THRIVE Book Launch Week 11: Blistered and Limping

Last week time sped up. Things were all timey-wimey. I experienced about two weeks in the span of seven days, and yet, got very little done for my books. Or at least, that is how I feel.

My nutrition was off. My sleep was off. My work was off. For the last few days I've felt like I've got a hangover, and yet, I didn't have the pleasure of drinking. It's all the punishment, with none of the pleasure.

So unfair.

Needless to say, even while in the midst of this whirlwind, I've had some points of light. It has been hard to focus on them, because frankly I've had a hard time focusing on anything at all. That said, some time last week I had a brilliant idea.

I started contacting victim advocacy organizations about listing my books on their resource pages, doing blog posts, and or talking at their events. Their missions are in line with my goals for THRIVE, and that resonated. I got one that invited me to do a blog post, and one that said they would review my press kit. Seeing as I only emailed three, I felt that was a pretty good response. It seems that direction is something I need to continue to pursue. And along those lines, I need to connect with other organizations doing things on other topics within THRIVE.

It's kind of easy to find organizations working with survivors of sexual abuse. Not easy to search for the bend I'm looking working on homelessness, unemployment, and even less so with "whiteness." Hopefully I'll have some kind of epiphany of search terms this week to figure out connections for other outlets. In the mean time, I need to recover from last week. So, unfortunately, the week leading up to my digital release, is also the week I'm dragging from other things in life.

Isn't that just the way?

It is the last little bit of the marathon, and I have enormous blisters covering my feet. I'm dehydrated. I'm limping. I've got a stitch in my side. I am that stumbling runner. I'm so close, and yet it feels like every step is full of pain.

And I wonder, is the pain all worth it? When I get to the finish, will I be proud? Or just relieved that it's over?

But of course, this is just one race in a series of races. Promoting THRIVE doesn't end on June 15 with the release of the ebook. There is the speaking tour I'm gingerly putting together for next year. There are the videos I've finally prioritized with Christian to get done. There are the audio books I need to record and master. There are the organizations I need to contact, the posts I need to write... and the list goes on.

And that's just THRIVE. I have so many other writing projects this could be my full time job, plus some. It is daunting. But I'm getting ahead of myself. I can't think that far, not yet. Right now I have to concentrate on one foot in front of the other. This is the first marathon. I have to finish as strong as I can.

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LAUNCH UPDATE

Despite the craziness of everything in the past week, I was able to get the following done:

• Researched victim organizations
• Contacted victim organizations
• Wrote post and submitted to one of the above.
• Wrote first draft of submission for writing blog related to THRIVE.
• Contacted friends at universities about speaker fees
• Posted to author forum about speaker fees etc
• Did social media blitz for several days on THRIVE.
• Blog posts
• Wrote and posted exclusive story to Patreon.
• Began rewriting FAMILY FRIEND OR FOE.

 This week I'd like to do the following:

• Contact friends personally about the book - either through social media or email or both (LAUNCH DAY IS NEXT MONDAY!).
• Contact more victim organizations about resource listings, guest posts, and guest speaking.
• Follow up with friend about radio appearance.
• Follow up with contact about speaking appearance.
• Send out inquiries about speaking appearances at local organizations related to THRIVE content.
• Send out social media blast about THRIVE.
• Rewrite post for web zine/blog and submit.
• Send email blast on launch day.
• Blog.

I think that is more than enough. If I'm lucky, I'll get some videos done, but I don't know how things will go in the evening. It's one of those things that I feel like everything is so full, so intense, I'm not sure how much energy I'll have at the end of the day. And I'm pretty spent right now. I have a major case of energy drain. I have to get back on track, which considering the timing, might be difficult to do. We'll see. I'm crossing my fingers and counting on the support of many to make this happen.

When there is a good purpose, I believe things happen. This will test my belief...and that's a little scary.

Help Me: Alexis and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Weekend

What I can't lose

It started on Friday. Christian woke up with hives and swelling everywhere. His hands were swollen. His ankles were swollen. His eyes were practically shut. I called urgent care. They wanted to know about his breathing.

"It's fine."
"Okay, well then come in here."

We went, and through the course of check in, I find out our insurance has lapsed through one thing or another (auto-debit never went through...they never contacted us...whatever the case). Then it becomes clear, despite Christian's job (or because of it?), we can't actually afford our insurance premiums. This, thanks to our collected loans, and other responsibilities (which are small compared to most households, but that's all we can manage).

