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Monday, April 29, 2013

Re-imagined

el nopal, the prickly pear 
I've been trying to re-imagine myself as someone who is more creative, more interested, and more engaged in the day-to-day activities of their life. Not to make this some kind of freaking self-help blog or something, but maybe it is really important to be constantly asking yourself "How can I make this day meaningful?" even when it seems painfully hard to pull yourself off the couch after a long eight hours of chasing after snotty two-year-olds and searching for teeny weeny tantrum-flung tube socks.

It's easier, for sure, to be meaningful on the weekends.

This re-imagined self of mine does more painting, adventurous cooking, and tells funnier jokes. She is more inclined to apply for new jobs, read new books and worry less about the furniture arrangement in her apartment. She trusts the fortunes out of fortune cookies (even if they are usually just more of an assertion of facts than any kind of true psychic prediction) and worries less about money. She takes advantage of vacation days and buys tickets to things without over thinking it.

Obviously, easier imagined than brought to life...but let's just take it one step at a time, shall we?

The painting above is my manifestation of being meaningful yesterday. Baby steps.

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Alien Body

The thing that you should know about my pancreas is that it turned me into an alien. Watch out for yours, because the transition happens without a lot of warning.

I haven't written in a long time because I've been depressed. No one wants to read about it, and I don't want to post it all up on to the Internet like some sad sack Nancy Drew just trying to find herself in the middle of this diabetes wasteland. Nancy Drew and the Mystery of the Inexplicable Organ Failure. Yep, that one would go straight to the best seller list.

On top of the fact that no one loves a whiner, having a disease like diabetes just doesn't work the same way as having cancer or liver failure or a flesh-eating disease does. When I'm down, it's because there's a container of pasta salad in the fridge and I want to eat the whole damn thing, but I can't because my body would flip out. And let me just say that after you're done throwing a tantrum because you can't eat unlimited amounts of pasta salad, you are guaranteed to feel like a childish fool. And your boyfriend is guaranteed to confirm that for you (even if he's usually pretty kind and tolerant). So yeah. You have to have a mastectomy? Feel free to scream and cry. Can't have French fries anymore? Seems kind of petty in comparison.

But back to the part about being an alien. Hands down the hardest part of all of this has to be feeling utterly alienated from my own body. It seems kind of silly, maybe, but I guess it's just something we take for granted most of the time. My whole entire life I was in touch with my body without thinking much about it. I understood the rules of what made it happy or irritated and though I didn't always follow them they were constant and reliable. The way I thought about my body had mostly to do with what size jeans I wore, or whether or not there were irritable zits all over my face. Size eight or size four, though, I perceived myself as a healthy person. I never knew how important that distinction was until I found out I was sick. Having a disease has altered my entire perception of myself, from the way I eat to the way I organize my day or keep my home. Transitioning from healthy to unhealthy has persuaded me that there is something inherently bad about my life, even though there actually isn't. It has managed to alienate me entirely from the person who I am (was?) and forced me to reexamine every millimeter of my daily life, transforming me into a controlled, reserved, blood-sugar robot.

For a while I didn't notice the changes in my demeanor. I just kind of lumped all of the frustration together and held it at an arm's length, dealing with it when I could and blaming it for all my harder days. It took a while to notice how deeply upset I truly was about having diabetes. Sure, it was initially shocking and overwhelming to find out something was wrong and it would be wrong forever, but it was manageable. The thing that I didn't anticipate was how unmanageable it made many other things in my life. The stresses of taking such particular care of myself every day all day intensify the stresses of work, my relationships, my self image, my household, bills and expenses, and every other little thing I might encounter throughout the day. Thus, my writing has fallen by the wayside.

I read in a book just after being diagnosed that many people grieve their health as if it is a deceased loved one. At the time, I didn't think the two things could compare. Still, I'm not sure exactly how similar they are. But I do know this: a few weeks ago, in the middle of an argument with my usually kind and tolerant boyfriend, I realized how sad and angry I was and how obviously it was not his fault at all. I deeply miss my life before becoming diabetic, and I wish more than anything to be able to eat as much pasta salad as I want without thinking twice about it. But this is my life, and in every way I am grateful to have it diabetic or not.

This post is to clear the air, to start fresh and to move forward. Thanks for hanging in there for this one-time-only mega downer post...I promise to be more good natured from here on out.