Sleepless in LA

I was in the hospital again, and this time, I actually had surgery. To me, it seems like a big deal, having two organs (although they say they’re useless) removed. The pain has been decreasing at a fast rate and I’m making satisfactory progress… I guess.

My dizziness and anemia, might be a different matter. As I sit here in my boyfriend’s room, his monitor seems to be hovering over the desk, rather than sitting still. It’s not really dizziness, I guess, but more of a light-headedness. Every time I sit up and try to focus on something, I feel light headed and feel like going to sleep. That’s no good.

I miss my health. I miss my dog, I miss walking him and grabbing random trash out of his mouth on our walks. I miss being able to roll over in bed without wincing, and I miss using the toilet without cringing. I miss taking a nice vigorous shower, and I miss eating something without having a weird aftertaste in my mouth for hours afterwards. Good health… it is direly missed.

I’m hoping to leave all this sickness behind in my twenties and start my thirties in excellent health. I hit 30 in a few days — I sincerely hope by then, I am as well as I can be and not get sick anymore… so sick of being sick!

The boyfriend started to have some discomfort in his neck last night, which eventually grew into pretty bad pain. I tried my best to help him with the situation; even as a nurse, there was little I could do. But seeing him in pain gave me pretty good insight about how I feel about him.

It shouldn’t be that I need to see him in misery before I realize my feelings for him. But regardless, that is how the situation played out. Usually when people around me have health issues, I have a lot of good advices to dish out. Certain ailments, though, really have no easy solution. Chronic pain is one of them. The helplessness you feel being unable to solve the problem at hand forms an aura of anxious tensity.

I didn’t just feel bad that he was hurting. I felt bad I couldn’t make it better. I felt bad that I couldn’t share the pain and divvy up the discomfort. Wished I could do more. I think it’s been a long time since I felt that kind of emotional closeness. Not just closeness, but a strong need to feel close. Even though I have no problem spewing out word after word about anything and everything, I am at a loss of word. I think… “awe” might be the one word I feel.

Is this love? I’m not sure yet. I still feel anxious that I may still lose him. That he may slip through my fingers and fade away like the others. It’s become increasingly harder to let my guard down and let someone in. I think the sensation I feel now is that hesitation to be vulnerable in the hands of another, while at the same time, longing and seeking that vulnerability in myself.

Only time will tell… Until then… I just hope he feels better.

So I have a new boyfriend. I haven’t known him long, but so far, he’s been very loving, very kind, and as affectionate as one can expect a nerdy, skinny, Jewish scientist could be. And he’s said he loves me.

And here’s where the apprehension comes in. I already have underlying anxiety, and as much as I joke about the 6 week curse, it’s been the case that I have not had a relationship pass the 6 week mark in the last year or so.

So far, it’s been about three weeks into the relationship, and I already feel it coming. I feel like maybe the together-time we’ve had while I was hospitalized and immediately after has been too much. We spent about 4 days together non-stop. Too soon, too much? I’m not sure.

I like this one. So it’s not easy for me to allow myself to be vulnerable — the last time I let my guard down, - splat - I got the “talk.” I don’t see us long term together. It’s not you, it’s me. I’m not looking for a serious relationship. I don’t see this going anywhere.

I know it’s silly to dwell on the past and sit here expecting “the speech” to come soon. But I have always had a baseline anxiety, and it’s hard for me to not let it escalate. I have this profound need to love and be loved and when I care for something or someone, I tend to get overboard. But I don’t do relationships half-assed.

Spending this whole week recuperating at home is going to have me crawling on the wall! I am trying to focus on reorganizing my entire room (yes, the entire room!) and working with Truman… but I still feel the apprehension of things that may (or may not, hopefully) come.

