Goodbye

It's time to bring this blog to an end. Not sure if it ever had a beginning, but I had fun with it anyway! Running Alone is coming to a close. I am no longer running alone, although sometimes I do feel very much isolated from the rest of the world.

I am finishing up an Intensive Outpatient Program for my eating disorder. I have so much anxiety about this. That eating disorder center is the one place where I actually feel liked. I'm terrified to leave. I don't know if I'm ready. I made friends there; people I can be totally raw with. People I can cry in front of and yell in front of and explain the ugliness that is an eating disorder. And they get it. Not only do they get it; they're going through it with me.

These past few weeks have been difficult, but helpful. My body was challenged, my mind was challenged, and most of all, my emotions were challenged. I remember my first night in treatment, sitting there wondering if I would be “the weird one” again. However, I realized that we were all “the “weird one,” and that was totally okay.

I could come into group and talk about how huge I felt, how ugly I felt, how alone I felt. And instead of confused looks and statements telling me “I shouldn't think that,” I had people telling me that my feelings were totally okay to have. Were they valid? Not always, but I had people there who understood. They got it.

These weeks have been some of the most pivotal in my life. I guess I should look at my victories: the weight gain (hard for an anorexic to be happy about, but I am happy about it,) the new mindset, the coping skills, the thought-challenging, the knowledge, the friends. I made it through this program and I'm coming out of it stronger.

There's still a long way to go. Yet, as I say in treatment, I “just keep going.” So I will keep doing just that.  

This Adult Stuff

There's childhood, there's adulthood, and then there's that not-quite-either limbo that 23-year-olds such as myself inhabit. We linger in this purgatory of uncertainty and confusion for months, years, and then...

And then? We get out of it. Yet the how and the when are different for each person. I recently spent a weekend with my two best girlfriends, one of whom I haven't seen since our college graduation. Oh, how wonderful to see these friends! Friends in a true sense of the word (since I take friendship rather seriously.)

We got to talking about post-grad life. Ah, the bliss of being in college. The faux-independence of living under the umbrella of your campus. College-organized events (with free food,) classes that give us “real-world application,” and a pantry that never runs out (even though the dining hall can be quite atrocious.) You complete the requirements, b.s. some essays, and are handed perhaps the greatest piece of paper you ever held in your hands-your college diploma. The proof that YES, YOU HAVE ACHIEVED SOMETHING GREAT!

The novelty doesn't last too long for most. Welcome to the real “real world.” What are these envelopes addressed to me that keep showing up in the mailbox? Not cool. Creditkarma tells me my credit history got a “D” grade. Excuse me, I don't get “D's.” You are talking to a long-term honors student! News flash: Real. Life. Doesn't. Care.

Ouch.

Anyway, back to my friends. We were sitting together over a buffet dinner. And as I contemplated that I should probably stuff my face because this $12.00 meal plus decent tip is going to have to hold me for the next 3 days because I'm broke as a joke...we discussed this “real world” business.

Keep in mind that my friends took the practical route. One majored in Business and the other in Accounting. While they spent their 4 years in college learning about economics and business trends and how to file your taxes, I was being a Creative, taking Erotic Literature and watching Experimental Film (I'll just let you imagine what that entails.) I took a Philosophy of Yoga class and sketched nudes. Then I escaped to Ecuador for a year because oh crap-I didn't have a game plan for my post-grad life.

October 18^th 2014. Friend A has just taken her final CPA exam and bought a Mercedes in May. Friend B is chugging away at her business job while exploring a transfer opportunity in Arizona. Kaitlin is teaching part-time ESL classes online and just calculated her yearly income. CUE MENTAL BREAKDOWN!

Okay, so I bypassed a mental breakdown, but I did go through a week of perpetual worry about my situation. So much so that Friend B demanded her business-savvy boyfriend to write me a lengthy letter about how I am not doomed for eternity. Basically, it's not wise to compare yourself to someone else. Ever. We all have our own interests and gifts. We all also have struggles, no matter how successful we may seem. My friends may be business-minded, and that's great-for them. It does not mean that they too don't have huge hurdles to face. Besides, there are opportunities in any field. I'm a firm believer in chasing your dreams. Idealistic? Sure. Impossible? I don't think so. 

