Wednesday, 30 December 2015

Proper Mice

Someone thought I was proper. This is quite confusing as it is not something I ever remember being said about me prior. And in my sickly state as I thought about it all I could picture were proper mice. They seem so noble and upstanding to me. Are nice actually proper? Now get the image. Think of the mouse king in the nutcracker. That's proper.

So how am I proper? I am nothing like that mouse King. Was I sitting too properly just trying to remain composed as my body felt like it was going to give out? Or am I just really grown up. Eight years is a really long time. But is it that long? Have I changed more than I thought. The more I try and think about it the more I realize that I probably have. I just wonder if it's all for the best.

I miss those carefree years. The freedom. The complete independence. The ability to get up and go. I miss feeling young.

But if I hadn't changed I wouldn't have love in this way that I didn't know what's real. Having someone that loves me when I am sick and crazy and when I am stressed and tired and when I am beautiful. I wouldn't have a second family or a house or this life that gives me travel and snuggles and Mexican food. 

I just want to make sure that being a nobel mouse isn't stifling the carefree ferret that is within me.

Sunday, 16 August 2015

This Photograph Is Proof

I flipped the page. So many photos I didn't remember seeing of my childhood. Memories lost. There was a series of 4. One of each of us with the man that biologically was our father. It seemed bizarre that we each had a photo at this amusement park when previous visits had all the kids together with no parental pictures. I was seven. My mother saw it. I felt her ache. I asked. She said that was taken during the first time he left. He had the kids for a visit that day and took us to that amusement park. A time I used to think I imagine. Until he left for good. Then I realized that this wasn't the first time. I threw my photo out. I don't need more photographic proof that even at seven I wasn't worth staying for. There are two decades of painful photos. I just couldn't do it. 

Some photographs are stolen moments from memories we don't remember. Some are reminders of the best times. And some capture moments our brain has so carefully tried to help us forget. The older I grow the more I realize my brain has protected me from so much. From remembering the bad times. From keeping my losses at the forefront. From allowing the scars to form where I would never be able to forget. 

This photograph didn't need to be proof for me to refind another day. Some moments are meant to be forgotten. 

Monday, 10 August 2015

The Tears You Didn't Know About That Were Waiting To Fall

It felt like the clarity came from the murkiest water. It was more than a sounding board. It was an objective set of ears. And it felt safe enough. I knew things were weird. Not right. I wasn't myself and the more I tried to explain that the more tears found crevices to escape from. It hurt. It felt like I was finally letting go. And it felt like no one could understand if I didn't know what was going on myself.

And then the questions began in a fashion that was leading me to answers. I feel so much internal and external pressure along with stability. I am finally realizing I do not thrive in an unchanging and stable environment. I feel contained. I need chaos and drama and spontaneity. I can't say that I didn't enjoy those months with different boyfriends constantly and no plans and being able to do whatever I wanted outside the few scheduled hours of learning. I loved being able to move my life. To walk away. To live knowing that nothing was permanent. It felt like home. And living.

So here I am. Apparently struggling to settle into normal routine. Into the life I wanted and created. I think that's how I found myself in a boxing gym. Something inside me knew I needed random. So it found it. 

I suppose knowing this is part of the problem helps but it also makes me crave that change. There is only so much I can do with hair and other masking changes. But I can't just move. We can't move. I can't just get up and travel or watch tv for days.

I have felt less out of control since the tears poured. Maybe all I needed was to know that there was a reason for my irrational mental disasters. To have someone piece together the fact that my last birthday increased the baby pressure and that I wasn't ready to give up my life. To hear that all of these tears had a reason. That my sensitivity is from my past. From my experiences. 

So on I will go. Wiping the tears that falls searching for change and excitment and trying to take away the structure I so carefully built that is now suffocating me. 

Sunday, 9 August 2015

Paws of the Southern Nature

It didn't begin then. The beginning may be unknown. It just began. But I couldn't find all of the words to say it. Sometimes I just feel too much. But if I am not feeling too much I am feeling numb. Like me emotions are in an ice castle void of the world. It feels like I live in the extremes. And if I have to choose I ultimately choose the mind altering ache of feeling everything. When I feel nothing I sit and remind myself of my emotional scars, the times I sat crying uncontrollably, so I can remember what it feels like to hurt. To feel. 

