My Book

This book is the story of my travels, struggle with mental illness, and generally crazy life, the past few years since I moved out of my apartment to work seasonal jobs in national parks.

I've finished the first draft, and now am having people critique my book, and am working on editing.

Here are the first 9 pages of my book if you'd like to check it out!

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The Snake Slithered Past My Head: The Wild Element

Oh Red Fire

Oh red fire, watch me burn
Take me away from the world I know.
Oh red fire, watch me go
Run away, run away, away from home.

Oh red fire, watch me fall
Take me away from the pain I feel.
Oh red fire, watch me fly
Fly away, fly away from all that's real.

Oh red fire, oh red fire!
Makin me burn in New Mexico
Oh blue water, oh blue water,
Take me out before I burn it down.

Oh blue water, watch me drown
In the Illinois river while I burn out
Oh red fire, let me out,
I'm tryin to make it don't you know?

Oh blue water, save me from myself,
Oh red fire, don't wanna go down.
Oh blue water, take me back home,
So I can drown that red fire out.

***

Why you Shouldn't Ignore Mental Illness
"Riding Glory through the pasture at full speed, feeling the rush of the wind through my hair, is the only thing that makes me feel alive. It's the only time I ever feel alright, and it's all I ever want to do." -13 yr old me

"Drugs are the only thing that make me feel normal and alive. I don't do drugs to get high, I do them to feel ok." - 21 year old me

I've always known there was something off about me, something not quite right in my head. I never felt normal, and life wasn't particularly worth it. I just drifted and fought myself for years.

Now, I know what's wrong: I have a mental illness. And now that I'm on medication, everything makes sense and I finally feel normal and life, while still difficult, is worth living, even if I don't know the answer to everything. But it's been a long, unnecessarily rough journey over rocky roads to get here.

There has always been something I had to do in order to feel calm and ok. I wasn't always a drug addict, but I've always had a drug, legal or not.

As a kid, it was adrenaline. Running, racing the other kids and always having to win, horseback riding, the faster and more dangerous the better. Fighting with siblings. Climbing on the roof. If my heart was pumping, everything felt ok. I had to have that feeling.

But in high school, the thrills wore off, and the reality of life, and how messed up my brain was, started setting in. Previously though it was hard to concentrate on school, I managed to get passing grades. But now I just couldn't focus on things. I could focus for hours reading a good book, or for an hour or two drawing a picture, but anything else was hell. I started to get depressed, I'd hide in my room and cry for hours, wanting to kill myself, and a few days later, hide in my room because I was insanely angry and didn't know what to do about it. Sometimes I took my rage out on the animals, screaming at them, chasing them around, even beating the cows with pieces of wood and pitchforks. My rage scared me.

Other times I'd stay up for days, feeling like life was awesome, working on a project or reading nonstop, until I started to hallucinate and think people were trying to kill me. I wasn't sure if there was something wrong with me, or if everyone went through the same thing and just didn't talk about it. I wish at this point, I had told someone about it and seen a doctor.

As I got older, I kept chasing that adrenaline rush.

Running, riding horses, trespassing, driving fast, alcohol, driving dangerously, climbing mountains, and finally, drugs. I don't know what would have been next if I hadn't finally got on meds. But it probably wouldn't have been good.

Throughout my travels, you would think I was happy most of the time. I wasn't. There were glorious days where I felt on top of the world, the world was so beautiful and perfect. There were intense, dangerous fits of road rage, awful days when I wanted to die, because life was meaningless and nothing I did could give me any kind of satisfaction or happiness. And there was lots of alcohol before I found drugs.

Alcohol made me feel ok, it made life worth living, things worth doing, and socializing less terrifying. Some days I would stay drunk all the time, even at work, because once you have normal levels of dopamine and other brain chemicals in your head, you don't want to go back to the way you were, yet afterwards, you are even more depleted and depressed. It's a hell you can't possibly understand fully unless you've been through it. You have the answer, you think, but it also just causes more problems.

