Friday, August 23, 2019

Take Back Your Life

In 2013 just before I moved out to California, I was terribly, terribly depressed. I'd been on medication before, but with poor medical supervision and careless doctors, my dosage was pushed up and up until I couldn't feel anything anymore except for mildly content. Due to my lack of medical coverage at the time and with no money to go to the doctors to get refills, I was forced to wean too quickly off of the meds. Getting off of that medication almost killed me and I ended up in the hospital.

Fast forward to after I'd moved to California, and changing my life so drastically shoved the depression right out of me. It wasn't until later, with the help of a therapist, that I found out that anxiety and depression don't like each other much, and when one is strong the other will go dormant. I'd never had horrible anxiety before, just the mild panic whenever I did something I disliked (like making phone calls), and when my depression was gone and the anxiety began to well up in me, it became overwhelming. I'd dealt with depression for almost a decade at that point, it was an old foe and I knew how to wrestle it, but anxiety was a whole new beast. 

From my past blog posts, we know that I've got an autoimmune disease, and for a lot of people when they're not controlled well they can become chronically ill, and it creates a cycle of mental despair and physical deficiencies that develop slowly, over time, until one day a person looks up and realizes that they've been living a shadow of a life behind their illnesses. This happened to me. Despite my attempts to land a good therapist several times over, and my fear of going back on medication when it turned out so very badly last time, combined overall with my unstable medical insurance that would switch from year to year, forcing me to switch providers and therapists, I felt stuck.

Almost a year ago last October, my illnesses reached an overall peak. I was having migraines more frequently than I'd ever had them, my anxiety was almost crippling and I turned down opportunity after opportunity due to my fears. Something that you wont often find in your research to find help for autoimmune diseases is that anxiety and illness go hand in hand, one scratches the others back, and anxiety will make you more and more ill. Illness will give you more and more anxiety. At some point, you have too find the will to put your foot down. 

Well, it took a while, but I finally did. 

Soon after we moved to Michigan I researched for days before I settled on a therapist that I wanted to reach out to (check out psychologytoday.com to find yourself a therapist that will fit your needs), and once I finally did she read me like an open book and broke it down for me.

"Brook, we need to get your anxiety under control. Have you thought about going on any type of medication?"

I had thought about it, and I said so at the time, but my anxiety extended to doctors as well. Would I find a doctor who would listen to me about my illnesses and take me seriously? Would they respect my wishes about what I will and won't allow during an exam? Will they treat me as though I know what I'm talking about, or dismiss all of the research I've ever done because it's been the only thing I've been able to rely on for the past 6 years? 

Despite my fears, my therapist helped me to do the research and I booked an appointment with a doctor that we felt would suit my needs and would give me the best shot at a positive medical experience, but my doctor wouldn't be back from maternity leave until late August. 

Then I ran out of my migraine medication. 

Desperate, I called the facility and booked an emergency appointment for the morning that I was to leave for a trip. For me, fears can outweigh other fears. The fear of going without my medication outweighed my fear of a prescription refill appointment, and I went willingly, alone (normally I bring my husband-- doctors are significantly more willing to listen to an old white man). During the appointment, my wishes were respected, the physician was kind, and she immediately noticed my severe anxiety. She, like my therapist, asked if I had interest in going on medication. I said I did, and that I was waiting until my appointment in August to ask for medication. She asked why I was waiting, and I hesitated. Was she asking me if I'd like her to write a prescription for me?

It turns out, she was. She was entirely willing to refill my migraine medication, but the frequency of my migraines concerned, her and she was hoping to put me on something that would prevent migraines. There is a well known antidepressant/antianxiety that also prevents migraines that we could try. And so to my surprise, I left with a new medication and a little bit of hope. 

The first week on the medication was awful. It causes nausea, and I was its victim those first few days. But once I got into the swing of things, the medication began to work its magic.

I started my medication on July 23, and in that short time that I've been taking it, my anxiety has decreased tenfold. But that's not all. My therapist was right, my anxiety was making me so, so much more sick than I actually was. I suddenly have more energy than I know what to do with. I'm completing tasks way before their deadlines, with ease and even enthusiasm. I need fewer naps. I wake up rested. There aren't entire days spent on the couch recovering from the minimal tasks from the day before. 

In the past few weeks I've gone to a concert at DTE, something that would have definitely given me a panic attack just a few weeks ago, and I've gone to the flea market in Shipshewana, IN, a 6 hour round trip drive with miles of walking in extreme heat. The old Brook would have needed at least three days to recover from that, and wouldn't have lasted nearly as long as she did, nor would she have been the one with the confidence to drive. 

I'm amazed at the changes, and so are my closest friends and family. I'm happier, healthier, and I'm living a normal life these days. For me, it's a miracle. I'm finally a functioning human being and my illnesses aren't controlling my life-- now I get to do that. 