As we sat in the theatre watching a movie I thought would just be about the difference in a right foot forward stance, my preference, I found the tears streaming. I can't handle the agony of watching lives fall apart or famies being separated. I felt every moment. Too many subtle moments were reminders of my life. Watching so many children being ripped away. Waiting at the door for siblings to come home from visits they didn't want to attend. My chest aches and my throat was tight and the tears kept falling. I just wanted to see how he fought. I didn't want to cry.

I think this is my reality though. I can either close the door and refuse to feel or I will feel every single ache. My regulator seems broken. And part of me thinks that I need to feel the pain to feel alive. That if I try and tone it down or allow myself to love for longer periods in my bomb shelter from emotions that I will become and empty shell. I need the pain to be able to go on. To be me. I need the tears to recognize myself. 

It feels so dark and twisted. But I think the concoction that creates me required enough a self loathing, reliving emotional scarring and crying to create someone that seems so put together. And the more I think about it, there is a part of me that loves this angry broken cycle. It's like the aching comes with an aftertaste of feeling alive. 

Tuesday, 4 August 2015

The Exes That Make You Why

The subconscious seems to be a friend of the devil. Or perhaps it is just sadistic. Or maybe that's just mine. But I think it is true. My subconscious loves nothing more than dredging up the past. Reminding me of all the reasons I have to be insecure. To question the world. To wonder why I ever let go. Sometimes it's in the form of dreams that feel more relentless and tormenting than dreamy. Other times it's reminders from words or lyrics or moments. It just seems like my subconscious wants to hold my past with its last breath, no matter how hard I try and suffocate it. 

I don't hate my past. I don't feel shame. I just don't want to remember all the times my heart was broken or the choices that could have been better or the whys that were never answered. I don't want to relive the times I was not good enough or the times I couldn't hold on to. I just want to appreciate the now. The life I am trying to create. The people I have. I don't want to be dragged down by my moodiness or reminders of the hold that depression has had. I don't want to look in the mirror and see mistakes or wish for wishes that are not mine. 

I just wish that sometimes I could sit down with my subconscious and remind it of the pain, the hurt, the loss that it holds and that I don't want to be that girl any more. I don't want to be the one that wishes that exes gave answers. That lost people came back. That could take back words and glances that ruined friendships. I want to be better now instead of constantly being reminded I wasn't better then.

So here it is.

I wish you didn't say you would come to Australia when you knew you never would. You dragged my heart through the mud for years. And you knew it. 

I wish you would have admitted your feelings at any point. Ever. Instead of acting like nothing and then pretending to be so all knowing about everything. I want to punch you in the face every time I see you throw your relationship advice in everyone's face when you spent years refusing to deal with us. Take your own advice. You break hearts.

I wish we could have stayed friends even though we were the most dramatic couple. I loved our arguing even though it was the most unhealthy relationship I could imagine. You ruined music for me for years because I didn't know how to seperate it from you. I wish I could have seen your band, but I heard you had angry songs about your ex and that broke my heart. 

I wish you and you and you knew that I loved you with my whole heart but I just didn't think your lover was good enough for you and it made me feel so frustrated as I thought you were settling. Sorry I ruined friendships with my lack of honest support.

And you. You were manipulative in every way. And I entirely believe you still are. With your reconnecting message reminding me that you never cared about anyone except for yourself. 

We all break hearts some times. And sometimes I want to break faces. But I don't. So subconscious, leave me alone. Let me move on. Let me take on my own heart for once. 

The Fight Was Fixed From The Start

The chills work their way through my body. Almost with an aching sensation. Is it the fact that I am waiting to see the dentist or just that I have slowed down enough to actually notice myself. It's been another long day. Draining. And worrisome. Sometimes I wonder if I care too much. But if I didn't give my heart to some of these clients then I wouldn't be giving them what they need. 

If only I was diligent with my own needs. My road to hell is so continually paved with good intentions. Plans so well thought and placed and entirely not executed. And I finally am at a place where I realize there are no excuses. I just need to do better. To put the work in needed to achieve my goals.

So I have one month. One month to get on track. Then the training begins. I think I am actually mentally decided that I want to go in the ring this year. I am terrified and the insecurities are raging but I think I need this. I need to be able to win a fight and prove to myself I can do this. To feel that strength on an outward level. So one month until training resumes for the new season. One month to prove to myself that I can get in the ring this season. 

