Fractured

Hey, guys! It’s me! Brittany! Long time no see!

I know I haven’t been very good about blogging and I’m sorry about that. I’d say I’ll try to be better going forward, but I don’t want to make any promises I can’t keep.

Between school, work, and medical stuff, I have been very busy these past few months and I don’t see that letting up anytime soon. But it’s good busy. The changes I made a few months ago have improved my life SO MUCH and I couldn’t be more happy. I’m laughing again.

One of the things I wanted to do when I switched to a part time job was to work on my book. Well that I did. Or attempted to do, rather. And I kept hitting wall upon wall. But then something struck me. The journals I was using to write my book were laced with artwork that told the same story through collage.

So I decided to publish a book of collages.

Harder (and more expensive) than it sounds.

So I launched a Kickstarter campaign to raise money to get the first edition out there into the world. Please consider visiting the Kickstarter page and backing the project. At least visit and read the page. And if it resonates, back it. Share it. Help me get my message out. It would truly mean the world.

The goal is to raise $6,000. It seems impossible. But I got a quote and may dad and I sat down and figured everything out. It’s the only way to make this happen and provide my backers with incentives as promised.

So what are you waiting for? Check out Fractured and…well…do what you’d like. Seriously. No hard feelings. But at least check it out and if it compels you to do so…share.

Thanks,

Brittany

choices.

The last time I wrote was right before my surgery, which was at the end of March. It is now practically mid-September. I'm not going to try to cover over 5 months worth of territory in a single post, but I will bring you the highlights. This one is worth the read.

The surgery went well. I struggled a lot with motivation and extreme fatigue. Something we later realized was the result of a deep depression. Doing my PT exercises daily was not an easy task and I frequently fell short. I'm lucky things went as well as they did, honestly.

In mid-June I went to NYC with my sister and her family. We had SO MUCH FUN. But the night of our last day there, I started getting sick. Like really sick. They ended up dropping me off at the hospital near my house on the way home. I got IV fluids and nausea meds. I wound up in the ER a few days later with the same outcome. Except this time I had a doctor who was brutally honest. Almost hurtful. But it was what I needed to hear. She said something along the lines of "If you don't address the root cause of your symptoms, you're just going to end up here every few days for IV fluids until the end. You need to take care of your anxiety."

I just sobbed. I called my psychiatrist while I was waiting to be medicated and she told me I needed to go into PHP. As soon as I got home, I called Eating Recovery Center and scheduled an intake. I was barely eating or drinking. Something had to give.

I started PHP at ERC on Wednesday, July 7th. Little did I know what I had signed up for. ERC of Maryland is perhaps the best treatment I have ever received. I won't go into the details, but my peer group, the staff members, and my NP were all absolutely super stellar to infinity and beyond. It was definitely a journey.

I started hearing voices a few weeks into treatment and they were not telling me very nice things. It was time to check myself into the psych ward at the local hospital where I stayed for 1.5 weeks sorting out my meds. Then I went back to PHP at ERC to finish up my treatment.

While I was at the hospital, I got word that my position at work was being filled. Not by a temp. By a permanent person. And my boss said we would talk about my future upon my return.

I had NO IDEA what that meant. Did it mean I wouldn't have a job? Did it mean I would have a part-time job? Doing what, exactly? And where? Were they going to stick me in a closet somewhere? I was completely and utterly distressed and had to exist in that state for over a month.

Or did I?

Like I said, I was devastated initially. It rocked my world. But then I started thinking about things a little deeper. And wondering if this was a sign of some sort. More like a crossroads. Yes, definitely a crossroads. I had some decisions to make. Like...life altering decisions. And it was then that I decided it was time to start looking around for a part time job that really spoke to me and could carry me into the future that I envisioned for myself. You know, the one I told myself I didn't deserve. The one I told myself was impossible.

What if I did and what if it wasn't?

I interviewed at the community college. Never heard from there. I applied at Stumpy's Hatchet House (an axe throwing place) and got hired on the spot. But the hours were super wonky. Which was a bummer because it sounded like a super cool job. Then I interviewed at Sweet Elizabeth Jane in Old Ellicott City. A complete fluke. I decided to get back on Instagram (@britters516 if you wanna follow...it's mostly dog pics, but we'll get there later). Well I follow SEJ and I saw in their stories that they were short staffed, so I sent them a message to see if they were hiring and they were! I loved it there. I loved the shop and the people and the location. I would be out and interacting with people. It was perfect. I also interviewed at a salon to work their front desk in the evenings and weekends. That position sounded super cool, too.

I got offered a position at SEJ and did not get offered the salon gig. So I accepted SEJ's offer and turned in my 2 weeks notice at Chapelgate yesterday morning.

Oh yeah, back to Chapelgate. So I did have a meeting with my boss and her boss on September 1st. The day after I got discharged from PHP. I was offered a part-time job. First I would be training my replacement. Then I would be working mostly from home 20 hours a week. I gave it a week while applying and interviewing for other jobs. Then I decided it just wasn't for me. The work I was left with was just too stressful. I'm not sure I'd be able to maintain effective boundaries. I was lonely. Exhausted. Stressed. Miserable. It was time for a change.

Telling my boss was so so hard, but she seemed to take it well. And now I feel like a million pounds have been lifted off my shoulders. I can breathe again. I can walk with pep in my step again. I can LAUGH again. I have hope and joy and optimism again. I feel like Brittany.

This decision was a difficult one. I'll be making less money, but I'm also going to be applying for disability. I'm going from a professional career to one in retail. Don't people typically do that differently? I'm leaving something that I'm good at for something entirely unknown. Am I scared?

Honestly...no. I believe 100% that this is the right decision for me. I don't regret turning in that letter to my boss yesterday. It is the best decision for my mental, physical, and emotional health. And, in the long run, it's the best decision for my employer. It WILL be ok. I just know it.

I could go into more detail. The anger. Rage. Frustration. Embarrassment. Shame. All that negative stuff that was super intense at times. But what good would that do? Today I am at peace. And for me, that's a good enough reason not to relive the past.

The reason I was intent on writing this today is because today is World Suicide Prevention Day. I almost lost my life 1.5 months ago in an episode of psychosis. Driving my car into a tree seemed like the best idea ever according to the voices in my head. And then I lost my job. My identity was non-existent.

That's when I realized that I had put all my eggs in one basket and something had to change. Part of what needed to change was me. The other part was my circumstances. What most people aren't aware of is the fact that we have control over both. Not all the time and not in every circumstance. But more often than not, we do have control. It's not easy and it's not what we want to hear. But that job that's killing you? You can leave it. Even if it feels illogical and impossible. You DO have a choice. And those negative thoughts? You CAN replace them with positive ones. You get to pick whether or not you seek help in difficult times. We always have a choice.

I'm not saying it's easy and I'm not saying it's all rosy. I know I'll run into difficulties on this journey. But I saw a problem and I took actions to change it instead of letting my hopelessness consume me. I made a choice.

And so can you.

P.S. I also adopted a dog rescued from the streets of Kabul, Afghanistan. Her name is Goldie and I am head over heels in love. She is very shy and has some adjusting to do, but we're making progress and she is so so sweet :)

It’s weird to think…

Well folks, we're 3 days out. That's right. As long as my pre-op Covid test comes back negative, I go in for hip surgery on Wednesday. It will be at a surgical center in Reston, VA. I'm temporarily slated to be in the procedure room at noon, but things change constantly, so they wait until the day before to tell you for sure when to be there.

I spoke with my nurse on Thursday and she went over all the details. That's when it started to get real. And the nerves start to kick in. And I can't concentrate. And I'm easily distracted. And I can't sleep. My leg does that shaky thing and I rock back and forth like 24/7. UGGG.

Why am I nervous, you might ask? As you will recall from my previous post, I've had this procedure on my other hip. More than once, in fact. So I know what I'm getting myself into, right? Wrong.

I don't remember. I mean I remember bits. I remember the waiting. Trying to make small talk with my mom. This time there will be no one to make small talk with. Mom isn't allowed in the building, even. I remember binge watching Parks and Rec. I remember ice packs. I remember being terrified of getting in and out of the shower. I tore the towel rack off the wall last time by accident. So I'm terrified again.

Things that concern me? The stairs. I don't know why, but I'm terrified of getting to my bedroom. Driving. They told me I could drive as soon as I'm off the drugs and can move my foot from pedal to pedal. Still, terrifying. Eating. Eating is crucial, but I won't be able to fix things for myself for a while, so I'll be relying on other people to help me meet my meal plan. And I don't want to screw that up. Work. I gave my best guess at a timeline for getting back to work, but you never know what's going to happen. School. Again, I'm on a timeline, but have no control over my degree of post-op concentration and retention. PT. When am I going to it that in and how difficult will it be?

So many unknowns. I should be studying right now, but I thought that maybe if I wrote it all down I could get some of it out of my system and be able to function like a regular human. Tomorrow won't be too bad because it's my day to go into the office. My coworkers will keep me distracted enough. I'll just have to make up some big important task for me to do on Tuesday to trick my brain into staying busy. And before I know it, Wednesday will be here. And everything will change.

It's weird to think that today, I walked to my closet and picked my outfit. In 4 days I'll have to ask someone to go grab me some clothes from upstairs. It's weird to think that today, I fixed myself some cereal for breakfast. For the next 3 weeks I'll have to place an order and hope they get it right. It's weird to think that today, I fed and watered the cats as soon as I got downstairs. It's weird to think that I won't be the one doing that for a bit. That I will have to wait for someone else to wake up before navigating the steps downstairs to start work. That I'll use my backpack constantly for everything imaginable. That someone else might have to tie my shoe if I have to go pee. It's just weird to think that--even with a 4th metatarsal stress fracture--I'm able to do all these things so easily today that will be a struggle in just 3 days. So I'm trying to make the most of things without overdoing it.

