Recovery Revelations

After two bad days spent loathing my thighs and debating over every bite of food, I've had a beautiful realization that has put me back in the recovery mindset. I feel like every time I run out of enthusiasm for beating ED, it takes a revelation like this to get me back. Each time it's a different, new idea that just makes me remember “RIGHT! THAT'S why recovery is so important”, and I feel like eventually, they're all going to add together, and be ever-present in my mind. Eventually, they won't even be conscious thoughts in my head. It'll just be fact: Recovery is worth it; Life is so much more than having an eating disorder.

Anyway, today's “brand new thought” was really something that, when I really think about it, should be an obvious, duh, thing. But that's what an eating disorder does. It warps your brain, so the normal, rational thoughts don't seem so normal, and the crazy ones make sense.

Life is too amazing to waste precious moments worrying about food.

Obvious, right? Apparently not. There are so many times in my life where I should have been having an amazing experience, and my most prominent memory of it was how I stressed about the food involved.

Specifically, I think about my trip to Thailand last year. Thai food is delicious (Or what I dared to eat was delicious; there was plenty I wouldn't go near, because of all the “unnecessary” calories and fat). And it's incredibly cheap. And a huge part of travelling is getting to try out all the local cuisine. But I missed out on that, because in my crazy lil mind, staying thin is more important than getting the full Thai experience.

Pad thai on the street for lunch? Maybe, but only if I've had a really “good” day up until then, and I'd have to have a light dinner later. Group dinner at the Indian restaurant? Nope, that's pretty risky, I'll have to find a safer meal somewhere on my own. Clubbing the night away in Bangkok? Whoa, I do NOT need all those liquid calories.

WHY DID I LET THOSE THOUGHTS HAVE SO MUCH POWER OVER SUCH AN AMAZING OPPORTUNITY???

I'm going to Bangkok (along with a few other Asian destinations) again in a few months. I don't want a repeat of last time; I want to soak in every bit of the experience I can. I don't want Ed to hold me back from doing the things I want to do, and from joining in on all the group's fun.

In my mind it's easy to be like “Of course I won't let Ed ruin my holiday; I'll be stronger by then, I can eat whatever I want”. But if I were to be offered a big plate of curry tomorrow, I'd still probably panic and try to avoid it. I still have a lot of work to do towards recovery.

More and more though, I can see that it's worth it.

Even outside of the big things like travelling the world and tasting its foods, it's worth it in everyday life. Birthdays, family dinners, Christmas; they all revolve around food, and they're all supposed to be enjoyable experiences! As long as you keep listening to Ed, however, they're still going to be stressful! Life shouldn't be all about the food and the calories and your weight. It should be about enjoying each moment, and appreciating each moment.

Each day, I have to force myself. Some days, I have to force myself with each bite. But little by little, it'll get easier. And eventually I'll have that final realization that links all the little ones together, and sticks. Recovery is a struggle, but it means a full, amazing life, and I have to keep reminding myself how very much I want it, and it's worth all that struggle.

Just think of all that pad thai...mmmmmm.

Compare and Despair

Last September was a month of positive, fresh starts and the beginning of a lot of cool things in my life. Looking back I'm equally impressed and confused as to how I had so many things going for me. I had just moved into my first apartment, and my best friend was my new awesome roommate. I had a decent-sized group of good friends, and I was dating a guy who treated me like gold. And to top it off, I had just started a new professional “grown-up” job that I was so happy to have gotten.

If I start to compare that to my life at the moment, it is so, so easy to get stuck in a “WOW my life sucks” mindset. I'm currently living in my parents' basement, with just some creepy crawly spiders for roommates. My best friend is my mother, and I haven't been on a date in months. And that dream job? I still work there, but it turns out being the office's “girl who does all the bitch work” isn't quite as fun as I imagined.

Oh, and to make life even more fun, I've been (re)diagnosed with an eating disorder and have been going to therapy/psychology/dietitian sessions for the past few months.

AIN”T LIFE GRAND?

And yeah. There are definitely days when I do do that comparison, and I do get pretty down about it. How did I manage to mess up everything good in my life, in just one year?

Overall though, I feel like everything that is happening right now is happening because it should. I truly believe everything happens for a reason, whether you know that reason or not. To an outsider, my life looks like a mess, but like most circumstances in life, you can choose to you see them as either positive or negative. So I'm choosing to see the positives in this pile of crap life has thrown at me.

Moving back in with my parents has done nothing but good for my health; mentally and physically (and financially). I value my relationships with my parents more than ever. I may have a smaller social group, but it's a pretty good one. Because of my awful job, I'm planning on going back to school to study something I'm truly passionate about. And all that awful therapy? It's been a long time coming, and already it's done wonders to improve my life, health, and happiness.

It's so easy to slip into the negativity and to wish for the past and better times. I could easily be in tears daily, beating myself up about how I ruined everything. But even the biggest mistakes in life can lead to amazing things in the future. Everything happens for a reason, and life gets better. Already I can see hints of better days to come, and it's just a matter of keeping that in mind and staying positive.

