Existential is a word I had to google . . .

I was talking to my therapist today about dreams; how, once upon a time I wanted to be a writer. A comedy writer to be exact. And she said something like, "well, why do you NEED to do that?" implying that if I didn't do that I won't be a failure.

I think I have to fire my therapist.

This approaching age is a scary one. Especially since I feel like my life is so similar to when I was 27. Except some crow-feet, and I can't seem to tolerate dairy like I used to.

That's a heartache in it of itself. What is life without cheese, milk with chocolate cookies, and more cheese?

Don't get me started on heartache. The last 2 years (in August) have been pretty heartbreaking and necessary. I thought 2009 was a hard year, but this takes the cake. My "best friend" walked away from a 30+ friendship, because I wasn't present enough for her, my 2 cats died, my waste waist line expanded extensively, I went through a career crisis, and I've lost my will to dream.

Not to be dramatic.

My husband has been nothing sort of a saint, but, quite frankly, this marriage stuff takes a lot of work. I spent almost 5 years living it up, huss-i-fy-ing New York City like nobody business. My apartment was messy, I embraced my sexuality, I ate cereal out of Kitchenade mixer bowls, and navigated expiration dates like they were negotiable. It was care-free, hilarious, with lots of hangovers. I had a good run.

Then I fell in love and got married. And all of a sudden I was exposed. Four, five years later, and I am living a life with my best friend (not the one that ran off when shit got hard). My husband. But it's exhausting to be the real me, and try to make sure another human is happy. Even though he is the most loving and patient sweet pea ever.

Where am I going with this?

Over the last year, I went from my dream job of being a dog walker, to returning to the creative tech world, working for my dream company, making sure all things creative happen. I love my coworkers, I love working from home. I love the impact my company is having on this shit world we are currently living in.

But, where is the wikipedia page? Where is the E true Hollywood story (Ok, not that far off)? Where is the rando. yahoo article about how I had a nose job all them years ago?

I never got that. Even though I was 8 years old, dancing in a bra training bra in my bedroom, dancing to Janet Jackson, If, much to my poor brother's dismay. I always said I would "make it". Although if I am going to be honest, I definitely would have gone down the Lindsay Lohan, Bald Britney route. I related to these girls so much when it happened, even when the world around me ripped them a part.

So perhaps it's a blessing I didn't become this world wide success. Perhaps I couldn't handle it. But damn it, I would love to leave a little imprint in this world. I just don't know what that is anymore.

And yet, I sit here, terrified, as that scary age approaches . . .

Anxiety, we meet again, you life-sucking asshole

I am feeling . . . invaded.

The pain in my chest, the bubbles in my tummy, the mild shakes, and the draining act of breathing . . .

All signs of anxiety.

Lots to be anxious about:

1. The World, in its current state. Being Hispanic, right now. Being a woman, right now. Being married to a Muslim man, right now. Being American, right now. Being, right now.
2. Career change / new job in the horizon. Exciting, but new. Wonderful company, but new. So much potential. But . . . new.
3. I will have to stop walking dogs for said career. My heart is broken. Those pups have been my therapy and anti-depressants. And thank God, because, without insurance, I can't afford either. I have about a month with them left. So I will try to cherish every moment.
4. My husband's new career, that keeps him on the road for a few weeks at a time. We have been doing great. But I worry, I miss him, and it's odd manning the fort at home without your partner. It's like feeling you forgot to pack some thing for a trip, a feeling that lasts 24 hours a day/7 days a week.
5. My new cat, Cookie's, hair loss/alopecia/stress grooming/mystery illness that triggers all those feeling I have bottled up since my Pepper and Bam died. I miss them so very much. And having Cookie has been a blessing. But my heart is still broken for my babies. It may always be.
6. My apartment is a mess. I started cleaning it today, felt overwhelmed, and I just sat on my couch and got lost in social media and youtube videos about how to make a youtube video.
7. I miss traveling. I used to do it 2-3 times a year before I got married. Then life happens and you have to do 1000 things before it's ok to travel. It's left me empty and sad. 
8. My body's health is off. My feet are always hurting, my back is getting worse, I have been spotting for a month, and I'm exhausted all the time. Internet says Cancer. It always says Cancer. I know it's not. But I feel so wobbly and broken.
9. My finances need life support. The new career will be a big help with this, but right now, it seems so far from where I have been.
10. Death. Seriously, this shit has been keeping me up at night. We all die. Dying is inevitable. When does it happen? Why? Who? I never used to think about death so much. Maybe it's because I'm getting older. Maybe it's because I've seen it first hand in the last year. Who knows.
11. Animal cruelty and why humans suck, and how it seems it will never end. 
12. Sadness. I know I should be happy for the life I have. And I am, most of the time. But today I am fucking sad. and scared. and just need to scream and let it out. But you can't do that without a noise complaint from your neighbor. So that's why I opened this blog and started typing. I'm screaming with words. 

Writing this opened the flood gates of tears that needed to come out. I do feel better. And I know this will be pass. Normally, my husband would hold me and let me cry and he would say, "Everything will be ok." But he's not here. And I hate that he's not here. I hate that he's going to be far away for most of the time for the foreseeable future. I am proud of him for starting this new career, but I miss him more than I let on. Because I can't let people think I am "needy" or dependent on someone else. God forbid. Well, the jig is up. I miss him, miss how it was our first year, when we both had 9-5 jobs, and we'd come home and have dinner together every night. When we would watch wrestling, then go to sleep at the same time, where he would spoon me until he fell asleep (in seconds, lucky bastard), and I would wiggle away from his embrace because, well, a girl needs to stretch out lol. And when the alarm would go off and you'd both wake up and fight over who would shower first so the other could have 20 more minutes of sleep. 

He always showered first.

Wow. I feel better. Writing always helps. 

Usually, I would go back and edit my writing. But not this one. This was all the stewing and steaming that was brewing inside tonight. And I let it out, in its very raw form. 

This is anxiety. 

How strong is your knob?

It's been over a month since my boy passed and just about a month since my sweet Pepper passed away. Surprisingly I have been OK. I always imagined I would be out of service for months. But I have been hopeful. Sure, some days I fake it. But all in all, I have been OK.

Or at least I think.

The last week I have had a mad case of Bronchitis. It's been the first time in years that I was this sick. I mean, it was fine. I rested, I medicated, and I was babied by my husband and my Gracie.

Despite that, I have tried to be healthy and optimistic. I continued tracking my meals. And doing arm exercises at home. I even flat ironed my hair. Just because.

I have been very mechanical since the loss. It's weird, my productivity is through the roof. But I don't really celebrate it. Or acknowledge it. I get lost in it.

I've been keeping the apartment clean, filing away my mail, doing laundry regularly, balancing my checkbook, making appointments, even getting manicures again.

I mean, who is this person?

What I haven't been doing, though, is mourning. Somehow, I found a way to deal with my sadness like I have been dealing with my linen closet. I stuff the closet with clean towels and sheets, and then slam the door shut, as it's quite full. I get a proud level of satisfaction when I hear the door knob click, ensuring the closet won't pop open, overflowing with all my fresh linens I've shoved in there for dear luck. "Yes! For now, this closet is closed and secure! Woot!"

The problem is that I don't have an emotional door knob the ensures my emotions stay put. Whatever it is that is keeping them at bay, though, is working her ass off. I didn't think it was possible for anything about me to be this strong. But sure enough, I am trying desperately to compartmentalize all these emotions and  . . . well, I don't know. Live a day when I don't cry I guess? Where I don't remember how empty my home feels. Where I don't jump, startled and convinced I heard Bam or Pepper in the other room. When I don't miss waking up to our three fur babies and my beloved, all of us curled together on our full size bed (talk about compartmentalizing lol). when I don't remember how much I miss them so so very much.