In Texas, I had my first taste of "drugs" with pot. I'd always had awful social anxiety, though I had no idea what anxiety was or that not everyone had it. I was always called shy, quiet, a wallflower.

Though I always wanted to talk and join in, I rarely did, because I was so afraid and worried. So my childhood and much of my teenage years were quite lonely, aside from my best friend who stuck with me through it all.

But in Texas, weed made my fears go away. Much like alcohol, but it didn't make me stupid.

"Maybe these 'drugs' everyone despises aren't so evil after all," Thought 19 year old me, desperate for answers and a way to tame my crazy brain. And so the seed was planted. In a way, you could say marijuana was a gateway drug. But the first gate I opened was alcohol, weed only opened one further up the hill.

In Alaska, I had my worst problems with anger.While in Texas I had been mainly depressed on and off, except when drunk or high. But in Alaska I had determined to stop drinking, worried I was an alcoholic.

However, I smoked weed often, because when I didn't, the fits of rage came back. Small things would send me off on a tangent, screaming and throwing things, which led to people either disliking or being afraid of me.

You should know something is wrong when your boss, a tall, strong man tells you, "I don't know why you're so angry, but the way you talk and act scares me a little."

At that point, I really thought something is definitely not ok in my head. But I didn't know how to fix it, other than smoking more weed to calm down.

There were many episodes of insane, angry energy where I'd have to run off into the woods, pick up heavy metal fenceposts and swing at the trees, screaming at the world, until I couldn't move my hands enough to pick up another post. Afterwards I'd cry hysterically. It's no wonder I turned to alcohol and weed. No one wants to live like that.

There were days I felt high, without the drugs, but they were few and far between. It was mostly the terrifying raw, destructive energy I couldn't control, and the lowest of lows where the world was hell and death was the only way out.

So I started smoking weed all day, every day. It was the only thing that calmed me down on days I was angry, and the only thing that picked me up when I wanted to die.

But even that started to wear off, as my boy adjusted to the constant stream of THC. Because of the angry episodes I had few friends, and I hated my job and saw no reason to live.

The only times I was happy were when I was in the wilderness alone, and while whitewater rafting or kayaking on the Nenana river.

I rode it out the rest of the season, and entered a manic episode as I left. Life was beautiful, I felt great, everything was right with the world and people were amazing. The anger and despair I had felt in Alaska just seemed like a bad dream. But when I returned to Illinois, it wore off and I was back to being depressed.

When I went to work on a weed farm in California, I had my first experience with drugs. Cocaine. I had a seeming natural resistance to it, as I had to take more than everyone else to get high. I just felt alright. I felt like a normal person, for once, without something fucked up in my brain. I could focus, remember things, and socialize, and best of all life seemed worth living.

"Why is this illegal?" I remember thinking. "How is feeling like this a bad thing? Why should I suffer when there is a cure?" I thought the world was backwards and fucked up, to say a thing that helped me so much, could be so wrong. All the laws about drugs, were evil and wrong. Drugs were a good thing.

But I didn't stop there. I wanted to feel like the other people, on top of the world, so I started snorting more. Not the small amounts that "cured" me, but enough to get really high.

It felt much like the manic episodes I had without anger, only better. And I immediately fell in love, and wanted it all the time. So I got addicted.

Soon my life was highs, and lows, where all I did was try to get more coke, and wanted to die if I didn't. Soon I ran out of money, and resorted to things I thought I would never do to get that high, or "ok" feeling, since I had cut back on my use and just used it "medicinally" (or just enough to get rid of my ADHD and bipolar symptoms) most of the time. Just enough to fix my brain, not doing lines and lines to get high as fuck.

In Albuquerque, I switched to meth. It was cheaper, easier to find, and lasted longer. I started out snorting one small line a day- enough to manage my symptoms all day long.

But I craved that "high as fuck" feeling, and sometimes gave in.