Wednesday, January 23, 2019

How I Easily Formed Life Changing Habits in One Year: The Chart Challenge

As I sit here, there is a stack of 12 papers in my desk in my office. I cherish this stack of papers like no other. It's just an ordinary stack of papers, they're not magic. They're not valuable. I printed them at home and wrote on them myself, in my messy scrawl that everyone insists they can't read. They wouldn't mean much for anyone who stumbled upon them, but for me they changed my life.

Flashback to 2017, I was continually frustrated with myself. I'm going to really open up here and let y'all in on a dirty little secret-- I am the actual worst at brushing my teeth. I can't even describe to you how much I hate it. It overwhelms my senses in a way I can't describe. I hate it nearly as much as I hate putting away laundry, and my husband can attest to the temper tantrums I have had when he's brought me a basket of clean laundry and dumped it into my already full basket of clean laundry that I'd avoided putting away for three weeks in a row (that would be four weeks of laundry, as we always do it on Fridays or Saturdays).

As an adult, I found even less drive to brush my teeth because of my lack of in-person communication. When I was in high school and college I had people to see, and people who would make fun of me if even a single hair was out of place (or for any number of other reasons-- the girls in my school were cruel). But after I graduated and dropped out of college, suddenly there was no one to force me into the habit, and I slowly just... Quit. Unless I could tell they needed brushing (usually every other day or so), I just wouldn't do it. I couldn't make myself sit through the torture of it-- the spicy mint toothpaste, the bristles touching my gums, the foamy spit it makes, the coldness that is left behind by the mint, the time it takes. It's all just too much.

I was also struggling with a number of other things-- for example: motivation and drinking enough water. One of my major concerns was also short term memory retention. I would often sit with my husband at the end of the day and review the day's events so that I could try to hold on to them, otherwise they would just slip away. Sure, I could remember the events weeks later, but I couldn't tell you about them the day after. The last straw was really when I sat down one evening with my husband and asked him if I'd gone to the doctor yesterday or the day before. The answer? That same day. I'd gone to the doctor that morning and couldn't even remember it 11 hours later.

Enter my idea: A mental health chart. A way to keep myself accountable every single day, to try to overall better my health. At first it worked, but I fell off the wagon and gave up after a couple of months. When 2018 rolled around and I was in the midst of a deep depression, I decided enough was enough, and I pulled out the chart again. I was going to do it for a full year, come hell or high water.

As most things go, my chart started as sort of a rough draft-- a chart of things I thought would be important. Over the months, my chart evolved, and I ended up with something that looks like this:



The chart is double sided and fits on a regular sheet of paper (with extended margins), and the accountability it holds me to is incredible. For the past year (and then some, I don't plan on stopping), this chart has been my constant companion. If I'm away from home for the night, the chart comes with me. It stays on a clip board on my night stand while it lives at home, and it goes into a folder when I'm traveling. I've even got a little piece of fabric tied to my phone charger, so when I go to plug my phone in for the night I touch or see the fabric and remember that I need to fill out my chart. Every night before bed (and sometimes in the morning, if I fall asleep too quickly, but it doesn't work as well when I'm lazy and do it that way), I fill it out and hold myself accountable for taking care of my body and my mind. I make mental notes during the day of things I want to chart, things I don't want to forget. On the days where I am too lazy to turn on the light and fill out the chart once I've already gotten into bed, I open a note on my phone and fill out the chart by memory (which I've come to find incredibly easy-- I mean, I've done this for 365 days, I know the order of the chart and what does in each box).

It turns out I'm a slut for check marks and a full chart.

Anyway, here are the things that this chart has done for me (and I guess that I've done for myself, since I was my only motivator, although I have a hard time crediting and complimenting myself):


  • I now brush my teeth AND wash my face every single day, twice a day. My skin quality has improved dramatically and so has the sensitivity of my teeth. After a while, I even added a mouthwash to my nightly routine to build up my enamel-- something that was absolutely unheard of before, because of how overwhelming mint is on its own and how much mouthwash can burn.
  • I'm hydrated! I get enough water every single day now, which has cut down on my fatigue and my headaches drastically.
  • I have better memory retention, and can hold on to my days better because I'm forcing myself to review events at the end of every day, and I take mental note of them during the day as well.
  • I have better self awareness. If something is the worst part of my day, I take note of that and try not to repeat the experience, and I'm less afraid to call people out if their actions cause the worst part of my day. 
  • I'm more motivated. Initially the "Thing I Did" section was a "goal" section with a check mark box next to it, and then it turned into an "achievement" section, and I would fill that line out every night and check off whether I did it the next day. However, I found that to be too much pressure, so now I write what I've done in there-- whether it was planned or it just happened. I found that I don't have to be "successful" every day in order to feel like I did something. Sometimes that section just says "read", "made dinner", or "showered", because this chart isn't a cure-all. Depression is still a real thing for me, and sometimes the only noteworthy thing I've done in a day is changed my shirt or got the mail, and that's okay. But on regular days, I have the self-motivation to put something in that box, and I'm happy when I do.
  • I'm healthier overall. When I said I was more motivated, I meant it in every sense of the word. I have yet to add something like daily exercise to my routine (which may never be a reality, and that's okay with me), but I have seen the benefits the chart has provided for me and felt the motivation to feel even better on the inside. So in addition to being hydrated, I've also got my medication in order, my auto immune disease *mostly* under control, and I'm on supplements to keep me healthy. Sometimes, it takes feeling better to want to feel better, and we don't realize how miserable we really are until we get some relief from it. That slight relief that I began to feel from the benefits of the chart made me want to feel even better.
  • I feel like I finally know who I am. Twelve months of forcing myself to be self aware has resulted in some interesting changes. I realized after just a couple of months that my hair was making me miserable, and having long hair just didn't feel like "me." It took me a while, but I finally took the plunge and chopped all of my hair off. I'm not exaggerating when I say that it feels like someone removed a tumor from my life-- I feel lighter, more confident, and infinitely happier. Along with my hair I've finally found my sense of style (which I'd known for a few years and simply hadn't given in to because I thought it wasn't a "real" or "acceptable" style), and I carry myself differently. For once, I feel like a real person, not like an alien pretending to be a person. I guess I realized at some point that I have opinions, and they matter, and I had to stop giving in to other peoples' ideals if I wanted to be happy. I couldn't have done any of this without first making myself a priority, and that started with the chart.