Life's pretty cool, even when it's not.

mental health secrets

Despite all the hate that Cosmo magazine receives for its trashy articles and ridiculous sex tips, I have to admit that it's always been a favorite guilty pleasure of mine. Sure, some things they suggest are a bit out there, but in recent years Cosmo has started publishing more articles on things like health, careers, and world issues. After reading through the September issue, however, I'm a little dismayed at a a piece of “advice” they printed.

In a career-focused article about how to “Stay Cool When Life's a Mess”, one issue discussed was what to do if you have an eating disorder or addiction and need to get treatment for it:

“Don't tell your boss. If your workplace offers an anonymous wellness program, use it. If you need to go into treatment, say that you're going on vacation.”

As someone who has recently had to come clean to her boss about having an eating disorder and needing some time off to get professional help, my first thought was how ridiculous this suggestion was. How much time does the average workplace allow as vacation time? As a relatively new employee, I'm guessing two weeks would be the longest period of time I'd be given in one chunk. And that's not gonna cut it for “fixing” the issue.

I've been dealing with an eating disorder for over ten years, and I'm about three months into the recovery journey. Psychologists, dietitians, and group therapy are all part of the process, but so is time. I still have a long way to go before I'll consider myself all better. Two weeks is definitely not enough to take care of an eating disorder, and to suggest that you could pass off entering treatment as a vacation is laughable.

After rolling my eyes at the impracticality of Cosmo's advice, I gave it more thought, and actually became really annoyed. In past Cosmo articles, and in today's society in general, it's been a goal to raise awareness and stop the stereotypes about mental illness. But by saying that an eating disorder is something to keep hidden, they're really just perpetuating the stigma attached to it. Mental illness is real, and it's definitely not a thing to be ashamed, or secretive, of.

I'll get criticized for using the cancer comparison, but the facts of the matter are there: both cancers and eating disorders can kill. But how people perceive them, and treat the two issues, are totally different and unfair. A person diagnosed with cancer and having to undergo chemo would never be told to lie to their boss about needing to go get help. In just about all situations, it would be completely understood that they needed medical help, so they'd be off work in order to receive it. So why is it okay to tell an anorexic to cover up their health concerns with the ruse of “going on vacation”? In both cases, medical treatment is necessary, and there really shouldn't be a reason to keep secrets or disguise the issue.

In my experience, I've been open and honest with everyone I know about having an eating disorder and finally seeking treatment for it. And so far I've been met with nothing but compassion and encouragement to get better. Even at my job, it's been no issue to get time off in order to attend appointments and therapy, and everyone knows what's going on. So I'm very disappointed in Cosmo's advice to do the opposite and keep quiet.

What do you think; should it be the norm to keep mental illness under wraps in the workplace?

strength in numbers

“Misery loves company”.

“There's strength in numbers”.

I've heard lots of variations of the same basic message: having people around you who understand makes a world of difference. Only recently, since beginning to attend a recovery therapy group, am I realizing how very true that is.

Growing up with an eating disorder, I honestly thought I was the only one who had ever had these feelings. Of course, I realized thousands of other girls struggled with body image, diets, and eating disorders. But no one understood my demons; I was a special kind of fucked up, beyond understanding, and without a chance of recovery. On the surface I denied I had a problem, but inside I knew I was far from having normal, healthy thoughts about food and about my body. I just assumed (because of my special, one-of-a-kind, eating disordered brain) that I'd stay this way forever, so acknowledging that I needed help, and getting it, would be a waste of time. So, for ten years, I obsessed, stressed, counted, and restricted; the whole time trying to convince myself I was living a normal life.

Stumbling upon the book “Life Without Ed” by Jenni Shaefer was a harsh eye opener for me. She writes about her journey with her eating disorder; all the way from her first negative thoughts about her body as a small child, to the depths of her struggle, to her eventual recovery to health. As I read, over and over I found myself thinking “Holy crap, WHY would you do that, that's crazy!”, only to realize a half a second later that I'd done the same thing; I was every bit as crazy as her. For the first time, I realized just how messed up my thinking had gotten, and I couldn't deny it anymore. But instead of scaring me, it gave me comfort and hope. This girl, Jenni, had gone on to be happy and healthy, so maybe there was a bit of hope for me, too.

A few months later, and I'm accepted into an intensive recovery program, part of which is a weekly group therapy. Going into my first session, I was pessimistic; none of these girls seemed like likely allies in the pursuit of recovery. At first glance, it was a broad range of women; young, old, skinny, overweight. Honestly, if I had met this group in a normal, everyday context, there was no way we'd somehow emerge as friends.

Before the end of the first meeting, though, I wanted to hug each and every one of them. As each girl talked about her own issues and struggles, it became clear we were all much more similar than I'd thought. In every story, there were feelings and thoughts and confessions that I was all too familiar with, that I had thought I was alone in feeling. Just knowing I wasn't the only one feeling like this was a huge relief. Knowing I wasn't alone in all this made it just a little bit less scary.

Being able to talk to people who are fighting the same demons as I am is incredibly comforting. My friends and family try to be understanding, but they'll never truly get it, and a small part of me is always worried they're judging me, just a little bit. The girls at support group though, they've been there. They've had the same crazy thoughts; they've gone to the same crazy measures in order to obey their eating disorders.

