Six years has gone so fast

This is Brian. He died six years ago today.

Brian, Jane's boyfriend. Brian, who I'd eaten lunch with almost every day of freshman year of high school. Brian, who I pushed around stage on wheeled scaffolding during strike after the spring play the previous year. Brian, the star-to-be of Big River, the fall play that year. Brian, the guy who wore his plaid pajama pants almost every day, the one who had an easy laugh and kind eyes. Brian, my friend.

Your life is hard. I know, mine is too. Life is hard. But I can tell you, and I hope you believe me, that life is worth it, too. It can be terrifying to think about, but there is always help available. Open up to a friend, see a counselor. Suicide...suicide is never worth it. Suicide hurts the people around you so incredibly much, to the point where they're still asking why six years later.

I might not even know you (but chances are I probably do). Even if I don't, I know that you deserve to be alive. You are loved, and you are not alone. Especially when it feels like you're lonelier than you've ever been, you are never alone. You are a beautiful person.

I want to take everyone in the world who's ever felt worthless, hopeless, broken, or empty, and I want to hug them. I want to tell them that they mean something, that their life matters, that they're not alone...that they're loved.

I can't make you love me if you don't

It's been an interesting few days. All in all, I think the rough patches in my week have turned out to be blessings. A recap:

• black-eyed susans and wild mustard
• sandhills and tree-filled bluffs
• one last sunburn of the summer
• people-loving dogs and cuddly cats
• the Milky Way
• vibrant sunsets
• late dinners
• food from the garden
• standing in a river and feeling whole for once
• being more content than ever
• still having to take life one day at a time
• late night Sonic runs
• pinkie promises through Skype
• tighter hugs than usual

13 years

13 years gone like 13 minutes...underwater.

Now that July 18th is over, I think it's time for a little reflection. The day marked the 13th anniversary of my diagnosis with type I diabetes, and to be honest, it was a lot more difficult than I thought it would be. It carried a lot of emotion that I hadn't been expecting, and the day in general hurt a lot more than it usually does.

Normally my "diabeteversaries" are happy occasions, days when I get treated to a nice dinner and sometimes even cake! The past few years have been really chill, because after a while it's not such a big deal anymore. I didn't mean for this one to even be a big deal. A Facebook status, a Tumblr post, a tweet or two. Not too much. But I guess it was my own fault that it became a bit bigger, because I talked about this one a lot. I mean, it is kind of interesting that my diabetes is a teenager now. But then I started making it a bigger deal than I even wanted it to be, so much that Claire even made me a cake (which was delicious and so awesome of her - thanks friend!).

It didn't help that my mom sent me this text: "Hey hun, it never ceases to amaze me how much courage you have shown in dealing with your medical conditions. I'm thinking of you on this 13th anniversary. Luv, mama." I overlooked it when I first got it, but when I went to reply later, it just hit me. I wouldn't be alive if it hadn't been for her.

It was a reminder of how fragile my life is, how easily I could lose control, how easily it could kill me. Maybe you don't know this (or maybe you do), but I've had four seizures, including two in my sleep. I've struggled with the temptations of diabulimia (which I'm sure you can find some information about on the Google machine - too much effort to go into it right now), it's been a major source of my depressive times, and I stopped caring for a long time during spring semester this year. No, wait. I didn't just stop caring; I let it take over, I let it get to me. For the first time, I felt defined by it.

Diabetes sucks. It really, really sucks. And I legitimately am sorry that I can't explain it very well to those of you who aren't diabetic. Unfortunately, you just can't know how it affects you unless you have it. I know you can see how it affects me, and you might feel like you get it, but it's just one of those things, you know? One of those things that is just impossible to fully understand until you're the one dealing with it. That's why camp has been so important to me - it's the one place where everyone really understands. I've never had the same connection with another person as I have with Lauren, my best friend from camp. I'm very lucky to have someone like her who understands and has had very similar life experiences.

I apologize for any time ever when I have not been very patient in talking with you about it. I know that you might just want to understand better, or you're curious about how things work. If I have lost my patience (or lose it in the future), please know it's not your fault. I know I have said before that it's my favorite thing to talk about, but if I'm being honest, it's really not. I'm not going to avoid talking about it or try to keep it a secret, but I only talk about it because it's something I can discuss for hours on end.

