We all sing with the same voice, and we live in harmony

This is what sick looks lik. This is what sick IS. I don't look it? You don't realize that my body is fighting itself. You don't realize that I'm allergic to four antibiotics,  an asthma medication that would make my life a lot easier, and a food allergy. You don't realize that I have an autoimmune disorder, a neurological disorder, rods in my back, an eating disorder, PTSD, anxiety, and a non verbal learning disorder. You don't realize that I have a balance disorder, that I have a crapload of medications surging though my body. I don't look it, but you know what? This is what disabled is. 

 You see people like me every day, everywhere. You see people with disabilities everywhere you turn. We are people, just like you, and we have feelings, too. I understand it can be awkward at times when you come across someone with disabilities, but never fear! I'm hear to help you out and avoid awkwardness. NOTE: These are tips from MY personal experience. Other people with disabilities may have different feelings and a different take on life.

1. Never, ever ask me "What happened?" or any variant there of. If you want to know more about my disabilities, there are better ways to phrase it. It's awkward for both of us when I explain it's lifelong, and it's chronic. Trust me, you're not going to get an epic skiing accident story.

Nothing like that, I promise. You may think it's making friendly conversation, but you're really not and just making everyone uncomfortable. Also, don't ask it while I'm clearly struggling to walk or with a door. I'm really not in any shape to answer you then, and you're more likely to get a slightly rude come back. It's rude to ask a stranger these type of question. Get to know me for me. And then ask your questions. I'm more than happy to talk about my disorders with you, as long as you are respectful.

2. For the love of peaches, NEVER ask me "can I ask you a personal question?" This is a good analogy:

It's never okay to ask a random woman if she's pregnant. Same way, it's never okay to ask me if I'm able to have sex, if people want to date 'someone like me', if my husband/spouse/siblings are also disabled. YOU DON'T KNOW ME. YOU JUST MET ME ON THE BUS. It is NOT the time or place to ask me a "personal question" because generally? They are rude and disrespectful, and I am a human being, just like you. You wouldn't ask someone without a obvious physical impairment these questions, so why the hell is it okay to ask me?

3. Don't give me your home remedies. Don't tell me such and such person.  Don't tell me how if I do x, y, z I'll do better.

Don't tell me if I do crossfit, if I go paleo, my health will get better. I've already given up gluten for health reasons. I don't need your 'quick fixes'. My doctors and I have gone through many of these things. It isn't helpful for you to throw this at me, despite your good intentions.

4. Oh my god, don't play the Jesus card. You will seriously incur my wrath if you do.

If you say or act like that, I will get angry and upset. I have prayed so many times. I've wept to God to heal me, and he hasn't, for whatever reason. God has a reason for leaving me disabled, and I've come to terms with it. Please don't tell me to just pray. Please don't tell me if I just trust God, he will heal me. He hasn't chosen to heal me, for whatever reason. I don't know what that reason is. I don't know why I was chosen for this path, and why I'm destined to live a life of physical pain. But you know what? It's just the way things are.

Now, I do sometimes want to have this reaction to people who are stupid about disabilities:

Really, I just wanted an excuse to use this picture

But you know what? We are people too. We are just like you. We laugh, we play, we cry, we sing. We weep, we rejoice, we bleed, we heal. We do things differently. But we all sing with the same voice, and we live in harmony.

i need some distraction, oh beautiful release

i hate how i'm feeling lately.
i don't know that it's depression. i'm not sad. i'm not sad, no, not really. sadness isn't the quite the right word.  i mean yeah, i feel overwhelming sadness some days but it's not the overarching feeling. it's not the primary feeling. it's not the main thing i feel.
apathy? sure, i've given up caring about cleaning (really need to do that, my area of the apartment is godawful) and i've given up caring about life, the future, what happens to me. i have hopes and dreams but who am i fooling? they'll never happen. my health will never improve to the point where i'm able to hold down a job. i can barely handle school, what kind of idiot am i to think that i'll be able to have a future?
then, what? hopeless? i guess you could say that, but i don't even know if it's the right word. sad? depressed? none of these words seem quite right. lonely? scared? overwhelmed? i don't even know what words describe me anymore. if there are words. if there are any words.
i'm scared to see a doctor, scared to be honest. scared to let people see how things really are. what if they judge me? what if they don't like me? what if they can't help me? so instead, i let myself spiral.
i let the anxiety take over. i let the fear take over. i let the what-ifs take over.  when talking, face-to-face talking, i either lock down or i've been dealing with this stuff for so long that i've learned how to mask it, learned how to downplay it, so things aren't really as bad as i realize. i tend to downplay things and let them go into they are super sonic bad... case in point, recent ear infection.
i feel scared and helpless and alone and like a failure.
and this emptiness. and despair. and the feeling that i will never pull myself out.
i know i'm not fooling everyone, that would be naive. but why do i try? why don't i give people a chance? it's like i've been hurt and hurt and hurt so i'm scared to show the truth.
will they love me less? doubtful. so why do i let myself believe such things? why don't i just trust? why am i so scared?
why do i feel like falling into self injury? and i'm not suicidal, but i'll be damned if i don't think about death. if i don't think about a break from the mental and physical pain. i know it's not an option, but damn if it doesn't come to mind.
i hate feeling like this. i hate feeling that things will never get better. because... what if that feeling is right?

you give and take away...

I haven't written in awhile, so midnight while watching Soul Eater is the perfectly logical choice, right? Of course. As I'm curled up here in bed, wishing my summer had taken an incredibly different term, the start of school just days away (f I can afford it, but that's another rant for another day), not knowing how my life is going to play out, it's sort of terrifying watching where my life is going.