I have a melt down in the waiting room.

It ends up being okay. Only just. Christian takes meds. The swelling goes down more and more. The hives abate, for the most part.

I feel like something needs to change, but I can't seem to get any interviews for jobs I do apply for, that would make childcare possible. I can't sleep well, ransacking my mind for ways that I might actually be able to support us - paths that we could pursue that would actually make a difference for our family.

Fast forward to Sunday.

My son sticks a piece of a toy in his mouth and it gets stuck. It's awkward. It's hard to remove. He's freaking out. He's coughing. His face is turning purple. My mommy sense kicks in and I reach into his mouth and yank it out myself. He is shocked. He is horrified. He cries. He wants to nurse. There is no good place. My shirt is not really the best kind for this sort of thing. We're in the middle of the restaurant, completely exposed. Christian takes him for a walk. He comes back. He wants to stay cradled in my lap. He eats half a sweet potato fry.

He cries. He grabs at me, clearly wanting to nurse. I don't finish my lunch. Christian gets everything except our child, who I am carrying in my arms, across a huge parking lot. He's over 25 pounds, wriggling, kicking, crying, and all the while grabbing at my chest to nurse. I am just trying to keep him in the middle of my body so I don't throw my alignment off worse than it is.

We get to the car. It is hot. It is small. We cram into the back seat and miraculously he's able to latch. He gets distracted and starts playing with things. We relatch. He gets distracted. We relatch. I'm  sweaty and cranky and still in shock from lunch. He gets distracted again, and I make an executive decision and put him into his car seat.

Christian declares he can't drive because of his meds. Fine. I get in the driver's seat. I'm not totally aware of how I'm still upset, but I do what I have to do. This is what I do everyday. I make it work. I check everything, I back up. The car directly behind me is backing up too. I stop. She keeps backing up, but there is no way she can move her car enough. I honk my horn. She bumps me.

I put the car in neutral and the brake on. I get out of the car and look at our bumper. Our car is over 10 years old. Hers is too. There are no dents. There are no scrapes. I see no marks on her car whatsoever, though ours has some old ones from something I can't recall.

"It was just one of those things. I looked left and you looked right," the woman says. I look at the cars again and nod. I'm upset, but no harm no foul.

There's a loud honk from behind me. I look over and there is a car. i stare the driver down. She motions as though she wants to get through - between the two cars who just had an accident. She doesn't smile at me. She doesn't wave or anything. I get into my car and this driver has the gall to drive right between our cars, before either one of us has time to move out of the way. I had visions of chasing her down, of beating her window, of taking my teenage carkeys along her freshly washed California Prius and giving her a nice cursive message to immortalize the occasion.

"Thanks you fucking bitch!" These are the words I thought because she didn't know everything I'd been through this weekend. She didn't realize I had visions of losing not only my husband and best friend, but also the fragile financial security I have. She didn't realize that I had visions of losing my son to a piece of irregularly shaped plastic just moments before. She didn't realize that I had just carried this upset, frightened little boy, wriggling, and crying, at over 25 pounds, the distance of several city blocks. She didn't realize that I had just crammed into my back seat, so that same frightened little boy, could feel an ounce of comfort before being strapped down so he could be transported safely away. She didn't realize all those things, but she did see my car bumper get tapped.

I don't know what that Prius driver had going on in her own life, but I think she could have managed a few seconds wait time to allow a young mother a little less stress to an already stressful event.

So when I did finally get my car going, and make my way out of the parking lot and on to surface street, it was amidst utterly raw weeping. Christian offered to take the wheel, but I refused. I refused in part because I did not want to move from that spot. I did not want to get out of the car. I could not take my hands from the wheel, so instead, I wept. I sobbed until my throat hurt - until the sound was impossible, until it refused to claw from my throat. The tears continued to flow from my swollen eyes. I would sniff. I would take a few gasping breaths, and this was enough to allow that wracking sound from my throat again.

I cried so hard, so long, I started to cough. I started to choke. I calmed enough to breathe. I wept some more. I wept the entire drive to my in-laws' house.

"If anyone makes any kind of comment to me, I cannot be held responsible for what I will say back. I cannot!" I said as I turned down their street. Christian nodded.

"Okay. I understand. Just go straight to the guest room. It's fine."