I'm less than a month into the group sessions, but already I feel such a sense of solidarity with everyone there. Each weekly session feels like entering a safe zone, where I'm not the odd man out. I'm surprised by how comfortable I am, sharing things I've never talked about, and crying in front of near strangers. I'm even more surprised by how much I care for these girls; I want each of them to be healthy and happy, and I find myself wondering about how they're doing in between meetings.

Maybe in time I'll get to know these girls more personally, and we can bond over things other than our eating disorders. Ideally, eating disorders won't even be an issue, and we could just be “normal” friends. For now though, I'm just incredibly grateful to have learned that I'm not alone, and I'm not incurable, and that there are amazing, beautiful people right by my side in this battle against ED.

Ignorance (take2)

"So what, you just don't like food?"

This is how my boss responded when I confided that I was seeking treatment for an eating disorder and would need some time off work.

"You know, I just don't get the eating disorder thing. I'd eat anything you put in front of me. They say you live longer if you're skinny anyway."

Really? REALLY?? Despite the fact that talking about it nearly brings me to tears every time, and that I had to work up my bravery all morning to tell you this, THIS is how you reply??

It's 2014. Aren't people more aware of the seriousness of mental illness? I've been a big supporter of Bell's "Let's Talk" Day, and Eating Disorder Awareness Week in the past few years, but I've never really stopped to think about what it meant to "raise awareness".  I just kind of thought, this day in age, it wasn't even an issue of people be unaware.  People had to know how real and how debilitating mental illness can be.  But apparently not. My boss is a prime example of how ignorant (and rude) people can still be.

Mental illness, namely eating disorder in my case, is not to be taken lightly.  Just to put it in perspective, anorexia nearly killed me ten years ago.  At twelve years old, I had dropped down to a disgustingly low weight.  My body had deteriorated so badly, and my heartrate was so low, that I was immediately admitted into hospital and hooked up to a half-dozen machines.

After a three month hospital stay, I was healthy enough to go back to "normal" life, but now, even ten years later,  I'm not truly healthy.  The hospital stay made my body healthy(er), but my mind stayed as crazy as ever.  Almost every single day since then has been a struggle; every calorie that enters my body has been a tiny battle.  I'm constantly aware of what I eat, and how or if it might affect my weight.

After ten years of stress and anxiety over something as basic as food, you know what? I'm sick of it. I'm sick of letting anorexia and its evil little voice in my head control every day of my life.

I've talked to my parents and close friends, and I've been to several professionals already.  I'm in the process of getting enrolled in an out-patient therapy program. I'm taking steps to make myself healthy, mentally and physically. It's not going to be easy, and to be honest, I'm terrified, but I know it's a HUGELY positive thing in my life.

So, when I went to my boss to try and explain the situation, at the very least I was hoping he'd be happy to hear that I was doing something to improve my health. I never expected to be trivialized, as if the struggle my life has been for the past decade was no big deal, a joke.

The more I reflected on the conversation, the more annoyed I got.  Here I am, making one of the scariest decisions of my life, and you act as if I should just be able to get over it?  Now, on top of the appointments, doctors, therapy, and stress, I have to deal with the skepticism and judgment of my boss?

And I know now that he's not the only person around who is so oblivious.  After meeting with other girls at group therapy, I've heard how they all have people in their lives who just don't get it.  Contrary to what these people believe, it's not a matter of just getting over it, just eating a piece of cake. 

I'm not sure my purpose in writing this is.  To raise awareness?  Maybe.  If people read this and choose to learn more about eating disorders, or anything other type of mental illness, great.  I think it's more in the hopes of ending such rudeness in people's ignorance.  Even if you don't understand the struggle of someone else, or if it seems like a silly issue to you, please understand that to them it is a big deal.  Please, please don't make them feel like their problems don't matter.

Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.

Intro to Recovery

I really, really hate myself for it, but my first thought was along the lines of "Good. I'm one of the skinniest girls here."

I had my first orientation meeting with the recovery group today.  Just like after my solo meeting last week, I left feeling discouraged.  I go to the Centre feeling so motivated and so ready to change my life, and I leave feeling defeated, or like I've come to the wrong place.

I'm not like those other sick girls though, I eat all the time.  I just need someone to talk to; I don't need to see a dietitian; I can just talk through some stuff with a psychologist and then I'll probably just be all recovered!  Even while I'm thinking these things I know they're not fully true, but these are the "facts" my brain chooses to cling to.

I want to get better, and then I don't.  Mostly, I'm terrified.  I was diagnosed with an eating disorder at age twelve, and had unhealthy food/body issues for god knows how long before that.  At age twenty-one, I really can't remember ever having a life that wasn't governed by Ed's rules.  Recovery would mean a whole new standard of "normal", and I really don't know if I'm ready for that, or ever will be.  I don't know if I want to give up that feeling of control.

In theory, recovery sounds great.  I'd love to be able to not worry about what I eat or how I look or how much I weigh.  I'd love to relax and not be so uptight and worried all the time.  I'd love to be able to mindlessly eat a bag of chips, and then not feel sickened with guilt afterwards.  But right now, all of those things equate to the same thing in my head: fat.