It's all starting to come undone, though. I've been moved to tears over the oddest things. and not like a tear here or there. I mean floodgates. For instance, I am on a Law and Order SVU binge sesh. And every time I see Stabler hug one of his kids, I feel the tears start to rise in to my eyes. I mean, sure, it's moving, but not "ugly cry" moving.

Or the other day I was walking one of my pups, and I caught a glimpse of 2 squirrels at Astoria Park, eating their nuts next to each other under the cherry blossoms that have amazingly complimented the beautiful greenery of my favorite park. All of sudden, coupled with my bronchitis runny nose, I started ugly sobbing. I literally had to stop for a second, pull out my tissues, blow my nose, and take a breath. All the while my poor pup client looked at me with complete judgment. Like, "dude I'm just trying to pee here. What gives."

Despite the aforementioned breakdown, I do so work very hard to prevent any crying. Because I know what's coming. It's not a tear here or there. It's a full on sob session that is about to commence. And I can't let myself become undone.

Even when I'm alone, when I enjoy crying, do I stop it before it starts. Typically, solitude crying is the best, letting out the sweet release without worrying that someone will feel uncomfortable, or worse, want to console me. But it's like . . . I am protecting myself.

From what? I don't know.

As if once I start crying, it will be impossible to stop it.

I'm trying to find a therapist again. I know I need it. All these feelings have to come out. And I'm not drinking or binge eating. I can't even sleep that much these days, which used to be my go-to coping mechanism since I was a child.

Maybe that's why I have been so productive. Because I have no other outlet.

But it's not real. And It won't last. Very much like the linen closet, no matter how strong that door knob is, there is always and inevitably a breaking point. And mine is vastly approaching.

To my support group, with love, C

I wrote this poem a mere hours before Pepper passed away on Saturday. It was a way from me to express gratitude to those that have been holding me up with such sincere and reliable love and support.

It also was a moment for me to realize who my true tribe is. And who are no longer in the mix. A heartbreaking sadness, to see those who you thought were "lifers" have thrown a dagger of disappointment in to this already sad scenario.

A special shoutout to those angels that I have never met, but that social media has allowed for such a connection, such a bond. All of you have been so wonderful.

Also to my husband, who shows me everyday what marriage is all about, and why it's the most beautiful and precious of gems. Who makes me laugh when I want to pout, who holds me when I'm not cute. :)

To all of you. that have been here for me. I am so so grateful and you have kept me going. It's a beautiful thing. This is for you.

-C

---


Permission

Friends, I give you permission to not know what to say

To feel my pain even though you know it will be ok

To try and avoid the cliches of support

Even tho that’s all that greets your lips when your shoulder is holding court


My loved ones, it’s ok to not know what to do

Watching me fall to pieces, to not feel like my glue

Hearing me cry and mourn is clearly no fun

But I promise, solace I find in your presence as I become undone


In technology, love exists

All the words and messages through social media, I see it persist

Every LIKE, heart, word, and feeling

Fills the gashes this heartache is searing


For my sweet souls who I’ve never met

Who’ve taken the time to catch me in their net

Your gesture collects each tear that I cry

Like a soothing song, a chicken soup lullaby


Your silence is warmly received in your helpless arms where I collapse

Where I find love when I feel bleak, air when I frantically gasp


Where I feel consoled by your presence, near and far

When in those moments, the healing begins to create a scar


Surviving this heartache, reaching for the happiest of goals

Something I can not do without you, my beautiful treasures, the dearest of souls

Karma, a test from God, or just a classic kick in the nuts?

I'm starting to think I was an asshole in a previous life. Someone who made babies cry or put ketchup on pizza.

My sweet Pepper passed away on Saturday. So get this guys? I lost not ONE, but TWO cats in 15 days. I mean, it must have been a lot of fucking ketchup.

It's been a few days and I was feeling . . . better? A feeling not equating death meets expired milk in a septic tank. So an improvement, I suppose.

Today was turning out to be pretty decent. Only cried 4-5 times. Spent time with my mom and brother, had dinner and watched WWE Raw (Wrestlemania aftermath) with my Beloved, almost booked a Mexican getaway (that is MUCH needed), walked 4 beautiful dogs, and finalized my husband's bday gift.

Not in that order. But productive and optimistic.

Did I mention that my husband and my birthday are this month? In addition to our anniversary? Also, baseball opening day. All April. All happy things . . . usually.

Yeah, let's add the death of my 2 fur babies to that.

Anyway, I was about to take a shower, wash this tragedy of a bed hair bun I've been adorning for the last week off, when I received the text:

My first fur baby, Bam, my sweet boy who died 2 weeks ago, is missing. His ashes were lost in transit.

I mean, what do you do with that? How do you brace for that shrapnel kick in the ovary?!?!

I'll tell you what you do, you start plotting WW III!

I immediately planned to print out signs to post near my apartment mailboxes begging my neighbors to please return him, no questions asked (although, who the fuck would steal ashes)? In addition, I made a plan to go to my post office in the morning and cause a scene. Also I made it a mission to wake up nice and early and call my vet and the crematory, and ask them, in what sick, Groundhog Day, "fuck me in the ass life" does this happen?

Instead, I threw up and started crying.

In that order. Which is an unchartered new level of gross, let me tell you.

My husband held me as I sat numb after the debacle of cry puking (now, that is love), caressing my birds nest of a hair bun, telling me it will be ok. And then I laid down, in my bed, wearing my jeans.

My sweet girl joined me. My Gracie, now my only cat. She is definitely having a hard time. Stuck on me like glue:

Special appearance by said bed hair.


Anyway, I texted one of my best friends, telling him I was hanging by a thread, going in to detail about my WW III plan. Luckily, he talked me down. Made me laugh even. For the 4 seconds I laughed, I was so so grateful for that feeling of not being devastated and shattered.

It was a very good 4 seconds.

Actually, no one would actually say that, if we are being frank.

Nonetheless . . .

This grieving stuff has been such an experience. I always felt grateful I was sheltered from death and losing someone you love. I don't know how ppl do it. My own husband has seen it very often in his life time, and yet he is so happy, so optimistic, and doesn't stare into the abyss like I have been doing these last 2 weeks.

Guys, I want to disappear for a week. Take my Gracie and my sweetheart and hide from everything. Stare in to the abyss where the horizon is blue and sunny, the air is fresh and salty, and the Pina colada is cold and never ending.

But for now, I just need to figure out how to put one foot in front of the other. And it's been the hardest goal of my life.

20 hours without crying

I warn you, my lovely readers, I may go on quite a few blog entry diatribes about this horrible loss. If one thing therapy has taught me, writing is a major help. It may not be funny or entertaining, and certainly not grammatically correct, but it's a way to release these bricks on my chest. Also, as per previous post, normal substance/narcotic/netflix binge solutions aren't working.

It's Day 2 since I've lost my boy. And I lasted 20 hours without crying. I woke up around 1pm today, having had a hard time sleeping the night before. I gave my other 2 fur ladies lunch, ordered a meal for myself, and started watching Arrested Development from the beginning. 8 hours later and I haven't done much more. Gracie is very confused and in search of something in the house. When she isn't in deep search, she has been stuck to me like glue, burying her face in to my bosom and purring ever so softly. Or she sleeps on Bam's spot, where he took his last breath.

Pepper just wants food lol My sweet fat girl.

I had only 3 goals today: to scoop the litter box, shower and to balance my checkbook. There are hundreds of other goals to do: laundry, the floors, eye brow thread, and I am sure countless more. But all I aimed for was these 3 To do items.

Yet, I can't move from the couch. I am dreading that it's almost 10pm already, and I have to face sunrise soon. The start of a new week, where I walk my dogs and organize my clients. I am feeling incredible dread. Because everything becomes a first time of doing something without being the crazy cat lady with 3 cats. Because everything becomes a new experience, of not coming home to my Bam, who always greeted me at the door, meowing for his wet food and my kisses and cuddles, for 14 years.

