How does one say 'Holy fuckballs that hurts', in French?

I'm not even in the mood to blog.  But I feel like its long-overdue.  And I am not able to sleep currently, blah blah blah!

Tomorrow is IUD day.  (I keep texting 'UTI' instead, which of course has a few very confused...)  I am torn, my feelings towards the whole idea.  My body and mind, also torn.  My anxiety and my uterus are torn as to which will KILL me first. 

My uterus feeling like shit is not new news.  And this is why the IUD was suggested in the first place.  It has now been a little over a year since my surgery, and after 8 or so months the symptoms came rolling back in.  Considering I'd been taking my pill daily (avoiding a period which is supposed to help avoid the Endo growth) it was instant discouragement that I came back so quickly.  I'd be more then happy to get under that little knife again!  It was well worth it, the months of pure normalcy I felt afterwards.  Alas, that apparently poses risks and so I am now set to try one more thing before we go there again.

Preventing the growth of a (obviously handsome) baby in my tummy before I'm ready for a (obviously handsome) baby is very important to me.  Also, avoiding Endo symptoms is very important to me (and everyone who has anything to do with me).  So after months of deliberation I have caved to the whole IUD thing. 

Why did I need convincing, if it will prevent babies and likely (hopefully) having a period ever again?  The idea of a foreign object permanently residing inside my body just throws me off.  My surgeon tried telling me (you have to picture it in a heavy Indian accent), 'this [his necklace] is a foreign object and these [my earrings] is a foreign object and they don't hurt you!'  I understand, Sir, but your necklace and my earrings are also not INSIDE MY VAGINA. 

Men.  They will never understand. 

I just figure that for the most part, we are made with all the parts we need already inside.  I think that doctors using pig valves to fix a patient's heart makes a little more sense, because that's somewhat natural.  But I giant plastic T with a tail, that is not in any way natural.  And for all I know, it could want to be in there even less then I want it to be in there!  And that is the last thing I need, thank you very much.  My surgeon claims that none of his patients have every rejected an IUD, but that's never stopped me before!

Honestly, I learned after Googling 'laparoscopy' the night before my surgery (and then having a small to moderate sized panic attack), that learning about possible negative side effects is even less necessary then learning long division.  I really do know how highly unlikely it is that this thing is going to rip a hole through my uterus and cause me to bleed out in my sleep.  But it would completely creep me out if I were to suddenly be walking around with fake boobs inside my chest.  And yes, over the last while I have considered what my anxiety may look like the day it realizes there is a human being growing inside of me.  This thing has the potential to be in there for the next 5 years!  And I'm picturing myself being able to feel it if I squish my tummy real hard!  (Barfy face)

As I mull over the anxiety that this teeny procedure and teeny apparatus is causing, my uterus cramps itself into a teeny knot, and I quickly remember the point behind it all.  If I don't fight off this killer IUD-related anxiety, my uterus is going to be the death of me instead.  This last week I have reminded myself multiple times, 'this is the last one!'  A menstrual cycle is what makes the Endometrial cells hurt so badly, and the IUD is supposed to retard my cycle.  No more gross periods equals no more Endometriosis equals no more uncomfy tampons equals no more cramps and nausea equals no more sick days equals no more anxiety!  The savings on feminine hygiene products alone should make me more excited for tomorrow morning. 

Maybe if you saw the size of the box that this IUD came in from the pharmacy, you'd think I was at least a little less crazy!  It's not bad enough that you have to lay on a cold table while some guy works a piece of plastic all the way up into your uterus, but you also have to pick the thing up (the $500 thing) from the pharmacy days before, and try not to have a panic attack while this giant box sits on your desk staring at you all day?!  I'd like to open it up and reassure myself that half of it is just packaging, but then I'm paranoid that there isn't enough packaging inside, and germs and bug would go rushing in once a seal is broken. 

Huhhhhhh. 