Another note - please, please spare me the diabetes jokes. They're a lot less funny when that's your reality. Also, they hurt more than you think they do.


I guess what I'm getting at here is that diabetes is a large part of my life. It affects me daily, to an extent you can't imagine. People tell me they couldn't imagine giving themselves shots every day, that I'm so strong and courageous, that they wouldn't be able to do it. I know they mean well, and I really appreciate the sentiment. But honestly, I would trade anything for it. I'm not brave, I'm just trying to stay alive. You might not think you'd be able to do it, but five injections a day is a lot better than dying so that's the option I choose.

So...I guess that kind of covers it. It's confusing and it's messy and it's anything but pleasant. It comes with other issues, it creates a lot of problems, and it's inconvenient. It creates days like this that end in tears, and it hurts - both externally and internally. And now, once again:

I just need the rain to remind me

"I always felt it before, that the world was filled with much more than the drowning soul I've learned to be. I just need the rain to remind me."

I need to get caught in the rain.

I'll be walking around campus with nothing to do in the late afternoon. I'll feel the drops begin, followed by the downpour. Warm summer rain will fall on my head, for once clearing the thoughts that swirl there. Not worth it, worth it, do something, don't do anything. The water hitting the still-warm sidewalk will create a mist into which I can retreat, a cover behind which I can let the rain fall from my eyes. Because try as I may, I cannot cry now. I have nothing worth spilled tears at this moment, but I need to cry.

There are too many ways this song (found here) is a representation of my life.

I want to darken in the skies, open the flood gates up. I want to change my mind, I want to be enough. I want the water in my eyes, I want to cry until the end of time. I want to let the rain come down, make a brand new ground, let the rain come down.

You could crush me

It's that feeling of wanting something so deeply it starts to hurt. It starts in your chest, down below your heart, and it swells and it aches. There are no sharp pains, just a constant throbbing that spreads to your shoulders and down your arms. It's so strong that you think your heart might burst, and you try to breathe and you try to relieve the aching but it just won't fade.

I just wanna be alone with your smile

2 things:

• That damn dream I had this morning. It was the first one about you in months. You were standing there, holding the hand of a girl who was taller, skinnier, and had darker red hair than me. In the beginning, your hair seemed like you cut it, but then I realized it was longer than ever. You were so self-absorbed that you didn't even notice me.
• Seeing lyrics from Blink-182's "M+M's" on Tumblr. It took me back to that time when we just sat in your car and you played it for me, telling me to listen to all the lyrics. All I wanted was to buy some candy (but not cigarettes) and drive to Madagascar with you. And I thought of how those are your favorite candy, and how I bought you that 42-ounce bag of them when I left for school so you'd eat them at work and think of me.

So I played it, and Dammit came on next, and why does every Blink-182 song have to be about you? Why did I have to start listening to your favorite band so much that I can still remember all the words, even though I haven't listened to them in a year and a half? And then there was Feeling This, and I could remember singing harmony with you in the car, and how you played Down and I didn't really understand it.

And it's not that I miss you, it's that I wish you would have tried harder. Because then I wouldn't be crying about nostalgia, I'd be crying about how I'm going to be in Omaha and you're going to be in Texas for the summer, but I wouldn't be alone tonight because you're not leaving for another couple of weeks.

And I just want to know what makes you smile now and if it still hurts to think about that night, whether you thought about coming after me when I left, and why you never called. And if you talked to your mom or your grandma or your brothers and what they said about me and what if I had gone to your grandma's wedding last summer? How the smell of the Garnier Fructis in my hair doesn't remind me of yours anymore, it's just how my hair smells now.

And how I just want to prove to you how much better off I am without you pulling me down all the time and how you hated my friends and how I hated that you hate everyone. And how you ruined Christmas for me that year and never wanted to introduce me to your family and how I never understood that.

And how I wish you'd call, still. That you'd want to apologize and show me how you've changed and become a better person. And how I'd pretend not to know who was calling because I deleted your number but can still remember it immediately when I think about it. And how I try not to think about it, but suddenly it's there, just like the way you'd roll your eyes when you were being ridiculous and how much I loved your real smile and how rarely I saw it because you were never happy, just content. And how I couldn't handle just being content and just wanted to make you happy but never could and how I drove myself crazy with that.

And how you had such an amazing smile.