I am blown away at how wonderful my family and friends have been. The beauty of social media and texting became so evident to me in these last few days. It's been a saving grace, allowing me space and solitude to mourn, yet knowing I have quite a large group of beautiful angels thinking of us right now.

Anywho, I lasted quite a while without crying. Today I felt as thought my insides were desperately running around like worker ants, trying to build a fort around my heart. Almost as if a tsunami was coming in for the kill. The goal is to not feel, to set up a concrete barrier of numbness. With this work comes distraction and avoidance of feeling anything.

Then, all of a sudden, I swore I heard his footsteps, and his meow. And I shot up from the couch, having laughed at Bluth family shenanigans seconds ago. I reached for my roku remote and hit mute, somehow, for a split second, forgetting the reality. And, with that, came the merciless tsunami. And the tears.

I had a thought earlier today. Perhaps I am not cut out for bering a fur mom. Perhaps after my fur ladies go meet their brother in the after life, I'll get a plant or an ant farm. Or nothing at all. this pain has been the hardest sorrow I have ever gone through. And that includes, an absent parent, broken relationships, loving a horrible baseball franchise, and the invasion of stretch marks.

I suppose that was my mild attempt at a joke.

Ok. I'm going to sign off and take a shower. that's my goal. Just get in to the shower, meri Jaan, as my husband would say. That is all I have to do today.

Mourning my baby

I haven't had to mourn the loss of a loved one much in my 37 years. I suppose one can say I have been blessed because of this. And I do happen to agree with that. But, the other side of this is that, when it does happen, I will be completely unready and unfamiliar with such pain.

And such is what happened yesterday at 4:47pm. My sweet fur baby, my 14 year old baby boy cat, Bam, was put to sleep. And I held his little head in my hands as he went.

And I am broken, so broken. So besides myself. I have tried everything. Weed, which makes me think MORE about it. I want my money back, Weed seller!

Wine. It made me nauseous. Didn't help me sleep. Just a headache and cotton mouth.

Food. Pizza, brownies, coffee. All meh . . .

I even watched The Office, my go-to for any pain and sorrow in my life. It ALWAYS helps.

Not this time.

I am sitting here with my feelings and it sucks.

Random thoughts on a Thursday evening

It's almost 3am and I am surrounded by my sweet kitties and the endless cat hair adorning my couch. It's part of the "crazy cat lady" lifestyle I adopted near 14 years ago. My beloved is asleep in the bedroom, having had a very long day at work. His snore is particularly strained tonight, which happens when he is exhausted. My poor bunny. 

The TV is on, showing the 2nd battle scene of whatever army movie my husband was watching before he went to bed. The remote control is hidden under one of my cats, not sure which one, so this is what we are watching. 

Seems apropo.

There's a certain kind of war going on within me tonight. My mind is racing, thinking about past friendships that have gone sour. Truth is, I have a hard time letting go, especially when I feel betrayed. This particular night I feel full. Not like, oh man I shouldn't have had that third taco full, but more like my soul is about to burst in the seams. I don't feel like crying, I feel like . . . punching. Not anybody in particularly.  I want to release this confusion, anger, betrayal, sadness, and shock from inside. This is where a punching bag or one of those punching dummy manequin things would be in order.

One day I'll get in to the specifics of these relationships. All of them female. All of them insecure. A similarity I thought connected us. But, what quickly came to light, is that this similarity was a farce, and that insecurity can exist as a toxic and dark energy. 

I sometimes blame myself. Why do I continuously attracted bitter and insecure women? Who can't be happy for you? Why are 2-faced and betray your word? Who will jump at the opportunity to kick you when you are down? Then try, in a heroic fashion, to zoom in and raise you up? Acting like they save the day?

Or the insecure spineless one, who is quick to throw you under a bus? It's not in my nature to ever do this, so when it happens to me, I feel like the wind was kicked out of my tummy, goosebumps invade my neck and cheeks, and a warm sensation overpowers my mood. It's devastating, embarrassing, and humiliating.

Let me be clear about something. I take full responsibility in my role in these relationships. I am not a victim who had a gun to her head. I participated in these songs and dances willingly. And I was no innocent party. 

The question is, why? Why this trend? Why do I participate? Why didn't I run for the hills the moment I sensed that dark energy? 

The truth is . . . I don't know.

At the same time, I have a group of wonderful friends who have maintained my faith in, well, friendships. This last year was especially difficult, and I really saw who my friends were. It's such a cliche but it's so true. In your time of need, your people will be there for you. 

I just need to take ownership of my involvement in this. I want it to end. Whatever cycle, pheromone or shitty luck that has allowed for these interactions has to stop. As I get older, I realize more and more it's not about quantity, but it is about quality. 

The interesting thing is that I have had quite a few females cross my path recently that want to be friends. Successful and positive women that I have met in classes, at my old job, in my building, etc. And I have this freakin guard up. I don't want to let anybody else in, anybody get too close. I'm sure they are lovely, but I don't trust myself, my judgment. My track record is basically poop.

I did accept an invite to go to an ax throwing event with some girls this Sunday. I don't know if that's a good idea, since I have the aim of a cross-eyed snail, but at the very least, there will be laughs. 

I really need to get some sleep. Blogging helps. I'm sorry if this is a total borefest :/ But it's my way of puking out these thoughts. How's that for a visual?

I don't want to end this on a negative, so here are some happy updates:

• I'm down 20 lbs
• My career is becoming a dream fulfilled
• I get to play with puppies every day
• My kitties are beating the odds and still alive and healthy
• I have some amazing people on my side. You know who you are <3

Ok, off to sleep I go. If I can only get this kitty off of me :)

I'm so tired of it (warning: very raw post)

Before I proceed, I want to warn you that I intent to go on full on rant mode. I need to let out whatever burden is on my shoulders that has made the last 2 weeks really difficult. It may not make much sense, but please forgive me for that. I just need to write it out.

It sucks not having the energy to do the dishes, or mop the kitchen floor. Or wash my hair. It's a burden to wake up in the morning and feel like icy boulders have made a home on your legs and chest, making it impossible to move. It's heartbreaking to look over at your sweet beloved who is still asleep and have to try and explain to him why today you won't be able to do the laundry. The guilt compares to carbon dioxide, slowly suffocating you, as you seek a respite in a your 5th rem cycle of the last 24 hours.

I fucking hate depression. I hate it. I have secretly wished for cancer, or some other debilitating disease, where there is more empathy or support. Less shame. More hand holding. More acceptance. More love.

So many people aren't kind to the mental illness card you are dealt. Shit, I am not even kind to myself a lot of the time. Every possible hateful look, feedback, or judgmental look I have received from friends, family, and colleagues during my 25 year fight with this floods my mind when I feel one of these overwhelmingly paralyzing bouts hitting:

• You're fucking lazy
• You are a liar
• You are dramatic
• Get over it
• Stop bitching
• Boo-hoo, you can't do the dishes. Big deal, I can't . . .
• People have to work harder than you to make ends meet and you can't even get out of bed
• You are a waste of a human
• You're victimize yourself
• I have it worse than you, Claudia
• You're crazy
• EYE ROLL, EYE ROLL, EYE ROLL

I am so tired of this life.

Please don't get me wrong. I have absolutely NO intent of harming myself or anything similar to that. I am just tired of these cards. Of this cycle. Of having so many dreams and goals and they being halted because I couldn't meet with a client, or because I didn't go to a gym class and wasted the money, or because I cancelled on dinner with a friend for the 10th time, or because the overwhelming waves hit me from the back, knocking the air and jovial outlook right out of me. Because I feel like I have wasted my life away on dreaming, and do not have it in me to accomplish my goals.