Rome wasn't built in a day. But I wasn't an architecture major, so I probably shouldn't even use that idiom. Why can't there be a degree for Corny Writing?

Wake Me Up, September's Over!

Humans are just meant to socialize. Have you ever eaten a meal alone in a restaurant? It's awkward, right? Or maybe you've seen a crowd having fun in the park. Don't you want to join in? It feels strange to stand there and watch, to remain isolated and separate from the rest.

I've been back from Ecuador 3 months now. Each 30-day period, I find myself reflecting on new ideas, discoveries, and improvements. I'm taking baby steps, but I can work with the slow-and-steady approach.

I'm working and I'm enjoying it. I'm meeting new people, and I'm enjoying that even more. Which brings me back to the socialization thing. It's not always easy to emerge from that comforting pace of life that feels so safe and stable. I understand that. It was much easier to curl up in my bed and keep company with books than to investigate and explore who and what is out there in the world. Well, there's the good, the bad, and the ugly. I'll be exposed to all of that. Yet, I've got a good head on my shoulders, a core group of friends who love me, and a God who loves me even more, so I know I'm going to be okay if I step out into the world and try this whole living thing.

I met a new friend this past weekend. I never would've met him if I stayed huddled up in my room all day. However, I took a chance, made the leap, and realized that there are decent people out there who share my values. I think that's one of the great things about humans; we are the same, yet different. We all know what fear feels like...and love, hope, pain, sorrow, happiness. We have interests that differ from each other, but we all understand what a smile means, we can sense when someone is in distress or feels anger. We can navigate some pretty intense situations! It's amazing! (If you're Eileen or Lynne, you get this phrase.)

So this new friend is great. He's a rare breed of human as well. No, he's got 2 eyes and his nose and mouth are in the proper places. He has no missing limbs either. What he does have is an actual family unit. I know I'm not alone in the fact that I haven't had a sit-down family dinner in ages, or that the parent who lives with me takes little interest in what I'm doing. And I'm not complaining about it; it is what it is. (Is this why I don't want kids?! That's for another time...)

Anyway, hearing my friend talk about his family got me thinking about “family” in the United States. In a society that rewards efficient schedules, no free time, and grab-and-go meals, and of course INDIVIDUALITY, is it no wonder that family has taken on a somewhat new meaning? I live with a father and a sister, but we're more like residents in a boarding house than a unit. I remember being so touched by the solidarity of families in Ecuador. People make it a point to sit down with each other and chat about the day's events. They cook with each other and savor the meal together, taking their time instead of rushing through it to get to football practice, or worse-watching it in front of a television while ignoring their relatives.

When you see someone you know across the street, in Ecuador it is very rude to simply nod hello or wave. You cross the street, kiss the person, and spend at least 5 minutes talking about their family and how they're doing. At first, this seemed like an awful lot of work, but I came to really enjoy it. I felt human again! My robotic sensibilities were melting away! It was OKAY to put down what I was doing and take interest in another human being. The world was not going to stop spinning if I tried something new and different. Actually, the world sped up and I enjoyed a nice ride. It wasn't me against the world.

These are things I think about as I end September 2014. Last year I was in South America, trying to be a teacher, traversing a land previously unknown. This year, I'm wandering about a land I thought I knew, and realizing there is so much more out there.  

Seahorses

-Did you know that seahorses are very poor swimmers? I'm among friends.
-Seahorses swim upright.
-Seahorses will court each other before breeding.
-They can change color very quickly to match their surroundings.