Sunday, 26 July 2015

I Won't Scream In My Head And Let It Isolate Me

It is comforting to know we are all a little messed up. That I am not the only one that has days where I wake up and realize I hate myself. Or that others also get so trapped in their thoughts it's hard to find a way out. 

My own thoughts have seemed like a devil I can't defeat lately. I suppose I know my own insecurities more than anyone else so of course it's easy for me to use them against myself. And I am pretty sure I just haven't been making the time to process my thoughts so they are overtaking me and screaming in my head. Over and over. 

Lately it's been two solid trains of thought. Completely seperate yet hoping to collide. Train one reminds me that I need to be more dedicated to exercise if I want to box this year and because I am feeling pretty bummed about my size yet I can't seem to stay motivated enough to change it. Which is even more disheartening. Train two has realized that having babies is actually something that has potential in my nearer future and that is horrifying. One of the only things I have been sure of is that I will be a great mum and now that it could be close I am absolutely terrified. I don't know who I am becoming.

I just want to feel like I am back on track. Like I am that girl that can just write and listen to music and exercise draw and feel super cool. Instead I am feeling old and out of shape and like a train wreck. Like my trains have already collided. 

I just need to scream and start making changes. I can be better than this. 

Saturday, 25 July 2015

The City Calls To Her This Is Your Chance This Is Your Freedom

I was sure I had learned to reframe. To be more accepting. But it is different when things are in your control and you realize that you are quite likely responsible. I am not sure if I wanted it too much, or if I was too stubborn or if I just wanted to feel something. Or maybe it is all in my head. 

It's been a few days past 5 months. Things were fine. I was trying to move on and be less afraid of what I couldn't remember and just to live. I worked. I worked out. I played. And now here I am. The headaches are back. And is it because I chose boxing and have been hit in the head more times than I would ever admit? Or it is because I am stressed? Or it is because I have just worked myself up to think I have headaches because I want an excuse? I am not sure. But I am sure I didn't want the sensitivity. The spot I assume I hit aches again. And by aches I mean it's like a knife any time something touches my head. Or when I am doing nothing. It is back to that sharp random pain that makes me cringe. I have two days until my next class. I don't want to be a quitter. I don't want to bail on class because I feel less than perfect. But I also am starting to worry that getting hit is actually making things worse. 

And in the end none of this explains the moodiness or the constant turmoil my stomach has become. Food looks amazing. And smells amazing. But it only seems to take minutes before the aching begins. And the murder dreams started again last night. This is all too familiar. And yet new. It's like my body is reminding me that I hate myself. That I am pretending to be someone I am not. 

I am falling apart. 

Monday, 20 July 2015

I Never Asked To Be The One

I feel like I have lost myself. As if I am someone I miss. It feels like a tragic thought. But I don't think that makes it less true. Life is swallowing me up. 

I didn't imagine any of this. I didn't plan for it. Or hope for it. And maybe I don't hate it. But I didn't ask to be the one. I didn't ask to feel so integral. To have a leadership roll. To be in charge of things. I am too new. Too young. Too insecure for this. How am I trusted to interview people? To make decisions about futures? To organize a team?

It is exhausting. And stressful and my days feel long. And my temper feels short. I am so tired. I just was not prepared for this. I didn't think my first career position would become so invoked so quickly. And as much as I love it, it may be drowning me. If I could just set better boundaries and only work my hours and be less invested it would be perfect. And a job. Not a career. I just am not adjusting as well as I would have hoped for myself. 

I need some time. To find some strength. To find myself. To figure out what I have become and where I am going. I just want to find myself again. I think I was just becoming happy with who I was right before I left myself alone in the woods to be lost in a maze with no light to follow home. 

Sunday, 7 June 2015

End of an Error

Tomorrow marks the passing of another year. The more you think about it the weirder it seems. We choose one day and mark it as an aging process even though that is happening constantly. I am no different tomorrow than I am today or today than I was yesterday. At least no different that daily changes. Saying I am twenty seven won't mean I am anything different than twenty six. It is just a number. But I am selfish and like people saying how cool I am and buying me gifts. So I go along with it and eat the heck out of the junk put in front of me. So I figure if I so easily participate in the commercialism I should at least try and reflect. So here it is. Thoughts from my twenty six year old mind.

