A Happy Check Point:

Hello my loves.

I’m in a good place today.  I’m hopeful.  I’ve slept enough, it’s not unbearably hot in my apartment yet, and tomorrow is Spencer’s birthday.  (Don’t worry, more on that will come.)

As far as work goes, I love my job.

Yesterday I got to help a crowd of people easily understand ideas so complex that if I told them how complex they were, they’d insist they were too advanced; I’ve found that people’s biggest obstacle in learning is themselves.  So getting past that and helping them learn was incredibly rewarding.  

After that, I spoke to a young guy I swear will change the world.  We discussed how people value the wrong things these days.  Certain sports shoes are popular out here, for instance, and he was saying that people only like them because someone told them too; a blog post, a celebrity, a friend.  That most of the people he knows gets them just to look at, not even to wear, and, again, not because of their own passion.  And he added that he knew two people who were killed for their shoes.

I was speechless at that point.  What can you say when you’re confronted with a society that values shoes more than a human life?  We talked more on what matters to him, and how he cares about originality; someone who follows their own happiness, not what others say they should value.  He was a magnificent soul and I hope the right luck finds him, because he absolutely is a visionary.

And this was someone I’d probably never meet outside of our store. 

Demographically we have little in common, and yet — I want to say spiritually, but by that I don’t mean some greater force guiding us, but rather the yearning that we both feel as humans to make something out of this short time that we have to be alive — and so spiritually we completely understood one another.  Nowhere else would I have been given the time to get to see this stranger so truthfully.

I’m so happy restoring from back up can take a few minutes :P

I also met a law student who was studying for the Bar Exam, and every time she was waiting (for her appointment, for the answers about her computer, etc) I would quiz her on what she was studying.  In that small time, I could see her kindness, and tell that she’s going to be an incredible lawyer.  Not one that entered that field for money, but rather one who prides herself in defending children and victims, who speaks up for those that are voiceless.  She is selfless.

And I also worked with a fellow poet, and got to share with her my new favorite gadget for creating.  She also complimented my look, and in the spirit of honesty and not vanity, I get that a lot at work….and that’s exciting.  I am different and always have been, and it’s great to know that it’s manifesting into something notably confident and distinct.  It gives me hope that when I start acting again, that when I walk into the room, they’ll see that too, and perhaps that’ll give me opportunities that I long for.  She also had that look to her, not my style per se, but something completely different and thus compelling.  It was a wonderful way to end the day.

So I love my job.  I get to connect with strangers, as I enable kindness, growth and art, both within them and myself.

So it’s no wonder then that I don’t want any other role.  That’s why I’m not in Philadelphia right now.  There was one position there that went to someone else, and I don’t want to move there an wait three years for another opening in the role that validates who I am and who I want to be.

So instead I’ve been looking for cities near Philly (so I can still see my love bugs there) but where I can also work this job and towards a career in art.

Have you guessed it yet?

I had an interview this week for a store in New York.

And I almost started crying, it sounded so amazing.  Their trainer team is twice the size of mine, which means the community openly embraces coming in to learn.  And most of what they do (PHOTOGRAPHY WALKS IN CENTRAL PARK) is so unbelievably brilliant and beautiful that I can’t believe it’s real.  They’re ideas you’d entertain for half a daydream, and then realize there’s no way that could work…and yet a someone there it more thought, and found a way to turn those dreams into a reality.

Soooooo clearly I want to be there.  To work in an environment so open to possibilities and growth and change?  That’s my dream.  I’ll hear about what’s next soon and will write more then.  But I’ll say this: it feels like the right path for me.

***

When I was seventeen, I was taunted about wanting to study theatre in college.  An unwanted authority boomed that I’d be “missing the boat to [my] life.”  I skipped the fight and instead wrote my response in one of my notebooks: that “there are enough people in this world and enough things to do, that you might as well do the thing you love.”  I still stand by this.

And I know New York is another city, but my main complaint here is that I can’t get anywhere on my own.  I want to explore, and to run errands, and to feel safe after the sun sets, and to get places without it taking two hours in each direction…and this city is isolating.  You don’t talk to strangers, or make friends in line at coffee shops….and that’s clearly a huge part of who I am.  I want to feed that part of my soul.

And I also love moving.  Not the act of dragging everything I own from place to place, but being somewhere totally new.  Being frustrated with something from your old world and going somewhere where that isn’t a problem.  It solves things, it creates new opportunities, adds new places to explore, and best of all: there are new people to meet.

