On Loss and The Depths It Brings Me To

Mid-April to mid-May is an incredibly hard time of year for me. What was just the time between when I lost my father and his birthday now bookends the day I lost my grandmother. While she has been gone for almost a year, I have been able to be at peace with it. It still stings. There are days I cry or want to call her for advice but I got to see her a few weeks before she passed and at 85, I know she lived a full life filled with family and friends who adored her. She had a beautiful service that I am only a little salty about (because, I am an asshole and will find something to be salty over) that was well attended and allowed for some closure.

My dad was 56. A month and 4 days from 57 if we want to get technical (and I ALWAYS want to get technical). He died in a nursing rehabilitation center in Arizona in the very early morning following a night I ignored the nagging part of me that told me to call him. He died after making plans with his medical proxy to meet the next day so he could dictate a letter to me - Because he knew the end was near once the dialysis stopped working but didn't want to tell me. He was not a well man for the majority of my life. I saw him through back and eye operations, toe amputations, leg amputations, the first round of dialysis that he rebounded from and was able to cease treatment, and one hell of a case of diabetes that  he finally managed down to pills from multiple insulin shots a day. He was able to recognize his wrongs and how inappropriate his actions were with some. He was my Superman. 

We had THE talk - not about sex but the what are your wishes talk. He told me he was fine with going to a mass grave so I wouldn't be burdened with planning services. I protested and he agreed to cremation. In the 6 years since his passing, I have never received the remains. His medical proxy changed her last name, moved to a different state, and I have since not been able to find her. The lack of closure and guilt consumes me, especially at this time of year. I didn't want to put on a large funeral for him but I did want to bring him home to Hawai'i to rest. I know he wanted that and as his only child it is my job to fulfill that. It may not be my fault, but I have failed to do the most humane thing possible - I have not been able to help him rest at peace where he wanted to.

I spend an inordinate amount of time wondering what was going to be in that letter. I spend an inordinate amount of time wondering if or how either of them could have been proud of me when I feel like the subtitle to my life story is "34 Years of Failing." It leaves me wondering why I focus so hard on how I could have lived/could currently live to make others happy instead of myself. Would she have been happier or more proud if I had been a teacher? Would he have been happier or  more proud if I had opened a Hawaiian catering business like he wanted me to? Will I ever be able to feel like I made them proud? Other than because I have every awful and almost every good trait of a Leo, WHY DOES IT MATTER?

I daydream about opening a sweets shop: one with baked goods and homemade candy and ice cream. I daydream about writing. I daydream about a life where there isn't a gaping hole in my chest that only seems to grow larger every year as more loss and lost time accumulates. I daydream of a world where depression and anxiety don't paralyze me with fear  to the point  I don't know how to live for myself. And when those daydreams fade I drown in reality, sinking further and further away from who i could be. I fall deeper and deeper into a world of what ifs. I feel to far in to ever resurface as a whole human.

Hug those you love. Tell them you love them. Mourn them when they go. But don't fall to this depth. Remember to live for you. 

Reflecting on a Rough Week

This week has been a tough week for The Husband and I. On Saturday, our bank account got cleaned out by fraudulent activity. While our bank has been really great to work with, not having money for gas and groceries was hard. Luckily, we have great family and friends that helped us out and gave us support.

With being exceptionally broke comes exponentially worse depression and anxiety. At a time when I should be happy (women can vote in Saudi Arabia now! Ms. Marvel won at the HUGOs!), I feel less sure of myself than usual. If you tuned in prior to my Tess Holliday post (ya know, my taking off point in terms of views and interest), you are aware that I am kind of a Debbie Downer. I second guess myself, worry over everything, think I am never enough, and constantly search for a place that feels like "home" should. With the uptick in anxiety and depression, I tend to pull back into myself and over-analyze everything that comes my way.

Today is no different. As I posted a while ago (at least I think I did) that I pitched a few articles to XO Jane. It's been a few weeks and I still haven't heard back. Rationally, I understand they get swamped with submissions and it is possible that they haven't gotten to it yet or that silence is their way of passing (which is pretty normal in the freelance world from what I understand). I got really amped earlier in the week because Marie Claire UK is running a contest for a plus size columnist. You had to submit a sample column and Tess Holliday would be reading/picking the winner. I went back to check it yesterday to confirm I had all the rules and parameters correct and they updated the listing to limit the applications to UK residents only. This is understandable as the retail choices are different there than they are in the US. Understandable, but crushing. I felt like I somehow had a solid chance at this as the parameters for the column were not limited to fashion. It was a 6 column gig that I thought could be a great stepping stone. And it will be for whoever gets it, just not for me.

