I Am An Island

Shattered: Revisited

2011-05-18T02:44:00.006-04:00

I was holding onto it and then suddenly, without any warning, it exploded in my hands. The large piece of glass I was holding smashed into the cement floor of the basement and turned into a sea of glass.

I started to cry. I looked down at my legs and saw blood from the many pieces that showered down on me. I continued to cry as I knelt down onto the glass and started to pick up the pieces, adding cuts to my hands as well.

While I was crying, the glass was rejoicing. It sang as it rubbed against itself on the floor. It was a beautiful mess. It reminded me of a quote I had recently read by Margaret Atwood:

"You can wet the rim of a glass and run your finger around the rim and it will make a sound. This is what I feel like: this sound of glass. I feel like the word shatter. I want to be with someone."

I was sad and shocked but mostly I was mad. I was mad that I hadn’t been more careful with the glass. I didn’t handle it with care. It reminded me of a conversation I had recently with a friend about relationships. Or more specifically, about the end of a relationship when your heart is in pieces and only then is it that you realize how careless you were with it. How careless it can be to look forward to seeing someone, to know how they taste, and how their breath feels on your neck. You let yourself get close and all of a sudden it all goes away, without warning. And when that happens, you say you are heartbroken. Your idea is shattered and so is your heart. And so is the glass.

I was mad because things change and and they break unexpectedly and it becomes your job to pick up the pieces. But sometimes there are pieces that you can’t find or are too difficult to reach. So you learn to be careful so you don’t get hurt again. You build a wall, avoid a room, a place, a person. You move on. Buy a plastic replacement. Something that won’t break this time.

I swept up the last of the glass, wiped away the tears and started putting band-aid’s on the cuts. They are already fading. And I am moving on. I will forever be moving on, until something else breaks. Or I find the glue to hold it all together.

“I feel like the word shatter. I want to be with someone.”

Life after Death

2011-04-04T04:26:00.003-04:00

Most waitresses don't have to deal with death. They usually just deal with cranky customers and never see them again. During my first job as a waitress at an assisted living home for the elderly, I would have a cranky customer and then not see them again because they died. And a plaque would show up on the wall and all the waiters would gather around to see who wasn't coming to dinner that night. Their spouse would come down to dinner alone or their group of friends would have a chair empty at their table now. And life would go on.

When I first learned about Child Life during my senior year of college, I was volunteering at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute in Boston. I was asked to cover for the Child Life Specialist (CLS) on the kids floor and I fell in love with her job. From what I could tell she played games with kids and handed out tickets to museums. She made kids happy. She allowed these kids to be kids when they were facing circumstances that some adults couldn't handle. My friends asked if it was depressing to be around all those sick kids, but it honestly was not.

It wasn't until I started my graduate program that I realized how prevalent death would be in this job. Class after class brought up how to deal with a child dying and how to help the families after their child has died. Professors shared stories about a child dying on Halloween in her angel costume or the CLS who had to actually carry a baby down to the morgue because the family was too grief-stricken to do it themselves.

My first internship was in the Hematology/Oncology clinic of a Boston hospital. I was supposed to receive over 400 supervised hours but I was left alone a lot. I was given the keys to the clinic and it wasn't because my supervisors were neglectful or lazy, they were busy. So instead of being treated like an intern I was given the opportunities and advantages that a full-fledged CLS would receive. I was talking with doctors and supporting families and accompanying children to their procedures. I would have lunch with my supervisor or pass her in the hallway but for the most part, it was just me and I liked it. I was good at it. But at the end of the day, when I got home, I would crumble under the weight of what I had experienced that day.

The most important skill a CLS needs is to be a professional. Boundaries can easily become muddled when working in such a delicate environment. You need to be able to hear bad news in one room, console an upset mother in the next room and then be able to play checkers with a kid in the other room without giving any sort of indication of what is going on around them and this would happen every day.

I experienced the deaths of three patients during my internship and learned of the death of a 4th patient after my internship was completed. This was always the reminder that while my job was to make sure these kids got to be kids; that cancer was cancer, and it was going to do it's job as well. Everyone in the clinic would gather around and talk about the final events but then it was time to move on to the next thing. To the kids who were still fighting for their lives. There wasn't time to grieve.

When I learned about the 4th patient who died, I was completely caught off guard. On the last day of my internship he was still in the hospital but he was on the mend. There wasn't any indication that he would be dead a month after I left. I found out the news right before class, from one of my classmates who was now interning in my old position at the clinic. I was asking her for updates on certain kids and when I brought up Ross, the 4th patient, I was floored when she told me he had passed away months ago.

Boundaries got muddled with Ross and his family. I saw him every day that I was at my internship and we would play card games or Monopoly and sometimes after my hour was up, his father would follow me out of the room and would thank me, teary-eyed, as he told me how important these visits were to Ross. These were the times when it made moving on to the next patient difficult. But I appreciated him telling me that I was making a difference. It was hard to tell sometimes when I spent most of my time playing games with kids, if I was actually helping at all.

It was shortly after I learned about his death that I dropped out of graduate school. It wasn't the main reason, but it was a contributing factor. I had reached my breaking point with a lot of things and death was definitely one of them.

So I'm back to the drawing board, trying to figure out what I want to pursue now. All I know is that I don't want to work in an environment where death is a normal occurrence. I wish I could, but I've just simply had enough of it.

Every once in a while I'll have a dream about Ross. I'll dream about him sitting in his hospital bed in his yellow bathrobe, surrounded by his stuffed animals. He's still bald and frail, but he's always smiling. In my dreams, he is exactly like he was on the last day I saw him.

And then I wake up.

And life goes on.

The Year of Me

2010-12-28T02:00:00.000-05:00

At this time last year I was just beginning to start my new life. The easy life. The happy one. I had officially left school and told my parents what I did and there was no going back. I was a grad school dropout and I was ok with that.

Even though I had left school I was still able to see a school therapist but I stopped going just before heading home for Christmas. I was telling her about how my head was still swimming with worry. I was living completely inside myself and I didn't know how to get out. So she told me to start noticing my surroundings. To look at nature and people and buildings. Sounded easy enough. So I left that session and I started looking. The sky was blue. The trees were bare. The wind was cold. I had stepped out of my head and allowed myself to join the world again.

Even the smallest of flames help you to see the whole picture.

A few months before this I had attended the first Boston Bookfest with my friend and college roommate, Laura. I told her how I had been feeling like I wanted to leave school. We discussed it a little and then the lecture started. When it was finished she turned to me and asked if I had read the book, "Eat, Pray, Love." I told her that I had and she told me that I should do what the author of that book did. Take a year off to take care of myself. To leave behind the bad and find the good. It was what I wanted to do all along and she was the first person to tell me it was a good idea. I had found my support. So away I went. Easy as that.

And since then, and during this past year, I have been having the time of my life. This has quite honestly been one of the best. I'm happy. I am comfortable with who I am. I can face whatever comes my way and there is freedom in knowing that. I am not a slave to my life anymore. I make the rules. Like a boss.

So as this year comes to an end and a new one is only days away I hope that all of you will find happiness as well. Actually, it's not even that you have to find it, you just have to realize it. I hope that you realize that you are capable of being happy. And if you are already happy then I am happy for you. But I know it's not easy. So this past year was about me and now it's your turn. Make 2011 about you and your happiness.

Happy New You Year!

The Death Penalty

2010-11-08T14:05:00.002-05:00

It was announced today that the jury in the Steven Hayes case recommended the death penalty for his part in the slaying of the Petit Family of Cheshire, Connecticut. The story of what happened to that family makes me sick and I can't spend too much time thinking about it but this recent sentencing has made me even more upset. Sentencing him to death is a cop out. It's a get out of jail free card.

Even Hayes' Attorney made the case for the death penalty being an easy out for Hayes. He noted that Hayes has lost 80lbs in jail, has lost all privacy, and is "an animal in a zoo." He said that putting Hayes to death would, "end his misery."

