Nothing More Than Feelings.

I don't feel amazing.  The A1C I received recently can be accurately described as "total crap".  My body aches, my ankles swell.  My mouth has suffered the dryness of approximately one jillion cotton balls.

Winter, aka The Time I Am Most Likely to Be Down on Myself for the Silliest Things, is upon us.  I am less than thrilled.  Completely non-plussed.  Sometimes utterly discouraged.  I've beaten myself up psychologically before.  I've tried to pretend things that bother me might go away if I look in the other direction.

I get more anxious about my future than I do my blood sugar levels, and I suppose in a way, that's good.  I still feel like a mostly-normal human being, albeit sometimes a flawed and out-of-shape one.

But I'm still holding on.  I keep reminding myself to revisit all the good and great things that have happened lately, and luckily, there are a lot of those.

I just need to remember to learn.  To move on.  To not ignore the things that frighten me because honey, they ain't goin' anywhere.  I need to remember to wear my Dexcom all the time [dammit].  To realize that the numbers are very important, but they don't define who I am.

Can we all just take a minute to get all existential/philosophical and appreciate how beautiful and terrifying life can be, and that sometimes just still being here is a major achievement?  Can we all just give each other a hug?

The Pits

Feeling stuck, I think, is even crappier than feeling like you're just having a bad time. 

Maybe it's like the difference between a nasty flu that lasts for a week and having a chronic illness. 

There's a lot that feels like it hasn't gone right for me all year this year, and let's face it, there's not THAT much left of 2012.  My current focus is to just get somewhere.  My home is so close to being back to normal after the bedbugs and the continuing aftermath.  I'm still seeing my therapist, trying to read more books, trying to take time to be mindful of everything.  Despite my best efforts, there are still many times I feel like I'm standing on one leg and a kickstand. 

I finally saw The Dark Knight Rises over the weekend.  (I'll try not to spoil much here.)  In part of the story, Bruce Wayne is taken to a terrible prison at the bottom of a pit.  The prisoners have the option to climb out and escape their prison, but every time someone tries, they fall.  No one ever makes it--they live out their lives in toil and despair at the bottom of this pit.  Of course, Bruce Wayne is the goddamn Batman, and he's determined to escape so his beloved city does not collapse at the hands of evildoers.  He trains through the agony of a broken back and makes multiple attempts to leave the pit.  What drives him to succeed?  Being the goddamn Batman.  Being the hero.  Being the one who can stand up for Gotham City.

There are times when I feel like I'm stuck in some pit of despair.  I could try to climb out, but that seems just as exhausting as being stuck at the bottom.  I think it's just my time to go for it, without the stupid rope.  Commissioner Gordon isn't necessarily looking for me up there, because I'm not a vigilante hero. 

But I'm an awesome person.  I am creative, intelligent, friendly, loving, and totally capable of all kinds of greatness.  There is nothing worse than knowing you are a rockstar but not believing it anymore. 

Do you have any tips for banishing negativity from your mind?  How do you get yourself out of a funk?  Once you start working on improving something about yourself, what's the best way to keep it up?

Doing What I Do

I know they are not often shared here with you good people, but I write a lot of poems.  People will sometimes ask me what kind of poems I write, and this is always a difficult question to answer.  I write funny poems, love poems, introspective personal poems, but that's not all.  I don't write a lot of poems about political issues.  Believe it or not, I don't [yet] write a lot of poems about diabetes.

As much as I love writing, I also love performing.  It feels like it's something that is wired into me.  Before I get onstage, I may be somewhat nervous, but once I'm out there, it's exhilarating. 

There aren't a lot of videos out there of me competing in poetry slams, and there are even fewer videos of any other public speaking or performance I've done. 

But here's a photo.

Thanks to the lovely Sara Eve who posted this on Facebook. :)

I competed in a poetry slam in Jersey City, NJ over the weekend.  At first, I was a bit hesitant to go.  That's one of the things I hate the most about depression.  Sometimes it whispers in your ear and tells you you're not so great at the things you love to do.  Maybe you should just stay home.

I'm glad I told that voice in my head to take a hike this weekend.  I had a great time at the slam, even if I did go over the alotted time.  I netted myself a penalty, but I put in a great performance.  Team Philly came in 3rd out of 4 competing teams, but it wasn't for lack of trying.  I blame the East German judge.

Diabetes Blog Week, Day 5: What They [You] Should Know

I am not a role model in the sense that I have a great A1C, or that I always know what to do about diabetes.  I don't have all the answers.  I just have 21+ years of experience.

