100 Lives Lived - Music

Dear reader,

I know it’s been awhile. I’ve written a few posts but I didn’t like how they were going or how I was saying what I wanted to share, so I scraped them. Sometimes, it’s difficult to get the words right, when you have so many thoughts, so quickly running through your head. This post doesn’t actually have to do with art school. Today I’m going to talk about an art I learned before I was in art school - piano playing.

Due to an injury I incurred when I was in Elementary School and the kind of person I was expected to be for my future, I was taught quite a few things - sports, dance, music, etiquette, and so much more. One of those sports was Cheerleading, which I will eventually talk about; but, I sustained a rather fascinating injury that still affects me today. I think I’ve written about it - I know I’ve made TikTok videos about it. But due to not being able to be physically active, I was put into piano lessons, because I needed to put my energy into something. This is just one of the many missed signs from my childhood that I am neurodivergent - I needed to be constantly doing something because of my ADHD. 

But I loved piano. I learned some of the classics, I learned on organs, keyboard, and regular pianos. So any type, I can play on. Even pedals. It’s not often that someone has that comprehensive of an education in an instrument, but I had lessons for about 3 years, during my fundamental years. I took a special interest in my instrument, because I got to pick it. I have an affinity for string instruments and even taught myself guitar, using some of the techniques that I learned from my piano lessons. I got good enough to sight-read music and I still have muscle memory for some of the songs that I learned for various recitals.

I hate to admit it, but I did stop playing for a very long time. Too long, in my opinion. I would randomly sit down at whatever keyboard or piano I found in a random place and play a piece or two. But I was always told that being a musician was not a lucrative career, and so I never even considered it an option.

But it has been calling to me, as of late. I’ve always wanted to be able to just sit down where ever I find a piano and just layout an entire song. Purely for my own enjoyment. At the same time that I was in piano lessons, I was also in choir. This wasn’t your generic children’s chorus group that the music class does. Our teacher had previously taught at a college and had moved to a school when he started his own family. He was one of my favourite teachers in Elementary School. I had individual vocal lessons as well; all aside from music class. 

All of this is to say that I am classically trained in piano and singing. This is not a fact that most people in my family even remember, and it’s not something that anyone in my life really knows about. It’s not that I’m ashamed of it. Though, I do not like being in the spotlight, so I don’t ever want someone that does know this information to do the whole “hey, you can play/sing! Do it right now on the spot!” thing you see in movies/shows. I have no idea how frequently that could actually happen, but I REALLY do not like being the center of attention. So it’s anxiety from that, but also just from being afraid that I’m not good enough. Because I didn’t keep up with either. I did continue with my vocal training in high school for some time, with my theatre education.

But even then…. It’s now been 15 years since I graduated high school. I only sing in the car or shower for myself. The only people in my life that have ever heard me sing really are my partners. I’m just shy when it comes to putting my talents on display. But, I do still want to practice them. 

It’s a weird spot to be in, mentally, when you know how to do a thing, and you want to practice it, but you also don’t want anyone to judge you for it. Maybe I’m just weird for that. I don’t want to put myself on display, but I would like to enjoy the way getting lost in the music feels. That’s my favourite thing about playing and singing - how I can literally forget the notes or the words, but I never lose my place. I just get transported and wrapped up in the song. It’s just me and the beautiful sounds. I just want to feel that again. To me, that’s what love feels like.

I’m sure there’s someone out there that might know what I’m talking about. The words aren’t doing it justice, honestly. But I hope it makes some sense, I just needed to get that out into the world. People tell me that I’m closed off and don’t share things about myself, so I’m trying to do that with this series. If you are someone that knows me IRL, I hope this helps you understand me better.

Until next time—

100 Lives Lived - Dance

Dear reader,

A few of the lives I’ve lived and one I am currently living are heavily intertwined and have spanned my actual lifetime. This is part of the problem I realized when I was making videos about the 100 lives I’ve lived. So it may take a bit to fully understand everything but we will get there, I promise! So let’s actually start at the beginning now - the very first life I lived in my 33 years of life - that of a dancer.