I think that when emotions run high in a case like this, people feel like they want to tear the suspects apart themselves. We all want justice from this case. We want to put these men to death ourselves and see him suffer and look at the lifeless body and feel safe again.

But killing a killer makes us killers. I don't care if the state condones it. It's giving up on our citizens, no matter how nasty and terrible they may be. And the excitement that people feel when they hear that someone is receiving the death penalty, makes me sick to my stomach. "The death penalty! Yes!!" I feel like our society dies a little bit with each death sentence that gets doled out.

Evil exists, I know that, I've seen it. We see it on the news everyday. But killing an evil person does not remove the evil from the world. But America is all about the kill. We want the big pay off. The cum shot. We're pleasure seekers and the death penalty makes us feel satisfied. We're disillusioned. We're desperate for some release. With the death penalty we place our criminals in sterile rooms, with signed papers and professionals and we call it even.

I say "we" because even I felt great for a few seconds after hearing that he would probably be sentenced to death. I literally felt happy from hearing the news. "He's getting what he deserves" said the emotional side of my brain. But then logic, and sense and reasoning crept in and then I just felt sad. He did something terrible, I am not saying that he doesn't deserve to be punished but I think that any of our citizens deserve to be helped. Like his attorney said, he's lost any trace of an independent life in prison. He's being punished. His life will never be the same. And that is when the state and professionals can step in and take this empty person and make him whole again. Give him the tools to change his life. At least try. It's just terrible when we give up on someone. It's not like he would ever be released. America's karma is already so fucked up. Why not try to help more people? Set some things right. Show those people who feel hopeless that there are people who can help them. Maybe if Hayes and his partner Komisarjevsky had received the proper help when they were first incarcerated for their various multiple felonies in the past things would be different now.

See? We set criminals free and then become upset when they keep on committing crimes. Putting someone in a cell doesn't change them for the better and killing a criminal doesn't right the crime. We need to do more. We need to take responsibility for letting these crimes happen. They had both already been to jail! Why were they released in the first place? What actual evidence had they exhibited that they were good to go back into society?

They served their time? OK, great. What programs did they have to complete while in prison? Did they undergo any psychological testing? Were they given opportunities to find jobs and support groups? Were they checked up on when they were released?

And if they did receive these things then they didn't work. We need to rework the system. Make it effective and stop making prison a holding station for criminals in between crimes.

It's all fucked up. We're all too emotional. Too lazy to do more.

I live the town over from where these crimes occurred. I've been to the grocery store where Hayes and Komisarjevsky first set their sights on the Petit family and I've been to the bank where Mrs. Petit was forced to remove the family's life savings on that fateful day. It could have been my family. It could have been me. But it wasn't. I'm still here to see this all play out and to make my little opinions about what I think should happen. If it was my family in that situation and I was able to survive, like Mr. Petit, I can't imagine how I would feel. Or what justice would feel like when the men who killed my family are before me.

People have said that once those men are put to death that then the family can finally be at peace. Like I said, I don't know how it feels to be in that situation but I can imagine that peace is something that I would never feel again. Peace would be to have my family back. To never have to face the fact that these men did horrible things to my family and that they are gone now. Peace would not be found in the death penalty, not for me.

Hayes wants to die. He wanted to look like a monster because he said he felt guilty and remorseful and he wanted the jury to sentence him to death. He tried to kill himself after the crimes but was unsuccessful.

So yeah, lets give him exactly what he wants and say that it's what he deserves. We'll do the work for him.

We won't help them live successfully but damnit if you want to die, we got you covered.

Sources:
CNN: http://bit.ly/d1Gcru
Boston Herald: http://bit.ly/ctguEr

2010-10-06T00:49:00.001-04:00

The Other Side

2010-09-08T01:15:00.002-04:00

"I've taken up the habit of documenting the scene outside my kitchen window, when I am home to actually see it. It is a known fact among my friends that my favorite time of day during the Summer is 6pm (between 4:30 and 5pm in Winter) because the light is beautiful. It is what I imagine the word "sun-kissed" to look like. Everything is bathed in a soft sunlight and the world just seems quiet and magical and peaceful.

From my kitchen window I can see a church with a cross in the steeple that appears to be neon at night. It is the church where Sen. Ted Kennedy's funeral was held. I watched the funeral procession from the front porch of my apartment. People visit the church to see where the Senator was honored and where 4 U.S. Presidents came to pay their respects to the liberal lion. But to me, this church means home.

I've spoken of home a few times here and it has always meant Hamden. Home has always been my parents house. The small Cape Cod style house on Willard Street but Boston has been a kind of home for me too. There was a time when I loved living here and during college when I would have to return to Hamden for the Summer I would be dying to get back to this city. Now I have 218 days left here and I am committed to enjoying each and every one of them.

Because I know that when I return to my parent's house I will miss Boston. I know that there will be days where I wish I could return. I have learned so much here, about everything, and it is not a place I want to come to resent. I made these decisions, no one else. Boston is not to blame for my unhappiness. I like to say that my unhappiness lives in Boston but I am in charge of that feeling. I can remember being unhappy in Hamden too sometimes. It follows me anywhere really.

Boston is not unhappiness but it is also no longer where I want to call home. It is an old city and I have grown old with it and within it. It will never be New York, New Haven or New Orleans but it will always be a place on the map that I can point to and call my home, even if it was just for a little while.

I choose to be optimistic. I don't want to return here someday and find that my resentment, my unhappiness and my debt still live here. For the next 218 days that I have left I will turn around my relationship with Boston and leave this place feeling nothing but love towards it. Like so many of my relationships, it is time for me to accept that the best is behind us and I am blessed to have experienced it. Any of it and all of it. I want to be able to look back on these days and smile, knowing I tried my best.

So that is why I have been photographing the sunsets. Another day done here and another day closer to home. But it is always a way for me to appreciate the day I had and a way for me to look back, months from now, and remind myself how beautiful life can be even when it seems to be completely painted with pain."

I wrote this months ago and didn't post it for some reason. I think I had issues with the sentence structuring or something. Now I am sitting on the other side of those 218 days, in my parents house- my childhood home, missing Boston. I did everything I said I would do in that post. I made my peace with the city and now feel only love for it. There is no room for regret. My love for that city could fill it and I can't wait to go back and visit.

I'll miss the people the most. I made some wonderful friends in Boston. On dark days, they are the sunset. They are my 6pm.

My memories of Boston aren't based on what historic building I was near or what bar I was in or who stood on the same spot as me so many years ago. To me, those people, my friends, are the buildings. They are the history that I care to remember because we helped create it together. Even the people who have since left Boston. They have all helped to makes these past few years the best of my life. I hope to keep making memories with them.

Now that I am in the suburbs the buildings are smaller, the streets are less crowded and people look at me all confused when I tell them the name of my town. It's okay though. I am happy to be home. It was my plan all along and even though I fought it at some points I knew that this was the only choice I could make. I look out the kitchen now and see a different view but it's just as beautiful.

And someday, it will be this view that I will miss.

Shattered

2010-05-28T01:51:00.000-04:00

I broke a glass tabletop into a million pieces the other day.

I was moving it from the basement to the backyard but it never made it out. It simply just exploded in my hands, or that's how it felt anyway. It was a large piece of glass and then it turned into many smaller pieces of glass, completely unrecognizable from it's previous shape. No longer able to hold anything. I collapsed on the floor and cried. I cried because I was in trouble but I mostly cried because I related with the glass. It reminded me of this quote by Margaret Atwood, "You can wet the rim of a glass and run your finger around the rim and it will make a sound. This is what I feel like: this sound of glass. I feel like the word shatter. I want to be with someone."

It was the best visualization of an emotion that I have ever seen and even though I was in trouble, and I was covered in cuts and bleeding I still had that moment of "yeah, me too." And even after it broke into a million pieces and spread itself all over the basement, it was making the most beautiful noise. It was still breaking, and rubbing against itself and it created this chorus of broken glass. It shattered, shimmered and sang.

