a banana, repeatedly broken heart, & brand new beginnings
It's strange to think that a year ago, I sat at home in Cedar Rapids. I was finally resting after a bout of holiday travel in many places between DC and Las Vegas. Now I'm laying in bed in my second apartment, trying to enjoy the 11-day holiday break from work that ends on Wednesday. I say trying because that's what it has been. I've spent most of it in my room--sulking, sleeping, and sighing into the void. Fortunately that isn't all that I've done, but I still feel as if I haven't done enough. After all, I'm the girl who does everything, right?
At the start of 2018, I'd lost my life compass. No plans for post-grad life existed. Zero grounded-in-reality ideas propelled me toward a future of success. Somehow, that was okay then. If there's one thing that my semester in DC last fall taught me, it was to take the concept of being where my feet are into the future--especially this year. This year of many uncertainties. I aspired to meet myself where I am--wherever all of those places and feelings have been.
January started with my first NYE celebration with my found-family at home. A few days later, I happily reunited with my college roommate, who also happens to be one of my greatest friends and forever my real bae. We both struggled with adapting back to life at Coe after semesters away. I struggled even more to adapt to having my ex-everything (best friend, favorite person, confidant, first love, etc.) living across the hall. The universe works in funny ways. And to think, I thought that would be my biggest struggle of the year. Wow, was I wrong.
I returned to therapy that month, thankfully sinking into my favorite couch and spilling all of my emotions. At the time, I found myself deeply struggling to balance four classes and a lab, three part-time jobs, a long-distance relationship, a social life, my role of VP for Coe Human Rights Advocates, my finances (LOL), and expectations to know what came next. First of all, those expectations are fraudulent: I've yet to meet an adult who has the answers, despite most of my friends being in their 30s and 40s.
Alas, I survived January. Then February kicked me harder. I ghosted the LDR after being accused of cheating after I'd been sexually harassed--I'm still disgusted by him. I ended up in the ER for the first time ever after the pain medicine prescribed post-surgery (eight teeth removed) made me violently ill. I felt a sad hope as the one-year anniversary of my first serious suicidal thoughts passed--the first time I had a plan and almost completed it. Forever...I will be thankful that I didn't. Soon after, my lifelong best friend visited. We saw The Filharmonic perform, went to Grey's Pub, and toured my favorite places (namely a NewBo bookstore).
February was also the month I fell in love with philosophical Daoism. I still wonder if that's how religious people feel.
Marching in next was the month of entertainment and empowerment. I met Nelly's Echo for the second time during perhaps my favorite Green Bay trip ever, and I watched Andrea Gibson perform for the second time as well. More importantly, I helped organize Coe's National School Walkout event to protest gun violence, and I joined the community for the March for Our Lives, despite a blizzard.
With much gratitude, I can say that I enjoyed most of April. I celebrated my final Flunk Day and Pres Ball. My roomie and I reached the ultimate procrastination level and spontaneously traveled to Chicago for a long day and night. My induction to Psi Chi occurred, making me a member of an international honor society (that's still so fun to say). Alas, the month ended with my refusal of a fellowship offer in Portland, Oregon--the place most know is my soul city.
Why did I turn that down?
Six days later, I graduated cum laude an entire year early. Every time I look back, I laugh in wonder--how did I manage that? Another week passed and I returned to the place I graduated from three years prior (my biggest life accomplishment) to watch my younger sister graduate high school as valedictorian. Less than two weeks passed when I returned to Iowa, this time to a city I'd only visited once (for job interviews and apartment tours earlier that month). I moved into my first apartment and started my first post-grad job two days later. I struggled through roughly 60 hours in the following 6 days before I quit. It's the only job I've ever felt the true need to leave.
What followed...65 days of unemployment; survival based solely on tanning, tequila, plasma donations, credit cards, and the sheer determination to prove everyone wrong--I needed to say that my choice to stay was the right one. During those 65 days, I attended my first Pride event and made my first Des-Moines-area friends. I started this blog. I ran--a lot. And I inevitably ran away.
At the end of June, a person I once referred to as my best friend more than their actual name secretly visited me. Read into that what you want. I packed an unnecessary amount of bags two days later, stretched the 8.5 hour drive to my mom's into more than 10, and blindly danced around five states for a couple weeks. In that time, I traveled to and with dear friends, told that previously-mentioned person they couldn't be in my life, attended the funeral of a friend/mentor, and took that previously-mentioned person back into my life. That was despite them laughing and telling me, "You can't just leave the state when you're heartbroken," when I told them I'd be gone. My heart was broken. They fooled me once then. Twice was all the time in the following months--until November 14--that we spent as far more than just friends, after they supposedly left the person they are (as far as I know) with still. I chuckled as I wrote that; it's the only action I can choose these days when I think of the pain and destruction they have caused. Otherwise I resort to old, poor coping mechanisms--the type that led to me nearly losing a job and dropping out of college in the spring of 2017. After all, fool me twice, shame on me. Alas, more than enough time has been spent discussing them.
