Jan19

Maybe he doesn’t hit you…

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Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but he threatened to break up with you because you didn’t pay enough attention to him while you were at a parent’s funeral.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but every time he eats something you made, he complains about “your shitty food”.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but he always compares you to other women, including ex-lovers, to make you feel inadequate and like he’s settling for you.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but when you express dissatisfaction, “You’re just like [insert ex’s name]” or, you’re selfish and only care about yourself.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but when you won’t help him financially, you’re selfish and disloyal.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but when you follow up on something he committed to doing, you’re nagging and insensitive to his problems.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but when you want him to take accountability, everything is your fault. You’re the reason why X, Y, and Z.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but when you offer help, it’s expected that you will do it every time, and saying “no” is breaking a promise.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but he makes constant digs at your weight, the appearance of your skin, or how you’re not doing enough to live up to his standards.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but when your health problems impact your relationship, you’re blamed for however it affects him. He doesn’t care if you are sick or in pain.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but he belittles your mental illness and makes you feel terrible about things you cannot control.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but he tells you that you’re crazy or oversensitive when you respond to something he did to upset you.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but you’re embarrassed to tell your friends the things that he’s said to you, because you know you’ll be judged and asked, “Why don’t you just leave?”

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but when you try to tell him how you feel, you’re made to feel that your feelings are invalid.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but he makes you feel guilty for still being affected by past trauma.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but he makes you feel like you’ve been “chosen” by him, and tells you that anyone else who did what you did would be “long gone”.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but he complains that your friends are “too opinionated” because they don’t blindly agree with him.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but he says “If I had known you were so __________, I would’ve left a long time ago.”

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but he calls you lazy for relaxing on the weekend, even though you work full time and he’s unemployed.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but for the little bit of time that he actually has a job, he makes sure to remind you daily that he’s making more than you now.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but he lies with such conviction that you doubt your own perception when you find out the truth.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but he undermines your problems to tell you about how he’s had it worse.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but when you confront him about the way he speaks to you, he says “at least I tell you you’re beautiful.”

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but he immediately accuses you of cheating any time you miss his call, don’t want him to see what you’re texting, or aren’t interested in sex.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but he threatens your financial security, repeatedly.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but you’ve wanted to leave for months, you’re just afraid of what he’ll do if you try.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but when you try to leave, he manipulates your love for his family to convince you to stay.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but he tells more lies than truths, and gets defensive when you don’t trust him.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but you can’t watch your favorite shows or listen to your favorite music without being insulted and degraded.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but you question everything you do, and mold your actions to anticipate his reaction.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but you stop seeing friends and family because he monopolizes your time, and you won’t bring him around them because you feel badly for the way he talks to people you care about.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but you feel like you have to constantly prove that you’re worthy of him.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but he throws a fit when you go out with your friends because you didn’t think about how that would make him feel.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but you avoid saying or doing certain things because you don’t want to deal with his reaction.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but he speaks terribly about his exes, and you don’t question it because everybody is allowed to have a messy past. However, you learn he doesn’t ever want you to communicate with them, lest you find out he shows this pattern of behavior in every relationship.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but you know your friends and family know something is wrong, but you’ll never talk to them about it. You’re ashamed that you fell for his manipulation.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but he presents himself to the world as a caring, moral, and generous person, but you know otherwise.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but he purposefully fails to communicate and resolve issues because having that power over you is entertaining to him.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but you begin self-sabotaging in hopes that he stops paying attention to you, because his attention is usually negative.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you, but you shame yourself for allowing him to treat you this way.

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Jul21

Heavy

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TRIGGER WARNING: This post discusses ideas that may be triggering to those with depression and those who have survived suicide attempts/suicide loss.

Holding on, why is everything so heavy?
Holding on, so much more than I can carry.

I keep singing these words over and over, as I try to process the loss of the man whose voice brought them to life. One line, in particular, hits hard:

If I just let go, I’ll be set free.

For the most part, people who die by suicide don’t actually want to die, but just want to be free.

Chances are, that at some point in your life, someone you know will take their own life.

Chances are even better that someone in your life is fighting it every second of every day.

Fighting every second of every day is exhausting.

Mental illnesses, like depression, are a disease of the mind. However, it’s a disease of the mind that creeps into every fiber of your being. The term “mental illness” often leads people to believe that it can be changed, since it’s your thought processes that are affected. It’s not cancer, after all, right? Mental illness is not cancer. It does, however, eat you alive if it’s not discovered and treated. Like cancer, not every treatment works, and not all cases are treatable.

Mental illness comes in many forms, but I specifically want to talk about depression. Depression can exist alone, with other illnesses, or can be the result of another physical or mental illness. It’s not just “feeling sad” or being upset about something. Depression is what happens when your body and brain do not produce enough of certain chemicals that help your body and mind perform at their best. Sure, feeling sad is certainly part of it, but depression is so much more than sadness.

Depression can make your whole body ache so badly that even getting out of bed feels impossible. Maybe it doesn’t make you ache, but it will certainly tell you that getting out of bed will bring nothing but misery to your life. Then depression will tell you that you’re a lazy piece of shit because you didn’t get out of bed.

Depression will tell you that nobody really likes you. Absurd, I know, but depression is pretty darn convincing. Depression tells you that you’re a burden to everyone you love, and that they’d all be better off without you. My depression told me that I really brought nothing good into anyone’s lives, and I really just made everything more difficult for them. My depression told me that I was a disappointment to everybody. My depression told me that my friends actually hated me. My depression told me that my father didn’t want to stay alive because I didn’t actually matter to him. My depression told me that my mother already worries enough as it is, and I shouldn’t add to it.

See, depression isn’t just “feeling sad”. Depression is your own body completely betraying you, and instead of fighting to live, depression tells you to give up. Every. Single. Day.

Eventually, if depression goes unchecked, you start to believe it. You will really truly feel, that if you were no longer alive, the world would be a better place. It’s not a matter of “staying positive”, or staying busy, or continuously giving yourself more reasons to stay alive. You can throw yourself into your work, and your passions, and into roles where others depend on you, but depression will still tell you that all of those things would be better without you.

Like I said, fighting with depression, and arguing against it, becomes harder every day. It’s exhausting.

So when we experience the loss of someone to suicide, whether it’s a loved one or a celebrity, it’s important to remember that they didn’t simply give up. They fought long and hard, and unfortunately, depression won.

