This past weekend, by all accounts, should have been a wonderful weekend. And in many ways, it was. I spent some quality time with cool friends, and I met some even cooler people. I finally visited the Big Apple and learned that Broadway is a street, not a place (this one may haunt me for a while).
But while I was gallivanting through New York City completely overwhelmed yet in awe of Central Park, Times Square and the darkness of the skyscrapers, others were hurting. On Sunday, I received some heartbreaking news, and out of respect for the parties involved, I will not disclose here. But needless to say, it’s the kind of news that brings someone like me to tears on the spot.
And on that same day, a woman at a gas station banged a bathroom door into my head (on accident, of course, but it hurt like hell – I still have a tender bruise). The weather was raining and overcast, and we were at the beach. Mother Nature couldn’t have been crueler (okay, I suppose a hurricane would have done it). My blood sugar levels were all over the place — from severe highs to severe lows.
Physically, I felt depleted and weak. Emotionally, I was hurting. And I was fortunate I was surrounded by such amazing people who let me process my emotions in my own time and even acknowledge that while I wanted to blame myself, I had done my best to be the most supportive friend I could be, and that was enough. When I returned to the sunny skies of DC on Monday, I received more bad news. Continue reading
When I was a little girl, I loved car rides. This was before I met Motion Sickness. My family used to take vacations in the summer, and we drove to our destination whether that be the six-hour ride to Smoky Mountains or the 14-hour trek to Disney World.
My dad played Golden Oldie’s from the radio or Disney tunes on cassette. My mom would drive, my dad would film, and my brother and I would be content in the backseat. I was overwhelmed by the imagery. I loved following the different shapes and colors of the trees, watching the yellow lines on the road become one and taking in all the makes and models of other vehicles on the highway.
I could sit for hours in silence, feeling the fresh air and letting the music provide a backdrop for whatever story I dreamed up. I gave those trees a soul, and while I didn’t know who else traveled on the roads with us, I somehow felt connected to them. I used my imagination to give them their own stories. It was where my creative spirit was born.
So why, as an adult, is it so hard for me to sit back and do nothing? Why can’t I just remain still for a moment and relish the world going by? Continue reading
Last weekend, while thousands marched for science in DC, I met up with a longtime friend for the annual Howard County GreenFest. And while watching a documentary on the plight of migratory birds did not aid in my feelings of hopelessness and helplessness (although I highly recommend the film), meeting up with my friend gave me some perspective.
She’s the one who originally encouraged me to write about my struggles with diabetes and insurance coverage. She’s the one who introduced me to my first book producing gig and a mentor who is still having a profound impact on me post-mortem. And when I summed up the indifference I felt towards my current life, she gave me hope.
“It seems like what you need right now is to feel empowered in your daily life,” she said to me over lunch at David’s Natural Market in Columbia.
But when I feel so distraught and useless and anxious about the current political climate, how do I change circumstances outside of my control in order to feel empowered again? Continue reading
About four months ago, I decided to change careers and end a long-term relationship. Those first two months I was on what I like to call a “change high.” I was so overwhelmed and in love with the new wonderful opportunities in my life. I felt so energized and full of life.
But then that third month arrived, and something slowly started changing. I felt exhausted all of the time. I stopped eating and exercising on a regular basis. I slept more and cancelled on social plans. What used to take me 30 minutes to do then took an hour. I had trouble getting out of bed in the morning and constantly found myself running late for my job. My blood sugar levels were harder and harder to control, and I felt sick most of the time. I lost interest in all activities that once brought me joy. My social anxiety returned. A lot of anxiety returned. I overreacted to the littlest things at work and at home. I no longer felt confident in my direction.
I am still emerging from that hole of hopelessness. I cannot explain what exactly pinpointed such a depressive episode. But a few weeks ago, I started reaching out to family, friends and colleagues. I started being honest about how I felt about a lot of things. And rather than be met with scrutiny, I was met with support.
I still have that support. And on truly harrowing days it’s that support that really gets me through. In the meantime, I’m taking the time to explore opportunities and challenges. What is it about my current circumstances that make me feel so value-less and useless? What can I do to change that, regardless of the risks?
I’m not one to feel alive waiting in line for the rollercoaster. I feel alive when I am on the rollercoaster and crossing that first hill and putting my hands in the air. And I’d like to share this journey with you. I don’t have all the answers. But I recognize we are not alone in our struggles and only by connecting can we really, truly feel alive.
I’m planning to post more on this blog over the next month. And to give you a glimpse of the past six weeks, here are a few short episodes. Continue reading
I am less than 24 hours from officially surviving the most heart wrenching, traumatizing, emotionally charged, tumultuous, unforeseeable, devastating decade of my life (Jane Austen would disapprove of that many adjectives).
Speaking of Jane, 10 years ago I was obsessed with the movie Becoming Jane (I also had a huge crush on James McAvoy, that is until his overdramatized portrayal of mental illness in Split). Like Austen’s character in the film, I wanted to experience a great love story but then spend my life dedicated to my writing (and writing six of the greatest novels in the English language couldn’t hurt either). Continue reading
It’s interesting to write a post like this on a day when I am so incredibly happy and full of energy. But I think this is also the perfect time to write such a post about a time when I was maybe not so happy, and just living in the world felt overwhelming.
Depression, anxiety, and all its root causes have been mostly missing from my life as of late, but when they do appear, I must remember days like today. I must remember that tomorrow is worth it.
On most days, it’s hard to remember how I ever got to that place before. Sometimes it’s nothing more than a chemical imbalance, hormonal changes, or blood sugar instability that sets me down that blue path. But when it does happen, it’s why I cherish days like today, for the mere fact that they exist. Continue reading
Today a doctor put a scalpel to the skin beneath my left bicep. She removed another birth control method, the last I will try for a while. And although the implant was the best I’ve had, after about six months, it interfered with a cycle that should come natural, and the consequences no longer seemed worth it.
Oh the things we women must endure.
But this isn’t just about reproductive rights for women. It’s about the child I am not ready to bring into this world. I am a Type 1 diabetic. I would not take reproduction lightly normally, but with a chronic disease that could do irreparable developmental damage if I’m not monitoring it carefully enough, I especially do not take it lightly.
After the application of a burning numbing agent, the doctor pierced my skin and opened the wound. I watched with a side view anxious to have this hole repaired. I knew I was making the right decision for myself and my body but I couldn’t help but be abhorred by the whole procedure. What was I doing to myself?
She used her gloved fingers to dig around beneath the skin, and what seemed like seconds turned into minutes. How big is this thing? She asked for help from her assistant. Is it stuck inside me? Will I never be free of this thing that can’t be more than the size of a blunt razor blade? But then I realized she was removing scar tissue from the implant. After all, it had been in my body for almost a year.
And then it was out. As thin as a paper clip, it was no bigger than my pinky finger. And to think of all the hassle that tiny strip caused. Incredible. Continue reading