standing on the rooftop of the PC Bureau, looking out at the skyline of the Zone du Bois neighborhood in Ouagadougou. The air was hot and dry. We both had that perpetual sheen of sweat and orange dust stuck to our skin. We don't even notice anymore. Drunk on the magic of seeing lights, and being up above ground level, spying down at the world below (all 4 stories). Feeling the thrill of being where we weren't supposed to be. Kissing, kissing hard and deep and passionate as we laugh under the stars and bask in the halogen moonlight. Dancing to the disjointed beats of music playing from the shanty restaurant on the corner and from the radio of the security guards outside. Bodies pressing together, being together, forbidden, in love, here. Love blossoms even in the desert where no one speaks your language, when you meet someone who reads your heart.
It seems like the least romantic of places, objectively.
But when something calls up that image of a West African city at night, this is what I remember. And it fills my heart with soaring flights of bittersweet longing.
Thursday, April 28, 2016
Wednesday, April 6, 2016
passage of time
Tomorrow is my birthday. I'll be 28 years old. I was born on a Thursday, premature. Back in the day when they reported estimated gestation as a range of weeks, instead of as a week and a day. I was born at 29-30 weeks. I spent the first month of my life in the NICU in an incubator. It sounds like a rough start, but I was the lucky one. Some of the preemies born that day who shared the NICU with me didn't get to grow up.
This past year has been...well, a hell of a year. More struggle than I knew I could survive. More joy than I knew I could experience.
- I was trying to make sense of my breakup with Natalie.
- Started getting close to three amazing people in Memphis.
- Was the experimental second partner for a friend seeing if her relationship could handle being poly. (It could not, and I will not be putting myself in that situation again unless I'm very invested in the relationship I'm building with that person. Romantic favors are not the way to take care of people you love but don't love like that).
- Experienced overwhelming anxiety and panic.
- Admitted that I have an eating disorder and reached out for help.
- Survived nurse boot camp and loved working as a floor nurse.
- Moved back to Tucson.
- Finished my pre-specialty year and passed the NCLEX.
- Faced my fears of Natalie's emotions, over and over.
- Tried to end my relationship with the person in Memphis.
- For the first time in my life, had to be very honest with myself and someone else, and had someone else be very honest with herself and with me. It was a hard struggle for a while.
- Started a whirlwind relationship that went from "hello" to planning when we would get married within a few months
- Contracted herpes, surprised by how self-judgemental I was of something I had studied as a student but never thought I could get
- Regained a sense of closeness with my former lover in Memphis. Became confidantes and eating disorder/therapy support for each other. An unbelievably strong tree growing from the ashes of brutal pain
- Ended whirlwind relationship as I came back to my sanity and realized that said relationship was incredibly unhealthy for both of us
- Felt like I was part of a beautiful nebula family that could grow and change with each of us
- Still struggled with food, and anxiety, and depression, and low sex drive.
- Experienced moments of such pure joy and delight - I never knew life could be like this
- Admitted to myself that I'm poly. I need people in my life who celebrate and encourage me to pursue things that make me happy, and who are genuinely happy for that, and who expect the same from me.
- Started clinical hours. I adore my primary care role, and my awesome teacher/mentor
- Began to process my shame around herpes, re-started a sexual relationship with my Memphis partner
- Became comfortable thinking of her as my partner. It feels like she kind of sneaked in under the radar, but it's true - in all senses of the word she is my partner. The person who I expect to have as an important person in my life forever. The person who I want to share my joys with, and who will help me get up after being knocked down.
I've never been one to celebrate my birthday since I was a kid. The party with the little gift baggies and the games, the cake my mother would make shaped like a rabbit head. Sleepovers with a pile of giggling girls in sleeping bags in the living room. In high school my friends would organize something for me since they knew I wouldn't. My first year in Tucson I brought a cake to La Cocina. I was sleeping with Mariel. Was I still sleeping with Sami? Natalie came even though we didn't know each other well. I flirted with Diane. The next year I hosted my party at Natalie's house and baked my own cake. Things were a little rocky with Mariel still, but she did stop by to say hello early. Last year I was in Nashville. I honestly don't remember what I did for my birthday. I know I binged on the brownies that a friend baked for me that morning. Probably binged and purged. Tomorrow I will go to work and see patients, then go have dinner with my parents. I feel a little melancholy about this, but I'm ok with it. This weekend I can spend some time with friends. Maybe convince someone to go to a movie or on a hike. Get out in nature and remind myself why life is joyful, even when I'm not safely wrapped in the arms of my partner, planning our next scene at the club, cooking food, and snuggling the cat.
This past year has been...well, a hell of a year. More struggle than I knew I could survive. More joy than I knew I could experience.