I'm tired of hating myself. Of looking in the mirror and judging the shit out of the girl looking back. 

I want to be "normal" and wake up at 9am and have coffee and read the news. I want to do laundry because I want to feel productive, not because I am one day away from wearing my bathing suit bottom and/or my prom dress. I want to clean my apartment because it's awesome coming in to a house that smells like pinesol and Clorox, not because I am hosting a dinner for friends and need to keep a facade of "I have it all figured out".

I want to go to the gym because I know it will help, not because I want to look good in some dress I wore 8 years ago.

When somebody asks me what's wrong, I want desperately, DESPERATELY, to have an answer. And most of the time, I don't. It's just because I have a chemical imbalance in my fucking brain. It's because my serotonin has the attention span of a kitten. It's because these were the fucking cards I was dealt.

I often think what my life would be like if I didn't have depression. And it hurts tremendously. I feel like I would be super successful in my career. I feel like less people would be disappointed in me. I feel like I would be a better daughter, wife, friend. Maybe I would have written that book, launched that talk show, bought my mom that house. Maybe I wouldn't have settled for the absolute shitty female friends I have tolerated my whole life. I would have told them to fuck off a lot sooner, and would have stood up for myself a lot more. Maybe . . 

Maybe

Maybe

Maybe

Maybe

The Maybe rabbit hole. One I am very well acclimated with. 

Guys, I truly love my life and, despite the challenge of a mental illness, I am proud of what I have done. But not this week. Not in the last 2 weeks. I'll be better soon. Right now, I am just simply tired of it.

2019 Resolution Update - Day 19

Almost 3 weeks in to the new year, and I am still holding strong to my resolutions. I have dropped 11 lbs, have only ordered out twice, and continue to pay down the debt, slowly, but surely. Also, and most shocking of all, I have been quite dry and rather sober for 2019.

I would be lying if I didn't say it's been challenging. And that, for the first 3 days of 2019, I was the crankiest of assholes, having to use a stove, and drink seltzer (sans the vodka). I started to try and reframe this narrative, and would tell myself, "Well, I am used to being cranky. And being an asshole is part of my charm. And I think I'm feeling a bit better health-wise. So keep it up, C!"

And it's been working. When I feel temptations taunting me, like the little bitches that they are (ie: Kate Spade sales, Extra Supreme Guac Tacos, DAILY delivery.com coupons (as I am sure they are concerned as to my sudden neglect of their services), the Wine store that delivers the high end Pinot Noir that goes well with air, etc.), I tell myself, slow and steady. Or I'll throw an adult tantrum. Pouting and bitching all the way home. But then I'll have a thought, like how good it felt to go up 3 flights of stairs and not want to vomit last night's said Pinot Noir. Or I'll continue to tantrum and take a nap.

Sleep is the best weight loss tool. It doesn't get the credit it deserves.

With that, there are a few other tools that I have stumbled upon and relied on during this successful journey (all 19 days of it). Whether they'll always work is no guarantee, but they have been quite helpful thus far.

Indulgence

I won't deprive myself when it comes to food. Yesterday I gave in to my cravings after watching some serious ASMR eating videos (it's seriously like porn for the celibate). Typically, I am able to watch, fantasize, and move on to a Gala apple, but yesterday, I wanted the fried dough crunch. And since I don't have unhealthy food in the house, I had to order takeout. It was the first time in the new year that I did so, and with one of those freaking delivery.com coupons, I got 4 empanadas for 12 dollars, with tip. And I tracked it on my WW app. All 4 empanadas were the equivalent of a day and a half of food. But I was ok with that. I told the guilt to fuck off, I ate those empanadas like they were leading me in a seductive tango dance, and I finished the meal off with said Gala apple.

I know my cheese fries and cheese sandwich cravings will hit soon. And I will indulge in them. And I may not lose weight that week. And that's ok! The moral is, it's fine. I want to be healthy, but a girl has gotta eat!

Research

In doing research about debt, I have come to realize that, no matter what, no matter how bad you think your are in the hole, there is always someone WAY worser off than you. And those people love to share their stories on the internet. And for them, I am eternally grateful. Not only did I realize that realistically, my husband and I can pay off our lenders, but I also realized how easily and swiftly your debt can double, triple, etc. I read some devastating stories about how many young people will be paying their debts until well after they retire, possibly taking it with them to the grave. And don't get me started on student loan debt. That shit is no fucking joke! I was fortunate enough to pay that off a few years after my undergrad, but seeing how so much of my generation has been fucked over by that.

I suddenly realized how blessed I was. But also, how easily I can lose sight of that and end up in a deeper despair of debt. This is what I hold on to when I want to go on a shopping spree at Staples (don't judge), or order a Kate Spade, or book the Greece trip I have been dreaming about for the last 2 years. 

Greece will look better from outside of that hole. So, all in due time, sister.

Prep prep prep

Now this is a given when it comes to planning your meals, right? I mean, we have ALL heard this. Sundays is prep day. Plan your week, yada yada yada. So this was an easy life style change for someone that banks on cheerios and almost expired milk to start the day (said no one ever). And when that isn't an option, there was always Seamless! 

I decided to start very slow when it came to meal prep. I wasn't getting fancy. I wasn't making anything that required any kind of marinating, baking, chopping, or measuring. And, the first week, I did just that. It was a lot of omelets and Amy's soup. And fruit, almonds, cheese sticks, and spinach. Precut and preheat were my pre-heroes. And, again, no deprivation. But I realized I would get bored fast, so the following week, I started chopping shit and even sautéing. And then last week, I actually baked that spaghetti squash thing. Which took me all afternoon, as I was using my stove for the first time in this apartment, and I was sure I would burn the place down. All in all, it was good. And the over-easy egg, spinach, and cheddar cheese I added to it made for the perfect dinner. And it was 3 points. To put that in perspective, the aforementioned empanadas? 30 points. Meal prep works! But I'm still not marinating anything. 

I have also been prepping financially. I started doing something I haven't done in at least 10 years: balancing my checkbook. Every Friday I have a standing date with myself and my spreadsheet, and I reconcile like the wild child that I am. Bad ass, right? In all seriousness, it's helped put my finances in perspective, even if it's painful at times, especially when you stumble upon the fact that the Kate Spade bag you bought in September hasn't quite been paid off yet. And that you don't know where you put it, for that matter! It's almost like landing upon a picture of yourself from your 20s, drunk and sloppy, sporting the atrocious duck kissy face fiasco. Nothing attractive or worthwhile about that picture. All. The. Cringes.  

Not that I would know from experience, or anything.

It's been super helpful to have this standing date with my finances, not only to keep me in check, but the transparency allows for a superb peace of mind that no alcoholic drink can ever bring.

Forgiving yourself

This is, by far, the most important tool I carry with me, 24 hours a day. I cannot tell you how easily my guilty voice sneaks in during my daily choices. You should have woken up at 9am and gone to the gym, you shouldn't be eating momma's white rice, you bought that Latte and there are starving people in the world. I mean, sometimes, she is relentless! I can typically block her out, but on the rarest of occassions, for a few seconds, I let her influence my mood and I sulk. But then I say out loud, and proud, I'm all good. I gotta live. And I'm only human. And, honestly, sometimes I have to say it out loud. Never fun to do in a crowded Starbucks, but if you have head phones on, it's really easy to make it seem like you are giving some one you love on the phone a pep talk! 

Not a total fib. I mean, you gotta love yourself to do these kinds of crazy lifestyle changes and shit. And you have to be slow and steady. My impatience is present, and I acknowledge it, and, for now, it hasn't derailed me. When it inevitably tries to, I have these tools I can refer to. Or I can come here and blog it out. 

And for that, I am always grateful.