Story of my life, right?

So a few requests from my small but loyal reading population:

• Prayers. Prayers for my anxiety leading up to Wednesday. Prayers for a successful procedure. Prayers for an ordinary, uneventful, boring recovery.

• Suggestions. Netflix, Amazon Prime, Apple +, Disney +, Discovery +, whatever is streaming, we've got it. I need a show or 2 to keep me occupied.

• Texts. I'll be bored out of my mind after a day or so on the couch, so texts or phone calls will be much appreciated.

• Funny pictures and/or memes. Remember, I'm not on Facebook anymore, so send me something worth laughing over.

Well that's it. That's all I've got. Except for this song that I really like these days:

THIS IS HOW I FIGHT MY BATTLES.

IT MAY LOOK LIKE I'M SURROUNDED, BUT I'M SURROUNDED BY YOU.

Switching Sides

I’m trying to come up with titles that catch your attention and make you open my blog post. Did this one get ya? I’m hoping it did, but I’ve never been too great about hooking an audience with a title, so I’m not holding my breath.

Anyway, chances are your assumptions are wrong when it comes to what this post is all about. Mostly because previously I’ve given absolutely no indication as to the issue I’m about to discuss. Which is kinda weird. I usually talk about stuff like this. But I was so uneasy about the whole situation that I didn’t want to put anything out into the universe until I had more information.

As many of you know, I have had more than my fair share of hip surgeries in my lifetime. All on my left hip. Quick rundown? I broke my hip in college and had surgery. It didn’t heal so…another surgery. I refractured it so…another surgery. Then like 10 years later it was still giving me trouble and they discovered a labral tear (P.S. Siri just autocorrected “labral” to “Labrador”) so…another surgery. I retore it so…another surgery. They removed the hardware from my initial set of surgeries…another surgery. I think there was another one thrown in there, but I’ve lost count. I really think the number is 7. So 7 surgeries on my left hip.

But here’s the funny thing. That was my GOOD hip. In high school it was always my right hip that kept me on the sidelines during my cross country career. And it’s never really resolved, the left hip has always just been in the spotlight.

Anyway. Fall 2019 and I’ve finally had enough. I visited my orthopedist in Arlington and got an MRI and sure enough, I had a labral tear in my right hip. As well as significant impingement. So I did PT and then I had a cortisone injection and then enter Corona Virus.

Well I’ve had enough enough for realzies this time. The pain is just so bad. It’s starting to bother my lower back and now even my ankle is screwed up from compensating for my hip. It’s pathetic. My mood is tanked. Sitting hurts so much that by the end of the day all I want to do is lay down and then I fall asleep and then I feel like crap about myself because I’ve wasted hours and hours of my life. To say that this injury is significantly hindering my quality of life is an understatement.

So last week I broke down and scheduled an appointment with my awesome orthopedist and made the journey down to Arlington yesterday afternoon. I was super anxious. I didn’t know if he was going to want me to try PT again or give me a shot or suggest surgery or make me get another MRI (I had a speech prepared as to why I would refuse to get ANOTHER MRI). Lots of unknowns.

So he came in and did his exam and said it had gotten a lot worse since the last time I had come in. I told him all the issues I was having and he had good news. “I can fix that, Brittany.” PRAISE THE LORD.

It means surgery, but I don’t care. I’m over this thing and I know that surgery can work and I trust him. He’s the absolute best. And I’m all in.

And by all in I mean I even have my hip brace fitted and sitting in my bedroom. He even called in all my post-op meds and they’re ready to be picked up. All I’m waiting for is an actual date and time.

Now I have a matching set :)

I’ll be on crutches for 3ish weeks and in the brace for 6 weeks. I have to be extra cautious because of my EDS. I’ll be able to drive as soon as I’m off the hardcore drugs and can comfortably move my leg from pedal to pedal.

And that’s that. So yes, I’m switching sides. From left to right. But not in the way you might have thought ;-)

tattered edges

I love magazines. Wait, let me rephrase that. I love destroying magazines. There. That’s better.

I’m a collage artist at heart. Always have been, always will be. And I’m more so drawn to words than images. My collages are filled with words and I do each collage in a single sitting. I can’t start one and finish it another day. Each collage is an expression of my being at that moment in time. If I try to replicate that being in order to complete a collage on another day, it just doesn’t work. I don’t care if it doesn’t make sense, it just is. That’s why you won’t see me working on massive canvases. I prefer a mixed media sketchbook and a mega glue stick to create my masterpieces.

So anyway, when you start collaging, you will find yourself drawn to certain magazines. The words and images just speak more to your soul than others. A few of my favorites are Magnolia Journal, Time Magazine, Oprah Magazine, and Flow Magazine. Well I got some sad news. Flow is a Dutch magazine that they translate into English. Well they decided to stop doing that. So no more Flow. And then. AND THEN. I find myself receiving a Good Housekeeping magazine. And I say to myself, “Hmm. I didn’t order this. Maybe it’s a freebie!” And then I read the little letter that came with it. Oprah Magazine will no longer be going to print. No more O. WHAT?!?! I cannot collage with a digital magazine. What is wrong with these people?!?!

So I’m open to ideas of new magazines to destroy. They have to have good words, though. That is essential.

Anyway. Back to my love of magazines. I kinda lied at the beginning. Destroying a magazine isn’t the only thing I love about a magazine. I love that they are full of short stories. When I’m sick (I mean mentally and emotionally sick), I don’t have the brain space to read a novel. But I can handle a page or 2 of text nestled with expressive images. Depending on the magazine, an article has the power to move you emotionally and physically spur you into action. In short, magazine articles hold my attention, captivate my soul, and motivate me to do more with my life than lounge on the couch watching movies all day. Even if it means my next step is to rip it to pieces. Skylar would call that the circle of life.

I’ve been a collage artist for years. I’d say my career began on a psych ward in my early twenties. The pages of my journals during those years are scattered with magazine clippings. Except they’re not really clippings. There is something that I think makes my collages unique (or annoying...your call) and it originated in a psych ward. When I was at my worst, I wasn’t allowed to use scissors. But my soul still desperately sought a way to express itself through collage. So I decided to start tearing everything out with my fingers. And it’s a habit that just stuck. I never ever use scissors to remove a word from a magazine. I’ll frequently cut out images or single letters, but not the words. The words I tear.

Why did the habit stick? I mean there are scissors everywhere in my house. I use them every day. But I love the tattered edges of a torn piece of paper. I think the words and phrases blend together better. I even love how sometimes the word rips in half and I have to piece it back together again when I glue it down. It’s a representation of my life. I’m piecing things back together again. And it’s never a perfect match. And the edges are tattered and rough. But when it’s combined with a whole bunch of other words and phrases, it creates something beautiful. Something meaningful. Something worthy of saving and sometimes of sharing.

A collage from my BAL The Sketchbook Project sketchbook :)

Hard.

One of my friends gave me a little 30 day devotional on my last day of VIOP. I think I might have missed a day or 2, but for the most part, I was pretty consistent. And yesterday I finished the book. That means I’m 31ish days out of treatment! Wahoo!

(Chloe really enjoyed the devotional as well)

I saw my therapist on Thursday and she was looking through my meal logs and she was like, “Brittany! This is the best you’ve ever done after treatment. You should be really proud of yourself.” And I am. But boy is it hard. Like seriously hard.

It’s not that I’m constantly fighting urges to restrict or anything. It’s just that I’m fighting not to give myself the opportunity to slip. Which means meal planning and cooking and stuff. Things I used to hate. I still find meal planning super annoying, but I’ve found that if I don’t do it, I make excuses for myself and find myself slipping pretty quickly. So it’s worth it.

I’m also seeing a dietician weekly. Something I haven’t done in forever. She and I work really tightly to make sure I’m hitting all my exchanges and having appropriate portion sizes and honoring my hunger when I have it. I scribble notes and we make goals and I try my darndest to meet them each week. I’ve found that super helpful.

Another new thing to me is the whole cooking thing. I always thought I hated cooking, but I’ve found I’m actually enjoying it a fair amount. It takes me forever, but I’m liking it so far. I cook twice a week. Once on the weekend and once on Wednesday or Thursday. I try to cook enough to have leftovers for a lunch or 2. My recipes have been hit or miss. Some things my family likes and some things they don’t. But I think it’s a really healthy thing for me to be doing and I feel like I’m contributing to the family and it keeps me out of trouble. Between finding recipes, making grocery lists, and actually cooking, I find myself not so bored.

Another new thing to me is going to a virtual support group. I go one night a week and it’s another thing that has been helpful. I’m not going to say a whole lot about that, though.

So something else that I’ve been working on is night eating. I’ve blogged about it before, but not often, because it’s quite embarrassing. I wake up in the middle of the night 1-3 times and go to the kitchen to get a small snack. Well my dietician talked to my therapist who talked to me and we came up with an obstacle course of sorts.

I usually wear shorts and a t-shirt to bed, so the first order of business was to wear something different so that I’d have to change to leave my room. Then I do some aroma therapy. Then I put on lotion and gloves. Finally, I have bells on my door. Every time I wake up, I have to take off the gloves, do the aroma therapy, put lotion on, and put the gloves back on. Just trying to put as many steps in between waking up and getting a snack as possible. And if I DO get a snack, I have to eat it at the table instead of taking it up to my room.

And guess what? IT’S WORKING!!! The first 2 nights I went through the checklist the first time I woke up and it worked. The second time I woke up, I just said screw it and went and had a snack at the table. Then I told myself if I could do it once, I could do it again. So I just told myself I had to do the checklist every single time. And IT’S WORKING. I just had 7 nights in a row with no night eating. That’s the longest I’ve gone in like 3 years!

During this month I also finished my first full year of full time school since 2005. Yep. Which means I have a little over a year left to go before I get my hands on that degree. I’m sooooooooo close!!

