Mad Cow Disease, Lead Poisoning, or Severe Anxiety: Thanks, WebMd

Last night I knew I was feeling anxious before I even got into bed. I can tell now, after years, when I won't be able to sleep without a pill. So I took an Ativan and got into bed. I put a movie on, hoping I'd fall asleep watching it and be able to wake up early to start driving for Lyft. They have a $1,000 guarantee if you do 50 rides in a week, restarting every monday while promotion lasts. I need the money to pay my first month's rent when I arrive in Paris.

2 hours later the movie was over and I was an anxious wreck in my bed. I'd never experienced a pill not working. I take them sparingly, only when I anticipate an attack coming on or when I start to have one. It wasn't helping. My body was hurting, feeling tight through every joint and muscle, and I couldn't stop moving. I tried to tap. "I am safe. I am ok. I am safe. I am in my body. I am safe." I repeated as I tapped the anchor spot between my ring finger and pinky knuckles. It wasn't working.

I was so exhausted I began to drift off, uncomfortably, and fall into a nightmare. I woke a few moments later to the sound of my voice screaming at myself to wake up. It's the only way I've figured out how to wake myself from a nightmare.

I began to cry. I couldn't figure out why I was crying, so I tried to go over the events of the day. Everything that happened was sad, especially my niece's face when we talked about my leaving. Somewhere in the wee hours, hot tears stinging my face, I fell back asleep and into another nightmare. There was an intruder in my home. They were getting closer to me, their wild eyes piercing mine. "Wake up!" I yelled, and finally I did. At this point I knew that staying awake was the only way to survive. I felt sick to my stomach and considered going to the bathroom and trying to vomit, but I haven't puked in a decade and I know my body just doesn't work that way.

Starting to sweat, I threw the covers off of me. Derby at the foot of the bed was too close to me, I wanted to be alone and uncovered to deal with this. I started to get goosebumps and shivers though I was still sweating. I drifted in and out, the time I was in nightmares eclipsing the time I was awake. The anxiety carried over into the dreams. It hurts my entire body. The nausea carried over.

In my dreams the world was ending and no one could do anything about it. The sea had been sucked up into the sky, and we were constantly in darkness, the dense blue green of the salty water covering the sun and the moon. We were waiting for it to drop and drown us all. Planes were crashing into buildings. There was nothing to be done. I was alone with a man who, in waking life, I know is not interested in me. And it was the one piece of joy I could feel in a world doomed for destruction.

I woke up at 10:30am to a text message. I was drenched in sweat, my clothes and hair soaked through, shivering cold and wet. Three hours later than I had intended to wake and feeling awful. My tongue was numb and tingling. Is. My tongue is numb and tingling. My fingers are numb and tingling. My head is pounding and I can barely open my eyes except in darkness. The migraine is here.

I start to cry again, hopeless. I checked my barrage of emails and messages realizing I couldn't handle any of it today. I can barely keep my eyes open. I can barely think straight. I go to webmd and put in my plethora of symptoms. I'm not surprised that, among things that I am surely not suffering from, severe anxiety is listed. The numbness, tingling and migraines are new symptoms for me, I usually just get the fear of impending death, loss of breath, terror, and pain in my joints and muscles. I've been suffering from those symptoms intermittently for years. Like when I ran all the way down and across Manhattan one fourth of July without telling anyone I was leaving while suffering a panic attack. If I hit all the possible symptoms do I get a prize? Will I spontaneously combust?

The numbness (especially in my fingers) and the migraine are making it difficult to type this, but I am hoping to get some relief by puking it all out. It's exactly 7 weeks and 1 day from my departure to Paris. I have nowhere to stay, no job lined up, no potential means of income, my Dad is barely talking to me and still forbids me to go, and so much to do here before I leave to set things up to run smoothly for Brunch Club that I am completely overwhelmed and paralyzed. I am unable to do anything in this state. 

I think this particular attack started yesterday when I stopped by the atm to check my balance. I said aloud "No" in the vestibule before walking home and doing all the math in my head. I do not have enough money to stay anywhere when I arrive. What a fucking failure I am, 32 with absolutely no money. How close I am to being homeless myself. Will I sleep at the train station when I get to Paris? The tears are stuffing up my sinuses with snot and adding so much pressure to my head that it feels like it's packed, inch by inch, so heavy I can barely keep it upright on my wavering neck. It feels like I'm trying to balance the world on a toothpick. I just can't do it.