It’s also important to remember that depression doesn’t always win. There are many ways to give yourself a better chance in the fight against it. There are traditional therapies, medications, and a plethora of alternatives to both that have been proven to give people strength in the uphill battle that is living with depression. Not every treatment works for everybody, and some may have a harder time finding something that works than others do. Often, it feels like a losing battle. Like with any illness, finding something that works is a complicated process. Some treatments may yield the opposite of the desired result. Some may work for a time, and then suddenly stop. It’s easy to want to give up.

I recently asked my doctor, “Does anyone ever go off antidepressants, eventually?” I was in a particularly bad state, and had made an appointment with my doctor to adjust my meds because the remedy that had worked for the last year and a half suddenly stopped. Even with successful treatment, I still had bad days, but when those bad days turned into bad months, I knew something was up. It’s important to be aware of what depression is telling you, so that you can give that beast a name and find a new weapon against it. At first, when my mind started spiraling, I thought that those thoughts I was having were really my own, but I eventually realized that my depression was taking hold of me again.

My doctor thought for a second, and responded, “It really depends. Usually if someone experiences depression later in their life, or maybe as a  result of something else, they might eventually go off meds. It really depends on how long it’s been going on and how severe it is.” I felt tears come to my eyes as I thought about the depression and anxiety that have simultaneously tried to drown me for as long as I can remember, even to childhood. Only recently did I have a name for those beasts, and so far I’m still fighting them.

But, a lifetime is a long time, and many people that live with depression have dealt with it for most of their lives. It can feel hopeless to know that the beast can rear its ugly head at any moment, despite how long it’s stayed dormant. Battling it every day is exhausting, but so is watching over your shoulder for its unannounced return at any moment.

When we think of those we’ve lost to suicide, we need to remember that they fought. They fought that beast, EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. Even though there are countless weapons to fight it, you never can be sure that it is gone. They may have come to a point where they’ve run out of weapons, or the beast came when they were especially vulnerable, or maybe they were just tired. They are not selfish, or cowardly, or weak. In fact, they’re the strongest people we could know.

In my own experience, when the beast comes for me, it’s really the people I love that give me the will to fight. If, eventually, I stop fighting, it won’t be because I was selfish. It won’t be because I was afraid of life, or because I didn’t think my loved ones were worth the battle. Likely, I’ll just be tired, and the beast will finally convince me that they’re all better without me. If that ever happens, I hope that my mother doesn’t think I was being selfish. I hope she knows that I fought long and hard, for her. I hope she knows that depression does not turn you into a coward, but will make you believe that you are the cause of everyone’s problems, and that you’re doing the best thing you can do for them by ending your own life.

I’m not there. I have been very proactive in my own treatment and I have actively and openly spoken with those around me about my struggle. Maybe they think I’m weak, or dramatic, or even over-sensitive. They haven’t fought the monsters that I have. I’m pretty damn proud of myself.

At the same time, when all of us fighting mental illness witness the take-down of one of our own, there are no words to describe the combination of heartache and ease that comes with knowing. We know that we all fight, and it’s sad to see someone lose that fight, but it is also relieving to know that they are free. I’m not sure what happens when we die, but at least the beast can’t come for us anymore.

People often use the phrase “in a better place” to comfort themselves, or others, in times of grieving. So, why is such taboo to consider that, for some, it’s necessary to get to that better place? That for some, this battle is not one that they should continue to fight, just for the comfort of others.

I’m not saying that every person living with mental illness will inevitably end their own life, because very few actually do. I’m just saying that we need to reconsider how we reflect on the actions of those that do.

Sometimes depression can find a crack in that wall that your treatment methods have built, so it is important to recognize those intrusive thoughts for what they are. If you have thoughts that pop into your head, uninvited, leaving a gut-wrenching residue in their wake, remind yourself that those thoughts are the depression speaking. They are not actually true. Thoughts like, “They’d be better without me”, “They secretly hate me”, “I can’t do anything right”, “Nothing I do matters”, remember that no reliable source is selling you this information. It’s normal to have a momentary meeting with these thoughts, but if they start coming around more often and not leaving when you ask them to, you may be experiencing depression. It’s important to let your doctors, trusted loved ones, and others that you feel comfortable with know, because they will be some of your best weapons against depression. You don’t have to fight alone, and you certainly don’t have to invite those unwelcome thoughts to stay for dinner. It’s hard, really hard, but you can label those thoughts “depression” and take what they say with a grain of salt, like the weird uncle that tells you about his latest conspiracy theory even though you’ve tried to avoid him completely. You can’t always talk back, but know that the intrusive ideas that depression throws at you have no merit.

Most importantly, stay open. You likely know someone fighting the same fight, silently. Stay open to your loved ones when depression creeps in. On especially bad days, make it a point to get out of the house no matter how badly you want to lay in bed and ruminate.

Of course, this is advice that I can give on my good days, but I know from experience how hard it is to follow on any given “bad” day.

If you or someone you know is thinking about harming themselves or others, call 1-800-273-8255, or text CONNECT to 741741. Both of these are free, confidential services that will connect you with someone who is trained to help. They may help by hearing you out, instructing you on how to deal with your thought processes, and/or letting you know what local resources are available to you. You can call even if you’re not suicidal, but need help with something else. If someone you know is in immediate danger of harming themselves, call your local police. If you are afraid that you are in immediate danger of hurting yourself, find someone you trust to take you to the closest crisis center.  I’ve personally utilized my own local crisis center, and it was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. There is no shame, and I’m still here today.

You are valued and loved, no matter what depression tells you.

Nov9

Mothers and Daughters

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A while back I wrote a blog post about my own experiences with sexual assault. Many of these experiences I had not been very open about except with a few people, not including my mother. My mom learned about them for the very first time, while reading a blog I posted on Facebook.

I knew that she would read it. It was easier for me to “put it out there” for the world, and let that be my confession.

I knew she would be shocked. I knew she would feel guilty. I knew she would have a lot of questions. It was easier to allow her to approach me, than to come forward myself.

Mothers and Daughters have the most intricate, complicated relationships of them all. My mom is my best friend. I tell her ALMOST everything, and I’ve never doubted for one second that she loves me more than anything in the world, except for my brother of course. 

Mothers and Daughters have their own language, sometimes speaking with tears, and fear, and anger. Our communication isn’t always perfect, but any shock that could occur between us could never overshadow the love that we have for each other.

I never told my mom about the things that happened to me, because in each instance I was not where I was supposed to be. I wasn’t supposed to be at anyone’s house after school, or at a party when I said I was home in bed. I was more afraid of getting in trouble, and I knew that had I not been there, these things wouldn’t have happened. That does not make it my fault, but I guess I was always afraid that it WAS my fault.