So I’ve been busy. Maybe not running around from place to place or doing all sorts of activities. But mentally and emotionally I’ve never worked harder.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it. But then I just tell myself it has to be. Because the way I was living wasn’t really living and treatment is hell, so this is really my only option if I hope to live a full and purposeful life. And I’m ok with that. I'm ok with hard.

“It’s supposed to be hard. If it wasn’t hard, everyone would do it. The hard is what makes it great.”

— A League of Their Own

they really do exist.

Well today is officially my last day of Virtual IOP. I haven’t written in 3 and a half months and that’s about how long I’ve been in treatment for my eating disorder. I didn’t really tell many people and I was way too busy and exhausted to write. So...surprise!!

I knew I had a problem. Things had gotten out of control. I won’t go into detail because I don’t want to trigger anyone. But things were not good. So I had decided to do Virtual IOP. Scheduled my intake. Went through all the questions. And they were like, “No. The waiting list for VIOP is 2-3 weeks. You can’t wait that long. You need Virtual PHP.” And of course I burst into tears.

Virtual PHP was 8am-2pm 7 days a week. There was no way I could pull that off. But I did. For 7 weeks. I did VPHP from 8-2, had therapy twice a week, saw a dietician once a week, saw a psychiatrist once a week, got labs drawn once a week, and attended a treatment team meeting once a week. I also worked 2-6 Monday-Friday and a bunch on the weekends to stay on top of my work life. It was brutal. But I did it.

Then I switched to Virtual IOP. That was 11-2 Monday-Thursday. I worked 7-11 and 2-5:30 Monday-Thursday and 7-3 on Fridays. And I did that for 8 weeks. Wow. What a ride.

I had my appointment with my psychiatrist this morning and I got really choked up. I mean this has been a serious journey. Besides Mercy, I think I’ve gotten the most out of this program than I have in previous treatment endeavors. It was intense.

So I have a lot of feels today. But do you know what the biggest feel is? Pride. I am so stinking proud of myself. I did treatment for nearly 4 months while not falling behind at work and studying as a full-time college student. In the middle of a freaking pandemic. How the hell did I pull that off? I have no idea. Nothing but the grace of God.

I’m discharging today, which doesn’t mean I’m cured. I still have a ways to go. I’m set up with a dietician, therapist, and psychiatrist to help me stay on track. I’m also thinking about joining a virtual support group. I’ve never done that before, but I think it could be helpful. I just really want to set myself up for success.

My time in treatment overlapped with the holiday season, which made things a little bit rough. But there’s a Christmas tune that we sang, and I’d like to write out a verse or 2 of it here:

“All ye beneath life’s crushing load
Whose forms are bending low
Who toil along the climbing way
With painful steps and slow

Look now for glad and golden hours
Come swiftly on the wing
O rest beside the weary road
And hear the angels sing.”

— It Came Upon a Midnight Clear

I was in a rough place. Hardly eating. 2 trips to the ER for IV fluids. Messed up labs. I was bending low. I was toiling. My steps were painful and slow. But through treatment, Jesus, and the angels singing, I was able to rise from the crushing load and see hope and life again.

I’m a few weeks late in proclaiming it, but it’s a Christmas miracle.

They really do exist.

Merry Christmas from me and my kitty :)

Perfect v. Real

I have no idea what to write about. Seriously. I’ve got nothing. But I want to write and I’m tired of reading through old journals and I haven’t blogged in a while and so I figured I owed ya’ll a post. Even though nobody commented on my last post. But I won’t hold it against ya ;-)

It’s funny how something like that impacts you. Sticks with you. Makes you question your writing...your relevance...your identity. I’m not currently doing any blog hops or anything, so my readers consist of people who have subscribed to my blog. I’m still off Facebook, so I don’t publish my posts on there. Sometimes I wonder if my newsletter is even working. Do people get my emails???’

But you have to learn not to place too much of your worth in clicks or readers or comments. That just messes with your brain. I write because I like to write and I hope that sometimes my writing helps another person. And sometimes it does. And that makes it worth it. Even the posts that don’t seem to get any love.

But this last comment-less post? It was all about me writing a book. People have told me that I should write a book. But nobody said a word about it on this post. Maybe they’re tired of hearing from me. Maybe I no longer have anything worth saying. Maybe my life isn’t worth writing about. I have to say, it’s sticking with me.

So today I decided not to work on writing my book and instead I read one. Finished one, in fact. It’s been a while since I’ve read an entire book. But I wanted to read something that people regarded as well worth the read. Hopefully gather some inspiration. Some motivation. Some reason to go on with my own memoir.

And I honestly didn’t get what I was looking for. I didn’t get inspired or motivated to open Scrivner and get back to writing. But I did get something else. Something just as valuable. Something I might need even more in this particular season of life. I got a healthy dose of optimism. Here are some of my favorite quotes from the end of Jen Gotch’s book “The Upside of Being Down”...

“My own goal, for work but also for life, is to be better than great but less than perfect.”

— Jen Gotch

“Self-acceptance is the antidote to self-doubt, and it’s kryptonite for perfection.”

— Jen Gotch

“What’s perfect is so much less interesting than what’s real.”

— Jen Gotch

“Optimists don’t obsess over negative circumstances or experiences, but instead they approach them with gratitude, humor, and acceptance. It’s not about pretending to be okay, it’s about truly believing that everything will be okay eventually, and that you will have a hand in that outcome.”

— Jen Gotch

Wow. I call myself a realistic optimist and I honestly haven’t been feeling very optimistic right now. I have felt like a fraud recently. So full of shame that I haven’t told a single soul and now here I go broadcasting it on the World Wide Web.

But that last quote? It hit home hard. “It’s not about pretending to be okay, it’s about truly believing that everything will be okay eventually...” And I believe that I can say that is me. Which means that I am an optimist. But don’t forget that last part, ...”and that you will have a hand in that outcome.” Now THAT’S the part I’ve been missing. Forgetting that everything will be ok IF I invest in an ok outcome. I have to become part of the equation. I can’t just sit here thinking it will be ok but doing nothing to make it so. Optimism requires action. And sometimes I miss that part.

So I need to do something. I have a few things in my mind that have been planted by others. Am I brave enough to take the step and do something? To boldly declare my optimism? I’d like to say yes. No, I will say yes. Yes. Yes I will. I just haven’t decided which of those seeds I will I take hold of and run with. That one’s a little bit harder.

But I’ll get there.

(This is my first attempt at blogging using my iPad instead of my computer, so stick with me if something looks weird and broken...it’s just a reflection of my soul.)

journal 2 and other missing pieces of myself

So my boss gave me a magazine clipping a few weeks ago. I think it was right before we went on vacation. And it was about this woman who wrote a book about how her mental health impacted her work as a entrepreneur (a word I can't even spell). And we were going on vacation and I needed a book to read, so I downloaded it to my Kindle app and I've been reading it a bit at a time.

When.

All the sudden.

I was OVERCOME with the urge to write my novel. A memoir I started 5 years ago. I went to open Scrivener (the app I'd been using to write and organize my work) and of course it wouldn't open. EEEEEKKK!!! I've lost all my work!!! Turns out it just won't work on my current operating system.

So of course you have to buy the NEW version. Luckily there's a 30 day free trial. I wasn't sure I was 100% committed to writing again yet and I wasn't quite ready to shell out the 50 bucks to buy the app. So I downloaded the free trial and crossed my fingers that it would import my old file. Whew. It did.

So I read what I had written so far. Honestly, I hadn't gotten as far as I thought I had. Hmm. Oh well. I'll just start where I left off.

Here was my initial plan of attack. 5 years ago I gathered every journal I could find from senior year of high school to present. I grabbed some post-it notes and flipped to the first and last pages of the journal. Wrote the dates on the post it, slapped it on the cover, and went on to the next one. Then I put them in order. It seemed like a good place to start. And it still does. I mean what else do I have?

So my Scrivener app is broken down into folders. A folder for each journal. When I stopped the project in 2015, I was in the middle of folder 2: 9/9/2004-2/2/2005. So I go down to the basement and start sifting through the journals on the bookshelf. I CANNOT find journal 2. So then I'm like..."well it must be in my room. I was writing in my room, so I'm sure it's somewhere in there." So I tear apart my room. Or at least the parts where I thought it would be. I found a few more journals to add to the pile...ones I've accumulated since I first began this venture. But no journal 2. I was broken hearted.

I then went back into the basement and started re-organizing the journals because they weren't in order anymore. And I just began to cry. Because there were holes. Massive holes. Years. Some years were journals that were just straight up lost. Some years were journals I burned. And some were years I just couldn't bring myself to write. Maybe not always in years, but at least important chunks.

I have no record of the first time I broke my hip, the horribleness of my breakup with Andy, my entire sophomore year, or the beginning of the fall of 2006 when my life finally completely shattered to pieces. And that's just my teenage years. I have bits. My memory is in crumbs. But the bulk of the story? Gone forever.

And who will want to read a story like that?

Devestation.

Yet I'm still convinced it's a story worth writing.

And I can only hope it's one worth reading.

So I started. I wrote about the loss of journal 2 and just picked up where I left off. Which actually can't even be called journal 3. It's a stack of 17 pieces of paper torn from a notebook and paper clipped together. It's 2 entries and one isn't dated, and I really can't tell which one comes first.

My book is a narrative. It's kind of a summary of the highlights of each journal, interspersed with excerpts from the journal itself. But those 17 pages? I typed the whole thing out. In 2 entries. Flipped them around a few times. I'm not sure which one I'll keep. Or if I'll keep either of them. Or if I'll keep them both.

But the reason I have them in there for now is because it's a reminder. That even at age 18 I wanted to write a novel. I knew I had a story to tell. And at that point my story involved only teenage love and a broken hip.

That girl had no idea.

But I went from typing up those 17 pages and dove into reading the next journal. And the next. And the next. And the next. I read for hours by the fire pit. Then on the couch. And then I said enough.