It ended with me living at an old, creepy man's house, hearing stories about how he gave girls heroin in exchange for sexual favors, and a 4 day binge that ended in intense paranoia and terrifying hallucinations. I decided to go home, and quit drugs altogether.

To say it didn't work was an understatement. Meth was the perfect drug for me- like cocaine, it treated my illness, but lasted all day without taking several doses. I was addicted, but for good reason, it fixed my brain, when used responsibly. But not having a regulated prescription, it was hard to only take the amount I needed, and sometimes I would go on binges.

To make a long story short, I ended up getting arrested, going to doctors, getting told I just had depression, going on the run because I was terrified of spending years in jail, and since the doctors wouldn't help me, I ran back to my old friend Meth who would always help. But in the end, he fucked me over, because I got arrested again after IVing meth cut with who knows what that made me go completely insane, in Sioux City, IA.

I went to rehab, and was diagnosed with schizoaffective. A therapist diagnosed me with ADHD.

And I have finally found a doctor who would listen to me, instead of judging me, and put me on medications for both. Now, I feel so much better. I don't crave drugs at all, I don't drink, or smoke weed. I'm calm and stable, going to college, have a job, and the hell I've gone through is finally over. I feel like I can finally live my life.

Some people might say "she shouldn't be on medication, she used drugs" and those people are wrong.

There are two types of drug addicts. The kind that all they care about is being as high as possible, all the time, and will do any drugs to get that high. And then, more commonly, the kind like me.

Someone with mental illness who uses drugs to treat their symptoms, either getting no help from doctors or not knowing how to even start that process.

To say someone with an illness shouldn't be precsribed a drug for it simply because they self-medicated in the past, is pretty harsh and fucked up. Many people think that's how it should be though. But the fact of the matter is drugs are drugs, whether illegal or legal. The only difference is street drugs are dangerous (because you don't know what you're getting) and far easier to abuse, and can land you in jail. Meth and ritalin both treat the same illness, as do heroin and ativan, LSD and antidepressants.

I never used heroin, MDMA, ketamine, or a lot of different drugs. Other than weed and alcohol, I mostly just used stimulants- coke and meth- in small amounts to treat my illness. While, I should have gone to a doctor instead, I just didn't know I had that option, so I used the only thing I knew how. I'm glad I'm over that stage of my life, and I'm very thankful to have found an understanding doctor. It's a great feeling to not only feel normal and ok, but also to have that without breaking the law and worrying about getting caught.

This story is why you shouldn't ignore mental illness. It can ruin your life, and it will demand to be treated- legally or illegally. It's far better- safer, easier, and more effective, to take the legal route.

***

Getting Fired

As I drove down the road past Randall's farm, past the familiar barns, cows, and cornfields I'd passed a million times, having grown up in the midwest countryside, I knew my life would never be the same.

The sun shone bright, the sky a peaceful blue towering over gently swaying cornfields. Gazing out over it all one last time through the unusually large windshield of the new-to-me 2004 Honda Element, I felt a swirling mixture of excitement, fear and homesickness, and that awesome feeling you get as a kid experiencing something great for the first time, that's all too easy to lose touch with as you get older. I felt alive. Happy. Grateful I had this chance, grateful my life was going to change for the better and I'd never again have to live through the hell that was my boring, safe, small town, 9-5 existence.

Since I was in high school I had wistfully dreamed about doing crazy things- running away to live in the woods, living in a van and traveling the country, backpacking across Europe. When I first found out about people camping in RVs and vans full time, I knew someday I'd be one of those people. It was only a matter of time and patience. Because I needed to save up money first, I moved out into an apartment in Galesburg, IL, and worked 2 minimum wage jobs, saving every last penny for an unknown future.