It made me mad. I shouldn't have been so impatient, I should have been more careful but I took a risk and being human, and not having the power to predict the future I just did what I thought I should do and it literally blew up in my face.

I was having a conversation with my best friend the other day about how life is a gamble. You can never really know if you are making the right decisions or if the "good" decisions you are making now will turn into bad ones. Lost chances, regrets, mistakes...its all a risk.

It's a risk when you go into a relationship with someone. It's a risk to even call it a relationship. To look forward to seeing someone, to kiss them, to know their body, their taste, to know what it feels like to have their body pressed to yours to hear them whisper in your ear...because you never know when it will all go away. We don't have control over other people and no matter how much you want something to go the way you have imagined it, there is a good chance that it won't.

And when it doesn't, like in a relationship- we say we are heartbroken. Our idea is shattered, and so is our heart. And so is the glass.

I picked up the glass, teary eyed, and I was mad about so many things but mostly mad about the fact that things change. Things. Everything. Without warning and it becomes your job to pick up the pieces. But there are pieces that can't be found, or are too difficult to reach so they remain there forever. Maybe you like the reminder, but you know that you have to be careful now to not get cut. There are new dangers, new insecurities to tend to. So you wear shoes. Build a wall. Avoid a room, a place, a person. You learn, and you move on. Buy a plastic replacement, something that won't break this time. Invest in something that will last forever.

But life is a gamble. It's a risk. It's scary and sad and loud and quiet and illuminating and deafening. It is what it is and nothing is guaranteed.

The cuts are already healing. There had to have been at least a dozen of them because after the sheet of glass broke I picked up the pieces with no regard to how much it hurt to hold the jagged glass in my fingers. All I saw was red, red, red. But then I washed off the blood, got a broom, wiped away the tears and cleaned it all up. And now the glass is gone. The cuts are fading and I am moving on. I will forever be moving on until something else breaks, or I find the glue to hold it all together.

"I feel like the word shatter. I want to be with someone."

The Good

2010-05-14T12:54:00.000-04:00

If everything had gone as planned, as I imagined it when I first started graduate school, I would be finishing up by now. I would be handing in my portfolio and would have a plane ticket to Arizona booked to take the Child Life Certification Exam. I would be applying for jobs and hopefully going on interviews. But I'm not. I chose to stop.

I can't honestly say that I don't feel any remorse over the fact that I won't be getting my Master's in a few weeks. I have thankfully stayed in touch with everyone in my program and I envy them. They've pushed through, done their best and now they will graduate and have Masters degrees. The next chapter of their lives are beginning and I couldn't be happier for them. I'm happy to still be included in their group. I think it comes with the field. We stick close because not many people know what we have been through. The Child Life world is a small one. Almost like an island. Isolated, but still a driving force in the world. It exists even if not many people know about it. I look at these amazing women and I envy them but more than that I am grateful for them. They made my first year at grad school unforgettable and they made my last few months of grad school manageable.

I try to find the good in every situation, no matter how horrible it was. I think that there is always something to learn and you always come away with some good. They are the good. They are the gifts that I will carry with me forever. I wish them all the best.

And as the weight of grad school is slowly lifted from their shoulders I find myself not any more clear about what I want to do with my future. A new career pops into my head everyday and on same days I think I could just be a waitress forever. All I know, and all I've ever known, is that I want to help people. As a little girl I wanted to be a teacher (but mostly just to write on the chalkboards), then I wanted to start my own magazine for teens, then I wanted to be a writer (but who really knows what that means), then I switched to being a psychologist and then eventually landed on being a CLS. But now I'm back at the beginning- back to being just like that little girl who sat on her bed dreaming of what she will do when she grows up.

I am, I am, I am

2010-04-14T23:33:00.002-04:00

Last week, as I was heading home for Easter, I saw a little boy in the bus station testing his limits. He would walk away from his parents, or sometimes run as far as he could either before he got too scared or his parents called him back. He even walked backwards at one point, maybe to see the look on his parent’s faces as he got farther and farther away. Or maybe he enjoyed the thrill of seeing the distance between them. But he would always come running back to them each time.

When I first started dealing with my depression and had my first meeting with a psychiatrist I shared that the only book I could seem to read lately was "The Bell Jar." This led her to ask me if I have ever had thoughts of ending my life, naturally. But I wasn't looking for tips on the best way to kill myself, I just related to Esther Greenwood and her feelings of being sad and stuck. I knew what it was like to feel like I was "stewing in my own sour air." I was miserable and I found comfort in Esther's shared pain.

But I never wanted to die. I just wanted to escape. I was ready to take any bus, train or plane out of the city and go…anywhere. I didn’t care. I just wanted out of the life I was leading but not out of life as a whole. I never felt hopeless. I always knew that I would get better because I was taking actions to prevent this darkness from destroying me. And really, I think that I wanted to escape more than I was depressed.

I can remember the exact moment I decided to make my escape.

It was in the sky. That rainbow colored sky on my trip back to Boston from New Orleans. I was supposed to be writing a paper on the plane but I just couldn’t do it and as I looked out the window and tried to take so many mental pictures of that sky I made up my mind that I would stop doing everything that I was currently doing. None of it was working. I had to leave it all behind.

It was the fact that I felt like I couldn’t escape before that made me depressed. I felt stuck in my life. I was stuck at work, at school and at my internship. But it was on that plane ride that I realized that everyday I was making a choice to be unhappy. So I decided to choose to be happy instead.

And then the desire to be happy outweighed the desire to escape which all but eradicated the depression I was experiencing. I don’t doubt that I was depressed during that time, and I am aware that it could come back but I feel stronger now. I am making decisions that will hopefully prevent that horrible, sinking feeling from ever coming back.

Because I don’t want to settle. I don’t want to compromise, or just put up with something. I want to be passionate about my life. I want to be living it in exactly the manner that I desire. I want to be happy forever and not let anything, or anyone get in my way of living a fulfilling life. And if I get the desire to walk away- I will.

The Self-Help Section

2010-02-20T14:23:00.000-05:00

I've stopped doing everything that I thought would help me get better. I no longer see a therapist once a week and I rarely take my meds. For as great as the medication was for quieting some of the depression and anxiety, they also prevented me from feeling so many other things. I felt like everything that made me who I am were cut down to smaller sizes as well, and some things just seemed to vanish. It's hard to describe. So I stopped taking them.

I stopped going to the therapist because Christmas break came up and their offices weren't open and then I just lost interest in going. I felt like I always had to repeat myself too and that is a major pet peeve of mine. Especially when it's to someone whose job it is to listen.

I think finding a job has really helped me to feel better. No longer having to worry about where my money is going to come from, and how I will pay for rent. All that worry over money has made me more relaxed with my view on money too. Money has always been the deciding factor of my mood. When I got it I'm happy and when I don't I'm depressed. And now that I am making money I am happy but I have also come to understand that I let a piece of paper dictate my happiness. Yes it does keep a roof over my head and food on the shelves, so for those reasons money is important, but I have also learned (or rather, decided) that I can choose to be happy whether I have money or not.

I mean, that is what these past few months have been about anyway. Realizing that I have a choice. I'm making the choice to be happy now. I'm recognizing the weak spots in my life. Those tender spots that used to make me cringe and hide are now just encouragement to change. I need to be vocal, I need to share how I feel with others, I need to be honest. I need to go out with friends and spend my money wisely. I'm listening to myself again and it feels really good.

I know I'm not cured by any means but I do know that I am making progress, and it's not just due to a fatter wallet. I think some people in my life don't see the change. They are the same people who peered so closely at me a couple of months ago when I broke my silence. Like they were looking to see the physical damage depression had done. I think it's just hard for people to realize that there isn't anything to see. It's all internal, and I can talk about it but that still doesn't give some people a sense of relief. But I know what's going on. I've got a plan. A small one. A day by day one and it's working for me.

