In the last week of the year, I finally have the guts to call myself a writer, a label that I had been very hesitant to give to myself. Instead of writer, I called myself “writer-wannabe” or “scribbler.” I hold quotes like “don’t be a writer, be writing” to heart, using them not only as inspiration to keep writing but also as excuses to avoid clearly defining a part of me. I have not published anything. I have not gotten any stamp of approval from anyone. Even if I had published, would anyone be interested in what I have to say?
I am also a schizophrenic, for real, medically. I gave myself that label six years ago, the moment that I finally started to understand what I had been fighting against. The journey to the beginning of self awareness of this brain disease took about seven years, even though my close friends and family all knew what I had by name. Among my own circles, I have become comfortable in discussing what I have. Most of the time, I am the one who initiate that conversation. I want more people to know what it’s like to be a schizophrenic and that I am not at all that different from everyone. Outside of my circles, I oscillate between being brave and cautious. What is smarter? To share or not share? Do I want to have this label when I meet a stranger who does not know anything else about me?
Further more, I am a single-childless woman in my forties. A minority in my circle for sure. Fortunately, I loved the last forty-something years of my life. I have not met the right man even though I did meet many very good men in my life. I embrace my singleness everyday. I believe it is possible to have an open heart for a partner while being happily single. I did not decide that I did not want kids. I did considered having my own biological child by using a donor. That did not work out and was not meant to be. I now made peace with being childless. Being single and married are just two different path down life. This one is mine and it’s okay it’s different from most of my married friends. My time of having children has ran out, however, I am still dating. When I meet men, I sometimes wonder if I am able to let someone in after being single, independent, and peaceful for many years.
There are definitely risks to owning up to these labels, to be different. But that’s what life is all about. To be uniquely me. I want to write what I have to say, even if only my family and friends read them. I have to speak up for mental illness because I am lucky to be able to. I am hopeful in meeting new people. I have to take a stand in the light, away from the dark, and say, this is me, and it’s okay.
Paris was easy to travel around, a very walkable city. My top three Paris moments. Eating street crepe under the Eiffel tower. The taste still lingers in my mind. Eating dinner on a restaurant boat on the Seine looking at the Notre Dam. It was the same view since the medieval time. Visiting museum D’Orsay and Louvre and being impressed by artists old and new.
I opened my mouth during my annual health check-up and ended up with an order to get a colonoscopy. I received detailed instruction to prepare my colon. I went to CVS and was given a 4-liter intimidating large bottle with white powders inside. The day before the procedure, I was to clean out my inside through a liquid diet.
My master plan was to stay home and surf the web while drinking pink lemonade, sparkling water, chicken broth and the lemon flavored prep solution.
I love food. I eat any time I am hungry. Now it felt like food and I were on a relationship break. I missed food, but I couldn’t have any of it. I thought about sushi, burgers and fries, pasta, bread. I thought of numerous proper meals that I had in the past. I craved food.
I continued to drink the lemon flavored prep solution at the specified times and intervals. I can do this. A few more hours. Drink. Nap. Drink. Think about having a burger. Visit the bathroom. Drink. Knit. Drink. Fries. Drink. Visit the bathroom again. Nap some more. Drink. Drink. Finally, bottom up!
The procedure seemed easier than putting food out of my mind. After the procedure, I ordered a brunch burger and fries. I swallowed it, tasting every bite. The liquid diet brought a new feeling of tremendous gratitude of being able to eat. Just eat.
Food, I am glad we are together again after a very brief separation! Love you!
I talked about Machu Picchu for years and finally pulled the trigger. I took planes, buses, train, and walked to finally see this view. Humans continue to amaze me; Incas built this lost city on a mountain top, surrounded by endless mountain tops above the sacred valley. It was beautiful!
The walk up to the lookout house made me feel very out of shape. I was told that it was the altitude, as I watched a few others zooming by. Well, my lungs were out of shape then. Hopefully every time I think of this place, I want to exercise. Bonus point!
As I made this trip, rules were getting stricter about visiting Machu Picchu since the ancient site was getting damaged by some of the visitors. I am glad I got a chance to see Machu Picchu up close and personal.
For the nth time, I am starting a blog. I have stories that I want to tell anyone who would listen. My stories are about living a real and messy life. But I am just an everyday nobody. With all the words I put together, there might be no one reading them. Regardless, I feel brave and am restarting my writing journey again. Welcome to my blog!
Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened. -Ludwig Jacobowski