A Journey Before Forty - Part 1
I never thought I would be as emotional on this trip as I am. This is the first trip ever with the girls and husband by Amtrak train. We are traveling from Chicago, Illinois to Huntington Beach (via Fullerton), California. From there, we will travel on toward Williams (via Flagstaff), Arizona. It will take a little over two days and nights to get to California. I love sleeper cars!
The last time I made a journey of any distance by train was a little over two years ago when I traveled to Texas. It was the journey outlined in Skeleton #2. I had to make that trip alone. I had a myriad of emotions during that adventure. Not only was I in a strange environment, but also the unknown that lay ahead for me in Denton, Texas weighed heavily on my mind. I spent part of the time in tears, part of the time struggling not to self-injure, and part witnessing the beauty of the landscape. Mostly, I was telling myself I was doing it alone and convincing myself I had amazing strength. The strength and independence I had as a little girl. There would be no turning back.
So as I entered Union Station in Chicago, the feelings surrounding that experience flooded back. I don’t know how else to compare the feeling other than that of visiting a cemetery years after burying someone you loved. I heard same monotone voice that announced the track boarding information. The same confusion of where to go to check the luggage. The smell of diesel exhaust and antiseptic all becoming real again. I had to be the strong one today. That person who knew this station and could lead my loved ones to the right place to go. I had no time to process my feelings. I couldn’t tell my husband what was flashing through my mind because I had to be the leader.
I could see in K’s eyes, that she was clearly worried and out of her element. Change is not easy for her, and this huge city was already overwhelming her. I told her I’d been here before, and not to worry. E on the other hand, was reveling in the new surroundings. This was adventure, and she was not apprehensive at all. It was startling to see how two totally different children, were experiencing the same things I felt but in stereo. I gave E a task, which was to look out for her older sister. K, was to follow me. This way some of the innate anxiety in K, would be channeled toward me. My husband has that same innate anxiety. He doesn’t admit it, but I see it’s there. He expresses it by micromanaging us and working out every minute detail, which inherently cannot be worked out. There is no dry run here. This is the main event. I had to be calm, self-assured, and show a manner of strength.
Once we were boarded, I knew I could relax. The glimmer in the girls’ eyes as I told them what to expect showed me they were happy. I’d attained what I’d set out to do. Get them on the train without any major disasters. As we pulled out of the station, I had horrible déjà vu. The porter coming in and explaining everything brought a welcome distraction. As the girls and my husband headed up to the observation car, I was alone in my thoughts. I wanted to cry. Those familiar feelings returned in the form of flashbacks. I felt everything I’d felt two years ago. I told myself this was clearly not the same thing. This was a vacation, this was enjoyment, this was something new, a new destination. My rational brain and my feelings were clearly not getting along. I had to allow the feelings to come, and accept them. It was all I could do. It was what I was taught to do. I cannot control feelings. They just are.
I focused on the reason I was taking this trip. For the longest time, I swore I’d never live to be forty years old. As a teen, I thought I would die by my own hand before then. In my twenties, being diagnosed with a myriad of health problems, I figured I’d never make it to forty. I was told, wrongly by my mother, that the medications I took would shorten my life. I took that to mean, dead before forty. When I hit age twenty-nine, I knew I had to fight to live. Untreated depression, along with massive doses of MS Contin (slow release morphine) for my migraines, told me I was dying. I believed it with every fiber of my being. Barely making it through two pregnancies with post partum depression on top of untreated major depression took me over the edge. Looking back at that now, I realized I had resigned to dying. I’d given R his two children, I was in horrible pain, and depressed. I’d quit eating, was on Fentanyl patches, and rarely got out of bed. My father cemented my decision in a phone call.
“Nicole, you’re not a mother to your children, we are. You don’t even get out of bed to take care of them. You have to do something about this. I think you need to see another doctor. You’re not a parent. We’re the ones coming up there and caring for them more than you are.”
What I didn’t know was my father was warned not once, not twice, but three times not to say those things to me by my mother and my husband. In my mind, those words just cemented what my parents thought of me. You mean nothing to us, you’re not a mother, let alone a decent mother. You’re better off dead. It was all I needed.
I don’t remember much from those days, and it’s a shame, because I have no memory of E from age 6 months, to until she was walking. What I do remember, is being tapered off of narcotics to be hospitalized for the third time for migraines. They would strip off all the medications, and start over. What I suddenly realized, was that I was going through narcotic withdrawal with no medication to help easy the symptoms. All those movies you see with the heroin addicts going through major withdrawal? That was me. The throwing up, the chills despite being hot, the horrific body aches, inability to sleep, and my favorite one: disturbing thoughts (ala Andrea Yates). It took two weeks in the hospital to get my migraines under some sort of control. The drug withdrawal took longer. The depression did not go away. It got worse. The medication changes helped the migraines, and leveled out my mood. I was just depressed all the time, and self-injuring.