We all want evidence, I understand that. I'm the first to deny something until I see it for myself. It's not real until I can verify it and feel comfortable with my findings. We all consider ourselves experts of something whether it be a theory, a lifestyle or even a person. There is that saying, "I know you better than you know yourself," but that's bullshit. There is no way to really know someone. Murakami wrote, "You'll live forever in your own private library." That I believe. There are volumes and volumes of stories that no one can touch. Sometimes you decide to read a page to someone else but it's often the condensed version. We paraphrase in order to keep something for ourselves.

So no, I don't believe that you can ever really know someone, but what you can do is trust them. You can take what they give you and hold it as truth. That's all I ask. I wish they would understand that they don't have to look so closely. I don't need to be held under a microscope to find change. To find the proof that I actually do feel a lot better. You have no idea how differently things are now. I actually want to get out of bed in the morning. I don't cry everyday anymore. I'm enjoying my life.

Maybe someday you can see what I see. But until then, you've just got to trust. And just be there. That's all I need.

It's hard to come up with a title sometimes.

2010-02-11T23:42:00.000-05:00

My 3-day "vacation" has begun. I asked for the weekend off because one of my friends from college is getting married on the 13th so I wanted to have the weekend off to prepare (Friday), enjoy (Saturday) and recuperate (Sunday). I am just so excited to have the opportunity to stay up late and sleep in. Staying up late is a guilty pleasure of mine. I love being awake at 3am when everyone else is asleep. I've never been a morning person so if this is why people like to wake up early, I will never experience that for myself. I'll stick with being a night owl.

So this wedding. I can't believe that my friends are starting to get married. I have 2 this year that I am attending. I feel like marriage is like a cold. Once the weddings start then everyone gets wedding fever and then everyone starts getting married. And then they start having babies and then I will get invited to kid's birthday parties.

I think it's the fact that I am somewhat regressing (moving back home) while my friends are turning into adults (getting hitched) that makes me freak out a little. It's not about feeling pressured to get married now, it's just more of a reality check that while I feel like I am playing "adult" there are people my age who are living it.

And dating is a whole other story.

I've never been a fan of willingly putting myself into awkward situations and dating is chock full of awkwardness. Of course there have been interested parties, and I've been interested but nothing culminated into, well, anything.

There was a time where I threw myself into the lions den- I joined a dating website. I felt like I was at a good point in my life, and despite living in a city of students I wasn't meeting any worthwhile candidates. So I joined, I saw and I dated. I went on 4 first dates total and even went on a second date. I am currently (and pathetically) still pining after one of those individuals that I dated so I guess, all in all, it wasn't such a bad experience. I guess.

It gave me a lot of great stories to tell. I went on a date with a film director whose movie I saw in an actual movie theater, which was a first. Then there was that guy who was really tall, and we had a lot in common, but he had told me his name was Hunter and then when we met up with his friend's they called him Sam...and he had told me that he was a law student and then on the date he told me that he edited movies for Gus Van Sant. Not a terrible turn of events but I was confused enough to not respond to any requests for follow up dates. Lying is kind of a red flag.

Then there was the one guy who was great, but seemed too into me (it's a turn off) and then there was the guy who was amazing- but I let him go for the great guy. It would be so helpful if there was a letter that would arrive in the mail when you are making a bad decision. Or an email. Just something that would give you a heads up that you should not be giving preference to someone who is going to kind of creep you out in a few months and to just be smart and stick with the cool, level-headed, all around awesome guy. And it would be great if that letter mentioned that one day the awesome guy would move to an island and you might not be able to talk to him or see him again.

Pining...

I guess all of this is just a long-winded way of saying I don't plan on getting married any time soon. I'm okay with that. I've never been the type of girl who sets time limits for things. I mean, I used to listen to Doris Day's recording of "Que Sera, Sera" on repeat at age 7. Whatever will be will be. The future's not ours to see, all that business. Never thought, "married by 25, 2 kids by 30." I just figure that if it's meant to happen, it will and with the way things have been going I have learned that plans rarely go as planned anyway.

2010-01-27T22:49:00.001-05:00

Home is wherever I'm with you

2010-01-10T03:05:00.001-05:00

I have written and rewritten this certain entry many times over the past few days. They have all been slightly different versions of the same thing.

What I’m trying to say, what I’ve been trying to say is that I want to leave Boston.

There is a very distinct feeling I get every time I return to Boston after being away for a while. It’s taken me a while to sort it out, to identify it and give it a name but I’ve finally discovered exactly what this feeling is. It is my heart, breaking.

I often wondered about it as I sat in Union Station after a weekend with my family. All I could feel was an immense ache. I thought it had to do with what I was returning to when in actuality it had more to do with what I was leaving behind.

So this is what I will do. In 233 days from this blog post I will return to Connecticut. I will return to the people who gave me life so that they can help me sort out and clean up this haphazard life I have been leading.

It is the final step in a series of events that I did not originally know would lead me back to my parent’s house. I’ve let go of everything else that has kept me in Boston. I’ve stopped telling myself that I can find happiness on my own, here. There are no more stories to tell myself, no one to try to pretend to be and in 9 months there will be no reason to stay.

Trying to get something real by telling yourself stories is a trap anyway. It’s an addiction. We numb ourselves with stories because we imagine that the risk of being honest will be too painful to bear.

But what I have learned, after these past 2 years, is that nothing is more painful than sitting on a train full of strangers getting farther and farther away from the only people who really know me. The only people with the cure for my broken heart. I feel their love no matter where I am but now more than ever I need to see it. I need to feel it wrapped around me. I need to wake up to it in the morning and fall asleep to it at night.

I need to hear its song.

And I will learn the words and sing it back.

I Am An Island

2009-12-29T00:21:00.000-05:00

Around this time last year I began to set sail on a journey that would bring me far from everything and everyone, including myself. I did not choose to leave but I also had no other choice but to leave. I left behind the old me, I’m still not sure who she was and I’m still getting to know this “new” me but I still think of that girl, and can see her waving to me from the shore as she gets smaller and smaller.

She doesn’t disappear though, that’s how I know I haven’t gotten that far. I can still see her, and part of me wishes I could go back to her. There was a sense of security I had during that time. I was sad, I was falling apart- but I walked around with a security blanket of silence that kept me protected. It was my secret. Now everyone knows…and I am still sad. I still feel like I am falling apart. The only difference is that it’s not my burden to bear alone anymore.

My mom said something to me on Christmas Day that upset me. She said, “Could you go back to school in January? Now all your friends are going to graduate without you.”

I was stunned when she said this. I thought I had already gone through all of this with my parents. Once again it comes down to a date on a calendar that everyone is looking to. It’s because my extended family asks about school when I see them and they all mention how I am graduating in May and I sit there giving them as little of a response as possible. I just wait for them to move onto the next niece, granddaughter, or cousin to probe. Christmas doesn’t really seem like the right time to announce such news. But then again it’s just another date on a calendar.

I think my parents have had this idea in their head that I would immediately get better and everything would be back to normal. Back to their idea of normal. What they don’t know is that I want to get as far away from the life I used to lead as possible. It wasn’t working for me. I made decisions I’m not happy with. I missed out on opportunities and as much as I try to live a life without regret I kind of mourn those lost chances. Which is just another way of saying I have regrets.

There was someone I wish I got to know better. I wish I gave him the time of day instead of giving preference to someone else. Now he is far away, on an island, and I am afraid I will never speak to him or see him again. Feeling like you have missed out on love is one of the worst feelings there is. If I could, I would take this little journey to his island and live out the rest of my days in the sun, with him. But I fear that I am too late. I let him go because I was unraveling and couldn’t hold onto anything. It’s so frustrating to be here. And by here I mean at this point in my life. In Boston. Here on my own little island that I built and not many people know how to get to or what to do with themselves once they get here.

He’s in paradise and I’m in hell.

So I’ve got to start swimming.