I need to just go to bed.  You have to shove drugs up there the night before, to prepare the cervix for insertion.  Just in case you were uncomfortable enough, I mean.  So falling asleep should also keep me from imagining the walls of my girl-organs slowly melting...

(Barfy face)

UPDATE:  Though I'd typed this last night, I was saving it to post today after the fact, planning to end with 'And alllll went well!'   I thought that'd be a funny ending, accepting that I was all stressed and nutso over nothing. 

However. 

I can't even describe the kind of pain that exploded inside of me body.  I'd taken the pre-meds and I took Advil 20 minutes prior as suggested, and I'd taken an Ativan as suggested by myself.  And I have that rare kind of boyfriend who doesn't complain about sitting in a little doctors office with his weirdo girlfriend.  We were laughing, we were watching my 3 year old sister get attacked in a Myrtle Beach tub, taking funny pictures of the faces I’d probably make during the procedure, and I was relaxed.  

For me, the best way to deal with any mounting anxiety is to joke about it and laugh it off, so I was making jokes with the surgeon, laughing off my anxiety, and I was feeling brave.  And then it started.  That scary crunching tube goes in first, fine.  Then he used some stick to clean things out, fine.  But when the instrument went in there, it was an instant and outrageous pain, like I had never felt before.  Pain that made me call for a garbage can, and throwing up is when the panic kicked in hard.  And that was only part 1!  He still had to get in there once more, and the doctor and the lovely nurse and my poor boyfriend were telling me to let him just do it and get over with so it could just be over.  And their logic was logical, but it takes more then talk to convince me to welcome that pain again, when my anxious brain is so sure that another round will legitimately kill me. 

I took more Ativan, which I think I threw up, and then when I made it into the bathroom my boyfriend brought me Gravol and Imodium. 

We spent a good half extra hour in that office, before I was ok to stand up and make my way home to a Popsicle and a good, good nap.  I'm anxious to go into work tomorrow.  There is still an utter ache inside of me, it hurts when I walk and when I breathe.  I'm anxious to find out whether or not this ordeal will be worth it.  I will not settle for this ache, for more then a week.  At least my Endo pain an nausea was on and off, and only really bad around my period.  So far, this pain is constant, and I'll be completely drained if this continues much longer. 

Ps.  I put huge tampons up there on a regular basis.  And an even larger penis has been up in there!  So how the hell does a teeny instrument inserting a teeny piece of plastic, cause SO MUCH PAIN?!! 

I'm going to end this now, before I start ranting about how unfair it is to be a woman.  And then I may never stop.  I mean, c’mon.

Fucking girl parts. 

Oh To Be A Kid Again

Once upon a time, a beautiful teacher took her kids for a walk to hunt for fall leaves.  It was so sunny out, everyone was having so much fun running around in the grass. 

The beautiful teacher was bent over tying someone's shoe, and when she stood she got a real surprise.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of her kids hiding in he middle of a bush. He wasn't just hiding in the middle of the bush, though.  Nope! 

As the beautiful teacher walked closer to the bush, she realized that the boy's pants were down! And his pants weren't just down for fun. (Because we all know pants down can be fun). As the beautiful teacher looked closer, she saw something else...

The little boy hiding in the bushes with his pants down, was going to the bathroom.  And not the pee kind of bathroom. 

After the beautiful teacher picked her eyeballs back off the ground, she pulled his pants up, hoped no one else was paying attention, and called the leaf hunt off. 

After getting inside and wiping and changing and sanitizing, the beautiful teacher realized that she wasn't entirely disgusted.  More so, she was impressed, and slightly envious.  For it wasn't until she was in her 20's and super sick, that the beautiful teacher was comfortable enough pooing in a toilet that wasn't in her own home, never mind in a park full of teen-aged girl soccer players! 

Monster Olympics 2012

We've all met a monster. We've all spent quality time with a beast, at some point in our lives. Panic disorders, addiction, unemployment, loneliness. But there is one monster that even scares all the others off. I picture like, a Raptor in the jungle acting all cocky, scaring all the other dinosaurs, and then the T-Rex comes along, and swallows that Raptor whole. 