I may have completed 12 months of charts, but I'm not done yet. I don't think I'll ever stop doing them, and this year I've given myself a goal to start checking off on the chart: read. I want to read every single day, even if it's just a single page of the book I'm working on, and so far I'm doing well. I know I'll miss a day at some point, because life gets in the way, but I'm ready to slowly tackle the other parts of my life that need improvement too. I'm sure the chart will continue to evolve and change (for example, I'd like to add in a migraines column and a triggers column), but that's okay because so am I.

If you feel like this chart is something that would be useful to you, I cannot encourage you enough to try it. I'm even happy to email copies of the chart document, and for those of you I know personally, if you'd like 12 copies of the chart printed and handed off to you, I'd be happy to do that too. All I know is that this simple, two minute daily task has changed my life, and I'm eager for it to do the same for others. 





Sunday, January 13, 2019

Ten Years

I keep seeing these ten year photo comparisons on Instagram and I thought "Hey, I could do one of those," but when it comes down to it, I don't think a ten year comparison is really all that fair to do when the first photo would be of someone who was still in high school and hadn't even gotten to experience the real world yet.

When I got to thinking about it some more, I knew that a photo comparison wouldn't really share much... But maybe a blog post would. Because while I've changed a lot since then physically, the place where I've seen the most change has been on the inside.

Flashback to January 2009 when I was just about to turn 17, and I was on the brink of something. I think like most people, I spend a lot of time trying to figure myself and improve on that, and that year was no exception. In the beginning of that school year, I'd been confronted with a truth about myself that I had never recognized before: I was horribly, terribly depressed, and it showed.

I began quasi-seeing someone I'd known since elementary school in the fall, and that all ended very swiftly one day when I had what was honestly a temper tantrum. My mother had said something about a dead relative that I didn't want her to say in front of me in the presence of company, and I lost it. The guy got in his car and left, and later texted me to explain that he couldn't be around that kind of negativity-- that I brought people down, and he didn't want to be a part of that. He needed people around to lift him up.

We never spoke again after that, but that was my wakeup call. I realized that day that what he was talking about was depression, and what I was feeling on the inside was festering and oozing out like a deep rooted splinter. I don't know how I couldn't see it before, that other people could see my suffering in the form of my moods, and it took me by surprise. I decided to finally enter therapy to work on myself. I didn't want to be a horrible person to be around.

On one hand, with that last conversation he split me open and left the insides on the ground, jack-o-lantern cadaver style, and though I was ready to tackle myself, I was at a very fragile, weak state in my life. I was trying to learn to love myself, and all I was actually learning was that that seemed impossible. I felt impossible to love.

Meanwhile, a connection was brewing with someone else, and I needed to feel loved. He made me feel like he could take all of the broken pieces of me and put them back together, like he could love me into loving myself. I thought it was all going to be so easy.

I don't remember there being a start date to our relationship, it just happened one day, and we were in the midst of it in the beginning of 2009. Over the next several months, he worked his tendrils into the cracks of my mind, the ones that I was trying to close, and found my weaknesses. He exploited them to feel strong, better about himself. It happened very slowly, but eventually I found myself in a place where I was being controlled in every aspect. I had been forced to delete every male I knew from my social media and my phone. I was not allowed to delete my text messages so he could check them at will. My wardrobe consisted only of yoga pants and T shirts, because they were the least offensive and other men wouldn't look at me if I didn't appear put together. I couldn't do my hair or my makeup anymore. I had to be constantly texting him, because if I wasn't he would accuse me of cheating. I fell deeper into depression, and eventually I stopped going to therapy.