The store in New York that I’m talking to…has over seven hundred employees.  Just that alone is awing.  Seven hundred people with a common shared experience to talk about….how can I not find at least a dozen new best friends?  Not to mention the millions of others who live in that city.  How could anything feel mundane ever again?  Life wold be extraordinary.  And I’m hoping that dream is another the store turns into a reality.

Here's some of what I've created at work this week:

I No Longer Believe In What I Want

I want a family more than anything.

People or even one person who’s literally or even figuratively by my side forever, supporting me and what I pursue, loving me no matter how I change throughout my life.  Not trying to control or alter that growth, but watching me choose, and coming along wherever those choices take me.  There during the hard times, to remind me of how far I’ve come; and they know it too, because they’ve seen it with their own eyes…..

I no longer believe this is possible for me.

There absolutely are people whom I love that love me too, and because of what they have done, whether it was sending me a Facebook message or taking me in: I wouldn’t be here without them.

I am not writing this to discredit anything that others have done for me — in fact, those that have helped are all the more incredible, as their acts of love weren’t due to familial obligation — I just need to change my mindset; what it is that I wish for.

For a long time, I was hoping someone would make me a part of their family.  When I moved out here, I thought that was the case, that I was being taken in by a family, who had referred to me as their fourth daughter.  They would let their children stay with them as long as they needed, continuing to love them even after they moved out. I assumed that the same offer was being extended to me.  It wasn’t; I was asked to leave, and haven’t heard from them since.

I can’t be upset, because taking me in at all was kind.  In that time, I was able to find my footing in a new city, I was well fed, and it was a brief period where I wasn’t alone.  I am grateful.

My mistake was in assuming.  Assuming how long I could stay, and that calling me their forth daughter meant their love would last.  I assumed I had found my family.  And it was that assumption that made it hurt.

I made the mistake, once again, of thinking a family had decided to keep me.   I need to let that go.  I can still be grateful for any piece of love, without hoping it’ll come again.

It’s not like anyone promised to love me forever.

Well.

A few did.  Three promised they were my family.  To be here for the ride, never letting go.

This year they all let go.  And they were joined by others; I’ve lost about a person a week since I was in the hospital. And I can’t feel betrayed, as they were kind enough to shared their love with me at one point.

Still I was crushed.  I still am. 

And in order to prevent hurting again as much as I have this year, I have to stop trying to fit into people’s families, or taking people in as my own.  I can still love and be loved, but I can’t rely on that love always being here.

So no more wishing for a family, or a guardian angel to come along and magically make my life easier.  I’ve been on my own for six years now; and I need to accept that it isn’t going to change.  Just like my Crohn’s Disease isn’t going to go away, my familial circumstances aren’t either.  I have to accept that this battle is mine to fight alone, and if I fail, it’s only on me to fix it.

In some ways this will make me appreciate love even more. When I stumble upon help or love I’ll be endlessly grateful; but I won’t be shocked when that love moves on.  I won’t feel as crushed as I was when I lost my family.

Fortunately, it’ll be a long time before I see someone that way again.

Grief, Guilt and Gratitude

            Few things feel as futile as having friends get mad at you over text message.

And before I continue, I just want to say that this isn’t a passive aggressive post about anyone in particular; it’s just me discussing something I’ve experienced with many people over the last year.

            I don’t know why I’ve lost so many friendships in the last 365 days. 

            It could be that five years on the east gave me a different energy from the west, making us incompatible.  And then it could be that this year on west coast soiled my east coast aura. 

            Perhaps it’s that I’ve made serious judgements about where I am and where I need to be, and perhaps some friends falsely assume that they are the source of the negative realizations.  

            Maybe I’ve changed into someone meaner than I used to be, unintentionally pushing away those that are trying to help.  Or maybe being sick required more of my friends than they wanted to take on.

            Potentially I’m not clear enough in what I need; or potentially I’m too clear in what I expect.

            It may be that I didn’t give back enough to those that I love; or it may be that I love my friends more than they can handle.

            It’s possible that people expected me to be stronger than I’ve been, or it’s possible that my determination could be seen as stubbornness rather than strength.  

            All I know is that I’m an outsider, who’s ready to move again, trying to be low maintenance, certain of what I need from my friends, prepared to love them unconditionally, and trying to regain my strength after a really rough year.

            And somehow something in that has caused me to lose a lot of those that I love.