I started ballet, tap, and jazz at the ripe ole’ age of 6 months old. This was obviously not a choice that I made myself, but it was one that I enjoyed immensely. It is also the first indication that I am non-binary. It was always an internal battle with myself over getting all pretty, wearing dresses, and the etiquette involved which I did enjoy learning, but it did not feel like me; it wasn’t right. It felt like I was being a character. I would come to fight my bio mom about these things for the first 2 decades of my life. But it was in dance that I realized I wanted to be a performer and what lead me to want a career on the stage and in film. It’s the first career I can ever remember wanting, when I was in my single digit ages. 

But as my body changed (as I hit puberty at a very early age), and as we all learned more about the world, I was told: that it wasn’t a feasible career, that I was too ugly and fat to be an actor or dancer, that no one would hire me, that I should choose something more sensible, basically everything to discourage a young child from following their passion. It sort of worked because I didn’t exactly follow my dreams for a very long time, I found other artistic outlets and I studied the sciences more intensely, which are thankfully another passion of mine.

However, this basis of dance early on in my life allowed for me to develop an early understanding of what it meant to be a performer and a deep love for the stage, both as a performer and as a crew member. I continued my lessons in tap, jazz, and ballet until it became too expensive, as I was an ideal candidate for pointe. This was furthered stopped when I got my first major injury during cheerleading in 3rd grade. I would resume some dance in a less formal fashion just a few years later during the first ever musical I was part of - Grease 2000 - and then again, still informally, through Junior Thespians and my high school career. 

I still want to get back into dance and I regularly practice the ballet positions as part of my morning stretch routine. Being who I am, I also tend to just get up and dance whenever the mood strikes - usually because no one is watching, but sometimes even if they are. Additionally, over the past year or so I have also started to learn swing dancing, thanks to a partnership a local big band has, whose performances I attend regularly. Although my art school years didn’t include dancing formally nor regularly, through my theatre time, I did still get to participate at some level, and now that my body is at a place where I can dance again, I can’t wait to get back to it. 

For your viewing pleasure, here is a photo of me in my early years, before a jazz class recital.

Until next time—

100 Lives Lived - Art School Part 1

Dear reader,

First, apologies for the delay; I got sick and life fully stopped for a few weeks. But, we can finally get started with the incredible stories from my life. I have had yet more people in real life (IRL) express how every time they learn something about me, it is like I have lived 100 lives. While I was sick, I sat down and attempted to start writing and also made up a working list of the many things I have experienced: travel, my education, skills I’ve picked up, sports I’ve participated in, lessons I’ve had, jobs, time volunteering, and organizations I have been or am currently a part of.

Part of why I stopped making the videos in the first place was because I didn’t quite know how to proceed, when some of these things I have not even thought about in a decade or longer, started to bring up memories. Some of these experiences and lives I’ve lived are attached to trauma. The best way to explain it, is that I have lived an extremely adventurous life. There are many stories attached to these various lives I’ve lived, and some took place over a very long time, so they will take multiple entries to share even just the basics about, such as the first life we will touch on - art school. I am not exactly going chronologically, but whatever feels right to talk about each time I sit down to write. It’s a creative outlet, which shouldn’t be a surprise when you learn that I spent 11 years in art school. So let’s start there - how the heck did that even happen?!

I spent my Middle and High School years in art school, and then even some my college time in art school. So I shall first paint the picture of what to expect with my art school posts, a rough sketch if you will, and a little bit of the art, history of my art education, and art history. And, if you’re new here, yes, I absolutely make ALL of the puns.

However, my life in art school started even before that, in Elementary (or Primary) school for me. I had an incredible art teacher, Mrs. Snyder, that saw my passion for all things creative and not only nurtured it, but helped to point me in the direction of the art schools I ended up attending. I will forever be grateful to her. I just want to take a moment, though I have no idea if she’ll ever see this, to say thank you Mrs. Snyder. You changed my life. You helped me to channel all of my big emotions as a kid and you helped me to escape my daily hell. I am forever in your debt.