On July 9, I had repeat back surgery, this time to do a partial hardware removal. Things were expected to be fairly uncomplicated. Two day hospital stay, sent home to recover, not a big deal, right? Well, I should have known better. My two day stay turned into a nine day stay, as I developed hospital-acquired pneumonia, diagnosed the night my fever hit 104.7 degrees (highest fever of my life, man). Nearly a month later, I still have a Foley in. Walking is incredibly difficult, as my high school knee injury decided to completely flare up and crap out, so I have a very attractive full leg brace. I knew at one point I may need a full leg brace, but it was a hard  pill to swallow alongside the back surgery.

The surgery also gave me wicked insomnia. I'm able to sleep, some nights, but not others. My primary (who is named Happy Thanksgiving... yeah... really...) prescribed Lunesta but my insurance is denying it and we're having to fight for it. Le sigh. Just like my Lyrica fight and that took a few weeks to get approved. It's hard, man, it's hard.

The simplest trips exhaust me, the most basic chores make me feel like death on a stick. I'm struggling with recovery, and it sucks! It's been a rough, rough road. I just don't know how I should feel about it, even. Should I feel relief that I'm recovering? Regret that things have turned out so poorly? Thankful that, for the most part, my doctors finally got their heads out of their asses are and trying to help me?

I find myself terribly angry at God. While at one point, my faith is keeping me going, another part is filled with rage and anger. Why did He let things turn out like this? Why can't He just freaking HEAL me already? He's God, right? Surely He can make me better and take away my pain. But at the same time, He's not. And I can't understand why. I can't understand what lessons He wants me to learn from this.

My life has become a whirlwind of appointments, and when it's not, doing some simple picking up and laying in bed playing Persona 4, Final Fantasy, or Zelda. Or watching Netflix. It sucks that this is what my life has turned into. It sucks that this is how I'm spending my summer. Not having fun outside, not having fun with my friends... but laying around in pain. I mean yes, good things are happening this summer, but at the same time, so much not good is happening. I'm watching my health fall to shambles, and not a single thing can be done.

I just wish there was an option to make it easier. I just wish there was an option to make this pain go away. I just wish there was an option to make things better.

We'll always be good company, you and me, yes together we'll be.

March 28th, 2013, I went to the animal shelter and fell in love with a gorgeous orange cat. However, by the time they called our landlord for approval the next day, he was adopted. I was sad, but I knew I'd found another cat. I actually wound up adopting his friend living with him in the shelter, Chica. I hadn't paid much attention to her as I'd fallen for Harry, but that's okay. I think she forgives me.

I think love at first sight is a bit of an understatement. I fell for her, but still looked and played with the other cats. Nope, Chica it was. On the adoption form for Harry, I wrote "I want someone who needs me as much as I need them." And while that someone wasn't Harry, it was Chica, who I renamed Athena. You see, Athena could have been staying at the shelter awhile. She's five years old and polydactyl. People don't always want the older or the imperfect cats. She'd also already been returned to the shelter once.

But Athena is everything I could want in a cat. She knew she was mine pretty quickly, even though I  had my worries at first. They are settled now. Athena wakes me up from my nightmares. I must give out some sign in my sleep I'm distressed, because I suddenly have a kitty waking me up and trying to cuddle me. Athena doesn't let me go to school when I'm too sick to go (which has already happened twice in two weeks, stupid immune system) by plopping down on top of me and demanding I stay in the warm bed with her, fine, you insist.

The poor thing was worried to death about me  when I went to the hospital. Before I'd left, I was too sick to get in bed and was lying on the floor with her blankets. She curled up next to me. While I was gone, she spent most of her time by the door, waiting for me to return. When I came home, I swooped her up and those paws and claws dug straight into my shoulder and she was all over me. Instant face kisses. She then hardly left my side for awhile, but that's okay.

Reunited and it feels so good...

Athena loves getting in places she doesn't belong, but that's because she's a cat. Athena also loves toys that are not her toys. Her favourites include the plastic Easter eggs from my Easter egg basket. Athena also is found of my stuffed Pikachu and her hairbrush. Little bugger.

I find it very telling I adopted Athena on Good Friday, two days before Easter. Easter is about Resurrection and new life. I had just come out of a serious depression due to my Cymbalta reaction and had been suicidal.  Athena helped bring new life into me. My little Fluffy McFluffyButt once again gave me a reason to live.For a little furry baby, who depends on me for food, water, shelter, cuddles, and a clean litter box. For a little furry baby who needs love and affection, just like all of us.

Athena is the Greek goddess of is the goddess of wisdom, courage, inspiration, civilization, law and justice, just warfare, mathematics, strength, strategy, the arts, crafts, and skill. Athena is my courage, Athena is my wisdom. Athena is my inspiration. Hey, maybe because she's the goddess of mathematics, she'll help me pass my class, right?

Athena is my beautiful baby. She's my first cat, and has turned me into a crazy cat lady. But I can live with that. Athena Persephone is my little, furry friend who knows just how much she is loved by both me and my roommate. We've forever lost certain spaces in our desks, bookshelves, and various items of ours... but we've also found someone who is forever in our hearts.

Soft kitty, warm kitty, little ball of fur

Happy kitty, sleepy kitty, purr, purr, purr.

I thank God for giving me my little Greek goddess just when I needed her the most. I thank God for my little fluffy baby, who loves me and needs me. I thank God for my cat, and how He supplied me with my new furry best friend just when I needed her the most. Thank you, God. And thank you Animal Ark in Hastings, Minnesota for allowing me to bring home Miss Athena. :)

Ministry Major Malaise

I wish that I could write a post that fully shows how much depression sucks. I wish that there was a way I could let you take a peek into my world and what it's like living in this world. A world where you don't trust anyone, lest of all yourself. A world where it's like you're reaching and grasping for something, a shred, a spark, but perhaps it just doesn't exist. A world where it feels like a game of Jenga, and that you never know if the next block being removed will cause you to wobble, collapse, or stay sturdy.