We always got into an argument right as I was trying to go to bed, and each and every argument felt like the last one, but he had broken me so far down that I had convinced myself that there was no one left to love me if he walked away. So I spent hours every night on the phone with him, crying, begging him not to break up with me. My mother could hear me on the phone from her room, but didn't know the nature of the phone calls, only that I was keeping her awake. She had two young kids, and sleep was hard to come by. She'd scold me to go to bed, so then I had two things to worry about: making sure that he didn't end our relationship over some stupid "mistake" I'd made, and making sure that I stayed quiet enough that I wouldn't disturb anyone, lest I have my phone taken away and make him even more mad. I didn't get much sleep that year either.

The final straw came in the summer, when I was over at my best girl friend's house. Outwardly, he and I were very in love and cute with one another, drawing the awe of people we knew, who would often talk about us as "couple goals." Whenever we were alone, on the phone, he'd make a kissy noise to say goodbye. I'd have to do it back. It normally didn't bother me, but this time I wasn't alone. I was with my friend, who I knew would make fun of me if I did it. He heard me hesitate, and I set him off again.

I spent hours outside on the sidewalk in front of her house, sobbing on the phone, trying to get the okay from him to get back inside to my now annoyed friend, who at that point couldn't understand why she'd invited me over in the first place if I was just going to be outside on the phone all evening.

Eventually he got tired of fighting, and gave in. I was allowed to get off the phone. We weren't breaking up that day, but I knew eventually I'd have to stop spending time with my friend, too, because if she was going to make fun of the kissy noise, she didn't understand our relationship, per his logic.

Embarrassed at what had just happened, I went inside, tearful, and told my best friend a new truth, one I'd just realized: I was in an abusive relationship.

She spent the appropriate amount of time needed comforting me and consoling me, and then she gave an ultimatum. He'd finally slipped up and let someone see the monster he was, and she wouldn't let me go on like that. I had to either end things or she'd out me to the adults.

I broke up with him a few days later. Over those few days I gained my strength back, going against his wishes and doing things I wasn't allowed to do anymore. He'd been working a lot, and I'd gotten a reprieve from his focus. It gave me time to dwell on things and develop a resolve. I told him the truth during the breakup, that I thought he was emotionally abusive because he was insecure about himself, in an attempt to make him see the error of his ways so he wouldn't do that to anyone else, and left it at that. We never spoke again.

On days like this, I want to hug 17 year old me so badly. I want to tell her that it's going to be okay, and that it's going to make her stronger. I want her to know that after that, she'd learn to take no shit from men, that she wouldn't be a victim forever. That her next relationship would be one of the best, like the universe was taking pity on her for what she'd been through, giving her someone to ease her back into caring about someone else that way. That eventually, one day, she'd find the person who really would put the pieces back together.

But of course, she didn't know all of that. She just mustered up what was left of her broken courage and walked into the world without the person that she was convinced was the only person who could ever love her, and despite that did it anyway. On days like this, I want to thank her for not going further down that path, and letting it get worse than it already was.

I'll be 27 in under a month, and I don't have it all figured it out. I can't wait to tell my sisters that one day: that adults are frauds, that they don't know what they're doing. We're all just trying our best. But trying your best really does heed results, because I'm not that girl anymore. Not even close.

Friday, December 28, 2018

It's Been a Hell of a Year

Well, you guys, it really has. It's been a hell of a year, and it's almost over. It's been quite some time since I've updated, mostly because I felt like the biggest thing I needed to update on was the heaviest and hardest thing to talk about and that I couldn't talk about the stuff that happened after until I addressed it. However, with the year coming to a close, now it feels like it's time.

. . .

Back in December 2017, I was home for "Christmas" (aka, I visited in the beginning of the month because holiday flights are outrageously priced), and that trip started out pretty rough. If any of you know me well or pay attention to my posts on Instagram (and previously Facebook), you'd know that I cherish my great grandmother (Babcia) like no other. It's a really special thing to have someone that ties your family together in such a way, and I've always held on to that and made sure that I never took it for granted. Every person she ever met fell in love with her. If you were having a baby, or a wedding, or a birthday, even if she didn't know you directly, you probably have some of her crocheted items. She just loved to make things for people, because she simply loved people. It was hard not to love this woman, and I was no exception.

She'd been on hospice for about six months at that point, and it was clear that she was reaching the end of her life. But not being there every day to see her slow decline, for me the decline was exponential, and when I saw her in her very frail, assistance-required state, I was in complete shock. I had a little bit of a true mental breakdown that day, and I spent that trip cherishing the little moments with her and making sure that she knew that I loved her so, so damn much, because I didn't know if I would ever see her again, because anything can happen on any timeline.

From the moment I made the decision to move out of Michigan, I did so with the knowledge that I would be spending Babcia's last years apart from her. Thinking about it, I barely got any time with her as an adult, and there are dozens of questions I wish I could have asked her during that time. But still, I called as often as I could just to say hi, and I always booked extra days on my trips so that I could see her as much as possible. Like clockwork, I was back in Michigan every six months. I never wanted to have to say that I couldn't remember the last thing she said to me or how she looked just before she died. I left Michigan in December knowing that the end was soon, ready or not, and I had to go home anyway. That was the hardest plane ride I've ever taken, because every piece of me wanted to stay with her and soak up every moment.