I imagine you have some questions dear reader, such as how does one attend art school, what does art school look like for a tween/teen, how could it be afforded if my childhood wasn’t so great, and many more. I will attempt to explain these and more, but don’t forget, I am a real person and I don’t owe anyone anything. I just know that by sharing my experiences I not only help myself heal, but I can help others in a number of ways. 

So let’s get into it - I attended public school my entire life. None of it was private and I had to audition to attend. How the audition is done depends on the major. I attended middle school for visual arts. The other options in my middle school were: band, orchestra, theatre, and dance. The rest of those probably make more sense - you literally prepare an audition piece, whatever the specific requirements were on your instrument, a monologue, etc. But for visual art? Well, you put together your portfolio of pieces - you needed to have a combination of 2-D and 3-D pieces - the teachers would review them, and then you may or may not be selected for what was called juries. That is effectively stage two of auditions for the visual arts program. You go in, with your portfolio, answer questions about any art training or education you have already, explain why you made choices for certain pieces, and you also had to answer in long form some questions about what you hoped to learn and achieve as a student in the program. It was rather nerve-racking, far more than any other audition I’ve ever had to do.

The high school I attended had the same options for art school, but because of the middle school was a partner, there was also concentrations you could do, if you had the background. There was the vocal major, in theatre you could focus on set design and composition, and even a specific style of dance to name a few. The school also has a magnet for technology. It is quite the school and a world-renowned one, actually. It is also the oldest high school for Black people in the area. Not only are there multiple Wikipedia pages dedicated to the school, but there is not an insignificant amount of my peers and fellow alum that have attended the likes of Juilliard, Columbia, MIT, Drexel, and have even gone on to be credited in projects like Black Panther. Yes, THE Black Panther films. It blows my mind when I think about it too long, to be honest. Because I am one of those people, in a way. But we will get there. 

Now, in college, my art school continued through my Art History degree, which wasn’t even the original college plan. This history of my time in art school is just the top note in what is a very complex decade of my life that encompasses a large amount of my passion, education, experiences, hopes, and dreams. By the way, I didn’t start high school in the visual arts program, but in the theatre program, and graduated as a dual major in the visual arts and technology programs. So in case it hasn’t quite sunk in yet what I meant by a life lived, this is just the first example. Next week, I’ll be diving into these experiences just a bit more, and may even share some of my visual art portfolio at some point.

So, until next time—

Project!

Dear reader,

If you know me in real life, you’ll know I said/thought the title of this post the way the character Cher says it in the movie ‘Clueless’. You may know that about me even if you’ve only seen me on social media. I often speak in movie quotes, and ‘Clueless’ is one of my favourite films. Which is apt, because one of my fields is film now. Which I’ll get into more very soon. That’s not what this post is about. Technically. 

I know I took a long hiatus from writing…. for you, dear reader. I’ve actually been writing A LOT. At least a few days a week. While I may never share all of my most inner thoughts with the world, and even my closest people get just snippets of it, I do want to start sharing more. Partly it’s a way to combat the traumas I’ve been through, partly it’s a way for me to grow, but also, as a kid, one of the things I wanted was to be a published author. But it’s something else, too.

Now technically, that has already happened. Twice over. Not exactly how I had in mind, but I am still slowly pursuing that childhood dream. But that’s exactly what this post is about. Well, not the writing or being published, though I will get there one day, too. No, this post is about a project that will touch on the 100 lives that I have lived already in my short 33 years of life.

When I was living in Romania, participating in a bioarchaeology dig, I had someone say that every time they learned something about me, it sounded like I had lived 100 lives already. Later that year, someone else that I saw, not infrequently, said that same thing. Thus, a TikTok series was born. A hell of a lot happened to me in 2021 and 2022, so that project and my participation on TikTok has been all but abandoned.

As I worked on that series, I learned more - about how much some things still affect me, how much work it takes to produce content on a regular schedule, and even more about lighting and blocking with film. The premise of the series was I had written down a list of most of the major things I had done in my life (jobs I had, degrees or certificates I had earned, projects I worked on, my travels, my education, groups I’ve been a part of - the creation of the list did take some time from the get-go and I did have to decide what to include and not include because of some of the things I’ve been through or who else has been involved in those things) and I would blindly pick a D20 die from a cup and roll it to pick the topic of the week.