- as hard as it is mentally to buy clothes a size bigger than what you think should be your constant it is okay. I just bought shorts a size bigger and they fit perfect! No lying hips, no wondering if my stomach is too apparent. And the thing that I was caught up on was the fact I wasn't getting far, I was getting fit so why should I have to go up? Hello muscle. And butt. So really, it's freeing not caring about sizes. Just buy what fits. Screw the number. Numbers shouldn't have such a hold on us anyways.

- getting away from life just to be with your other is the best thing you can do. Some times life just needs to be put on hold so you can just remember why you are each other's others.

- sometimes you just have to toughen up.

-being pretty is the hardest thing ever. So when you find things that work stick with them and when you are having a bad day it's okay to put on sweats and avoid mirrors. 

- I am hilarious. I don't even care if no one else agrees. Tonight I was laughing so hard at a thought in my head I was crying through my laughter and my mother asked me if I needed to excuse myself from my own present opening. I am sorry, sometimes I am just so funny.

- when you get to be this old and are married everyone asks when you are having kids. It is no ones damn business. So the best option is to always lie and say you are pregnant. And then if they congratulate you, you chastise them for thinking you are fat. This will teach people to stop asking. When I choose to create humans you will not be the first to know. Thanks for assuming. 

- a career can be a life changer. I never assumed that I could work somewhere and that it could be so much of my life. I love it. I breathe it. And I am not ready to give that all up. I am good at what I do and I want to enjoy that for awhile. Doing what you love changes every single thing. I am sorry for the people that suffered at the expense of being my friend in all those years before I had a career. I am much more awesome now. 

- it is okay to let go. Of people. Of old things. Of love. Of memories. I used to think I had to hold on to every little thing because it was part of me. I didn't hoard by any means. Or maybe I did emotionally. But I am learning to let go. I don't need to remember the times you walked away from me. Or the times I selfishly walked on hearts. I am who I am at this moment because of my past but it can stay the past. I don't need to be brought down life is hard enough. So I have been learning to cut cords and walk away as the bridges fall into the water.

- words soothe me. Music. Writing. Reading. It is what I crave. What I need. It feels like it gives me breathe. And I can't forget that.

- lastly, as I am hungry and tired. I cannot be someone else. I think I try it all the time. I just need to be me. And sometimes that means accepting I am
Not 23. Or that it is not 2003 and that not everyone listens to tbs or thinks enough music is where it is at. I am actually pretty weird and getting older and an adult with a job and a house and a life and I just need to be me and embrace all that. 

Twenty seven is going to be a ride.

Tuesday, 26 May 2015

Non Resolutions

I don't resolve. I don't sit there as the New Years rings in making resolutions that will only be forgotten. I don't post articles and comments to create the facade that I am perfect or keeping my life in order. But I am trying. I decided this year I would come to understand my pain and find the healthiest way to cope with it so that I can be a mother. I decided to make a change. I have attended appointments and committed to learning and changing. And for the first time I am realizing I have changed.

As the hours passed at work yesterday the misery settled in further. My eyes ached and watered, my chest was tight, the sinuses were congested, and my whole body ached. I knew I was out of sick time. Thank you accident. So I had a choice to make. I try to never be be one calling in sick. But I knew it was better to plan ahead than to last minute create chaos. So I planned with the higher ups for a sick day. I helped rearrange calendars and ensured my day of rest would affect as few people as possible. 

I stocked up on vitamin c and orange juice and eye drops and nasal spray. I curled up into bed early and allowed myself to sleep in. There was slight guilt over the time off as I awoke still feeling human. And then it began. The cold was something I could survive even with my allergy to any medications that could help. But the pain began. It was the same pain that sent me to the emergency room 6 months ago. Yet I knew that this would not be the case today. I had already arranged my sick day which was a huge unforeseen blessing. I sat in a hot bath. I took painkillersand placed   hot packs on my devil organ.  I recognized the pain was not a consequence, just a fact. That I needed to logically follow all self management strategies known and then let it take its course. And then I realized I had changed. I reached acceptance. I had reframed the thoughts on pain. I had realized that this was just a small part of my life and wasn't the definition of me. 

I may not make lists of goals I will never achieve. But I think today was just a little reminder to myself that I have grown up. And am finally taking care of myself. All it took was me realizing how hard becoming and mother could be for me and that I want to give myself the best chance at if. And some times that means slowing down and letting my body sort itself out. Hopefully one day all this pays off with a tiny human.

Tuesday, 5 May 2015

Questions Asked That You Don't Want To Hear

"Are you happy?"