It is a strange feeling to have a surge of confidence and have it ripped away literally in the time it takes a page on the internet to load. Being someone who is generally the polar opposite of confident, I was riding that wave like I was a pro surfer. XO Jane may have passed over me because my pitches were weak, but this was an actual article submission. My challenge here was brevity, not content. Brevity I could master. I convinced myself I could conquer the world for a day and a half. Flying higher than usual (and I can pinpoint that last time I was that confident: January 17, 2015 at approx. 9PM  EST, immediately following a panel at Arisia I was on - and crushed - about slut shaming. Although, I was probably the most confident in my life after that.), I was brainstorming ideas and planning out the column. I was thinking about how this could launch me into something more fulfilling than my current job. For a brief, shining moment everything felt ok and normal and possible. I read the edit in the rules, took the gut punch reading it gave me, and tried to push it from my mind. With terrible emotions running high, that could not be done. I have spent most of today working and looking at other publications for freelancing opportunities. Each one I click, even if it doesn't have crazy hoops to jump through, makes me take a mental step back to a place where I let self doubt wash over me and soak into my soul like some freaky form of osmosis. I have continually beat myself up for daring to hope and daring to feel like I was capable of landing such a great gig.

Self doubt, lack of confidence/self-esteem, anything of that nature is so detrimental to the spirit. It zaps creativity, creates inner turmoil, and makes one feel less than. This made me think about how I got here. How did I arrive at a place barren of something so essential? My parents encouraged me. My family always seemed to support me (even if now I feel a bit like the black sheep). No one stood in the way of me being creative or bookish. I was always a fat kid and was teased but it wasn't that. At least not until later in my teens was that an issue. I was often the teacher's pet or close to it, with a Hermione Granger complex about grades. There were some rivals but we always engaged in light hearted one-ups-manship. Boom. There it is. The rivalries.

I was a know it all, smug, nerd. My biggest rival was a know it all, smug, cool kid. We would argue over spelling and test scores in fifth grade. He was brilliant, and a ginger (kind of. Fun Fact: My ginger love started at 6 - he was 7 and befreckled and beautiful and perfect. It has lasted since then). Popular but not sporty. I thought I was also brilliant and while not popular or sporty or edgy decided this could be love. We got into a heated argument about spelling test scores one day. The test included the word rendezvous. There must have been a mishap where I razzed him for spelling it wrong because upon revealing his score was higher than mine he said that was the word I must have gotten wrong (PS: It wasn't. You didn't believe me then, but it wasn't that) and then proceeded to violently scream out the spelling at me - which is how I still hear it spelled in my head today. This only made me love this kid more. I was weird then, I'm weird now. But he was the one that ended up launching the cascading effect of my loss of confidence and what would be my too cool for school attitude. I was a reader. Anything I could get my paws on I devoured. So confident in my ability to read, I always volunteered to read out loud in class when it was an option. We were reading The House of Dies Drear. To this day, I remember nothing of the book except this event. I got picked to read. I started off just as sure of myself as usual but came across a word I was unsure of. Instead of stopping and asking, I attempted to soldier through. I read it, voice quivering, leaving a half hearted question mark on the end of it like I was searching for approval that I got it right. He snickered. He laughed with his friends, making fun of me in their little corner. Face hot with embarrassment, I continued on until it was someone else's turn and spent the rest of the day mortified. It was not love. Well, not for him. The adults were wrong. Teasing wasn't a sign he liked me. Teasing was just teasing. It was mean and hateful and robbed me of confidence. I stopped offering to read as much. I stopped caring about comparing grades. As I went through the rest of school, I shirked off home work and projects. I stopped reading as much. I lost the desire to commit to academics. This lead to declining grades in high school and dysfunction in college.

What I should have learned that day was that even though I thought I knew everything I needed to know for a 10 year old, I stumbled and had to learn something new. I should have understood that people learn new things all the time and that one slip up can lead to doors opening. All I saw was doors closing. I took away from this that I would never be smart enough for what I wanted.

Messed up, right? But in retrospect, it makes tons of sense. I tied my intellectual appeal to my general appeal - if I am smart and clever and funny they will obviously adore me. Though I understand this wasn't his way of rejecting me (he probably was unaware of said childish love), it wasn't his way of bullying me... He was smug jerk who took advantage of my fall from fifth grade grace to try to cement himself as smarter than me. Unfortunately for me, I internalized it and kicked off 20 years of overanalyzing every thing I do. I became my biggest critic and enemy that day.