I can't get too far ahead of myself. I need to have a plan. I can't get sucked into the drama, the illness, or the pain of the past. It's infectious. Almost addictive, those journals. So I think it's a good idea to read a journal or 2 ahead of my writing. Just so I have some direction. But no more.

There's something cathartic about the writing process. Particularly with these journals. I have cried. I mean like boogers seeping through tissues crying. But I have seen and grown to love and care for this girl. Even though sometimes I want to knock her across the head with a 2x4.

I've written more in the past 24 hours than I did when I first began. We're at the first big missing chunk. I'm pulling my hair out trying to remember the highlights and lowlights of a year and a half of hell. Without losing my sanity in the process.

I think a lot of authors write the forward of their book after they have actually finished their novel. And who knows, I might do that, too. But 5 years ago, I started with the forward. And it goes something like this:

“There are moments in which I’ve wondered whether or not the journey I’m about to embark upon is a foolish one. All I have is journals. A lifetimes of scribbles....

The words contained in these journals are sure to shake the innermost portions of my soul. Some are written in pen and others in crayon. My writing utensil itself gave a snapshot of life in those moments. A pen on a good day. A marker when things got rough. A crayon when that’s the only thing they’d let me have....

My life is told in a variety of colors. Pictures. Words torn from magazines and plastered on pages. Quotes that spoke to me.

The pile [of journals] is overwhelming....

I’m troubled. While the pile is large, there are far too few books on the floor of my bedroom.

My first instinct is to run back down to the basement. Sift through more shelves. I’m looking for more pieces of myself. But they’re gone. Perhaps forever.

Maybe this project was foolish after all. Who would want to read a story like the one I’m about to tell? One in which the most pivotal pieces of the plot are not lost, but missing entirely? I can barely stand such a truth myself. What would compel another to take interest in such a tragedy?

But the holes tell stories of themselves, I’m told. Captivating and passionate tales.

The story you’re about to hear is a foreign one, even to me. My memories were stolen from me years ago. These books are all I have and they tell the story of a girl. I’m told the story is a great one. The girl is one I think I’d like to know.

My plan is to read each journal and record my journey through its pages. I want to understand this character and her life. I’d like to see her as she is. Know her. Enjoy her. Get lost in the pages of her soul and come out with compassion for her. Love. Peace with her past and hope for her future.”

— Fractured by Brittany Bowen

Gosh darn it, now I'm crying again. "Peace with her past and hope for her future." I think I'll shell out the 50 bucks after all.

(And start saving my pennies for a kick ass editor, cuz boy am I going to have a hard time finding one willing to wade through this hot mess...)

family adventures

If you read my last post, you know that I wasn't really doing 100% fabulous. Life was wearing down on me and it was the end of the month, so my boss told me to take a few days off. So that's what I did.

We talked it over as a family and decided, "Hey, why not take a short little mini vacation?" We were technically supposed to be in Disney this week, so it's not all that surprising my mind and body were craving a break. So Dad, Skylar and I took off for a few days.

We left Thursday morning and drove to Luray Caverns. Skylar and Dad went last year and really enjoyed it. I hadn't been in forever. So it seemed like a good stop to make and it was! The caverns were beautiful and we got lots of good pictures. Skylar's favorite part was buying a bag of sand and sifting through it for gemstones :)

From there, we drove to a hotel in Staunton, VA where we got some dinner and relaxed in the room for the evening. Friday morning we left for Monticello! That was my favorite part of the trip. It is so so beautiful with such rich and interesting history. We didn't stay for long because it hit 90 degrees and it's mostly an outside thing. But once again, we got some excellent pictures and picked up a few cool souvenirs.

We drove back to the hotel that afternoon and put on a Harry Potter marathon and just relaxed away the day with some reading, coloring, and TVing.

Saturday morning we got a leisurely start and drove home via Skyline Drive. It was rainy and foggy, but still beautiful. We saw some deer and caught a few sweet views, the pictures of which just don't do them justice.

(photo cred: Bill Bowen, Jr.)

It was a nice 3 day trip. We got out of the house. We didn't squeeze in too much. It felt relaxed. And we still had a whole day and a half to unwind before work starts back up again tomorrow morning.

Emotionally and physically I'm still a bit unstable. Part of that might be because it turns out I was taking one of my medications wrong. I was taking it first thing in the morning and not eating until several hours later. Turns out you're supposed to eat before you take it. My bad. So that might be part of the reason I've been feeling so crappy. Hopefully after a week or so of taking it correctly I will start feeling better? Gosh I hope so, because this really sucks.

But despite not feeling 100%, this trip was just what the doctor (or in this case, my boss) ordered. I feel refreshed and a little bit more hopeful.

The fact that I've been stuck in my home since March is depressing. I don't think I really stopped to think about it and then it hit me like a brick about 2 weeks ago. Just how lonely and stir crazy I was. We weren't meant to exist like this. We are social creatures. Not social media creatures. Even us introverts. We crave human interaction. Real, genuine, relationships. And a weekly trip to work, the grocery store, the pharmacy, and (let's be for realz here) the occasional trip to Home Goods just wasn't cutting it.

Yeah, we had to wear a mask everywhere we went. And no, we didn't get to eat at any of the local restaurants. But it was still nice to get out and see that...the world is still spinning. There are still things to do. Places to go. People to see. That we must take precautions, but that doesn't mean we must live in fear. And I realize now that the fear had become more and more paralyzing. Not that I would catch covid or that a loved one would die because of the virus. Not that one political party will win the election and ruin the country and life as we know it (as you hear said by both red and blue). But the fear that there really was no hope for the future? That's what became paralyzing.

But yesterday I got back from a lovely vacation. I saw beauty. And today I worked a little more toward my degree and I sang to Jesus and I'm sitting out on my porch blogging. All things that give me a sense of purpose. I don't really know what I'll do next. And I know that as tomorrow draws closer, the feeling in my chest will tighten and my head will start to spin. But for now I'll hang onto this absolute. perfect. temperature. And the way the sun hits the trees and casts a shadow over the yard. And the smell of freshly cut grass.

I'll figure out the other stuff later.

lowlights

Well life has been a roller coaster lately with the last week or so in a pretty low dip if we're being perfectly honest. Most people didn't know it, but I was in pretty rough shape. I'm starting to come out the other side, though. And at least now we have some answers. I've been working with 2 doctors to get to the bottom of things and we think we have it figured out. I'm lucky to have doctors that are actually willing to talk to each other and work together. I realize that's hard to find. Anyway, I don't mean to be all mysterious about my new found diagnosis, but I still have a lot to learn and don't want to go spewing information as fact when I'm still on the learning curve.

Anyway, the point is I've been cycling mood wise and it kept landing me in a pretty dark place. This last week I lived in one of those places, but I'm starting to feel a bit better and gain some insight into my body and mind, which will help me out in the long run. I'm hoping it will help others out, too. People shouldn't feel like they are alone and that there aren't any answers or hope or end in sight.

In times like these, I try to hang on to people or quotes or images that give me hope.

People? That's easy. My family and friends.

Quotes? See below

“There is always a moment right before dawn, when the sun gathers itself for the new day and then it steps into the dark world and everything is so filled with light that whatever doubt there was in that long night is barely a memory and I hope you remember this in these days, because it is the way of all things that the night ends and the light returns. The light always returns.”

— Brian Andreas

Images? This is the image I have as the lock screen on my phone:

In those dark places, I don't feel like doing anything except sleeping. It feels like my only escape. So yesterday I forced myself to get my butt in gear and create something. So I picked up a magazine and started to collage. It's funny how that works. Some magazines are just naturally more positive and sometimes it pisses me off. I just want to tear out gloom and doom and all I see is "Beautiful!", "Wear Confidence", "Transform", "Never Hide". UGGGGHHHHH. Well this magazine had a little bit of both. Which is good, you know. It's like the magazine knew exactly what I needed.

I needed the therapeutic process of creating art. I needed some encouraging words and images. And I needed something that truly reflected how my spirit felt. So I decided to do 2 collages. The first one is more representative of where I was in the moment. I had to go into my collage box to supplement with additional images and words, because the magazine just wasn't cutting it. But hey, that's what the box is for, right? Here's the final product:

The second collage is basically all the positive stuff that jumped out at me while I was searching for nothing but negative:

In the middle of the lowlights of the week, there were some highlights. One highlight was getting to "go camping" with Skylar. The day didn't quite go as initially planned, but we learned to be flexible and go with the flow, so I went tent shopping on Saturday. Did you know there's a tent shortage? Like seriously. It's a thing. But I got my hands on a 4 man tent and we spent a night under the stars in our backyard:

photo cred: Bill Bowen, Jr.

The next day Skylar and I each had a friend over :) We spent the afternoon outside and talked the day away. I don't have any pictures of that one, so you'll just have to trust me that it was a really nice time.

So what did we learn today? Well I think we learned that even in the middle of the night when you're camping outside and it is pitch black, there are still a few stars out there sparkling. And then eventually the sun rises. Sometimes the new day brings some rain and you just want to shake your fist at the sky. But the rain stops...eventually. And the sun breaks through the clouds from time to time. It's not always night and it's not always raining. There are pockets of light and the stars still shine, even if they're hiding behind the clouds that night.

to the bank.

Well I'm enjoying a weekend of freedom. My new semester begins today, but since I switched programs, I can't start a course until I meet with my mentor. That will happen on Monday. I logged in to see my degree plan and it says I will now graduate in July 2022. But that last semester only has 2 courses in it. So it won't take me until July. And it could be even sooner if I'm able to move quickly and accelerate a class here or there these next 3 semesters. Maybe I'll be done by January 2022. Anyway. Even if it IS July 2022. That's only 2 years. I did a full semester once, I can do it 3 more times, right? It's so close I can taste it.