The words stared back from the screen. Why would you ask that? Why would that be your first deep question when we were just talking about the weekend. About your life. It hurt. It felt like a knife coming in near the heart. And only because you wouldn't have asked if you thought I was happy. I hated that you noticed. That you asked. That you asking, made the flaws keeping me down even more apparent. 

Words spilled. Words I wanted so badly to stay in the jar. To stay close to my soul.  I started to recognize why things were falling apart internally. It's May. Just days between your birthday and the day you left us. Just a short time time away from what marks 5 years. Five years. It sounds like an eternity and yet in these moments, the scars feel so fresh.

The answer couldn't have been a yes and be true. I knew internally I was shattered. My insecurities have been mounting. The recognition that people always leave and my ability to try and pull away and leave first. Noticing my guarding and selfish thoughts in an attempt to protect myself from the enemy. Unfortunately, it's hard to guard yourself from yourself. So the truth had to be no. 

I am feeling so unaffected. My affect is flat. I don't feel happy and I know it. And I don't know how I am going to fix this. But I think you asking is a start as it made me realize that something is very wrong. That I can't keep living like this. 

Saturday, 25 April 2015

My One Chance at a Bachelor Date, And I Will Never Remember It

I have wanted to write these words since the day I started remembering. But it turns out it is really hard to write about the few memories I have with the memory loss. But I want to piece it together, for my own peace of mind. It is like I want to will the memories back by writing it down. I need to accept that is not true. But my heart just wants to hope.

Rewind to February 20. After 10 years of friendship Hoser and I were about to embark on our first road trip. Our relationship was going international. I now remember that we had actually been planning this for ages. We arranged to go to the cabin in Montana for a weekend in February and a weekend in March. We planned to snowboard/ski/relax/shop. It was just a chance for us to catch up and have girl time and just do whatever. I was stoked. 

I came home from work and she arrived quickly. We tossed our crap in the back of a Rouge and I said goodbye to Jeff. I remember us laughing about how oddly dusty her ski stuff was but that it didnt matter since it hadnt snowed in ages. We stopped for subway in Cardston and decided to drive and eat which mean I spilled a ton on myself. I think the roads got pretty crappy after that. The border was quick and the drive seemed slow as the roads were barely visible. I remember taking a turn at Big Fork and just missing the cabin but then getting there without too much trouble. The hardest part was figuring out the door lock. I assume we went straight to bed as it must have been almost midnight but I have no idea what we talked about on the drive.

Saturday. I know we went for breakfast at Homestead and went to Target and got the mail, and bought coasters for her dad. I think we drove up to the mountain before dinner to see if there was enough snow to go before we drove home. We had dinner at Tamarack and I think we tried to watch a show but couldnt figure out the TV so went to bed.

The end. Of my memory. I dont remember waking up, or putting the sheets in the wash, or getting ready or loading up the car. I dont remember driving to the mountain, or parking or pulling out my stuff. I have a vague memory of paying for a pass but it could just be because I saw a pass on my clothes. I dont remember the 5 runs we had. Or the conditions. I dont remember if I was sucking or nailing it. 

I am told that we were on about the 6th run. I had told Hoser to go ahead as she was skiing and faster than I was. She heard a scream and took off her skis and started to hike back up. She found me carrying my board walking. I didnt know where I was, what had happened or anything, other than who she was. My helmet was cracked. Apparently I thought I was going to be sick frequently and no one was passing us so we had to hike all the way down the mountain. Turns out walking down a mountain with a snowboard and a girl that doesnt have any clue whats going on is quite time consuming and difficult. I know even less about what took place over the next 24 hours. Apparently someone checked me out and they called a helicopter. 


I am clearly not over this.

They made Hoser drive my car to the hospital so she was pretty bummed that she didnt get to join me in the helicopter. Apparently I was at the hospital for quite some time. I have a vague memory of trying to strip as I didnt recognize the clothes I was wearing and hated them. ( It should be noted that I had to get rid of the sweater I was wearing because it brought up immense amounts of hatred when I saw it after the accident.) I also remember seeing my brother in law and talking about some girl he had seen previously. Apparently I think she is a slut and told the whole hospital that. Turns out I am quite funny and dramatic when I have no idea what is going on. I was very stuck on the point that having a brain injury was hilarious for me as I work in a brain injury clinic. So true. I also was confused as to whether or not I was pregnant and if I was still married since I didnt have my ring on. ( I would never wear my ring snowboarding but apparently that was not reassuring) I guess they did a CT scan and it was clear. Jeff was called. He drove all the way down.

