Water Wait

I've never been sailing. I imagine racing over the ocean with the strength of the wind behind my schooner [that's a fancy sailing ref for those who care] would be pretty amazing, though. You know how sometimes you feel driven to do something really important? Like some beautiful force has it's hand on the small of your back, willing you to keep sailing until you carry it out?

WAIT.

I'm realizing that maybe some of you don't. I know that for a decent chunk of my life I didn't. It happens. You may spill some mango chutney on your fresh new Sperry's on sailing Sunday, sending you into a tizzy so uncomfy that you fall right off your fancy boat, dickey and all, into the heavy current of the ocean waves.

If you know how to swim, which I do [slowly and as awkwardly as you can imagine], it's not impossible to breast stoke your way to shore again. Or at least to some other sailor's boat for a bit, if that's what you need. I don't know the sailing term for bestest pal, so I'll simply call it "Meg*". That Meg might throw you a towel and giggle with you at pictures of half-naked hipster dudes until you're ready to get dropped off at your own boat again. 

*The name Heather may also apply here. 

When you do finally arrive in a safe place, though... when you are happy with how far you've been able to travel without swim-puking, the feeling is wondrous.

Kiiiinda like this.


There have been few moments in my life that felt as wonderful, but I treasure them and constantly hope for more. The greatest part is that I hadn't even believed I would get to this place. The last three years have been the biggest test I could have had. It didn't take much--just my voice. 

Now that I'm approaching top sailing speed, I don't resent that part of my life at all. I must admit though, that I am just a little nervous. Hence the lingering swim-pukes.

My poor boat shoes.

On Standing Down

Adults make decisions. 

Granted, I live in America and a rather large number of decisions that I witness adults make are rather questionable, if not down right insane. But we're free, and encouraged, to create our own destiny, adventure, or whatever the hipster kids are calling it now. And we're so, so lucky to have that opportunity.

But what about when you've made yourself so informed of the potentially negative or painful results of one decision, rather than the possibility of a victorious outcome? 

OR, you've taken so much of what the people who love you have to say about what it is you should do, that you stop hearing your inner voice?

I'm smack in the middle of making the huge decision of whether or not to start a medication. And I've been here before.

I don't want to be this person anymore.

I'll be honest. The idea of becoming an anti-pharmaceutical crusader and fighting for the natural treatment of my disease and others was an enormous part of my heart for a long time. But I'm sick. And I'm tired. And I feel that if I don't do something soon, I'll be in the comfy wing of the hospital that I know so well, wishing I'd have listened to my doctor. Again.

And blaming her for it. Now, almost one year to the date that I started Remicade, I'm in the exact same place.

I don't want to give up trips, wonderful jobs, and the opportunity for what feels like a normal life. I don't want to hurt my relationships because I'm miserable, or lose parts of myself that I love so much because I'm too afraid to live my life... and I want to smile, feeling amazing and warm, with a baby in my belly. I have to take a leap of faith now and use my brain. I know what a desperate feeling it is to find relief from illness. I know it so well in fact, that I withheld it further from myself because I wanted that healing to come from a natural place. But there is nothing wrong with a band-aid.

If you take it off before it heals into your skin.

For fuck's sake, guys. When you feel it's time to do something, do it. I can always say, with acceptance and self-respect, that I tried.

Because in all actuality, if I don't follow my heart, the only person I'll be disappointing is myself.

New Year, New Fight

Happy New Year.

I am seeing this new measure of time as a good thing, but it will come with an enormous amount of work. My usual, bring-it-on attitude has faltered in the recent months. While I'm still excited about starting 2013 in healthy, happy ways, it's that work I mentioned that I'm having trouble keeping my mind from.

Crohn's remission is something that I've patiently waited three long years for.

I thought that if my body was better, my life would be better.

I've had difficulty going to friends and family with the darkness that's been in my head, my heart. It's documented that after surviving traumatic experiences, people suffering from chronic illness are susceptible to major depression. I continued to stay as positive as I could, given the trying situations that were thrown my way, because I thought that I could be strong enough to avoid it. But with that attempt at such prolonged patience came very much anger. I knew that there was a chance that I could become seriously depressed. You start to mourn the life you lost after being so sick.

