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All of this is brining back old feelings. I'm finding myself angry all over again. Not at Dad, not really.

But at Mom.

I blame her for what happened to him. He held it together as long as he could.


He gave up, too, but...

Maybe it's because I feel like she betrayed me. That's such a strong word, betrayed. But we were close. Closer than she was to Anneke or to Martie.

I was 12. Anneke was doing some dance camp. I was at a friend's house. Dad came home from picking Maartje up from something or other.

I heard him on the phone with my aunt that day. I wasn't supposed to hear the details but I did. She bled to death. In the bathtub. Alone.

I had trouble sleeping every night and I would slip out into the hallway. For the longest time, I could hear my dad crying. He never did it in front of us. He had too much machismo for that.

But I knew it broke him. It broke me, too. I am a Vos afterall.

on choice ...

I've been thinking a lot about my role in Play it as it Lays lately. One of the key points in this story is the abortion Maria ends up having. The book takes place before R v. W and so, she finds a doctor who can help her quietly, and the procedure almost kills her.

That whole storyline keeps popping into my mind right now while I'm actively looking to become a mother. Maria's husband had her seek out an abortion because it was the best thing to do for both of their careers. And in the 50 years since that book was written ... not much has changed - save of course that abortion is still, for the moment, legal.

I'm lucky enough to never have needed an abortion, never have had to weigh those choices. But now that I'm making the choice, I keep going back to Maria, to what she needed to do because you see, while she was bleeding to death, she still had to get up and get to set. No one could know. And if she was sick, she'd lose everything.

We have different protections now. Hell, it's better than it was even in the 90's. Lucy Lawless tells this story of how she'd given birth only 2 days before, but she was back on the set of Xena, jumping out of trees all while her uterus was trying to fall out of her body. And I keep thinking about Kate Mulgrew, who has a young and just starting out actress found herself pregnant and sought out the help of Catholic Services so she could give the baby up for adoption. Abortion was legal by that time, but she couldn't do it. The pregnancy ended her relationship and it could have ended her career. She was young and all of us are a dime a dozen at that age.

Before I'd made the choice to leave Evidence, I'd been asked more than once if I did end up getting pregnant, could I schedule it so that I wouldn't have to take any time off. (For the record, our show runner did NOT ask the question and when I told her I'd been asked, she lost her mind.) But it's something we're still battling with. And I know that if I was younger, if I hadn't been so lucky overall, I'd have sought out an abortion because a child could destroy my career. Although I wonder if I'd have been as strong as Kate, to try and risk it all. Probably not.

I'm in the best place I can possibly be right now. But on my drives to work, I find myself lost a bit in Maria's thought processes and so grateful that I'm not facing her reality. It only drives home the point of the story even more.
After rehearsal this morning, I came back home because I had my second blood draw. I guess I'm just not cut out to have large amounts of blood leave my body because I nearly passed out at the end of it. So, that's that. They got two units out of me.

The nurse said I probably just psyched myself out. Which is crap. Why would I do that? I know and understand why we're doing this and the last thing I'd want is to make it harder for myself later. Which now it might be.

The internet is all gloom and doom and cat memes. I will be fine. I will be okay. I have six doctors, for fuck's sake, including an oncologist.

So why am I still worrying? What am I even worrying about?

Feb. 22nd, 2017

Anneke wants to have a funeral. She keeps saying that's what Mom would have wanted. The fuck, don't you think I know that? I know better than anyone what she would have wanted. Except it doesn't fucking matter what she wanted because she got what she wanted. She's not here to deal with this again.

I need ice cream

Initially, Jadeling had been just a scholarship fund for kids of suicide victims. Then it grew into a local Austin community of families affected by suicide. When Mom decided to give me the reigns, since it is, you know, mine, I made sure there was a fully bolstered online community. I hold community video chats, make sure to be an active voice in their message boards, and I host special Jadeling community meet and greet lunches on tour. Mom does still run the Austin based meetings.

I tell these kids it'll get easier. You'll always have those nagging "what if" questions but eventually you'll be able to talk yourself down from them easier. Because those questions can get a completely calm person worked up into a fit of anxiety, depression, rage... every extreme emotion punches you in the gut. And it's true, that eventually you learn how to brace for the feelings and toughen that gut so that it doesn't hurt as much. And you can calm down. And you can function.