But yet, I'm taking a break from writing about depression to try and write about something else. Because it all interlinks together. It all fits together, somehow, someway. It all overlaps and it's all a part of the same puzzle.

I'll be honest, I haven't talked a lot about my week at IHOP. How it completely shattered my faith. How in so many ways, it screwed up how I view God. How it completely broke me. How it played mind games with me. How I went on such an emotional roller coaster. And frankly? I feel stupid! HOW could one week, "onething", affect me so deeply? It was just a week, for God's sake! There's no reason it should have shattered my faith so badly, that it should have so badly demented how I see God. There's no reason, and I beat myself up constantly for it. I know who God is. I know logically, I know all the facts, but convincing my heart to believe what my head knows is a struggle.

I find myself on the brink of self injury. Why, you say? Your scars are fading. You've been free for so long. Why would you throw all that away for just a few moments of solace, of false serenity, of bittersweet relief? IT HELPS. It lets me out of my inner hell, my inner demons, for just a little while, and that is help enough. It's not worth it in the long run, but sometimes we do things that aren't worth it in the long run just because we don't know better. But no, how dare I ruin God's temple. How dare I screw up the gift God gave me. How dare I turn to myself! I'm a pathetic excuse for a Christian because allegedly His blood was enough so I don't need to shed my own. (You will see how this relates, I hope, and this paragraph isn't just random).

I'm struggling to keep my head afloat. I'm struggling to keep normal sleep patterns, eating patterns, living patterns. I find myself escaping to books, video games, TV shows, and movies just to try and get a break from my brain, from my crazy self. And what I hate the most? Several years ago, I'd turn to God. Several years ago, I'd pray. Several years ago, I'd find refuge in my faith. And now I don't. Now my faith, the very thing I'm studying in college, the very thing I desire more than anything to do with my life, is what is scaring me and plummeting me deeper into the pits of despair. I find myself angry at God: angry at Him for allowing that week, angry at Him for allowing all the hellish moments of my life. Then I get angry at myself for getting angry at God because who am I to be so angry at Him? I find myself angry from events at old churches that shook, shattered, and tore my faith to shreds. I find myself furious of what people do in the alleged name of God, the horrible hurtful things they do - some intend to hurt, some because people are just sometimes dunderheads.

And yet, I hurt myself. Because I see how I am not worthy. I see how I am a bad Christian, and maybe all those terrible lies I believe in reality are true. Maybe there's a reason I went through those various church and ministry-place-related struggles, because they're the truth. Logically, I know that's a bunch of bullcrap, but who said my brain is always logical?

And worst of all, I'm terrified. What if I make some mistake in the ministry? What if I totally screw someone up, shake their faith, tear their soul to shreds? How would I ever live with myself? What if I mess someone up as badly as I was messed up? Am I being rational? Am I irrational? Would I have these fears if it were not for how badly I've been hurt "in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit?" What would church pastors say to me? What would fellow Christians say to me? What would atheists say to me?

It's difficult. I've been hurt in so many ways, by so many people. And an age-old saying is "hurting people hurt people." What if... what if I hurt someone? What if my hurt ruins someone else? Is it just a vicious cycle that will never be ended?

Bye Bye Appendix!

So I figured I'd write about having my appendix out.

I had a general malese feeling all last week. I was generally weak and tired, but not too bad from Sunday on. Low grade fever, chills, just had what I figured was a general run-on-the-mill infection. By Wednesday I felt fairly crappy, and didn't even fold most of my laundry by the time I did and just chucked it in the laundry basket. I muddled through thanksgiving and felt worse and worse as the day went on. I woke up on Friday feeling terrible. I spent most of Friday arguing with my friend about if I should call the doctor or not, and she finally convinced me to at least email the nurse advice line. I emailed, and they told me to call. I called, and they told me to go to urgent care. We couldn't go straight to UC as we still had to finish up some things in Hastings, so we did what we needed to do, then headed to the Highland Park clinic.

The clinic sent me straight to the ER, telling me not to eat or drink anything, that it was likely my appendix. I didn't believe them as I'd been told this before and figured it has to be kidney stones or the flu or something. It couldn't REALLY be my appendix this time, could it? I wasn't running a high fever or anything, but after I got triaged and into a room at St Joseph, they ran a CT scan.

Not long after, Anna and I hear the words "something something really appendix." We don't know if they are saying it's really my appendix, or if it's not really my appendix. I've been seen in hospitals before with suspected appendix issues, but clearly it's never been. Welp, this time it was. And that's when the downward spiral started. Pain meds, antibiotics  I quickly got sicker as the night went on because I got my diagnosis as 1:30 am, into a room a 2:30, and surgery was at 6 am. However, appendicitis is very fast acting so I was a sick young lady by the time the surgeon saw me (who commented on how sick I looked). I remember being strapped down on the OR and being given an oxygen mask, but not much after that! The next thing I remember is absolutely flipping out in recovery because I didn't have any friends there (Anna had gone home to sleep until after my surgery) and they hadn't allowed me to bring my bear or blanket with me. I had no comfort objects in my general vicinity  They did give me some pain meds, and I calmed down I guess. I was completely maxed out on pain meds (I remember being told I'd stop breathing if they gave me more, and I was really suffering post op!). and eventually, I'd stabilized to the point where I was returned to my room. When I of course got on my smartphone and made pain and drug induced smart-phone posts all oer the internet. I even emailed professors, concerned about making up course work. Ever the good student, I am.

My friend Susan contacted the church pastor, and he and my roommate actually arrived at the same time. We talked for awhile, and then he left and Anna and I just hung out for awhile. After Anna left, CJ came for a bit. We'e made up as friends and that is a good thing I think. :) We played Pokemon and talked and stuff. I didn't sleep much because I was up all night in a combo of in pain and coughing. It sucked. Steph kept me company when I was up in the middle of the night coughing my lungs out and watching Inuyasha, even though I was a crabby Pikachu. She is a good, good friend.

