And Like That, She's Gone

Not so very long ago, I ended an 8 year endeavor that was very close to my heart. It came about as a result of injury and, though I didn't know it at the time, I was having a pretty severe mental collapse.

For 8 years I poured my heart, my soul, my body into it, and then I broke away almost entirely.

This love was roller derby. I was pretty badass. Check out this derby booty:

Battle E. Portman if you're nasty. Credit Schonfeld Photography

It was often a tumultuous affair, putting in a lot and not getting back as much. Abusing my body for the sake of the sport. Straining my actual relationships due to the time commitment. But it was all worth it.

Into my 8th season, my injuries started stock piling. My knees sounded like ratchets (still do), I had endured a stress fracture, and multiple, and I mean multiple, concussions. That's what happens when you're 4'11" - you get hit in the head. A lot. The injury that broke the camel's back was a dislocated, tendon torn pinky. A seemingly easy and innocent injury compared to some I'd seen in my years on the flat track. Since I was grooming dogs at the time, it was a big deal. The recovery was months-long and it made it very difficult to do my job.

The real story, however, is that my mental health was degrading to a point that I could hardly function. I had always thought that everyone went through the same horrendous bouts of depression and panic that I did. Turns out, that's not necessarily the case. My ups and downs were a little more severe than the average person's.

I didn't know I was bipolar then. I was sliding ever faster into one of the most depressive states of my life, thus far. Hopefully ever. But I think that's a little too optimistic.

I hid my instability, thinking that's what everyone did. That everyone felt just as lost, miserable, and hopeless as I did, and that hiding it was just how it was done. If I showed any of my feelings, I assumed I was being weaker than the rest. Showing weakness was akin to baring my throat to a blood-thirsty predator, and I wasn't about to roll over. Even though I really, really wanted to.

I spent long stretches on the floor, unable to move. I slept more than twelve hours a day, because if I was asleep, I couldn't feel as darkly reckless as when I was awake. I didn't necessarily want to end it all, but part of me wanted it all to end.

Legit on the floor. Sat there for an hour.

Needless to say, I had zero energy left for roller derby.

Maybe if I had retired when I was mentally healthy, I would have kept contact, stayed involved. But I barely had the energy to get out of bed, so I broke it off and didn't look back.

I have a lot of regrets about it. Of course I do. I loved playing, loved my teammates and the friendships I had made. At the time, none of that mattered. Now that I'm finally headed up from this mental mess, I miss it. It was a time in my life that maybe was coming to a close anyway. Maybe there could have been a way for me to stay involved, something less time consuming, less physically demanding.

I'll never get that opportunity back, and that hurts down into my heart space.

Recently, one of my league mates contacted me about announcing at an upcoming bout. I was pretty nervous almost immediately. It had been so long! (Really only 2 years or so) Would I remember how the game was played? Would I make an ass of myself?

I've felt pretty stable this week. Yes, it's often week by week. My med changes seem to be working. I feel human again. I feel like there are so many things I've said no to in my life because my brain wasn't healthy enough for me to say yes. But a good friend recently gave me great advice: Will I look back on this and say, "Gee, I'm really glad I didn't do that?"

Of course not. So instead of saying no, I said yes.

The team has changed, there are a lot of new faces. They probably don't even know who Battle E. Portman was. But there are some I still know. Helping the league in any way is the least I can do for all the years it gave me strength, love, and support.

I'm nervous, of course. But I'm also really, really looking forward to it.

Credit... I'm not sure. Please don't sue me.