It's 5am at a friends cottage, someone's car alarm is going off, there's a massive rain storm, and our roommate is snoring...we watched Mrs. Doubtfire earlier, and there's a part where Robin Williams plays with toy dinosaurs...so that's where that imagery came from. 

Cancer is by far the ugliest, meanest, most selfish monster. The Anxiety monster is a true tormentor, and while I always felt like I was dying, he never actually threatened my life. And no other monster allows you to defeat it, allows you to celebrate with everyone around you, and then barges back in over, and over again, until it's finished the job. 

It's still storming, someone still keeps honking their horn, there's a bunch of drunk, cranky boys downstairs, and it's too hot too sleep, but my brain won't let me think of anything but Julie. 

I'd be very interested to know the ratio of convicted criminals who are diagnosed with cancer vs. the number of innocent, hard working, hard loving human beings chosen to suffer. I don't know if I could actually wish cancer on someone, but when there are football coaches raping their young players, and ingrates shooting a theater full of people, it's obvious, to me, that some people at least deserve it less. 

I once reached a point in my illness, where I decided I'd rather one of my specialists tell me I had cancer, then have to hear that they didn't know what was wrong, or that it was all in my head, one more time. How absurd is that? I was desperate. I have fought a tough battle, I have proven myself brave, but I can't imagine being anything but a crying mess in the fetal position after being told, 'it's cancer'. 

It's almost hard to believe how positive and hopeful Julie remains. Cancer patients, I'm sure, are the bravest. They have to be. They have to be strong for themselves, and they have to be strong for the loved ones who surround them. Which makes it even less fair, really. But Julie has done a beautiful job at just that. 

On Friday we were texting while I was in the car on the way to the cottage. Turns out, she was typing from her chair, at her first chemo appointment. I can't even imagine. And yet we shared 'LOL's over my boyfriend's aggressive driving, and she told me how glad she was to have her mom with her. We discussed making dinner plans for an at-home double date, and I reminded her that I could come over soon to do her nails. If anyone else was to pick up and read that conversation, they'd never guess she was in a hospital, hooked up to tubes feeding her a bitch of a drug, literally fighting for her life. But that's Julie. 

We aren't BEST friends, at first she was just the girlfriend of one of my boyfriend's friends. But you don't need to be best friends to know how kind, and smart, and funny, and beautiful she is. You don't have to be best friends to be kept up at night, so sad and mad, and worried for her, her fiancé, and her family. You don't have to be best friends in order to want to take her pain away, and hug her, and make her smile, and just fucking murder the shit out of the Cancer Monster. 

You know, I'd go back to being sick and sweaty and panicking on my bathroom floor, if it meant Julie wouldn't have cancer anymore. If all the beautiful finances, and innocent children, and needed moms and dads could avoid cancer, I'd gladly go back and live in that part of my life again. Because compared to cancer, everything else seems so pathetic. All of a sudden, complaining about how hot it is, being pissed off about the murderous period I endured last week, whining about the early hours I'll be working come September, is all very pathetic. 

I bet though, Julie is the sort of person who would tell you not to feel that way. She would probably assure you that a monster is a monster, and you can't compare diseases. I feel like I'd be the one who would hear a complete stranger mentioning his headache on the bus, and scream, 'you have a headache? I have fucking cancer, you pussy '. 

She should be here, you know? Enjoying the long weekend playing Sorry with us outnumbered girls, while all the boys are being complete idiots down on the beach. That's how it should be, but we all know that life is an unfair asshole. 

It's after 6 now, and I just hope she's at least having a good sleep. That's the least that Life could do. 

* * * * *

I typed that on August 5th. I wasn't ready to post it at the time, I'm not sure why. Probably had a little to do with denial, and only wanting to send positive feelings out into the universe.

Julie passed away thismorning. It was hard to leave on vacation, knowing it was a possibility, even though we'd visited with her before we left. My sister recently lost someone, and she was in Paris with her boyfriend when she got the news. I now understand now how hard it is, to be away from it all, no matter how hard 'it all' may be.