They flit about, up and down. Bobbing along, dusk to dawn.
I want to join the seahorses; I want to hug their necks and let them
carry me through the strange new world.
The seahorses are tiny, but I can get tiny, too. I can make myself smaller;
ever smaller. I'm a speck, I'm a bit of dust! I can trail along with the seahorses.
We'll be a little family gang.
Yellow, green, blue, and violet.
Indigo, red, orange, pink.
They are like mobile coral reefs; they are upper-class seaweed.
Oceanic ferns with trumpet noses. If I delve into the depths of the sea,
will I hear their siren song? With chests puffed out, and tails curlicued,
and papery skin stretched taut over bones; they are like delicate flowers.
Flowers that swim! They will teach me to maneuver the blue expanse
of vast wetness. My fear will dwindle and be smaller than seahorse bones.
And even more fragile. Together, we will break the wall of terror that pervades
my mind. Just like water, the fear will drip and trickle, then gush away.
I am free! I am with the seahorses, patiently floating; the marine life washing
around me. I am not drowning, I am buoyed by the seahorses. I hear their song.
I open my mouth; I breathe in life. I exhale and the bubbles surround us.
We flit about, up and down. Bobbing along, dusk to dawn. Together we
navigate the paths; together we are a colorful breeze passing through.  

Normal, Not Normal, Who Cares?

“Are you coming over today?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Good. It's feels normal when you come over.”

“I'm normal?”

“Having you in the house is normal now.”

Essentially, there is no 'normal.' Maybe there is an average, or a dominating trend in society, but who decided what is 'normal' and what is 'not normal?' Being someone who has been called 'not normal' for most of my life, I take pride in the fact that I tend to go against the norm. (Hey, look! My face isn't buried in an electronic device permanently attached to my palm!)

Getting back to the conversation above, it was between my sister's boyfriend and me. Having this 22-year-old male passing out in a food coma on our couch or discussing race cars and football in his booming voice with my dad gives me this strange feeling of comfort. Wow, someone outside the realm of my sister, my dad, and me can function in our house?! I am constantly bogged down by the insecurity that our house has this gross musty smell infesting the carpet that's older than me, and the dirt encrusted in random objects that no one bothered to clean is less-than-appealing. Even I found the house repulsive when I returned from a year away.

Yet, finally, it's not just Dad, Sister, Me. Dad, who goes to work all day and disappears on weekends to shoot pool. Sister, who is either at class, at work, and will act as if communication would kill her. And me, who works from home, finds refuge in my bike, and wonders how long I'll be living here.

Enter Sister's Boyfriend. Male. Talks of sports, cars, and can eat more than I thought humanly possible. Sister's Boyfriend, for whom I keep a bottle of TUMS in the cabinet. Sister's Boyfriend, who bought me waffles at 1am when I was having one of those nights. Sister's Boyfriend, who makes me feel like an actual person, not 'the sister, so I have to be nice her.' I believe he's my friend, and a gateway to spending more time with my sister.

I've come to terms with my family. There is no cookie-cutter family. No manual that says “Family does this at this time with this person in this place. They live here, and have this pet, and they name this pet this.” We live in our row home in Upper Darby; we make do with the neighbors who curse their kids out, and the death of the stray cat we tried to save. We are related by blood, but not interests. While it sucks to accept this, that's just what I'm doing. We are not all going to sit at the dinner table or hug each other. I love them, and they know that. And that's enough for them.

I've got to make it enough for me.

That's where Sister's Boyfriend comes in. And my other friends. I may not have loads of friends, but the ones I've got are pretty damn good. You can't choose your family, so choose your friends wisely. And even if all those friends just deserted me, guess what? I've got my Lord, who is the best friend you could ever imagine. So, I'm gonna be all right.

Still, it is nice to see a new face in the house. And even nicer when the new face decides to stay a while.  

Desensitized

     It is scary that we now live in a world where tragedy is no longer news; it's sports. As we eat our Cheerios and watch the daily newscast, we crunch away at the cereal while listening to tales of school shootings, suicide bombers, and civil unrest. We gulp down our coffee while gulping down the latest story of neighbors killing each other, and we do not for one second have a gag reflex.