I don't always know exactly what I'm doing, but I am trying my best to keep up.  I read a lot of blogs.  I may fire off a lot of terminology that you don't necessarily understand.  If you want to understand, please stop and ask me.  I'd be happy to try and help explain.

I don't need your policing, but sometimes I may want your help.  Let's work together to learn the difference. 

I appreciate it when you have diet soda or unsweetened iced tea at parties.

Sometimes I don't mind if you're looking at the numbers on any of my screens.  Sometimes I do.  It can be a touchy thing.  It makes me feel fickle.  I'm sorry if you want to look, then I snap at you a bit.  It's not you.  It's me being embarrassed by the results I don't like.

If you think you don't need health insurance, I will try to convince you otherwise.  If you think national healthcare is a shitty idea, I will try to convince you otherwise, angrily.  Furiously, if you try to tell me that changes to my lifestyle could have prevented me from getting diabetes.  I was eight years old.  It was autoimmune.  If you don't understand that my family didn't choose this for me by their actions, then you may get your toes stomped on with some combat boots.

Sometimes I lick my fingers after I check my blood.  It's my blood.  It's less gross (to me) than keeping one of those blood-spotted tissues in your testing kit.  I'm not a vampire.  Deal with it.

When I'm cranky, it might be my blood sugar.  It might not be.  It's hard for me to tell the difference, too, so don't get too discouraged.

You know those 21+ years I mentioned earlier?  I've had type 1 this long, and I'm still learning every day.  I'm still trying to figure out how and when to do things, what to eat, what not to eat.  I'm always trying to have a better attitude, and sometimes I completely fail.  Diabetes management is about trying, and accepting that failures may not necessarily be my own fault.

There is uncertainty built into every single day.

I worry about you worrying about me too much.

I worry about me not worrying about myself enough.

I worry about every ache, pain and discomfort in my body, but I try not to let it get to me.

Every person with diabetes is affected differently.  We all need different amounts of insulin, medications, etc.  We all have our own management styles.  You say your Aunt Matilda was "cured" by a lot of exercise and a raw foods diet?  Goody on for her.  That doesn't mean the same will work for me, you, or your other family members.

DIABETES FUCKING SUCKS.  There.  I said it.  I love bringing you guys the lighter, goofier side of things.  That's just my personality.  But at the end of the day?  I have a chronic illness.  It's not fun.  There are times I am actually working really hard to feel like a normal person.

And you?  Well, your love makes me feel like a regular, healthy woman.  Love me, through the ups, the downs, the highs, the lows, the middle-of-the-night juice run to the fridge, the disgruntled clack of an old infusion set against the wall because I just can't deal with one more failed site change.  Love me.  Everybody with diabetes needs love, kindness and respect. 

Getting on the Couch -- Week 2

So my last post was all about how I was heading to see a therapist for the first time.  What I didn't know until a couple of days ago is that it was voted one of the Best of the 'Betes blogs!  Woo hoo!  Yes, dear readers, honesty is the best policy.  A lot of you want to know how it went.  I'm not going to share all the details of all my therapist visits, obviously, but I do want to share a bit so you know what it's like.

I arrived at the office a few minutes early to fill out paperwork, just like going to any other doctor's office.  It was a Friday afternoon, and apparently their office doesn't have a receptionist on Fridays, so various psychologists/therapists/counselors would come in from a hallway door every few minutes.  Sometimes their patients were there waiting, sometimes they had to come back.  I was immediately made more comfortable by how personable everyone seemed when greeting their patients, but I was still nervous.  I am very slow when I'm writing by hand, so the first time my therapist popped his head out the door looking for me, I was not ready.  I was a wee bit embarrassed.

He came out again a few minutes later, and I was finally done scribbling.  He was smiley, had a very warm friendly vibe about him.  It could just be because he had nerdy glasses, and I tend to assume that people who dress like me are mostly trustworthy.  He apologized that the room we'd be going to didn't have any windows.  He said that being the newest to the practice, he didn't get much of a choice.  The room at least had comfy chairs, soothing lighting, and at least two boxes of tissues.

As far as I am able to tell, your first visit to your new therapist will involve filling out lots of paperwork and answering a lot of questions about your background and a little about yourself.  Hopefully, like my visit, it will involve feeling honest and content with the person you are seeing.  It may involve a tissue or two--I managed to not need any until the tail end.  I hope to have an interesting and enlightening experience with my therapist.  He apparently is also an art therapist, so of course I thought of Lee Ann when I was there and all the good that being creative can do for people. 