So anyway, back to my freedom. What am I doing with it? Honestly? Not much. I've done some laundry and cleaned out the drain to my bathroom sink. If you ask me, that's quite an accomplishment. Gross. But an accomplishment none the less. I've been journaling and reading and watching movies while coloring. Which movies, you may ask? Jurassic World first of all. Gosh I love that movie for some reason. And I'm about halfway through Independence Day. The first one. Yet another classic. Maybe we'll play a game or something this afternoon. Who knows.

One of my coloring pages. Proud to be a misfit.

It's not too stinking hot right now on the porch with the fan on, so I'm blogging outside. Everyone else is in the pool, but I'm not really feeling it today. It's cloudy and looks like it's going to start pouring down rain at any moment. It's nice to be outside, though. And eventually everyone will get out and we'll hang out on the porch and chat. Or just sit there ignoring each other and doing our own thing. Either way it's nice. I love my people.

So yesterday I had an adventure. I've had several people tell me they think I have Ehlers Danlos Syndrome. It's a connective tissue disorder and there are several types. My orthopedic surgeon and physical therapist made the prediction because my joints are hypermobile and I tear easily through sutures. Hence my repeated labral tears and multiple surgeries. I was told I should probably see someone just to confirm the diagnosis and make sure I didn't have any of the more serious varieties of the syndrome. Now that shouldn't be too difficult, right?

Wrong.

Finding someone who even knows what you're talking about is difficult. Finding someone who will see you for it is even harder. And finding someone who will actually take insurance for it is practically impossible. But at long last I found a physician at Johns Hopkins who was willing to see me and took my insurance. I had to wait like 3 months for an appointment, but whatever. At long last the day was here.

Of course it was pouring down rain yesterday morning and I hate driving downtown. So much anxiety. It was a little better because I actually knew where I was going. Hopkins is where I had to take my mom for her appointments and surgery when she fractured her elbow. So it wasn't totally new territory. Still, not my favorite. But the stars aligned, I made no wrong turns, and the parking garage was not full (thank you, corona virus). And all the buildings are connected by the main loop, so I didn't have to walk in the rain one bit.

Things are tight down there at Hopkins. I couldn't bring anyone with me. I had to say I had an appointment and then get a wristband to prove I was legit. Then they asked me where I was going. They were like, "Oh, you need a different wrist band to go there." I shrugged my shoulders and took the brown band for the Meyer building. Which is at the very back of the campus.

I made it to the Meyer building just fine. But once I got there, boy was it a chore finding the right place. I don't know how you're magically supposed to know which doors to walk through to get to where I needed to be. But I quickly learned why I needed a different wrist band and got some weird looks. The Meyer building is home to psychiatry as well as physical medicine. I've never been treated for my eating disorder at Hopkins, but I can now say I've been there lol.

Anyway. The appointment was so anticlimactic. I didn't fill out a single piece of paper. Not one. No medical history or anything like that. The resident asked me a few random questions. I had typed up paper with my symptoms, meds, allergies, surgeries, and diagnoses. So I gave her that and she was like "Oh, thanks!" So then she went and got the doctor I was seeing. He seemed like a nice guy. Did all the tests to see where I landed on the Beighton Scale. I'm an 8. Which means yes, I do have the hypermobility type of Ehlers Danlos Syndrome. Ta da.

I've had a recent echocardiogram, so he doesn't think I have any of the more serious types. He ruled out POTS. And that was it. He said to call if I started having problems with my knees or elbows and they'd fit me for braces. Then sent me on my way.

Like I said. Anticlimactic. I don't really know what I expected. There's not really anything they do for it. It's just useful information to have going forward. When I'd mention to medical professionals that I might have Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, they were always like, "Yes, but have you been DIAGNOSED?" Now I can say yes.

So now I have another diagnosis to add to the list. Wahoo.

There might be more to come from a different medical professional, but I'm not going to count my chickens before they hatch. Which is sadly a very bad pun. But we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.

Being at Hopkins brought back some bad memories. November 2019 was rough. Seeing my mom break her elbow and being in so much pain and not being able to do anything but sit and watch. Sitting in ERs and waiting rooms. Wandering hospital corridors. Trying to be strong. Trying not to break down sobbing. All while knowing that my dad was struggling with his own health issues. I can't think about it too much because it just makes me cry. I honestly don't know how I survived some of those moments. Frequently all by myself.

And this past week was heavy, man. To see people aging. People getting sick. People dying. People struggling to do daily tasks. It weighs on me and it breaks my heart. Some of these people I know and some are complete strangers. It just slaps me in the face and makes me look at the world and the people I love. To know that...one day...they won't be there. Because the world is harsh and life is short.

Gosh, that got depressing really fast. I guess what I'm trying to say is we've gotta make the most out of what we've got. And that means taking care of ourselves. It's easy to forget. It's easy to push our needs to the side and care for others. It's easy to ignore the fact that we're human. Not superheroes. That our bodies and minds require attention, care, compassion, and--at times--assistance. And that that's ok. It doesn't indicate weakness. It indicates humanity. And as much as being a human can suck sometimes, I'm lucky to be one. I know that. I'm made in God's image. And that makes me precious. Which means you're precious, too.

So go to therapy or the doctor or talk to a friend or do some meditation or pray or journal or do what you've gotta do. But whatever it is, take care of yourself, my friend. Because the world will never be the same without you. And you can take that one to the bank.

crisis…but not really

Several exciting things have happened today:

1. I PASSED MY SPREADSHEETS COURSE!!!!! Read my previous post to see just how big of a deal this is. I seriously just started sobbing when I found out. Such. A. Relief. I am so so happy :)

2. I finally filled the last page of the art journal I've had for at least 3 years. Bittersweet. Which means...

3. I broke in a brand spanking new one. That's right, I wasted no time in getting her started. 2 collages in one day. One to finish a book and the other to start one.

4. I also organized all of my collage stuff. When I'm bored, I rip words and images from magazines and throw them in a shoebox, then I have a nice filing box that I organize them in when I have time. It's nice, because if I want to collage but don't have a magazine to destroy, I can just go to my box and pick out a folder or 2 and get to work. They're organized by things like "happy face", "sad face", "swing", "quotes", "faith", "animals", "girls", "boys", "patterns", etc. I also have folders for different colors. I also have a bead box that I organize letters and numbers into when I find cool looking typography. Ok. Now that I've totally revealed my nerd status, we can move on.

Plus I went in the pool and now I'm blogging out on the deck and it's just a really nice day.

Another exciting thing on the books is...I discharge from IOP tomorrow!!!!!!! Oh my gosh am I just so happy. It's been a little over 10 weeks since I started this journey. Which is crazy. I can't wait to have those 3 hours back each day. In a way it's been a good thing. I mean, it's definitely been a good thing in a variety of ways. But one thing that I hadn't really considered is the fact that virtual IOP conditioned me to be ok spending 12 hours in my room at my computer each day. Now studying for an hour or 2 won't be such an inconvenience because I'm used to using that time to be productive. Plus I can eat dinner with my family, enjoy the pool if I'd like, and put in a few extra hours at work if needed. Not to mention the fact that while doing all of this - you know, living my life - I am in recovery. Which is a very big deal.

The last page of my "old" art journal.

So back to nerding out on collage and the reason for the title of this post. I use a variety of magazines. Basically whatever I can get my hands on. Time, Oprah, Magnolia Journal, National Geographic, Psychology Today...I even somehow got an issue of Allure addressed to me at work (still trying to figure that one out...). I'm mostly a word art kinda gal. When I flip through a magazine, it is the words that jump out at me more so than the images (although I'm trying to incorporate more images into my art these days...a picture is a 1,000 words after all). I don't really care what the article or advertisement is for. I can pull a negative word from a positive headline or a positive phrase from an article filled with negativity. Red or blue. Black or white. And everything in between.

But as I was sorting through my collage material today, I noticed something. I noticed how many times I had torn the word "crisis" out of the pages of a magazine. And it just struck me. It struck me that journalists use that word so often, for one thing. And it struck me how frequently that word jumps out of me. Out of a sea of words on any given page, the word "crisis" is the one that draws me in. Whether it's in the fine print of an article or the headline of an entire section, it's there. Calling to me.

Why is that?

Why am I drawn to the word crisis?

Does that mean I'm drawn to crisis itself?

When I sit back and think about it, I don't think I'm drawn to crisis so much as I am to chaos. The status quo doesn't seem to sit well with me and that's something I'm working on. But you don't see the word "chaos" so much. "Crisis" is as close as I get.

This afternoon, while sorting after passing my final exam, I threw all the "crisis" clippings into the "sad face" folder.

Thankful that I wasn't using them today.

And that's all I have to say about that.

The first page of my NEW art journal :)

everyday life and other stuff.

I've started this post without a title. That means I don't really know where I'm going with this. Which can be good or bad. We shall see.

I promised to write a follow-up to 4th of July weekend, but things were just crazy and I was too busy enjoying my time with my family. Then who knows what happened last weekend. But I find myself here today, so wahoo for you.

I was sick this week. Don't worry, I don't have COVID. It was just a stomach bug. Ok, now here I am about to drop a bomb on ya'll. I've really been keeping this to myself for the most part. Why? Mostly to keep people from worrying about me. One person in particular. But if I can't be honest here, where can I be?

I've been in treatment for my eating disorder for 2 months now. I'm doing Virtual IOP through ERC. It's from 5-8pm in my room Monday - Thursday. And to tell you the truth, I've been impressed. It's been a way better program than I'm used to. For anyone who has tried CED's IOP program and hated it, I would strongly encourage you to consider ERC if you're in need of treatment. Yeah, the providers are the same, but the programming, meal plan, and style of treatment is totally different. At least in my opinion.