- I was trying to make sense of my breakup with Natalie.
- Started getting close to three amazing people in Memphis.
- Was the experimental second partner for a friend seeing if her relationship could handle being poly. (It could not, and I will not be putting myself in that situation again unless I'm very invested in the relationship I'm building with that person. Romantic favors are not the way to take care of people you love but don't love like that).
- Experienced overwhelming anxiety and panic.
- Admitted that I have an eating disorder and reached out for help.
- Survived nurse boot camp and loved working as a floor nurse.
- Moved back to Tucson.
- Finished my pre-specialty year and passed the NCLEX.
- Faced my fears of Natalie's emotions, over and over.
- Tried to end my relationship with the person in Memphis.
- For the first time in my life, had to be very honest with myself and someone else, and had someone else be very honest with herself and with me. It was a hard struggle for a while.
- Started a whirlwind relationship that went from "hello" to planning when we would get married within a few months
- Contracted herpes, surprised by how self-judgemental I was of something I had studied as a student but never thought I could get
- Regained a sense of closeness with my former lover in Memphis. Became confidantes and eating disorder/therapy support for each other. An unbelievably strong tree growing from the ashes of brutal pain
- Ended whirlwind relationship as I came back to my sanity and realized that said relationship was incredibly unhealthy for both of us
- Felt like I was part of a beautiful nebula family that could grow and change with each of us
- Still struggled with food, and anxiety, and depression, and low sex drive.
- Experienced moments of such pure joy and delight - I never knew life could be like this
- Admitted to myself that I'm poly. I need people in my life who celebrate and encourage me to pursue things that make me happy, and who are genuinely happy for that, and who expect the same from me.
- Started clinical hours. I adore my primary care role, and my awesome teacher/mentor
- Began to process my shame around herpes, re-started a sexual relationship with my Memphis partner
- Became comfortable thinking of her as my partner. It feels like she kind of sneaked in under the radar, but it's true - in all senses of the word she is my partner. The person who I expect to have as an important person in my life forever. The person who I want to share my joys with, and who will help me get up after being knocked down.
I've never been one to celebrate my birthday since I was a kid. The party with the little gift baggies and the games, the cake my mother would make shaped like a rabbit head. Sleepovers with a pile of giggling girls in sleeping bags in the living room. In high school my friends would organize something for me since they knew I wouldn't. My first year in Tucson I brought a cake to La Cocina. I was sleeping with Mariel. Was I still sleeping with Sami? Natalie came even though we didn't know each other well. I flirted with Diane. The next year I hosted my party at Natalie's house and baked my own cake. Things were a little rocky with Mariel still, but she did stop by to say hello early. Last year I was in Nashville. I honestly don't remember what I did for my birthday. I know I binged on the brownies that a friend baked for me that morning. Probably binged and purged. Tomorrow I will go to work and see patients, then go have dinner with my parents. I feel a little melancholy about this, but I'm ok with it. This weekend I can spend some time with friends. Maybe convince someone to go to a movie or on a hike. Get out in nature and remind myself why life is joyful, even when I'm not safely wrapped in the arms of my partner, planning our next scene at the club, cooking food, and snuggling the cat.
Saturday, April 2, 2016
food
I'm about to click on my 3rd frontline documentary, after watching a movie, and a few episodes of a TV series. I realize that I'm distracting. I just finished a glass of wine and now my brain thinks writing is a good idea. Non-drunk brain thinks writing is a good idea fairly often, but for some reason I just don't seem to do it. Distraction is much more attractive than introspection.
I've noticed a pattern that I have, particularly with food, in that if I retroactively notice that I've been "good" recently, it makes me proud and almost certainly heralds a stretch of time when I am "bad". This guilt feels overwhelming.
Today I didn't want to go to therapy. I was embarrassed that, despite my promises to myself, I had binged and purged at least once a day every day of the week. I miss the beginning of my time in treatment when "behaving" felt so easy.
Food is complicated. We eat for many different reasons. I eat for many different reasons. Food can be accepting or showing love. Cooking can be emotional, connecting, erotic, mechanical, loving. I eat with people for the joy of their company. I eat alone to fuel my body, or to fill an emptiness that I know from the first bite is not one of hunger. Sometimes a beautifully presented plate in a restaurant that contains only a few bites is somehow satisfying despite it's initial appearance as woefully inadequate. Sometimes a huge bowl of food still leaves my stomach feeling empty, and I don't know if it is emotional or physical. Sometimes I eat when I'm hungry. Sometimes I eat when I'm bored. Sometimes I eat when I'm stressed. Sometimes I don't know why I'm eating until after the fact.