Which takes us back to that something else. I still find it important to share about those experiences, good and bad. Not just for myself, but a because I want to share about what I’ve been through to help others. I’ve always been someone that just wants to make the world a better place. One of the best ways to do that is to share experiences. Whether in the moment with others, or after the fact as a way to share joy or a lesson learned.

I’ve always felt more comfortable writing out my thoughts instead of verbalizing them, so after some reflection, I’ve decided that is how I want to share my 100 lives lived - good old fashioned blogging. I know it dates me, but I am millennial through and through. Plus, if I do ever want to publish a novel of some kind, I really should practice writing regularly again.

So, dear reader, that’s what my posts are going to be about this year and next. I’m slightly behind, but I’m hoping to share one thing a week. Hopefully we will get to 100 before the year 2025 starts. I’m sure I’ll forget sometimes, but I wouldn’t be me if things weren’t a little chaotic and off-kilter anyways, huh? Therefore, whether you join me on this journey of my life thus far or not….

Until next time—

Promises, but broken

Dear reader,

When someone suffers from a mental illness, they often have to go above and beyond to prove that they suffer from that mental illness. Because they are suffering from a burden already, they may decide that the burden of proof is something they do not want to bear as well. Sometimes they will tell one or two people and that will be enough for them. It is hard to know how each person deals with mental illness because even though it can be labeled the same: depression, anxiety, borderline personality disorder, PTSD, etc. it looks differently for each person with the same diagnosis. Our traumas, our love, everything we have gone through shapes everything about us. It’s why some people that suffer from depression choose to end their life and some don’t. 

Alexandra Marie “Luna” Rezac. 

My best friend in high school. 

Cheerful, happy-go-lucky, loving, and caring.

She took her own life because like me, she suffered from depression in silence. It was actually one of the things that brought us together, aside from musicals, art, and technology. We met during our first period class the first day of high school and become best friends quickly. It turned out we had half of the same classes for the next few years. Although I started out in the theatre magnet program and accidentally got pulled out my second year, Alex and I remained just as close. 

We bonded over so many things over the years. We shared so much, including some things we promised to take to the grave for each other. From day 1 I felt safe enough to tell her about my depression. Once she felt safe enough to tell me she had the same feelings, she made promise to take it to the grave. I kept that promise. Until today. And for the past 5.5 years I have been kick myself on a regular basis for it. 

After Alex attempted to take her own life, she was rushed to the hospital. I was so relieved to see that she was still okay but I knew I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore. But then. She passed away from complications. Rather quickly. All over Facebook there came pouring in posts about how happy she had been and how no one had seen it coming. No one had any idea that she was so sad. No one had any clue she was depressed. She always seemed so happy. Why? She was such a light in so many lives. It made no sense to anyone. 

But I knew. I have known for years. It made sense to me. I had seen the darkness. I had held her when she cried. I had comforted her on bad days. I had always known. And I had never told anyone. It was my fault. I could have helped. I could have stopped this. I could have kept this bubbly, happy light in everyone’s life. But I was selfish. I wanted to keep my promises. I wanted to keep my friendship pure. And now, on a regular basis, I find myself thinking of Alex; hating and blaming myself for not preventing such a tragedy that has affected so many lives. 

I had the proof, dear reader. And I did nothing with it. I hid it away from the world. I was selfish with it. Because of that, a precious life has ended. 

Because of my guilt, because I had the proof, and because I have my own burdens, I keep pushing through my own depression. I don’t want Alex’s life to have lost meaning because I fucked up. I have to live for her now. Plus, she loved Galaxy. They never got to meet, but Alex got to see pictures of her. Galaxy is my child and I could never leave her; but doubly so, knowing that I have to give her the love and pets from two people. 

I know I screwed up by not telling anyone about Alex’s depression. But I also know that I still wouldn’t have told anyone else about it. It wasn’t my information to tell. It still isn’t. I actually asked her family for permission to share this post because it’s the closest I can get to asking her. 