When Patrick and I first began our relationship, I knew eventually I would move out to be with him, and he knew from the very beginning how important Babcia was to me. He swore to me that no matter what happened, he would get me to her in time for me to say goodbye, at any and all costs, no matter how long I had to stay away from him. When I got the call in early January, he kept his promise, and I flew out the next morning to be with her and with my family.

I got about one and a half lucid days with her, and I spent the rest of the time by her side with my family, until she took her last breath four days later.

If I'm honest, I still haven't fully grieved her loss. It's so easy to forget that it never happened, because she wasn't a part of my daily life for the past 4-5 years. It's hard in the moments when my hand brushes one of the afghans she made for me, or when I see the little antique mental calendar she gave me, which I keep set meticulously to her birthdate. It would be especially hard when I call my grandmother to chat, and I'd keep waiting for her to ask if I want to talk to Babcia. She'd never ask, and eventually I'd realize why.

When I was little, that woman swore to me that she would live to see my wedding day. I ended up eloping, which didn't bother her one bit as long as it made me happy, and she held on well past her promise; she held on until I could kiss her goodbye and be with her when she left, and that's truly the greatest gift she ever could have given me. She made sure that I wouldn't have any regrets.

I stayed to take care of whatever needed to be taken care of: babysitting, errands, funeral arrangements, phone calls, school pickups... whatever my family needed, because I knew that I really wouldn't feel like I could grieve until I got home and felt comfortable in my own space, and therefore I could handle things with fewer emotional breakdowns. I held hands, I picked poems, I put together photo boards, I set up spreads, I gave gifts, I stitched up last minute clothing mishaps... and then I watched the most important woman in my life be set into the ground. I sorted, organized, and cleaned her room/belongings, gave everyone all my love, and then I went home to let things sink in. It realyl hit me one day when I was in Joann Fabrics, and on an end cap I saw the exact yarn she'd been working with in December just before I left, and I had a breakdown in the store. In my darkest moments, when I miss her the most, I watch the video that my cousin sent me a few months before Babcia passed. In the video, she tells me she misses me and that she's proud of me and that she loves me and Patrick. It's my most prized possession, along with the necklace that Babcia was wearing just an hour before she died. It's been 347 days, and I haven't taken it off since my grandmother handed it to me, still warm from Babcia's skin.






My memorial tattoo for Babcia 

Four generations of strong, beautiful women. 
(Kelly Karnesky Photography)



When I got home, I crocheted. It was therapeutic for me, being that Babcia taught me to crochet herself. I vowed to try to crochet one afghan for every month until 2019 (12 afghans). I made it to five before life became a whirlwind and we didn't stop doing until... well... we still haven't stopped doing stuff this year.

In April and May, I was sick. Two separate times, I had colds (or honestly probably the flu) so bad that I was convinced I'd end up in the hospital. I lost a lot of time during those months, and they mostly feel like they never happened.

In June, we geared up for the biggest trip Patrick and I have ever taken (either together or separately), and we finally finally got ourselves to Australia (and it happened to fall just before his birthday- the big 50- so we definitely counted this enormous trip as part of his birthday gift).

I have a best friend named Ellen. Ellen and I met about four years ago on a writing website, and became fast friends (she's actually the one who told me I was HSP, which changed who I am as a person and how I view/take care of myself in such a huge way that I wouldn't be the same person I am today if I'd never found out/met her). We'd type chatted and video chatted for years and we swore that we'd meet someday. That day finally came.

We landed in Melbourne and spent the most incredible seven days traveling around the city with my best friend. We met her fiance and their dog, I met their cat and saw their brand new house that I watched her stress over for literally almost a year. We tried Aussie snacks. Planes, trains, automobiles, trams, trolleys... We definitely got around the city, and I'm telling you all that if there had been any conceivable way that we could have stayed, we would have. (Nando's, I miss you)

Our trip to Australia, combined with meeting such a crucial part of my life in the flesh for the first time, was a truly life changing experience, and it was worth every single thing that we had to go through to get there (and back).

I know there's a strange stigma around internet friends, and I'm here to tell you to cut that shit out, because I have met some of the most important people in my life on the internet, some of whom I've still never met and still cherish. I met my husband on a blogging website. I met my best friend on a writing website. I met another one of my close friends on a pre-Instagram photo website. I met another one on a suicide chat room, in my darkest moments, and he saved my life (and then kept saving it over and over again while I got through what I was going through). 

Internet friends can be as unimportant or as crucial as you allow them to be to you, and they're truly no different than the way I'd communicate with my family back home, living so far away. Most of my relationships have at one point been text/phone/app based, and that's just the way that I connect with people best.



Puggle and Gruggle (The Lost Forests)



Melbourne Zoo

Puffs (The Play)



When we got home, we celebrated Patrick's 50th birthday properly, complete with cards, gifts, decorations, and a fancy dinner of his choosing!