            And these texting fights are like trying to have a conversation in the middle of a musical number.  The orchestra is set to play on no matter what happens, the rhymes have been decided, the key has already determined the mood, and I have a strict time constraint in which I must blurt out my responses.  I am not in control, the outcome has already been decided; there is a musical theme introduced at the beginning of the conversation that continues until the finale and the final curtain of our friendship.  I wish instead to take my time, like a chess game consider every possible response, with the lowered stakes of trying to figure out which door on the right is a friend’s bathroom.  But that is not the setting.

            And when the music starts, I don’t know how to win.  Arias of sadness and mistreatment are being belted at me; and at that point, how can I interject?  It’s already their number, their objective is decided, and no attempt at harmony can change what they hear as discordant.

            And so I lose another member of my cast, and have to sing on a little bit louder now.

            I don’t blame people for leaving.  I’ve lost enough in my life, and gained enough too, to know that the resentment only drains me in the end.  I know that my life is more complex than most, that my stories can seem to overshadow others’ hardship, and that anyone in my life, no matter how much I love them, can leave indefinitely.  I don’t have a blood family, but I’ve borrowed people’s parents, always knowing that they weren’t fully mine yet loving them fully; and then I’ve gone years without speaking to them.  And to be upset would somehow imply that they did more harm than good.  But I am grateful for the love that has been shown to me, I have never for a moment taken that for granted.  

            Even when I feel alone, that doesn’t mean that I’ve stopped caring for the moments that other’s were there.  It’s like a social appetite.  Even if I had a big breakfast, I can still be hungry for dinner.  And that doesn’t mean that I didn’t appreciate breakfast, nor would’ve been better off without it.  It just means that I need little more.  And since my appetite can be bigger than those that have a consistent family to lean upon, sometimes I might go hungry.

            It’s a solitude that I have embraced.  It was the price of my freedom when I emancipated myself from an abusive relationship six years ago; a decision I haven’t regretted for a single second.

            I’ve made peace with who I am; with my different personality, different outlook on life, different obstacles and different circumstances.

            It’s only when I lose someone that I question who I’ve become.  In the realm of social appetite, it’s like turning allergic to a favorite food.  “What happened?  Was it something I did?  Could it have been avoided?” I ask, and yet once that allergy has been detected, it’s too late and that friend almost never comes back.

            I’m very susceptible to what my friends say about me.  The opinions of people that I don’t like me float away, but when a loved one sees me in such a negatively light?  I no longer believe in who I thought I was.

            I never deliberately try to lose anyone.  So it can feel unfair, that they don’t  understand, like I don’t deserve the words they are firing at me.  But I grew up without being allowed to have opinions.  So I turn to my friends and ask if it really is my fault.  Only then do I trust that there isn’t a fatal flaw within me that poisons every one of my relationships.  And yes, there is a part of me that is terrified at what I would do when that last friend leaves; to whom I would ask “was this really my fault?”

            But this is not my reality.  This when I remind myself of those that still love me.  That though I’ve cried at yet another end-ship aria, my stomach pained with guilt and social starvation, that still there are those that love me.  And yes, maybe their song will one day come, but they love and know me now, and there’s no need to mourn what is still alive.

            So though it hurts to lose those that I’ve loved and I’ll never not miss them being in my life, that doesn’t mean that I have to starve myself from upbeat friendships that I have left. 

To Build A Home

And at last I stood on the outskirts of my struggle, staring at what had become my home.  From a distance I saw my once supportive beams, now fallen, splintered and harmful. I recalled how that roof over my head had become toxic, and how climbing out from under it had left me bruised and exhausted.

I was still sore, still sick and still on my own.

I finally realized that here I was, stuck in a pit of my own creation and my own demise. 

To fill it and rebuild sounded like more effort than it was worth.  I had fought so hard, and what had it been for?

This empty pit. This lot of nothing, a painful reminder of my efforts at construction that quaked into a wasted year.  I had already discovered this spot as turbulent and sterile, so why was I still trying to make it my home?

It took me a lot of time to see this clarity. It was as if I needed to escape the pit and wait for the dust to settle to finally see. And as soon as I did, I booked a flight and went back to my old loves. 

I wanted to look at my old home.  Though I did worry how much of its stability was rested upon the ex; was he the reason it hadn't collapsed?  And now without him, would it still be the stable home that I needed?

And the answer is yes. My friends, those coworkers turned to loves, are my beams of support and light, even helping me find more people to keep building up my life. 

Perhaps he was my windows, my guide to the outside world, but with the warmth of those I adore, my house is well heated enough not to need his glass panes. (And who really wants to rely so heavily upon something so fragile?)