As a child I guess food was both a reward and a punishment. Special occasions or good behavior deserved "naughty" food that was special and reserved as a reward. Day to day eating meant that I ate all of the food that I liked, and once I was full I was faced with the prospect of eating the thing I didn't like. And this always lead to disapproval. One particularly memorable dinner was when I had a friend over. I think I must have been somewhere around 6 or 7. I could feel my throat close as soon as I finally put the peas in my mouth, gagging, already afraid I was going to throw up and be so embarrassed in front of everyone I know I didn't throw up then, but I don't remember if I ever finished the peas.
There are times now when I can enjoy eating. There are foods that I feel pleasure about consuming. But a lot of my pleasure still seems tied to this story of guilt. If I eat things that are on my meal plan, things that are generally considered to be "healthy", I feel proud. Maybe I even eat a few extra bites after I realize that I am satiated, because after all I've been so good about eating "good" foods and it tastes good. So I eat a few more bites, and feel justified but still guilty, because now I haven't been listening to my satiety cues. If I eat things that are "bad" foods I either try to justify it ("I haven't eaten much today") or I tell myself that I'm going to do it anyway and just go for it.
I'm tired of feeling guilty about food. About how much I make, about how much I eat. Even when I enjoy it, I'm still feeling pride or guilt over some aspect of the meal.
What would it be like to see things differently? To not identify myself as an eating disorder, or even as having an eating disorder. What if I started seeing myself as a scientist, as an experimenter, who is playing with food? I'm trying to come at this with fresh eyes, to try and find the combinations of foods and portions that actively bring me joy. To not just be mindful of my food, but to find happiness in my meals. I won't hold myself to doing it all the time, because absolutes tend to be ripe for "failure". There is no failure. There is just new knowledge and confirmations or challenges to that knowledge.
For later: reminding myself that I don't have to be perfect
I've noticed a pattern that I have, particularly with food, in that if I retroactively notice that I've been "good" recently, it makes me proud and almost certainly heralds a stretch of time when I am "bad". This guilt feels overwhelming.
Today I didn't want to go to therapy. I was embarrassed that, despite my promises to myself, I had binged and purged at least once a day every day of the week. I miss the beginning of my time in treatment when "behaving" felt so easy.
Food is complicated. We eat for many different reasons. I eat for many different reasons. Food can be accepting or showing love. Cooking can be emotional, connecting, erotic, mechanical, loving. I eat with people for the joy of their company. I eat alone to fuel my body, or to fill an emptiness that I know from the first bite is not one of hunger. Sometimes a beautifully presented plate in a restaurant that contains only a few bites is somehow satisfying despite it's initial appearance as woefully inadequate. Sometimes a huge bowl of food still leaves my stomach feeling empty, and I don't know if it is emotional or physical. Sometimes I eat when I'm hungry. Sometimes I eat when I'm bored. Sometimes I eat when I'm stressed. Sometimes I don't know why I'm eating until after the fact.
As a child I guess food was both a reward and a punishment. Special occasions or good behavior deserved "naughty" food that was special and reserved as a reward. Day to day eating meant that I ate all of the food that I liked, and once I was full I was faced with the prospect of eating the thing I didn't like. And this always lead to disapproval. One particularly memorable dinner was when I had a friend over. I think I must have been somewhere around 6 or 7. I could feel my throat close as soon as I finally put the peas in my mouth, gagging, already afraid I was going to throw up and be so embarrassed in front of everyone I know I didn't throw up then, but I don't remember if I ever finished the peas.
There are times now when I can enjoy eating. There are foods that I feel pleasure about consuming. But a lot of my pleasure still seems tied to this story of guilt. If I eat things that are on my meal plan, things that are generally considered to be "healthy", I feel proud. Maybe I even eat a few extra bites after I realize that I am satiated, because after all I've been so good about eating "good" foods and it tastes good. So I eat a few more bites, and feel justified but still guilty, because now I haven't been listening to my satiety cues. If I eat things that are "bad" foods I either try to justify it ("I haven't eaten much today") or I tell myself that I'm going to do it anyway and just go for it.
I'm tired of feeling guilty about food. About how much I make, about how much I eat. Even when I enjoy it, I'm still feeling pride or guilt over some aspect of the meal.
What would it be like to see things differently? To not identify myself as an eating disorder, or even as having an eating disorder. What if I started seeing myself as a scientist, as an experimenter, who is playing with food? I'm trying to come at this with fresh eyes, to try and find the combinations of foods and portions that actively bring me joy. To not just be mindful of my food, but to find happiness in my meals. I won't hold myself to doing it all the time, because absolutes tend to be ripe for "failure". There is no failure. There is just new knowledge and confirmations or challenges to that knowledge.
For later: reminding myself that I don't have to be perfect
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