If we listen to this old adage, it raises the question, So what are you? Tacos? Cheeseburgers? Veggies? Donuts? Self hate? Attempting perfectionism? On a cellular level you really are how you’re nourished. If you’re feeding your cells sugar, GMO, pesticides…you’re toxic, sluggish, and weighed […]
I spent my life believing death is around the corner.
When I started this website, I never anticipated wanting to talk about death or loss as part of it. I know in previous posts I’ve referenced how your circle of friends and supporters might change as you start to change your lifestyle, and I think that’s applicable to the topic of death and loss too, because for each person that exits your life - they leave a hole.
I spent my life believing death is around the corner.
Some of my very first memories are of my father’s parents’ funerals. Or maybe it’s because they’ve been talked about. Either way, I find at times I can linger or back track through every death of a friend or a relative I've lost...
I’ve always been acutely aware that there is another side to this veil. Some darkness lurking around the corner and an end to this life.
At times I’ve been in such despair I’ve questioned my own right to live. Another story entirely and not a place I'm at now.
I have already outlived family, friends, a parent and a sibling. In my short 30 years I can almost feel the next loss coming based on the lapsed time from the last, and I can count into the 50s how many funerals I’ve been to. It’s as though quarterly, or maybe even monthly, someone exits my life by theirs ending. If not death, then a change in life circumstances has one party peacing. Every loss or death breaks a fragment of my being. I have to fight the belief that I am totally alone because everyone will always leave me in this life.
Perhaps our social media explosion has allowed me to know to a further extent what happens with those you even loose daily touch with. I see old high the loss of acquaintances and people I used to know but still hold fond memories. These losses are still a reminder of the end game and mystery of what comes next.
I love so deeply when I love. When you make your way into my heart, you become carved into my rib cage. Then for whatever reason, I feel every bit of hope and despair all at once. I think it’s because I feel the weight of all your tragedies too. Too many lives matter too much to me, and too many of those same lives have been lost. At the same time I worked hard to love far and wide but never too closely for a long time because the closer I am, the more it hurts to lose you.
Don’t even get me started on the need to kill off parts of yourself to become who you really want to be. That one’s still fresh - as I feel as though I’ve recently cut ties with every cliche thing about myself I used to love. I've lost touch with those I know longer share similar interests with also. Maybe that’s what happens when you truly transition into adulthood. That doesn't mean I didn't love those parts of myself or those people.
Rebecca Soulnet basically says you’re a kid in your 20’s because all of your history and experiences are from growing up, but by about 30 childlike things have become distant as life can harden you in your 20s. The realism of things sets in as you grow and the curiosity and wonderlike stages of development fade.
I think I missed that stage of growing up or did it backwards because growing up for me happened fast. I felt and saw things as a child that I drank to numb as an adult. I have always felt heavy and weighed down by life’s deadline. I definitely attempted to numb it in my college youth. I realized it all the more existentially when I sobered up and grew up around 24-26.
I carry with me the memory of each loss. Each death. Each part of myself I said goodbye too. As a writer I carried a false belief - that I had to keep in my back pocket all my sadness. That great writing was born from great sorrow.
I see now that state of mind means I’ve lost most of my hope. I’d like to continue to change that. My ability to see glimmers and rays of gold in a mostly gray landscape is a thing I love about myself now. I believe I can seek contentment, or better yet happiness in enjoying however long my human experience is. Learning to grieve loss when it happens but be at peace with the inevitable.
There is so much beauty in writing about what’s beautiful.
I’ll meet death when I meet him. I’d like to not obsess. That doesn’t mean that I won’t still feel the anguish of longing. I’ll still wish for any of those that have left this earth before me to be back here on this planet alive and well today. Because I still, and I will always, miss them. Some things are just too heavy to ever set down. I will find lighter things to carry with me though, to balance the load. Sunshine, feels like it’s making me stronger already.
Apples, spread love now. Let’s not hold ourselves back. Speak our truth and do it often.
What could ultimately ruin any day, but especially a holiday, for someone who has food allergies and sensitivities?
“Just one little bite.”
This phrase is often forcefully injected into conversation when I politely decline trying someone’s carefully crafted kitchen creation. I promise it’s not your food, it’s my gut, but you don’t seem to be buying that as a legitimate reason to decline your invitation to taste what might poison my system.
You see, the ‘perk’ of my autoimmune diseases is that I likely react negatively to eating food - almost any food. I have a list of 25 foods I stick to and when I do, I feel my best. Veering from that can have consequences ranging from digestive discomfort to straight vomiting for 3 days. With too many leafy greens or the wrong fruit/vegetable, I’m blessed with a rash that feels like poison ivy on my insides, while reflected in hives and veiny lines wrapping my midsection in a fire ant hill of fun. When I eat chocolate I will puke for 3 days - while my insides are dissolving in acid. When I eat corn, every inch of me aches like the flu and this one always requires a detox which is equally flu like, but 2 weeks long. When I eat dairy or gluten, I feel as though my insides are scorching and hell fire is searing out of every orifice. Some things cause hives and others chills. Some headaches and body aches.