Sunday was similar with visitors (Susan and Aaron, Anna and her Mom, then later just Anna), doctors, smartphone posts, and watching anime on my laptop. And me freaking out to my professors about ALL THE WORK I HAVE TO DO, and them trying to tell me to just worry about recovering and once I'm healthy we will cross those bridges. Spent a lot of time talking to friends (Steph!) on Messenger too to keep me company. :)

Anna and her parents rearranged the room. Set up Anna's old bed for me. YAY! My stuff got rearranged so I'm in the process of trying to find all my stuff... that's kind of interesting... I'm still running fevers and I'm dizzy.

I did learn a valuable lesson. I'm lucky I was in the ER/hospital as I quickly got sicker. I know that appendix issues can be stress induced and I know I have been stressed lately. I know it's also not very smart to put off going to the doctor when you are sick and I saw how quickly after I got diagnosed the downward spiral happened - even the surgeon commented on how sick I looked. I still don't look all that great. I can't keep putting off going to the doctor because while things worked out this time... I could have wound up with a ruptured appendix and gotten very very sick. I'm still sick (feverish - but it's only 100.8 and the call the doctor point is 101) and dizzy, but this time if it doesn't go away, I will call the doctor even if they think I'm being weird and paranoid for bugging them.

My health is a far too valuable thing to lose. I need to keep myself healthy. I'm horrible stubborn and wanted to do my homework while in the hospital - neither Anna or Steph will let me (nor will they let me do it while recovering at home, how rude!). Perhaps getting so sick is my body's way of telling me that sometimes, it's okay to cut myself some slack and I don't need to set such impossibly high standards for myself. That it's okay to LET myself be sick. I mean, who emails disability services and their professors mere hours before their surgery to arrange make up work? And then follows up just a few hours after, freaking out about how they are going to do everything? Disability services kind of ripped my head off and told me that getting my appendix out was a perfectly acceptable reason to take a break and I really need to take care of myself before I worry about all this. :)

I think I've learned a lot from getting one small body part taken out.

i don't remember the first time i felt unbeautiful, the day i chose not to eat

It's funny the impact just eating has on me. It's a natural human process. It's something we have to do to survive. And yet, it's something that I struggle with and that tears me apart.

I had a good dinner tonight. Best I've had in quite awhile. And because of that, I'm still awake even though it's 2 am. My brain won't be quiet. Lord knows it's a good thing I ate as my weight is the lowest it's been in years. Lord knows I need the calories and nutrients.  But it's difficult.

I know I've lost weight lately. I know I should care more about getting food into my system. But it's difficult to muster up the willingness to care. It's difficult to get food into me. I don't know what I'm going to have to do to get myself to eat. It's terrifying, really, the way this disorder, this sickness controls me.

I don't want to be this way, but I don't know how to be any other. And frankly, to cross to the other side is terrifying. To recover. To be healed. To be whole. It's kind of a paradox because I don't want to get better yet I want to. I want to yet I don't now how. What if I don't like being healthy? What if I gain too much weight? What if I flip to the other extreme and start eating too much?

And now it's approaching 3. And I still can't sleep. And it's taken me THIS long to write this short of an entry. But why? I don't want to finally meet the diagnostic criteria for anorexia, because on one hand while I feel ED-NOS is "not legit", I know it is. I know that you don't have to be severely underweight to die or have serious health effects from an eating disorder.

But at the same thing... it's kind of like a verse in the Bible. "The things I don't want to do I do, the things I want to do I don't." It just feels that I get trapped. Completely Trapped.

And  I don't now what to do. It's hard because I'm having a bad PTSD night. It's well after 3 am, everyone is asleep. Everyone, that is, but me. Because I'm scared to sleep. Because I'm afraid of what will happen if I sleep. Because being scared to sleep as a child is still ingrained in me. because I'm still at my core, terrified.

Because reason says I should have died three years ago

I am told that it is nothing short of a miracle I am alive, be it by the circumstances of life or be it by my own hand. I am told that many other people in my shoes would be homeless, would be drug addicts, would be drunkards. That I shouldn't be alive due to medicine mixups, ailments, and various things I have.

At the same time, I've been told that if I just had more faith I would be healed. If I just believed I could overcome, things would be better. The truth is, I've accepted things to be the way they are. It doesn't mean I don't channel my energy in recovery. What it does mean is like in the serenity prayer, I accept the things I cannot change and must have the courage to change the things I can.

Oh look, I can climb the twisty thing!

Just because I've accepted my disabilities, I feel, doesn't mean that I've let them pull me down. I've really beaten incredible odds. I've overcome so much. I still have much to overcome. I know that due to genetics my general health will continue to demolish itself. I know that if I try to push myself, believing if I just do a little better I can overcome, I will wind up making things a bazillion times worse. To focus on what I cannot do would be foolish. I can play on playgrounds, I can wade in the water. I can take walks. I can so much! Why pull myself down by  bashing myself?

I can play in the water!

I can't control what my father did in the past and I can't deny the impact it has with me today. I can control how I choose to act on the result. I can't control the fact that I'm disabled for likely life, but I can choose to accept it and make the best of my life, no matter how long or short it is. The important thing is that I keep on keeping on, and instead, continue to defy odds. Continue to shoot down the ones who say I can't make it. You know what? I may not make it in the traditional sense. But it doesn't mean I have to give up hope, that I have to quit at life. Instead, it fuels me to go forward, propels me to keep swimming (even though, well, I can't swim) and gives me a reason to survive.

And if you care to find me, look towards the western sky

As someone told me lately, everyone deserves a chance to fly

And if I'm flying solo, at least I'm flying free

To those who ground me take a message back from me!

Tell them how I'm defying gravity, I'm flying high, defying gravity...

Wicked - "Defying Gravity."