I keep hearing about these girls who manage to beat their eating disorders, and live normal, healthy lives, and they still look amazing.  And I know their stories are meant to inspire me and convince me that recovery is possible, yet I keep writing myself off as a lost cause.  Mighta worked for them, but this is just the way I am.  This is how my life is, and it's probably not going to change.  And I hate these thoughts, I hate myself for having these thoughts.  I want to believe that I can do this, that life after recovery will be so much better.

But right now it's a huge struggle.

Help??

The Unaware Asshole: Raising Mental Health Awareness

"So what, you just don't like food?"

This is how my boss responded when I confided that I was seeking treatment for an eating disorder and would need some time off work.

"You know, I just don't get the eating disorder thing. I'd eat anything you put in front of me. They say you live longer if you're skinny anyway."

Really? REALLY?? Despite the fact that talking about it nearly brings me to tears every time, and that I had to work up my bravery all morning to tell you this, THIS is how you reply??

It's 2014. Aren't people more aware of the seriousness of mental illness? I've been a big supporter of Bell's "Let's Talk" Day, and Eating Disorder Awareness Week in the past few years, but I've never really stopped to think about how necessary it might be to raise awareness.  I thought, this day in age, awareness wasn't even an issue; people had to know how real and how debilitating mental illness can be.  But apparently not. My boss is a prime example of how ignorant (and rude) people can still be.

Mental illness, eating disorders especially in this case, are not to be taken lightly.  To put it in perspective, anorexia nearly killed me ten years ago.  My body had deteriorated so badly, and my heartrate was so low, that I was immediately admitted into hospital and hooked up to a half-dozen machines.

After a three month hospital stay, I was healthy enough to go back to "normal" life, but now, even ten years later,  I'm not truly healthy.  Almost every single day since then has been a struggle; every calorie that enters my body has been a tiny battle.  I'm constantly aware of what I eat, and how or if it might affect my weight.

After ten years of stress and anxiety over something as basic as food, you know what? I'm sick of it. I'm sick of letting anorexia and its evil little voice in my head control every day of my life.

I've talked to my parents and close friends, and I've been to several professionals already.  I'm in the process of getting enrolled in an out-patient therapy program. I'm taking steps to make myself healthy, mentally and physically. It's not going to be easy, and to be honest, I'm terrified, but I know it's a HUGELY positive thing in my life.

So, when I went to my boss to try and explain the situation, at the very least I was hoping he'd be happy to hear that I was doing something to improve my health. I never expected to be trivialized, as if the struggle my life has been for the past decade was no big deal, a joke.

The more I reflected on the conversation, the more annoyed I got.  Here I am, making one of the scariest decisions of my life, and you act as if I should just be able to get over it?

And I'm sure he's not the only person around who is so oblivious.  So I write this hoping that even one person will read it, and become a bit more aware of the issue. Please don't be one of those assholes who says hurtful things simply because they don't know any better. Inform yourself, even if it's just from this article. And if you don't want to take it upon yourself to learn, don't. But please, don't ever ever make someone feel as if their problems don't matter, whether it be mental illness or something else.

Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.

Please Don't Talk About My Body

Please don't comment on my body.

You'll probably forget what you said, within maybe even five minutes.  But your words stay with me, looping through my mind, for days or weeks afterward.  Your flippant remark sticks with me, burrowing into my brain and twisting its meaning until it becomes something else entirely, and I'm left stressed, depressed, and uncomfortable.  I know other people's words shouldn't affect me so strongly.  I know it is my body, 100% M-I-N-E, and the only opinion of it that should matter is my own.  But that doesn't stop your opinion from causing me grief, long after you've forgotten it.

It doesn't matter whether its a compliment, a worry, or simply a statement; the fact that you noticed something about my body enough to comment makes me uncomfortable.  I'm suddenly uber-aware of whichever body area you just mentioned, and I can't help but obsess over it.

"Must be nice to be so tiny, shopping must be so easy for you!"  "My god, do you even eat?"  "I'm so jealous, you don't even have to worry about your weight!"

Okay.  I get it.  I'm skinny.  I'm well aware of that fact, but really, thanks for bringing it up, again.  I'm also aware (whether you are or not) that I didn't always have this body, and I didn't get it from a healthy lifestyle.  I've been fighting off demons in the forms of an eating disorder since age twelve; this little body has nothing to do with being blessed with a fast metabolism.

For the most part, I have things under control.  I eat a healthy diet, and I maintain a healthy (if somewhat low) weight.  A lot of days, I could even say I like my body.  But every single time you say something about how tiny I am, it starts a stream of anxious, obsessive, unhealthy thoughts.

Have I lost weight again?  Am I too tiny?  Did these pants always fit like this??

On worse days, my thoughts after such a comment are equally toxic, in a different way.  Good.  If I'm skinny enough for her to notice and say something, I'm still small enough.  I have to keep it that way.

In day-to-day, normal, healthy life, these demons stay quiet, hidden in the back alleys of my mind.  But when you carelessly mention my weight, they rage and roar and repeat in my head and drive me crazy.