Hoser says I cried the whole way home from the hospital when they finally let me go. Poor Hoser, she hates tears. I do know that eventually she found scrubs online for me to watch but then Jeff came and took it away. I was very upset at that point. I guess he called Lindsay the physio I work with and she said no screens for the first day haha. I didnt care. I needed to watch scrubs! And I kept trying to find my phone. It was a good thing they took it away because the texts I found that I had sent were not ideal. I just kept texting people letting them know I didnt know what was going on and why my head and butt hurt so much and how I got to Montana. I had no clue about anything.

My memory starts to come back on Monday. I woke up in my in-laws room which was confusing as i had never been in there before. I remember waking up and not knowing the year, or the month, or where my ring was, or where all of my hair went ( I had cut 12-13 inches off two months prior). I remember being terrified. Hoser was gone and I couldnt figure out how she could have left ( she took my car home as she had to work), and I kept finding the things I bought and having no memory of buying any of it! Jeff got me out to breakfast and when I asked the waitress if I had been there two days before with Hoser, I was trying so hard to piece together the weeekend, she didnt know as she wasnt working then. I started to cry. How could she not know! Monday was very difficult. I spent the day, and the drive home looping. I kept asking what happened. How my body hurt so much. Why didnt I buy more starburst candies? Why werent we home yet? Did I have a job? What was going to happen with me missing work? Did Hoser have a boyfriend? Why did I buy that ugly sweater? Why did my brother in law like that girl I hated?

Jeff says it took us twice as long to get home as I kept feeling nauseous. I dont remember that. The next few days were when I started to remember actually planning the trip and parts of it. It was still hard though. Acknowledging I couldnt go to work quite yet. That I was exhausted and so sore and stressed. And then starting to come to terms with the fact I would likely never remember anything.

As the bills started to come in the mail it felt real. Before that, sure I had the pain, but there was nothing tangible saying that I was hurt. There didnt seem to be proof. Other than the hospital band I woke up to on my wrist. 

Its been almost 9 weeks. And honestly, I didnt tell a lot of people what happened. Family and some close friends new but it seemed to be stressful so it felt easier to pretend it didnt happen. To just try and move on. But as I sit here and write I still feel the aching. I long to remember. To just be able to articulate my experiences. To know what it was like to be in a helicopter. Instead, I sit here trying to write the memories I have been told and the patches I remember and realize that all I will remember are these killer headaches and how terrifying it was to wake up with no clue what was going on. So here it is.

I had my one chance to ride in a helicopter across the beautiful mountains of Montana , just like a crazy bachelor date, and I will never remember it. 

Wednesday, 18 February 2015

Your words of insincerity

Fuck you.

I rarely swear but this time the urge is too strong. Are you kidding me. It's been five years since the last form of communication. I would guess it's been 7 or 8 since anything and that whole time you used me as a placeholder. I was the girl that you liked when you felt lonely, or were insecure or the one you ran to after breakups. I was never the one. I wasn't the one who you ever gave anything up for, I was the one you gave up for anything. 

So you have no right to now say that you miss me and adore me and have aways cared. I am unsure if you ever knew enough about me to have cared. I have a life now. I have love now. I have someone who loves me and waited for me for years. Someone who would actually put me first. And you have a family. So do not think for a second you can say anything. Do not try and apologize because you think your words are anything more than transparent and that they will some how change anything. 

I am not a placeholder. I am not going to wonder if you ever loved me. If you ever even knew the hell that was my life at that period. Or if you ever realized that my self esteem was so low that I didn't know how to walk away from being walked over. I am not her any more. And I never deserved that. And you never deserved me.

So fuck you for trying to step into my happiness.

Monday, 26 January 2015

Airplane bathrooms, complete mortification and overcoming escalators.

There are a few things that you need to know about me before I share my own personal hell.

1. The last time I used an airplane bathroom was 5 years ago flying from London to Brisbane. I only did this as I had to vomit. Otherwise I am terrified by airplane bathrooms and can last 14 hours on a plane without requiring one.