And I know, you won't feel this way forever

Not even a month ago, I was started on a new antidepressant. Before I was trapped in depression. Trapped.

But now things are looking up. I'm having horrible side effects, but maybe my nice shrink with a southern accent can find a similar one or maybe he can find something to counteract them.

There is just one week left of classes. One week!! It's at this lovely state in the semester where things are just not going all that well..

But it doesn't mean things are going poorly. I'm at my breaking point stress wise, but things are looking up. It doesn't mean things are perfect, but it means they are looking up. Things won't always be this way. 

Some days are still terrible. Some days I feel like relasping into self injury. I know, I know, it sounds silly and maybe it is. I recently passed the ten year mark from the first time I cut. I still remember that day, still remember it so clearly. And for so long, I thought I was so clever. That I was masking my pain. That I was dealing with my pain. That I had my own little secret way of dealing with the world, hidden under my shirt sleeves. But I was young, I was naive. I didn't know, couldn't know, wouldn't know that by masking the pain, when it came to surface, it only got worse. And so, when once one cut would suffice, now it would take two. Then three. Then four. Until my arms looked horrible. Until I had to move to my legs. And as much as I would welcome the nirvana, the bittersweet Ecstasy of cutting again... it's not worth it. At times I think the break from the pain would be worth it, then I'd deserve it coming back so much.

But the thing is? I don't deserve pain. For years, and I admit, some days I still do, it feels like  it was all my fault. Maybe if I had been a better behaved child. Maybe if I had been cuter. Maybe if I would have run away. Maybe if I would have done drugs. Maybe if I would have drank. Maybe if I would have told someone what my father was doing instead of hiding it, even denying it for years. Maybe if I would have fought back. I had so many chances in high school to say what my dad was doing. There was the time I fell apart in youth group, and one of the sponsors asked if everything was okay at home. There were the countless doctor appointments that asked if I was safe at home. There were the teachers that reached out to me.

The thing was, I was young and I was scared. Would people have believed me? Would things have gotten worse had I told? I don't know. But the thing is, it's not my fault. It wasn't my fault. It was never my fault.

And even if, for some reason, it was my fault, it doesn't make any of it okay. It doesn't make my childhood okay, even if I did mess up at times. It doesn't make what my dad did right, not remotely. And even if my actions DID cause him to act that way, it wasn't right. Not in any way shape or form.

That said, I started this blog taking one track, and it took another. Things are looking up. I'm finding hope again. Moreso, I'm enjoying things again. I'm not playing games just as an escape, but I'm enjoying them. It's the little things. I'm starting to sleep again, even! Sleep is good. Usually.

And now I'm going to play Final Fantasy 8 and talk on MSN for a bit before going to bed early, so tomorrow I can talk on MSN, clean, and do homework. So I can do what I love on Sunday and play music in church then come home and study and clean. I'm going to close this entry with lyrics to one of my favourite songs. ^_^

Spoken - Promise.
(Verse 1)
Yet another day seems like its wasted
You don't feel youre any closer to the prize
A dead end job where there's no future
Praying that tomorrow things wont be this way

(Chorus)
Things will get better this I promise you
And I know that you won't feel this way forever
Things will get better this I promise you
And I know loneliness wont last forever

(Verse 2)
Yet another day, another tired morning
You're catching up to your intentions
Your'e thinking life has to be easier than this
Maybe tomorrow things wont be this way

(Chorus)
Things will get better this I promise you
and I know it won't feel this way forever
Things will get better this I promise you
and I know we can find a way to make it better
things will get better this I promise you 

(Outro)
Things will get better this I promise you
And I know it won't feel this way forever
Things will get better this I promise you
And I know loneliness won't last forever
Things will get better this I promise you
And I know things will get better this I promise you
And I know things will get better this I promise you
And I know loneliness won't last forever

Though it won't be today, some day I'll hope again

It's kind of funny of how what once I controlled now controls me  What I once used as a way to control what was spinning so rapidly out of control now controls me. It doesn't matter anymore how little I weigh, all that matters is that the pounds drop off. It doesn't matter that just eating lunch or supper or a snack should be easy, it's a fucking battle. I can't tell you how many times I open the fridge, the freezer, the cabinet, and start crying from the thought of having to eat.

Eating is a natural thing, it's something we all have to do. And yet... I can't. It's not as simple as just eating something, it's not as simple as just getting better. I don't know how to do. I don't know how to eat normal. I don't know how to find the balance. I can't find the reasons to hope, to hold on, to hang in there, to eat.

It's at the point where it's not really about weight in some ways - it's a game I can play with myself, it's a form of self injury, it's a method of control. It doesn't help that I have to avoid certain foods for health reasons, it makes eating that much harder. What if I screw up and get glutened? What if I make myself sick? Why do I eat anyway? Why do I keep fighting?

I hate this eating disorder. I feel like it's eating me alive, inside and out. And that I cannot hope, dream, wish, or keep fighting as long as I have it... and I hate it.

I found a reason for me to change who I used to be

Or: 100 reasons to live, part 3. See part 1 and part 2

20. Neil Patrick Harris. He's cute, my first true celeb crush, he can sing, he and his partner may be the most ADORABLE gay couple ever. Look, NPH doing a scene from RENT, my favourite musical!!!

21. BUNNEHS. LITTLE BABY BUNNEHS.

the bunny, the bunny, whoah I love the bunny, i don't love my mom or my dad just the bunny..

22. Texting. I like texting. Texting is fun. Dead people can't text. 

23. Jimmy Johns.   Yummy sammichs. GF options. Win!

24. "Math, science, history, unraveling the mystery, that all started with a big BANG!" Come on, I'd miss Sheldon. Well, I can't miss anything if I'm dead because I'm not able to miss things. But, you know, I could never joke about sitting in Sheldon's spot. Or making fun of his Trek-ness. And Sheldon is a fun person to joke about. 