You start to hate things you spent years loving. And forget about what made you so happy, you could shit.

For weeks, my routine has steadily dwindled to lying in one place, just as I had when my body gave out on me. I look back at pictures, like the one below, and wonder why anyone would choose to revert back to such a sad place as that. After all of the fighting that I did to get myself back. The truth is, I must have just gotten comfortable there. It was easier to stay inside and sleep than to engage in interaction with the people that I know. It's nothing personal, but being around anyone makes me uncomfortable and question my every move and word.

Stockholm Syndrom.

I've lost interest in conversation with good friends, my family, and the growing responsibilities that I've been so looking forward to- in ways that I hope most of you will never understand. 

I've lost faith.

Despite his desperate pleading for me to get help before I finally did, I just about pushed the love of my life right out of it. 

I've stopped caring about hurting myself. I've stopped caring about everyone, and everything. And I'm so, so sorry.

I've stopped caring about being alive.

Writing this is the last possible thing that I want to be doing right now.

As hard as it is to put this out for everyone to see, I feel somewhat responsible to do so after sharing so much of my journey with Crohn's Disease with other sick people. 

Stale Cabbage took me away from my Crohn's and into a place where I made the rules. I was the boss. My posts were funny to me, they made me giggle at my secret wit. Writing these entries gave me the opportunity to show myself that I wasn't just some sick person. There is a wealth of knowledge at our fingertips to use in healing. I used it to my advantage and stayed the course in getting to that place once. 

I'm making the decision to do it again.

Dear friends, please know that there is nothing worth keeping to yourself that may hurt you. In the sunshine of this new, January morning, I am creating a relationship with myself. If you are thinking of hurting yourself because you lost hope for who you are, could be, are having trouble regaining your life, or are still unable to pinpoint exact reason, please contact someone who loves you. There ARE people that love you.

I am proof that you can find your voice and attempt to save yourself.

For my friends and loved ones:

Some of you may have noticed drastic changes in my attitude, and my withdrawal from social interaction. Please understand that I am seeking help, and am in the hands of wonderful doctors and close friends who know me well and are aware of these sad changes. My healthcare team does not take healing from something I've gone through lightly, and we were more than prepared for such an event. I am heartbroken to have been affected by something so nightmarish, but will continue to heal as I can. 

I know full well that here is very much love in healing.

Rabbit Rabbit.

Here's to Round 2.

Get Up, Stay In, & Get Some

Reaction to a new day/ sleep being over/ waking from that dream where Lindsey Lohan is my Life Coach again, can hit me in two ways. I either bask in the beautiful morning sunshine, or roll myself out of bed with a profound hatred for daylight. Luckily, this morning came with exciting work and I was able to wake happily.

My mornings are usually happy, though. I climb out from whatever cramped position my dog puts me in, with newly-hatched bird hair and the need for a bathroom. Most mornings for people living with Crohn's start this way. Our eyes are finally open, but our guts have been working overtime all night. This is no cause for panic for me, as most people ever staying in my home are kind enough to haul ass when I need them to finish up in front of the mirror. 

Today, I'd like to talk about urgency. Yeah, there was just a paragraph about rushing to a toilet, but what I mean to describe is the feeling that life hands you just as you may think that your starting to slack on what's important. I am one of the countless jerks who puts things off, but mostly because situations that call for responsibility can be almost terrifying, not because I don't have the want or need for progress and grown-up ish to do. I don't blow off all adult thought. Even though every single time I say the word "progress", I sing in my head the song from Nacho Libre that plays during a scene where Ignacio and Esteban shop with their wrestling winnings for the first time. Remember it? Just me?

Maybe that's because people with chronic disease are stunted every time they're knocked on their asses. It's comfy to revert to thoughts that require little effort, or moods in which a chat with a loved one can be helpful in pulling me back to the real world.