We'll see what goes on over the next few weeks.  Visit #2 is today at 3:00pm.  It's kind of a strange concept when it comes down to it--figuring out how to trust someone who is to be much more than a stranger to you, less than a friend.  I'm sure this is why your therapist will probably reassure you a number of times, as mine did, that you are in a safe space and everything you say will absolutely not leave the room.  (Unless of course, like in Pennsylvania, the state laws mandate that if you seem a true danger to yourself or others, you will be reported to...someone.  The therapist informed me this would not mean the cops would be waiting at my house for me.  And don't worry about me, I'm the variety of depressive who just mopes and gets cranky and wants to sleep.)

So I think it turns out your therapist is not someone to get nervous about.  You'll do fine.  I did.




PS...EEEEEK I AM IN KIND OF AN IMPORTANT POETRY SLAM TONIGHT AND I AM WIGGING OUT, MAN!  Whew, just had to put that out there. ;)

Getting on the Couch

Well, I did it.  Tomorrow I will be seeing somebody.  I hope he is good.  The receptionist was extra-friendly when I called, and reassured me that not only is he a phenomenal therapist, but he is also super-nice.  She added with a bit of a knowing chuckle, probably about others at the practice, that some people are really great therapists but they're not as nice.

We'll see how it goes.  I am a little anxious about it.  Seems fitting, no? 

I picture Betty Draper from Mad Men splayed out on the therapist's couch, talking more to the ceiling than anything.  (Author's Note:  I am nothing like Betty Draper, except that we are both blonde.)  TV never seems to show a therapist caring about a patient.  Of course, TV is bad at a lot of things. 

So what's going to happen?  I'll fill out some paperwork, and then talking will happen.  That's all I know.  Maybe I will be able to tell you more tomorrow.  I'm excited to be doing something really good for myself.

In the meantime, I've been having a good week.  I wrote a new poem, and I have new resolve to kick ass in a major poetry slam that's happening next week.  If I win, I will be going to Colorado to represent Philadelphia in a national poetry event!  Competition will be tough.  I'm honestly a bit terrified, and I've decided that's a good thing.  More motivation to be awesome, I think.

Meanwhile, it's back to the usual workday routine.  How are you today, DOC?

Honest O'Clock on Friday

My pal Mike has this concept that he introduced me to several years ago.  He says that at every party, after all the initial fun is starting to wear off, when the levels of drunkenness are starting to run high, when people are starting to get to that moment where they are at their most raw, it becomes Honest O'Clock.

It's the time when you are likely to tell your friends about something you adore or despise about them.  It's when real, often ugly, truths come out.  It is wise for most party guests to start leaving after Honest O'Clock.

So it's been a little while since I wrote a blog post, and it feels like it's Honest O'Clock here, dear readers.  I want to blog.  I want to blog more.  I want to write, and it's just not coming out right now.  In fact, a lot of things that I want to do right now aren't getting done.

I'm stressed.  I'm depressed.  I'm pretty serious about finding myself a therapist, probably in the next week.

Writing is one of my favorite hobbies.  It's something I still hope I can translate into a new career one day.  Right now, I can barely do any of it.  I'll be honest and say recently, it's been tough trying to be my own fan, trying to support what still makes me happy, trying to remember that (hey, Clairol), I'm worth it.  You know what?  People seem to think that all poets are depressed, and that's why their poetry is good.  When this poet is depressed, she writes no poetry.  That's even sadder than depression itself!

I want to dance and do arts & crafts and enjoy life again.  Every day.  Believe me, I am still hanging in there, I am still doing okay.  I went to an excellent concert last weekend.  I've got two events tonight I'm looking forward to.  I am excited for the CWD Focus on Technology in a few weeks.  I just want there to be fewer days in between the fun stuff where I don't feel like leaving my house.  I want there to be more days where I feel like I'm not floating through my workday, having difficulty remembering what to work on. 

I've talked about my depression here before, briefly.  Honestly, if you read that post, this may all sound like nothing new, except I am less than a month away from turning 30.  I have some help already in the form of medication, but I am at the point where whatever is troubling me is more than an imbalance of brain chemicals. 

I want to start feeling better so I can get this blog back into shape.  So I can get my career back into shape.  So I can write some damn poetry.  So I can be 100% me again.  I'm pretty sure depression is 100% cureable, just like diabetes. (See what I did there?  With the joking?  OMG Google will surely put me under listings for depression cures now.)

It's just the feeling that something is very wrong.  It's time to make it right. 

Do you struggle with mental health?  Got any tips for finding a therapist?  Let's talk and share.  There's no shame to be had here.  Let's get honest, because really?  When you look back on the party, you should remember the fun stuff.  Honest O'Clock is over for now.