25. There's still a lot of video game consoles I need to own. I can't die before completing my mission of having a ton of old skool and new skool consoles, plus another Commodore. 

Iz floppy. And fun to play with. And just flop around. And get awesome looks for owning.

26. I have to defeat the odds and prove I can overcome all this junk. What a story I'll have!

27. Shiny things. I like shiny things. Not just shiny pokemon, but other shiny things! 

28. Sunsets. Sunsets are beautiful, and it's such a calm, peaceful time of evening.

29. The ocean. I've only seen the Atlantic. Gotta see the others! 

This is from one of my trips to Miami

30. Making random happy faces in random places. It's fun and who knows? Maybe some sad person will see the happy face and then smile, right?

Y U B SAD? HAZ HAPPEH! 

this is your life, are you who you want to be?

I'm kind of freaked out at the moment. Okay, let's rephrase that. I'm very freaked out. I very much want to go in the ministry. I want to teach, to reach, to help. But I don't think that Director of Christian Outreach is right. I'm not made to witness to people! I can't do these face to face convos, calling people to faith! I can't help a pregnant woman, because I don't fully believe that abortion is wrong. I can't help a gay person, because I don't know that it's wrong to be gay and I've become more accepting of it over the years.

But how can I be a director of Christian outreach when bringing people into the church freaks me out? I don't want to bring new people in - I want to help the ones who are here. I go into a cold sweat, panic, puke, cry, clam up, and my mind goes blank when I have to do this stuff - even though I know it all logically. I can do it over a messenger. But if i have to do it in person? It's a living hell. I'm not made to do this! I want to teach! I want to read about Mark (my favourite gospel) and make it relatable! I want to play with children! I want to do young adult ministry! (I can't deal with teenagers :P) I don't want to pull new people into the church! I'm fine with helping the broken, Lord knows i want to help those who have been broken be it by the church or by life or both. But I'm not the one to pull them into a relationship with Christ.

I've been struggling with this for awhile. It doesn't help that my eating disorder is out of control, it doesn't help that my pain and depression and ADD are not medicated. (I go to pick up my Remeron  tomorrow). It doesn't help that I'm struggling to pass math. It doesn't help that I'm trying to find an apartment, move off campus, line up doctor's appointments. And at times it feels like I'm doing it all single-handedly. It doesn't help that I feel so stressed out.

It's like I'm playing Pokemon, and I'm up against a trainer who has the attack that's super effective against me. We're down to a grass pokemon and a fire pokemon, and I have no other pokemon left other than my poor Leafeon and they're kicking ass with Rapidash. I can't flee from a trainer battle, and so attack after attack is hurled at me until I faint, until I black out.

Y U PICK ON ME? THAT NO IZ NICE.

Ahem. Anyway, I'm struggling with this. This is my life, is it who I want to be? I try to make the changes to make things better but it's hard. And there are some things I cannot change. I guess it's like the serenity prayer:

"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

Courage to accept the things I can,

And wisdom to know the difference."

It just seems like such a struggle some days. Every attack is super effective, and wears me down more and more. I just don't know what to do anymore and how to keep pulling through. 

Broken-Hearted Teenager

I'm pulling out some of my younger poetry from, well, when I was younger. It's terribly written, but it's who I was then.

Wednesday, Oct. 03, 2001 - 3:17 p.m.

They tell me to make a Christmas Wish

To wish for whatever I please

And the wish for I want

Gets me down on my knees

I do not wish for money

I do not wish for toys

I do not wish for clothes

Or other little joys

My wish is for my Daddy

For him to take time to think

Before he decides to sip

His achocalic drink

Wednesday, Oct. 17, 2001 - 9:56 p.m.
If you had a choice
Between beer and family
Let me ask you a question-
What would your choice be?

Let me tell you my father's choice
One that brought so much pain
A choice that brought me
Tears that fall like rain

He picked his beer
Over the family
At times I feel
It's more valued then me

How could he pick
His beer over me
Hurt and destory
His whole family?

I'll never understand
I'll never know why
I'll be able to stop
The tears which I cry

If you have that choice-
Please choose your family
Because I come from
Experience, you see.


Monday, Jan. 07, 2002 - 8:45 p.m.


Even though you hear my laugh
You don't know what I hide
For as the joyous sound comes out
Tears are flowing inside

A smile may be on my face
But that smile's a lie
For hidden, deep within
I frankly want to die

I may seem happy
But I am depressed
I may seem joyful
But I am upset

And when the tears
Brim in my eyes
Telling you it's allergies
Is one of my lies

So when you ask me
"How do you do?"
I might not tell
The truth to you

So remember when you see me....
Looks aren't always what lays outside
For with every smile I smile
Another tear I cry



Tuesday, Jan. 22, 2002 - 8:43 p.m.
I sit back and wonder
If I would to die
If anyone would care
If anyone would cry

I sit back and ponder
The meaning of life
Why I was given
All this pain and strife

Friendships fading away
Old friends are gone
Time to pack up
Time to move on

Schoolwork is falling
I'm starting to fail
I'm starting to cry
Starting to wail

Family is shattering
My heart is in two
I'm hiding the pain
In my big eyes of blue

Mabye if I just
Curl up and die
No one will care
No one will cry

Good-bye.



I was so broken all those year ago. And I'm so sad I was so lost, so alone.
If only I could go back and tell 14-year-old Nora that it gets better.
That she'll find friends! That she'll find love! That she'll find hope!
That she'll break ties with those asshats, that she'll break FREE of that pain. That she'll still fight with PTSD, ED-NOS, major depression, chronic pain... but she'll find a support system.

And that her life is beautiful.

100 Reasons For Living: Part 2

See part 1 here

11. BACON. Bacon is really, really yummy. It smells good, it tastes good, and HEY IT HAS PROTEIN. PROTEIN IS GOOD.

This little piggy will be my breakfast some day....