[You are a real person, even if you feel you're just watching the rest of them from your window]

In more than a few instances, it's fantastic to get a re-do. I won't even pretend to think otherwise. But, in a lot of cases, I find myself lost just talking to friends that I've known for years. Being cooped up for a long time can really screw with your head. The best thing... okay, after all that dancing around your apartment, the best thing to do is give yourself a project.

Even if you think they'd be super duper teeny weenie to anyone else, projects that you create for yourself can actually save your sanity. I know I've been preaching this for some time now, but it's so true that I even forget, stumble upon the idea all over again, and become inspired just as I had the last damn time I started thinking this way. You know what? Time after time, I am proved right. 

Last weekend, I made bird feeders. That's right. Peanut butter smeared on a spent toilet paper roll, covered in bird seed.

To some of you, it may seem like a ridiculous thing to do. In which case, piss off. To others, it can be a way to give back to our fuzzy, feathered yard- dwellers. And it's something to feel awesome about, because believe it or not, you're putting yourself out there for another living thing [even if he is a little dude who can't tell you if he even likes the seed blend you've given him].

The bottom line is that you can only go at your own pace to feel truly happy. Don't worry too much about what you should be doing, and pay attention to what you are doing. Take your time. You'll be zipping all over the place, wishing you had the time to sit on your bum and talk to birds before you know it.

I promise..

Mood Poisoning

Cold, crummy weather makes me absolutely miserable. During the recent storms that blasted through New England, I think I cried more times within their few-day span than I had collectively in the last few months. Hurricanes don't scare native Floridians, but I was alone for the duration of Sandy- and that hurricane brought snow. Cosmo started freaking out before the wind started blowing, and his strange behavior (panting, whining, relentlessly licking his paws) made me nervous that if we really needed help, we might not be able to find it if people in Cambridge and Somerville were seriously hurt by the storm. 

Aside from the weather, I'm discovering that seasonal depression is a serious pain in the wobbly parts. I've read about large numbers of people with Crohn's that struggle with anxiety and depression without living in darkness in winter months. I've dealt with my share of mood swings during my recent flare, and just when I think there couldn't be anything else to knock me on my ass into a snowy, slush trap, it seems there is always more. Unfortunately, the list of tragic roles of a Crohn's patient doesn't stop at sick person. 

I was pretty damn pleased with my Halloween costume this year, but I do have a trunk full of other faces. Some are fun to wear, they make me feel good. But the others, they're the ugly kind that make you pee a little when you glimpse one on a haunted hay ride.

We've got a serious responsibility to keep whatever ails us in check, right? Research and  experimentation in pain and symptom management, too. There's also sticking up for one's self in trying social situations. Relationship maintenance is a big job, and you can go ahead and dump regular, 'normal' activity in there -if you can swing it. Sacrifice is a word that the sick know too well.  I've lost many people in my life because watching someone suffer so much isn't something that many people can stomach. It's almost as if the Universe had given me a buzzer that went off when the people I let in just shouldn't have been around. They left, and I moved on- without resentment or anger, because I realize that these situations aren't easy for everyone. 

Being tested in huge ways makes for an incredible spirit. I don't hold grudges or carry frustration about being misunderstood around with me too much these days. I'll admit, for a while I thought that keeping the hurt close would feel better eventually, somehow. I was so, so wrong. That mask was uncomfy, super hot, and smelled like my mouth.

When you don't put yourself out there, you can't complain when you hear things about people's uninformed shit talking, or that you've been totally mocked in public about not having been able to work for the last couple of years. How will anyone know how much you've planned for yourself in the time you were on your ass? Or that standing for too long could result in two down days, or a serious (and even more embarrassing) accident. Though since I got my poop card in the mail, I worry a little less about that last one.

So right off the bat, sick people are care givers and students, plan-breakers and fact checkers, objects of ridicule, and sufferers of lack of stimulation. We are strength when others need it, and even more when we really need it ourselves. We know how to let go, and mourn accordingly. We can make moments what we need them to be, and adapt in emergency situations. There used to be times when I wished for a normal life. When I hoped to just go back to the way things were before I got sick.

The truth is, having Crohn's Disease has made me a better person. I guess in some ways, it even saved my soul. I learned things that most people will never understand. I found strength within myself, and chose to rise above what I'd never have thought to in the past. I know what it feels like to love myself, and the body I've been given. 