Mothers and Daughters grow through experience. She said, “Now you know why moms have rules.” I know, mom. Ten years later and I know why you had rules. You wanted to keep me safe. You wanted to keep me innocent. You wanted me to never have to go through things that you had already been through.

Mothers and Daughters have more in common than you could ever imagine. The more I’ve confided in my mom, the more I’ve learned that she has walked the same path that I’m on, a hundred times over. The more I learn about my mom, the better I feel about myself. While sometimes there is a tone of judgement in her voice, I know it’s because she always hopes that I will make better decisions. That I will learn from her mistakes, some that I don’t even know about, before they can even happen. 

Mothers and Daughters will always push and pull. I can always say “what if”. What if I hadn’t been there, what if I stayed with my mom that weekend, what if I listened to her when she said “no”. I didn’t understand at the time that not being “allowed” to do something was not just a rule or restriction. I didn’t understand that my safety was in jeopardy. I didn’t want to admit to putting myself in danger because I had been defiant. 

Mothers and Daughters will always be Mothers and Daughters. One day I will be a mother, and I will still be a daughter. One day I will have a daughter, and she will become a mother. I hope that my daughter will feel the love for me that I feel for my mom. I will think back every day to conversations I’ve had with my mom, while I try to navigate the conversations that I must have with my daughter. How much do I tell her? How do I keep her from making the same mistakes that I did? I didn’t listen to my mom. Can I make her listen to me? 

At that point I will need my mom more than ever, because Mothers and Daughters we will always be.

Oct13

If you support Donald Trump, we can’t be friends.

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I could’ve never imagined in a million years that my PTSD could be triggered by a presidential election, especially at a time when I was finally healing and moving forward.

I’ve held back on saying this for a long time, but if you support Donald Trump, we can’t be friends. There are a lot of people I love defending him, but I can’t be friends with someone who’s consideration for my well-being I find myself questioning.

TRIGGER WARNING

When Donald Trump announced that he planned to run for POTUS last year, I thought it was a joke. I was shocked when he actually began campaigning. I was shocked when he started hosting rallies. I was shocked when he actually won in the primaries as the Republican candidate for presidency. I was shocked, and ashamed, by my fellow Americans who so obviously spend very little time trying to actually understand politics.

But that’s not the problem.

Most of all, I’m hurt. I can be shocked by the things he says about women, Hispanics, African Americans, Muslims, etc., but I didn’t really feel it until I felt personally targeted, and people I loved were defending him.

Right now, as I write this, I’m fighting the urge to crawl under my desk and hide because I am afraid. See, amid Trump’s latest scandals and obvious disregard for women’s autonomy, I’ve been spiraling into — I’m not sure how to describe — a hole of some sort.

After years of flashbacks, they finally stopped. After years of panicking when someone looked at me a certain way, I was feeling less afraid. I finally began speaking out about my experiences (and struggles with my mental health) without fear of backlash.

Now, I’m having nightmares every night that replay through my head day in and day out. I haven’t been able to make my hands stop shaking. I feel nauseous, I can’t focus, and my heart palpitations are making it hard to breathe properly.

It is really difficult to explain PTSD to someone who has never experienced something so traumatic that it alters your thoughts and perception of everyone and everything around you. But if I can, I would like to try to help at least a few people see why Trump’s words, actions, and his loyal defenders are personally hurting women, and especially survivors of sexual assault.

I’m sure I can’t possibly find every terrible thing he’s said or done, but I will try to find the ones that prove my point.

Back in 2004, Trump told the Daily News: “All of the women on The Apprentice flirted with me – consciously or unconsciously. That’s to be expected.” This is exactly where rape culture starts, with men assuming that all women want them, and therefore anything that they could do to those women is completely excusable. Sometimes smiling, or politely laughing at someone’s terrible joke, is assumed to be flirting just because the interaction occurred between a woman and a man. When an assault occurs, victims are often asked if they were flirting with the perpetrator before hand, and while a woman will often say she was just trying to be nice, a man will call it flirting, and say, “She asked for it.”

On March 7, 2006 Trump said in an ABC News interview, that “If Ivanka weren’t my daughter, perhaps I’d be dating her.” He later said it was a joke, and if those words were said by any other human being that showed an ounce of decency, I might be inclined to believe him. But, this is Donald Trump we’re talking about, and if you make enough sexist or disgusting “jokes”, it’s pretty clear that you’re not actually joking. Its been estimated that anywhere between 40-70% of women and 10-20% of men have experienced sexual harassment in the workplace, and that doesn’t even begin to account for the harassment that takes place in school, at a restaurant, on the street, or any time a woman is visible to men. These “jokes” are not between two willing participants in a conversation of sexual nature, but instead are forced on a person that has the disadvantage of being vulnerable in some way, whether that be in status, age, size, etc. Not only is a “joke” inappropriate and demeaning, but Trump just sexualized his own daughter in a way that even the media was disgusted by. Incest isn’t funny, and viewing your daughter in a sexual manner isn’t funny. Sometimes I wonder if that is how the person who molested me as a child thought. I wonder if they ever said something of the same nature out loud, and claimed it was a joke. If your brain is working right, the thought shouldn’t even enter your mind. I wonder how fucked up Ivanka is.

On March 3, 2013 a contestant on “Celebrity Apprentice” knelt to the ground and begged to become the next project manager, to which he responded, “It must be a pretty picture. You dropping to your knee.” Here you have a woman trying to establish her place in what is typically considered “a man’s world”, asking for a chance to prove herself that she probably wouldn’t have even been given as a woman. He couldn’t respond to her list of accomplishments, her experience, or her leadership skills, but instead made an oral sex joke. Not only is this sexual harassment that creates a hostile work environment (look it up, a “joke” falls under hostile environment), but Trump has been known to take advantage of women who are desperate to prove themselves. To add to that, millions of women every day are forced to perform sexual acts in order to “earn” their place in the world.