But I wish I would have encouraged her to seek more help outside of just tell me. I wish I would have given her more resources or snuck information into more conversations. I wish I could go back and do more. But I can’t. All I can do is live my life for her. And apologize a million times over to her parents and everyone else that I took her from. 

I’m so sorry. I miss her too. She was my first real best friend. I love her. I will never forget her. I fight my own demons daily for her. That was another promise we had made to each other. To try our hardest, to keep fighting. 

This is the only photo I have of us together, from her 19th birthday celebration. Today is her birthday. She would have been 31. Instead, I light a candle and add her photo to my memorial altar.

Until next time—

Resources:

National Suicide Hotlines

US: 800-273-8255

Canada: 833-456-4566 or text 45645

UK: call 111, then press option 2

Full list of resources by country:

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines

Presents

 Dear reader,

As you may have read previously, I quit my job as a COVID-19 Epidemiologist when I got very sick, for the 4th time this year. I was also mentally exhausted and just wasn’t doing well in any aspect. Because I’m feeling better physically and mentally and because I have always felt this urge to help people, I have decided to go back to that same role. 

My first day back is tomorrow. 

And I did the math. I won’t be getting my first real paycheck until January 1st. 

Queue the ultra anxiety. I have $26.09 to my name. I have to live on that for a MONTH. Because that’s how long it takes government payroll to process.

I’ll get paid for tomorrow only on December 18th. That will be enough to cover my gas for the entire month, maybe some food. But I still have to wait 3 weeks for it. 

This isn’t easy for me. Something like this is INCREDIBLY difficult for me to ask for, because I like to think of myself as a very independent person. 

But life likes to beat me up and push me down as much as it can and I’ve learned that as much as I resent not being able to do things on my own (because I was taught by people that should have loved and cared for me that no one wanted to do just that, nor ever would), that sometimes I do need to ask for help. Sometimes I do need to say, “Hey, could you give me a boost?”

I’m not sure if anyone enjoys the content I put out on my art page. I certainly don’t sell many paintings. But I hope the information I share on my personal pages, the insights I give on my blogs, and my (what I think are) hilarious tweets are something that you enjoy. 

So, I’m asking that you consider giving me a tip. Or even a donation. Because I have bills to pay, all of my bills, which includes healthcare for myself and my fur child, car payments, electricity, phone bills. There is no fun stuff I have to pay for. 

Even worse, my best friend/roomie and I are moving in December. So there are extra costs that he alone has decided to bear since I have just enough to cover a single bill. But then my money is gone. But that bill won’t do any good really, if the rest doesn’t get paid. 

Now, there is one other thing that I wanted to share. Something that I have rarely shared in my life, because again, those people that are supposed to love and care for you taught me early on that I didn’t matter what so ever.... 

My birthday is in December. December 12th, to be exact. 

I know, the punches just keep rolling. Welcome to my life. 

Although most people don’t know about my birthday, because it was never made to be a big deal until roomie came into my life just after I turned 24 (meaning the first birthday of my life that was ever actually a big deal was my 25th birthday), this year, I’m asking that if anyone does want to celebrate my birthday or get me presents, or even if you planned to get me a holiday present (or combine the 2, as was the practice when I was growing up) - please talk to me about covering a bill or donating money. I know that might be tacky but I’m desperate. 

I may be back at work and I’m even back to the risky business of doing grocery shopping and deliveries for others, which with my health is terrifying, but with my financial situation currently is very necessary. 

Now, I know this time of year can be difficult to send money to others, with having to buy gifts for others, a lot of people have also been out of work and sick, and having to spend time with family possibly in ways you don’t want to. So I want to thank you for just reading this. It means a lot to me. 

So if you can, please check out this link to see the various options for donating money or even purchasing some of my art: https://linktr.ee/VAnneArt

Even just sharing this post and the above link is supporting me and I appreciate any support I can get right now. Thank you, happy holidays, stay safe, and if you are able to send me even $1, I promise you will get a personal thank you from me and Galaxy. 

