Thoughts on a Lunch Break?

The sun hasn't been shining for a week, and the cloudy gray skies are starting to wear on my usually chipper spirit. I'm not giving up. I'm not letting it get to me. But shit! It's hard to keep fighting when it's so absurdly cold outside. It's April for crying out loud. Must. Keep. Swimming. The sun will return.

[here comes the sun, little darling]

And if it's not the sun that is causing this sudden bout of uncertainty, than it's most likely because these jeans fit differently. Which is due only to having just been washed and not because I've suddenly gained 100 pounds over night. (But they are making me crazy.)

I'm okay. I'm okay I AM OKAY. There is no need to panic. I'm still okay! Everything is exactly where it should be.

I ust need to work through this like I would work through anything else that comes up. Just keep writing and breathing and know that the sun is coming. There is absolutely no need to panic, whatsoever.

I'm also coming up on a lot of big anniversaries, and they're all weighing on my mind a bit heavily. Not necessarily in a bad way, they've just got me thinking, and really, appreciating, what life I have. Next week, Tuesday April 5th, marks a year that I went into the hospital for Diabetic Shock. A year today, since I started my new job. A year since my body started revolting and putting up resistance to life. At that moment, when I signed in to Vanderbilt Emergency Room, I was pretty sure I'd managed to abuse my body enough, that it would kill me. I was terrified that being alive was something I'd taken advantage of enough that it was going to be taken away from me. I thought I'd finally gotten to what I'd secretly hoped for the last decade of my life - to die.

And it scared me.

What I didn't realize was that this would be the first of many hospitals, doctors and emergencies. It was only a matter of (3) weeks that I'd come to realize the true depth of what I'd done to myself - to my body. As the muscles in my arms and legs all but disappeared, leaving me in tears on my bed for days. When every nerve split and disintegrated beneath my skin, so that even the slightest touch sent a fiery burn through every inch of me, leaving me paralyzed and unable to move. I watched helplessly as I crumbled into bare existance, not fully aware of the world still spinning around me.

What was left of me screamed and fought for me to listen - begging me to slow down, to be still and allow life to return to my bones. After seven weeks, I would call my Mother in tears, and ask if she would drive the 698 miles that separated us, to gather me up and taken me home. I'd call my job that I'd recently started and explain, through tears, that I was terribly sorry, but I needed to take a leave of absence. I'd tell my roommates who'd watched me quickly deteriorate, that I was moving home in less than 72 hours. And then I'd sit on my bedroom floor, still crying, as I began to pack up the fragile pieces of life I'd built for myself in Nashville.

When my Mother arrived, she found me in a pile on the couch. I'd lost significant weight, could barely move and was in constant pain. We divided all of my 'things' into two categories - what I'd take, and what I'd be forced to leave behind. On Monday morning, I'd hug Lauren goodbye, scoop Lola up into my arms, and crawl into my car. This may have been the longest 15 hours of my life. I was not only terrified that I was dying, now I was scared I'd never make it back to the city I'd come to love. I didn't know if I'd ever see the amazing people who had held my hands and heart through some of the darkest months of my life. The ones who protected my fragile existence with hugs, cups of coffee and astounding love. At this moment, I had to be willing to let go over everything, to embrace the unknown and lack of control. Trusting that the drive and determination I'd felt before, would eventually return and be enough to get me back here.

Six months later, it would prove itself true. After a week long journey through Blacksburg, VA. a new transmission and cooling system in my (now dead) car - I'd blast my horn, clap my hands and explode with joy as the beautiful Nashville Skyline appeared before me.