I went downstairs, sat in Prince Charming's lap, and we cried. We cried for Julie, and her gallant fiancé, and the friends and family who held her hand every step of the way.

Yesterday was, I think, the most magical day of my life thus far. And it was really all thanks to Julie. At this age, we are getting ready to lose grandparents, and we start preparing ourselves for the possible loss of our parents, but we'd never stop to consider losing a friend. We'd never stop to consider, at this age, that today could be our last day to do magical things. We don't stop to consider those things, until now. I'm still unsure if it sounds bad, or morbid, or selfish to say, but what Julie went through is an eye opener, and it's been an inspiration to love and live harder then I have been.

Yesterday we swam with stingrays! I'd fallen in love with them at the aquarium here in Myrtle Beach, sitting at the corner of the tank watching this giant, mystical creatures flying so peacefully through the water. When we walked up above the tank, I nearly peed my pants when we saw a place where you could lean over and pet the rays as the glided through the shallow makeshift beach! Then I saw the poster, SWIM with the stingrays.

I contemplated it for a few days. Since being sick I've only worked 2 regular months, and since schools out I haven't had a regular pay check all summer, so even $75 (each) seemed like an intimidating number. When I was sitting at the corner of that tank though, there was a moment so full of wishing that Julie was there to see it too. I eventually realized that I can't save the big things for tomorrows.

Stingrays are velvety, and very heavy, and they like to suck on your toes! I even kissed a pregnant one, which must be some kind of good luck! The whole time we were in that chilly water, giggling and squirming, I kept thanking Julie for helping me get in there.

Last night was so warm, and the storm clouds had cleared enough for the stars to finally peek through, and there was a full moon to top it all off. When you add all that together, it equals the perfect reason to go skinny dipping!

I think that that's what Heaven must feel like. A warm empty beach only lit by the moon, a beautiful breeze, a vast ocean, just naked and completely free. Once all the pain and the sadness and the sacredness is over, that must be what it feels like.

I don't normally enjoy ocean swims. The salt burns my skin, and I can't make my brain quit thinking about sharks! But I realized that being in an ocean, sans suits, is not an opportunity that arrives every day. And I have never in my life felt so calm, and at peace, and so thankful.

If you've read my blog before, you know I'm not God's biggest fan. I've always believed in Heaven though. And sometimes, like we all do too, Heaven gets really greedy. Julie was a beautiful force, an energy that will vibrate through our hearts forever. I know, and I think everyone who knew her knows, she's on a beach somewhere. And maybe even naked ;)

Hello Old Friend

Deep breaths. 