We didn't have much time to recover from our trip from Australia before I had to head off to Michigan again. I do generally space my trips out to be approximately every six months, and this trip just happened to fall in that six month mark. I hadn't had any firm plans to keep going back every six months after Babcia passed, but this was a special occasion because my cousin was getting married. Patrick hadn't been back since December of 2015, so it had been a long time since my family had seen him, and I figured that a wedding would be a good way to introduce him to all of the family members that we had missed the first time around. This was also one of the last Kupski weddings that there will be until my sisters get married, and I wanted to party with my nutty family as an adult. I wasn't going to upload any photos in this post, but I feel like I have to now because EVERYONE deserves to see my grandmother, Bev, dancing with three beer bottles in her hands, God bless her

So I flew back about a week earlier than Patrick to get in some quality friend time (and just in time too; my best guy friend was in a deadly car crash just two days before I flew in and he somehow made it out alive, so I definitely wanted to soak up as much time with him as I could just to reassure myself that he was still there) and a little extra family time, and then Patrick flew in a couple of days before the wedding. Of course, it was sweltering hot in the days before he got there and then as soon as he arrived, it poured rain most of the time (but we both live for that, so no ruined trips here). We also got to see my mom's new house while we were there, which she closed on just a few days after I flew in. We are beyond thrilled for her; she's definitely worked her ass off for this, and to be able to do it entirely on her own is awesome.



Me and these girls <3

A day with Zach and some big puppers

Closing day for Dina!

RIP Copper



Bev tearing up the dance floor!




When we got back home, we settled into our regular routine (with the added bonus that I finally established a reasonable sleep schedule for myself after literal years of struggling).

We also, after a stressful fiasco where the wrong car ended up in our hands and nothing could be done about it until we got back from Michigan, got a new car. Our lease was up (2015 Mazda CX5) and we are still absolutely thrilled with our 2018 Nissan Rogue SL AWD.

. . .

My last bit of news is something that we've been working towards for as long as Patrick and I have been together. I know most people work towards this goal too, but for us it was a little bit different- Patrick is 50 now and feels like at his age, he should be more settled, and both of us are extremely noise sensitive, so apartment just wasn't working out for us (it's truly detrimental to our health). We have been desperate to get into a house for years, but it wasn't even remotely possible... until recently... We pulled every string we had, and we had finally finally finally gotten to a good place and we were ready to begin the home buying process.

Our only question was where. We LOVE Oregon, but the housing prices doubled in just the three years that we were living there, and staying in the PDX area was impossible for our budget. We were never going to go back to California. We considered places like Bend, Oregon and Everett, Washington and even Boise, Idaho, until one night Patrick and I were driving to dinner and it hit him: Why weren't we looking at Michigan? I'll admit, I was skeptical at first, but I warmed up to the idea eventually.

Once the ball started rolling, it started rolling fast, and I'm happy to report that I'm typing this up from my couch in our new living room. And I do mean OUR living room. At the end of September I flew back to Michigan to house hunt, found the one we wanted within about a week, and the negotiations started. Initially I was supposed to fly back home after that, but after we learned that we could have me sign all of the papers on my own without Patrick (it was supposed to be just him signing), I ended up staying for about a month and a half. I had high blood pressure and a pretty serious eye twitch by the end of the process (honestly it started in the beginning of the process), and I finally took the plunge and cut off all of my hair out of stress/frustration but... we did it. Sight unseen (for Patrick, at least), we bought a house and closed on November 2nd. A few days later I flew home, packed up the rest of the apartment while Patrick was out of town, then when he got back we coordinated with the movers and had our stuff shipped to Michigan. The next morning we packed up the car, and drove across the country with two cats and a 20 gallon tote bin full of fish (not something I'd be eager to ever do again, honestly).

Feeling more like myself than I ever have, post-chop


We arrived in Michigan on November 15th, and we've been home ever since.

Life has changed quite a bit for us already. We've been busy with little home projects, painting and hanging and decorating and replacing, in between Patrick traveling for almost all of December, and me doing odds and ends jobs for people I know for a little extra cash (and really, more to help out the people I love). Plus I'm finally able to see my family more often than once every six months. I've seen them more in the last month or so than I have in the last 5+ years, and I get to go to sleep at night knowing that I get to watch my sisters grow up and be with my family as they get older.

I think the only thing that could make this all more perfect is if Babcia had been here to see it.



Hedwig "Hattie" Kupski
Our Babcia
February 29, 1920 - January 15, 2018
With Me Always

Monday, November 5, 2018

Going Backwards and Forwards All At Once

Well, the cat's out of the bag. Now that everyone who needed to be told has been, it's time to announce... I'm moving back to Michigan.

That's right-- This blog will almost be obsolete soon. I started it to document my journey to a new life across the country in California, so that my family could follow my story and keep up with me as best as we could manage. Now that I'll be back in Michigan, the Michigan friends and family won't need updates like this (although I'll still keep it semi-updated for west coast friends and family).