On May 7, 2013, Trump blamed sexual assault on the fact that women and men are near each other. He tweeted, “26,000 unreported sexual assaults in the military-only 238 convictions. What did these geniuses expect when they put men & women together?” This one really blew my fuse. I expect, that when women and men are working together, that they should be treated with equal respect and afforded the same dignity. I expect that their male counterparts would be held accountable for their actions. I expect that more people would talk about the right and wrong ways to treat somebody. A woman should not “expect” to be assaulted because she is working and living with or close to men. I certainly did not “expect” to be raped when I was 15 just because there was a guy in the room with me. I did not “expect” to be assaulted a few months later by someone twice my age just because I was drinking. I did not “expect” he would begin stalking me, and a few weeks later find me going for a walk around my neighborhood. I did not “expect” that he would force me into his vehicle to “finish what we started”. But guess what?! Because so many people have the same mentality as Donald Trump, I never reported any of it! The last thing I needed was for someone to confirm my own self-blame by saying that it WAS my fault. That I shouldn’t have talked about sex if I didn’t want it, and I shouldn’t have been drinking when there were men around, or that I shouldn’t walk around outside by myself. When my rapist “finished” with me, he told me it was my fault, and that I shouldn’t have “made [him] think about it”. I believed him, because I had not yet been taught about assault, abuse, or consent, and as far as I could tell, it was normal. In other words, I did not report any of these incidents because men like Donald Trump, and many of the people defending him, believe that what happened to me is what should be expected to happen to any female.

And, last but not least, on October 7 2016, video footage emerged of Trump claiming in 2005 that he could “grab [them] by the pussy”, and that he could get away with it because he was famous. Again, we are looking at a man in a position of power taking advantage of women who have less. He actually said many revolting things regarding his beliefs about the treatment of women, but the actual suggestion and practically the admission to sexually assaulting women without the least bit of remorse, puts him right up there with the serial rapists we’re so quick to condemn, in my book. Donald Trump may think that his comments are an exception for him, because he’s famous, but every day men take advantage of women who only want to be successful, and this doesn’t just apply to adults. When I was in eighth grade, my social studies teacher would rearrange the seating every day and put all of the girls wearing skirts right in front of his own seat. We caught onto the pattern – and his gazes – fast, but were too afraid to say anything. He would also move around the room during tests, and at each girl he would stop, place his hand on her back, and whisper the answers to whatever question she was on into her ear. Uncomfortable doesn’t even begin to describe it. I remember freezing in fear more than once, and unable to even respond to him. However, nobody said anything outside of their immediate peer group, because they didn’t want to face any repercussions if nobody believed them.

Trump posted an “apology” video shortly after this footage was leaked, in which he spent more time devaluing the words he spoke than actually apologizing for them. Never once did he say he apologized to women, never once did he apologize for his behavior, and never once did he condemn sexual assault. Instead, after the “I’m not like that” and “I’ve changed since then,” the video quickly turned into “at least I’m not as bad as THAT guy”, in reference to Bill Clinton’s affairs. The apology that never was actually sounds pretty familiar to me too. A few months after the relationship I had with the man who took advantage of my vulnerability ended, he asked me to stop talking to his friends about things that had gone on in our relationship. I was at a point where I was starting to realize that what I experienced was a form of abuse, and I started talking about it. He deflected by claiming that there were more important things to worry about (reminiscent of Trump’s statement that the leaked tapes were a distraction from “real” issues), and that I should focus my energy on being positive and moving forward, much like he and Trump have certainly moved forward from the things they’ve done. A year later, he tried to say he was sorry for the way he treated me, but never actually apologized for the rape, which he would never admit that it was, anyway. Thanks! NOT.

In every incident I have described here, I was only a child. My youngest experience was at four years old, and my most traumatic experiences occurred when I was 15. Most of these acts were committed by men twice my age or more, with the exception of the rape, which was committed by somebody I had been dating. I never asked for any of it, and at the time I hadn’t thought much about having to protect myself from men. At the time, although I had felt uncomfortable as a result of men being flat out fucking creeps, I was not afraid.

I know now that none of these actions were my fault, and to hear a man of the same mentality  as those perpetrators (the men who took advantage of me) so boisterously avoid responsibility for is own actions, and further yet BRAG about the terrible things he has done to women, only reinforces that I need to keep talking about it.

It was only in the last five months or so that I stopped having flashbacks of these experiences every time I tried to be intimate with somebody, no matter how much I loved or trusted them. It was only in the last year or so that I stopped having constant nightmares about being attacked. It was only in the last FEW months that I stopped being paranoid if I was walking outside by myself. Trump, and the people defending him, are chipping away at the strength I worked so hard to rebuild, and I find myself regressing to an emotional state that I forgot was so terrifying. Today I’m shaky, panicky, and the nightmares I’ve had the last two nights have been replaying in my head non-stop.

From my personal point of view, defending or agreeing with any of Trump’s rhetoric means that you don’t care about me. And don’t forget: my story is not unique. I can almost guarantee that there is at least one woman in your life that has experienced a sexual assault of some kind. I honestly thought I was alone until I started talking about it, and I then realized that what happened to me is happening all around me, all the time.

I don’t share these stories, or my personal feelings about Trump, for pity. Instead, I share them because I know millions of women are in the same spiral that I am, as sexual assault becomes even more normalized and almost celebrated by the people we love, and who’s love for us we now must question. Trump has said a lot of terrible things, but this, I can’t let slide.

National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673

Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network: https://centers.rainn.org/

Aug21

Sometimes I Wish My Dad Was Dead

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I know what you’re thinking. Just hear me out.

Sometimes I wish my dad was dead. Not in the teen-angsty “I hate my life/I hate my parents/Nobody understands me” way. More so, in the way that I think he, and many others, might be better for it.

I know, I’m a terrible person. I feel terrible for thinking it. That’s why I need to talk about it.

There are a lot of kids out there that can probably relate to our story, and need to know that it’s okay to feel this way sometimes. I say “our” story because it is about me and my dad, not just one or the other.

Now, we have to take this back a bit.

My dad is a Vietnam Veteran. Went to war at 19, believing he was doing the right thing for our country and the people in it. Not long after arriving on the other side of the world, however, did he realize the amount of BS that soldiers were fed when going into this foreign country. This could be a whole blog post in itself, but the main purpose for explaining my dad’s military service is to introduce the fact that he was exposed to Agent Orange.

Agent Orange was a chemical defoliant used to kill plant life in the jungle-like country side to take away the Viet Cong’s advantage of constant cover and camouflage. Over 19 million gallons were dumped over the country. Troops used the empty barrels to shower and store food in. Since they were told it was perfectly safe for humans, they walked right through sprayed areas without a single thought about protecting their skin, eyes, or lungs. They drank from and bathed in bomb craters filled with the stuff. It took a long time, but Veterans are finally being heard in their cries of injustice, as Agent Orange has had devastating effects on all of those exposed. You can do more research on this yourself, but it’s absolutely appalling the way that the government continues to deny any wrong-doing and claims very little responsibility. Again, I could go on and on about this forever.

