Double Agent

Has there ever been a time in your life that you remember living as a version of yourself? 

It's possible that some people may find this difficult to relate to [I'm jealous of and applaud those who do], but when we're going through something tough, sometimes we become so used to motion on autopilot, that we forget how to use our manual controls as the days start to get brighter. 

Years and years of full-of-shit song writers and Etiquette books have told us that we should, "Put on a happy face", "Smile, and the whole world smiles with us", and, "Don't cry on the subway in the middle of the afternoon". I personally think that this is all a load of crap. If you don't express what you feel, you'll end up sitting on it until it leaves a frowny face divot in one of your ass cheeks. Just not cute. Being polite is one thing, you definitely should NOT- under any circumstances- hurt anyone Hulk-style if they get in your way on an off day. However, if you don't let out your sniffles [or if you're a manly man and don't cry- your pent up aggression], faking that happy face can end up... not so much in your favor.

While I was sick, I started putting forth a version of myself that I wanted everyone else to see. Partly because I felt like I had to, and partly because I thought it might help to jump-start a little happiness in my life. Not that I faked any interests, friendships or intentions, but really now, how much of your vulnerable side do you let your semi-close friends see? What if your vulnerability is already all over the internet via Instagram or the dreaded Facebook? You want to be strong, right? You want your pals and acquaintances to have a good feeling when they're around you. And not spend time bogged down feeling bad for you. You want to feel inspiring, and inspired...

I'd better not be the only one guilty of this. 

But you may wake up one day and realize, "HOLY FUCK..." And I can use as many curse words as I want to, because I'm no longer with a publishing network and it feels wonderful, "I've been trying so hard to make everyone think that I'm THE STRONGEST PERSON ALIVE, that I've actually become weaker in the process". 

Let me make myself perfectly fucking clear:

Keeping up with appearances is a total waste of time. 

If you feel like crap, stay home. If your friends are putting together a party and you know you're going to feel anti-social, go to the library instead. Cry alone in your bedroom and line all the pillows you own up to punch in rapid succession. Most of the posts I write are instructional, but here's a secret: I write them for myself. So I can look back on them and take the advice that I listed months, or even years, before. I'll be honest- sometimes it's really fucking hard. I've gone months without writing- or even reading- because I knew that I just wasn't strong enough to address the resentment that I had for getting sick in the first place. The honest truth is that I still struggle with it. It's probably not something that will ever really go away, but I'm getting there. 

And these days, I'm not afraid of letting the world see that.

If you're feeling bat shit cray, or you just want to be negative for a while in your room- DO IT. Don't waste your energy trying to push that down into your super awesome depths. They'll just start rotting away. Explaining the smell to your friends and loved ones and trying to get them to stick around and ignore it is a lot more awkward than losing your strength sometimes and letting it be seen.

You beautiful idiot.

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?

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!