But wait-- I know what you're probably thinking. Did it finally fail? Did my nutty idea to move across the country to move in and be with my x2 aged boyfriend (at the time--- he would become my husband in 2014) that I met on the internet and had only met three times in person before I did so, finally fail?

If that's what you were thinking, I'll have you know...

WRONG AGAIN!

Patrick and I have been dreaming of buying a home together for years. Obviously, many young couples share this dream. However, Patrick is older, and we have had it a little rough. We're both extremely noise sensitive, and we're not made for apartment living. We are moving from an apartment on the third floor (wow, those stairs) that is on the corner of two main roads, one of which is an ambulance route, in a city that is so grossly overpopulated that the ONLY things being built right now are more apartment buildings for the contractors moving into the area to work at Nike, SalesForce, Intel, or any other number of huge tech companies. Talk about noise... and gridlock (seriously, it has taken me nearly 40 minutes to go 4 miles).

We love Oregon. We truly do. We'd stay forever if it was feasible. However, our dreams of owning a home there were realistic... when we moved there. However, due to the number of people that have moved to the area for the above stated jobs, housing prices have jumped quite drastically. By the time we'd saved up enough for a down payment on something that was in our price range when we'd moved there, prices had doubled (and will continue to do so), and our down payment wasn't enough anymore. We'd been chasing a market that was/is growing too rapidly for anyone but the wealthy and those who can get their companies to pay for them to relocate to the area.

Patrick and I were toying with different areas to move to, such as Bend (OR), Everett (WA), and Boise (ID), but none of them were really what we wanted. Bend is up and coming, but was still a little out of our price range. Everett, while beautiful, was in Washington, which was something we didn't want. And Boise housing prices are doing the same thing as the PDX area because of the booming tech industry (which would be good for us if we could get in there now), but... it's Idaho. It'll be a while before the area flips from red to blue, which is a concern for us wherever we go. And all of these options were just as bad as the next because... We've lived in Oregon for over three years, and we can count on one hand the number of friends we've made. Starting over in a new area in a new city again just seemed so... lonely.

So one day, while driving to dinner and debating all of these things, it hit us: Michigan is established, the tech industry is also growing, and my family is there. My sisters are growing up without me and it breaks me every day, and my older family is only getting older. Suddenly, the decision became so easy, and from that day forward we put the pedal to the metal and did everything in our power to make this happen. Once again, everyone we talked to thought we were not only nuts, but not going to follow through. But we researched areas, we found a realtor, a financial officer, and a title office. We narrowed what we did and didn't want in a house. It felt like that exercise that football players do, jumping one foot into each tire... Except all of the tires were moving and on fire and I had to jump in the tires from Michigan and Patrick had to jump in the tires from Oregon via the phone.

But we did it. After spending over a month and a half in Michigan away from one another and a lot of high blood pressure/eye twitching, we signed the papers and as of the middle of November, we will have made our way across the country and landed back in Michigan in our new home, keys in hand. Over five years ago, I did a similar trip with a friend who supported me wholeheartedly. Now, I do it with my husband and our two cats, to our new home that we've been dreaming of since the day we moved in together.

It's been a long road, and I never once thought I'd ever be back here, making the decision to move across the country again, back to where I came from, and to a place Patrick has never lived before. But here we are, and I couldn't be more excited. I only wish that my Babcia could be here to see it.

To everyone who has supported us through the last 5+ years, thank you. Thanks for letting me/us crash with you. Thanks picking me up at the airport when I arrive and dropping me off at grossly early hours of the morning. Thanks for darting around the metro area to meet me wherever and whenever I had time. Thanks for always being so excited for me/us to visit. And thanks for always being enthusiastic about all of these things, regardless of how bendy you may have needed to be in order to make all of it work.


Wednesday, June 20, 2018

How Instagram is here violate your privacy and ruin your life

I'm not going to get into the full story, but here are some events that happened in the spam of about two hours:

1. I took a screenshot of someone's post in my regular Instagram feed, which I am to understand does NOT notify them that you have done

2. I posted this screenshot to my IG story, with a hashtag. My account is private, and to my understanding hashtags do not make your story visible to the public.

3. The person I screenshotted was not allowed to see my story- I had hidden it from them, and I have proof of this. However, they somehow saw my PRIVATE, HIDDEN story and MESSAGED me about the post.

4. When I looked back to see who had seen the story, they showed up on my "seen" list with another person- who they in no way, shape, or form could know- and their name was faded out in grey with the word Hidden next to their name, indicating that even though the story was hidden from them, they had still seen the post. This was the same for my ENTIRE STORY FOR THE ENTIRE DAY when I looked back on it.

5. When I went to report this to Instagram as a privacy violation, I went to take a screenshot of the fact that there was an option to "unhide story" on their page... And that option was not there. Instead, there was the option to "hide story." This person and I are not close, and I do not know them well enough to trust them with some of the private thoughts I share on my story, so I KNOW they were hidden before, which means...