I'm scared, angry and can barely see or think. I'm cold, hot don't know what to do about this attack that's now lasted longer than any I've ever had. I'd call my therapist but she'd tell me to take Ativan, and I did that, remember?

Should I Lie to My Grandma? And Other Inner Dialogues

I am 32 and single. I feel pretty ok about this because 1. I'm extremely busy trying to make the world a better place/living my dharma, and 2. Despite my parents' belief that I am "too picky" I have high expectations for romantic partnership and I'm not willing to settle for anything else. My parents are not the only ones who are concerned about this matter. 

My grandma has one and only one question for me every time I see her. 

Grandma: Do you have a boyfriend now, Jenny?

Me: No, Grammy.  

Grandma: Still no? 

Me: Still no. 

Grandma. Oh, well. 

And that's it. No questions about my business or anything else that could possibly be going on. On Easter I got the same line of questioning from my older brother and his wife. Questions about my relationship status and then awkward silence. I swear to you I have interesting things to say and a life that is full of things. But my grandma doesn't seem to have any interest in that. I don't take it personally and I'm pretty sure that it's mostly due to the times in which she grew up and just the way things were done. But what I can't stand is the sadness in her eyes. I picture her worrying and picturing me, all alone. I don't want to make her sad. 

Then there's this: A few years ago, before she had a series of small strokes and developed dementia, we had this conversation:

Grandma: Do you have a boyfriend now, Jenny?

Me: No, Grammy. 

Grandma: Well don't you want to get married?

Me: I do, someday, if I meet the right person. But I'm not in a rush. I'm doing other things like--

Grandma: Honey, I just want you to be happy. I want you to be taken care of. That would make me happy knowing that you are safe.

Me: I can take care of myself though, Gram.

Grandma: I know you can, but it's not the same. I'm not going to die until you get married and I get to dance at your wedding. 

So you know, no pressure or anything. 

I want my grandma to be happy. I don't want to think of her worrying about me and hanging onto life until she sees me get married. I don't even know if she remembers this pact, but I can't forget it. I picture her thinking to herself When I said it I didn't think it would take this long...

So I've been wondering if it might be easier to lie to her, purely for her own peace of mind. Then next time I come pick her up for lunch our conversation might go like this:

Grandma: Do you have a boyfriend now, Jenny?

Me: Yes! I do!

Grandma: Oh, wonderful! That makes me so happy. What's his name? What's he like? Do you have a picture of him?

--Here's where I really need to get dedicated to the lie. I know she will ask all about him and I know she will ask for a photo. Now I could just screen shot an imdb picture of my celebrity crush, Jason Ritter, and pretend he is an architect at Vandalay Industries and that we enjoy hiking together on Saturdays.  But where does it end? Will I always be making excuses for why Jason Ritter is away and not able to come to family gatherings? How many times can I say he's at the Catalina Wine Mixer? 

Honestly I do not have the ability, time, or desire to proficiently photo shop a picture of Jason Ritter and me together to continue with this charade. But I just want her to be happy. And, perhaps morbidly, I want her to feel like she can die if she wants to and not worry about me. So, Grandma, in a fictional world where you can use the internet and are reading this, just know that I'm ok. I promise. And I love you. Please don't force me to lie to you. Love, Jenny

Pacific Coast Road Trip Part II - Portland In Photos

If You Feel Too Much

I'm going to talk about something uncomfortable. Something that I was taught I wasn't supposed to talk about. That something is sadness.

I was 12 when I first realized that what was happening inside my mind had a name and it was called depression. I was 19 before I told anyone about it. And I was in my early 20's when I got to a point that I couldn't handle it on my own. I was so depressed that it was a struggle to get out of bed every day. I felt as though I was sinking farther into myself and father away from anyone else. I was so very heavy with being. I felt isolated inside of a grainy bubble even when I was surrounded by people, everyone's voices muffled just out of reach.

I had a friend going through depression who only felt ok when she was with other people; who felt terrified to be alone at any time. She would sometimes come over just to sit and listen to music while I worked on a painting or did homework. I was there for her, physically, but I didn't understand, not entirely, because I felt the opposite. I felt a little tiny bit better when I was alone because at least I was free to feel what it was I was going through without the added layer of being isolated in a crowd.