It's Friday night.  It's 3:48am, technically Saterday, and I'm fighting the urge to get off the toilet and lay on the bathroom floor instead. Is this what an addiction feels like? Craving something so specific, thinking you'll be safer there? Earwigs crawl on that floor! I have my pillow and a cold cloth, trying to shake off the shakes and deeply contemplating. Am I feeling nauseous and thus panicking because I drank an energy drink tonight...or am I nauseous and thus panicking because I warned myself prior to drinking it that drinking it could potentially cause a panic attack? Self-fulfilling prophecy, or a general health warning? Do people who are thought to be mentally stable have panic attacks as a result of consuming energy drinks, or is an anxiety disorder a prerequisite? Is this why some people, some people who have worked so hard and overcome so much, and conquered so much time, fall off the wagon? Even the ugliest monsters can be seductive. This feeling is so familiar. I know that it's bad and that I need to stop it, that I am capable of stopping it, but the familiarity is nearly comforting. Beckoning me back to the dark side. It's been almost 8 months since I felt this way, felt it crawling under my skin up my back and over my arms, but it could have been yesterday, it feels so familiar. When my tummy started that dull ache, I knew the little shivers would come next. Then Id start talking too fast, trying to ignore it and distract anyone around me. Then the creepy crawly feeling. The numbness in my arms. The sleepy spinning in the front of my head. And lastly, the slow burning heat waves under my skin when I finally accept that this is going to be a panic attack. Soon my fingers and toes will be freezing and tingly, because during a panic attack your blood supply rushes inwards to your vital organs. Did you know that? I have never figured out why I always want to lay on the bathroom floor, or at least some floor, when I feel like this. Maybe I've never really thought about it. It's proven that walking around and being proactive will help stunt an attack from hitting its peak, and yet curling up on the floor FEELS safer! After getting sick, my mom or dad or whoever had to endure that particular episode with me, would always urge me to at least get into bed, but moving seems terrifying. Why would anyone prefer a hard, cold, dirty (normal bathroom-dirty, not like gas station bathroom-dirty) floor over a cozy bed? I took a Gravol for the tummy ache, and then just like I remember, it wasn't even 10 minutes later before I gave up on it working, and went for the Ativan. Ohhhhh, Ativan. I haven't had to refill that prescription since surgery! Because I haven't had a panic attack since surgery! And what did I do tonight that I haven't done since surgery, that could be the culprit? I drank a caffeinated energy drink. And I ate macaroni salad that had pineapple in it. I was planning on sipping champagne at my Grama's Birthday party tomorrow...maybe this is a cosmic warning sign. I don't NEED to drink. I want to do it, to prove that I can do it now without panicking, that I have that firm a grasp on my anxiety, and that my tummy is better and won't be as sensitive to alcohol...but I can still dance just as well sober. I can still tell off creepy old men who frequent downtown Guelph on a Friday night to back the fuck off. And if I can dance and stand up for my personal space while sober, do I need to bother testing my theory? Would discovering that I can get tipsy without having a panic attack, be worth the potential level 10 panic attack? And why do earwigs continue to attempt to invade my home when none of their friends seem to be making it back alive? Is whatever they're here for really worth the risk of being drowned in my toilet? I remember always wondering many things while panicking, taking advantage of my rushing brain. And I remember how pointless new paragraphs always seem while panicking. Most importantly, I remember how good it feels to crawl into bed next to a warm body an hour after the initial sign of an attack, and how well a panic-ravaged body sleeps after running another inner marathon.

Tick Tock

Sitting at my desk, listening to Adele, feeling sentimental.  

Thinking of my baby sister sitting at her little desk at midnight (which would be 6 hours ago), listening to sappy songs, and blogging too.  Miles away.  And lifetimes away.  

Where was I the summer of 22 years old?  Well, I was sick.  There's always that!  It was my first summer with a brand new boyfriend, which isn't Italy, but an adventure in itself.  lol.  

Before going out last night to laugh and dance and sweat far too hard, an old/new-again friend and I reminisced.  I hated many aspects of high school, but I think that reminiscing about it will likely remain a favorite use of time.  We realized that our little group of oldest friends, have changed the most out of everyone we knew in high school.  For the better, of course!  You look at pictures from 8 years ago, and while we all loved and accepted each other, lol,  you'd never have thought we'd grow into such knockouts.  Really though.  If you saw what we looked like back then, you'd agree that it's perfectly ok to brag about our current reflections.  

Sitting with this particular friend moved to further prove the truth behind the statement, 'Timing is Everything."

She and I were good friends.  Best friends.  Like jump on the bed to Britney Spears, makeovers, slutty games of Truth or Dare, stay up all night giggling over a boy kind of best friends.  It helped that we lived so close, and could run back and forth between houses in the middle of the night.  It started in elementary school, when we were in a very decent pop band together (for realz), and ended soon after graduating high school.  

When I graduated, I wanted out.  I started dating a new guy from another city, and was so thankful for the new circle of friends that he came with.  All of us high school girlfriend and best friends shared more then a million happy, hilarious memories.  We ALWAYS had fun together.  The very most fun.  We hid in closets and ate donuts to have fun..and eventually progressed to getting wasted in stranger's houses to have fun.  It nearly blows my mind how much fun we all had.  But we were never very honest.  And for a long while after moving on, I thought that that meant we were never REAL friends.