Even as a visitor, I feel more at home here than I've felt in months.  Some had said well I only had a year to build that western home and yet I had the same time here. And between an empty pit and a cozy and warm cabin, there's only one choice:

Happiness. 

This is the city where I fell in love. With my love at the time, with my coworkers-turned-to-family, with my jobs, this city, my life and myself. 

So considering that in under a week a rediscovered more happiness than I found in a year, no, I don't want to go back to that pit.  

I didn't waste my time, as I learned there that no path is worth permanently leaving behind a home where you are happy..... I just wish I could have learned that without the constant struggle of this last year.  

So I'll see what it is like to go back to the pit.  And if it doesn't seem worth it, I know where my little cabin is, with loves waiting to adventure with me. 

Post-Mortem on West Coast Me

          I have had a pretty rough year.  I moved out here under the pretext that I was paving the way for my love and I to live together in a city we had dreamed of for two years.  I want to work in TV/Film and he could do anything out here, acting, programming, urban farming, literally anything, but he just wasn’t ready to leave yet.  So I moved out first and stayed with one of my best friends.  I knew her and her family for over a decade and was so thrilled for the opportunity to save some money as I lived with people that I loved.  

Within the span of a month, however, my once-love said that there was a possibility that he would never move (something that absolutely would have kept me from leaving had I known this before I was already here) and my friend’s family said that they needed my room back and that I had a month to find a new place.

          So I found a place quickly.  It was far from work, however; one day I left three hours before my shift and was still late.  So obviously I needed a different space.  I applied for a room somewhere, almost lived in that landlord’s guest house, and then there was another space that was available in the original building.  It was her old office and I loved it.  It had a loft for the bed, a little patio, and more space than I’ve ever had.  It had a shared bathroom down the hall, but honestly I’d rather share a bathroom than a kitchen, so I was happy.  I also knew that my love would like it, if he moved out here.  He always loves little balconies and there was definitely enough space for both of us.  It was terrifyingly more than I had paid for rent in my entire life, though, even though it was considered cheap for this city.  So I knew that every financial woe I’d associate with him, for making me believe that he was going to come here as my partner, and instead he abandoned me to figure it out on my own.  I realized he wasn’t a part of my life out here, and wasn’t try to be, so I called something that was already done.  Plus without the pressure of him coming here to be with me and to help me, perhaps I wouldn’t resent him for how much I was going to struggle.

          And things were okay for a little while.  It was hard being on my own after a few years of living with a love and before that being surrounded in school by people who knew you and could see you change.  That’s one of the best things about friends; they remind you of when you grow.  And yes, I made a few friends out here.  I pushed myself to go out more than I usually would and with the safe umbrella of my coworkers, I felt confident in my West Coast body.

Things were getting harder, though, and I was losing weight from not eating enough as I couldn’t afford much food after paying rent.  I don’t know how much that ended up attributing to my health, but about two or three months later I was in the hospital.  You know that story though; I was in for 8 days, out for 6, back in for 10, and when I got home I saw that my landlord wanted the space back as her office.  I had signed a year lease, but she never gave me an original copy and when I requested it at this point, the contract now said that it was a month-to-month lease.  She also had a commercial license for the building, not a housing one, so I didn’t have any renter’s rights, and so I had to move.

          Also, at this point, I had lost about half the friends that I made out here and half of the ones that were leftover from high school.  And it makes sense; my life is anything but easy.  Some did it tastefully, some in a way that hurt so much it’ll be hard to ever forgive.  Basically I was in this space of feeling alone and like a burden to everyone I loved, fearing constantly losing those that were still by my side.  It made me afraid to reach out to anyone but I still so desperately needed help.  There were many nights that I wept alone, simply wishing for someone to hold my hand.

It was moments like this that made me really miss my love and my makeshift home out there.  I had more people in Philly telling me that they wished I were closer so they could help, than I had friends left in this city.  And I became nostalgic.  It could be a “grass is always greener” mentality, but I longed for the happiness that I had there.  I tried to get back together with my once-love, too, offering anything: to leave the West Coast, to move wherever he goes, to start over somewhere new, to wait for him until he was ready, even to pay for a plane ticket for him to see if he could be happy out here; because I realized that more than a career in TV/Film, I want to have a life with people that I love.  And in the last two years I have lived in four cities, and was happier in the three that I was together with him, than I have been here without him.  He declined.  It’s so hard to know exactly what I want and not be able to work for it.  Everything I’ve ever wanted I could achieve with hard work; it may not have been easy, but it was always worth the happiness that I made for myself.  And I’ve discovered a key to escape my unhappiness here and was told not to open that door.

