seasonal reminiscing
there is a grin plastered ear-to-ear on my face as i type, and i can tell that it won't wear off for a few hours. nobody has ever caught me arguing that i'm not a bit of a strange one, but some people who are pretty routinely exposed to the oddities that compose many facets of my personality were pretty amused tonight.
what can i say, guys? yeah, it's been a rough few months. i'm going into the hospital again tomorrow and i'm told to prepare for a four-hour operation. once that's complete and i'm no longer radioactive (i swear, i get stranger stories every week), we'll have a summit to discuss where to go from here. i can't count how many doctors i've seen or how many diagnoses have been proposed. i'm often not the happiest camper (though, thank god, the pain doesn't seem to be that bad these past two weeks or so [but let's not talk about some other functions]).
this year, it doesn't seem to matter that some days even toast and water hurt like hell, or that i've thrown up on all the major holidays and events, missed most of the things i like about october-december, and had to withdraw from half my classes. let me put it this way: for five years i've been without family. the year before that, things were starting to fall apart and i was scared and angry. i realized making my birthday an event hurt more than anything else, and somewhere in the process of aging i got to the point where december meant a whole lot of stress, anxiety, and dysfunction. even last year, when much of that time was spent with a dear friend, i was detoxing and rehabilitating and trying to cleanse myself of a misdiagnosis--and then struck with one of the hardest losses i've ever faced. it helped to throw myself into a library and work myself sore five days a week, but i had to go back to the house sometime.
this year, it's changed. i've got somewhere i feel i actually belong. there seems to be a certain kind of friendship that's given me hope (pun intended). the blood family still has to be dealt with and, believe me, that's a process, but i know at the end of the week i'll find myself back on a couch watching gordon ramsey and eating bread and knowing with absolute certainty that that's what happiness is. when it doesn't matter if i'm 6 or 85. when maybe i'm really serious about dying my armpit hair stop-sign red. when i fall asleep at 2pm and i know there'll be food and a cuddle or four waiting whether or not i ever decide to get up before i go back to my house. i got the best thing in the world going for me here.
friends.
what can i say, guys? yeah, it's been a rough few months. i'm going into the hospital again tomorrow and i'm told to prepare for a four-hour operation. once that's complete and i'm no longer radioactive (i swear, i get stranger stories every week), we'll have a summit to discuss where to go from here. i can't count how many doctors i've seen or how many diagnoses have been proposed. i'm often not the happiest camper (though, thank god, the pain doesn't seem to be that bad these past two weeks or so [but let's not talk about some other functions]).
this year, it doesn't seem to matter that some days even toast and water hurt like hell, or that i've thrown up on all the major holidays and events, missed most of the things i like about october-december, and had to withdraw from half my classes. let me put it this way: for five years i've been without family. the year before that, things were starting to fall apart and i was scared and angry. i realized making my birthday an event hurt more than anything else, and somewhere in the process of aging i got to the point where december meant a whole lot of stress, anxiety, and dysfunction. even last year, when much of that time was spent with a dear friend, i was detoxing and rehabilitating and trying to cleanse myself of a misdiagnosis--and then struck with one of the hardest losses i've ever faced. it helped to throw myself into a library and work myself sore five days a week, but i had to go back to the house sometime.
this year, it's changed. i've got somewhere i feel i actually belong. there seems to be a certain kind of friendship that's given me hope (pun intended). the blood family still has to be dealt with and, believe me, that's a process, but i know at the end of the week i'll find myself back on a couch watching gordon ramsey and eating bread and knowing with absolute certainty that that's what happiness is. when it doesn't matter if i'm 6 or 85. when maybe i'm really serious about dying my armpit hair stop-sign red. when i fall asleep at 2pm and i know there'll be food and a cuddle or four waiting whether or not i ever decide to get up before i go back to my house. i got the best thing in the world going for me here.
friends.