Even if I didn't have eating disorder issues to deal with, I think I'd be uncomfortable with people talking about my weight.  My body is mine to worry about, and yours is your own issue.  They really shouldn't cross over into each other's territory.  What's it matter to you what size my jeans are?  What it matter to anyone what size ANYONE's jeans are, besides their own?

There are SO MANY other things you could find to compliment, question, or even criticize me about.  Please, choose one of the infinite other options next time.

Words From a Sad Single Girl

I miss having a boyfriend.

I miss inside jokes and tickle fights and silly nicknames.  I miss goodnight phone calls and hugs that feel safe and falling asleep being the little spoon.  I miss cute date nights, and I miss having someone I can waste away my weekends with.

I shouldn't be so needy; I should be strong and independent and happy on my own.  But I'm not, I'm lonely.  Yes, I have amazing friends, who I am so grateful for.  But it's not the same, at all.  I've never been one to form super-close bonds with friends.  Even my closest friends don't know the inner workings of my brain; I've always saved that part of me for relationships.  The better, happier, more interesting version of me is always reserved for a boyfriend, as awful and ant-feminist as that sounds.  My mom has even commented before, I'm a happier, nicer person when I'm in a relationship.

I feel like Charlotte Yorke, perplexed and asking, "I've been dating since I was fifteen; where is he?!".  At twenty-one I know I'm probably too young to worry about not having met "the one" yet, but I can't help but feel a bit frustrated.  I would LOVE to meet the one at this age.  Honestly, I cannot wait to meet the man I'll spend the rest of my life with; the sooner we get to start our love story, the better.

Even if I'm not meant to meet the love of my life for another few years, I'd be more than happy with a temporary stand in.  Just someone to spend time with, make me laugh, and make each other happy.

How Old is Too Old to Have No Idea?

At what age are you supposed to have your life figured out?
Or even, when should you have a general idea of where your life is headed?
Or, most importantly, should I be worried that I'm close on twenty-two years old and have absolutely no idea what I want to do with my life?

From outside appearance, you'd think I had my life on lock.
I have a college degree, plus a handful of bonus university credits.  I have a 9-5, Monday to Friday office job, plus an (excuse me for sounding douche-y) impressive savings account.
At twenty-one, I guess that's better than a lot of people can say.

In reality though, I'm incredibly discontent in most aspects of my life right now.
I dredge through my workday, come home and eat with my family, then spend the evening in my bedroom on the internet.  Occasionally, I'll go for a coffee with a friend.
Day by day by day, my life is boring.  And I have no idea how to change that.

I have no idea where my interests lie, in my professional or casual life.
You'd think after living my whole life with myself, I'd be more aware of what I like.  But I have no hobbies to take up my free time, and if I were offered a choice of any career in the world, I couldn't even begin to choose.
Shouldn't I have this figured out by now??

My mom suggested I take some university courses. Try out some fitness classes.  Keep exploring my options until I find something I'm passionate about.  Maybe I'll surprise myself and have a love (and talent of?) belly dancing.  I'll never know until I try.

Yeah, maybe I shouldn't worry about not having my life in order by my twenty second birthday.  But there's no reason to sit around and wait for things to sort themselves out.  Life's what you make it, after all, so you might as well get out there and make the most of it.  So I'm choosing to start exploring my life options; who knows where my passion will lie and how long it will take to find it!

On Realizing Your Parents Aren't Immortal

I can't remember much about my grandfather on my mom's side.  I remember he ate a lot of oranges, and I remember that he'd always sit on the floor with me and draw pictures.  I remember he had an orange hunting hat, and he liked Neil Diamond.  And that's all I can tell you about him.

But last night, I cried for him.  Next week marks thirteen years since he died, but I'd never really known about how he died.  I was eight at the time, so I guess I never really thought about it.  Last night, driving home from gramma's house, mom told me about it.

It was a stormy winter night, the night before it started.  Mom's lifelong best friend was headed home from work, but the roads were dangerous, and she decided to stay the night at my grandparents house.  The storm got worse and worse, but they spent a cozy night indoors, drinking tea and telling stories and looking at old photo albums.

Sometime during the night, my pop had a brain aneurism.  An ambulance rushed to get he and my grandma to the hospital, where they did everything they could to save him.  Something went wrong though, and the drugs put him into a coma.  In order to keep him alive, my grandfather was hooked up to tubes and needles and monitors.  My mom rushed to the hospital as soon as she found out, and her siblings flew home from across Canada to be with their family.

Ten days passed, and no change.  Mom, Grandma, and the brother and sisters stayed at his bedside around the clock.  Everyone was exhausted, mentally and physically.  At this point, the doctors told them what they already had guessed.  Pop wasn't going to get better, and if he did, he wouldn't be the man they knew; he'd essentially be a vegetable.

During his life, my grandfather had let everyone know that he'd never want to be kept alive artificially; it wouldn't be a true life, and he wouldn't want it.  The family all agreed with his decision, and as heartbreaking as it was, they chose to pull the plug.

When the time came, the room was deadly silent.  Everyone held their breath, wondering when the many monitors would announce the end.  They didn't though, not that night or all through the next day.  The next night, after the most stressful, anxious 24 hours of her life, my mom was still in the hospital room, with her youngest sister and their aunt.