 

 

2019 resolutions/goals/objectives - yada yada yada

I have frequently been labeled as an overachiever, essentially a nice way to say I set myself up for failure. I mean, sure, I have declared 6-month goals that include losing weight, paying off debt, obtaining a masters, climbing a mountain I can't spell, and growing my own herbs.

I'd like to think that I have become more realistic in my old age, with regards to my objectives, but still maintaining a little bit of a dreamer perspective.

Is that the case? Who knows, but I want to document this year what my goals are. I think it's more to brain dump everything on paper. Right now, my mind is beyond cluttered, and one thing I always share with my professional organizing clients is that clutter is needy and parasitical. It needs your undivided attention and will drain any joy from your blood. Typically, I'm referring to a wardrobe filled with 2-sizes-2-small clothing or a deluge of credit card statements, but it can also apply to the shit that is sucking the life out of your mind.

So here we go, my 2019 goals, in no particular order:

1. Breaking up with Seamless/Take-out

In going over my budget since being laid off, it became PAINFULLY clear that I was having a torrid affair with Seamless. Roman is aware but looks the other way. I don't blame the guy. Getting in between a ravenous wife and Mateo the delivery guy is a sure-fire way to lose a finger. I didn't realize how knee-deep I was in this affair until my post-employment financial analysis.

On average, I spent $1000 a month on take-out. For 2 people! And really, more like 1.5 people because Roman eats out when he is working. So I can't include him in this glutenous fat-assery debacle.

I was beside myself when I saw the spreadsheet calculation and immediately yearned for deep-fried vegan egg roles from the local vegan place. Stress-eating kicked in like the speed of light.

Spoiler alert - I had cheerios instead.

Resolution: I have since said bye Felicia to Seamless and all its other slutty take-out apps. For 2019, I am going to try to cook. Or eat my mom's delicious food. Or visit friends that cook.

2. Breaking up with Alcohol

Now, this seems like an obvious one. First, I am on anti-depressants. So I shouldn't be drinking AT ALL. But some how my crazy ass has made it work, but we should define work. Not on this post though.

Second (and third, fourth, fifth, etc.), it's unnecessary calories, ages you faster, is a depressant, and hangovers are evil experiences that remind you that your body is in real control here.

My drinking in 2018 has been historical. At first, I found it charming to have a class of red wine while binge watching The Office for the 3567th time. But then it became a bottle each time. A bottle a week. And so on and so forth.

Roman also hates that I drink. My husband is tolerant of a lot of things, but the look in his eyes when he comes home to an empty bottle of wine on our coffee table is enough to make you want to drink more.

In addition, my body is outright rejecting alcohol. My heartburn flares up, I get super bloated, and I wake up the next morning looking like someone ran over my face with a NYC street cleaner.

Will I have a glass of wine here and there? I don't fucking know. But I want to try not to. Should I go to a meeting? Perhaps. I've been to a few in the past, and they have been helpful. My introvert self, though, struggles with wanting to rapidly retrieve to my couch, Dunder Mifflin, and my cats. And a 2005 Cabernet.

Spoiler Alert - My last drink was not in fact a beautiful 2005 Cabernet. Nope. I ended 2018 and my relationship with alcohol with a 6 pack of lemon flavored cider, which is really a rip off of Smirnoff Ice. My last drink and it's a college wine cooler! I am pretty sure I lost my virginity being drunk on Smirnoff Ice. And almost 15 years later, I chose that to be my last drink.

Resolution: For 2019, I'm going to try and avoid alcohol. One day at a bloody Mary time.

** Honorable Mention Resolutions

Weight

I warn you that I am about to enter a whole new level of snarky, so if you offend easily, then . . . well, you shouldn't really be reading my blog.

My instagram is FLOODED with success stories on people who have lost weight. Everybody loves these stories,  and it can be truly inspiring. It can also be truly annoying.

These people who have found their waist lines and healthy cholesterol levels become product endorsing fortune cookies, posting limericks of encouragement that sound borderline inspired by Angel Dust. Hell, I've even walked the walk at one point and speak from experience. I was, once upon a time, an encouraging, most likely obnoxious, weight loss success story. In fact, this blog started as weight loss/maintenance tool.

It just all seems so insincere sometimes. It seems like the weight loss success stories are riding on a cloud of instagram likes and free laxative teas.

All this has weighed (pun intended) on me greatly, and so I don't know if I feel like publicly declaring anything official about my weight loss. Probably because each time I have declared it, I celebrate the announcement by ordering pastas and pies from Seamless on one hand and sipping a Pinot Noir on the other.

Some may think I am saying this because I am overweight, or jealous, or insecure, or simply, an asshole. It's hard to say now if this is true. Let's talk when I am an AFTER picture again.


Spoiler alert - I still follow these success story, product pushing, limerick writing Tools.

Resolution: Instead of saying I want to lose 75 lbs, I'll say this: I aim to not get winded going up stairs and jay-walking Ditmars Blvd. I aim to wear some of the clothes I own, when I had a waist-line and healthy cholesterol levels. I'd really like to lose one of my chins, since I carelessly and, often enough, have the iPhone camera facing me, and when I turn that baby on to snap a picture of a beautiful sunset, I flinch in confusion at the sight before my eyes.

Debt

Over the last 12 months, I have accumulated quite a lot of debt. Debt is something that I have had and have tackled head on. Once before, I paid off 25K in credit cards, essentially my thank you bill from my college years. I didn't have a college fund, so I worked my way through school. And everything from rent to milk to CDs were sitting on an Amex account.

But I worked extremely hard to pay if all off in the course of a year. Some thing to this day, I am super proud of. Never thinking I'd have to do it again.

And here we are. It's been a little more challenging to wrap my head around how this happened. I mean I know how it happened: Vet bills, Seamless, moving back to NY, taking a huge pay cut, taxes, etc. It all added up. And now being unemployed, I'm mildly panicking.

However, I shouldn't. I have an incredibly supportive husband, who is working 12 hour days to help pay this down. Which I have guilt about because I have always handled my finances. Now, I am a we, an our. Therefore, it is OUR debt. The aforementioned expenses were family related. But I have a hard time with receiving his help sometimes. Why do you ask? Great question! I don't even fucking know. <Sigh> I really should add therapy as a resolution.

Spoiler alert - I don't have therapy as a resolution.

Resolution: I know when I find the right job, paying this off will be no problem at all. I know Roman and I can pay it off within a year, or at least make a huge dent within a year.


There you have it folks. My incredibly honest, incredibly snarky and optimistic 2019 resolution list.

Off to make dinner. I'm dreading this already.

My heart is broken

Short post today.

My baby girl Pepper, my beautiful sweet kitty who I have had for a little over 12 years, is sick. She is on her last leg it seems, and I am devastated.

This year has been one that has left scars in my heart. Some are good scars, like a gratifying war wound, some are still healing. Some appear to be OK, but then are ripped open again.

I'll write more about 2018 later. For today, though, Pepper's illness is what is consuming me. So is all the eating and wine drinking, crying, and sleeping, pouting and dancing in denialville. I don't know how to handle these feelings.

I won't go in to why Pepper is wonderful. She is still here, and it's not the time for a eulogy.

What I will say is that the magnitude of this pain is one I haven't felt in a very long time. In fact, it's a pain that seems very foreign, very unchartered, very lonely.

It's like I am falling through an abyss, and there is no ground. If there was an impact to look forward to, a floor to splat on, a platform of sorts, it would hurt like a fucker, but then it would mean I could address whatever pain and brokenness comes from the landing, the crash.

No, this feels like riding a roller coaster, when your stomach is lingering through your throat and you feel like vomiting, and you feel like crying, you feel terrified, and you feel like it is never going to end. It feels like all this times 1,000,000.

My heart is broken.