For the first time in a long time, I'm seeing what I look like without any masks. 

And I could really get used to it.

Fairy Tales

Last post, I talked about doing what makes you happy. Or, at the very least, thinking about what makes you happy. But lately, I've been thinking of so many different things that it's hard to keep up with myself. Trying to get an Illustration & Design career off the ground is exhausting. This is mainly because I find myself wanting to do a bajillion awesome things at once. A snail's pace is what I've had to grow comfy with when my Crohn's was flaring, but now that my health is looking up, I'm trying to find the balance between thinking of wonderful and amazing projects, and finding the time and energy to follow through with as many as I can. So, I've decided to jot down everything I think of creating in an idea book [thanks, Natalya!], distinguish between what's possible right this very minute, what can be created in the near future, and the heaps and heaps of dreams I can mayyybe someday make come true. Then- I'll work from there. 

I've been doing a lot of research on the young, artistic community in this city. Where people got their start, how to speak with small companies and art directors- like I'm even close to that point, and your basic industry etiquette. What surprised me is that I may actually be closer to the things that I want than I thought I was.


I find myself drawing pictures of princesses lately. I don't even like them. I just keep drawing them, held captive, high in their towers. I suppose I wish I still had my long hair to scale down the side of this 'you're-too-scared-to-jump-into-drawing-pictures-for-a-living' tower with. You've got to push yourself, and if there's anything I know about getting things done, it's that you take the bad with the good- and NO ONE will rescue you. Wayne Gretzky said that you miss one hundred percent of the shots you don't take. You think he struggles with drawing fingers, too?  Maybe carrying around a hockey stick will scare people into hiring me.


That's going into my idea book. Right after how I'll ditch my
 upcoming bone density test. Ick.

Ass Chappage

What chaps your ass? I don't really have much ass, and that ticks me off. I've got a bike though, so a small one is growing.

When frustration sets in, it's tough to keep telling yourself to calm down. To remind yourself that if you don't take a breather in an uncomfy situation, you'll look like an idiot. Not to mention, all of that negative energy can actually hurt you. There are ways to bring down the boil, and I'm on a mission to find what will help in even the nastiest of emotional kitchen fires.

I started to write down the things that bothered me. What I found was that when I read over those notes again later, I would start to back my bitchy self up. I would literally agree with almost everything that my attitude-spewing self had been thinking when she shittily jotted down what made her upset. I made justifications for acting like a dick, and that's just not cool. So, I brainstormed a bit more, and discovered another way to combat the Cold-Ass-Bitchies.

What your ungrateful caboose will need: 

BBQ Skewers- as many as you feel like scoring to cut in half. Breaking them will result in splinters, and more ass-chapping.

Colorful scraps of paper- I have oodles, and you only need small strips, so you can take them from just about anything that you're not using.

A fun pen- one you love, that doodling feels goood with.

A small jar or cup- to place once-skewers, now Ass Chap Flags in.

Here's what to do:

This is incredibly easy- and feels awesome, so hush up about working for it.

1. Write things that you love on the scraps of paper. 

These could be things that make you happy about yourself, or just things that make you smile. Ex: Puppies.

Three of my Ass Chap Flags say puppies. Please, even Super Shredder smiles at puppies.

2. Dab some Elmer's on the wordless side of your strip of paper, and fold it around the end of your skewer. It should look like a flag, with your message on the outside.

3. Put said flag in jar. 

4. Repeat as many times as you can without wanting to scream.

Now you have a cool thing to go to when you're feeling down on yourself. Or about anything else. Like not being able to go out and get a puppy. 
STEVEN.

It's Okay Not To Be Okay

To Whom It May Concern:


It's come to my attention that I am unbearably, and undeniably, unhappy. There have been few things lately that make me feel as though I have something to be proud of myself for. After spending so much time wondering what things would be like if I'd ever come out of so many terrifying Crohn's flare moments, it's almost gotten old for me to try for it.  Pieces of me sort of don't even care anymore. Small things that made me so happy seem so difficult to do. Objects are heavy. My body doesn't work like it used to. People are at such faster paces than I am. I don't speak when I'd like to. I resent anyone and everyone for what their abilities are that mine don't- and won't- hold a candle to. I think that I've actually started to hate things. 


