It Has Been A Year

     A year ago was the day Spencer and I started our voyage across the country!

I'm still so grateful that my wonderful friend came to see me off, and imortalized that moment with a photo of me with my hopes and dreams stuffed into a very heavy backpack, and picnic basket with Spencer inside.

          It's always sort of jarring to be able to look back at who you used to be. I've lost half of the items in this photo, but also gained a lot of perspective.  This has been a tough year.  To be completely honest (as I have always been on this blog) one of the hardest things was coping with regret.  Wondering how much happier I could’ve been if I hadn’t moved.

          The hospital was when my perspective really changed.  Starting then, I’ve lost an average of one person a week.  Best friends, the closest I have to family, who knew how much I loved and valued them, and with this year’s challenges knew how much I needed them, deciding they could no longer do it.  And I don’t blame them.  My life is tough; some days I feel like I’d opt out if I could.

And in these hard thoughts, I’ve considered, what if I hadn’t gotten sick?  Or if I hadn’t moved? Would I still have those people in my life?  Are the people that I have left only still here because they weren’t in the same city to be challenged as my friends here were?  Am I doomed never to have people consistently in my life?  How much of this could’ve been avoided if I had stayed in Philadelphia?

          But you know what?  When I went back to Philly I found those same friends and some new ones happily waiting to hug me after almost a year apart.  I used to think no one would be in my life for longer than a year, and my friends vanquished that fear.

          And just like I’ve lost half of what was in that photo a year ago; I’ve gained a lot too.  A year ago I thought dreams were more important than reality.  Now I’ll never gamble my current happiness for something that I hope is better.  A year ago I thought I had to be in LA to do TV-Film; now I know that art is who I am.  No matter where I am I will be creating.  And after a year of mostly trying to survive, I know that I’d rather go where survival is easier and to the friends who won’t let me feel lonely.  A year ago I thought that love could conquer all.  Now I know it’s a little baby that you have to nourish and care for and protect.  A year ago I left a city thinking that life outside college would always be that great; now I know it was that city that made life so magical.  A year ago I left behind friends that I knew I would miss; now I know that they are my family.  A year ago I was lost and now know where home is.  

          So I can’t regret this year.  It’s helped me learn to really invest in that and those that I love; and that being where you are happy is more important that going to where you think you “should be.”  As far as health goes?  This year was rough; and now I know that no matter how invincible I think I am, that hospitals are always a possibility.  So I want to spend investing in what makes me happy and what will help me pull through when things get rough.

Now that it’s been a year, I’m ready for the next adventure. 

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. 

Seven Lessons I've Learned This Year

What I've learned this year:

1. Just because you've found happiness where you are, doesn't mean you're guaranteed to recreate it wherever you go. And there is nothing worthy of sacrificing that happiness. 
2. There is something far greater to me than my passion for art; and that's my love for people. When I was sick and bedridden, I didn't spend my days sitting there writing screenplays, practicing monologues or looking up auditions for when I was healthier. I spend it dreaming of people: to hold my hand when I was in pain, to go on adventures with or even just errands, to celebrate when I could eat or help distract me when I couldn't. I yearned for people; not for art.  
3. Art is still in my life, no matter where I am. Whether I'm the token creative one in a political science class in France, or on a staff in LA who collectively would rather be out making movies, or even just covering whatever I can find (menus, napkins, one of my many many notebooks) with lines of poetry: Art is how I breathe. It functions like an organ inside of me and it keeps me alive.  I can go anywhere and it'll come, too; it is with me until I die.  I will be an artist no matter where I go. 
4. And so I am going. I gave this city a shot AND a second chance. Yet this is where I lost my childhood and earned the scars that I carry. It's where I was first diagnosed with Crohn's, rheumatoid arthritis, asthma, eczema, and hyper-mobility and where I experienced what gives me PTSD.   And this second time around.....?  Well you know a lot of that. I'm still not back to 100% after being in the hospital and out of work for four months, living in five homes in under a year and losing essentially all of the support group that I had previously grown.  I knew I had nothing keeping me here when when I lost the woman that rescued me. The first person to say "you have no idea how easy life should be: you are abused."  And yet I am thankful as this group still helped me get to where I am today, but if I am seen as a burden or even just a disturbance to their lives, then it is absolutely time for me to go. Because from my trip I learned that:
5.  Philadelphia is my home. I didn't live there as a child, nor did I ever plan to spend a significant amount of time there. I was angry we even had to sign a year lease, not nearly expecting how much more I would grow into myself there, than I had in any of the eight other cities I had previously lived in.  And Philadelphia wasn't even mine. It was his home that I was staying in. And though I look back on those days having learned that an attempt at a career out here was not nearly worth leaving that world behind, and though I still see him as fool for equally learning the magnitude of the happiness we created and deciding to run from it - that doesn't mean that happiness isn't still available to me.  I went back and was immediately returned to the world that fed me. Grew me into the passionate, empathetic, proudly quirky sprite that I always had in me. It's where I grew confident in my art and in myself. Where I got my nose pierced and my first tattoo. Where I learned the types of artists and people I want to surround myself with and where I knew I could find them.  Philadelphia is my home now, not just his, and though I lost a love and his family with him, that didn't mean that I lost my own. 
6. Because my family is you.  The people who've told me how worried they were when Spencer was missing. The people who've uttered the phrase "I read your blog."  The strangers and best friends that have sent me messages, assuring me that my tales have inspired them: a goal that I've had through all of this.  You are my family.  I may not be able to come home for the holidays or Skype with you when I have a tough decision to make.  But I do write during those times and you are the ones who read those thoughts and support me with your love.  And so you will be happy to know that the people that I longed for when I was too weak to get out of bed, the hands I was wishing to hold..... Philadelphia houses caring souls who equally yearned to hold my hand and help me up those stairs.  And yes, part of me worries if they're only still here because they haven't been subjected to the toll it takes on my support group when I am sick....but at the same time, I had requests from individuals I had never met to spend time with me so that they could learn more about the person they already loved.  That gird me hope in them to last through the hardest times. And I am so ready to love them.  I think there is magic in that city.  And I may not be there forever, but
7.  I know I need to be there now. 