Each item I put into my mouth I’m hyper aware of. Each bite I’m not certain about riddles me with anxiety and fear. Food is necessary and you are what you eat. I refuse to be plagued with discomfort - which for my home and body means a strict diet and patience while I seek out it’s needs to heal.
I get that I can come across as a zoo animal and you’re either confused by a lifestyle you can’t relate too, you’re baffled with disbelief, or likely suffering yourself and too daft to admit it.
You don’t have to believe a thing and you’re entitled to live in whatever reality you’ve created and denial you hold close. What I know is what I feel, and when I eat something I shouldn’t, I feel like dying. That’s no way to live
I have Celiacs, so if you cooked that in your gluten filled kitchen I’ll say, “No thank you.”
I have Interstitial Cystitis, so I gave up alcohol. I’m still the same me, just sober; but don’t ask me to come out drinking. I don’t want to go.
I have IBS, so the wrong thing will leave me in your bathroom for hours, sometimes days, waiting for the devastated gut to get itself together and cut me some slack.
So, even if you can’t understand what “just one bite” might do, or why someone passes on an offering of snackage….give them space and be okay with a “No.” When you tell me just one little bite - and you’re adorable with your almost suffocating peer pressure - I break into a crumpled mess of shame and insecurity. When you ignore my requests for self care, for what I know works for me, I feel insane. That’s no way to live.
I spent a lifetime fighting for myself. I hate that someone’s pushy presence can make you feel so ostracized. I get it, I’m the freak with the food restrictions. However, I’m learning that kindness is always an easier route. Can you try a bite of that?
Surreal Seriously unreal This can’t possibly be really Happening. Your Interstitial Cystitis is likely Autoimmune. …..Nobody’s used that word before. How’s that? Gut, inflammation, gluten “intolerance” turned into a death sentence. Grandpa asked me if I started living in a homeless camp […]
The worst part of being a girl; the part that brings shame, snide remarks and uncomfortable glances...
(even though it shouldn’t)
...when we talk about it; a highly misunderstood and rejected part of being a human female - Menstruation.
This monthly cycle of pleasantries always comes with excruciating symptoms like stabbing, throbbing, burning gremlins of terror that shred apart my midsection and send razor sharp shooting pain up and down my legs. Overwhelming me with the urge to vomit. They use their saw like talons teetering back and forth from spine to navel. The gremlins laugh and dance on my entrails, as they launch the disemboweled remains of me through my pelvic cavity.
This little dance with the devil takes over roughly a total of 10 years from a woman’s life, according to https://thoughtcatalog.com/lorenzo-jensen-iii/2015/07/25-little-known-facts-about-your-period/
10 years, on average, of fun filled suffering and anguish.
For me, I get the joy of experiences like, the middle of the night vomits, combined with urgent need to defecate, repeatedly. The reality of feeling like a stabbed pig gushing into my own diaper is a disgusting reminder that I’ve not fulfilled my biological need to reproduce. Nothing quite wakes you up and turns your night into a festive blood drenched murder scene like the urgent need to rush to the bathroom at 2am for 3-7 (usually 7) consecutive days at regular monthly intervals.
Having shooting pains and pins, needles - a fire setting off your pain sensors all over your body. Hot showers, essential oils, internal pelvic floor stretching, tens machine, IFC machine, heating pads, diet changes, digestive testing, Yamuna body rolling….all barely touch the surface of my suffering - the tools take the edge off enough to function, but barely and mostly it means putting my life on pause while I wait for the inevitable to pass. If you know me (or have read my previous posts), you know I try not to take medicine. I’m attempting an all natural course of healing for my IC, my gut inflammation and my body systematically. Over the counter pills don’t even touch the intensity I experience during my visit from every girls least favorite Aunt anyway so why bother? Anything stronger comes with it’s own array of side effects and different forms of dysfunction - defeating the point of it all anyway.
I know that there’s a likelihood I have systems that aren’t properly flushing, creating an inability to detox fully; that there’s hormones out of whack and this fit my body throws is all it can do to attempt to bare the load my past self’s lifestyle - societies current state of food - and my genetic makeup has left it unwittingly. I understand this heavy, horrible cycle can be a side effect of an unbalanced body. All symptoms I am fighting with are likely a result of the broken system, hormones, and stress.
For me, my monthly visit from my Aunt Flow brings about her cohort of IBS, IC and pelvic floor spasms. Basically it’s a torture holiday in my midsection for the chronic pain gremlins to play freely throughout my body. Because of the guarantee of pain at regular intervals, any duration of relief is short lived by this circle I’m trapt in.
However, I do my best to cope through bodywork, essential oils and a healthy lifestyle; with diet and exercise, I’m optimistic that as I heal my gut I can change the negative experiences I have within my uterus.