My brain chemistry has fluctuated throughout the years. I have done things that have helped and been through things that have made it much worse. I know there is a difference between sadness and depression. I have felt both. I have been anxious. I have felt like breath was being stolen from me as I had a panic attack on the 4th of July under the fireworks in New York City. I thought I was dying. I waited for death to take me away into the silence and painlessness. But I just went on breathing. I left my friend without a word and walked from the upper west side to the lower east side as fast as I could, through the crowded and stifling wet heat. I needed to go crazy inside my mind alone. I didn't want to do it in front of an audience.

I just finished reading Jamie Tworkowski's book, If You Feel Too Much. It is a collection of stories he's lived as the creator of To Write Love On Her Arms, which provides help and hope to people dealing with depression, addiction, self-injury and suicide. It was beautifully written, and my main take away was this: If we have each other we will be alright. Darkness occurs, everywhere, in all of us. But if we lean on each other and love one another...we will be alright. I fully believe this. I know this to be true because I have sat, many times, at the edge of darkness and wished for someone to help me climb my way back into the light.

I went through the most recent depressive state a few months ago and I was utterly alone. I think that from the outside it probably looks like I've got a lot of people, and support, and things going on. Let me tell you, I have a lot of things going on. I work very hard. I care very much about what I do and it's always on my mind. How can Brunch Club help more people? Spread more awareness? What else can I do? I think about these questions every day. I'm "busy." I get invited to events and I go. I used to go a lot more frequently. But in this time a few months ago something very sad happened. When I needed someone, when I needed to be less alone, when I needed someone to walk me through the darkness, no one was there. My "good friends" didn't answer their phones. They texted that they were super busy, but soon we'd talk. It's always soon. One person, who I had never had any sort of romantic relationship with, even said to me "Why the booty call?" "What? Is that I joke?" I texted back. I reached out through phone calls and texts and I said "I'm not doing so great. Do you think we could get together? At some point? Do you think you could come over? Call me back?" and no one did.

I sank further. I needed help. I didn't need anyone to do anything except talk to me and be there for me in proximity or over a phone call. That's it. And I couldn't find it in any of my friends. Everyone is so busy. When someone takes their own life we go on about what a tragedy it is. We all post on social media regretfully, saying how we wished we could have helped. My message is this: Open your eyes. Because people need each other. We are not designed to spend all of our hours and days and lives alone and we cannot survive that way. We have jobs and commitments and hobbies and so on. But what does any of that mean if we don't have each other? If you care for someone don't let them go through their darkness alone. They might not make it out the other side.

Pacific Road Trip Part 1 - Berkeley, Napa, Chico

It took 8 hours to get from San Diego to Berkeley. Siri completely bypassed LA, which was perfect, so as soon as I left Orange County, and the distant familiarity of where my college life had taken place whizzed by in my rear view mirror, I felt like I was gone. I didn't recognize where I was.  The feeling that I was somewhere that no one knew me eclipsed the feeling that I was in a world where I could run into someone I kind of knew and was friends with on facebook for some reason but wasn't sure of their name. It was a good feeling. During the 8 hours I listened to the poetic mix of fact and fiction that is Shantaram, resisting the anxiety I felt when I wanted to underline a particularly beautiful passage but I couldn't because I was listening to it, not holding the off white pages in my hands the way I love to do while reading. As I drove north through the cold grey of California I listened to Gregory David Roberts describe India with warm and vibrant words. It was a beautiful juxtaposition.

In San Francisco I ate rich and flavorful food at the largest food truck gathering in the bay on the windy corner of land that touches the sea in Fort Mason. I froze my ass off, I hiked in the cold and milky bay air and I tried and failed to find a hat that fit my child sized head. I saw Sara for the first time in 3 years, and stayed on an air mattress at her place covered by a comforter I had given her when I left New York.

"You've changed", she said with a smile, after I told her a honeyed realization I'd had while on the road. It was about driving through patches of rain on the way up, and how I'd see it from the sunny side, the dense and thick rain cloud, and I'd know I'd soon be in it. While I was under it I could at times hardly see...it was dark and the splash from the semi trucks meant the water was coming from every direction, but I knew that soon it would be clear again. I told Sara this had made me realize the importance of keeping perspective when things were awful, knowing that soon you'd be out of it; that it was only a matter of time. It was cheesy but she was right, it was an indicator that I had changed, and she was happy that I wasn't as hard and hopeless as I had been when I left New York.