One effect of exposure to Agent Orange is the development of Type II Diabetes. I’m sure many people think, “Hey, I know tons of people with Diabetes, and they’re fine.” Well, it’s not quite the same. This secondary type of “Type II” is much more debilitating. Along with the Diabetes, my dad suffers from a chronic skin rash that pretty much every person who served in Vietnam came home with, and he contracted Hepatitis C while in Vietnam. The same needles were used to give everybody their inoculations (picture a human assembly line with several nurses injecting each soldier that stepped in front of them), he was wounded in combat and received blood transfusions, had his wisdom teeth removed, and as an interrogator was frequently exposed to wounded “enemy” soldiers. Veteran’s Affairs claims his records were “lost in a fire” (which they’ve told pretty much every Vet that has requested service records….really, look it up.) so he couldn’t get service connection for it.

Many many years later, I was born. Oops. My dad was 42 then, and just recently diagnosed with liver failure (a lovely side-effect of Diabetes and Hepatitis). He was still in the early stages so he wasn’t in dire straits yet. When I was 11 he was hospitalized for the first of many many times, as his liver REALLY started sucking and he was getting moved up the transplant list. This was a total shock to a kid that had no idea anything was even wrong. When I was 13 we were on vacation together and he was hospitalized once again, this time for a few weeks. When he woke up from the coma he was put in, he had forgotten the last 7 years. He forgot his brother’s death and didn’t recognize me, since he last remembered me being 5 years old. He never fully recovered.

Fast forward through the years and there were numerous hospital stays and two different nursing homes, before finally finding our wonderful live-in nurse who we absolutely adored.

I forgot to mention that my mom was taking care of EVERYTHING for him, even though they were divorced, because she wanted me to have a father. You rock, mom.

I guess you could say that this is where I started developing a bit of a “complex” if that’s even the right word for it. From 6th grade on, every time the phone rang in my classroom, I thought my dad was dead. In the mean-time, while my dad still had some independence, he didn’t take care of himself and did things that negatively impacted his health. I couldn’t stand to be around him because I hardly had any memories of him before he was sick. All of this also caused all-out warfare in my family, between my dad’s two sons from a previous marriage and my mom, who they never liked. My mom is one of the greatest people on earth, so f*ck them. I was manipulated and let down a lot. That, again, could be a blog post in itself (lol but not really “laughing out loud” ’cause it sucks).

My dad received a healthy liver transplant shortly after my 16th birthday, and to say that I had never felt such joy in my life was an understatement. Everything was going to go back to normal. My dad could come back to coaching softball. I could actually start staying with him again because I wouldn’t have to call 911 when he went into shock in the middle of the night.  He could go back to work and send me to my dream college. I would be able to see my friends again that lived in his neighborhood. I even thought everything would be okay with my brothers, and they could teach me to play instruments and draw. The artsy stuff was really the only common interest we shared. I stopped into school during the day (my mom told me in the middle of the night she was going down to the hospital, since she was his Power of Attorney, and someone else would take me to the train station later). As I collected my work for the next few days, I told ALL of my teachers the awesome news and that I would be out for a few days while my dad was in recovery. It was quite literally the happiest day of my life.

When I got to the hospital I was surprised to see that my dad was wide awake, which was incredible because most transplant recipients are out for two or more days following the procedure. He was his old self again. He could understand what we were saying, he was quick to respond, his memory was 100%, he wasn’t slurring his speech, and he was even making his dumb dad jokes that only dads make. For those that don’t know, organ failure affects the mind quite severely. It was the first time I had seen my dad, my actual dad, in several years. I never slept so great as I did after leaving the hospital that night.

The next day, my mom looked at my dad’s incision and noticed that it was starting to look infected. He was also getting “foggy” again, talking slowly and having difficulty responding. Uh-oh. I tried not to let it put a damper on the experience we had the day before, but the fear started creeping in again. By the next day, his brain was back to it’s worst state. Nobody knows what happened, because liver recipients are usually back to them old selves relatively quickly. The way I explained it to myself was that the infection somehow attacked his brain, but I don’t have enough knowledge on the subject to even know if that’s a thing that can happen.

So, the dread was back. I went back to school, and while everyone excitedly asked me how he was, I was simply cordial and appreciative of their concern. I still worried every time the phone rang. His diabetes got worse. He never got his memory back. He couldn’t care for himself.

A few months later my brother took over for his care, and decided to let our live-in nurse go, and just have a visiting nurse from the local hospital come in to check on him during the day. I don’t think it would be an exaggeration to say that an ambulance was called at least twice a week that summer. He went into insulin shock countless times and even suffered two heart attacks as a result. By the end of the summer he was in a nursing home, where he still resides today, nine years later.

I know that I’m supposed to be grateful that my dad received the transplant he needed in time. I’m supposed to be grateful that he’s still alive. I really am, grateful though, about how much I learned about the importance of organ donation. My dad’s isn’t the happiest story, and not exactly a transplant success story, since he was never able to regain his quality of life. The doctors consider him a success though, because he was expected to have five years with this liver, and it is just starting to fail now in year nine.

So, why do I sometimes wish my dad was dead?

For starters, I don’t really know who “my dad” is anymore. I visit him almost weekly in the nursing home, and we typically have the same short conversation every time, where he asks me the same questions about work, my mom, and talks about the visitors he had this week (whom actually came probably six months ago but he doesn’t remember anything day to day). I quit softball when I realized he wasn’t coming back to coach, and took it pretty hard when he couldn’t come to my graduation because he had a violent outburst while being picked up from the nursing home. I almost didn’t go. I know a lot of people don’t have dads that are able or willing to be there in these important moments, so many have difficulty understanding why I get so upset. See, my dad is alive. He’s supposed to be happy. But, he can’t be there for me. We’re in limbo. I feel stuck in a constant state of “my dad is dying,” which he is, but it is exhausting. It’s hard to “make the most” of the time I have with him when we can’t have a conversation, go out for a walk, or see a movie. I watch him wasting away, now with calves skinnier than my wrists and a protruding ribcage. He has no quality of life and he has no will to live. Not even for me, which sucks even more. I really do think that more could be done to improve his condition, but since I don’t have the means to care for him myself, I can’t make much of a difference. I feel an obligation to be present in his dismal life, since he doesn’t have much to look forward to and he depends on me for his constant supply of cigars and snacks. He’s my dad, so I feel like I owe it to him to try to care for him the way he would have taken care of me, if he was able. More than just the toll it takes on me, is the toll it took on my family. I will most likely never speak to my brothers again, since events that have unfolded in recent years made me realize that nothing positive could come from a relationship with them. I’m surprised my mom didn’t have a heart attack in all those years, while she managed his care and as a result almost lost her job, all while being verbally attacked and degraded by my brothers.