I was in the hospital three days and two nights for an acute diverticulitis which was close to my appendix, which caused “early appendicitis.” Since the appendicitis was not acute and the diverticulitis was the main problem, I was treated with IV antibiotics and morphine (who knew I’d like the stuff so much??). The appendix may or may not need to be removed once my diverticulitis situation is cleared. That is to be discussed at a later time. I am also anemic. It was the third of my three blood samples taken in the last 6 months to show low hemoglobin. Not low enough to require transfusion, but low enough to question why a healthy young woman has symptomatic anemia. I was low on iron (despite my intense love affair with red meat), and it is hoped that some iron supplement may be the only solution required. Diverticulitis is no laughing matter. Looking back, I can’t believe I suffered three days of acute abdominal pain and proceeded to show up to work day after day. I should’ve realized that if you need vicodin just to get to work… you’ve got issues. Hopefully I’ve learned my lesson and will proceed to seek early treatment hereon. With all that said, diverticulitis is great for some things. 1. You get out of work. 2. You get the sympathy vote, hands down! 3. You get in touch with people and get to see people you may otherwise not see for a long time. 4. The guy you’re dating professes his love for you and we decide to become an item (cue: awwww~). Yup, he said he loves me, people! 5. It provides a natural (?) environment for your family to meet your aforementioned, new boyfriend. You’re ill, so you can pretend the awkwardness isn’t really there. 6. You get potent pain medication and you get to complain about the hospital food* **. *On Friday morning, there was an actual piece of hair that belonged to neither myself nor the boyfriend on the egg/cheese omelet. **Even though I mentioned that I do not tolerate dairy products… milk, cheese, and other members of the dairy team were consistently present on my tray. So I’m off of work until next Monday, and I will follow up with my favorite doc before then. Blood will be drawn, perhaps a CT scan repeated, and then more decisions regarding my care will be made. Now I’m at home, after 48 hours of around the clock care by the boyfriend, sitting with my dog, whom I missed a great deal. Trying to cut back on pain meds and eat easy to digest food, and also… trying my best to poop. Yay.

I got a dog a few days ago. It’s a two years old, a beagle (mostly, I think), and a rescue. I have to say, I love being a dog owner.

I did have a dog about a decade ago — it kind of makes me sad that my previous dog (chihuahua) is probably dead by now. I did not know how to take care of the dog. I got the dog and I gave it a better home than its previous owner, but I still had no idea what I was doing. I realize now that I was an irresponsible owner. However, that dog went to a better home with two kids to play with, so that’s that.

I feel better equipped to take care of a dog now, at the age of 29. Still, I’m no dog whisperer. But I’m good to the dog, and the dog seems to genuinely be happy, living with me.

The dog has helped a lot already with my depression and anxiety — they say pets do that. To some extent, I guess my two cats also helped, but dogs, especially, I think are good for people with a lot of anxiety and stress. I’ve become a noncompliant patient… I started to feel better and started to get lazy about taking my medications on a regular basis, which is very bad. And due to the various situations in my life, anxiety has increased slightly and I can’t afford to be lax about my medication regimen.

The last few days, I’ve also been very emotional — I’ve been extremely passive-aggressive, bitter, and also very depressed and saddened. I really wish I had a friend or a boyfriend or someone close who could act as my crutch; I really feel like I could use some help. Mundane diurnal tasks such as writing a check and mailing a bill seems like an impossibly gargantuan activity requiring an insane amount of effort. Being alone in this exaggerates the loneliness and the sadness.

I’m looking into cognitive-behavioral therapy — that’s the kind of talk therapy I should get, should I decide to get therapy. I need to change the way I think and change the dialogue I have with myself, but I really don’t know how. But currently, getting golf lessons and taking an obedience class with my dog is higher up on my priorities. Why? I don’t know. Maybe it’s denial. Maybe it’s the lack of appeal in sharing my inner thoughts with a total stranger. I feel like a lot of times I go to these things and they tell me things I already know…

My health in general is always fluctuating… if it’s not one thing, it’s another, and it’s always just so frustrating to have to deal with the ups and downs. I need a constant in my life who supports me. Currently I support my family and my pets, and I feel like I have no one to rely upon. Financially, I’ll be alright — I’m not looking to be rescued. But since the age of 18, I have never been given the blessings to be taken care of by another human being in a way that I need to be supported. It might be a lot to ask out of life… life is supposed to give you lemons for your lemonade. Not good fortune. You make your own good fortune, I suppose.

I am trying to be good to myself. To support myself in the way that I wish someone else would. It’s hard, which is weird to say — how hard is it to take care of numero uno? For me, it’s been hard. My internal dialogue with myself is dysfunctional. I am hoping that the dog will be a constant in my life and give me the unconditional love and emotional support (to the extent that an animal can) that I crave and need.