2 days later I drove 2 and a half hours north east to Napa. I walked into a friend's house I hadn't seen in 10 years and it was warm and inviting, just as I'd remembered her. Julia had old pictures of us from our year abroad in Italy that I hadn't seen since. I had long orange hair that had been much blonder in my memory. She looked the same. We stayed up drinking wine and I played with the kitties she was fostering though my allergies made it near impossible for me to breath. Her and her husband told me the story of how they met and fell in love as I sat under the warm light of their home and I felt happy and completely content. The next day Julia had to work but her husband, though he'd never met me before, took me to their local grocer to get a gigantic bagel and a bottle of kombucha and on a hike overlooking the valley. We spent the remainder of the day at the vineyard where Julia worked, sampling wines, exploring the grounds, laughing and sharing the stories of our very different lives. We ate buttery local cheeses and breads. Julia got off work and joined us for a dinner of more cheese, more wine, avocado, more laughs and stories. It was a perfect 2 days. I love that friendship endures, that even after such a long stint without seeing someone, that Julia and I could fall into our adoration of one another. I adore her anyway and love the life she's made for herself in Napa.

My second morning in Napa I woke up in the familiar pain of an enflamed neck and shoulder. I drove to Chico and for 48 hours attempted to stave off the pain with hot compresses, over the counter medication, topical ointment, an airplane neck pillow, whiskey and reluctantly, a trip to the chiropractor. I spent most of my time in Chico in pain on my cousin's couch. It was my first time there but I could barely move my neck and head so I couldn't do much of anything. Stephanie has always been more like a sister to me than a cousin. We were born less than a year apart and have been close our whole lives, so I didn't feel guilty being down and out at her place. She made me whiskey tea the night I arrived and drove me to the chiropractor the next day. I went to Sierra Nevada and had a beer, as you do, but other than watching a lot of Anthony Bordain and snuggling with my cousin's dog Ziggy, I didn't do much. Life has a way of canceling my plans sometimes. A way of forcing me to rest when it's what I really need.

To be continued with Part 2 - Bend and Portland...

Higher Love

I am lucky. I have been in love. Real, beautiful, deep, feels-so-good-it-hurts kind of love. I fell in love for the first time when I was 15. What does it feel like? Almost every song, poem, book and movie is an attempt to explain this, in one way or another, so I don't know what I can add except for the way it feels to me. For me it's a combination of physical and mental stimulation unlike any other. There's a reason lovesick is a word. It's the feeling people try to replicate by taking drugs. An article in Women's Health says "Falling in love activates about 12 regions in your brain, according to a study published in the Journal of Sexual Medicine...you can know you're in love within a fifth of a second." It also affects your hormone levels (releasing oxytocin), blood pressure, heart rate, bone health, sleep and can even make food taste differently (according to a study by the American Psychology Association).

For me it feels like everything is right. In alignment. In flow. Someone fully understands you in all your weirdness, and what's more, they adore you. And you adore them. Everything they do is either cute, sexy, amazing or inspiring. The way their mouth moves when they speak. Have you ever noticed anyone else's mouth? No, because who cares about everyone else, this person's mouth, your beloved, has the best mouth in the universe. The way you feel when they look at you from across the room and a magnetic pull brings you together. You miss them even when they're sitting right next to you. You ache for their warm touch on your arm. You want to tell them everything that happens. It's like you've been mute your whole life and then they came over to you and with a kiss you were awakened to the beauty of life. It's like the first day of spring after a long winter. You were managing fine without them, but now everything is in color. Everything is beautiful and someone is in love with you and you, finally, have someone to share yourself with, every part of yourself. That's how it was for me.

I fell in love again when I was 19. And a third time when I was 22 and again when I was 26. All 4 of the relationships were beautiful. They were at times terrifying, wondrous, comfortable and awful. I learned. And they're over. I've been largely single for about 4 years. Sometimes I go on dating apps when I feel lonely or need to get out of the house. Sometimes I meet someone and we make a little connection. But over the past few years I had completely forgotten what it feels like to be in love. All of it. The blessed experience of loving and being loved. Until the other night. And I wasn't reminded in the way you think.