2. I am a control freak.

3. I get very stressed when I let someone down.

4. I am embarassed very easily.

5. I find taking cabs to be stressful and I am likely the most awkward cab passenger. 

Now to the heart of it all. It was a beautiful warm night, the ocean breeze was palpable as we took one last wak along the wharf. Reality had set in and I had to head back to the hotel to grab my bags and go to the airport. We said goodbye and I took a cab, alone, to the airport. I felt the usual stress of getting there late as traffic only seemed to grow. And then I focused on the exorbitant cost of cab rides and finally we arrived.

No lines. I got my boarding pass immediately. I walked through security. It was like the world knew I needed a relaxing trip home.

Then it began. My stomach started aching but this was still in the realm of normal. So I pulled out some sweat pants and changed, reminding myself it was a red eye so it didn't matter how ghetto I looked. 

I boarded and a kind man helped me shove my bag in the overhead bin and I sat down, prepared for a nap. The girl in the seat next to me debated for awhile and then finally asked if I would switch seats so she could sit with her partner. Of course. We have all been there. I awkwardly moved and met the man sitting next to me. This seems like it's about when it all turned for the worst.

He opened some food which normally would have been a glorious sensation to my nostrils but this time it seemed to only increase the nausea. I felt warm. The hoodie came off. I sipped water. I changed positions a dozen times. Then I knew.

I awkwardly got up and was grateful to be near the back of the plane. I knew we were to take off any minute but it couldn't wait. And at least at this time the bathroom would be free. It wasn't. One of the flight attendants had it occupied which lead to me vomiting three times on the floor. Loudly. Messily. Everywhere. 

The other flight attendant was calm, reassuring and relaxed. She found me tissues. She helped me into the bathroom when it was free and got me water. She called someone to clean and got me gingerale before I went back to my seat. Face red, feeling of vomit, and tears welling. The passengers did not look happy.

The flight was delayed as they cleaned up, meanwhile the nice flight attendant was subtly verifying that I didn't have Ebola. The man next to me made Ebola jokes and kindly tried to take away my embarrassment with stories and banter.

Then it came back. At least this time I made it to the dreaded bathroom to face my fears again. It kept coming. I cried. She knocked softly and I told her I would leave. She helped me find my bag as my seat neighbor pulled it down and wished me luck and I walked past the whole plane, smelling of vomit with a face of tears. Sorry guys, I delayed your flight and hour and then left after I vomited enough to ruin your flight.

The cab ride back to the hotel was long and stressful but I was grateful my husband was still there. The ensuing 5 hours of living in the bathroom with the dreaded seat lid that attacked both my hands and face was almost better than the pure embarrassment I was still feeling. Sleep was rare. My poor husband went out for gravol and kindly offered words of support.

The next morning I had to try it all again. A third cab, alone, to the airport. I sat in silence. I silently waited for the plane an avoided all eye contact. It was as if they would all know I was that girl. No one knew. Except for me. I safely made it home where I was so grateful to be alone.

The moral of this story is that your biggest fears will nearly kill you. Nearly. And that I am now the worst person to fly with. Thank you stomach flu.

Tuesday, 20 January 2015

Bones Chill

This place is too familiar. It used to be the children's hospital. A place I spent far too much of my childhood in. Then it became  a hospital clinic. I set up offices here and transitioned doctors to this location before I moved away. And now I sit in a room that is new to me, a place I have never really sat but it feels too much the same as well as creating a sense of mistake. I shouldn't be here. I am too healthy. I drove myself here. I work full time. I am not sick enough to need to sit in a chronic pain clinic. I am fine. How did I end up here? 

Sometimes it feels like it's in my head. Lie the pain doesn't exist. And then in my worst moments when I am crying on the floor just praying for relief I remember it is real. It isn't constant. It doesn't control my life. But it is real. I am here. Looking for answers that may not exist. Looking for hope that if I make changes that I will still survive. 

The familiarity is becoming bone chilling. Or perhaps it is just drafty. Either way I am becoming increasingly uncomfortable. I came early and am praying it doesn't start late. I just want to get this over with. Get back to work. Move on with my day. 

I struggle to acknowledge my reality when faced with it. To accept the truth about pain and children and my future. Part of my soul just wants to believe if I just ignore this it will be fine. That the pinball be bearable and that offspring will come in the natural sense without a year or agony. I just want to believe in something else because sometimes this truth is too cutting. Maybe I was meant to find a fulfilling job so the other gaps wouldn't hurt so much. Or maybe I am borrowing trouble.