the trash even though they are perfectly fine… Little things like that bring me back… and it scares me. Recently, I became paralyzed with the fear that I would have to relive that terrible experience over again… I found myself choking on the very breath I tried to inhale. Scared and frozen over the fact that I was in pain… A pain so familiar, so unkind and uncomfortable… So unwelcome. Pain that I thought I would be rid of forever.

       You know how, when a amputee patient has phantom feelings, like an itch on a limb that is no longer there? That is what this was like for me (though I in no way, compare myself to an amputee patient, because their suffering and strength is far greater than mine). I felt pain in my ankle, where that tiny little bone, that cause so many problems, had been… I felt the same tearing sensation I felt when I stretched my scar too far too soon… All these feelings threw me into uncontrollable sobs which crumpled me to the floor in the hallway at my ballet studio, the place I told myself I would do my best to control my emotions so that I didn't make a fool of myself. I was scared, scared to be hurting, scared to know exactly what this pain was, for it to be so "normal" something I know too well. Fear intensified the pain. Pain fueled the fear. I'm sure my classmates and teachers thought I was going insane, as well as my sister probably did too… She was there with me though, trying to help me get through the odd spasms of frustration, anger and dread… It's just something I can't explain though… I wasn't looking for sympathy, for pity looks, pouty faces or blown kisses… I wanted to escape. Leave the building, walk home… cry into my pillow… Just get out of the environment that causes stress…

       When you can feel your heart beating against your rib cage, attempting to break through. When you can feel an intense shakiness in your hands that won't subside. When you can feel your pulse in the temples of your skull… You body just feels like it is going to topple in on itself… These are feelings you don't want to experience… When you are in so much physical pain you clench your hands as hard as possible, only causing a momentary distraction from one pain to another. You learn what your form of control is, mine is taking both arms, clenched fists, and raising them above or across my face, hiding or at least shielding my pain from others, though it doesn't work very well. I've realized that when I am hurt this becomes my "go to" position… It's not ideal… maybe I should work on something else more… I don't know… more effective?

       Everyone has their own personal relapses… They aren't enjoyable, they aren't healthy. No one asks for just one more moment to remember pain and anguish. It happens to everyone. With some people it is unbearable, with others, it lasts only a matter of minutes… The scale tips one direction to another. No one likes a scale, but everyone is haunted with the weight that causes the shift… You can't avoid it, some things will never be far from our bodies grasp.

Decision Point.

       No sorry, I'm not writing about what it was like to be President of the United States of America… But I should probably do that sometime soon, before I forget.
 Kidding.

       So, hmm… What do I want to talk about… Since I haven't made any decisions I am not sure what prompted the title… Whatever it was must have been a stroke of genius though. Oh, that's it. I haven't made any decisions. Still in the process. It isn't fun, all the things that I have to think about, the pros and cons… It hurts my head. I have college to think about, and Ballet… and I still don't know what is going to happen with either of those. I am trying to get through it one day at a time, but with each passing day, nothing is getting done, and it is freaking me out.

       Ballet aside, my decisions are quite simple actually. I have three colleges I am choosing from…. But right now one is most prominent. My major? Mmm, history, or anthropology. My dream job, (remember, ballet aside) to work for National Geographic. Then I thought, maybe I could minor in international studies, or photography (random. so very random). I really, really, really want to be working on digs. Not dinosaur digs… I want to unearth history. Cultural history, connecting pieces of ancient cultures that haven't been put together yet, uncovering stories of people who we never knew about. Sounds pretty great to me… One day my sister said to me "Stacey! You could be a forensic anthropologist, that what Bones is.",  for those of you who don't know, Bones is a TV show… I could not be a forensic anthropologist, if it's anything like what they depict on that show, I don't have a strong enough stomach… That stuff is pretty gross.
     
       I am doing a research paper on the Incas and their culture, and i was reading in one of the books I got from the library, that there is a valley that and been virtually untouched by archaeologists because it has been continuously occupied, now that seems really frustrating, but I can't help but hope that someday, there will be teams in the field who get permission to dig around the outskirts of that valley, who uncover finds that are extremely valuable to history, and that I will be on one of those teams. Whenever I tell someone I want to become and archaeologist, most of the time the reaction I get is, "Oooo….Well I mean that's great if you want to be teaching in a classroom, or at a museum, and you don't mind the fact that you won't make much of a living.", oh thank you so much for your kind words. You get an award for encouragement. No. Maybe I won't mind teaching on something I am passionate about, and maybe money is not all that important to me, but whether or not those things matter, I have to try, because its my dream, if not anything else.

       Then, there is the question about ballet, which seems so extremely hard to answer right now because it is. I won't know until the end of the summer whether i will be dancing next year or not, and it's causing stomach ulsters (But not really). I just want to know… I want to have a solid plan now… That isn't going to change on a whim. I am sure everyone knows what it feels like, but it gets tiring explaining my "future plans" every single day… I just end up feeling silly and overly hopeful. I am "attending" a summer program to be "considered" for a job, and I am also auditioning for another spot at my home studio which would be great, either job would be great! Any job in dance right now, would be great, but it is so uncertain, unstable… shaky… like an opportunity could shatter with one breath. I put on this "It'll all work out somehow" face, even though that phrase punches me square in the chest every time I hear it. The other day I was talking to a friend and she asked me whether ballet was more work, or fun, for me… I'd never been asked this question… and I actually had to think hard about it. I mean, obviously there are times where I literally feel like the only reason why I'm dancing is to get done, but then there are times where I don't want to leave the studio because I haven't emptied my body of movement yet… In my head, I stuttered  the answer to her question.

       Am I dancing only so that i will have a job? Or am I dancing for myself, for the love of dance? For the enjoyment it brings me, and other people? I realize I spend more time worrying about what I will be doing in a year, than enjoying what I am doing now. Sometimes I feel upset with myself for this, and sometimes i believe its necessary if i want to make it… I want to find that perfect balance between the two. I love to dance, with all my heart… I am happiest when I forget my life, forget myself and lose Stacey Schuett to dance. It's a powerful feeling, to lose yourself in something so strong… That is another thing. Strength. People dance all their lives, only to retire at some thirty-odd? That makes me so sad. They used up all their strength to put so much joy and passion into something that would give them happiness, even if it was a short but fun career. I want that… I want to be happy that I followed my first and strongest dream.

I just hope the curtain isn't lowered too soon.
BB Over and Out.