To my friends, the ones that have been checking in on me, they are trying so hard to make me feel better. But I know how hard it must be for them. Not knowing what to say, not knowing what to do. To all my friends who have been texting and checking and calling, I love you and I appreciate you just being there. I will never forget that. And please know you don't have to say anything. Just saying hi . . . it goes so so far.

I am not even thinking about what I am saying here. I am just venting. So if it doesn't make sense, the P.S. of it all is this sucks major ass, everything hurts, and I want lots of carbs. And I'll miss my girl. She's in the hospital tonight. And I want her home with us. I want time to stand still. I want to ask myself why do I have to love these little fur babies. I want to understand.

For now, I will just cry and try, but still ask why.

To Christmas or Not To Christmas . . . that is the question

I have been trying to figure out if I should do anything for Christmas. Typically, Christmas is my jam. I am the nerd that plans the holiday party and orders the holiday cards with dorky photos of our cats, Roman, and me, all the while embracing the joy and cheesiness of the season! I have a closet full of decorations, and to portray true scale, a closet in a 1 bedroom NYC apartment is like 25% of the unit. But well worth it!

Well, usually it has been. But this year has put a cloud on that. I mean it's not like I am depressed or sad about the transpiring of the last week, but it feels like Limbo had a love child with Anxiety who was adopted by Freedom and Joy. No matter what, that kid is going to be loads of fucked up!

My mind is super distracted by what my next steps should be. So far, here is my list of ideas:

1. Return to my professional organizing days, double my rates, and seek out clients who want me to help them organize their sock draws and shred all the paper
2. Go back to school and invest in clown college a Masters in organizational psychology
3. Write the biographical fiction novel I have been imagining working on for the last few years
4. Get Botox, but not for wrinkles. For these AWFUL chin hairs that are spreading faster than horny rabbits
5. Have a baby Plant a tree
6. Find the 6 figure corporate gig that would help pay off debt and cultivate my career, but would require a lot of ironing, both clothing and hair
7. Win the lotto
8. Lose the weight
9. Pay off the debt by reaching out to potential rich relatives still in the motherland on the brick of death

Nowhere on this list is roasting chestnuts and/or singing drunken carols after downing a few cups of coquito while tree decorating. 

That all said, every time I leave my apartment, my nose is greeted by the aromas of winter's presence and of pine. And don't get me started on the BLASTING of Christmas Carols on Ditmars Blvd and 31st street. And the little baby Jesus who looks so full of hope and life (give it 33 years, kid), adorning the Catholic Church garden next door. It all brings me such joy but I also feel like I am missing out.

Also, let's face it, this is probably the last Christmas with 2 out of my 3 cats. I am sure they want me to feed them treats and clean their poop and pet their heads and cuddle them to sleep decorate the joint. Or maybe it's just for me, to remember this as being our last Christmas together.

Even my Muslim husband, Roman, wants me to at least get a tree! He's always so supportive, but this year he wants to ensure we celebrate. I personally think it's cuz he wants a stocking again, which totally blew his mine last year (a sock for presents? and it's all for me?). But in all sincerity, I think he knows it will liven up my spirits.

I honestly don't know what to do. A friend of mine even offered to come over and help me decorate, which moved me to tears. I am always moved when someone wants to take time to help me with something that seems so mundane, in light of everything else that is happening (did I mention the chin hair?!?!). 

I'll give it some thought and decide by weeks end. By then, I'll only have 2 weeks of the holiday to enjoy. Which is still something truly lovely. No matter what, when it begins to look a lot like Christmas, it begins to look a lot like happiness. 

To be continued . . .

The Fat Girl Within is Back . . .

Hello special friends. I have so much to update you on, but instead of recapping the last 2.5 years, I'm going to pretend you are all up to date and start from here. Because the last few months have been the kind of months that have thrown tailspins in to life and I need to write it out to fight it out.

But, just to ensure we follow a typical entertainment reboot format, below is a brief bulleted list of the VIPs (very important points) of the last 2.5 years:

• I married the sweetest, loviest, and funniest man, my husband, Roman
• I left publishing, went in to consulting, then to tech start-up-ing
• I have gained back all my weight and then some, weighing in at 216
• lowest weight: 143
• previous highest weight until now: 192
• new goal: not having a fupa
• I left NYC for a year and a half and lived in Princeton, where I learned what true rode kill was, how to drive a car, and how to buy anything and everything from Walmart
• I am back in Astoria with Roman and my 3 fur baby felines: Bam, Gracie and Pepper

That's the gist of it. There have been quite a lot more amazing moments of the last 2.5 years which I am sure will come up organically.

What finally brought me back to this blog was the need to free up my mind of concerns, anxieties, and so much emotion. Writing has always helped bring me back to a healthy track, both mentally and physically. Emotionally, let's face it -- that bitch has a mind of her own. But 2 out of 3 ain't bad. Here's what's going on:

My Fur Babies

Everything had been super peachy with my babies. They have been with me for 13+ years and have managed to deal with my life changes, including the new husband, with mellowness and bribery (Temptation treats are the shit). In August, that all changed. I had returned from a business trip from San Francisco and was sitting in my living room when my cat, Pepper, started to have breathing problems. I rushed her to the ER where the doctor confirmed what I had been dreadfully waiting years to hear: her heart murmur grew in to heart failure. She was diagnosed with a heart murmur when she was 6 years old and all had been passive and great. Now, 7 years later, it rapidly progressed and my little Pepper was hospitalized for a few days in an oxygen tank. Her life expectancy has been cut to an estimated 1 month to a year. It's been 2 months and she is back to her old self. She needs medication twice a day and is drinking incessant amounts of water. But her butterball weight is back and she is full of cuddles. Every day as a blessing, especially when she wakes up next to me, paw in my face, with her big beautiful green eyes staring at me, ever so lovingly as if she is saying, "time to feed me, bitch."

My Bam, my sweet sweet boy, who wouldn't hurt a fly, except the house flies that annoy the crap out of us, also hit a health crossroads. While everything was happening with Pepper, I started to notice that Bam was limping a lot. I took him to the vet twice, both saying it was a sprain. After a week of waiting for this sprain to heal, I went to hug him when my sweet angel hissed at me. Bam has never every hissed. We took him back to the vet and it was discovered he had a tumor in his shoulder blade, that caused a fracture. We decided to have it amputated and my sweet bunny boy was back to his old self. We came to find out that his cancer would spread and that he had another form of a cancer in his lungs. The treatment for both would be incredibly invasive so we decided to let him ride out his remaining time with us happy and healthy. Doctor says that could be 1 month to a year. I cuddle with him every day, making sure to enjoy his time with us. He still chases and outruns his sisters for treats and poops like a champ. All celebratory observations!

My Gracie is a true angel. She has been unfortunately lacking the attention of her humans and has tried her best to be patient. I've noticed her being extra cuddly and playful, and so I try to also give her cuddles and kisses in the morning, which she repays me with cat butt in my face when I am not paying attention. She still purrs like a kitten and perpetually makes us laugh! I adore her playfulness, how much she adores her brother, and when she places her sweet and tender paw to my cheek when I am crying. My sweet Gracie.

My Job

This week, I was laid off from what had started as a job of my dreams. I was part of the training and development crew at a Blockchain startup and worked with incredibly talented and interesting people. Over the last 9 months I learned so much that I was not privy to in publishing and even in my consultant role. It was like entering the 21st century, learning to use a washing machine instead of the the bucket of soap and water out by the latrine outhouse. However, I recognized parts of the organization that concerned me and I knew I had to move on. It turns out, so did the company. For the first time in my 21 years of employment, I was laid off/let go.
I don't know how to feel about it. It's definitely for the best, and I was given a generous goodbye, if you will. But it's like dating someone who you know you need to break up with, because they annoy the shit out of you, but you keep them around for the time being because they put out when you need it and they buy dinner once in a while. Then low and behold, they break up with you! And you are like, "well, I was going to break up with you anyway!" But they have long gone before they can hear you exude such confident denial.