Also around this time was when I moved in with the roommate that after one day together decided she wanted to break our lease.  That actually was to my benefit, ironically, because I didn’t want a roommate anyway (especially one that was that unaccepting) and our building manager showed me a studio in a different building that he manages and it’s exactly what I can afford and it’s all mine (and no shared bathroom this time).

          So aside from feeling like I am in a city where I’ve only felt pain and loss, I have the perfect apartment.  It’s also about the price that a studio in any city would be, so it helps me feel less like this city is taking my money and my freedom with it.  That said, I don’t know how to find my happiness now.  It’s not that I need someone else to be happy; I’m happy by myself and like myself quite a bit.  Instead, it’s that I feel a greater joy at making those that I love happy.  I’d sooner get my once-love a toy from his favorite anime, than spend that money on something for myself.  I’m not selfless, I still take care of me….there just isn’t that much that I need.  A roof over my head, food that doesn’t make my belly hurt, a blanket because I’m always cold…and that’s about it.  For instance, my little hermit crab has a mansion with three water dishes (salt, fresh and gatorade), two kinds of food, coconut substrate AND sand, mineral cubes, a climbing branch, a giant “tree” to climb on/in, a hermit hut, two sponges and three extra shells.  I also have a humidity gage and thermometer, as well as a nighttime heating lamp to make sure that my baby one has the perfect conditions for the happiest of homes; because seeing him happy makes me happier than anything else.

This is the capacity of love that I want to give.  And without my once-love, I don’t know where to begin in rekindling that extra happiness.  I think the first step is getting out of this isolation of no work and no socializing.  I need to be around people again.  That’s why I decided to go back to the East Coast for my birthday.  So many people I love are there, and it’ll give me a chance to see my former city without it being tied to my ex.  Perhaps it’s the layout of the city that I love.  Maybe I identify more with the hard working East Coast over than the lax spirit of the West.  I could miss traveling and hopping on a bus for two hours and being in a different state.  Perhaps I miss walking around for everything I need and feeling independent of rides from friends.  Maybe it’s that I felt safer there than I do here.

          One of my doctors thinks not feeling safe is a key to why I’ve been in pain.  She thinks that my brain has been mimicking the symptoms of my Crohn’s disease to warn me that I’m in danger.  Perhaps it could be that I no longer have 3,000 miles between me and the woman that abused me.  Maybe it’s that my ex always made me feel safe, and now I’m on my own.  I don’t know how to feel safe by myself.  And I don’t need anyone to help me with the battle, I just want someone to hold my hand after the fight.  (And the hardest part is I know whose hand I want to hold, and don’t really want anyone else’s.)

          So I’m really excited to see what this trip brings.  I’m hoping for clarity, less pain, lots of fun, and to get to see the people that I love so much.  I really felt like myself last year, that I was growing into the person that I want to become.  Hopefully this trip will help bring that forward motion back to a city that’s felt pretty stagnant.  Maybe even, through the eyes of my all-knowing friends, they’ll help me see that in this year, which has felt a like a waste of my time, actually helped me grow into something I can be proud of.  That’s what I hope for the most.  This city has never been very good to me, and I’ve lost so much this year; I don’t want to regret moving here.

When It Hurts

I am scared. 

I am scared and I am weak. 

I want nothing more than to have someone’s arms around me, someone to hold me when I cry. 

I was surrounded by others in the hospital and yes it was harder in theory then 

but emotionally it’s just as tough now, yet now I am alone.

I still want to be held when I’m afraid,

I want to know I’m not facing this by myself. 

But I feel like I am. 

I watch TV shows where people have their families, 

There to protect them even just by them knowing they’ll never be on their own.

But I am on my own. 

I am crying and there is no one to hold me. 

I know others are there and love and care  

        but always from afar 

It seems that no matter how close I move to them  

        it’s still always me when the tears fall
No matter whom I text or meet or love.  

       it’s always just me. 

All I want is to be in someone’s arms. 

Gently hearing their heart beat against me as I cry, feeling their breath all around me, like a little safe bubble, guarding me as I weep. 

And it’s when I can remember their heart, remember the feeling of the heat coming off on their skin onto mine….that’s when texts or hearing their voice isn’t enough. 

Separated from their embrace, even a loving voice can sting;

(As is most often the case with the those I most want to hold.) 

So tonight I am scared. My treatment failed and I am devastated. Heartbroken.