I'm really doing a shit job at all that this week. I close my eyes at night and every single question I've ever asked myself hits me and absolutely nothing stops them. I try to get up and get to one of my instruments and play but even that sometimes only makes it worse. Sometimes it just encourages the wallowing because my hands inadvertently start playing one of Dad's songs. Or one of his favorite songs. Sometimes that's exactly what I need. Lately, it's only been dragging me down.

I tell these kids it'll get easier and I believed myself until this. I feel like I'm a teenager again. When I told I asked him if we could act like I was a teenager again for an afternoon, going out and having ice cream and talking about that big empty void that's somehow filled with negativity and pain.

We've decided that instead of coming back to LA we're going to take a detour to Austin. I need to see Mom because, well, the one thing we always tell everyone- you have to have your support network. You have to keep them close and let them know when you're not doing well.

Until then, I think we're going to go find ice cream.
I know I just got the motorcycle and I've hardly used it (yep, still in Maine...), but I find myself thinking about selling it and getting a busted late 70s Camaro to park in the driveway...

Lang would kill me. She celebrated when I finally got rid of the Trans Am I had.

content

Let's just say that it's nice to have my husband home to celebrate his birthday.

And it's also nice that I happen to have today off.

It's raining. It's chilly. We actually lit a fire in the fireplace. And well, it's good the dogs have a dog door.
Don't forget, now is the perfect time to catch up on all of those challenges that came at you like lightning the first few weeks of the year.

Need to restart a story (again even)?
Got that AU that's burning a hole in your brain?
Hoping to god that you can bring that quiet character back to life?

Check out the challenge tags and jump on in. Challenges start up again at the beginning of March, so be ready. :)

And if you're new and have questions, desires, feel totally lost - comment here. We're all here for you.

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In which I ramble...

I said I was going to take a break from the internet, but since I'm at my mother's house because I have rehearsals this week, I worked out a deal with Seb where if I stopped trying to isolate myself, he wouldn't be an obnoxious twat.

Without my little monsters here demanding my attention, I had the opportunity to take a long shower tonight. I took that suggestion from inthefourthact and modified it a little bit. I have this champagne rose candle that I lit and set on the toilet lid. It was dark enough that I couldn't see the dirt I know was there but it was light enough that I wasn't going to fall over.

It wasn't really anything remarkable. The flickering was too much like a strobe. It's a drafty bathroom.

But when I got out, I was standing there with the towel over my head, staring at the gold shining on my skin. It lit up the road map of destruction on my legs when I moved the right way. I'm used to looking at the scars, but never in light like that. I'm hesitant to call it beautiful, because you all know how much I hate them, but...I don't know.

I stared.

And I stared at my belly, too. The bright gold and the dark, dark shadows. Seb will grumble when I say this because he thinks it's negative, but I'm bigger than I was with Santana, and it's the truth because I'm healthy. I stood there thinking about the one scar I couldn't see, the one that means the most to me and the one that's causing so much trouble. I was thinking that this is it. Unless I do this again in the next four weeks, there won't be another moment like this.

It seems stupid. Three kids is good. I don't necessarily want another one. Even if my organs are able to be saved, the likelihood of going through this again is even greater. And that's not something I want. It seems stupid to wish for things to be going differently because it won't change anything. I've started accepting that this is it for me. I'm working on being okay with it and letting go of the need to be the one who makes that decision. This is how it's meant to be.

It just means I'll have a vertical scar to go along with all the other ones. Ultimately, all of these scars are my doing. I may not have been the one holding the blade that made the cuts across my lower abdomen, but I made the decisions that led me there.

You know, it's interesting. My legs are a mess and not all of them are neat and some of them probably should have had stitches at the time. I made those on my worst days, in my worst state of mind, in the most emotional pain. And yet, some of them don't look a whole lot different from the c-section scar I know is there. One that was given to me on my best day, when I gave a child life. A child who is flourishing and smiling and obsessed with Michael Jackson.

A scar is a scar. The body only has one way of healing.

random moving rambling

So we've decided that we're going to pack the house up and ... move into a condo. We've found one online that looks interesting - Gil's flying up to look at it this weekend while I do a full sort and purge. You can't trust the packrat to do that. ;)

I have to say ... I'm looking forward to living in a place where it rains.

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