From 6th grade on, I let my feelings control how I proceeded through school. I let them shut me down and paralyze me with fear. It is probably why I changed my major so many times: I couldn't commit to one pursuit. To attempt to master something meant potential failure. Failure meant coming face to face with not being good enough. I didn't finish college. I have nothing to show for my time there. Instead, I try to proceed like a ramshackle jack of all trades. I can still be a know it all but being the master of none means I can be content, yes? No. It is another thing I look back on as another stupid mistake. Not having a degree, not pursuing and dedicating my life's work to something makes it hard to find meaning. I makes it impossible for me to feel confident in searching for career fulfillment. Every door I see ajar comes with the requirement of a degree. In fearing failure, I have in fact failed myself (and in my mind those who supported me). Lamenting on that is dangerous if you already feel so broken. Doing so makes me feel trapped, caged in a life I hadn't planned for. Living a life so different than the one I assumed I would be living at this point.

Even when we are joking around, teasing, whatever, our words have a greater impact on those that hear them than we know. He probably doesn't remember that that exchange happened (secretly I hope he remembers the rendezvous part because that is HILARIOUS). The fact that I can pinpoint it in my mind after 20 years as where I started to fall apart is the problem. I became really jaded in middle school. I was never the best me possible, never the nicest or most understanding. It worries me that I had that kind of effect on someone inadvertently. We are so quick to defend things we say as meaning nothing but when we all bring our own unique experiences to the table, how can we be so dismissive? #deepthoughts

TL;DR - Small things matter. Confidence is easy to lose but hard to gain.

Fighting Food

I made a list around New Year's, aside from my TBT, of goals for the year. There is a little overlap but I decided instead of resolutions (which I inevitably break within a week) I would list out somethings to work on:

• Make healthier choices in terms of food and exercise.
• Work on my TBT list.
• Actively "date" The Husband.
• Spend more time with friends.
• Experiment more in the kitchen, both in terms of ingredients and recipes.
• Cut myself some slack. (self depreciation doesn't have to be my go to)
• Go back to Disney.
• Start learning a new language.
• Work on Rocky Horror costumes for Eddie and Frank, maybe Janet.

Food has always been my drug of choice and probably always will be. For me, nothing beats a terrible day like tearing into some food. I am not discerning either. While I am no Anthony Bourdain, there is little I will say no to. Stuffing myself to uphoria was the easiest way to cope in a world I felt I had little control over. Now, as an adult, I get to deal with the aftermath.

The Husband and I decided to start eating healthier. It certainly helped that I had been eating less gluten. The cutting out of breads and traditional pasta made the jump to healthier eating seem easier. When we went to  Disney World this winter, The Husband rediscovered mushrooms and green beans...even going as far to admit mushrooms made his meal better. Whoa. For him, that is huge. When we met, he was staunchly anti-veggie. Over our first 4 years together, I intergrated a lot of onion and pepper into our diet. I would also harrass him into trying other veggies that I made. He came around to asparagus on his own and I felt so proud of him. But then mushrooms were added and I was elated.

It was him who suggested we eat vegetarian a few nights a week. I tried to make it 3-4 out of 7 nights. I also cut meat out of my own lunches for a while as well as breakfasts.

We both saw the benefits of this change pretty quickly. He slimmed out in his chest and waist. I honestly don't think I look any thinner but people have said I do so I will go with that. We also felt better. We live on the fourth floor and the stairs became much easier as we ate better. The more gluten I cut out, the less migraines, nausea, and gastro issues I experienced.

Lately, we have fallen off the wagon. There has been a lot of take-out recently. My depression and anxiety have been pretty terrible. I don't want to cook (which is something I love doing) or do dishes or really do anything but sit on the couch and harrass the cats to sit with me. I have not been as careful as I should with gluten and have made myself sick almost daily because of it. But it didn't stop me. My personal well being was forgotten in order for me to feed the demons I have.

Addiction is something people don't like to talk about. When they do, it's usually only in reference to drugs, alcohol, and nicotine. Food should be right up there. It is a way of feeling high while remaining functional. The cravings can be painful. I try to keep snacks at my desk that won't make me feel guilty or shame if I eat them (vegetable root chips, gluten free rolled oats and sugar free syrup in the fridge), to help tame the need to eat while retaining some of my goal to be healthier.