I'm writing about this because I should. Because when you're this down, but you still have hundreds of reasons to be happy, you should let your feelings out in words that will prove to benefit you when you decide to read them back to yourself. To say to that sad, weak you, 'So you started over and it was a hell of a lot harder than you thought it was going to be. What are you crying about? You're alive'. I've learned a great deal about myself by exercising this method of therapy. Though I still harbor ill feelings about a lot of people, things, and situations -most of which, do not deserve my shitty judgement. 

I know how hard building my life is going to be. I get small tastes of it everyday. There really is no greater struggle than a struggle within yourself. I'm incredibly angry about what's happened to me. I want to find someone to blame. I want to blame everyone. I'm finally ready for my body to start feeling better, but I forgot how much it used to do. I can't even ride a bike yet. It will take me, I don't know how long, to even get up a hill. I guess I know one thing- after all the peddling I'm about to do, the breeze at the top better feel fucking amazing.


Rant over.


Will someone come over with cookies now?

Petroleum Jelly

Last night I was with my friend Meg, [it was her birthday yesterday, and we baked and stuffed our faces with red velvet cupcakes] when mentioned how when she was younger, her mother applied Vaseline to her skin. It made me recall those teeny rituals that you share with your mother as a young child, and I started to miss some of the ones I shared with mine terribly.

Last Sunday was Mother's Day. I have been far from my Mama for some time, now. We visit, and talk nearly everyday, but I can't help but feel a disconnect from how close we were when I was younger. I'm sure the distance takes it's toll, and I think what might be happening in this relationship- something that has been happening in most of my relationships- is that I am growing away from certain bonds. I'm also more of an adult than I've ever been.

After succumbing to sickness, after being so down and out for such a long time, the thoughts of previous comforts are what get you through when you're struggling to reclaim a sense of normalcy in your life. I had a stuffed bear when I was small that my mother and I named Bones. He was small and brown, and had a red bandanna tied around his neck. The flake that I was- and sometimes still am- I left him everywhere, and when I'd lose him again and again, my mother would somehow find a copy of him in a toy store and bring it home so I wouldn't be so sad.  It wasn't until much later that I realized just what a stretch that was for her, as we weren't the wealthiest on the block. I was a super sensitive kid, and my mom was awesome in helping to keep my anxiety at ease in any way she could. 

This is my courage frog. When I'm sick and need to be admitted to the hospital, I take this little guy along, keeping him close to my bed where he can keep an eye on me when my Mom's far away in Florida. She gave him to me during my first Crohn's hospital stay in Boston.

Can you think of things that your parents did for you, not necessarily to keep you from being upset [though powerful cures may often be needed to subdue the willies, heebie-jeebies, etc.] that stuck with you? Or something that you remember from when you were little that just seems to make everything feel a little better? Maybe the smell of a certain breakfast, or songs that you sang with friends or relatives? I remember my good friend Dina explaining years ago that when she was sick as a child, her mother would make her english muffins with peanut butter. Go Stace! 

I think that because I'm grown, and far from my Ma, I'm always looking for ways to mother myself. These urges come in small doses and pack a punch. I like that. And I can't wait to be the tough little me that I was before taking so much sick time. I'll keep thinking about finding new methods to make myself less scared.

 I still have a newer version of the worry dolls that I used to carry around as a nervous kid. 

Ever have these?

I'm sure I'll get Bones out of the closet every now and again to give him a good squeeze and think about how safe I felt when the both of us fit on my Mom's lap. 

Until then though, this guy will have to do. 

Where The Wild Things Aren't

I've been trying to remember what I used to do as an able-bodied young woman. Today, I am more of a homebody, enjoying the thrill of completing crossword puzzles and rewarding myself with a nice prune.

The funniest thing is that that's all true.

The Yahoo Daily Crossword is my jam. Is it also so wrong to want to sit and enjoy a nice puzzle on a spring evening, too?