We all had problems.  We had problems with our parents, divorcing and overbearing parents, which we could have actually bonded over had we ever admitted it to each other.  We had personal issues, issues with grades, boyfriends etc. and we never helped each other through those, because we never knew how bad we were all suffering.  No one knew how serious my depression was back then.  Was I the only one who saw a therapist in high school?  I never told any of them when I was sexually assaulted, either.  I literally went to school the next day, and never even thought to mention it.  We didn't do that, then.  

So she and I stopped talking, not too long after our 12+ year in school.  And I figured, 'whatever,' everyone moves on, and drifts, and that's life.  Then all this time later, after years of being too sick for a real job, I ended up working every day at the same school she's teaching at!  And there it begins!  We find ourselves in a similar position in our lives, starting careers, in serious and lovely romantic relationships.  We've only hung out a few times since re-introducing ourselves, and yet I know more about who she really is, then I did in the 10 years we were best friends.  It's a little amazing.

I found myself in a spot, where I needed a friend, like the kind of friend she is, right now.  And there she was.  Maybe in the great scheme of life, all I needed in high school was a friend to get drunk and laugh with, and now I need another adult friend to further better the adult life I'm finally falling into.  It works out, timing.

I knew my boyfriend in high school.  Not well, considering he was one of the cool kids, and I certainly was not!  But we shared a class, every day for a semester.  In fact, we shared a school bus seat, on the way home from a class field trip to the Toronto Zoo!  And just as I never imagined being as smokin hot as I am now compared to my high school self, lol, I never thought to think that one day I could be in love with, and living with this 'hot' guy that I used to doodle about in Media class.  

I had only one high school boyfriend who was indeed crucial to that chapter of my life.  He was what I needed at that point.  Then I met this new guy, older and more mature, who had nothing to do with high school, thank god.  This new, more mature guy dumped me after a few years.  That weekend my girlfriends (form my new circle of friends) took me out and at the end of the night, I ran right into this guy I recognized from Media class.  I was smitten.  But obviously I agreed to give my ex another chance, lol.  A few months later, this new, more mature guy dumped me again (this time via text, most mature!), and again my girlfriends and I went downtown.  And again, I ran into this boy from Media class.  Something THAT ironic, can only be Destiny.  

He is the greatest proof that timing is everything.  

I was devastated, as any girl is, when my ex broke up with me, not knowing that Life was setting me up for exactly what I needed.  So much so, it scares me.  It's eerie, the timing of things.  

I started to get very sick, just as we began dating.  Which seems like AWFUL timing.  But the sicker I became, the more obvious it became that everything had happened for a reason.  I know without a doubt, that I never would have survived these last few years of my life, if my ex was the one 'by my side' instead of Prince Charming.  The last time I was EVER really drunk, my ex left me in his basement bathroom to puke and pass out alone, while he watched hockey highlights...?!  Can you imagine how well that dynamic would have worked once I started throwing up, and shitting, and shaking on bathroom floors daily?  I would likely be literally dead right now.  

Life saw what was headed my way, and made it possible for me to endure it with the most perfect person.  

I have one other new friend worth mentioning in this context.  An actual new friend, who I never knew before.  We met through a mutual friend, whom neither of us are really friends with anymore.  And I've been asked more then once, why I've become such good friends with someone so much younger then me.  She's JUST 20, though she makes me look like the 20 year old.  And while I've always remained sure that age is just a number, Life realized that I NEEDED a 20 year old in my life right now!  I am healthy enough to go out and party, and have fun, and stay out late, multiple nights in a row, just as all my good friends are getting married and having babies.  Bad timing.  I was sick and cancelling plans, while they were all in the midst of their drinking and going out stage.  I really am, now, years behind them, wanting to go out and dance and dress up, while their paying mortgages and making pretty little families.  And that's where my 20 year old friend fits in!  I get to be silly, and care-free, and slightly irresponsible with her.  She is young, but she's perfect for me.