Until next time—

Post-Op

Content Warning: surgery discussion, period discussion, medical talk, photos of internal organs

Dear reader,

Four weeks ago, I had my first major surgery of my life! It was a robotic, laparoscopic surgery, where the doctor is using those tiny little robot hands and looking at a screen, using controls to do the work. Which is good, because they had to cut open my stomach to do it. It’s not the first surgery that’s ever happened to me, though. A few years ago I had a knee surgery that was also the robotic, laparoscopic thing, but that was an even shorter, easier process. We knew exactly what was wrong and how to fix it. This surgery was exploratory and was a bit like searching for a light switch in an unfamiliar basement.

What happened, you might be asking yourself?

Well, as you know, I was assigned female at birth (AFAB) because I have a uterus and vagina. Because I have those sexual organs, I am prone to any medical issues that others with those parts deal with as well, such as menstruation - aka periods.

As I mentioned last time, I have had some of the worst periods you can imagine - being stuck in bed for days each month in excruciating pain. Well, this surgery was a look to see if I had endometriosis. What is endometriosis, dear reader? It is when the uterine lining that occurs during the period is thicker than normal AND it can grow on the OUTSIDE OF OTHER ORGANS! Sometimes, if a case is REALLY REALLY BAD, this can be seen on imaging such as a CT scan or a MRI. But those cases are usually what is called Stage 4, where giant cysts or tumor-like things, called endometrioma have grown to a size big enough to see on imaging. 

Usually, you have to have surgery in order for endometriosis to be seen and therefore to be diagnosed, because the spots are pretty small. Which is exactly what happened in my case! After 2 years of having an idea of what direction to take these symptoms, I now have an answer! 

I was diagnosed with Stage 2 Endometriosis.

That sounds scary, right?

They use the same wording for the big c word - cancer. But it’s not cancer. At least, not all of the time. Endometriosis can lead to endometrioma cancer, if it gets out of hand. In my case, I should be pretty far from cancer. Besides just going in to see if I had this disease, my surgery also was to clean out any spots of disease that were found and they were then removed. There are two ways that this could be done - ablation (burning away of the cells) or excision (cutting out of the cells). My doctor does the latter, as this also allows to cut out some of the surrounding area and therefore promotes regrowth of the healthier cells. 

Here is my own version of drawing out where Endometriosis was found on the reproductive organs during surgery. Both ovaries had cysts in/on them, the right fallopian tube had endometriosis as well. So all of that got cut into. But more importantly, Endometriosis isn’t restricted to this area, like in my case. Endometriosis, like in those lowest spots, had caused my colon (bowels) to fuse to my abdominal wall, on the backside of all this. It is possible I have had it higher up on my stomach and it has resolved on it’s own as well, but currently, it has stayed low. 

These are some of the images captured of the Endometriosis during my surgery. The first image is of a spot that was found and second photo is that same area after it was removed.

The issue with that fusion is that it causing gastrointestinal problems. Endometriosis has been found on literally every organ, across the hundreds of thousands of people that suffer from this disease. It can go up to the lungs and even the brain. I say people because it turns out, not just people with uteruses get this disease either! People with penises get endometriosis too! It is more rare, as far as we know, but that could simply be lack of diagnosis. 

Endometriosis can cause some serious trouble with conception as well. About 1 out of 10 people are estimated to have endometriosis. 1 in 8 couples struggle with fertility issues. You do the math. 

And so even though I’ve never really wanted children of my own, I’ve always been of the mindset that I would NEED to adopt anyways. I think I always knew that I wouldn’t be able to have children. But I’m okay with that. There are far too many children that need love out there. Not that I am in any position to adopt a child right now anyways. 

I have been healing well, and am feeling great, a month out. My incisions are larger than I expected, and they still hurt or pull a little here and there, but I had a follow-up 2 weeks after surgery and my doctor said everything looked fantastic. There is still some other things to look at, though so that is all in the works.

But finally having an answer, and knowing exactly what my issues were - I had guessed that the bowel fusion had occurred - just is nice, in a weird way? Because being AFAB, medical doctors still have this weird mindset of not listening to me the first time. So that I was listened to, an answer was found, and it turns out that I was right, it’s just all a little overwhelming but also just nice. Now, I look to the future, because it turns out, that might not be the only issue, but it’s a big part of it!

Until next time—