Sick and tired of being sick and tired

(credit to Bill for the e-card)

My friend (a fellow diabadass and one of my closest friends) and I were talking one day, and we came to a realization…having diabetes messes you up.

A lot of diabetics (myself included) have had emotional/mental health issues in their lives. I personally have struggled with an obsession with perfection. One friend had an eating disorder. Another dropped out of high school. When you stop to think about it, having diabetes has a huge impact on your life.

I don’t know if it’s chemical - it could be, but I’m not so sure that it’s true. I think it’s more about having to fight to survive, relying on insulin to stay alive each and every day, being forced to live a stressful life full of needles and numbers. It’s the stares when you’re out in public, it’s the questions that you say you don’t mind answering, it’s especially the people who say, “I admire you. I don’t think I could do what you do,” because when it comes down to it, you either do it or you die. So you do it. You don’t think you can, but you have to.

Diabetes creates this anger deep down in you. There’s a feeling that you weren’t supposed to make it, that the fact that you’re alive when one of your very vital organs doesn’t work at all isn’t right. That you have to live like this forever (or at least until an adequate cure is found). That your disease is influencing your life enough that you’re making a career out of it. That people think they understand when they really don’t. That people would do anything for you not to suffer - your dad would give you his pancreas if he could, your mom would trade places with you in a heartbeat.

So yeah, in a way, diabetes messes you up.

In the shadow of your heart

It's not about him this time.

"Then in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat. I tried to find the sound, but then it stopped and I was in the darkness, so darkness I became."

I feel like I'm constantly applying for friendship. Doing things to make people like me, make them want to be around me like I want to be around them. I've achieved that with very few people, and you're not helping me with it. Like I said, counting down the days until you get sick of me.

You're not a person, you're a disease

That's part of my fear.
I'm already defined by disease, and I don't want to add to that.

I'm scared.
Terrified, actually.
I can't do it.
I can't.
I can't.
I can't.

I have to, though.



Less than 12 hours to go.

Details in the fabric

If it's a broken part, replace it.
If it's a broken arm, then brace it.
If it's a broken heart, then face it.
Hold your own,
know your name,
and go your own way.

It seems so simple in a song. Just face it.
But when you're terrified of what you're finding inside yourself, it's not so easy.



Things to talk about:

• general sadness and loneliness
• obsession with perfection
• what I hate about myself
• seeking acceptance from other people
• putting the happiness of others before my own
• the aftermath of an emotionally abusive relationship
• how it's not going away...none of it ever goes away.

Make up your mind to be well

"Catch me, I'm falling."

That line from the song he played for me is haunting me. It plays over again and again and again in my head, but it doesn't bother me. It gives me something to think about.

I'm messed up. Seriously, really messed up. I don't know what it is...maybe you can't really put a label on it. But I have big problems, and it's time to admit that. I need more than just friends - don't get me wrong, friends help. They really do. But friends can't fix me.

I love my friends, an incredible amount. I think we all know that. So far this year, they've kept me going, kept me positive, kept me hopeful. I have so much fun with my friends, and I share everything with them (well...almost everything, and some more than others). They're the ones I rely on for hugs, for held hands, for eye contact. But friends can't fix me.

I want to say it's kind of funny, but it's not. It's odd, but not to me. It's crazy, but not to me. So I'll settle for this:  It might be interesting to you, if you don't know me as well as some...ugh. This is making no sense. But I'm not hitting the backspace, because I'm leaving this post as it is (except, of course, for grammatical mistakes). Okay, so. Instead of prefacing it, I'm just going to say it. Someone mentioned me in his weekly report to Mandi last week, saying that I'm always so positive and how it helps keep the rest of the staff positive too. It made me sooooo happy seeing that. I'm really glad that I can help others to be happier - that's what I enjoy most.

But having someone say that I'm great at being positive means that I'm really good at pretending.

Truth is, I'd sacrifice my own happiness any day to make the people around me happy. If someone I love is going to be made happy, I will be miserable (without showing it) if that's what it takes. Because even when I'm miserable, I'm so relieved that someone else is happy that my own feelings don't really make a difference. I just want to make other people happy.

I'm a terrible liar - anyone who knows me can tell you that. But I'm great at pretending to be happy.