At the end of July, I started a new job. I could also say I found a new family, because that's the type of place it is. On the twenty-third day, I earned a promotion and raise. Around that same time, I submitted my first poetry chapbook for publication. I also visited Coe for the first time since graduation. That visit--among other reasons--prompted my decision to start focusing more on taking care of my mental health again. I hadn't seen a therapist since April, despite promising her at our last appointment that I would find one in Des Moines. The first step I took was changing my birth control pills, knowing that they had caused mood problems for far too long.
Most of September is a blur. The pill I switched too increased my suicidal thoughts to near-actions more times than I care to remember. I had to constantly fight myself to show up to work and actually do my job. I frequently took breaks to sit on a bench beneath a weeping tree at the neighboring church. I'm the least religious person I know, but I was desperate for something to help me.
On October 4, I decided that helping hand had to be my own. I stopped taking the medication. I confided in multiple friends. I took a trip to my mom's to visit my grandparents. I hurt my helping hand though--literally--by scratching a knuckle with a banana. Don't ask how--just trust that the following three weeks of doctor's visits, medications, creams, hair treatments, and an ER visit due to the nurses thinking it could be meningitis really made me question my love for bananas. I'll likely never know what the actual problem was, aside from "a rare fungal infection that doesn't make much sense." A doctor spoke those words.
After the banana disaster came the second heartbreak--the aforementioned breakup. Alas, November was a good month. I celebrated my twenty-second birthday. I attended my first Coe alumni event. I shared a too-small bookstore space with dozens of strangers and my favorite poet: Andrea Gibson. They signed my book after the reading, and, after I confided in them about the recent breakup, they wished me healing. That happened. I returned to therapy not long after, and my plans to continue bring me a sense of hope I've never felt before.
December hasn't been all growth and progress though. On the second day, I experienced my first car accident. It was a total loss, and I had to say goodbye to Carl. People probably still laugh about that. Those people likely are the ones who don't know my full story, who can't fathom that frequent movement/travel/new places have always been the only constant in my life...and since I started driving, Carl was constantly there to help me through it. Thankfully I found Pearl, and I hope that one day I appreciate her just as much. That day has definitely not arrived yet.
The day that I properly balance independence and loneliness has not either. Since 4:40pm on December 21, I've mostly been alone in my apartment. No, I don't say this for pity. Rather I say it as a reminder to myself that I am my person. During my runaway in July, I wrote, "I needed to remember how it feels to not have any ties to anything except for myself." I didn't realize that I was doing that again, but I have been.
Thankfully, though, I haven't been completely alone--I've connected with friends, I've met a new person who has helped me realize that I am still deserving of kindness and respect (if you're reading this, this is me breaking out of my between-the-lines notion that you're special), and tomorrow I plan to end 2018 and start the new year with the people I love most in Des Moines.
Most of all, I plan to continue growing, exploring, and learning. I hope you all have worthy aspirations, too. Never forget--I'm here for you.
At the start of 2018, I'd lost my life compass. No plans for post-grad life existed. Zero grounded-in-reality ideas propelled me toward a future of success. Somehow, that was okay then. If there's one thing that my semester in DC last fall taught me, it was to take the concept of being where my feet are into the future--especially this year. This year of many uncertainties. I aspired to meet myself where I am--wherever all of those places and feelings have been.
January started with my first NYE celebration with my found-family at home. A few days later, I happily reunited with my college roommate, who also happens to be one of my greatest friends and forever my real bae. We both struggled with adapting back to life at Coe after semesters away. I struggled even more to adapt to having my ex-everything (best friend, favorite person, confidant, first love, etc.) living across the hall. The universe works in funny ways. And to think, I thought that would be my biggest struggle of the year. Wow, was I wrong.
I returned to therapy that month, thankfully sinking into my favorite couch and spilling all of my emotions. At the time, I found myself deeply struggling to balance four classes and a lab, three part-time jobs, a long-distance relationship, a social life, my role of VP for Coe Human Rights Advocates, my finances (LOL), and expectations to know what came next. First of all, those expectations are fraudulent: I've yet to meet an adult who has the answers, despite most of my friends being in their 30s and 40s.
Alas, I survived January. Then February kicked me harder. I ghosted the LDR after being accused of cheating after I'd been sexually harassed--I'm still disgusted by him. I ended up in the ER for the first time ever after the pain medicine prescribed post-surgery (eight teeth removed) made me violently ill. I felt a sad hope as the one-year anniversary of my first serious suicidal thoughts passed--the first time I had a plan and almost completed it. Forever...I will be thankful that I didn't. Soon after, my lifelong best friend visited. We saw The Filharmonic perform, went to Grey's Pub, and toured my favorite places (namely a NewBo bookstore).
February was also the month I fell in love with philosophical Daoism. I still wonder if that's how religious people feel.
Marching in next was the month of entertainment and empowerment. I met Nelly's Echo for the second time during perhaps my favorite Green Bay trip ever, and I watched Andrea Gibson perform for the second time as well. More importantly, I helped organize Coe's National School Walkout event to protest gun violence, and I joined the community for the March for Our Lives, despite a blizzard.