Hush up. I like being inside.

I also like being outside. It's just that I do't have all of my strength back. Gaining 25-30 pounds can be tiring, and very difficult. I'd like to be at full health, participating in things like the Tough Mudder with my friends. Way to kick ass by the way, Christine and Mike! I 'd like to think that I could have done that thing blind-folded while on steroids. Grr.

Do you ever have nights to yourself that you decide to spend in the house, on projects or just relaxing? Do you like it? Or would you rather be dancing at a discotech with your pals? And oh my god, what do you wear?? The thought alone gives me heartburn.

Being close to remission, but not quite there yet, it's easy to jump the gun and use a bunch of energy that you think you have, only to return to your dwelling as a useless, mushball. Or worse, you might not get through the time that you planned to be out, and have to cut the night short [I hate that]. There's nothing wrong with pacing yourself, giving your body what it needs to really heal up so that you can spend nights on the dance floor with your gal pals in a skanked up dress that you found in the back of your closet that you wore like 4 years ago. You'll probably look like you're trying too hard- and you will be. After a while of being cooped up inside, you start to forget what it's like to have the option to get out there, and you won't know where to start with wardrobe. Ask your chums and do it together!! That's the fun part of getting dolled up and shaking it.

I'm going to a Dubstep thingy tonight in Cambridge. I look forward to it. Even though there will undoubtedly be young ladies there, scantily clad in tube tops when it's not quite warm enough yet, to make me feel like this guy. 

I'll try to remember that I'm just as bodacious a babe. Because it doesn't matter if you feel like you don't measure up in social scenes. You do. And you'll be able shake that thang like nobody's biz again. Just you wait.

Flutter Moment

Though my outings are few and far between lately, due to crap weather and body aches [thank you, steroid withdrawal], I always feel inspired by the things I see when I finally start to explore outside of my apartment. Venturing out can be tough for those of us who have been shut-ins for an extended period of time. If the sun is shining and the birds are singing, being outside can be really fun, not to mention super healing.

This beauty was waiting for me as I left Harvard Station last week. 

I had been anxious all morning and decided that going outside, and even riding the train, might make me feel better. You know what? It worked. 

When I want to spend time with friends somewhere new, or just need to get myself to one of many appointments with doctors, sometimes I freeze up when deciding what to wear, what will happen, etc.. I start to get nervous that my clothes aren't fitting well enough because I'm still so little, that I'll be under prepared for weather conditions, that I'll run out of money and won't be able to make it home by train or bus, that I won't be able to find a bathroom if I need one ... I psych myself into staying inside. I've done it at least 4 times in the last week. It's a terrible feeling. I just have to keep reminding myself that pushing back into social situations will be a good thing, a healing thing. Not some terrifying experience that will leave me scarred. I have awesome pals waiting for me on the other side- and even if I didn't, I'd still benefit from clumsily heaving myself over that barrier. 

You can do it, too. Even if you haven't been sick, we all tend to alienate ourselves from friends from time to time. You're probably a little more graceful in your hurdling, probably don't walk into book stores with hummus on your face because you scarfed your rice cake outside so no one will have seen you. 

Funks, right? Ick. Who needs 'em?

Take Time To Make Time

I'm learning, a lot later than most I'm sure, just how valuable the time I spend alone can be. I like venturing out on my own, having date days with myself, and taking time to think about what truly makes me happy. I haven't been able to reflect as clearly through these roughest parts of my sickness, and it's kept me from learning myself. Maybe I more was focused on being silly, trying not to let myself get too serious because I was secretly very scared of my disease. I kind of felt I didn't need to know more than that just then.

 Shutting down other areas of my life because something I'm 

dealing with is tough? Preposterous. Those neglected little parts really suffer! I'll

 never let that happen again.

Coming out of a terribly rough patch in health [or really any harder life situation that sets you back], you rediscover new things about your personal tastes. A lot of things. It feels pretty amazing.

Turns out, I really like reading. I never put time into learning new things when I was younger. I was way too interested in what movies were coming out, and what Britney Spears wore to the VMAs. Supah lame. These days, gimme anything and I'll read it.