The only thing this program lacks is Art Therapy, so I just do that on my own :)

And the fact that I've been able to do it virtually? Game changer. That's what has allowed me to keep it such a secret. No one had to know. I didn't have to leave work early or put a bunch of miles on my car or never be available to my family or friends. I get to work as long as I need to (for the most part) and see my family and be done at 8 without having to make an hour long drive home. So that's the bright side. Which I'm trying to look at.

See my discharge date had already been pushed back once. I was still struggling to follow the meal plan and not finishing IOP dinners and stuff. But I had gotten myself together and was supposed to discharge this past Thursday. And then bam. I got a stomach bug.

Stomach bugs suck for everyone. I get that. But for someone who struggles with an eating disorder? We're talking major setback. Historically for me, at least. My mind convinces my body that it's used to surviving on next to nothing food wise. Which makes it very difficult to go back to following a meal plan once the illness has run its course. Traditionally, it's something that sends me INTO treatment. But I'm already IN treatment this time. So what does it look like?

I have been quite surprised. My treatment team actually believed me. They didn't accuse me of purposely acting on symptoms. They told me to take a few nights off of IOP. They didn't argue with my PCP's recommendation of a 24 hour clear liquid diet. They treated me like a person who was sick and needed to rest. And boy did I appreciate that.

So I didn't discharge on Thursday. Obviously. My psychiatrist told me they'd at least add on those 3 days I missed. The rest depends on how quickly I bounce back. Luckily I have just enough of a cheering squad encouraging me to get back on the wagon. Quickly. And I think I'm doing alright. Better than alright, even. I think I'm doing well. I think my treatment team is going to be surprised and proud of me. And that's a nice feeling.

Anyway, there you have it. I'm hoping to discharge this week and have some of my summer left to enjoy. Even though Virtual IOP is great, it still doesn't leave me with a whole lot of free time to enjoy the pool or read a magazine or blog or go for walks with the dog. So I'm ready to get my days back for sure.

But that's not all. I mean, come on. It's never just one thing, right? In the middle of all of this (treatment, stomach bug, etc.), I still have SCHOOL. Uggggh. School. I was ready to call it quits. Seriously. I was taking Intermediate Accounting I and I was completely and totally in over my head. Crying every day. Stressed to the max. I just could not retain and apply any of what I was "learning."

So I was ready to switch to a general Business Administration degree because I thought I just couldn't cut the whole accounting thing. Even though that's what I do on a daily basis. But my mentor told me to take a week off while she did some research. The program I'm in now has Intermediate Accounting broken into 2 classes, each with 1 exam. Apparently WGU is launching a NEW Accounting program that has Intermediate Accounting broken into 3 classes, each with 2 exams. There are some other differences. It will actually be more classes to get my degree than the program I am in now. Which pushes my graduation date back a bit. But it sounds like a dream come true.

My semester ends at midnight July 31st and I still have 1 more class to take to be considered a full time student (WGU is a full time only university). With 3 weeks left in my semester at the time of this decision. How on earth was I supposed to finish a 3 credit class in 3 weeks? So I withdrew from that ass-kicker-of-an Intermediate Accounting course and replaced it with a Spreadsheets course. My mentor first suggested something like business organization and analytics and I was like "...um...no. Didn't I see some Excel class or something?"

I was an instructional technician for Microsoft Office at Carroll Community College back in the day, and I use Excel constantly, so I have a pretty good grasp on the whole spreadsheet thing. I figured I could pull off the Spreadsheet class pretty well with 3 weeks to go. (Turns out it's overkill. The Spreadsheets class in my new program is much more basic and is only 1 credit. But this one will transfer and I could wrap my mind around it, so I'm ok with that.)

We're a little more than a week in and I have completed 8 of the 10 lessons in the course. Mostly by myself. Dad has helped me out from time to time. There have been a few tears. I't's actually a lot of new material that I have never worked with before. I've found I work better first thing in the morning. Waiting until 4pm to start on a lesson is usually a bad idea, so I try to get a lot done during the weekend since work and IOP take up most of my days during the week. I plan on finishing lessons 9 and 10 this week, taking the practice assessment Friday afternoon or Saturday morning, studying Saturday and Sunday and taking my exam on Monday the 27th. That gives me a few days cushion in case I fail and have to re-take the exam.

Whew. It's a lot. But if I'm able to pull this off, I will have been working full time, in treatment, and a full time student during a single semester. Something impossible. Boy will that feel good.

We aren't big "celebraters" in my family. We don't through big parties or social events. But - should I ever finish my undergraduate degree - I will be throwing myself one hell of a bonanza. And everyone who has ever supported me will be invited. And we will celebrate all day and into the night. There will be music and dancing and food and crying and laughing and just a really freaking good time. Because boy will it have been a journey.

I know I haven't imparted any great wisdom or anything today. It's basically just an update on my life. But I feel like I have to do that every now and then since I'm not on "the Facebook."

I guess if there's anything I hope you've taken from this it's that treatment is not shameful. Illness doesn't have to mean relapse. And there's really no such thing as impossible. So there. I guess this whole thing did have a point.

linger

Well I did it. I asked for a vacation. A last minute vacation, at that. It was either "Give me 2 days of vacation" or "See ya in a month after a stint in the hospital." Yeah, it was that bad.

Last week was full of despair. Like deep despair. If you'd asked me why I would have told you I was just overwhelmed by work and school. But I think it goes deeper than that. To where, I'm not really sure right now and I don't think I'll be any closer to knowing by the end of this post. Especially since that's not its point. At least not that I know of.

So today is day one of my brief 5 day summer vacation for which I am ever so thankful. Yeah, there might be more work waiting for me when I return on Monday, but at this point it didn't matter. I needed my wings cut free for a bit.

The back cover of my favorite magazine. The only one I refuse to destroy, unlike every other magazine that crosses my path.

I slept in a little bit but not too much because I didn't want to just sleep my day away. I ate outside and balanced my budget. Get the stuff that stresses me out of the way first, right? And then I fixed a cup of coffee and sat down to write in the beautiful 70 degree weather before it gets too hot and miserable. I was just about to write about how calm and serene it was with the birds chirping with the dog curled up next to my chair, but then she started barking like a maniac and kinda ruined that vibe. That's ok. She's inside now.

Just chillaxin in the shade on this gorgeous morning.

Anyway, I'm planning on writing this morning to kick off vacation and then hopefully again on Sunday afternoon to wrap things up. But I'm not making any promises about Sunday. You know how I am with that.

My plans for vacation? Well Katie, Matt, and Celeste arrive Friday morning to stay for the weekend, so I have some things that I need and want to get done before then. I need to clean my bathroom, clean the basement, and vacuum. I think I'll save those tasks for tomorrow. Or maybe do just one today. But for the most part my plan for today is to do all the things I've been wanting to do but just haven't had time:

• Blog

• Tear up magazines

• Organize torn up magazines

• Make at least one collage

• Go to Home Goods

• Go to Michaels

• Go to Kohl's

• Sit outside as much as possible

• Take pictures

• Read

But not try to do too much at the same time. All before 5pm. I could probably wait and do Michaels and Home Goods with my sister. She'd actually probably like that. So maybe those will wait until the weekend.

I do realize that I missed out on blogging last weekend so I missed a few things that I wanted to share. Some victories.

Friends wading the the reservoir.

Ya'll know that I don't have a lot of friends. And that I've disengaged from social media. Well one of the other moms from Skylar's Girl Scout Troop reached out to see if we wanted to go for a hike. I was so surprised and excited and of course I said yes. Then I got anxious and nervous and scared. Then the weather was iffy and it would have been really easy to cancel, but we said lets try anyway and I am SO GLAD we did. It was a lovely 3 hours. A short hike to the reservoir and then a few hours playing by the water. The hike back was a bit hot, but it was a really great time. So lets talk victories:

• Made plans with a friend

• Followed through with plans

• Got to know said friend better

• Spent time with my daughter making memories

• Got some sun and fresh air

• Got my body moving

• Went to get ice cream afterwards with Skylar...I even got 2 scoops instead of just one

• Took a dip IN THE POOL

We're talking friendships, ice cream, and bathing suits all in one day. Talk about facing and overcoming fears, guys. Sunday was one for the books.

Getting ice cream at the Firehouse Creamery in downtown Sykesville after our Sunday adventures.

And it was really sweet to see Skylar playing with friends and making plans to hang out again. I just loved every minute of it and I'm so glad I didn't back out. Take that, social anxiety.

There's more to talk about. School. Memory loss from ECT. Rapid cycling bipolar disorder. I could explain exactly why work has been so overwhelming. And why I have to be done my day by 5. All that stuff that makes life messy and hard. But I think I'm going to leave this post on a positive note.

Sunday was awesome. I landed myself a 5 day vacation. I get to unwind, even if it's just in my backyard. I get to see family. I get to make art. I get to soak in the sun and leave work until Monday.

And on Monday I get to hand off some of the extra work I've been covering and see SOMER!!!!! So that makes going back to work after a vacation just a bit easier.

The truth is, I'm not sure what tomorrow will bring or what will happen 17 minutes from now. But I'm going to try to enjoy the moment and not let anything steal my joy over the next 5 days. So don't even think about it ;-)

pockets.

This week has been rough. Lots of crying. For lots of reasons. But there were pockets of good and that's mostly all I'll say about pockets because it should be self explanatory. I just really like pockets.

I got my Poshmark purchases. That was somewhat successful. I don't think I would do it again, though. About half of it didn't fit and I really don't have it in me to "reposh." Luckily my mom had a bunch of shorts/pants that she was willing to let me try on and a lot of them fit, so I now have pants to wear. So then I went to Kohls to get shirts and a cardigan or 2 and a summer rain jacket. Boy was I successful there! I felt like a rockstar. The fitting rooms are closed, so I brought it home to try on. Most of it fit but I have to take a couple of things back. I hate returning stuff. But I'll do it because I still need another 2 shirts I'd say. I did purchase a dress from one of my friends that I fell in love with. It has POCKETS. So I'm excited to have that. Overall I feel that I have enough clothes to successfully get me through summer without wearing the same 3 dresses over and over again.