With much gratitude, I can say that I enjoyed most of April. I celebrated my final Flunk Day and Pres Ball. My roomie and I reached the ultimate procrastination level and spontaneously traveled to Chicago for a long day and night. My induction to Psi Chi occurred, making me a member of an international honor society (that's still so fun to say). Alas, the month ended with my refusal of a fellowship offer in Portland, Oregon--the place most know is my soul city.
Why did I turn that down?
Six days later, I graduated cum laude an entire year early. Every time I look back, I laugh in wonder--how did I manage that? Another week passed and I returned to the place I graduated from three years prior (my biggest life accomplishment) to watch my younger sister graduate high school as valedictorian. Less than two weeks passed when I returned to Iowa, this time to a city I'd only visited once (for job interviews and apartment tours earlier that month). I moved into my first apartment and started my first post-grad job two days later. I struggled through roughly 60 hours in the following 6 days before I quit. It's the only job I've ever felt the true need to leave.
What followed...65 days of unemployment; survival based solely on tanning, tequila, plasma donations, credit cards, and the sheer determination to prove everyone wrong--I needed to say that my choice to stay was the right one. During those 65 days, I attended my first Pride event and made my first Des-Moines-area friends. I started this blog. I ran--a lot. And I inevitably ran away.
At the end of June, a person I once referred to as my best friend more than their actual name secretly visited me. Read into that what you want. I packed an unnecessary amount of bags two days later, stretched the 8.5 hour drive to my mom's into more than 10, and blindly danced around five states for a couple weeks. In that time, I traveled to and with dear friends, told that previously-mentioned person they couldn't be in my life, attended the funeral of a friend/mentor, and took that previously-mentioned person back into my life. That was despite them laughing and telling me, "You can't just leave the state when you're heartbroken," when I told them I'd be gone. My heart was broken. They fooled me once then. Twice was all the time in the following months--until November 14--that we spent as far more than just friends, after they supposedly left the person they are (as far as I know) with still. I chuckled as I wrote that; it's the only action I can choose these days when I think of the pain and destruction they have caused. Otherwise I resort to old, poor coping mechanisms--the type that led to me nearly losing a job and dropping out of college in the spring of 2017. After all, fool me twice, shame on me. Alas, more than enough time has been spent discussing them.
At the end of July, I started a new job. I could also say I found a new family, because that's the type of place it is. On the twenty-third day, I earned a promotion and raise. Around that same time, I submitted my first poetry chapbook for publication. I also visited Coe for the first time since graduation. That visit--among other reasons--prompted my decision to start focusing more on taking care of my mental health again. I hadn't seen a therapist since April, despite promising her at our last appointment that I would find one in Des Moines. The first step I took was changing my birth control pills, knowing that they had caused mood problems for far too long.
Most of September is a blur. The pill I switched too increased my suicidal thoughts to near-actions more times than I care to remember. I had to constantly fight myself to show up to work and actually do my job. I frequently took breaks to sit on a bench beneath a weeping tree at the neighboring church. I'm the least religious person I know, but I was desperate for something to help me.
On October 4, I decided that helping hand had to be my own. I stopped taking the medication. I confided in multiple friends. I took a trip to my mom's to visit my grandparents. I hurt my helping hand though--literally--by scratching a knuckle with a banana. Don't ask how--just trust that the following three weeks of doctor's visits, medications, creams, hair treatments, and an ER visit due to the nurses thinking it could be meningitis really made me question my love for bananas. I'll likely never know what the actual problem was, aside from "a rare fungal infection that doesn't make much sense." A doctor spoke those words.
After the banana disaster came the second heartbreak--the aforementioned breakup. Alas, November was a good month. I celebrated my twenty-second birthday. I attended my first Coe alumni event. I shared a too-small bookstore space with dozens of strangers and my favorite poet: Andrea Gibson. They signed my book after the reading, and, after I confided in them about the recent breakup, they wished me healing. That happened. I returned to therapy not long after, and my plans to continue bring me a sense of hope I've never felt before.
December hasn't been all growth and progress though. On the second day, I experienced my first car accident. It was a total loss, and I had to say goodbye to Carl. People probably still laugh about that. Those people likely are the ones who don't know my full story, who can't fathom that frequent movement/travel/new places have always been the only constant in my life...and since I started driving, Carl was constantly there to help me through it. Thankfully I found Pearl, and I hope that one day I appreciate her just as much. That day has definitely not arrived yet.
The day that I properly balance independence and loneliness has not either. Since 4:40pm on December 21, I've mostly been alone in my apartment. No, I don't say this for pity. Rather I say it as a reminder to myself that I am my person. During my runaway in July, I wrote, "I needed to remember how it feels to not have any ties to anything except for myself." I didn't realize that I was doing that again, but I have been.
Thankfully, though, I haven't been completely alone--I've connected with friends, I've met a new person who has helped me realize that I am still deserving of kindness and respect (if you're reading this, this is me breaking out of my between-the-lines notion that you're special), and tomorrow I plan to end 2018 and start the new year with the people I love most in Des Moines.
Most of all, I plan to continue growing, exploring, and learning. I hope you all have worthy aspirations, too. Never forget--I'm here for you.
Comments
Post a Comment
thoughts? feelings? questions? send away. I might not have an answer, but I'll always read.