The train trip to Texas changed all that. The medication increases three months ago, significantly helped the depression. I could truly feel happy again. It’s a feeling I have to get used to. It’s been gone from my life for so long it feels foreign. Every year of my life I celebrate and don’t lament about getting older. Wrinkles and gray hair is a badge of honor (although I don’t have any gray hair). In order to celebrate life, I created a bucket list of sorts. Things I wanted to do before I was forty or at least before I truly died of old age.
1. See the ocean, any ocean, I didn’t care which.
2. Go back and see where I was born. (We moved to Michigan from California when I was 15 months old. There are no pictures. None.)
3. See the Grand Canyon
4. Get a tattoo.
5. Stay on Mackinac Island, Michigan instead of on the mainland.
6. Take a passenger liner (boat) to Germany or England.
7. Go to New York City, NY
8. Go to Las Vegas, NV
9. Fly to Italy, watch glass-blowing, and eat genuine Italian food.
10. Learn to play the violin
11. Learn to weave cloth.
12. Recreate my Grandmother’s quilts using the last remnants of the quilts I get in shreds from my mother.
Those were just a few of the mental “bucket list”. Most people try to get through their bucket list when they’re dying. I’m not going to wait that long. Fact is every day is a gift. I don’t know when I’ll die, but I’m not going to sit around and wait for that to happen. I still can’t picture myself being alive at age forty. I don’t know why I feel that way. My birthday is in January. I’m not going to wait.
I am going to California as I type this to see a friend I’ve only known on the internet. She lives near where I was born. I’ll be passing right through the area. I will see the ocean and I’ll be sure to collect some sand. I’ll put my feet in the ocean. I can’t wait! From there, I’ll be going on to Arizona to see the Grand Canyon. I’ve already been in an ongoing weaving course in an art college close to me. I want a tattoo when I turn forty. The sketching of my Grandmother’s quilts began ten years ago. I wanted to learn her craft because she died before I was born. I think I’ve inherited her artistic abilities. I wish I knew her. I think I would have had a ‘kindred spirit’ as Anne of Green Gables called it.
To be continued…
The last time I made a journey of any distance by train was a little over two years ago when I traveled to Texas. It was the journey outlined in Skeleton #2. I had to make that trip alone. I had a myriad of emotions during that adventure. Not only was I in a strange environment, but also the unknown that lay ahead for me in Denton, Texas weighed heavily on my mind. I spent part of the time in tears, part of the time struggling not to self-injure, and part witnessing the beauty of the landscape. Mostly, I was telling myself I was doing it alone and convincing myself I had amazing strength. The strength and independence I had as a little girl. There would be no turning back.
So as I entered Union Station in Chicago, the feelings surrounding that experience flooded back. I don’t know how else to compare the feeling other than that of visiting a cemetery years after burying someone you loved. I heard same monotone voice that announced the track boarding information. The same confusion of where to go to check the luggage. The smell of diesel exhaust and antiseptic all becoming real again. I had to be the strong one today. That person who knew this station and could lead my loved ones to the right place to go. I had no time to process my feelings. I couldn’t tell my husband what was flashing through my mind because I had to be the leader.
I could see in K’s eyes, that she was clearly worried and out of her element. Change is not easy for her, and this huge city was already overwhelming her. I told her I’d been here before, and not to worry. E on the other hand, was reveling in the new surroundings. This was adventure, and she was not apprehensive at all. It was startling to see how two totally different children, were experiencing the same things I felt but in stereo. I gave E a task, which was to look out for her older sister. K, was to follow me. This way some of the innate anxiety in K, would be channeled toward me. My husband has that same innate anxiety. He doesn’t admit it, but I see it’s there. He expresses it by micromanaging us and working out every minute detail, which inherently cannot be worked out. There is no dry run here. This is the main event. I had to be calm, self-assured, and show a manner of strength.
Once we were boarded, I knew I could relax. The glimmer in the girls’ eyes as I told them what to expect showed me they were happy. I’d attained what I’d set out to do. Get them on the train without any major disasters. As we pulled out of the station, I had horrible déjà vu. The porter coming in and explaining everything brought a welcome distraction. As the girls and my husband headed up to the observation car, I was alone in my thoughts. I wanted to cry. Those familiar feelings returned in the form of flashbacks. I felt everything I’d felt two years ago. I told myself this was clearly not the same thing. This was a vacation, this was enjoyment, this was something new, a new destination. My rational brain and my feelings were clearly not getting along. I had to allow the feelings to come, and accept them. It was all I could do. It was what I was taught to do. I cannot control feelings. They just are.