First Snow

2009-12-05T20:21:00.001-05:00

It's the first snow of the year so naturally all I can think about is summer. I love snow, especially the first one, but I love summer so much more. Allow me to reminisce...
My summer began deceptively well. I had just finished my first year of grad school and immediately went on vacation with my mom and sister to Rockport. It has become a sort of tradition for the 3 of us to spend a few days there at the beginning of summer. I collected a ton of sea glass, ate as much food as I could and hung out on the balcony connected to our room. Rockport is one of my favorite places to visit. After this trip I spent Memorial Day weekend on The Cape with the family of my roommate's friend and then after this I went camping with some of my friends. Yes, the summer began with a bang- but then camp started.
I was working full-time as head camp counselor for a group of 30 7-9 year-old's, a group that I was just a counselor for the previous summer. After that first summer, I got camp amnesia and decided that I missed the kids more than I disliked the place so I returned with the promise of getting a promotion. Now I was in charge of a large group of kids and set myself on a one-way road to misery. I worked with incompetent people, in a group of children that needed more help than I could give them and we had very little resources to keep all these children entertained. One of the children was autistic, a handful of them had ADD and the rest were getting into fights or just not interested in being at camp. It was a nightmare.
This is when this terrible, depressed, hopeless feeling began to set in. But then my weekends would come, and they were amazing. I spent them on my friend's dad's boat cruising down the Connecticut River past Gillete Castle and Chris Dodd's house and we would pull into a harbor and lounge on inner tubes with a Coors Light in hand. Or my friends and I would just drive around and go on adventures- looking for interesting trails or beaches, or they would come up to Boston and we would get Brunch at the bar down the street and then spend the rest of the afternoon on my building's roof which has a great view of downtown Boston. These weekends were my salvation and gave me hope that when this job ended, I would feel better. That this sinking feeling would go away and I would be happy again.
Of course, we know that this isn't how things went down. I was relieved to be done with the job but those feelings still stuck close, and got worse. But now things are changing yet again. It's been about 2 months since I made my decision to leave school and my life is moving forward at a snail's pace. But it's moving, so I'm...happy.

And now it's snowing. I'm glad for the change and that the year is coming to a close. It means that there is another summer coming up and even though this past summer wasn't all terrible it certainly could have had a couple more good days sprinkled in. So while the snow falls and Christmas nears, I'll be dreaming of a happy summer, with days that are merry and bright.

Haunted

2009-11-11T01:49:00.003-05:00

I decorated for Christmas this past weekend. I know it's super early but I love the holidays and I can do whatever I want. The decorations are conducive to my mood as well. A Christmas tree adorned with white lights is perfect for sitting in a darkened room and staring off into. The musical box that plays Winter Wonderland and always ends on slow, sad drawn out final notes always hits the right chords within me. It almost seems to strain itself to try to complete the entire song. It never does though. It always stops short. So I turn the dial and listen to it again.

I had another music box as a child that I loved. I guess I shouldn't call them musical boxes since the Christmas one is in the shape of an igloo and the one I had as a child was shaped as a little girl. She was in a light green dress splattered with dark green shamrocks and she played "When Irish eyes are smiling." I used to play it over and over as a little girl, trying to fall asleep in my dark, quiet house. It was a weird time. My parents had just gotten married and there were ghosts in my house. I would see their faces floating over my bed at night and I can remember the face of one of them. He was an old man with a very wrinkly face. My parents never believed me when I told them I saw ghosts. I remember being really scared though and I know that I have a very active imagination and a chemical imbalance but I don't think I am crazy enough to conjure up images like that. And I was only 4 at the time.

My roommate and I have a vague fear that our current apartment is haunted but I'm not sure about it. She felt like someone was walking around her bed and she heard rustling in her closet. I haven't really experienced anything though. Except my bed would shake sometimes but it's against a wall so I couldn't tell if it was a ghost or the people who live downstairs.

I think the only ghost in our apartment is me.
I just glide around from room to room searching for something I can't find.
Quietly observing the world around me, wondering how I have gotten so far away and trying so hard to get back.

But most days are lessons in stillness.
Sitting in darkened rooms.
Looking into white lights...

In a dreamworld

2009-11-06T00:31:00.001-05:00

I am quite, quite sick right now. Sick enough that I am kind of having hallucinations so don't expect this post to be very cohesive or coherent (I just had to look up if those two words actually mean two different things). I've had a sore throat these past few days, ever since my trip to NYC, but I attributed it to the hookah bar we went to. It was Daylight Savings time so we decided to repeat everything we did at 1a.m. so we got another round of margaritas and another hookah. I sucked that think down. I used to smoke in high school but I kind of just got sick of it and quite my Freshman year of college but I still smoke occasionally. It satiates whatever desire I have left. Anyway, this sore throat has gotten worse and now I am achy with a general all over sick feeling. I don't own a thermometer but I'm gonna guess that I have a slight fever. Once I said that I felt sick out loud was when I started to feel worse. I acknowledged it and it just blew up. Like anything in life really. "To call each thing by its right name."

I guess that's why they say the first step in fixing a problem is admitting you have a problem. Once you admit it, you own it. It becomes a part of you and something you can't deny and only then can you begin to move on. For instance, I just told my parents yesterday about what is going on with me. Usually those would be the first people you would call but I was nervous. This is a big decision and I just wanted to make sure that I had everything all figured out before I unleashed it all on my parents. My best friend had to talk me into it to be quite honest and I'm glad she did. I could have held off on doing it for a long time. But it was killing me that they didn't know and here I am writing about it on my blog and telling everyone else but they were left in the dark. It went well, as well as it could go, for what it was but I feel so much better now that it's out there. Now everyone knows. I've owned up to it all over the place and now I just feel...peaceful. Now everyone knows who I am, at this point in my life. I've got the troops behind me now.

Back to the hallucinations. I'm not on anything and I've never taken psychedelics so I'm not tripping or whatever. I'm not seeing people or other worlds...I just keep seeing things out of the corner of my eye. This worries me because this is Boston and mice exist so there's that but I'm pretty sure I would really know if there were 4 or 5 mice skittering all over the living room. I imagine I will have some pretty great fever dreams tonight. As long as they aren't like the nightmare I had last night where I was stuck in a cage with a bunch of other people and a woman came with a machete and threw it into the cage and hit some other person on the head. Or more specifically, right in the face. I don't watch scary movies and I'm scared of the ghost that I'm pretty sure lives in my apartment so it really pisses me off when I have a nightmare because I try to stay away from anything scary. I think that dreams have meaning but I don't even try to interpret these dreams. Their only purpose is to scare me in my sleep as far as I can tell.

I love dreams though, good ones that is. I'm a daydreamer. I'm never bored because I always have something going on inside of my head. I've gone on many mental vacations. My roommate hates commercials and will spend those few minutes switching between channels but I see that break in a program as "me time." I can occupy myself with a few images of me in a new job, or just imagining me at a friends place in Vermont. I've got a very active imagination. So eight hours of just laying in my comfy bed dreaming is awesome. It's what I should go do now considering how sick I feel and I can feel myself slowly getting worse but these late night talk shows aren't going to watch themselves.

My rebellion

2009-11-02T18:54:00.000-05:00

I got pulled over this weekend. I had just dropped my roommate off at the train station in New Haven and I was driving her car back to my parents house where it would stay until it was time to pick her up a few days later. I was coming up to a light that was yellow but I decided to just gun it and try my luck. Just as I passed underneath the now red light, I see a cop car to my left and say, "Fuck!" and immediately start to slow down. The car rolls around the corner and the red and blue lights start flashing. The police officer approaches my car and I see that it's a lady cop and she asks why my headlights are off. Whoops. I always forget to turn the headlights on in my roomie's car. In my old car, which my father donated to charity behind my back, the lights would turn off when you turned off the car and turn back on when you started it back up again. I'm still used to that I guess even though I haven't had that car for about 2 years now. The streets were well lit and I could see perfectly well so I had no idea that they were off. Then she told me that the light I passed through was definitely red and took my license and all the other stuff. There was a guy cop with her too and he was waving his flashlight all over the place and then he just stood by the side of the car. At this point I was worried that they thought that I stole this car. They keep asking me where I was coming from and I've got a CT license driving a car with a PA license plate that is not under my name.