12. Psychology. I love studying it, I love learning about it, I love putting it into practice. It drives me, it makes my blood run, and it makes me so happy. Dead people can't study psychology.

13. SCRUBS!!

14. Playing on playgrounds. Pretty sure the kiddies would be creeped out if a corpse went down the slide or if a zombie was swinging...

15. I am loved, I am accepted, I am wanted.

16. I have a story to tell and it hasn't been told yet. Maybe I can cheer people up, inspire people ,leave a legacy with my story.

17. I haven't been overseas yet. Gotta be alive to do that. Well, unless someone drops my ashes out of an airplane crossing the Pacific ocean. But that's kind of morbid.

18. I'm still in college! I need a degree!

19. MARIO!! 

20. Dead people can't ride horses and I want to ride horses again. :D

U ride me, plz?

100 Reasons for Living: Part 1

1. Pokemon. After all, dying before I catch them all would just be depressing, now wouldn't it?

That car is kind of badass.

2. Finally getting my drivers license! It may happen this summer!

3. Getting my own apartment for the first time. With an awesome friend.

4. My friends. They would be very sad pandas if I died suddenly. 

Steph says I can't die until I'm in my 90s. 

5. Video game soundtracks. Seriously. They're beautiful.

"I cannot find my voice."

I have this habit of locking down inside myself. Oh, there is so much happening. Images dancing in my head, sights, smells, sounds, twisting together, tangling, intertwined. It's safer to stay silent. It's safer not to speak. I'm afraid to speak out. Speaking out senior year and being shushed solidified that fear. I was only eighteen. I was a senior in high school. And I was heartbroken. I wouldn't wish the choices I made that cold October morning to my worst enemy. But yet, the choices let me to where I am today.


I've grown so much since my senior year. I should hope so, considering I'll have graduated six years ago come June. Six years is a long time, and even as I got my diploma that warm June evening, I had no idea the changes that would come over the next few years. I had no idea I would legally be declared disabled before 21. I had no idea I would sever ties with my mother as well. I had no idea that I would be called into the ministry. I had no idea I wouldn't finish college in Canada and that in 2012 I'd still be working on my undergraduate degree. I had no idea I'd live in frick-fracking MINNESOTA where it's frick-fracking cold. I had no idea I'd still be battling PTSD, cutting, eating disorder... I suppose I thought it'd magically stop, but NEWSFLASH: IT WON'T.

I had no idea that both my grandparents would die before I completed my undergraduate degree. I had no idea that I would make beautiful friendships, meet my future best friends, and go through heart-wrenching grief. I had no idea of any of that.

I had no idea at age 24 people would STILL think I'm 14. Heh. Funnily enough, side story. I was on my way to a doctor's appointment and I mentioned how I still had a specialist at the Children's Hospital. "Oh, you could easily pass for 14." Me: "Mmhmm." "You'll like  more as you get closer to your 30's!" *silence* "I'm 24." "WHAT?!" "Yeah, I'll be 25 in June." "...." "You're not 18?" 18 is the oldest I've been mistaken for in awhile, so I suppose that should make my happy. Anyway. Done with the side story.

Tori Amos said in her song "sometimes I hear my voice and it's been here, silent all these years." Problem is, I don't hear my voice. Sure, I blog and I write and I talk. But I bottle so much up. I keep so much inside me. And I don't know how to pull it out. There are things about my past that repulse me, that I haven't told anyone. And it scares me that it's there. And I don't want to talk about it because I'm afraid people, even those who want to help me so badly, won't like me anymore. Will think horrible things. Won't understand. And so, I carry the burden.

When will I realize how stupid that is?
When will I realize how dumb that is?
When will I find the way to pull out my voice and be strong?

He's the only friend who ever peed in a cup for me

Nick was my friend. I was an idiot for letting petty disagreements get in the way of our friendship, and completely lost contact with him - even being childish and deleting him from my Facebook friends. Which, in retrospect, was stupid and pathetic, considering that he was one of the people who was there for me in one of my darkest phases, when I just needed a friend the most. He'd stay up with me when I was sick. He once skipped Streetlight to watch A Little Princess with me after taking all my sharp objects from me, so that I not only couldn't cut myself but so that I would have a friend. He helped me lobby for the back surgery I so badly needed and he was there (along with other friends, but this post is about Nick :P) when I was having medical drama. He helped me process some things, and showed me God in a way I hadn't seen him until that point. We enjoyed watching Scrubs on random nights for no reason other than, well, we felt like it! Thanks, buddy, for introducing me to the awesomeness that is Scrubs.

I'm bitter and angry about myself for the way things played out, and  I suppose I need to let that go. I'm sorry, Nick, for being a stubborn idiot. I don't think that you were right in that series of three slightly heated convos, but Lord knows I wasn't fully right either. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry for being such a buttmuffin.

But all and all - Nick was the only friend who ever peed in a cup for me. Out of context, that's a really awkward quote. It was June of 2010, and I was living in the hotel-turned-dorm at Northwestern. It was previous to my gluten intolerance being diagnosed, and I was incredibly sick. Nick gave me a ride to the University of Minnesota Medical Center ER and stayed with me (well, on my computer. I later hijacked his Facebook status *grin*. Buddy, you never did learn to log out on my computer :P) during it. Problem: they demanded a urine sample and wouldn't leave until I gave them one. Problem 2: I don't pee on demand. Solution: Nick takes the cup out my hand, goes into the bathroom, and PEES IN THE FRICK-FRAKING CUP FOR ME. Me: "O.O NICK YOU CAN'T DO THAT!" Nick: "I just did." He then goes and hands the cup to the nurse. "Here, she went." Me: "NICOLAS!" After the nurse left, he turns to me and asked me if they could tell he was a boy from his urine and if they'd find me. Me: "Um, not sure?" We were very relieved, let me tell you, when the nurse came back and announced I wasn't with child. Naw, really?