My longing for his passing though, is not completely selfish. I often think about the person who died to provide the organ my dad needed. This is not the way it’s supposed to go. The purpose of organ donation is to give another person a second chance at a happy, healthy, and fulfilling life, not just for them but for their loved ones as well. Somebody died, and beforehand thought, “Maybe my death can mean this little girl’s father can walk her down the aisle.” Okay, so maybe not that exact thought, but you get it. I didn’t get my dad back. He didn’t get a second chance at life. The pessimist in me can only think, “What a waste.” If my dad hadn’t made it to the date of his transplant (and I have no idea HOW he did), another person could have had that chance. Often for every one person that receives a transplant, two or three die waiting for the same organ. I should be grateful that my dad was “lucky”, but I think his chance could have been better used by someone else.

And now we’re back to limbo. I’ll never be able to have a meaningful conversation with him, but I will still go every weekend and tell him how old I am and where I live and what my job is. To him, it’s new every time.

Sometimes, I wish my dad was dead. Not because I hate him, but because I love him too much to watch this continue.

May11

Monthly Subscriptions and Why I’m OBSESSED.

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There’s just something about coming home to a package on your doorstep. You get out of your car, fiddle with your keys to lock it up, lift your eyes to the door of your home, and something is different. There’s a package waiting, and it’s just for you! I imagine it’s similar to when I would actually get a piece of mail as a kid. It was usually a card with a five-dollar bill, and I thought mail was the greatest thing ever. Now I’d be happy to never get mail, but getting a PACKAGE is totally different. It’s like a present. Even if you did pay for it yourself.

Monthly subscription boxes are one way that you can get yourself that present every month without even thinking about it. Most of the time you won’t be thinking about it, so it will be a surprise, which is even better.

Some boxes are pretty reasonable, and others are on the pricey side. You might subscribe for a few months and learn that it’s not all you thought it would be, or you will be a long-term subscriber and enjoy trying out new things without the hassle of going out or having to search for new products. If you happen to be a shopaholic, these monthly boxes have the potential to get out of hand, so be aware of what you are thinking and feeling when you sign up for something new.

Here are some subscription boxes I have tried, and some others that I’m interested in trying:

1. Rocksbox
What it is: Rocksbox was my first subscription box, and I basically committed to the monthly service because I’m not always great at coordinating my accessories. Rocksbox was a way that I could try out a few accessories every month and see how they fit with my wardrobe. The service is $19 a month and they send you three pieces of jewelry. You can make a wishlist or leave it up to the designers. If you decide to keep a piece, you can purchase it at a discounted price. If you don’t want a certain piece, send it back in the box and envelope it was sent in. Every month when you return your box, Rocksbox will automatically charge your payment method for items that you kept, and then send a new set your way! The other awesome part of Rocksbox is that you don’t have to return your pieces right away. Just don’t send one piece back if you plan on returning the others, because it’s considered a purchase then.
My Experience: I’ve gotten a Rocksbox four times now, and I love it. I’ve kept a piece or two from each of my boxes. Whenever I don’t like a piece, I can let my designer know what I didn’t like about it, and she will try not to send me any future pieces with that feature.
Use this code: kelseysbff1

2. Stitchfix
What it is: Stitchfix is a clothing and accessory subscription that you may use monthly, but you can also choose the frequency of how often you receive a box. You pay $20 for each package, so the frequency of the subscription that you choose will determine how much you pay overall. When you set up your account, you will take a style quiz to help stylists at Stitchfix get a feel for what you might like. Then, your package will contain 5 items that your stylists thought you would like, along with pictures of how those pieces can be coordinated both casually and formally. I really like it because, again, I’m not that great at coordinating my outfits.
My Experience: I haven’t been a subscriber for very long, but I see myself continuing the subscription service for some time, as my weight loss progresses and my wardrobe changes. My first box came with a pair of skinny jeans, a cute black sleeveless top, a dress, a long tribal print cardigan, and a casual striped light sweater. All of these items matched my style, but I wasn’t so in love with them that I would buy them. I did want the sweater, but it was a little big on me so I asked my stylist to send it again in a smaller size. Overall, $20 a box to try something new isn’t too bad if you get it here and there, although the option for getting a box every 2 weeks could get pricey.
Use this code: https://www.stitchfix.com/referral/7638852

3. Bulu Box
What it is: Bulu box is a monthly subscription for fitness and/or weight loss, depending on which you choose. You can choose what types of products you receive and also set preferences for any diet restrictions you have. This was a HUGE plus for me because being vegan and gluten free, it is very difficult to find health and wellness products that fit into my diet. A month to month subscription is only $10 a month, and if you use the code “MYSUB5” you will only pay $5 a month, for as long as you continue your monthly subscription.
To sign up, go to http://www.bulubox.com/referred/?id=163313 and enter the code 12575101.

4. Birchbox
What it is: Birchbox sends beauty samples right to your doorstep, so that you can experiment with products without the commitment or price tag of a full-sized item. When you get your box, you can earn 10 points for each item that you leave a review for. Every ten points counts as a dollar that you can use towards items in the Birchbox store, where they sell a large variety of products and full-size versions of the samples. I am new to this box so I don’t have a review for it yet, but I have heard great things so I am very excited!
Use this link: https://www.birchbox.com/invite/s4db1

5. Book of the Month
What it is: Every month judges will choose five popular hard-cover books, and you can choose one to be delivered to your door. This regularly costs $16.99 a month but right now a 3 month subscription can be $7.50 a month with the code APR50. Each month the judges choose a variety of genres and give a long review of each book, so that you can get an idea of what the book is about and what the judges found appealing about it.
Use this code: https://www.bookofthemonth.com/referCode/?referCode=xt3bz8e7y5xhto6r

6. Ipsy
What it is: Ipsy is a lot like birchbox in that it is a beauty and makeup subscription, but the plus here is that many of the items you get are full-sized! Every month your box also comes with a cosmetics bag, which is great because those things wear out pretty quickly! This service is only $10 a month! You can cancel any time and customize your subscription to your skin, hair, and beauty needs. Use this code: https://www.ipsy.com/new?refer=y4pib

7. Phone Case of the Month
What it is: Phone case of the month is a $10 monthly subscription to receive a limited edition case, for any iPhone or Samsung Galaxy phone. Personally, my phone is the one thing that I have with me all the time, so getting a unique case every month is like a new top or piece of jewelry to me. Right now you can get your first case for only $5 using the link http://bit.ly/1rXkjjI

8. Level Up T-shirt subscription
What it is: This t-shirt subscription is from the company Loot Crate, and sends you a themed t-shirt every month for only $8.99. There are also subscriptions for themed socks, jewelry and hair accessories, and other items. Themes include comics, anime, Star Wars, Aliens, Call of Duty, Doctor Who, and all kinds of awesome. You can use the coupon code SAVE3 to get $3 off your first month.
Use this link: http://looted.by/dSyxf

May10

Always busy? Try these tips to add exercise into your day.