So after like 20 minutes of the police officer just standing there and people staring at me as they walk by, lady cop comes back over and says, "Ok I am going to tell you what I'm supposed to do and then I will tell you what I'm going to do." Score. So then she goes through the whole speech of how much each fine would cost and then finally reveals to me that I am just getting a warning. The first time I got pulled over I wasn't so lucky.

Three of my friends and I drove to Miami for spring break out Sophomore year of college and we all took turns driving. We only stopped briefly at a hotel to shower and nap and mostly just drove through the night. On the way down I did quite a nice job of pushing the Saturn Ion we were driving to 120 to race some boys in Delaware and made it through the entire state in around 20 minutes and didn't manage to get pulled over. However, on our way back home I was driving the night shift and was cruising through Georgia. It was probably 2 in the morning and the roads were clear...just me and a cop. I was doing 93 in a 70 and got a citation and summons to court but I just ended up paying a hefty fine to avoid court. I don' really stress out over getting pulled over. I like to drive fast and I just kind of assume that I'm not always going to get away with it. But most of the time I do. In high school I used to push my car to 100 on the highway to see if I could get to the mall a few towns over in 15 minutes or less.

I was driving my parents car this weekend and my mom was with me and we were driving on this windy back road. I had never driven on these roads before so I was taking it kind of slow but then this guy rolls up behind me and he's not back there for more than a minute before he speeds up to pass me, crossing into the oncoming traffic lane and cutting me off. So then I'm pissed. There is nothing I hate more than someone cutting me off or implying that I am going too slow. So I started to ride his ass and my mom goes, "Mal stop following him so close, he could have a gun!" I laughed and said, "And he's gonna shoot me for tailgating him? That would be ridiculous." He ended up speeding up and basically drove in the oncoming traffic lane the whole time to cut off the whole line of cars that weren't going fast enough for him.

I've always liked driving and I seem to be one of the few people who do. I was desperate for the independence when I turned 16 and being able to just get up and go was fantastic. This independence turned into me skipping almost 40 days of school my senior year and it was all due to having a car...and hating school...and getting into college in December so I didn't see the need to try anymore. I would pick up my best friend and we would actually drive to school but in the parking lot we would usually decide that today wasn't a good day and would instead spend our time at Starbucks or Barnes and Noble. Later on when I got caught and my parents found out my mom asked, "Why didn't you just go to her house and sleep?" We hadn't even thought about it. We liked to drive around. Go on adventures. See where the day would take us while everyone else was sitting in class. Now that I live in Boston and use public transportation I don't need a car but I miss driving. Speeding down the streets with the music blasting. I love that. I just walk fast now, but its not the same, even if I'm listening to my iPod.

If I have somewhere to go, I want to get there quickly. I don't want to waste time along the way. That is what has been the hardest part about this whole getting better process. I just want to be better, to feel it instantly now that I have made all these changes in my life. But then I would be missing all that life has to offer along the way. So I'm forcing myself to slow down a bit. (I want to keep interjecting car metaphors like put on the brakes, sit back and enjoy the view, something about detours, scenic views, etc etc etc...but you get the point). Everyday is progress, everything that I am doing now is for me and will benefit future me.

Oh and while I am talking about the future and cars...this past weekend I went to NYC for Halloween and some guy pulled up in a DeLorean dressed as Doc Brown from Back to the Future. He even had smoke billowing out of it. That's commitment.

2009-10-28T21:12:00.002-04:00

"...the sea's only gifts are harsh blows and, occasionally, the chance to feel strong. Now, I don't know much about the sea, but I do know that that's the way it is here. And I also know how important it is in life not necessarily to be strong but to feel strong, to measure yourself at least once, to find yourself at least once in the most ancient of human conditions, facing blind, deaf stone alone, with nothing to help you but your own hands and your own head..."
— Bear Meat by Primo Levi

I was scared to be honest about my depression because I didn't want to feel weak and vulnerable. But people keep calling me strong. Brave. Admirable.
When I felt strong, I was actually just weak and hiding my depression.
Now that I am honest and feel weak, I appear strong to others.
I'm learning so much.

2009-10-27T15:01:00.000-04:00

When I stopped singing along to songs, I knew something was wrong. I am one of those annoying people who knows the words to every song and will gladly sing along to them. I listen to a song once and then I make it my job to sing along every time I hear it for the rest of my life. I've been known to exclaim how much I hate a song and then sing along to it. If I know the words I'm gonna sing 'em and no I do not have a good voice by good voice standards but I don't mind my singing. It's fun for me. But recently, I haven't been singing along to songs. I've barely been listening to music at all and when I do put on a song I'm barely hearing it. I'm too far away.

Depression is something that has always been there. I could always sense it, like a phantom limb, it was a part of me whether it could be seen or not. But usually it would go away, or I would have a good laugh and feel a little better. Better enough to carry on with my life. But it's bigger than me now. Rather than just carrying it around, it has seeped into every pore and I carry it in every cell of my body. It is my blood. It consumes my thoughts. In every inhalation, in every heartbeat, every step- I feel it. I am depression. It has swallowed me whole.

So now, as predicted, with this depression comes a loss of interest in things I would normally enjoy. As I mentioned in a previous post I can no longer read books and a recent venture into reading a magazine article proved futile as well. I can't take much in but I am certainly letting out a lot. I've told basically everyone how I am feeling and I know that talking about it will help me get through it and writing this blog has been a big help as well. It is one of the few things I have the motivation to start and actually finish. School and my internship are two things that fall into the can't finish category. I'm going to be taking a leave from school to focus on getting better and will probably return next Fall.

I mean, this is kind of a big deal. The whole leaving school thing, I mean. Feeling depressed is big too but I can't believe how much it is affecting my life this time around. When I first started thinking about leaving school I was pissed. This is not something I had planned out, obviously, and I felt like I was ruining everything. Why couldn't I just suck it up and tough out these next 7 months so I can graduate on time? But every time I think about that I remember how hard it's been to even look at a syllabus, never mind completing an entire assignment. The normal things in life have become burdens and the only option is to get away. Take time for me so that one day I can do these things and not feel like a ton of bricks are laying down on me.

I've always been a very headstrong person. I only do things that make me happy and that I will enjoy and if I don't like something, or someone or somewhere I will not hesitate to remove myself, or not get involved at all. I just simply don't want to wast my time. I know what I like and what I don't like and I won't settle for anything less. That is why this decision to leave is so hard. I love my program, and the people who I have met. I love working with children and families and learning how to help them. I don't want to be the one left behind as the rest of my classmates excel and graduate in May and all travel together to Phoenix in June to take the certification exam.

But I can't worry about that too much because for as long as depression is the only song in my head, the only song I know the words to, I have to leave some things behind. Make room for what is to come. To start over.

But it still sucks.

This is for me

2009-10-25T00:05:00.000-04:00

I went to the Boston Bookfest today with my college roommate. It was a rainy Saturday and usually I would spend the day lazing about the house but I decided to brave the rain and venture out.

There were various seminars going on that I wanted to see so I sent her a text and met at the BPL. We had missed the seminar I wanted to see which was on writing memoirs so we got a seat at a seminar on thrillers and killers instead. We got there an hour early and spent the time catching up on each others lives.

I love listening to writers talk about their process. I love just being around writers. To know that some of us make it. Andre Dubus III author of 'House of Sand and Fog' said that only 200 authors in the US actually make a living out of writing. I don't know where he got this number from but I believed him. The other writers present were Joseph Finder, Stephen Carter and Jessica Stern.

They said that the advice to "write what you know" is terrible. I was relieved to hear this. When do you know something? I've been waiting to know something so I can start writing my book. I think I would have waited forever. They said it's all about writing what you are interested in and learning more about it. They said a great novel leaves space for the reader to fill in their own ideas. You fill in the blanks. Everything doesn't need to be spelled out for you. They said that they don't write for anyone but themselves. If someone likes it, great, but it's an afterthought. A pleasant surprise.

