If I May

Since it's gotten nicer and nicer outside, and the sun has given me more happiness than I've had in quite some time, I'm in a super excited and silly place. There are so many people wearing flip flops and dresses in the city, so many smiling couples and pups out with families in this awesome weather. It seems as though the fresh breeze is carrying bits of happy around and letting it fall on us just when we each really need it. And it's about damn time.

After the bombing last month during our beloved Boston Marathon, there's been a stillness in the city. People have been unsure of how relaxed to let themselves become. Though we've given a sigh of relief after suspects were caught or killed, we still hurt for what happened... and many people question the tragedy. There are tons of unreliable sources spewing what they think we should believe through the sharing of their websites and photographs. It's maddening. I think we deserve some beautiful freaking weather, and a fresh season.

But there is one absolutely terrifying thing about this month.

May is National Irritable Bowel Disease Awareness Month. That's actually wonderful- far from terrifying. But it's the month that I, along with countless others, was initially diagnosed with Crohn's Disease. The change of seasons can wreak havoc on an autoimmune disease, and many people start to flare when the weather gets nicer. It's a crap shoot, but it's our job to try and find things to be happy about everyday. If we don't, we run the risk of getting sick and becoming super miserable. The positive vibes you give yourself are in direct correlation with how good you feel.

If you've got blood running through your veins, you've got the opportunity to make your time on this planet worth something. Even if you're sick. Especially if you're sick.

Make a plan.
Show your teeth.
Grab happiness by the nape of it's neck, and make it your own.

Sometimes even a well-deserved, gorgeous new start is scary. The truth is, people with a lifetime sickness never stop working. Ever. Being on your toes is something that becomes second nature, but can hurt... so we've got to make sure that we're well-rounded in our activity, knowledgeable of our conditions, and willing to sacrifice a lot of things that mean very much to us. At least, for the next few months anyway, we can fight, fight, fight with our toes in the sand and our faces in the sunlight.

You can turn a shitty situation into an opportunity to help others. And to help yourself.
Every moment is what you make it. 

Don't ever let a doctor tell you otherwise.

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.

Case of the 'Mondays'

Today, well... today sucks.  There was a blizzard last night in various parts of New England, which left Boston under a butt load of snow.  A butt load.  I usually love the snow, but these days  I have to hobble in it.  You know what happens when you lose your balance in the snow?  I do.

I got to work this morning, after much arthritic frustration, and just sort of lost it.  My mom called as I was changing into my lovely uniform of khakis and a dark blue henley.  It's really sexy.  Then, the tears came.  I was struggling to put on my sneaks as I explained to her how my sucky condition is weighing very heavily on me right now.  My mother has been my best friend, but when obscenities fly from my lips, she is less than pleased... and usually hangs up the phone.  Today, she didn't hang up.  She sighed, told me that she loved me, and that this will pass.  

20 minutes later, I was sent home to rest.  The company that I work for is pretty damn cool.  So what am I crying for??  This last week was amaaaazing.  I spent Christmas with my family in Rhode Island, donated over a foot of my hair to Locks of Love, and started working toward a really great cause.  Let's recap.

I woke up this morning to snow covering our living room window.  Annnd the rest of the windows of my basement apartment.

Garden Level, huh?  More like Buried Alive Level.

This is where I took a tumble.  Good thing the streets were empty.

Brighton got a blizzardy beat down last night.

I mentioned that I donated my hair.  Here's the before shot.

Here goes nothin'.

The first cut is the deepest.  Look at me trying to be emotional and witty.

after, after, after...

I always feel like a seven year old boy, and now I look it.

So, all in all, I can't complain.  I'm looking forward to New Year's celebrations (Mainly to experiment with cute new bows and headbands), but more importantly, this New Year's Eve marks my living in Boston for THREE years.  Yeah, I guess it's my longest relaish.

Oh.  And this was the best gift I got this year.

I told you I'm seven.

Have yourself a merry little Monday.