A friend said to me, not in regard to love but in regard to life in general, "What do you want? Focus on what you want. Feel what it feels like to have what you want and call it in." So as I went to bed that night I began to think of the best I've ever felt. The most joyful, awake, happy. And I was brought back to a state of love. As I drifted off to sleep this state went into my dream and I felt the warm glow of love inside my subconscious mind. In my dream I was told "This is love. Remember? Don't give up on it and don't settle for anything else." and in that dream I realized that I had been spending time with people that didn't offer me that. I had tried to make things work that didn't. I can't believe I forgot how magical love is! I affirm anew to treat myself how I want to be treated by a partner and accept nothing less. I believe partnership is sacred. I believe that there is another love for me. I believe that I am worthy and deserving of great love and that's what I'm holding out for.

I get asked a decent amount why I'm single. Because I am holing out for magic. Because I have tasted the sweet nectar of soul rattling love and I am okay to be alone until I find it again. And I'm finally ready for the kind of partner I'm seeking to come into my life. As the song says, bring me a higher love.

1 Year Later - Surgaversary

One year ago today I woke up in a hospital bed with a couple big chunks of my insides cut out. I had 2 large, and once they got in there a few small, fibroids removed. I couldn't feel the pain yet, which is almost impossible to imagine now. Today I can recall and play it like a song I've heard thousands of times. But it was kept at bay until the first wave of morphine started to fade out and the pain came into focus, like someone was photographing it with a lens from across the room.

I couldn't feel the pain yet and I greatly underestimated my scar. I figured what with it being 2014 and me being in America and all they would have been able to do a great job at keeping it minimal and clean and over time, once the blood was washed away and the stitches absorbed, it would be barely noticeable. The first time I looked at it when the bandage was removed it was horrific. It was every disgusting shade of black and deep blue and crimson with dried crusted blood and an organic pattern resembling what I can only imagine the clouds of hell would look like.

When it started to heal and I began to go to my post op visits it became clear that the scar would always be huge, and lopsided, and make my whole lower core/upper vaginal area look unpretty. My scar is 4 huge inches long, fatter on one side than the other. It prevents me from ever being able to have a natural childbirth. At my second post op appointment when I brought up to my doctor my concern about my skin not laying flat in that area and the scar being...well, looking like crap, she said "They'll be able to fix it once it's opened and they resew it."

"What? Why would they do that?" I asked.

"When you have a baby" she said, as if it were the most natural thing to assume that any moment now I'd be back in the hospital giving birth.

"But I'm not planning on having a baby any time soon, if at all", I told her.

"Oh. I don't know, then. You're thirty already."

So it just looks like this. Shortly after my surgery, and while I was very much still recovering and unable to move, my boyfriend and I broke up. I cried when he didn't show up at the hospital. I cried when I was staying at my mom's house recovering and she asked me "Where is he? How come he hasn't been over?" and I didn't have an answer. I cried when I realized I would have to see the look on the next man's face when he undressed me for the first time and saw my scar. Someone I didn't even know yet. A stranger looking at the most vulnerable part of me.

I cried in pain when my niece jumped on my lap but I hid it because I didn't ever want her to know she hurt me by accident.

It's times like these, when everything is upside down, when you can't barely walk your dog and you hold your pee in for hours because it hurts to get up and walk 10 feet to the bathroom, that you realize who loves you and who is on the periphery of your life, just sort of there, in the background. I was sent care packages and words of love from my great aunt and my best friends in New York. My roommate walked Derby for me when she could. But my own boyfriend was absent. And so in addition to trying to heal my body, trying to stay still as a stone so I could get better, stronger, faster, I was awakened to the truth that I was alone in my relationship.

I tend to be pretty hard on the outside when I meet someone I like. My flirting style is mean. I act very cool, aloof, tough. I'm working on it. But when that all fades away and becomes an actual relationship I am completely selfless. I realized during this time that this match was perfect for him because he was totally selfish. I'm not like that anymore and I don't really care what he's like today. But I was devastated. I was broken in both body and spirit for months.

Out of that mud came the beautiful flower of Brunch Club. I was inspired to do for others when I felt shitty about my own life. I know it was a path I had to travel, however awful it felt at the time, to bring me where I am today. But on this day I still look back at one year ago me with tears of sadness for what that girl went through. It was dark and lonely and painful in every way. But it's over. And today I can practice yoga and walk 10,000 steps a day and do whatever else I want. I am free in body and in spirit, and I know that I'm the only one who can make it so.