Life Itself

In 88 days, I will be living in the city of my dreams, the prodigal “room where it happens”. I will be given the opportunities of interning on Capitol Hill or volunteering at a number of non-profit organizations. I will meet people from around the world. And best of all, not a single person there knows me. I have no predisposed expectations to live up to. I can be a wholly new person and set up a new life for myself. This current moment is one I have been working for and dreaming of for over 7 years, and it is finally happening.

Now, I make lists of the valuables and in-valuables that I can’t live without; what books do I treasure enough to take with me, what image do I want to make for myself through the clothes I wear? I contact my insurance company and medical suppliers to see what my options are for treatment in what will be my new home. I register for disability services- something I never imagined I’d have to do, but know I must. I prepare for transition.

I have begun an exercise regimen and I am cleaning my diet. I have worn my CGM continuously for 2 months. My goal before I leave is to lower my HBa1C from 8.8 (in March) to 7.5 or lower, and I am currently on track to beat that goal. I’d like to lose some weight as well, but that goal is second to simply controlling my disease. I need to prove, to myself more than anyone else, that I am fully capable of being an independent adult and taking care of my health.

I am also learning when and how to ask for help. I lose no self-value in doing so and that lesson has taken time to learn, but the journey in doing so has been fruitful.

I am also remembering a lesson I taught myself through years of solitude: Let people go. There are people who enter your life to teach you, to guide you, and to support you, and once those people have served their purpose, they must be let go. There are some people who entered my life during my high school tenure whom I believed I could carry with me possibly for the rest of my life, but rapidly I am realizing that may not be the case. I wish them no ill will, simply that I need to let them go in order to continue becoming the best possible person I can be.

I am learning how to be happy. That is the most important lesson I can hope to learn in my life.


If you’re interested, once I move away I am planning on making a new blog to document my life in Washington, D.C. and eventually New York. I’ll link that blog here once it’s made.


Water Under the Bridge

I think I’m due for a brief life update.

I’m doing okay. I’ll hesitantly even go as far as to say I’m doing good. I’ve been struggling a little on what to do with my alone time, since I seem to have an abundance of it now. I spend a lot of that time sleeping, though I don’t know if that’s to catch up on the sleep I miss during the school week or it’s the depression. I’m not lacking motivation anywhere near how I was during my bad months a while back, but every now and then it’s particularly difficult to get out from under my covers.

Recently, I told myself that it’s okay to be sad and I just have to ride out the wave whenever it comes, because only then will I be able to truly appreciate the times that I’m motivated and energetic and content. It’s a sensitive balance, but I really do think I’m managing it okay.

Things with Pretty Boy fell apart so fast, it’s hilarious honestly. I’ll spare the details, but I learned two things from that experience: 1. I’m (almost) ready to date again. 2. I’m terrified no one will compare to Ex Boyfriend.

It’s the second lesson that has been particularly eating at me, no matter how hard  I try to send it to the back of my mind.

December is 7 months since I broke up with him. The beginning was grueling; I had no idea how to be my own person. I had no knowledge of my personality or how to change it, had no concept of my personal aspirations, and I generally didn’t know how to live as my own person.

Since then, I have worked slowly and diligently to create a person out of the shell I so long inhabited, and I am so proud of my progress. I’ve learned it’s especially important to praise yourself as much, if not more, as you critique yourself, so I don’t feel ashamed to admit that I’m proud.

I was lower than rock bottom at the start of 2016, and I didn’t really start to come out of that rut until just a couple of months ago.

In the beginning, I missed him with a weight and pain that threatened to crush me. I definitely do still miss him now, almost more I’d say, but in a different way. I don’t miss the attention or affection as much as I did in the beginning, though there are moments I long to bury my face in his neck or pull on the hairs at the back of his head, but more than that I miss his company. He was my closest and most valuable confidant. I miss our lengthy conversations about nothing and everything. I miss the way we could communicate with each other just by glance, without having to say a single word. I miss the hours spent together without speaking, just enjoying each other’s quiet company. The times I dream about him, I wouldn’t say that I’m happier, but that I’m consumed by this overwhelming sense of peace. When I wake up from the dreams, that peace is immediately what I realize is missing.

I know who I am God damn it. I know what I want, and I have intricate plans for how to get there. I’m taking care of myself, I’m expanding my relentless pursuit of knowledge, and I am growing more comfortable with myself and my body with every passing day. I know (I KNOW) I’m bound to meet incredible and inspiring and exhilarating people when I go to college, but I’m truly scared I’ll never stop wanting or needing him.

August 20, 2014. You walked into the studio with your schedule change in hand to show to Pelican. It was the third day of school and I was going mad trying to finish the first show. I had just stepped down from the stage where the anchors’ desk was mounted when I looked over and saw you and stopped in my tracks. I’m sure I could go back to the studio and point to the exact spots where both you and I were standing. I didn’t see your face from the front, only profile, which is where you got the platypus name from (when I look at you from the side, your chin does this thing that makes you look like a platypus, I’m sorry). You never saw me, but I swear on my life and my heart and my brain and everything that matters to me that I felt a pull, as if a string connected us to each other. You know how I am about my gut feelings, and this time there was a voice in the back of my head that just said “You need to know him, be close to him. This one’s important.” Nothing, nothing, nothing eats at me more than this single memory does. Nothing.