I knew I wanted to travel, but I was scared, more of what my friends and family would think than of anything bad that could happen to me. But after a year, I found out there is no freedom in the adult world of rent and obligations. It was no fun, and there was no purpose for existing. I became increasingly depressed and discontent as time went on, despite the fact that I was doing good, having saved almost half of my income and still living comfortably. I was bored out of my skull and longed for something real, some kind of adventure. But as a young, naive girl not yet confident enough to pave my own way in life, I believed all the people who told me that's what you're supposed to do.

They were wrong.

A series of "unfortunate" events unfolded that fall and winter, which in the long run turned out to be blessings in disguise. Someone ran a stop sign and damaged my car, leaving me stranded, furious and in tears, but later on with a fat stack from their insurance that added to my savings.

Not long after quitting my Hy-Vee job, frustrated with what I saw as stupid rules and strict management, my full time job at the factory I now solely depended on for my livelihood went up in flames one December evening as I was measuring out fabric for a new awning.

"Do you smell that?" Erin, the manager asked me and B, a tough, short haired blonde lady who was the only other sewing worker at the time.

"Smell what?" I asked, imagining she must be going a bit looney. I didn't smell anything, besides the winter air, brand new fabric, diesel and grime. B shook her head. Erin's brows furrowed and she walked to the back of the shop, where the men worked welding steel frames.

I started cutting the material, and within seconds Erin burst through the door screaming "FIRE!!! Everyone out!" She ran down the hall. "GET OFF THE ROOF!"

A repairman had come that day to fix the factory's ancient, non-working heating system. and was on the roof over the back room.

Oh great, a fire, I thought, sighing and putting down my work. I imagined going outside in the cold snow while someone put out a small fire with an extinguisher. But I felt a little apprehensive when I saw the fear in Erin's eyes as she urged us to get out. I wanted to see the fire.

Lee, a fiesty old man I enjoyed working with, ran into the back wielding a fire extinguisher, fighting the flames uselessly. The fire had ignited the entire large attic, filled with flammable fabrics, awnings, and boat covers, within seconds. A raging, unstoppable fire.

We all gathered our things and exited the building, being sure to close the door so the winter winds wouldn't fan the flames.

"Is there anything we need to save?" I asked Erin, eager to run inside and see a real live fiery building up close and personal. The fire hadn't yet reached the sewing area, so I figured there would be enough time to roll out some of the expensive equipment and save the important records.

She was very hesitant due to safety risks, but we did end up going in for a few things. The thick grey air smelled toxic, and as I carried things out the fire crackled loudly in the background.

B had already called 911, but we were in the country, so it would be a while before the fire department arrived.

After Erin decided enough was enough and we weren't going to risk our lives to save things, we all stood around her truck.

I suddenly remembered I had left my phone inside, and goddamn it, I was a phone addicted teenager. Plus, I really, really wanted to see how it looked inside. So I dashed back in, Erin's requests for me to stay out unheeded. The air was thick with black, eye burning smoke. I held my jacket over my nose and squinted, grabbing my phone and other things I had missed when we first exited.

I loved the rush of adrenaline and lingered a few seconds, contemplating what it must be like to die in a fire and absorbing the terrifying sights and sounds of a building engulfed in flames.

I felt so alive, more than I had felt in a very long time. This was real, and I decided I wanted my entire life to feel like this moment. And then, I ran out of the building.

Back at the truck, Erin was crying. I had no idea what I could possibly say that would ease the pain of losing your business, what you'd spent your whole life creating. So I mostly just listened.

We all stood there solemnly watching the fire take over the factory, crackling and popping and thudding as a beautiful sunset blew up the sky. I knew I'd be out of work, but I didn't yet know that that moment was the beginning to the end, the start of the death of my old life and the creation of a new, beautiful experience. The ball had started rolling. I had experienced what it felt like to be alive, and nothing normal would ever satisfy me again.

***

Thanks for reading the first 9 pages! Once editing is done, it will be available for purchase in both paperback and e-book format. I'll be having a giveaway at some point, if you're hoping to score a free signed copy. ;)