The dreaded pile of clothes that don't fit with miscellaneous hangers.

So what's next? Emptying the closet and all the drawers of stuff that no longer fits. Sad face. I mean devastating. I cried and cried and tripped over all the empty hangers and cried some more. Then I gathered myself and threw it all in a giant bag. Then I took it to the basement to sort through a little more thoroughly when I'm in a better place. So I cried some more then. But then I hung up my new stuff and felt a little lighter.

You know what else made me feel lighter? Today's project. I am still working from home and my office is in my room and it had just turned into a complete and total hot mess. It was no longer a restful place to be. It stressed me out majorly. I felt perpetually flustered and out of control. I know I won't be working from home for forever, but I just couldn't handle it so I took myself to Home Goods and did some shopping in the office supplies aisle. And...let's be honest...some Amazon shopping as well. So today I went through everything and threw a lot away. Put a lot of stuff in my car to take to work. Because I realized I was just being a hoarder keeping it in my room for no good reason. I dusted. I'd post a picture, but it's still not like super impressive. But I like it and I feel like I can breath again. So that's a good thing I guess.

I decided to go ahead and post some of my favorite Home Goods and Amazon organizational tools.

The highlight of the weekend was going to Cotton & Co. with my sister. I've been wanting to take her there for like a year and the stars finally aligned, so we met in Keymar yesterday afternoon and went SHOPPING!!! Her birthday was in April, but everything was closed and I couldn't shop for the perfect gift like I usually do, so I let her pick something out and it was super cute and we had fun and good heart-to-heart conversations. I also found the absolute most adorable little vanity set for Skylar to use as a desk. I took a picture and sent it to her and she loved it and it fit in my car so I bought it. I love that I was able to get her something super special. It makes my heart happy. Now all I have to do is get her to clean her room enough for me to get the thing out of my trunk 😂.

Here it is in the store...isn't it adorable!!!!!

Here it is in my trunk...glad I bought an SUV...

School is hard.

Work is crazy.

Med changes suck.

Weight gain makes me feel like crap.

And there are other things going on that I'd rather not discuss quite yet.

But I made an appointment with my course instructor.

I made a to do list for work and organized all my crap. Plus my boss is on vacation this week which means fewer meetings and emails, so hopefully I will be UBER productive.

An unedited photo of a flower by Mary's pool. Mary is my boss. She is amazing and I hope she enjoys every precious moment of her vacation.

The pharmacy finally got my meds filled.

I have clothes that fit and a clean(ish) closet.

And I'm taking it one day at a time.

What more could you ask of me?

Week one and other stuff.

Well I've almost made it through one week without social media. I had my doubts, but it's possible, folks. I'll admit it's pretty weird. I'll pick up my phone, check my email, then go to click on Instagram or Facebook and I'm just like, "Welp, I guess I'll just go back to doing what I was doing." Which is basically what I wanted. I also deleted all the games from my phone, so I've got nothin to do on that thing.

I've also found how often I take a picture then look at it wondering if it's post worthy on my stories. "No, Brittany. Don't waste time with that. Stories don't exist anymore."

Just a pretty flower in our yard

Things I miss? Hmm. Honestly, there aren't many. I have a feeling I'm missing some birthdays. Should have written some of them down for my closer friends. So if I don't wish you happy birthday, please don't be offended. I also went looking for picture albums on my phone, only to realize that they were Facebook albums. But they're all on the photos app on my computer and that's all I really need. And then one time I had my mom reach out to one of our mutual friends because I wanted to see if she had any Carly dresses and I didn't have her info. That was the only time I was really like, "ugh, if only I had Facebook." But that's what moms are for, right? And side note, I should get her number to stay in touch, anyway.

So I'm interested in seeing my screen time report on my phone this week. I was worried that I'd find something else to waste away my life with on my phone. I spent some time on Etsy looking for a camera strap. But once I found what I was looking for, I shut that one down. And then I discovered Poshmark. Um. Yes. I'll wait to fully back Poshmark until I actually receive my clothes. But I am in desperate need of new wardrobe items. Shorts and dresses in particular. So I found some that I like on Athleta (their clothes fit me really well usually), but they are ridiculously expensive, so I was like, "Hmmm, maybe I'll check out this Poshmark thing." So I dove into that hole a bit. I can see how a person could get sucked into it, though. For sure. But I bought a few items at more reasonable prices and it will be like Christmas next week when all my packages get here :)

So let's get real with this whole clothing thing, guys. The struggle is real. I have gained a good amount of weight over the last year and NOTHING FITS. It's really taking a toll on me. Especially this week. Lots of tears. It doesn't matter what I do or do not eat. This is just it. It's something that is SO SO uncomfortable. But I think I SO SO have to just suck up and accept it. At least for now. A lot of it could be my meds and I'm not about to be noncompliant with those so it just is what it is. Some days I handle it better than others. The days of going into the office instead of working from home are quickly approaching. That means no oversized gym shorts and t-shirts. I need something that fits. This is my size. Get what makes me feel pretty and comfortable. Go ahead and spend the money. Invest in something that brings mw joy in the middle of despair. Cuz that's honestly what it feels like some days. Complete and utter despair. But there's enough going on in the world that I don't need to be worried about the number on the scale or the size of my clothes. I'm just going to accept myself and move forward and see what comes my way. Today at least. We'll take tomorrow as it comes.

My favorite coping tool :)

Next I just have to say how much I love love love my psychiatrist. We've added a few new diagnoses to my list, but I'm ok with that. I've had several sleepwalking episodes over the last month. Some of which were thoroughly embarrassing. Some of which were funny. Some of which were just weird. So add sleepwalking to the list. Turns out there's an actual diagnosis of "sleepwalking and eating." Which is. Like. Definition Brittany. So she took me off 2 sleep meds that weren't really working and put me on one that will hopefully help with the sleepwalking. Take 2 off, and 1 in. I'm happy with that.

Next. Folks. I have been having some major racing thoughts which have made school practically impossible for me. Which really screws with my confidence and self esteem and hope for the future. I just can't seem to focus. Everything is just in skim mode and I absorb zilch and can apply nada. So. Turns out she thinks I am in need of...a stimulant. That's right. My mom tried bringing this up like 3 or 4 years ago and we just got shut down. That was with a different psychiatrist. Yesterday my current psychiatrist started listing off symptoms and how it can go unnoticed for awhile in some people because they are able to compensate with their intelligence but at some point that plateaus and then it's not good. Everything she listed off was like..."um. yes. exactly me. yes." So I'm pretty seriously stoked that she was willing to consider that as an option for me and I'm really hopeful that this will help me in a variety of areas of my life.

She is 100% invested

Wow wow wow wow. That was a lot longer and deeper that I had intended on going. I guess I just had a lot to say and that wasn't even everything. There's even more to share, but I think I'll stop here.

Oh, one more thing. I spent A LOT of time working on my website last weekend. I think I have everything cleaned up. It turns out I don't think my newsletter had been going out for nearly a year. So you should get an email every time I publish a new post. If you're a subscriber and are reading this and you did NOT receive my newsletter, please please let me know. Also, if something looks weird with the newsletter, please let me know. I will not be offended. I need your help. It's kind of a trial and error thing. And I lose a lot of readers if my newsletter doesn't go out or gets sent to people's spam folders. And since you can't know about my new posts via Facebook, you need to subscribe and get my newsletter :)

So Long

When I publish this post and put it on Facebook, I will deactivate my Facebook and Instagram accounts the next morning.  So if you want me to see your comment, you're going to have to do it here on the blog.  I respectfully request that you do not leave hateful comments.  This is a place of optimism and hope.  I will not tolerate negativity toward myself or my readers.  So now that we've gotten the logistics straight, I'm going to do some explaining.

And so first of all, I want to post a picture of my cat demanding that I take a nap.  Just to set the mood.

Second of all, I just want to say that it's so weird that this is such a big deal.  Like it's a major decision for a person to make.  There's so much that goes into this choice.  Here is what went into mine...

Reasons TO deactivate my accounts:

• I compare myself to others and that rarely makes me feel good.  Their lives, their pictures, their families, their homes, their friendships, their important life milestones.  Not good for my body image or mental health.

• I spend so much time on these platforms.  I'm interested to see how much time I free up and what more purposeful things I could be doing.  Reading or becoming an activist or taking up a new hobby or playing games with my daughter.  Taking my dog for a walk.  The possibilities are endless.

• I struggle with racing thoughts.  With platforms like Facebook and Instagram, I am constantly bombarded with information overload.  I'm not seeing that as helpful to my mental health.

• I have friends all over the place on the political scale.  I am passionate about things, but choose not to share those passions on Facebook or Instagram.  Some people may call that cowardly.  But I believe in loving everyone.  Getting political on these platforms would turn so many of my friends against me and against each other.  I've seen this absolutely destroy relationships.  I refuse to be an instrument of hate.  I will find other ways of demonstrating and acting in alignment with my beliefs.  If you want to use your account to be an activist for a cause you are passionate about, I have the highest degree of respect for you.  I don't think it's a bad thing AT ALL.  It's just not something I'm willing to open the door to personally.

Reasons NOT to deactivate my accounts:

• These platforms are the only way I keep tabs on a lot of my friends.  Thinking about this opened my eyes to a few things.  First of all, why do I need to keep tabs on all those people?  Some of whom I haven't spoken to in years.  What does that do for me?  What does that do for them?  It has forced me to realize that if there are people I truly care about and want to invest in, I can offer them my phone number or email address and check in on them from time to time.  If anything, that is a more personal relationship to me.  So take that one off the list.