I'm sick of the excuses, though. It's not just being sad. It's not PMS. It's not stress. It's not a lack of sleep. Those are the excuses I give to everyone. All those might be true at one time or another, but there's more going on with me. So it's time to do something about it. (This entire paragraph may sound full of determination, but trust me, it's not. I'm terrified, nervous, and dreading this.)

I haven't really been able to see the real problems with my relationship with Ryan before. All I thought was that he was satisfied, and I wasn't. It was good enough for him, but I wanted more. When I've told my friends about it, they've all been horrified, couldn't believe that I had gone through that, told me I didn't deserve it. But I never really believed them. I've said things about it being a terrible relationship, something that no one should have to deal with...but in all honesty, I never really believed it. It took the person who knows me best saying it for me to realize that it's true - it was an emotionally abusive relationship. He had so much control over me, and I still can't let it go. I see all the signs, but I've never accepted that they were true before.

It's time to stop making excuses. It's time to be well.




(Again, you could read that with a sense of determination, but you shouldn't. It's more reluctance and defeat.)




PS - happy 100th post to me...

Shattered

I can't even glance up,
afraid to look you in the eye
silent sobs suppressed into shudders
hearing the words you say
and not buying a thing
I don't even try to hide the disbelief,
shaking my head
because it's all I can trust myself to do
please, repeat repeat
repeat
repeat
until I finally believe.

These are my confessions

It's time to admit some things about myself. I don't always feel like this, but I usually do. Fuck, I don't even know how to start this. There's just so much built up inside me right now.

I hate nearly everything about my body. (Yes, I'm a typical girl with typical body issues, plus some. So if you don't care or don't want to hear it, stop reading.) Why, you ask? Well.

I'm 6'0 tall, which has always been awkward and not cool in my book.
I never use scales because they make me cry.
I realize that as a tall person, my ideal body weight is greater than people who are normal heights, but I can't help it.
Born to dance? Fuck that. If I were born to dance, I would be less than 5'6 and around 100 pounds.
Shopping is usually fun...when I'm looking at accessories. When it comes to trying on clothes, I almost always end up discouraged and angry because nothing ever fits me.
Jeans are nearly impossible for me to find; I have to get at least extra-longs in one of the largest sizes because my hips are so big, and I spend hours trying them on and find maybe two pairs.
I don't realize it UNTIL I try on jeans that my hips are huge.
(I actually really like having curvy hips...only thanks to Ryan.)
I was told once that my eyes have a unique shape, but that only makes me think they're weird.
I think I have a really big forehead.
I only like my hair when it's straight, but it takes so much time and effort that I hardly ever do it.
My feet (as I wrote about it my recent post) have calluses from dancing for 14 years, and I'm convinced they'll never be smooth.
My hands are too small for someone my size.
I have small shoulders, tiny ears, and an extremely short upper lip.

Last but not least, what I hate most about myself: my insulin spots.
There are hard deposits about a centimeter below my skin that came from doing too many injections there in the last twelve and a half years.
They're horrible. To me, they look like two little tumors on either side of me, in line with my belly button, just inside my hip bones. They have little bruises around them from other shots. I hate them with every fiber of my being and sometimes I just want to take a knife and cut them out.
They're the only things I really try to hide from everyone. Sometimes I wear leggings under my jeans and tell you it's just to be warmer...but I wouldn't tell you it's also because they can hold in my insulin spots. I wear a sweater or a jacket every day, just so I can cover them up.

A recent excerpt from my journal (I know, a journal with stuff that's not already on my blog? Crazy, right?):
"It's nights like these that make me want to run back to him. The one who would rub aloe as gently as he could on my severely burnt back, the one who once told me I was perfect, the one who would kiss the insulin deposits under my skin that I hate so much. He would hold me while I cried, my forehead on his shoulder and my face stuck frozen in a sob that felt like it would never end. 0.09% NaCl solution coursing down my cheeks, chest caving in like my heart was a black hole, not feeling the need to breathe."

Even when I've tightened my belt by a notch, when I know that my stomach's full of air because I ate wheat today and not with food because I ate too much, when I've felt so good about myself earlier in the week...I can't escape the tears that are so ready to spill.

Alive

calloused and bruised
my feet, my soles
my soul
perpetually searching for a beat
dancing eternally without rest
seeking perfection
unattainable and demanding
screaming out in pain
for days after rehearsal
the only time I feel alive
stinging and burning
throbbing and loving it
my feet, my soles
my soul