I recently stumbled upon a sport I actually enjoy participating in. A couple of months back, I picked up golf, and have gotten more and more into the sport. It’s been especially helpful to me recently; I was already having a lot of trouble focusing and concentrating, but recent events have caused even more distractions from life. When I prepare to hit the ball, I look at the ball and just at the ball; all my energy is intensified on a single goal. In that moment, all I do is concentrate on hitting that ball in the way that I want to. All other matters of life cease to exist for that minute piece of time.

I have always thought I will always suck at sports. I’ve tried a lot of different things, from tennis, horseback riding, to ballet, even. And in my formatives years, kickball, softball, flag football, and so on. Horseback riding and ballet I enjoyed but I can’t say I am good at them. I participated just to enjoy the process of learning something new, so that I exercise a different part of my brain.

In golf, I might have figured out the secret formula: I cannot play a sport involving hitting a moving ball while I am on the move. In golf, neither myself or the ball are moving. We both stand still in time. Sure, the spatial abilities and athleticism is still involved, but maybe I just wasn’t meant to chase after a flying object.

At this point, it is one of the few things that I do in a sane and calm manner. I have focus and direction and I get to feel a sense of accomplishment. Hitting balls in a vast green field under the warmth of the Californian sun doesn’t hurt either. It has offered me the rare serenity to detach myself from my current unhappy reality. My life isn’t always unhappy… this is circumstantial, but life will always have its ups and downs, and I hope my golf clubs remain close companions.

I am having trouble finding something to do today.  I’ve been sitting around aimlessly wandering the Internet.  I hit the driving range to see if it would help with my frustrations and confusion, but it didn’t seem to help.  After 5 weeks of what felt like a budding relationship, I find myself shocked and awed facing its termination.

Just 16 hours prior, everything appeared to be as usual. Or perhaps I was too giddy to notice. For whatever reason, I allowed myself to be vulnerable and truly open myself and enjoy myself with another person. I threw caution to the wind. 5 weeks ago, I was hesitant to jump in, doubting if it’s too soon, not wanting to engage myself in something that would cause more distress than joy. Caution, to wind. I dived in with both feet.

I still have no idea why it ended; I will perhaps never know. It is always tragic when someone you’ve grown fond of no longer wants to be with you. I keep beating myself up for letting go of inhibitions and frolicking about without a single iota of an idea that this was looming so close. How could I have fallen so much for someone I’ve been with just 5 weeks? I feel like an emotional slut, giving my heart out so quickly to a virtual stranger.

He didn’t feel like a stranger hours prior to the execution of the relationship, but I realize now that it’s highly probably that I did not know him at all. Various bits and pieces of conversations we’ve had kept running through my mind. I try to see if there were any clues, any foreshadowing of the end. The different stages of grief come rushing at me all at the same time. I blame myself for being naive. I want to know why he no longer wanted to be with me. I want to know what made him make up his mind that I was no longer a candidate for a relationship. We made plans for things to come in the future… what was that about and how does that fit into the picture? They were all suggested by him — why did he make plans for the future? I’m angry that he brought this on so suddenly. While I have no negative feelings toward the fact that he had a change of heart — the heart wants what it wants — but how could he have been so sweet and so warm to me and break up with me hours later?

I feel crushed. And lost. I spent the day trying to do something. Anything. I can’t even focus on the television. I tried to jump start studying for the neuroscience nurse exam, but concentration was hard to conjure. Mostly, I feel like I’m in denial. I feel like I dreamt it. He’ll call me on my phone anytime now, asking what I’m doing. But the heartless machine remains silent. I want to call him and ask what happened. What changed? What did I do? I can change. It can work. But I know that’s a move of desperation and it’s never flattering and it never works.

I feel like I suffered a blow to the back of the head. A concussion, maybe. I can’t sleep. I have no desire to eat. It’s been little more than 24 hours since it happened. I’m becoming a hot mess. I don’t know that I can do the things I need to do tomorrow. I don’t know that I can go to work on Tuesday. I see my cats and I am reminded of his dog. I’m tempted to get a dog. A dog is a poor substitute for a relationship. This line of dialogues drive me crazy.