So there's more to come on what exactly that looks like and when it's happening. But my happiness quest focused on why I was happy in Philadelphia; and now I will focus on the how to get (that) back. 

I also have already become sicker since leaving Philadelphia, so no doubt this move will ultimately help my health. 

So I guess there's also:

      8. I am absolutely a nomad. 

I look forward to the happiness that's ahead of me. 

Loving you lots,

Me

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. 

Headed Towards Happiness

          So I’m finally, finally back at work!  And I’m so happy.  Making money means I’ll be able to ask for less from those around me.

          In the last four months, I’ve relied on others more than I have in my entire life.  A new friend recently asked if I’m looking for a knight to come into my life to slay all of my problems; and I immediately responded that I can conquer them all on my own.

          I may have been physically weak the last few months, needing a shoulder to help me up a flight of stairs, or friends to help me to doctor appointments or grocery stores, but I never stopped being me.  The me that remembers stepping on a bus and leaving my abusive environment without knowing where to sleep the next night.  The me that traveled to a different country without knowing the language or a single person there.  The me that worked four jobs while being a full-time student at a prestigious university.  So yes, I had a partner before, but I never relied on him to fight my demons on my behalf.  

          I’m grateful, of course, for those that have helped me and given me strength, but I would have needed a hell of a lot more if I expected someone to do my healing for me.  I have fought fiercely and tenaciously every day, to get out of bed and move forward with my life.  Once you decide that you are sick, it exponentially affects the time you need to heal.  I have been sick, hospitalized, fatigued beyond imagination, even in agony from pain: but I never let my disease win.  My mantra in my adult life has been not to let my circumstances limit me.    Yes, the can change the quality of the road ahead; while some may have a smoothly paved path, I have potholes and, well, basically rocks being chucked at me as I move ahead, but I’m always moving forward.  Always.

          And now that I am back at work, I’ll be able to move forward at faster pace.  Plus I’m very close to healing not needing to be my first priority.  Instead, I am really interested in learning to be as happy as possible with this path that I am on; potholes and rocks included.  I’ll keep you posted on how I learn to create the happier days ahead.

           I’m still going to need people in my life, but only to love, not for favors.  I am in control again.

(a photo from a happier day, reminding me of the ones ahead)

I am healing :)

Hello my sweets.

So I’ll update you a bit on my healing.  I feel confident enough to say the word “healing” this time, too.  When they discharged me from my first hospital trip, it felt like all they did was give me a handful of narcotics and wish me luck through the Thanksgiving holiday.  Fast-forward a few days into that week, and with every bite of food, I was curled up in a ball of pain, sweating and shaking and making sounds like a animal trapped in a cage.  Later into on that week, it digressed further, towards me feeling like that constantly, not just with bites of food.  So that was not “healing.”  Thus me heading back to the hospital and staying for another ten days.

But, here we are this time, five days past my second discharge, and I have yet to decline into that pained state.  I am on new medications for my Crohn’s and for my fibromyalgia, the latter of which some doctors attributed to my extreme pain.  So that’s better.  There are more answers.

I did, however, come home to an eviction, though.  Which is just “wonderful.”   I live in a building without the proper housing permits, so without lots of monies for lawyers, it’s not worth fighting the landlord that simply decided she wants the room back, despite my lease.  She also evicted me while knowing I was in the hospital.  It’s strange to see people that had been kind, show their true colors.  Like a wolf turning from a pup into a snarling beast.  It is horrible to know people like that.

So I need to get out of here…. plus losing the feeling of control over my space has been triggering both my PTSD and my fibromyalgia, so it will be healthier for me to move….now it’s just finding where…and how…when I can’t even get up a flight of stairs without help.

Basically there is a LOT on my plate; but I am getting better.  And I can only take things one day at a time.  And the other morning, when I woke up into the sunshine of a new day, and put on a cozy shirt and I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw no IVs, and had fewer bruises; there were no hospital sounds or doctors in sight.  It was just me.  Healthy and smiling.

And my friends, I saw myself as the person I want to be; who I want to grow into.  So as scary as all of this is, I saw a glimpse of the future; and this whole transition is guiding me towards exactly the person I want to become.  And that to me sounds like healing :)

An Ode of Praise for My Body

Relaxation and Revelation