• Where will I share my pictures and favorite quotes and blog posts?  Well, that's why I'm publishing this last blog entry.  One thing I will be doing with my "free" time is dusting off the cobwebs of the website.  I'll install all the updates and get my newsletter back up and running so that if you subscribe to my blog, you will receive email updates.  You might be seeing some shorter posts.  You might be seeing more candid photos of my children (human and furry) or a pretty sunset or geese crossing the road on my way to Starbucks one morning...instead of a carefully curated stock photo.  I'm not making any promises, but I'm going to try to keep the blog more up to date so that we can still feel connected.

• How will I see funny memes or cute animal pics or classic quotes?  That's where you guys come in.  Share pics in a comment on this blog.  Or send them via text if you have my number.  Just because I'm leaving social media doesn't mean I'm leaving the social scene.  I still  want to be connected.  I just believe I can do so separate from Facebook and Instagram.  And I believe this will make the relationships I DO keep up with more special.

So I came up with solutions to all the reasons NOT to deactivate my accounts.  I talked it over with my family and my treatment team.  We all agree that this is a good move, at least for now.  I'm not deleting my accounts, just deactivating them.  I haven't decided for how long this will be and I'm honestly not surprised if it's forever.  I think I'm going to feel a lot more free without social media in my life.  For a variety of reasons.  But there's no way of knowing.  Maybe I'll miss it too much and decide the pros outweigh the cons of maintaining a presence.  Only time will tell.

In preparing for this the decision, I realized just how much of my life revolves around social media.  Thinking of the perfect picture and caption for the gift a just received, or carrying my phone on a walk in case we see some beautiful chalk art, or anxiously waiting to see who likes and comments on my most recent post.  I mean just in the last 24 hours there have been consistent thoughts about what would make a good picture to add to my Instagram stories.

And I've come to one conclusion.  I'd rather make memories and relationships to add to my LIFE story.  Not my Instagram stories.  I one day hope to write a novel.  And I honestly believe that deactivating my social media accounts will make my life more worth reading about.  And so that's that.

P.S. Please be patient with me while I update my website to remove social media links, correct the contact me page, and fix my newsletter.  Ideally I would have had all that taken care of before I cut the cord, but it's become clear to me that now is the moment to do this.  So I appreciate your patience.

Heavy

This one is going to be short and sweet and to the point.  Promise.

I was scrolling through my Facebook profile feed like I sometimes do.  Just looking back at what I've posted most recently.  I do that sometimes.  It gives me perspective.  And I didn't like what I saw.

What I saw was a lot of negativity.  And I didn't mean the stuff I posted to be negative.  It just was.  Like my blog, I try to keep my Fb feed real and relevant.  And most recently it's been a bit of a downer.  So I get a little bit conflicted about whether or not to post let's say...hip updates.  Or should I just find a happy alpaca picture and post that?  Or just not post anything at all?

I think I post that stuff because right now life is kind of heavy.  People I know, care about, and love are suffering.  Like real true suffering.  Not some stupid hip pain that could be fixed with a scalpel.  And it makes me sad.  Like super sad.  But it's not my sadness to share on the www.  It's theirs.  So all I'm left with is heavy.

So I post the negative stuff because it's real.  Usually that's mixed in with some hopeful stuff, so it doesn't weigh so much, you know?  But I haven't done that recently and I realize that.

So if you think I'm just complaining about my pain and my life, I'm really not.  Sure, I found out today that I re-tore my labral graft.  And yeah, they closed down my favorite Starbucks in Arlington.  And my prescription that was supposed to be ready at 5:15 still isn't ready (it's 7pm).  But that's peanuts.  Less than peanuts, actually.  Like I'm ashamed to even say them out loud.

There are people in real agony.  People facing real life-altering diagnoses.  People losing family members forever.  And that's just been weighing heavy on my soul.  And I thought that you should know.

So if you're a praying person, please pray.  For my family.  My friends.  And ask the people around you how you can be praying for them and their loved ones.  Because there is a lot of hurt out there.  A lot.  And I think what we all could use is...some prayer.

Bananas

I am a wreck, folks.  An absolute wreck.  My anxiety is just out of control.  My stomach is constantly nauseous.  I can't stop trembling.  I'm having *more* trouble sleeping.  I'm just a mess.

I wasn't going to write until Tuesday.  Because I don't want to catasrophize over something that turns out to be nothing.  But just ignoring it isn't really helping me out any.  If anything it's just making it worse.  So I'm going to start writing and see where it takes me.

I went to church today.  And Sunday school.  I made myself go to Sunday school even though I was a good 20 minutes late.  The perfect excuse not to go if you ask me.  I was running a few minutes late to begin with, and then there was frost on the car, and then I hit literally every red light, and then I had to hobble up the stairs.  But I went because I knew it was good for me.  And Sunday school was hard.  And church was hard.  Both because I currently have no voice.  I couldn't volunteer to do any of the readings in Sunday school, and I couldn't belt out the lyrics to the worship songs in church.

I honestly didn't know what to do with myself during worship.  I sang the songs, but nothing came out.  My natural inclination is to cross my arms across my chest, but I did a whole blog post on that a few years ago.  How that isn't the posture I want to approach the Lord with.  So I just hold my hands out in front of me and mouth the words to some pretty fantastic worship music.  It was beautiful in its own way.  The words weighed more heavily on me without the worry of whether or not I was singing in key.  I almost felt more free.

So there.  Silver lining.

A lot has happened since my last post.  I shared my testimony with the ladies at church.  That was huge.  I survived another January in the accounting department.  Also huge.  I started classes at WGU.  Huge again.  And...I somehow injured my hip.  Yet another game changer.

I don't know which hip to call my good hip and which to call my bad one anymore honestly.  The one I've had 7 surgeries on is the left hip.  Most recently they discovered a labral tear in my right hip.  But this, guys. This is my left hip and it puts the right hip to shame.  I mean I can barely walk sometimes.

I was desperate enough to drive to Arlington in rush hour a few weeks ago and my orthopedist did a thorough exam.  He did a labral reconstruction in 2015 and he's concerned that I might have ruptured the graft.  So he sent me for a 3T MRI, which I had done on Thursday.  Then I see him again on Tuesday.  Gosh has this been the longest 2 weeks of my life.

I am so so SO anxious for Tuesday.  I honestly have no idea what he's going to say and it's driving me bananas.  Like I said earlier, part of me is worried it's something stupid like a pulled muscle and I'm just being a wimp.  Which would be a good thing, just embarassing.  But then there's another part of me that is just like deep gut, no Brittany you really screwed it up this time kinda instinct.  And so there's that.  It's like this battle inside my brain.  No, more like inside my stomach.  My stomach is definitely the battlefield right now if I'm being totally honest.

And if I DID rupture the graft, he told me I'm worth fixing.  Which sounds obvious.  I mean people are all like, "Of course you're worth fixing!!"  But back in 2016 I wasn't.  I was told that I wasn't worth fixing.  And that sticks with you, man.  It does something in your brain.  But he said that since the graft held for 5 years, he was willing to try again.  That it was worth it.  So that was really encouraging to hear.

But that means surgery.  Again.  And part of me is on board and would do it tomorrow if I could.  And part of me is terrified.  Because here's the thing.  The recovery is long and annoying.  And there's every possibility that I'll just do it again in another few years.  Because apparently I probably have Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, which is a connective tissue disorder.  I have the hyper-mobility type.  It explains why I repeatedly injure connective tissue and require interventions like physical therapy and surgery.

So the doctor that told me I wasn't worth fixing was a little bit right and a little bit wrong.  He said I'd just need to keep going back to Dr. Ochiai for surgery until it got to the point that I needed a hip replacement.  At which point I would come to him to have that done.  He gave me 5-10 years.  Well it's been 4 and this is my first time back to Dr. Ochiai for this problem.  So, although it's easy to get discouraged, I have to see it as a bit of a win.

Part of me is like, "See, he was right.  This is my story.  Is it even worth it?"  But that just leads to tears and a pity party.  Neither of which are beneficial.

And the other part of me is like, "Let's get this taken care of, yo!  Can you operate tomorrow?"  Because I am just that over the pain and agony that I am currently in.  And I AM worth fixing damnit.

And then there's that last part of me that's like, "Brittany, don't even publish this.  You are fine and making something out of nothing and you just need to get your head in gear and suck it up, buttercup."

And it's a toss up which part I decide to listen to at any given moment.

So this is what I've decided.  I've gotta stick to the facts.  The fact is that I am in pain.  And it may be a graft rupture or it may be a muscle strain.  Or something else.  I don't know.  And I won't know until Tuesday.  And there's nothing I can do to change the diagnosis.  And there's nothing I can do to make Tuesday come faster.  So I've just gotta do my best between now and then.  I've just gotta take care of myself the best way that I can.  I've just gotta breathe and eat and sleep and go to work and study.  And we'll deal with Tuesday on Tuesday.

And maybe it's a big deal and maybe it's a little deal.  Maybe it's surgery and maybe it's rest.  Maybe it's justified and maybe I'm a wimp.  But I don't know the answer to that today.  And I need to make peace with that.

So here's what I'm going to do.  I'm going to find an image to supplement this post, then I'm going to hit publish.  Then I'll probably share it to Facebook.  Then I'll go downstairs and watch TV until it's late enough to justify going to bed.  Then I'll get up and go to work and the gym.  Then it will be Monday night and I'll toss and turn until waking up at the crack of dawn to drive to a 9am appointment in Arlington Tuesday morning.  And then I'll get my answers.  And then we'll make a plan.  And then we will move forward.

Sound good?  Good.

P.S. I have federal jury duty starting 2/24 all the way through the end of March.  I was supposed to have it in January, but I deferred because January is a nightmare at work and I couldn't even think about missing time.  If I did rupture the graft and need surgery, I'm not really sure I'm up to waiting until April.  Does anyone have experience with federal jury duty?  I just don't even know where to start if I end up having surgery scheduled in March.  Tips?