Mom and her aunt stood by the window, looking up at the sky.  One star shone bright, and they both found themselves making a wish.  The same wish, both just wishing for this nightmare to be over.

A few minutes later, he died.

I never knew how my grandfather died.  I never knew what a long, agonizing time it was.  I never knew my mom was in the room with him when he died.

I think that's what pushed my sadness over the edge.  Being there, watching a parent die, is the worst thing I can possibly imagine.  It made me realize, my parents aren't immortal.  Someday, hopefully years and years away, when even I am terribly old, my parents will die.

I don't know what I'll do; I can't picture my life without them.  But it's inevitable, and there's nothing anyone can do to stop it.

The only thing you can do, is cherish the time you do have with them.  It makes me glad that my grandfather spent the last conscious night of his life how he did, with people he cared about, reminiscing on happy times.

I know sometimes I'll still be awful to them, but I want to spend more time like that with my parents.  They're amazing people, and I just realized I won't have them forever.  Better appreciate them as much as I can while I can.

The Little Things that Make Me Happy

1. Big hugs when I need them most
2. Laughing fits
3. The perfect cup of coffee
4. Or tea
5. Long talks with good friends
6. When its warm enough to go outside without layers
7. Playing my favorite music so loud I can feel it
8. Crawling into clean sheets with freshly shaved legs
9. Surprise "just because" text messages from friends
10. Looking through old photo albums
11. Thick warm socks
12. Unexpected compliments
13, Friendly/funny interactions with strangers
14. Yummy scented candles
15. Being the little spoon
16. Early morning walks in foreign countries
17. Getting snail mail
18. Meeting someone and having an instant click
19. Successfully telling a joke
20. Doing something nice for someone, and knowing they appreciate it
21. Spending the day with my mama
22. Burny-hot bubble baths
23. Discovering a pretty dress has pockets
24. Song lyrics that say what I don't have the words to
25. Finding "hidden" money in my underwear drawer
26. Driving on hot summer days with the music loud
27. Toes in the sand
28. Cooking a yummy meal, or baking treats for people I love
29. Game nights with crazy relatives

I Wish I Couldn't Remember You

I wish I couldn't remember you.
I wish I could forget the first time you kissed me, and the way our bodies fit so well together, and the way you always called me emmaree.

Looking back at the details, no, you weren't a phenomenal boyfriend.  You forgot things and sucked at Valentines Day and never called when you said you would, but maybe that's not what's important in love.  The feelings you gave me overruled all your shortcomings, and to this day I believe we had something special.

It's been eighteen months since you kissed me goodbye, but I didn't know that would be the last kiss.  If I had, I know I would have tried to change things, even if I know my efforts would have been wasted.  I know we're not meant to be, but sometimes I still wish things had happened differently, that maybe we could have found a way to stay together.

Eighteen months, and no one I've met has sparked even a fraction of the feelings I had for you.  I'm starting to worry no one will.  What if you were my one big love in my life, and we ruined it?  I can't help but wonder.

I know you don't, though.  You've moved on, and I really, honestly, want to be happy for you.  But I can't help but be a little sad and jealous, and I hate that I feel like that.  I hate that sometimes I still have to force myself not to click your name on Chat, whether to ask advice, tell you I miss you, or just have a chat.

More than my boyfriend, you were my best friend.  And I haven't found anyone to take over either of those titles.  I miss you, and I wish I could tell you all this, but I know it wouldn't change a thing.

The Ever-Elusive Best Friend Forever

I've never had the type of true, intimate, best-friends-til-the-end best friendship that most girls I know take for granted.

I've also never been a big fan of pointless drama, mean-spirited gossiping, or saying one thing and meaning a completely different, unkind thing.
And I'm pretty sure those two facts are closely related.

I've always gotten along better with guys; consequently my friend group is primarily made up of bros.
As cliche as it sounds, there's just so much less drama involved.
No unspoken grudges, no hidden jealousy, no snarky fake compliments to go home and try to decode.
Guys call you out on your shit, and tell you if there's a problem, or else just stay chill and choose not to make something an issue if it's not necessary.
Girls, on the other hand, go out of their way to look for a problem, and then store up that conflict until the right time to "get revenge".

I don't understand why so many girls choose to act like this, but in my experience, the large majority do.
Every friendship I've had with a girl has been laced with a bit of fear; I'm always wondering if I've unknowingly done something atrocious that I'll later have to pay for, indirectly.  Text messages are never read at face value; there's always a subtext, something a bit less easy-breezy than just "omg don't worry about it!!!".

I've always been part jealous, part in awe of these "bosom buddies" friendships I see between the girls all around me.  Finding a friend that's unconditionally there for you, and knows all your secrets and lil quirks, seems about as unlikely and challenging as finding your soulmate in a world of six billion people.

How do they do it?  I've had close friends before, almost to the point where I get excited and think "this is it! i've found my true best friend!", but eventually the claws always come out.  I'm sure it's not just me, girls say these vicious things, and do these sneaky tricks to other people too.  So why am I seemingly the only one with a problem with this picture?  Does everyone else accept it as part of the friendship?  Oh sure, she's a terrible bitch behind my back, but I couldn't live without her!