The most frustrating, crazy part is, that I know I’ll get over it. It’s just a matter of time. I’ve seen other people go through it. Passing the time is the only thing to end the grief. And yet I know that passing the time is just so difficult! I imagine I’ll be feeling a lot worse before I start to feel better. Until then, alcohol will be a close friend…

So I am sad.

It’s my mom’s birthday.

We’ve been going back and forth about an issue, and this morning she e-mailed me a letter that was very lengthy.

My mom is not my hero. I don’t want to ever live a life like hers or live in the manner that she has thus far. And she knows it. She even expects it. For years she has had to live in financial difficulty with a stoic man who was absent most of the time. I do have a sore spot when it comes to Dad, because he just wasn’t the father a lot of my friends had growing up. We hardly lived together, and even when we did, we never had conversations or shared aspects of our lives. I love him and miss him dearly, but he did leave me with a scarred memory and expectation of what a father and a husband should be.

And my mother, during all the years she had been with him, lived a life of constant worry. Not knowing where my father was in the middle of the night, not knowing when cash would be coming in… The silent victim in all of this, I suppose. I hated that my mother was living a life of meekness, unable to vocalize anything for herself, unable to take care of her own emotional needs. I recognize that my childhood could have been a lot worse had my mother not been the tolerant, resilient, and sacrificing woman she has been. But do I find anything admirable in the life that she has led? No.

I am even more resistant to the way she faced life, because I know I share a lot of personality traits with her; I am her daughter, it cannot be helped. I am also not good at standing up for myself. In fact, I am very poor at that. I am afraid of people leaving me and therefore fear vocalizing my emotional needs. I always end up putting others ahead, before me. Others may see it as a sweet gesture or even call it altruistic, but from my viewpoint, it is an abuse I inflict on myself.

So it is my mother’s birthday. I hope her golden years at least somewhat validate her former years of life. And I hope I am never in her shoes.

Sometimes, who you want to be and who you actually are happen to be quite different things.

So much time has gone by since I’ve written.  Life has dramatically changed, especially in the year 2009, for me.For starters, I finally went to seek medical help for the insanity that had been plaguing me for years.  I had something of a major anxiety breakdown in early summer, and I started to see a psychiatrist.  I went on medications.  That’s plural.  Medications were titrated up and down.  Different medications were added.  I couldn’t sleep.  When I did sleep, I woke up every hour, no rhyme or reason.

I also fell off a horse.  I had been taking horseback riding classes, and I fell off.  I was in physical therapy for about four months.  I was on pain medication, and there are days I can’t recall at all.  A few days of my life I just can’t remember.  Not a big fan of pain medication.

Then, as if being mentally unhealthy wasn’t enough, I came down with some sort of undiagnosable mystery disease.  Some said it was H1N1.  Some said it was mono.  Some said it was the flu.  Bronchitis.  Asthma.  Either way, it started around November, right before my Grandmother passed away.  Oh yeah.  My last living grandparent passed away.  Two days before Thanksgiving.  And I continued to get sicker and sicker.

Finally, in December, I went to see a doctor.  I avoid doctors like the plague (sometimes even while I’m at work!), but the coughing and shortness of breath and fatigue was so bad, I just had to.  I had a chest X-ray just to rule out TB.  No TB.  So then it was mono, for which there is no cure.  So I suffered with what I thought was mono for a good month.  I had an asthmatic attack, where I just couldn’t breathe and I passed out.  I learned that when I can’t breathe, I’ll yell at people and say the “F” word quite a lot.

In January, I switched doctors.  Got on antibiotics, and felt 90% better.  Sore throats came and went and general malaise ensued, but at least I was functional.  Now, I’ve found out that the Hepatitis B immunization I received four years ago has not formed enough antibodies.  And also that I’m anemic.  In two random blood draws, I was anemic — not severely, but regardless, I wanted numbers that screamed “she’s in excellent health!” And my face color is still sallow and the dark circles under my eyes are darker and spreading.

Good health was never something I took for granted; my line of profession makes it impossible to do so.  Why was I given this trial?  What lesson could I have learned from this experience?  I really don’t know.  One of life’s mysteries, I guess.  I’ll never really know what plagued me in 2009.  But I’m hoping to put the whole damned thing behind me, and soon.