So now, I have to figure out what to do. My husband is such a champ, not worried at all, and could, in theory, take care of everything until I find myself. I could write that novel I have been working on, or get back in to a size 4 pair of jeans, or learn sign language. I have a 6 month grace period before we have to consider getting rid of Showtime, or, even dire: move back in to my childhood bedroom.


I was on a high yesterday, skipping to a confidential loo of living out my dreams. This morning, however, all that went to poop. I woke up panicking and shot out of bed, conceivable tripping over any loo in my path, and starting looking for jobs. I was even considering applying to publishing jobs that made me so unhappy.


The thing is, I don't know what it is like to NOT work! And to be given this gift to figure it out . . . it's like being gifted the flu vaccine, I suppose. It is for the absolute best, but it hurts and will it actually keep you from dying?

My Weight

So, my weight. The whole point of starting this blog some I guess 6 years ago? Not only has the fat girl not been evicted, but she has taken over the g*&d&*n lease! I don't even know where it all went down hill (or rather sky rocketed up through the solar system) but, alas, I have put on 74lbs since my lowest weight. 

I don't blame anybody but myself. And yes, I would like a cookie for admitting that. But I'll take a stupid piece of celery stalk I suppose. 

So now I guess I have an opportunity in front of me. The free time and liberty to workout, track my food, and stop ordering wine takeout (it's a thing, especially here in Astoria. The delivery guy, Pablo, knows me on a first name basis).

So my goal is to do just that! Sort of act like one of those rich housewives who workout 6 times a week and drink rosé on Saturdays. Become a hot trophy for my husband, maybe get some botox, possibly an expensive luxury bag of a dead designer?

Well maybe not that extreme. But prioritizing my health seems like an easy decision. And I have a few more goals. And I'll be writing about them here in future posts. That way, I can reflect in 3 months or so and say I did it! I have to have one of those BEFORE AND AFTER moments in 3 months or so help me  . . . 

This concludes my comeback post. I'll be back with more fun filled updates, including angry haikus, videos, and possibly a gofundme for the stapling of a body part. Yay!

C

He's coming home!!!!

And I couldn't be happier!! More deets to come! I am crying like a little bitch!

You can't hurry love -INS

You guys, I am in love. And I am blessed to be in love with a wonderful man, my best friend, my fiance.

These are suppose to be the best days, ya know? Going to drink coffee at a cafe in the City after work, folding our linens on laundry day, as I introduce him to Marc Anthony, blasting on the speakers. Watching pre-season baseball at the Courtyard Ale house while eating sandwiches and drinking Magners. Sleeping in on a Saturday, ordering Indian food for lunch, and going to the gym to burn it off (the gym is his idea. DEFINITELY not mine lol). Sitting with him on Mondays, watching WWE raw, enamored with how his dimples form and his smile beams when Roman Reigns kicks the bad guy's butt.

We should be planning the wedding: a Sunday in June, as his family is off on Sundays. We should be visiting venues, tasting menu suggestions, and thinking about who we will offend for not inviting them. I should be freaking out at the dining table over how much detail is involved, while he walks over to me from the kitchen, bringing tea, and a gentle kiss for my forehead. A kiss that instantly puts out the fire that feeds my anxiety.

We should also be acclimating to each other's ways: I don't eat meat and he doesn't eat pork. I pray before my meals and he prays 5 times a day. I go to church on Sunday and he fasts for a month out of the year. We put up the tree in December for Christmas, and we visit his cousins for Eid.

Unfortunately, we haven't been able to do any of the above, even though we have been together for some time. Because, he is a man who lives in Dubai, and is Muslim. And it is quite hard for "his kind" to be allowed here, in the U.S. He was granted a visa to come visit, and then, a few days later, it was put on "hold". That was almost 2 months ago. My theory is someone who works at INS, perhaps a supporter of one of the current presidential candidates, realized that "that" box was checked on the application, and decided that my fiance was a "bad guy".

And that was it. Some guy at INS decided that we can't hurry our love. That this weekend, Chase, my fiance, will not be with me when I go grocery shopping. Or that tomorrow morning, when I wake up for work, undoubtedly late, Chase won't be there to have coffee with me, and we won't talk about the co-worker at work who I perpetually wish diarhea on. Or that on Sunday, while I am home reading the paper, we won't be planning to have lunch with my mom, and then dinner with his cousins and their kids.

I can't even plan our birthdays, which are ten days apart, and fastly approaching. It breaks my heart to wake up in the morning, and not see him next to me. I mean, my three furballs are with me, and I adore my kitties. So that definitely helps. But there is this life that is meant to be lived, with someone who makes me better, makes me want to be better, accepts me for me: my awesomeness, my humor, my illness, my past, my sensitivety, my cankles that appear for 5 days out of the month, my culture, my faith, my independence, etc. As I equally accept him for him: his positivety, his strength, his love of corny jokes, his dorky humor, his bravery, his "I don't give a shit what anybody thinks, but I will respect you" smile, his faith, his culture, his values, etc.

And all we can do is wait. Wait for the day when I will come home after a long Monday at the office, trying to deal with multiple projects, and general manic Monday mehs! And I will unlock the apartment door, and see my 3 fur babies napping on the couch, having already been fed.  And my eyes will land on those dimples, greeting me with delight, and glee, not only because Roman Reigns served the ultimate ass-kicking to Triple H, but because I am home, and our little family is together. As he would put his arms around me, and kiss my cheek, as if it were a delicate lilac, he would whisper "hows my jaani" into my ear, and the outside world would melt away.

I patiently await for that day to come.


I love you, Chase.

Rambling thoughts - adulting sucks butt

Fair warning: This is going to be a post about love and heartbreak. So if you have a soft tummy, I'd suggest making a bee-line for Candy Crush.

The last 5 months have been another lesson on adulting. I hate adulting some times. For instance, when I have to pay the american express, scoop out the cat litter, iron my clothes in the morning, etc. But some things/events in my recent days really really drive this yearn to retreat to my kindergarden class when Ms. papazian (rip) would teach us how to fingerpaint and finger dance to Itsy bitsy spider.

And it usually involves people. Allow me to summarize, as the last thing I want to do is give these people any more time then they have already sucked out of me. But, in a nut shell:

Girl has good friends. Girl shares everything with good friends. Good friends mean everything to girl. They have amazing, great times. Then they have not so amazing, great times. Good friends turn out to be douche bags. Douche bags turn out to be good for nothings. Good friend = good for nothings. The end. copyright © 2016 by cmartz

While grateful to see true colors well before an investment is lost (gosh, I sound like my financial advisor), it broke my heart to lose these douche bags/friends. Lesson learned, I guess.

Simultaneously, though, brand new relationships were brought into my life. Besides the existing life time friendships that I had, all of a sudden I became closer to some newbies. I found solace in this, and also with my sweetheart. I'd be lying and saying that I don't miss the douchebags. I don't have the ability to turn off my love for someone like that. Sometimes I wish I did. But, on my good days, I am grateful for it. I love hard. Which means I get hurt hard. But it only really makes you stronger. And appreciate the people you have had by your side through it all.

I feel like this is turning into a Celine/Mariah mashup from the 90s.

Just another ramble I guess . . .

Late night narrative

It's no secret to those that know me that I have depression. Not the, "awww, it's raining and there is a 7 train delay due to a sick passenger, and my boss didn't give me a promotion, and my friend won't talk to me anymore" depression. More like the, "I woke up. . ." depression. Have had it since I was 12.

I remember being so young, and not knowing what the hell was happening, but for some reason, I was handling the Zack and Kelly's breakup WAY worse than they were. Or anything related to leaving my small tenemant bedroom in our family apartment. I hated getting out of bed. Hated facing the world. Hated waking up.