I'm too sexy [slash, not sexy enough] for my hat. Or my jacket. Or my left shoe. I was never really a fashion forward type gal. Comfy sweats or hoodies did me very well. Now that I'm a little older, and have had oodles of time to blogstalk fashion writers, I'm really interested in trying to recreate what I see, but on a sickie's budget.

Keiko Lynn is a personal fav.

I also discovered that I really enjoy crossword puzzles. Go on and make fun of me. Pfft. 

I LOVE MUSIC. 

Live music is wonderful, and I had the chance to see a really great show last weekend. Well, most of a show. I was spent by the third quarter and had to head home... But getting out and being part of a live music experience is something that I forgot meant so, so much to me.

Have you heard of Jason Anderson?? His shows are so intimate, so lovely... He draws you in and forces you to participate by clapping, singing along, and is quick with a joke or two. Simply awesome.

Exploring is fantastic! I've had more energy lately to see the parts of Boston that I hadn't yet invested time in, and so far, I love it. I am proud to live here. So many medical and technological advances have been made here, among tons of other cool historical happenings.  I'm excited to know that there's even more to learn about in pretty much any part of this city.

We took a Duck Tour through Boston last weekend! 

Okay, so I wasn't alone. But a lovely date day was needed, and we had a blast! ;D

 I know now just how much it's worth to hear my own voice, and I hope you do, too. Even if you're tone def, it feels good to get loud sometimes.  Your friends will understand. I don't see any of them on American Idol.

Zing.

Talking Threads

I finish my Prednisone treatment in 20 days.  It has been a long time since the word 'Remission' was one that I could use proudly, as though it could be regarded as something I could actually get my little body close to.  Through this ordeal, I have been sad, scared, mortified, poked and prodded, angry, and down right mean.

The only place I seem to have been finding solace in, is my bed.

During the afternoon, the sunlight that peeks through my bedroom window is gorgeous.  Cosmo and I make it a point to be 'Sun Babies' for a little while everyday.  We love any excuse to snuggle, and the vitamin D makes us feel gooood.

I have been struggling with the anxiety that I can only assume comes with entering remission of a chronic disease.  I'm overjoyed to feel well again, to know that even if for just a short time, I'll have a sort of reassurance that, I'm 'okay'.  But how long does that last?  I hadn't been sick for years, and KA-POW-- I was thrown belly-first into the worst flare of my life.  Does the fear of that happening again ever really go away?  I'm a fighter.  I know this.  There are just always going to be a few things that scare the hell out of me.

Like the thought of having to dig that wheelchair out again.

I've started building back some confidence in body image.  When someone with Crohn's Disease has a rough flare, they lose a lot of weight.  Exercise is limited, if not totally halted, because even having energy to use is a frigging luxury.  I was afraid of wearing dresses because I thought that my legs were too small.  

Now I'm comfy with drawing attention to them with silly tights.

Those feelings of insecurity are still with me, but through the lovely winter, I will have the option to show a little skin in fun ways while being totally alright with bundling up.  I do love my sweats.  To think that I stayed indoors during my healing because I felt too 'sickly looking' to show my face around friends kills me.  I never want to live that way again.  Jumping back into a social scene is terrifying.  I feel like I've lost any social skills I ever had prior to this flare.  Bogus.  There is a series of things that have got to be learned all over again.

So, I will continue to try and get myself back to the old me.  The social, happy me.  In work, and with the groups of lovelies that I have been blessed to have in my life.

My girlfriends have graduated college and started careers in the time that I was sick.  They never stopped trying to get me to join our pals.  I just couldn't.  So now, in their adorable apartment, they do fun stuff like have Tupperware parties.

And I bring the handsome sap that surprises us with yummy snacks.

[Total Romantic.]

It will be tough to get myself back out there.  Work options are slim, and confidence has dwindled, but I'll get back on the right track again soon.  Either that or I've got plenty of skill in lounging... if anyone's looking for that sort of thing.

Ohh... and one more, VERY important thing.

Happy Birthday, Mama!! xxo

Have a great weekend!