The funny part? The next day I got a phone call from the hospital, telling me that my urine sample showed a kidney infection and to see my primary doctor. Me: "Um...". That was an awkward text to Nick, let me tell you.

I don't think that Nick peeing in the cup was the right thing, and I do feel kind of bad about it. But, how many people can say someone would pee in a cup for them?

I'm sorry I was an idiot, Nick. I'm sorry that I let our friendship fall due to my stubbornness and slightly idiotic streak. I'm sorry that I wasn't there for you the way you were there for me. You were one of the few people who truly understand my medical stuff as while not all our disorders were the same, we had many similar ones. I wish I could have shared with you stories of my surgery recovery. I wish you could have seen my morphine-ridden poetry that I wrote post op. I wish we could have traded spinal fusion/back rod stories. I'm sure we will one day in Heaven. I'm sure it'll happen one day - on that glorious day when we ALL are without our bodily pain and we can celebrate in that freedom together at last.

I love you.

Every lament is a love song,
yesterday, yesterday,
I still can't believe you're gone
Every lament is a love song,
yesterday, yesterday,
So long, my friend, so long. 
-Switchfoot

And she fools all of her friends into thinking she's so strong but she still sleeps with the light on

My bed is soaked with sadness
My sadness has no end has no end
A downward of  spiral of dispair
That I keep falling in 
I need you how, how I need you 
(...)
Your silence is like death to me,
so won't you hear my desperate plea?
-I Need You, The Swift

It's hard some days to get myself out of bed. My alarm goes off, a few swear words slip past my lips, a stuffed animal may fly across the room. I'm not a morning person by nature, never have been. But when you're trapped in depression, when your greatest enemy is that reflection in the mirror, sometimes hauling yourself out of bed is one of the most difficult things of the day.

I suppose I make it sound like I'm drowning in depression. Some days I am. Some days I wonder why I get out of bed when I've barely slept the night before and daytime is the only time I'm able to actually sleep. When I'm running on two to three hours a sleep a night, and a couple hour nap during the day. Why I bother even trying to hope, trying to dream, when it seems like my hopes and dreams and wishes will just be crushed. It's hard.

Living with depression is like fighting a monster every morning. My days and nights are reversed. I just want solace - just some relief from all the pain I'm trapped in. It feels like just doing simple things - hanging out with friends, eating, hauling my butt out of bed, doing the laundry, drain all the effort and energy out of me and I'm left alone with my thoughts.

All I want to do is be free from this demon I battle. I want to be truly happy again, and not a person that I want to hide from. But I don't know how. I don't know how to open up about the past and allow people - friends, therapists, pastors, et al, help me. I don't know how to let people understand and even begin to give me a chance to have hope again.

For as much as I want to hope, dream, laugh, love, and carry on with my life, it scares the everliving shit out of me. All I've known for over a decade is depression. All I've known is bleakness. All I've known is living in fear and terror. And as exhilarating and thrilling the other side might be - it's completely unknown. It's something I've never felt before. What if it's too much? What if I don't like it? What if I taste the other side, and I don't like it at all? What if it hurts? What if I get a sampling of it, and I wind up falling back into depression? Would the relapse be that much worse because I've tasted the other side? Or would it be better once I pull out of the funk again, because I know what the other side is like? 

I get sick of trying various antidepressants. I get sick of feeling like this - I don't WANT to be like this! But how do I attempt something I've never tried, how do I try something I just don't know? How do I even attempt to spread my wings and fly, when every time I've tried to fly I've fallen?

Depression sucks. I'll leave you with Adventures in Depression because that sums it up better than I ever could.

I don't know how you do it

"I don't know how you do it."

I've been told it for years, really. "I don't know how you do it." The truth of the matter is? I don't know how I do it, either.

I wish I did. Thing is, when you have to do it, you do it. There's nothing impressive about what I've done. I've been paying my own bill since I was 21, managing my old medical stuff, all that stuff. It's what I have to do.

People tell me they couldn't do what I do. Truth is? I can't do what I do. You just have to throw yourself in and DO it.

Me? Stubborn? Naw, 'ya don't say.

Whoever coined the phrase "Stubborn as a mule" clearly had me in mind.

I remember in 2007 being asked what my best trait is.

"I'm STUBBORN."
"You mean assertive, right? Stubborn is a bad thing."
*pause*
"Nope, I'm stubborn."

It's true - I'm fiercely stubborn. I don't like change, I don't like things being different in any way, shape, or form. I like things just the way they are.

And so I cling onto - be it bad or be it good. And in a very sad way, my stubbornness hinders my recovery of depression, ptsd, and ED-NOS. How does it hinder it? Because in many ways, I'm just too stubborn to change. Things the way they are aren't great, but it's all I know. And I like what I know, even if it's not ideal. I like the predictability of the way I sometimes run things, and I feel that if I keep things that way, it's for the best.

I don't think it's a bad thing to be stubborn. There are times when it's a really good skill, such as when people are being a pain in the butt and you just need to get something done. It channels into determination sometimes. Thing is - I'm stubborn about things that I shouldn't be stubborn about.

I think my stubbornness helped me survive my childhood, but now I need to find a different coping skill and a different way to control things. I'm a control freak, I'll fully admit it, and it goes along with being stubborn. I'm well known for pushing myself way too far, because I want to prove I CAN do it, even when I'm sick as a dog or crawling in pain and really should be curled up in bed with a piping hot cup of tea and reruns of Fraiser. But yet - I want to prove to people that I'm capable and that I WILL do things my way, dammit!

It's not a healthy mindset. I need to learn that it's OK to listen to other people's advice and sometimes being stubborn is a bad thing. Sometimes I do have to let someone else take the reins, and trust that things will turn out okay if I don't do things exactly how I plan.