Maybe that's my problem.  Maybe I should tolerate a bit more abuse, in exchange for the coveted "best friend" status I'd like to have.  Maybe a best friend isn't supposed to be nice to you all, or even most, of the time.  Maybe I should start pulling some backhanded moves on the girls I know, in hopes of making that bestie connection.

Or maybe I should keep doing what I'm doing.
Treat everyone kindly, but don't put up with any bullshit.
And maybe someday, I'll find my one-in-six-billion soulmate, in best friend form.

6 Positive Changes I'll Be Making in 2014

To everyone else, I preach about the importance of fighting for happiness, and how you have to choose to be happy, and be positive, and how "life's what you make it" and all that nonsense.
When it comes to my own life though, far too often I'm a Negative Nellie, focusing on what's going wrong in my life, and feeling sorry for myself, and not doing much of anything to try and make things better.

I'm at a place right now, however, where I think life is just telling me to make some changes.  I've had some shitty, sad times lately, and the need and the opportunity to make changes and make myself happier is here.

Roommates, work, friends, family, romance, health, money, you name it.  I've had things go wrong and things stress me out in every aspect of my life over the past few months.  But I'm going to make positive changes, and I think I can sort out most of my issues.  Here are some of my generalized, applies-to-everyone, try-to-be-happier pieces of life advice.

1.  Spend time with your family.  Some of my happiest days in the past year have been spent playing board games and laughing my head off with my mama and aunties.  Even hanging out with my dad, who I normally argue with constantly, can put me in a better mood some days.  Spending time with people who love you no matter what is essential to being happy.  Of course,  some days you won't get along.  Some days they'll drive you crazy.  But do what you can to ignore those annoying habits, and not spring into defense mode when they say something questionable.  Life's easier (and happier) if you accept your family as the weird, annoying, overprotective, whatever they may be and just enjoy the time you have together.

2.  Reach out to your friends, and make an effort.  Way too often I get into slumps of feeling sorry for myself and thinking I don't have any friends.  Swallow your pride and be the one to make contact!  Reach out to friends you haven't seen in ages!  More often than not they're more than happy to hear from you.  Friendship works both ways, and you can't sit around waiting for people to call you.  It might seem scary, but unless you want to sit around and be lonely and sad, sometimes you have to be brave and make the first phonecall/text/email/visit!

3.  Take care of yourself!  It's too easy to let your health slip.  Eat enough, and eat the right kinds of food.  Get some exercise once in a while too!  And get enough sleep, even if you think you're fine to run on five hours of sleep a night.  I was slackin' on alllll these things, and I felt like crap, physically and emotionally.  It's really not hard to make a few changes, and it's worth it.  You only get one body in this lifetime, take care of it!

4.  Be responsible with your money, but don't stress about it.  I've always been a notorious saver.  Every penny would be accounted for, and either spent on necessary bills or put into a savings account.  Sure, it's important to be smart with your money, but you can't become too stingy about it!  My mama always says she's never seen a bank truck following a hearse.  Which basically means you can't take your money with you when you're dead. So enjoy it a bit while you're alive!  Don't feel bad about spending  a lil on a special treat for yourself; you work hard for your money (I'm assuming) and deserve to spend it on things that make you happy.

5.  Don't spend your time pining over someone who doesn't love you or doesn't treat you right.  They're not going to suddenly change how they act, and they're probably not going to suddenly fall head over heels for you.  Wishing they would is a waste of your time, and will just make you sad.  Someone else will love you the way you should be loved, but it won't happen until you move on from that asshole!

6.  Notice the good things.  When something nice happens in your day, take a minute to appreciate it!  Too often I've ignore the little happy things and dwell on crappy things that ultimately don't matter.  Even something as trivial as "oh! some of the snow melted out of my driveway!" made me a lot happier as I got into my car this morning.  Stuff like that.  Just take a second, and be happy about the happy things.

Seven Reasons Why Moving Back Into Your Parents' House Isn't the Worst Thing in the World

I just have to accept it, and try to make the best of this.

After four months of lovely freedom in my own lil apartment, I have to give it up and move back in with my parents.  Roommate problems, and money problems, and other assorted grownup problems suck, but giving up my independence and living under my parents' roof sucks harder.

But, that's the way things have to be, for a while at least.  So I'd better just accept it and look at the positive parts of this shitty situation.

1. FREE LIVING!  Honestly, this is the one I have to keep reminding myself of.  Without rent, and power bills, and grocery bills, I'm going to have a surplus of dollars.  I haven't had any fun with my money since I moved out, so it'll be a nice change to be able to enjoy what I've earned, instead of having to budget every penny in order to afford my life.

2. Warmth!  Literally.  My apartment is always cold.  Going home to mom and dads' and just stepping on their warm floor is always nice.  So living in a climate that's not antarctic is going to be a nice change.

3.  NO shoveling!  Between having a roommate that doesn't help out, a huge driveway, and living in the land of the ice and snow, this winter has been brutal.  I've gained muscle mass because of all the snow clearing I've done.  My parents, however, live right near the ocean in a windy place, so they hardly ever need to clear the driveway.  And if they do, my good ol' daddy-o can take care of it with his snowblower.