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1. Ankle weights. If you regularly wear pants to work, this is perfect for you. Putting a two pound weight, or more, on both legs will increase how hard your legs have to work during your regular movements. If you move around a lot during your day, then the extra calorie burn will add up fast. If you spend most of your time sitting, you can do leg lifts and other seated exercises while you work, and the weights will add a little extra oomph. Bonus tip: put an alarm on your phone to go off every hour, and perform a set of exercises every time it goes off. There’s no worrying about “remembering” anything throughout the day.

2. Resistance bands. These are lightweight, mobile, and easy to shove in your desk or bag so that it doesn’t feel like an extra chore to have them around. Anytime that you’re sitting, or performing an activity that requires little to no movement, pull out some resistance bands. You can loop them around your ankles and use both legs against each other, or wrap them around your desk leg to do some bicep curls. The possibilities are endless.

3. Stand every hour. Just like with tip #1, setting an hourly alarm on your phone is an easy way to remind yourself to move. If you sit all day, get up and take a lap around the office. If you’re on your feet most of the day, try some calf raises. These two are easy to do without too many coworkers noticing, but if you are truly shameless then doing some squats will be worth the effort. Ten squats every hour during a regular eight hour work day adds up to 80 squats a day, but feels a lot easier since you’re only doing ten an hour.

4. Take advantage of your lunch break. Most of the time, we look forward to our lunch break as a time to chit chat, catch up on Facebook, or surf the Internet mindlessly. Getting up and moving for even part of your lunch break can burn some extra calories, and also give you a chance to decompress. When it’s nice out, go for a walk around the block or wherever you can around your work. The sunshine will instantly make you feel ten times better and energize you for the second half of the day. If there’s a coworker you look forward to catching up with every day, go for a walk together! Having a light lunch means more time to move, and having something you can eat on the go is even better. If you can’t go out and walk during your break, you can do some of the previously mentioned exercises right where you are.

5. Create a game. This would be a fun way to get others involved. Do you have a coworker that overuses a certain word? Challenge your coworkers to one minute of walking everytime the word is said. Is your copy machine constantly jamming? Add ten squats for every misfeed. Think of the phrase, “If I had a nickel every time…” and replace that nickle with an exercise of some sort. It will certainly add up! As your colleagues begin to notice things that happen frequently around the work place, everyone will be adding their own touch to it. You will laugh, bond, and ultimately get to know your colleagues a bit better each day. Personally, I’d be in AWESOME shape if a did an exercise every time I lost something I was just holding.

Remember, health and wellness can work ten-fold when enjoying it with others. 

May10

Exercise sucks. And so does everything else.

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There’s something so unique about starting a fitness routine after missing your workouts for, well, ever. And by unique I mean absolutely miserable.

A couple of years ago I decided I really wanted to get healthy, and what inspired me the most was the “Tone It Up” Program. I started running every day and doing their assigned workouts early in the morning. I woke up at 4am every day and worked out, made myself a healthy breakfast, came home, and ran a few miles. I looked great, felt great, and I was so proud of what I had accomplished. After about 4 months of this, I hurt my shoulder and began a two year battle with Workman’s Comp, but that’s another story. As the injury progressed, I slowly lost the ability to do even basic exercise, and something as simple as walking would jar my shoulder too much.

Enter depression.

I had been on that natural runner’s high for quite some time and being basically immobilized was a total disruption to what my mind and body had thrived on. A year and a half later I was 50 pounds heavier, suicidal, and in a hole of self-loathing that I couldn’t even see my way out of.

I have battled my mental health my entire life, starting with “fits” of anxiety when I was a kid, to angry depression as a teen, and I cycled through eating disorders and various methods of self-harm. I would have these days where I would just cry and cry and I didn’t really know why, but I believed that I was at fault for everything that wasn’t quite right. My mom would try to comfort me through it, but when I couldn’t tell her what I was upset about, she got pretty frustrated. From the outside looking in, I imagine it would be extremely frustrating to see someone you love in so much pain for seemingly no reason at all. I get that. We went through this more and more often, and eventually I tried to isolate my emotions as much as possible, because I didn’t want to make her mad. So, I cried in my room when everyone was asleep. I cried in my car whenever I had a long drive. I cried at work while I was in a room, or my office, by myself.

Days like this usually started with a precursor of a couple of “off” days, where I just couldn’t get excited and I didn’t have the energy to feel anything. And then, suddenly, there would be a trigger of some sort, and the dam of my emotions broke down and basically spilled out everywhere, taking out every one and every thing in its path. One time the trigger was being told to watch how many tootsie rolls I ate. One time the trigger was being asked if I said something I wasn’t supposed to. Even though I hadn’t said anything, I automatically felt like I screwed everything up.

When I got healthy, not only physically but also mentally by giving myself something to be proud of, it seemed like the worst of those days were behind me. I was a fool to think that I could really “escape” it.

After losing a close childhood friend to suicide, I realized that I needed to seek out help because I was having the same thoughts she was. I felt an incredible load of self-loathing and honestly believed that everyone would be better off without me. When I started seeing my therapist, I’ll call her Julie, I was pretty convinced that she had no idea what she was in for. Julie had to tape two pieces of paper together to draw my family tree, because that ish is complicated. In the meantime, she had to take notes on the family tree of each person and how they had influenced my life in any number of ways. Then she taped some more paper together to create a timeline of all the crazy I’ve lived with in my short 23 years so far. Many of our sessions involved an incident, a family member, and their impact on my self-esteem.

Julie was the first person to address my childhood sexual abuse.

Julie was the first person to explain to me that so much of NOW is a result of THEN.