     What is happening? It is now a world of brother versus brother. Brother in a larger context; not blood and family lines, but in terms of the human race. That person of a completely different ethnicity, economic background, or religion is your brother (or sister.) Language is only a small frog leap, yet many people make it (and other factors) huge mountainous barriers that separate us. If we accept the challenge to don some climbing gear and traverse that mountain, we will actually discover that it is nothing more than a hill, maybe with some weeds poking up from the ground.

     The language barrier has been broken time and again by many people (famous and little-known.) Religious differences have been set aside in those rare, beautiful moments when people just come together to love each other. To love one another not as a Christian, or a Muslim. Not as an American, or a Russian. Not as a “minority” or “one of the few who still has some class.” Individuals and groups of people have joined together to celebrate each other; that they all have a beating human heart.

     Everyone has fears, hopes, dreams, desires, strengths, weaknesses, talents, faults; experiences that can teach someone something. Everyone has a person that they love to pieces. At the end of the day, when the sun descends and darkness falls, everyone has the same thoughts of a goal they wish to achieve, or a person they would do anything for, or a fear that keeps needling at them relentlessly. So why do we tend to think that we are all so different?

     Look at the next stranger you see. What do you notice? Their race? What kind of clothing they are wearing? What language they are speaking? Can you look beyond that? Can you see the essence of the human being; that this person standing before you is just like you...a person with thoughts and feelings?

     If a person upsets you, do you blame it on their race or ethnicity? Do you blame it on some invented fault that you imagined for them? If you find a person extremely admirable, do you attribute it to their being so similar to you? Do you search for the ways that this person shares some kind of characteristic or experience with you?

     As you drink that second cup of coffee and skim the side-bar newspaper column about the raging fighting in some country thousands of miles away that you have very little knowledge of, can you step back and imagine that the people in this country are just like you? They get hungry and thirsty. They feel cold and warmth. They long to be comforted. They get angry and happy. They are capable of laughing and crying. They breathe in and out, just like you. They have emotions just like you.

Or is it easier to just turn the page and skip to the Entertainment section and read about some teen idol's latest DUI?  

08.21.14.

Things on my mind:

     In a world where we measure our happiness based on “likes” and the race to post our vacay photos, job promotion news, and status updates about our latest financial indulgence; is it a wonder it's so easy to get down in the dumps? I don't think more people are depressed these days than in the past, I just think it's easier for them to be depressed.

     Maybe good things happened to me today. Maybe they didn't. But either way, I don't need to post it on Facebook and clog the news-feeds of my 36 Facebook friends. Friends meaning: I would send a hand-written letter to you because I value the time we've spent together and I wish to keep in touch...and Facebook's an easy way to do that.

     I live in a world where the white-picket fence ideal is having 500+ friends and a bunch of likes on that uploaded photo of your day trip to the ocean.

     If you're on vacation, and you don't have a job, is it still vacation?

     I figured out my life the other day.

     Age 23-30. Build up the writing portfolio, sending submissions to various publications. Work job in museum setting and learn about art history. *Ideal: get a Masters in anthropology somewhere in this time frame.* Age 30: Get job with NatGeo; be their writer who gets sent to cool places like Polynesia to research the culture and write about it. Fall in love with my partner/photographer. We live the nomadic life as a pair of wandering sea turtles. Not sure why I chose sea turtles, since I hate being in open bodies of water. It just seemed very pleasant. So, the sea turtle scheme stays.

     Why didn't I think of this plan before?

     The cat is sitting in the windowsill, basking. Basking, basking. Tummy rises, falls. Fur is brown, then golden, then white, then golden; brown. Up and down. Up and down.

     A sound. Ears prick. A mouse! No, the wind. No...a fly. Rise. All four feet, padding on carpet. This carpet reeks! Sniff. No good. The fly! Buzz, buzz. Buzz. Must catch. Pad, pad, pad. There he is! Leap! Snatch. Miss. Pad, pad.

     A sound. Ears prick. The girl! The skinny one. Ah, yes, behind the ears, get behind the ears! What's this? She sees the fly. My name? She's saying my name. She's pointing to the fly.

     That is not my job.