A Story About Love

17 years ago, at Christmas, I got a new bike and a baby brother. Today, Jacob turned 17. He celebrated by going out to lunch with us, and now, he's out shooting fireworks with his friends, the Fantastic Four.

My baby brother is the typical "last" child--last because he was the last, for eight years, and because he's the last of the train of siblings that has been locomotoring through the high school since 1999. He's the "rebel," the one who makes the worst grades, the only who's been arrested, the one who started drinking earliest. He's also my sweet boy, the one who can make me laugh no matter what, the one who I call sometimes just for the hell of it.

The other day, Jacob walked in the door, and I knew he had been outside smoking. "Do you smoke?" I said.

"Sometimes," he said. I scolded him.

"You know better than that."

But then, over the course of the next few days, I constantly checked myself, reminded myself that he's only seventeen, that he's at the age where he's supposed to do stupid things, reminding myself that I was doing stupid things [letting boys take topless pictures of me in public parks, dating Chris Fox, etc] when I was his age too. I had to remind myself of the things I've been taught thus far in school, one being that teenage rebellion and experimentation is normal.

I also remind myself that, while Jacob isn't the smartest, he has lots of other things going for him. He may have made a D in Algebra, but he also has shown an extreme amount of dedication in learning to teach himself the guitar. Yeah, maybe he's been arrested, but he always can be convinced to make the family a pitcher of tea. And he's never once complained when I come home and kick him out of his room. In fact, he always asks if I'm staying longer.

And when he came in the other day, he told me that he had given the rest of his cigarettes to a co-worker.

When I walk with him, I can't help remembering that my brother, my sweetest baby-faced brother, is often a giant among mortals. Literally, as he is the tallest of all of us, but often figuratively too.

Happy Birthday, my (almost) New Year's boy.

Holidays on Ice

[this blog, that is]

While I'm trying to unfreeze all my thoughts this weekend, I'll leave you with this:

A Quick Laugh

I know I'm late to the party, but I love The Office! This is my favorite scene, I think, of ever. Enjoy.

A Perfect Christmas

This Christmas was truly wonderful. It was the most low-key Christmas my family has had...ever. Seriously. Both sides of my family are centered in my hometown, so on most years, we end up rushing around from meal to meal. One year, I did breakfast at home, lunch at Grandmama's, supper with my mom's side of the family, and then went to Joey's house. But oh no--not this year.

The Family Rule is that we cannot go downstairs until 6 AM. When we were young, we were usually awake around 5, and we would huddle up in someone's room, literally counting down the minutes. This year, we flipped the ritual on its head: after Jessie went to bed, the rest of us holed up in Jim's room until 1, playing Rook and having fun.

At 5:55 AM, my sister burst into my room like Kramer, scaring the shit out of me as she woke up. We all crashed downstairs at 6 to see our Santa presents. As my dad made the traditional Christmas breakfast, we watched Jessie continually get owned on her new roller skates, making me believe that Santa had brought them for all of us, not just her.

After breakfast, we opened the presents from our parents, and most of us promptly went back to sleep. After our morning naps, we went to Grandmama's to have a soup lunch, then back home to play Balderdash, which I had gotten for Christmas.

In the evening, Joey and I went to his house to open presents with his parents, who are--as always--too good to me. Then, his parents had to take his Uncle Glenn to the airport, so Joey and I went to his bedroom, where I promptly fell asleep. For the rest of the evening, we just hung out, like we always do, which is what made it a perfect Christmas. Perfectly calm, perfectly bright, with a perfect ending--falling asleep beside the best gift I've ever gotten.

This Year's Addition to the Christmas Eve Tradition

Right Under "Status: Destroying NYC"

"Where is everybody else?"

"They fled the city."

"But why?"

"Because she'd laid her eggs in Madison Square Garden."

"But why?"

"Because she likes ice hockey."

"How do you know that?"

"It's on her fucking Facebook profile. Interests: Jesus, ice hockey, eating, sleeping."

Amazing. Just amazing.

"I think many people are afraid that if they take medication or even agree to see a therapist that they are in some way admitting failure or defeat. Or they have been told by their boyfriend or their mother or their best friend that they should buck up and get over it, and that asking for help is a sign of weakness. Well then, let me be weak. Let me be a failure. Because being over here on this side, where I see and think clearly, where I'm happy to greet my child in the morning, where I can logically maneuver my way over tiny obstacles that would have previously been the end of the world, over here being a failure is a hell of a lot more enjoyable than the constant misery of suffering alone..." [more]

"To the people out there who denigrate mental health awareness and treatment, I say this: You aren’t helping. You are making it worse. Stop being an arrogant know-it-all. You aren’t right. You are wrong. If someone tells you they need help, your opinion means less than that of professionals. Stop being ignorant. Stop being obstinate. Stop insisting that your loved one, partner, child or co-worker “get over it”. They won’t get over it until you let it go and encourage them to seek help. There are many different approaches and ways to treat mental diseases and conditions. The first step is letting go. You could probably use some time talking it out yourself..." [more]


I started reading Dooce in January of 2004. She had a new baby, and I really enjoyed the glimpses into those early days of having a newborn. I watched as Leta grew older, and as Heather grew sadder, more frustrated. I was watching her depression spiral out of control.

