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.

Advertisements

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.

A Crippling Blow

Let me tell you a thing about anxiety. I fucking hate that bitch.

I have spent the last 2 hours and 24 minutes cleaning my room in an effort to calm the shaking in my hands- and yes, I counted the minutes. That’s what anxiety does, it turns you into a maniac. You are now servant to its orders. This week has been chalk full with me wringing my hands in a desperate attempt to stop their tremors, reminding my lungs how to inhale and exhale, reminding my heart that it is a muscle that must relax every now and then, and reminding my brain that the world is not out to get me- or so I hope.

My lips have been chewed to the point of being perpetually raw and sensitive. The ends of my hair are being fried by my inability to stop toiling with it- ironing it one day, curling the next, braiding and putting it into a bun every hour or so. It has also been a battle with trying to discover what is causing my anxiety and the only answers I have come up with are my lack of self-esteem and confidence that render me intimidated by a fruit fly.

why am i shaking why is my heart pounding so fast and so hard its going to burst out of my chest what if it bursts why can’t i stop shaking i can’t write properly with my hands trembling this bad why can’t i do this why is this so hard why am i freaking out nothings wrong theres absolutely nothing wrong so why am i freaking out

And so it goes on and has not yet been alleviated. My biggest fear is I will sink to the place I was two years ago, even so soon as a year ago, when the only thing getting me through the day was the thought of my razor and the endless possibilities that could be done with it.

I don’t want to get to that place again; however, I don’t know how to ask for help. My parents do not believe in my poor mental state because they choose to turn a blind eye to it and pretend I am perfectly alright when multiple doctors have called advising them to get me help. The last time I spoke to my school counselor I was admitted to the hospital and would have been admitted to the psychiatric ward had my mother not stepped in. I just really need help but help is nearly impossible to get these days, but if I don’t get help soon I will end up doing something I will regret and I need to avoid that.

I just want to be alright again.