I focused on the reason I was taking this trip. For the longest time, I swore I’d never live to be forty years old. As a teen, I thought I would die by my own hand before then. In my twenties, being diagnosed with a myriad of health problems, I figured I’d never make it to forty. I was told, wrongly by my mother, that the medications I took would shorten my life. I took that to mean, dead before forty. When I hit age twenty-nine, I knew I had to fight to live. Untreated depression, along with massive doses of MS Contin (slow release morphine) for my migraines, told me I was dying. I believed it with every fiber of my being. Barely making it through two pregnancies with post partum depression on top of untreated major depression took me over the edge. Looking back at that now, I realized I had resigned to dying. I’d given R his two children, I was in horrible pain, and depressed. I’d quit eating, was on Fentanyl patches, and rarely got out of bed. My father cemented my decision in a phone call.
“Nicole, you’re not a mother to your children, we are. You don’t even get out of bed to take care of them. You have to do something about this. I think you need to see another doctor. You’re not a parent. We’re the ones coming up there and caring for them more than you are.”
What I didn’t know was my father was warned not once, not twice, but three times not to say those things to me by my mother and my husband. In my mind, those words just cemented what my parents thought of me. You mean nothing to us, you’re not a mother, let alone a decent mother. You’re better off dead. It was all I needed.
I don’t remember much from those days, and it’s a shame, because I have no memory of E from age 6 months, to until she was walking. What I do remember, is being tapered off of narcotics to be hospitalized for the third time for migraines. They would strip off all the medications, and start over. What I suddenly realized, was that I was going through narcotic withdrawal with no medication to help easy the symptoms. All those movies you see with the heroin addicts going through major withdrawal? That was me. The throwing up, the chills despite being hot, the horrific body aches, inability to sleep, and my favorite one: disturbing thoughts (ala Andrea Yates). It took two weeks in the hospital to get my migraines under some sort of control. The drug withdrawal took longer. The depression did not go away. It got worse. The medication changes helped the migraines, and leveled out my mood. I was just depressed all the time, and self-injuring.
The train trip to Texas changed all that. The medication increases three months ago, significantly helped the depression. I could truly feel happy again. It’s a feeling I have to get used to. It’s been gone from my life for so long it feels foreign. Every year of my life I celebrate and don’t lament about getting older. Wrinkles and gray hair is a badge of honor (although I don’t have any gray hair). In order to celebrate life, I created a bucket list of sorts. Things I wanted to do before I was forty or at least before I truly died of old age.
1. See the ocean, any ocean, I didn’t care which.
2. Go back and see where I was born. (We moved to Michigan from California when I was 15 months old. There are no pictures. None.)
3. See the Grand Canyon
4. Get a tattoo.
5. Stay on Mackinac Island, Michigan instead of on the mainland.
6. Take a passenger liner (boat) to Germany or England.
7. Go to New York City, NY
8. Go to Las Vegas, NV
9. Fly to Italy, watch glass-blowing, and eat genuine Italian food.
10. Learn to play the violin
11. Learn to weave cloth.
12. Recreate my Grandmother’s quilts using the last remnants of the quilts I get in shreds from my mother.
Those were just a few of the mental “bucket list”. Most people try to get through their bucket list when they’re dying. I’m not going to wait that long. Fact is every day is a gift. I don’t know when I’ll die, but I’m not going to sit around and wait for that to happen. I still can’t picture myself being alive at age forty. I don’t know why I feel that way. My birthday is in January. I’m not going to wait.
I am going to California as I type this to see a friend I’ve only known on the internet. She lives near where I was born. I’ll be passing right through the area. I will see the ocean and I’ll be sure to collect some sand. I’ll put my feet in the ocean. I can’t wait! From there, I’ll be going on to Arizona to see the Grand Canyon. I’ve already been in an ongoing weaving course in an art college close to me. I want a tattoo when I turn forty. The sketching of my Grandmother’s quilts began ten years ago. I wanted to learn her craft because she died before I was born. I think I’ve inherited her artistic abilities. I wish I knew her. I think I would have had a ‘kindred spirit’ as Anne of Green Gables called it.
To be continued…
Posted by kitterztoo at 11/3/2009 10:19 PM 
Categories: Travel
Tags: flashbacks emotional forty feelings train Grand Canyon Arizona California bucket list Amtrak 40 travel
Categories: Travel
Tags: flashbacks emotional forty feelings train Grand Canyon Arizona California bucket list Amtrak 40 travel
I imagine this is cathartic, but difficult to write. Thank you for sharing your story. I hope you get everything on your bucket list complete and live a long life!
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What a touching story. I hope you accomplish everything on your list and then some!
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I can definitely relate to your troubles with depression... one day, even one hour, at a time... you are strong. Look how far you've come! And you'll go farther as you complete your bucket list!
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