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Casey Danzig performs at PoleCon 2023

I Should be Dead, but Instead I’m a Pole Dancer.

The familiar rumble under my feet lets me know the M train is approaching.  Just one step, that’s all it will take.  One step, and if the hit doesn’t take me out, the long fall from the above street platform sure will.  That’s all it would take, so easy.  No more feeling lonely and lost.  No more having such debilitating depression that makes me physically ill and sore.  No more heartbreak.  No more work drama.  No more making the wrong choices.  No more disappointing people.  No more.  I let my foot float over the track, just one more step.  Last minute I stepped back and felt the wind of the speeding train snap me back to reality again.  This is not the way, also what a dick move for everyone’s commute.

Moving to New York City has always been my dream since I learned about the magical place in a children’s chapter book, Cricket in Times Square.  After college, I tried to move there several times, but it was always a chicken-and-egg situation.  Landlords wouldn’t rent you a room unless you had a job and proof of income.  Jobs wouldn’t hire you unless you were a resident of the city.  So, after many failed attempts at job interviews and apartment meetings.  It slowly became a distant dream that I never gave up on.  At 32, I finally made it after a horrific marriage and a speedy divorce.  I had the choice: I could rent my friend’s room in Brooklyn for one month and try to make it happen, or I could continue living in Albany, sleeping on my aunt’s couch until I got to my place and kept living the same days over and over.  So, with two pieces of rolling luggage and a cat carrier, I made the bold plunge into New York City, which, at 39, I can happily report that neither my cat nor I have ever looked back.  Sometimes, the dream is possible, but not in your planned timeline.

As much as we all love a small-town girl, making it in the big city with just her dreams and her cat, that’s not the story I’m here to tell.  After a lifetime of toxic and controlling relationships and a massive case of codependence, I arrived in Manhattan with no idea who I was, what I liked, or what I wanted to do with myself.  Now I was free.  No husbands or other relationships to control me.  This was my life to do with how I please, three hours away from anyone who knew me or my past.  True clean slate. The problem was that the slate was clean, but the trauma wasn’t.  I couldn’t answer the simple question, “So what do you like to do for fun?”.  The only thing that came to mind was drinking whiskey in dive bars with a solid punk selection on their jukebox.   I didn’t have any friends or support group for guidance, and immediately my codependence had me seeking a romantic partner because, what else am I supposed to do?  I hated being alone.  I always felt like I was missing out.  I wanted to be one of the couples who enjoy the outside seating of a swanky restaurant in the East Village on a Saturday night.  Instead, I walk past them alone to go home and be alone. The problem is, that’s the absolute worst mindset to go into pursing relationships, especially when your divorce papers still have that new paper smell.

So, I would go out.  I would get myself cute and hit the town alone in search of connections and belonging.  If you have a healthy mindset, there is nothing wrong with that, but I did not.  I was in a mindset of depression, loneliness, low self-esteem, and a feeling of failure, and without purpose.  So yes, I did meet people.  I made friends and romances. However, it was all based around drinking excessively and drugs.  Whereas I had only tried Coke occasionally in the past, in the city it was offered to me everywhere I went, and I fell deep into it.  Coke helped prevent me from getting too drunk when I didn’t want to go home and kept me up, so I never missed a moment, including some sunrises.  Just like with my past relationships, my connections were only fun if we were drinking.  Friends or romances, none of it was real.  Just a web of drinking-dependent acquaintances and guys that would give me free drugs if I spanked them in the bathroom and let them call me “mistress”. Sure, why not?

Of course, with this kind of behavior comes more trauma and baggage.  My mental health was at its lowest.  My moods were always up and down depending on who I was dating that week and whether it was going well.  I was starting to lose any real friends I may have made because my actions were getting too erratic.  I nearly lost my job getting wrapped up in work drama and projecting my issues onto customers and coworkers.  My actions to find connections were isolating me even more, isn’t it ironic? Don’t ya think?

All this came to a head one morning as I waited for the train to take me to work.  I was about to go to a job where people didn’t like me and were trying to get me fired. I had no friends, no support, nothing of my own, and I was so sick of always feeling alone and outside.  There was nothing for me; I’d struggle to fit in and find where I belonged and be appreciated for who I am.  Instead, I always warped into what friend group I was trying to get into or the lover I was trying to impress.  From elementary school, through college, and even in my adult life.  I didn’t know who I was because I never felt I was allowed to be her.  Who even was she? By mid-thirties, you’d think one would see that I didn’t, but a sense of doom over my future.

Everyone on the platform was doing their usual phone scrolling, disassociating, and very much in their own worlds.  No one noticed the manic girl hovering her foot over the track, about to ruin everyone’s commute with her manic episode.  Like the true people-please codependent I was, the idea of making everyone late and being remembered as the asshole that help up the M and J line for hours was not the legacy I wanted to leave, also I was convinced the train would arrive fast enough to end my life or give me severe brain damage. So, I stepped back, knowing it was only a matter of time before this ideation would find me again.  My mother ended her life with pills, who’s to say it wasn’t genetic?

That day, while bored at work doing desk work at a tattoo shop, I came across Groupon deals for pole dancing classes.  I’d always wanted to do Burlesque, but the intro classes at the New York School of Burlesque were always during my workdays and hours.  Maybe this would be a different way to get into that industry. Perhaps I could be one of those cool gothic go-go dancers at my favorite metal bar that danced on a pole on top of the bar. (Sit at your own risk.)  If anything, it would be something different, and if by five classes I didn’t like it, then so be it.  It certainly wasn’t going to make my life worse.

I chose a scrappy studio with good deals, no pretentious energy, and committed to a new student package.   I didn’t have any expectations, as I have no dance or gymnastics background and could never handle choreography as a cheerleader.  It only took a single 1-hour class to catch the addiction.  That lead to more pole classes, aerial classes, and then pole again.  After the COVID shutdowns let up and studios reopened, I signed up for my first competition; the rest is history. I’m still here after seven years of pole dancing, 5 years of competing, two PoleCon showcases, five competition medals, and now a career as a pole instructor (and a pole blog writer).  Turns out you really can’t have a great drinking or drug habit when you have a competition workshop at 10 am the next day.  Pole dancing gave me community, a purpose, and identity, not based on anyone else.  It gave me goals, dreams, and a way to get all my negative energy out and refill with creativity.  It gave me a better appreciation for my body, which led to better self-esteem. It gave me structure and boundaries.

All this said, I talk with a professional weekly and take antidepressant medication.  I would never suggest that anyone dealing with mental health issues and trauma to just “exercise the sad away”. Still, pole dancing was a jumping point that made me put effort into improving myself and becoming the person I wanted to be.  She was always there all along, just waiting to come out and take the lead.  I still battle with demons and occasionally have suicidal ideation whispering in my ear at wee hours of the night.  I still have meltdowns and project emotions from a deeper-rooted source.  I am not the poster child for a well-balanced individual; however, I am alive and here to improve daily.

I could have been dead, instead I became a pole dancer.

 

Casey Danzig
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