But no one can come. So I am weak and alone, 

As I try to hold myself as I cry.

My Truth To Be Shared

Hello my concerned friends.

I figured I would give you an update on what on earth is happening with me, because a) those of you reading these words right now are kind and loving enough to take time from your life to read about me and mine, and b) because I understand that is an unbelievable act of selflessness.  I thank you for making that choice, and because of it, I feel comfortable sharing some of my truths with you.

So I have Crohn’s disease.  I have had it since I was eight, and I was officially diagnosed when I was twelve.  It’s an autoimmune disease in my digestive track: meaning that my body thinks that it’s its own enemy, and will create great damage anywhere that food touches.  There isn’t a cure for it, only treatments that sometimes work.  When they work it is called remission.  When they stop working, that’s called having a flare.  I am currently having a flare.  And because the body and the mind are so intensely connected, I have different physical and emotional layers to my disease.  And this flare has been especially bad, it would seem, because when one of the layers of my Crohn’s decided to become compromised (which is what happened during my first hospital stay a few weeks ago), my body reacted by compromising a lot of other layers as well.  This resulted in a constant pain, which became it’s own monster; unrelated to the treatment for my Crohn’s.  That’s at least what my doctors and I think as of right now.  So.  We are treating as many of the layers as we can, until the pain can subside enough that I can leave the hospital, return to remission, and then return to my life.

And I’ll be honest, this has been a scary flare.  With my previous flares, there was only one layer to treat.  The answer in the past was once to change my meds; another time to remove my damaged intestines for a fresh start; and another time it was simply to raise the dosage on a medicine that balances the damage that my white blood cells inflict upon me.  

So a few weeks ago when I entered the hospital for the first time, we followed one of these paths: we changed the medicine that I was taking.  The new medicine can take a few weeks to start working, so that could be why I left the hospital still in pain….but the pain that I felt not just continued once I left the hospital, but it grew.  It grew into that monster that I mentioned above…and I couldn’t handle it by myself.  At first it was only when I ate.  I would curl into a ball of hurt, weeping and sweating and shaking from the pain of digestion.  And a few days later, that was just how I always felt, with or without food.

So that’s why I have been in the hospital twice in the last month.  It’s a good thing that I came back, too, because that pain monster was growing stronger than me.  And a few times during this hospital trip, it felt like it took over.  When you can’t trust your body, it’s hard to trust anyone or anything, and it became really hard for me to see some of blessings in my life.  And that’s scary too.  Because that leads friends to turn away from me, and when my friends are my only family…it feels like being orphaned all over again.

Anyway…there was a lot of information in that last paragraph, which could probably fill its own novel, but I’ll just touch on it here to let you know how appreciative I am for those of you continuing to show me support and love…despite the pain monster trying to push you away.  Because at the end of the day, only one of us can survive: pain monster or Heather.  And I will win this battle.

So that’s some of it.  I know there’s still a lot left unanswered, both in this blog post and in my intestines; but ultimately I am happy to be in a place emotionally and physically to feel comfortable sharing this with all of you.  I am an insanely loved human being, and no pain monster can make me believe otherwise.  So at the end of the day, no matter how many IVs or drugs or doctors come in an out of my hospital room, I am very,  VERY lucky to be me.  

Please let me know if there is anything else you are curious about, or if there is any way that I can give back to you.  Because your communal love and support is why I am winning this battle, and why I will make it to remission.

Well, Here It Is

 I have so much to write about so I might as well start somewhere.  I was in the hospital for 8 days.  It’s been about 7 days since then, but it felt like a rush of doctors and nurses and meds in the hospital, and then an infinity of time trying to heal once out.  I am not better yet, and I am afraid of carrying on without giving  myself the guarantee that before I continue - I am better.  I worry I left the hospital too soon.

I have Crohn’s disease, a flaw in my digestive track causing it to attack instead of heal me.  I have active disease that is not yet being quieted in my current treatment, and yet I don’t have time to rest until my active disease subsides.

So we’ll see how this goes.  Hopefully I am not evicted, nor end up back in the hospital.

Yeah getting to be a normal twenty something….

A Glance Through the Window into My World

A New Day...And I'm Feelin' Good

In All Honestly

A Vegetarian's Lament

Where I am in life: a diatribe about art, hermit crabs, and a picture of a stranger's pet.

(first: Rylance with Spencer in the bottom left corner;

second: a customer's dog, who was placed in my arms in all her cuteness)

also click here for more information about the SLUSH fund