Not to be so depressing (shout out!). It's not like I wanted to kill myself. I didn't. I wanted to live very badly. I just wanted this internal pain to stop. But trying to explain that to a family that called me a "drama queen" from the moment I popped out of my mother's canal: it was a lost cause.

Almost 23 years later, and I still have a fear of leaving my bedroom, or, in this case, my very own 1 bedroom apartment. When it hits me, "it" feels even worse than it used to. I find myself asking myself, WTF. Why do I still have these horrible bouts? No longer do "Zack and Kelly breakup"-like scenarios send me over the edge. Nope, thanks to the likes of Instagram and Youtube--the puppy-saving, kitten cuddling, soldier returning, dead people rememebering videos of the world--put me in crying states for hours and hours.

"Why do you like to poke the burn?" my friend, Sara said to me recently. "Why do you like to torture yourself?"

I didn't have an answer. More like a revelation. She was right, I do. I like to kick myself when I am down. But why?

Maybe it's just what I know to be life. Maybe any other way would be so foreign, I might want to retreat back to my bedroom. Maybe I do that already.

Sharing the journey, even if it hurts . . .

Sigh. One of the hardest things I've ever had to write about . . .

I've been trying to blog about participating in the THIS IS MY BRAVE NYC show. It's a non profit organization that uses art to share the many brave journeys of those living with mental illness.

Yes, you guys. I have a mental illness.

Depression, most likely genetic + post traumatic stress disorder, most likely from the trauma of molestation = my chaotic, yet creative, yet colorful, yet complicated brain.

It's taken me some years to embrace this. I'd done just about everything to feed my internal angry denial bitch: booze, self-hatred, more booze, food, lots of food, other substances, sleeping, angry poetry, and an ocean-load of crying. And, yes, even carnal choices that I didn't see coming, absolutely no pun intended. I've spent years trying to suffocate the opportunity to face what the hell makes me hate life sometimes, and what makes getting out of bed absolute torture.

I think it started when I was 12, when, as a child, I was violated in such a way, that still makes me question humanity. Also makes me not want to have kids, because I would cut the dick off any sick twisted piece of shit that hurt my children. So my kid would be traumatized and with a mother in jail. Sounds like a telenovela waiting to unfold. While I love me some "Mari Mar", I ain't trying to make a baby resembling that kind of unfortunate life.

Anywho, I digress.

For the last 22 years, I've seen just how debilitating depression is. I've had to leave jobs, take a few hiatuses from school, lose friends, cancel trips, lose a sickening amount of money, all the while lying about it almost on a daily bases. You see, one of the worst things about telling people you are mentally ill is the blackened, emotional curtain that overcomes their eyes as they look at you with no understanding. Judgement, cynicism, ridicule. Just some of the forms this particular curtain takes on. Because you can't really expect those around you to understand what depression is unless they walk it themselves. Or at least I made that decision early on, that I'd rather people think I'm a lazy lying piece of shit than for them to know I had a mental illness.

Fucked up, isn't it?

Within the last few years, though, I have felt encouragement and love from those on my corner. And thought it was time to start sharing the journey, even if it hurts. I am still not 100% forthcoming about my walk, but day by day, I am becoming a raw and severed soul, refreshingly portraying and exposing my very humble experiences that have lead me to the light.

I would love to share the many positive outcomes of my journey, and even more of the dark ones, just to prove to someone who might be going through this, that it will be ok.

And that is the beauty of This Is My Brave. It was an outlet, an opportunity for me to share, not only with my loved ones, but with fellow survivors, my most intimate words.

So I leave you with the youtube link of my piece. And hope to one day share more with you. For now, I am going to cuddle with my 3 kitties, and thank God for another day and a more developed laugh line  from all the smiling that happened today. Today was one of those days :)


<3

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1i4QFylspZI&index=4&list=PLhB49Bem4Q50u8ffs61-8t7AoohT4eSsd

Chasing the Rollercoaster

Last time I checked in with this blog, I was about to board an insanely scary and exhilarating roller coaster, metaphorically speaking. I fell in love, with an actual person, not the latest Ben & Jerry's flavor.
In case homeboy ever wants to run for president, let's change his name and call my sweetheart Chase. In my last entry, I mentioned having met him. And it's been a whirlwind 6 months. Living 7000 miles apart is a sure fire way to make things interesting. Thankfully, Skype, Whatsapp, Instagram, and Pinot Noir have made it all possible and pleasant. Very pleasant. Shit, I may actually be happy!

Chase asked me to marry him a few weeks ago. And, no matter how much you prepare and look forward to that majestic moment when the man of your dreams is on his knee, holding a ring, smiling from ear to ear, saying those 4 words that allow you to, even for 1 minute, embrace that fairytale moment of true love, you aren't prepare for the "kick in the balls" feeling that pees all over your "happily ever after" expectation. Some of us react quite the contrary. Ok, I acted quite the contrary.  I felt the air rush out of my body, my head grow increasingly hot, my heartbeat accelerate, and the feelings of puking developing. Far from the poetic expectation I had in mind.

Not because I didn't want to marry him. I'm crazy about him. He's become my confidant, my cheerleader, my comic relief. He can read me, call me on my shit, and thinks I am adorable when I pout. He's seen me at the crack of dawn, eye crust and all, and wants to kiss me in all my morning breath glory (which usually means I run away from him towards my toothbrush and Listerine strips). He's even wiped a snot from my face during a sweet swim in the Persian Gulf. I mean, literally, he wiped a salt water snot from my nose. If that's not true love, then I am deeply concerned.

Anywho, I never thought it would happen again, but I let someone in to my heart. And for the first time in almost 7 years, I haven't just been thinking about me. There's this person, my person, in the logistical setup in my head, the part of my brain that plans, solves, stresses, and breathes.

So it goes without saying, that my saying yes to his proposal was a sure-fire dunk! Yet still, my reaction was similar to someone experiencing a heat stroke. I mean, yes, we were in Dubai, which was 100 degrees, humid, and seemed to ban not only booze, but fresh breeze and shady solace. But it was something more. Something along the lines of complete shock. My future was about to make a sudden right, and I had no idea what that road looked like. I hadn't planned for this. And, unlike Siri, I can't recalculate direction in seconds. Certainly not when your person is kneeling in front of you, smiling, and waiting for you to accept his forever.

My controlling and perfectionistic persona decided it's too much, and she let me know it. I panicked, I froze, and I look for solace somewhere. Something to stop the roller coaster from going off the rails. What the hell was happening?

"What are you doing, baby?" was what I finally stuttered out.

He was smiling so joyfully, like a child whose finally conquered balance and speed on his 2-wheeler bike. His smile was euphoric, his dimples determined, his eyes like crystal.

"Will you marry me, Jaan?" Chase said. He calls me Jaan, which in urdu means sweetheart.  When he calls me that, any storm that is starting to brew immediately and peacefully calms.

That, coupled with his eyes, made this particular storm inside start to dissipate. My eyes locked with his, the very eyes I look at and see possibilities of jubilant journeys. I see such a solace to my very guarded heart. A soul who wants to walk hand-in-hand with me no matter what. Even with my morning breath! Even with my sea water snots!

And then, everything grew quiet and serene. And I exhaled, slowly smiled, let out my signature giggle, and said, very confidently and joyfully, "Yes. Yes. Of course. Yes. Mi vida."

And it was the most sacred of moments. A moment I will never ever forget.

In full disclosure, tears have been falling while writing this blog. Because, well, shit! I AM happy! I still haven't quite "recalculated" the journey ahead, but I don't need to right now. Right now I am enjoying the wind in my face, the adrenaline through my veins, the adoration in my heart, my soldier beside me, my Chase. What a fucking roller coaster ride this has been and I can't wait for whats to come.


C