4.  Less driving!  My friends live near my parents, my work is near my parents, my parents are right there.  All the places I go are super close, which means I'll spend a whole lot less time (and money!!!) getting around in my normal life.

5.  Quiet!  My parents are lovely quiet people.  My landlord, who lives above me, is not.  No more hearing thumping around furniture in the middle of the night, or crazy children running around allllll the time.  Plus, I don't have to worry about "waking the baby upstairs" if I have my music on too loud.  Win win.

6.  Cable!  Because of being poor, I have no idea what's going on in any current TV shows, or in the news, or anything to do with celeb gossip.  I'm more out of the loop than I would have expected!  Soooon I'll be back in the know.

7.  My mama!  I know, at times I'm going to be going crazy from such close contact with both my parents.  But for the most part I like having my mom around.  We hang out and talk a lot, so being able to just go upstairs and see what she's doing will be good again.

It's going to be a weird adjustment for a while, but as long as I stay positive, I probably won't go crazy. Here it goes, family living 2.0!

Don't Move in With Your Best Friend (Believe Me on This One.)

All the advice and warnings that say you shouldn't move in with your best friend?

Yeah, you should listen to them.

You are not the exception, your friendship is not stronger than all the others, you are not going to stay best friends, and things ARE going to change.

I wish someone had drilled this into my head about four months ago.

My first apartment, with my best friend, how could life get any better?  We were both so excited about it.  We never fight, we like the same things, and we usually agree on most things.  We were sure that living together would be great; we weren't like all those petty girls we'd heard about moving in together and then growing to hate each other.

The first month or so was great, after we got over the fear of pooping around each other (I don't think she was ever fully comfortable when I was around).  We had late night chats, breakfast dates, and teamwork-cleaned the kitchen after having all our friends over.  Life was fun.

Little by little though, things changed.  Big time.  We hung out less frequently, and when we did it seemed like more of an obligation than true friendship time.  The little quirks about each other we had first ignored now seemed like huge annoyances.  Grudges built up like crazy.  Not to mention the fact that housework was no longer a "teamwork" thing..it was more like I was playing housewife.  Which is even less fun when winter comes and that job includes clearing a driveway for both of our cars.

To be fair, I'm sure I have terrible habits, and I know at times I'm not the best possible roommate.  But I do what I can, and I really don't think I'm that hard to live with.

Eventually I came to a breaking point, and knew I needed to move out.  Almost as soon as I brought it up to my roommate, she was gone.  Vanished.  All her shit, gone.  And all I could wonder was, am I that terrible to live with?

Actually, I'm still wondering it.  This is a right-now event in my life, and I feel awful about it.  I don't know what to expect, friendship-wise.  I have enough things to worry about, between normal life and now trying to find a new apartment, but on top of that I'm pretty sure I lost my best friend.

I don't have a wide array of friends as it is, so losing any of them would be pretty hard.  But this was my very best friend, the one I could always count on when I needed a best friend cuppa tea, or just a chat, or even a good silly laugh.  I don't know if any of that will be happening anymore.  It feels like it won't.  It feels like a breakup.

In the future, I'll be living alone or with people I barely know.  (Until I'm eventually in love and stuff, but that's a whole nother issue.)  There's too much at risk when you live with your best friend.  I wish I had believed all the people who warned me.

on being a self-proclaimed travel snob

I am a travel snob, and I both love and hate that about myself.

I love that I have had the experiences and opportunities to be able to consider myself a “real traveler”.  I love that when travel stories come up, I can usually tell the best story, no matter what group of people I’m in.

I hate that this makes me come off as arrogant and privileged, and probably annoying to talk to sometimes.

However, I wouldn’t change it for the world.  Hopefully as the years go on, I’ll add to my repertoire and earn my title of travel snob a bit more.  Each adventure I go on shows me a bit more of the craziness of this world, and the things I’ve seen and experienced have opened my eyes to so many new worlds.

After sleeping in hostels and climbing volcanoes, I can’t help but scoff when people go on a week-long, all-inclusive beach holiday and then dub themselves a “wanderlust”.  THAT IS NOT TRAVELING, FOLKS.  That is tourist-ing, and honestly I don’t understand the appeal of it.  $2,000 to lie in the sun and read tabloids for a week?  Yeah, I’m sure you’re getting a real culture shock there…

To me, a large part of the fun of travel is the risk, the surprise of finding out just how different from home a place can be.  If I’m on the other side of the world, I don’t want to eat my favorite fast food from home; I don’t want to sleep in a queen size bed, in a five-star hotel.  Show me how the locals do, immerse me in the culture!  Bring me to the secret places only the adventurers know, show me where to get the yummiest local cuisine!  You know a place I can stay for $4 a night?  Excellent!  I honestly don’t mind sharing a room with some other poor backpackers at this point; they make good pals!

I know many people would turn up their nose at my choice of destination/accommodation/transport/food, and that’s good for them, I guess.  If you’d really rather stay in your safe haven on a resort, that’s fine.  But don’t be surprised when I zone out and start daydreaming of where I can head next with my backpack next time you start telling me about your fabulous trip to the Bahamas