I felt so good after hearing them say all this. I've dreamed of becoming a writer since around age 5 and now it is something that tugs at me everyday, like a child pulling on her fathers pant leg. When will I be a writer? Can it start now? I wanna start now! Pleaaasseee. I guess anyone can be a writer, but I want to be an author. A novelist. I mostly just want to drop everything I am doing now and live the life I've imagined for myself. Become immersed in my writing. Write my little heart out.

I don't know whats stopping me...

Procrastinating

2009-10-21T23:21:00.000-04:00

Procrastination has completely consumed me. I half-assed an essay this morning and since then I have been gearing up to do the rest of my work but so far no luck. I have to write a grant proposal and I find it dull. I don't like having to research and find facts and numbers to plug into specific spaces. I am proposing a grant to fund a child life program at Gesundheit Institute. It was created by Patch Adams and I think what he does relates to child life and I think that maybe someday he should give me a job at his yet to be built hospital. It's a fake proposal. Just something to help us learn how to write one so maybe one day I can submit a real one. Wouldn't mind if it was for Gesundheit.

I work to normalize a child's hospital experience and help them understand procedures. But a big part of my job is play. It is how a child interprets their world and I get a front row seat. It's fascinating work but it's also sad because I only get to see these children because they are sick. My job wouldn't exist without them. You should look up child life, and if you know a child is going to a hospital you should ask if they have a child life specialist on staff.

So this is me procrastinating some more. It's funny how when there is something important to do you often do things of less importance first. To get them out of the way, rather than just tackling the big project and worrying about those little things later. Such is life. So far I managed to clean the house, checked facebook and twitter a million times, unpacked, found some interesting articles to show to someone who might like them and now I am updating my blog which I just updated yesterday and which I have nothing really interesting to share since then. I guess I could talk about child life some more. Since my homework is for my child life grad program maybe this will motivate me.

I found child life when I was volunteering in a resource room at a certain big name hospital in Boston. I was in the main resource room where all the adult patients came to use the computers and pick up informational packets about different diseases. I had heard about the pediatric resource room and I knew I would be happy up there and that I would have a lot more fun. Then one day my supervisor told me that the person who runs the room would be going on vacation so I would have to take over! Hooray! But when I told my friends about this they all looked sad and said, "So you are going to be hanging out with kids who have cancer? Won't that be depressing?" Well...I hadn't really thought about it. I just thought kids=fun. I kind of forgot about the sick part.

It was all sunshine and giggles. They are kids! They still want to play regardless of how much hair was on their head or what their cells were doing. I couldn't believe that it was someone's actual job to play with these kids. You get to meet these wonderful little people and you can help make their visit to the hospital a little happier. The woman who ran the room went to school to get this job, and the school she went to was right next door to my college! I applied and got in and now I am at my second internship and feel so lucky to be here.

There was a particular patient at that big name hospital who cemented the idea that this is what I want to do for the rest of my life. She was a little girl and her blond hair was just starting to grow back. We were playing with a dollhouse together and she started telling me how the boys at her school made fun of her for having no hair, but then she beat them up. She told me how they stopped making fun of her that and how happy she is now. A happy kid with cancer. We had a nice little chat and got along well and then she had to go see the doctor and get her chemo. The next day when I came in I found out that she had made something for me. It was a little blue felt bunny wearing a little floral dress. I was just so taken aback. Here is this little girl who is experiencing something so much bigger than she is and she made a blue bunny for me. It just really touched me. I felt like I should have done more for her; made her something to take home, and I told this to one of my professors and she smiled at me and said, "You did give her something. You sat and listened to her stories, played games with her and treated her like just another kid. She didn't walk away empty handed." I forgot about the sick part of her.

Some of the strongest people I have met have been cancer patients. For my first internship in grad school I worked at a not so well-known hospital in Boston. I was in the hematology/oncology clinic so once again I was working with beautifully bald children. Child Life Specialists can work in many different hospital settings from inpatient units (where I currently intern), radiology, ER, and so on. I just like working with oncology patients. But the thing is...it does get sad. You will meet a million strong little children but the fact is that not all of them will beat it. Four children died during my 5 months at this hospital and I learned that a patient I was close to died soon after I left. I wasn't sure if I wanted to know what happened to the kids I worked with after I ended my internship. Part of me just wanted to think of them as living forever. Getting married, having kids and dying when they are very old.

They were all wonderful kids. They are still wonderful kids.

That's the thing with facts and numbers and the specific spaces they fill. They are all so final. They can't go anywhere else once you plug them in. No room for imagination or stories. Alive or dead. Nothing else.

But as you know, I don't always live in reality. So while I know the facts, I also know that I can think however I want. In reality I have a grant due tomorrow and it is a big part of my grade and I haven't even started it yet. But in my mind I know it can wait. I know I will get it done and that I will probably get it done 5 minutes before it is due but I don't want to go there yet- to that stressed part of my mind. I will stay here, in oblivion and be happy about it.

I like this...

"Those who are dead, are not dead, their just living in my head. And since I fell for that spell, I've been living there as well."

New Orleans

2009-10-20T17:31:00.000-04:00

The morning I left for New Orleans I was very hungover or maybe still drunk. I had shared a bottle of wine with a friend and when my roommate came home we all had another big glass. I went to bed at 2am and had to wake up at 3am so there were bad decisions coming in from all sides. Luckily I had packed already because when my roommate knocked on my door it was 3:30am and the cab had arrived. I had time to throw on some clothes and rush out the door. The flight down to New Orleans was...woozy. It was sunny and 70 when we arrived and I found myself in the midst of a wonderful weekend. I want to tell you all about it but I'm afraid it will turn into a bunch of "and then's..." and that could get boring. I'll try to keep it interesting. My problem is that I like to focus on the details and I really want to make you feel like you were there, or at least have an idea of what my weekend was like but that's hard to achieve when there is so much to tell.

Let me tell you what kind of vacationer I am. A lazy one. I'm happy enough just to be in a different place so making plans and actually venturing around aren't too important to me but that kind of defeats the purpose of traveling. Thankfully my roommate is the exact opposite so she made the plans and I either followed or made small adjustments and off we went. My main goal was to eat and get some beads on Bourbon Street and I accomplished both. I ate crawfish pies, poboys, jambalaya and gumbo and managed to get 4 strings of beads. The first was simply placed around my head by a drunk man and the following three were thrown from a balcony Mardi Gras style minus me having to show my boobs. I just asked for them. The biggest culture shock came from seeing people drinking all over the city. Just walking down the sidewalk with a beer in hand. Walking into a bar and asking for a to-go cup. It's a different world down there.

And then I saw the Mississippi River. It was massive, brown and littered with barges.
And then I went to the wedding and there was a gospel choir and it was beautiful.
And then I went to the reception and it was candlelit and they played 'Sweet Caroline' and I missed Boston, but only for a second.
And then I danced in a random restaurant with my roommate at 3 in the morning and no one seemed to mind.
And then I went to the Carousel Bar at the Hotel Monteleone where so many famous writers have visited and I felt close to them.
And then I was on the plane back to Boston looking out at the sky with it's setting sun, thinking I have never seen anything so beautiful as a sky filled with colors. A sky full of rainbows and nothing else.

I always have a hard time leaving a vacation. I spent the most money in our last hour in New Orleans because I was hoarding. Trying to take as much of New Orleans back with me. It was all just so beautiful and the family I met who used to be strangers made me feel like family. They were some of the nicest and loveliest people I have ever met.

As my roommate and I left Logan airport and boarded the T I told her how I was always envious of those people with their luggage because it meant that they had just come back from somewhere fun. Somewhere different. She laughed at me and told me that I say such funny things. That we think so differently. But as I sat there with my luggage and memories of NOLA all I felt was sad and tired. I knew it couldn't last forever but it kind of hurts to carry around these memories and know that they are in the past now. I'm being melodramatic. I'm lucky to have been able to have gone and I can certainly return some day. I can't wait.