I parked the car. I wiped salt from my cheeks - just salt tracks because of the drought. I got out, not looking back, not thinking. I went straight to the guest room where our son takes his nap. Christian laid him down beside me, whimpering and half asleep from the car ride.

As I lay there, nursing my sleepy toddler, I breathed deeply, my limbs trembling.

I can't handle anything else. I can't. I need a break - I need to catch a break. I don't have anything left. No patience. No resources. No stamina. I am running on empty. I am bare. I am raw. I don't know what I will do if something else happens. I don't know what else I can do besides what I am doing.

So I write this, raising my hands up, empty and asking...help me.

Rejection, Grief, and the Search for Direction

I am in a place where the eye does not see.

That line from Avatar keeps floating around my head. It keeps floating because it feels like I have been abandoned, by dreams and hope. It feels like I've been abandoned by light itself.

On Friday I got an email from one of the doctoral programs saying I was rejected. To be fair, it was kindly done. It was as compassionate as such an email can be. They had only so many spots. It was very competitive. I had a very strong essay. They were very sorry and looked forward to watching my contributions to the field from afar.

After I read it I was in shock. I couldn't hear my son asking for me. I couldn't think. I didn't know what I was seeing. I put on Sesame Street and sat down. I needed to talk it out - figure out how I felt about this.

"I can't believe it." That was my first thought.

"What am I going to do?" That was the second.

"They're going to regret this later." The third.

"Who can I call?"

But it was the middle of the afternoon. No one was around. People were working. I was alone with my son and my heart was breaking. I was barely functional. I didn't want to scare him. I couldn't let myself feel. I couldn't yell. I couldn't scream. I wouldn't allow myself to cry. And I wanted all that. I wanted to pour out every inch of my heart to get rid of that awful, horrible, poisonous feeling inside.

Because it wasn't just about the school. It wasn't just about rejection. It was about what the hell I am supposed to do next fall. 

I can't keep living at my parents' house in a tiny bedroom in one of the most expensive counties in the country. I can't keep subsisting - just making loan payments, and just writing my reclusive heart into ones and zeros. I have to do something. I have to be someone. I have to live up to some standard of myself that has remained out of reach for approaching a decade. I have to make the world a better place. I have to charge down the path of legacy, making my mark with more than sand or ink. I need to ossify that shit so it is impossible to remove - so it is carved into the bigger psyche of America. So I know I am more than shouting in the dark. It is so time.

Eight years is too long to put yourself on hold. It is too long to pretend everything is okay. It is just too long to maintain a lie, a lie that became my glass cage, letting me look out watching as others, my equals in socialization and education, mastered their own successes and left me behind.

If I was lucky they would look past me, forgetting my existence, just a figment of their past life. "I wonder what happened to Alexis?" "Oh, I don't know. She's probably changing the world or something. You know how she is." And then they would move on with their day, satisfied they solved their question. 

If I was unlucky, they would look down and see my glass box, see me struggling against uncontrollable forces and bounded choices that kept me contained. They would frown, ask me how I was doing, how they could help, all the while congratulating themselves for not being in my place.

"How lucky I am! I never took out that many loans!"

"How good it was that I could live in X city where the labor market was good when I needed a job!"

"How wonderful it is that I happened to study this while in school, and met such and such person, who put me on the fast track to upper middle class comfort!"

Everyone doesn't think this way. Some, I know from their big hugs and flowing tears, genuinely grieved at my rejection, at the closing of a door we thought was the right one. They thought, like I did, this would be a way for my family - a cold, harsh change, but at least a path to success.

Many remind me that I have other options still yet to get back to me. And if I'm honest with myself, I still have at least three books intended for publication this year. I have a bunch of articles I intend to pitch to various online magazines about various things. It isn't really the end. I know that. My mind knows that. But my heart? My heart is still in total freak out mode.

I still haven't answered that fundamental question, "What am I going to do?"

And the reality is, I can't. I don't know what I will do because it isn't clear. The path hasn't been determined because all the pieces are not yet moved. All the tactics are not tested. Everything hasn't been tried. There are things that just haven't come full circle yet.

So even as I freak out, and grieve, and rage, and wallow, I am digging in my heels. I am reading. I am thinking. I am researching. I am trying and testing and moving. This is all I can do, now that the shock is gone and my tears have dried. I grope my way through the darkness, hoping to be seen, hoping to see, always seeking more light.