I needed to get that off my chest. There are still things I keep bottled, no matter how much I talk or vent. This memory is a weight that follows me around, almost whispering that I can’t let you go no matter how hard I try. I’m sorry.

On the Nature of Daylight

I’ve been struggling as of late to decide on what major I’d like to pursue once I enter college, and I can already see that this struggle will persist for a long time. I’ve sifted through being a law clerk to lawyer to editor to journalist, and while journalism has been where I’ve felt the closest to finding a niche, I still don’t think I’m there yet.

I love language- specifically English-, anything and everything having to do with grammar and how humans as a species communicate with each other. I love dissecting what a person is saying not just by the words they use, but by how their body reacts and how their pitch influences meaning and how they order their sentence and what implications that may have on expression.

I’ve read books passionately and vigorously since the fourth grade, eager to down as many words and pages in one sitting as possible. Always expanding my ever-growing capacity for empathy, I developed a burning love for reading. My room is quite literally crowded with hundreds of books stuffed in every nook and cranny possible. I haven’t read a third of the books I own, and yet I still buy more. I love having the ability to immerse myself in alternate realities, become a totally different and oftentimes more compelling or charismatic person, and I deeply appreciate that in turn along the way, I pick up certain traits and aspects that mold me into a more understanding person. All of this is done through the power of language and communication.

I just saw the movie Arrival with a small group of friends tonight and a major premise of the film is on language. Coming out of the film, I know that I need to take a linguistics course when I go to college. This is so much more than a desire at this point, it feels more like a necessity to see if this is what finally clicks for me, if this is what will finally feel right.

I love journalism because it provides me an outlet through which I can communicate with people, deliver ideas and messages, and ultimately bring people together. Where I struggle is in the stigma against journalism, and how dirty the work can often be. It also doesn’t always fulfill my artistic nature (though mostly pushed to the background in my daily life, it’s definitely there).

For now, I’ll take what I can get, and journalism is my best bet.I made a promise to myself (and to very close people around me) to never settle for anything less than extraordinary, and I am set on holding true to that promise. Hopefully sooner rather than later I will finally find what makes me feel alive.

The Dreamer/The Thief/The Relic

Day 15- Your dreams, in great detail

This is a difficult thought, to say the least. It seems as though my dreams change on a day to day basis.

Some days, all dream about is a world where my pancreas functions as it should. A world where I never was diagnosed with diabetes, a world where I was just a normal girl. I imagine how different my life would have been, considering everything the diabetes has brought along with it (namely my depression and anxiety). I wonder if my parents would have loved me had I never been diagnosed. This dream becomes thoroughly extensive: I never had that first seizure when I was three years old, my grandpa never changed his entire meal plan to match mine, I never got the second seizure in the pool when I was six that caused my intense fear of pools and beaches, I never was bullied throughout elementary school for being different, I never went to diabetes camp in fifth and sixth grade, I never cut myself to make myself feel a pain I could control, I never was hospitalized for my body not wanting to absorb the insulin I injected, and it just goes on and on. I also think, would I not be as mature and responsible as I am now? Or as intelligent? This thought scares me. I know it is because of my diabetes that I didn’t have a childhood, I had to grow up fast, never being able to act my age because I had to take care of a body that only wanted to destroy itself. It is because of my diabetes that I am capable of extensive thought processing, and I truly have a mind of my own, I can think for myself and not be susceptible to the foolishness that most girls my age fall victims to. This world I dream of so often is just so different from the one I am living, it never ceases to amaze me.

I also dream about a world where my parents didn’t care about the image I chose for myself. My parents, especially my mother, are very strict on topics such as piercings and tattoos; my mother has a no tolerance policy on facial piercings, gauges, and tattoos. If only she knew of all of the body modifications I want to do. If my parents were okay with it, by now I’d have much larger gauges, a nose ring, industrials on each ear, and probably a tattoo already as well. My hair would also be a bright red, not this ombre that I currently have.

Another big dream of mine is working as a special effects makeup artist. My parents, again, do not support this whatsoever. My mother is not content with me being anything other than a lawyer. My father wants me to have a “practical” job that pays the bills. They don’t understand that I want a career, not simply a job. I want to do something that I love, I want to look forward to every day that I work because my work is my passion, is my happiness. I don’t care about living in a small apartment, I don’t care about driving a cheap car, as long as I am doing something that I truly love. 

Possibly my biggest dream, as cliche as it sounds, is to be happy. I don’t remember the last time I was happy for more than a couple of days at a time. I want to be with my would-be significant other (maybe even get married, heck she already knows the kind of ring I want), write books and poetry, work on some art and makeup, live in a nice house with two extra rooms besides our bedroom, one for my library, and the other for all of our musical instruments. I won’t care about my diabetes because it is entirely under control and I have complete feeling in my fingers and feet. My parents are no longer breathing down my neck, and, of course, I have full sleeve tattoos as well as thigh and ribcage tattoos, I have industrials in both ears, my gauges are of a substantial size, and I have a black nose ring in my right nostril.

I’ll be okay with anything life throws at me as long as I am truly happy and surrounded only with the people who I love and who love me. That’s my dream.