6. Something about either the screenshot from my feed of their post (not their story, which notifies people when you take a screenshot of their story) or the hashtag made my account public enough for them to see my IG story, therefore causing a major privacy violation.


This person and I have had a conversation about the post, and as a person who doesn't like confrontation and didn't think it was a big deal to leave their information in my story because NONE of the people who can see my story would know/care about who they are or what they're saying/posting, I am feeling incredibly violated by this... whatever it is. Bug, glitch, setting, what have you. It was genuinely enough to make me go back to Snapchat so I could stop posting on Instagram Stories.

Saturday, April 28, 2018

When You Can't Have Closure

If there's one thing millennials have the desire to work on, it's their mental health. Not that we don't work on other things; if you are of the opinion that millennials are lazy and want everything handed to them on a silver platter, you should simply click away right now. Not because that is what this post will be about, but because I have absolutely no room for that opinion or negativity in my life.

Moving on, I have spent the better part of the last four years working on my own mental health. I've fought depression and anxiety for half of my life by now. I've been in therapy, I've been on medication, I've been in the hospital. But so far, the best healing that I've found have been the things I've done on my own (with some help along the way, mostly from people who are not mental health professionals).

I've been blessed with a spouse who understands that at this point in my life, since I have had to push it to the back burner for so long, my mental health is of the utmost importance. In order to be a functioning human being, I need to fix what's broken inside. However, delving deep into your own mind can be a scary and dangerous thing... But it can also be liberating.

I'm talking about repressed memories. It seems to me that the further you explore yourself, the better your own mind gets at exploring itself without your guidance, which can mean remembering a memory that you had locked away at 2am while everyone around you is sleeping, your spouse is leaving for another state the next morning, and you won't have anyone to talk this through with except for yourself.

Obviously, this happened to me. However, I was fortunate enough to develop a shockingly healthy habit a few weeks in advance to this revelation: video journaling. I'm the type of person whose thoughts move too fast for me to be able to write them down quickly enough. It's why I actually have a hard time writing, because my thoughts flow faster than my fingers can (despite the fact that I am a relatively fast typist), and why I have moved more toward voice-to-text while I am in the comfort of my own home. My limbs simply can't move like my mind does, so when I try to write down my thoughts in a traditional journal setting (I've kept many private blogs through the years, but can never seem to stick to them), I eventually get frustrated and stop. Which is why I began video journaling.

So when that repressed memory came charging back at 2am and I had no where to turn except for one single friend who was awake (bless the time difference... for once), they helped me by providing me with some tips they'd learned in therapy. And considering that this was a situation that I had no intention of bringing up with the person who featured in the memory (as the tips I received more or less leaned toward), I had to work through this on my own. Which is when I turned to video journaling.

And here, my friends, is where I tell you how I worked through four different scenarios on my own by giving myself the closure I needed, one being a repressed memory and the others simply being situations with other people in my life that have had no answers or resolutions. Please keep in mind that I'm sharing something that worked for me in a dark place, and that by no means is this the advice of a medical professional. If it works for you, fantastic. But try it at your own risk.


Step 1:

Turn on the camera and start talking. If this is your first time, introduce yourself and the situation. Explain what just happened. It's helpful if you can see yourself on the screen. Our brains like to talk to other people, so even though you are truly talking to yourself, your brain will flow a little better if it thinks it is having a conversation. It also helps with this next part.

Step 2:

Play the other person and give yourself closure. Apologize on their behalf for what they did to you. Explain their actions. Rewrite the story. Did you know that our memories aren't true memories? When you remember something, you are remembering the last time you remembered it. This is why memories become warped over time. You can literally rewrite your own memories by imagining over them. So do that. Stop the traumatic experience before it starts and, using dialogue (or whatever works for you), have a calm and rational conversation with yourself and the other person/people, playing all sides. Write the script in the way you need it to go. Don't forget the original memory or what happened, but change what you need to change in order to move past it.


While I'm not willing to share the repressed memory because it is much too personal, I am happy to share the other three scenarios that I rewrote for myself using this method. They're all friendships that ended without a word and without any closure. We were fine one day and the next, they simply stopped responding to me, after having been an integral part of my life for such a long time. So what did I do? I had a conversation with them. And on their behalf, I explained to myself why they did this, that they enjoyed my friendship but had to move past it due to reasons unrelated to me, that they wished me well, and that they were sorry that things moved in the direction they did.

I realized that I had been holding on to a lot of sadness that was parading around as anger towards these people, but today I feel like I've made a huge leap toward healing, and I no longer feel that anger. Of course I feel sadness, but I can feel it for what it is now; a loss. I talked to myself for over 25 minutes. I cried a lot and I was exhausted afterwards. But today I feel at peace.

This is a method that I will be sticking to for a long time to come and I've already started a list of "people" I need to have "conversations" with (although I may need an external hard drive soon; videos do not take up a small amount of space!), and I am happy to have come across it just in time for me to start taking my own steps toward healing. I may not be able to undo the damage that has been done, but I can stop these scenarios from creating more pain and hurt so that I can work on being whole again.