Christmas Eve of 2014, I wanted to die. I had an early dismissal from school the day before and went right to urgent care, because I had some stupid virus that made me want to bang my head against a wall because that might MAYBE help clear my sinuses up. And then I cried. I don’t think I even got out of my car. I went home and cried some more. I told my fiancé that I didn’t want to be alive anymore. The only reason I never acted on these thoughts was because I didn’t want to hurt the people I love, and my dog would think I left her. I probably cared more about my dog being sad than anything else, in all honesty.

Over a year later now, I am medicated and I am so happy to have found the right combination of medications that work for me. I had heard horror stories of what others have been through when trying to find the right meds. I had two surgeries since then for my stupid shoulder, and now I’m trying to get myself back into fitness and into a wedding dress. My appetite fluctuates between “hibernation” and “getting ready for hibernation,” but my biggest struggle is chronic fatigue. I went to the gym several times last week but haven’t been getting much sleep the last few days, so I’ve just been going home and laying down.

And then when I exercise I absolutely hate everything in that moment.

And then I’m sore.

And then I get cranky and eat some chocolate.

And then I cry because I’m so damn out of shape and I hate myself.

And my brain is still trying to figure out when it’s time to be happy, and when it’s time to be sad, and everything in between.

I brought my gym bag to work with me today, but I’m still here typing this post and “working late”. In about two and a half hours it will be time for me to go to bed so that I can get a full 8 hours of sleep and actually be awake and functioning tomorrow. And then I’ll do ALL THE EXERCISE. At least that’s what I tell myself every afternoon when I’m trying to get myself motivated to go to the gym.

Sigh.

So here’s to starting over.

Want to work together?

May9

Unabashed Upheaval

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It’s been almost two years since my last post. Why? Well, life, ya know? I haven’t made the time to sit down and share my thoughts.

Since my last post, I graduated college, started teaching, got really into fitness, suffered a major injury, fell into the deepest depression I’ve ever experienced, had two surgeries, gained 50 lbs, moved three times, got engaged, got a dog, then a cat, then another cat, and a hamster, and another dog, went into a coloring phase, then into a jigsaw puzzle phase, and began the never-ending journey of making peace. 

Right now, I’m ready to get my life back to where I want it. I want to run races again. I want to do push-ups again. I want to wake up one morning and NOT feel tired. I want to stop being overwhelmed by the noise around me. I want to escape my thoughts of self-harm. I want to be a better wife to my soon-to-be husband. 

So here’s where I’m at: I started going to the gym again last week. And then I skipped today since I got about 3 hours of sleep. I’m getting back to a high protein low carb diet. 

I just have to keep going.

Will you walk this journey with me? We can laugh together, cry together, and tell life to “hold the crazy” while we order up a big batch of awesome.

Jul3

Why is everybody so upset with Angelina Jolie?

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In the last few months Angelina Jolie has received both praise and criticism for her decision to undergo a double mastectomy to prevent breast cancer, which she had an 87% chance of developing.

My question, for the world, is why? This is a choice that women all over the developed world face on a daily basis. Mastectomies and Preventive Mastectomies occur regularly, but it has rarely made news until now. Why? Angelina Jolie underwent the procedure before she was diagnosed with cancer, and after she was told that she would likely develop it. The truth is, we all face some risk of developing cancer, but very few know their risk by numbers. Jolie had the benefit of affording the technology that discovered the gene for her high-cancer risk, as well as being able to afford an “extravagant” precautionary measure. Most women in America do not have access to this, so I understand why some may feel an injustice when it comes to their own medical choices. I have to wonder, though, if any of these women were told they had a high risk of cancer and that the most effective prevention was a mastectomy, would they do it? Especially if the cancer they were likely to develop was aggressive and had taken the lives of two female family members before her?

Why else do mastectomies occur? I guess, what I don’t understand, is why Jolie has received so much criticism for doing what many women do to save their own lives. She did it for herself and for her children. What matters, surgery or not, is that she is likely to live longer for her children than she would if the procedure had not been performed.

The first time I read her own editorial, “My Medical Choice” in the New York Times, I understood her. I think it was the first time I could say I truly understood someone I would never really know. She simply said, “Once I knew that this was my reality, I decided to be proactive and to minimize the risk as much I could.” Minimizing the risk of cancer, or ultimately death, is the goal in any preventative action. Women who have had breast cancer previously often undergo mastectomies to prevent it’s spread or return. If, and I speak for myself alone here, If I were in this situation I would’ve done the same thing. I would not be one to sit around and wait for the cancer that is most likely going to happen. What good would I be to my family, or the world then?

Before I ever read Jolie’s words, I knew that I would undergo this “extreme” form of treatment if the risk of death was possible. What good would breast tissue or reproductive organs be to me if I could not live long enough to raise the family I kept them for? In recent months I’ve undergone several dietary and lifestyle changes in order to prevent cancer, since both of my grandmothers, my uncle, and my father have all had cancer. I do what science tells me; I eat healthy, non-GMO and organic when I can, I exercise, I take my vitamins, I switched to all-natural body and skin products, and have eliminated as many toxins from my life as I can while living with others who are less concerned with it.

And yet, here I am, with the beginning stages of cervical cancer.

Ever since my doctor called me with my “abnormal” test results, I’ve thought a lot about Angelina Jolie and what it all means for me. If these pre-cancerous cells turn cancerous then I will obviously have to undergo treatment, but of course there is always a chance of Cancer spreading and returning. The closest thing to a guarantee is a hysterectomy, which would eliminate my ability to have children. Honestly, I think I might be okay with that. I never planned to have children, always considered adoption, and I always felt that my purpose in life was outside of raising a family. But if I think about never being able to have children, that scares me. What if I change my mind? Truth is, my uterus and the ability to have children means nothing if I end up with cancer. Realistically, if cancer has developed this early in my body I know that I would not be able to devote myself to children in the way that they deserve.

In all brutal honesty, I would not save myself the ability to bear a child if it meant leaving him or her motherless. As Jolie said, “I can tell my children that they don’t need to fear they will lose me to breast cancer,” and she is lucky to have this choice after already having children.

For me, I still have a lot of questions about what is happening in my body. I won’t know any more until a colposcopy and biopsy are done in eight days, and I’m hoping that it’s all a big mistake.

Cancer, mistake or not, scares me more than any procedure. Angelina Jolie made her decision so that she could continue to be the mother she is, and I don’t understand why others see that as wrong. I’m sure if I told my doctor next week that I would rather undergo a hysterectomy than wait for cancer to develop, my mother would never forgive me for it. But to me, if being able to have a child means that I won’t be there for it afterwards, it’s not worth it. Besides, there’s a lot more to my life than having babies one day.