Just as Prince Charming is perfect for me, just as my old/new friend is perfect for me again.  'Timing is Everything', it does in fact work out when it needs to.

Baby Steps Still Go Big Places

'If someone told me a year ago that I'd be spending all day out of town by myself, eating tons, AND going out to dance all night without any tears or drugs..I'd have told them they were dreaming.'

Recovery is never about leaps and bounds and over-night glories. Whether its an addiction, a disease, a mental illness, losing a job or a friend, or a shitty breakup, it takes a heck of a lot of time to move on. And it takes even longer to move upwards.

Come this Friday, I will have worked regularly, Monday - Friday, for a month! And I am well aware that that doesn't sound so impressive (especially considering the fact that I don't think my dads called in sick once over the last 10 years), but it's been well over 2 years since I've worked on a daily basis. Two years ago I was too sick to work at all. And while this job is only part-time, it's been a pretty brilliant start.

I learned that you can't rush into anything. You can't push your luck. It would never be recommended that a recovering alcoholic get a job at a distillery after just one AA meeting. Jumping into a huge commitment, with the risk of burning myself out again, would be taking these good-feeling days for granted. Great-feeling days.

It's so easy to compare ourselves to others. Preteens are stuck feeling too short, and too fat, and too flat compared to celebrities their age. There are days when I feel too unaccomplished compared to my baby sister who's taking on Italy all by herself for the summer (see http://mintcovered.blogspot.ca/), or my friends who are all getting married and having babies. But those are counter-productive thoughts. They didn't start where I've had to start over. It doesn't take long to remember what it felt like to spend all my time on the cold bathroom floor, just praying for a break. From there, I've come further then anyone has. I've beaten odds, and won more battles then anyone has. 

My boyfriend and I have moved in together, too! We didn't put a down payment on our dream home..or any home, lol. We have moved into the basement apartment in my dad's house. This Princess isn't ready to leave the Kingdom just yet. And that's ok! It's good practice, paying rent together, doing each others laundry, sharing space. It doesn't matter how big a step is (I have teeny feet anyways), so long as you're stepping in the right direction. It's not our dream house, but I get to spend every sleep with Prince Charming, which is pretty dreamy.

And come September, I will be working full-time, a regular, real job. Imagine that! I'm counting down the number of baby steps it'll take for me to reach the dreams I had before I ever got sick. Dreams I thought were pointless after all that bathroom floor time. Dreaming dreams again? That's even bigger then a baby step.

Happy Half Birthday

...to my Endo-free abdomen!

Six months! That's half of an entire year! How insane is that? I mean really.

My little Bri Bear asked me tonight, it I could do what my sister is doing. She's just landed in Italy for a summer of English tutoring and growing as a woman, and she went all by herself! I answered, 'Heck no! But I'm like 10% closer to yes, then I was 6 months ago?' And I am. I am closer to EVERYTHING, then I was 6 months ago.

I am closer to a career, I am closer to my friends and family, I'm closer to starting a whole new life with the boy that I love! In the last 6 months I've stared a new (wonderful) job, I have left my house to hang out and go out and party and be productive more then I have over the last 5 years! And my boyfriend and I have moved in together!

(We've actually just moved into my dad's basement apartment. Lol which doesn't sound too impressive and grown up, I understand. But there was a time when moving 2 feet from my toilet seemed impossible, and now I've moved 2 whole flights of stairs away!)

It's not flying to, and living in a foreign language-speaking foreign country alone with none of the comforts I've depended on for the last few years...but this 6 month anniversary is still something to celebrate. Especially considering the fact that the Anxiety Monster is nowhere near this party!

I'm not naive enough to really let my guard down, but I still have yet to suffer a full-blown attack since surgery. I still have yet to ask for an Ativan refill! Suck on THAT, Mr. Monster.

I shal be celebrating with a half-price Starbucks Frapaccino, without the nagging worry over whether or not all that caffeine and sugar will send me screaming to the bathroom :)