Eggs and steamed rice have become my go to for nights I can't bring myself to answer the door for delivery... Wondering if the delivery person is silently judging me for ordering again in the same week. You'd think this anxiety would motivate me to cook and get back on track. That's a big fat no. It makes me want to have The Husband answer or have us alternate who goes in to pick it up so its not always the same face. My shame and guilt consume me, causing depression to a point where my body hurts. I feel like an awful person and a terrible wife.

The worst part in all of this, is that I am one of those assholes that watches food documentaries, who will shell out more money to buy organic and non-GMO products. I get on my wee soapbox to talk about chemicals we ingest and the state of farming in the country. But once the depression and anxiety hit hard... NONE OF IT MATTERS. I am 15 again: Boys don't like me because I am fat and ugly; I think no one actually likes me in general, they just pretend so they don't hurt my feelings; I am not good enough for anything, EVER; I am not worth saving.

I know these are all things I have to work on. I suppose in reality enough people like me for being me. And at least one boy likes me... He heard Beyonce and knew he had to put a ring on it. The rest? I am not on board with refuting yet. I am hoping sticking to eating well and cutting myself some slack will help.

What Am I Meant to Do?

Lately I have been struggling with the idea of what I am "meant" to do. Do we have a purpose? How is one supposed to know they are fulfilling this purpose? How does one acheive this atonement with the universe? And most importantly, why can't I figure out my place in said universe?

For those who know me, I have had a tragic yet ecelectic college "career." I applied as pre-law but wasn't accepted to that program... So naturally I went as far in the opposite direction I could, to the place that felt the most like home in high school. I enrolled as a Fine and Performing Arts major with my concentration being theatre. After being in school for one semester (one which has yeilded the best stories of utter co-ed HORROR) I left because I coudn't afford it. Take note of this last line. It's a common theme.

After a little time off, I went to Salem State then College/now University. Enrolled as a Crimanl Justice major with a concentration in forensics. After my orientation, and an introduction from the worst department chair on the face of the Earth, I switched to Spanish. Espanol! Me gusto espanol mucho! The goal was to be a high school Spanish teacher. And then I left because I couldnt afford it.

I went back to Salem State as an English major with my concentration being Secondary Education. However, during this time I fell in love with geology. Naturally, I decided to double major. Hahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahhahaha. Working full time plus multiple majors plus labs that felt they were extended lectures so you have to do lab work on your own time plus sick and or dying family members equals the start of a spiral so far down you can't see the end. I dropped my geology major and lasted another semester before I failed out.

My last semester I found two things that brought me great joy: a class editing the college's literary magazine and a seminar on Willa Cather that looked at her works from the point of view of space/gender/sexuality. Both made me want to do something related to each as a career. Maybe both! Edit a gender/gay focused literary magazine? I don't know. It sounded like a good plan then.

Since then I have worked customer service jobs that at times feel like they drain the very essence of my soul out and replace it with an ulcer's ichor.

Knowing I have been searching for meaning, The Husband has encouraged me to take classes or go back to school. However, my schedule at work is not felixble enough to do this. And, (wait for it....) we can't afford that. I applied to a local community college a few years ago for their culinary program, but realized too late we weren't going to afford it. Bummer, but I moved on.

Since then, I've thought about going to school for baking. Or going for cosmetology. Or finishing my english degree and teaching. Or going for a degree in Women's Studies. Everytime I think I have made a decision, fear of failure and disappointing people creeps in and paralyzes me.

When faced with continual self doubt, how can one confidently make a decision like this? Which one is the right choice? How do I know?

I talked to The Husband about this feeling. How I don't feel like I have a purpose or meaning. He suggested going to church. I was raised Catholic but don't agree with a lot of their teachings (although, the new Pope is pretty dope). We have a UU church down the street, which is an option. But as someone who believes more in the occult than traditional religion, how do I go to church and asked a God I am not convinced is there for help or guidence? How do I walk into their house and not feel... disingenuous?

Worse: what happens if I go and there is nothing? No sign. No help. No guidence. Doesn't that make me more of a failure? Should I skip the church and divine with a pendulum to see what is the best fit? Is that cheating myself of some miraculous self-discovery I have been lacking all these years?

What I do know is as the days pass I begin feeling more trapped. Caged. Captive. Alone in my head tossing around all these questions and scaring myself into silence, trapping parts of myself that want to be set free.