Now that I am back in Boston I can feel the water start to inch up around me again. That's the thing with water- it rises. Water can give and it can take away. I saw some evidence of it's power while I was in New Orleans by the water marks still seen on some of the buildings. The framed photographs slightly distorted from water damage. Walking down the street and knowing that it was once engulfed. But the water eventually lowers.

We all face disasters. Our own personal hurricanes. And we will never forgot them- even when rainbows fill the sky.

"This is an adventure"

2009-10-12T14:22:00.000-04:00

I've started writing quotes down that I like. It's a skinny moleskin journal that I bought to write down all the books I have read but I keep forgetting to update it. There was a time where I was convinced that someday I would forget everything so I started writing down all the movies and books I had seen. It's kind of silly when I think about it. That when I am old I will be more concerned with remembering what movies I have seen rather than trying to remember what my family looks like. I don't own any photo albums. All my pictures are on my computer but I will probably forget how to use that too. I am almost anal enough to write down notes about everything but I'm lazy enough to not actually do it. It would be interesting though to actually start a book about my life. It would be like a very comprehensive autobiography but only for myself. I could include instructions, lists and memorable events for myself. I don't even think Alzheimer's runs in my family but I find myself becoming more and more forgetful everyday and I'm only 23. I would hate to forget everything.

I've been keeping up with writing quotes down though because they are interesting and they inspire me. There is nothing better than a well-crafted sentence that expresses everything you can't actually say. Or choose not to. I've been just browsing the internet and writing down interesting things or just jotting down what I read in a book. I usually do this before bed at night. I feel calm after. Then I carry around this notebook during my day so I can pull it out when I need a boost or feel alone. I can find something to relate to and feel a little better. I found this great quote by Haruki Murakami that pretty much sums me up at the moment. My best friend read a book by him and told me I should read him but I forgot about it until I came across that quote. I'm going to pick up one of his books once I get through the four that I am currently reading. I've never been someone to read multiple books at a time but there are just so many that I am interested in right now that I couldn't help it. It's not really as enjoyable though. I'm currently reading Sellevision, The Book Thief, Frankenstein and...I can't even remember the fourth one. I think I will stick to just reading Frankenstein since Halloween is coming up. I wouldn't read Frankenstein at any other time of year because it goes best with a Fall day and a Pumpkin Spice latte from Starbucks.

But this is a classic example of my poor planning. Not only do I have a ton of homework to do but I also have four books to read. Reading is supposed to be fun but I have loaded on four of them so now it feels like a chore. It's an easy fix though. Just read one. I wish I could do that with my schoolwork. I am going to New Orleans on Friday and would really prefer to have only one assignment to complete before then rather than...four. I guess four is the magic number this month. As it turns out, four is also my favorite number, but not for any particular reason. I just assigned it as my favorite number one day. I believe in assigning luck or special meaning to ordinary objects. I think it might have been my jersey number when I play basketball in middle school. I must have done really well and thought it was the number that made me good, rather than my own talent. I dropped basketball but kept the number.

I'm very excited to go to New Orleans this week. I've never been before and have actually never gone that far west yet. I've gone all the way down to Florida but have never left the east coast. I'm going to a wedding with my roommate but I have no idea who the people are who are getting married. I'm just coming along for the ride. For the adventure. I'm excited for the layovers too because they are in Kentucky on the way down and Houston on the way back. Isn't that silly? I have never been to these places though and one of my goals in life is to visit all 50 states so this will be working towards that goal. It will feel like an accomplishment even if it just consists of 45 minutes of sitting in an airport terminal. I can still observe and listen and feel what it's like to be in a different part of America for a little while. We are flying out of Boston at 5:30am on Friday and while my roommate is dreading it I am excited to be in the air when the sun is rising.

I've been living out of my suitcase for a while now since I have been traveling so often between Boston and CT this past month or so. I'm currently in CT at my parents house and kind of dreading my ride back on the train tonight. I am taking quite a late train because I never want to leave home and push it off as much as I can because Boston means stress lately. That's where school, my internship and my apartment are. That is where I am an adult with responsibilities and a rent to pay and obligations to fulfill. It's where I have four books sitting by my bed that I can't find the time to read because my mind is too full lately to even focus on the words. My brain won't stop thinking about everything else I need to do. That's why all I can handle are quotes lately. I can only take in life one sentence at a time and as much as I love these quotes and what they have to say, I can't help but want to be able to take in a whole goddamn book and not have to reread entire pages because I realize that I have been looking at the words but not really taking any of them in. I'm looking but not seeing. It's frustrating but I know it won't be like this forever. Nothing ever stays the same.

Oh and here's the Murakami quote:

"...I have this strange feeling that I'm not myself anymore. It's hard to put into words, but I guess it's like I was fast asleep, and someone came, disassembled me, and hurriedly put me back together again. That sort of feeling."

Yes. That. Perfect.

Tornado Warning

2009-10-03T21:47:00.000-04:00

I already have a blog on here but I got bored with it. It was focused on one theme so I felt a little smothered by it, like i had to conform to my own ideas. It was about luck and I haven't been feeling very lucky lately anyway and thinking about all my past luck only made me depressed. Or more depressed. So this blog will be like more of a mixed bag or whatever I feel like writing about. I would like to apologize in advance for the moody feel of this blog. All the usual stressors of life have gotten to me and I am drowning a bit. There are things that make me happy though. It's just harder to feel the effects these days.

There was a tornado warning in my town today. My brother sent me a text message from the next room to warn me. My dad came bounding up from the basement to exclaim how great it was that he was cleaning out the basement because we might have to seek refuge down there if the tornado comes. My sister and I just sat on the couch all excited that something would be happening in this tired little town of ours. I love crazy weather. Seeing the sky turn purple and green and hearing the rain coming down in panicked droves. Like it was just dying to escape from the clouds.

But I knew a tornado wouldn't come. I don't know if it's that adolescent idea of invincibility still hanging around or what because I wasn't worried at all. I knew a tornado wouldn't come. I knew something interesting wouldn't happen. My sister and I just sat waiting for it to at least rain. Do something. The sky eventually turned lavender and it rained for a while with some smatterings of lightning and thunder but nothing really cool or interesting happened. It's basically the story of my life.

I like to hype things up. Of course it's always silently. I don't like to let people know that I am freaking out so I keep it in my mind and carry it all in my shoulder muscles which results in a lot of grimacing. I think I keep these thoughts to myself because sometimes I'm not sure if they are logical or if I am blowing things out of proportion and I wouldn't want people to think I am being dramatic. I usually live my life with one foot in reality and the other in my own fantasy world. I never grew out of daydreaming and fantasizing so sometimes I need to ask myself if things are really as they appear. I'm like Russell Crowe playing John Nash in 'A Beautiful Mind' when after it has been made clear that he is schizophrenic he asks his pupil if the man standing before him to tell him that he has been nominated for a Nobel Prize is really there. He wants to know if someone else is seeing what he sees.

It usually turns out that I am just making a big deal out of something so I usually feel good about keeping these thoughts to myself. And I'm usually worrying about money, or homework or my general melancholy and it doesn't take a genius to figure out that if I got a job, stopped watching TV and started exercising and smiling more then I probably wouldn't have these crazy thoughts anymore. Then I could write about all of the amazing decisions I am making and what a great success my life is and that would be boring. It's all about the struggle right? I would want to know that someone feels as crappy and weird as me.

I think that's why people like tornado warnings. It makes us feel important to plan and watch the news and say with all seriousness, "we need to go down to the basement." It's why after a national disaster we can't help but watch the news for hours and soak in every drop of information. It helps us relate to others when we see that everyone else is sad, or angry or scared. It breaks up the monotony of our everyday lives. It kind of thrills us. More than anything it just gives us something to talk about.