In May 2004, I experienced depression for the first time. I didn't give it that name; I didn't recognize it for what it was. In June 2004, I experienced hypomania for the first time. I didn't give it that name. I didn't recognize it for what it was.

Summer 2004--While sitting on the couch in my living room, watching the Olympics on TV, I read about Heather's treatment at a mental health facility. The facility into which she entered to stabilize her medication, the facility she says saved her life.

Heather's openness about her mental illness is one of the most positive forces we have going for us. Her willingness to talk about her depression is one of the driving forces that gives me willingness to talk about my bipolar disorder. She has helped to forge a path, one that makes it easier for me to follow. Her sense of humor about her disease, her honesty about it--the way she shows that mental illness is all at once heartbreaking, absurd, humorous, and sorrowful--these are the things that helped me find my words, my voice, my ability to show the same things in so many different ways.

Today, her husband Jon wrote a wonderful piece about loving someone with a mental illness. Again, his strength and honesty about their life together is much appreciated. It's something that I--and Joey--live with every day. Reading Jon's post, I was constantly reminded of how difficult my illness is on Joey, how he must constantly check to make sure I'm taking my medicine, how he must constantly make sure I'm doing ok, that I'm thriving. It makes me remember how much of a sacrifice he makes each and every day--and how I sometimes remember that he's making a sacrifice, because he takes it in stride, because he does it without complaining, because he does it so perfectly.

Heather and Jon are two of my most important heroes, because they continue to show me that it can be done. That life with mental illness, that marriage with mental illness, that success and raising a family and keeping it all together--it can be done. It may not always be graceful, and it can never be perfect, but it can be done.

R&R

[Breathe Out: Breathe In]

So, today--grades came in. And I passed both of my classes, and I later realized that I had actually passed both of the exams.

It feels like a miracle.

It is a miracle.

I never thought I would be this happy to simply pass a class. I don't care about my GPA. I don't care about my actual grades. I passed. I'm in medical school, still, with the same class. I've figured out how I best study, and I'm prepared to go back next semester, to study every day, to make some kind of great come-back.

I feel ready. And it feels great.

I Hope You Know That You Are Better Than They Say You Are

Yesterday, Jessie was sitting on the couch watching the current season of survivor while I was walking out the door. She looked at me, entirely earnestly, and told me about her current favorite to win.

"I want Amanda to win, because I like Amanda," she said. "I liked PG, but now she's gone. And she helped Amanda, but then Amanda voted her off!" she said with a tone of disbelief. "It's so frustrating."

As adorable as it was to watch her fume over the unfairness of the game, it made me a bit sad, too. It's amazing to see the world through the eyes of my sister, thirteen years younger than me. It's sad to see her slowly figuring out that the world doesn't work like your parents tell you it should. It doesn't work like you want it too.

People hurt the people who've helped them. They break promises; they lie and cheat to serve their own means. Insurance companies doesn't pay the money they promised to pay. People eschew the college educations their parents worked to hard to procure. People are given raises on looks rather than abilities. There are millions of examples of ways that the world is not fair.

But my sister, too, is a reminder that things don't have to be this way. A reminder that we come as blank slates, ready to love. A reminder that it may be hard to play fair, to tell the truth, to refuse to take the easy way out--but that these things are always worth the sacrifice made. That it's always right to refuse to compromise yourself, no matter what the cost. It's worth it. Believe me. Believe her.

The Convergence of the Three

So much work, still, to be done.

So little time.

If Only I Had One Wish

I have a friend who is falling hopelessly in love. All day long, he thinks about her. They talk ridiculously long hours on the phone and on the Instant Messenger. It's affecting his studying, disrupting his school work, turning his life upside down.

I love watching friends fall in love, or just realizing that they can't get enough of someone. I love watching them twitch around and drift off, knowing that these feelings they have are both the best and the worst on earth. People are often jealous of those who are just falling in love. They wish they still felt those feelings. They think it means that something is missing from their relationships. This fading of those first uncertain feelings is cited as a bad thing, some sort of loss of magic, some sort of dying light.

I have stated before that my mania gave me feelings that weren't my own. They weren't genuine. They weren't the things I should have been feeling. Mania turned every feeling on its head, magnified it times three. Meeting new friends felt like a revelation, and these feelings flooded my head, a huge lying force of excitement, terrible excitement. People may think they these feelings would be wonderful in perpetuity, but it's simply not the case.

The functional reason why these feelings fade is because they are ultimately unsatisfying. They fade because they need to make room for better feelings: the yearning for stability, the joy of knowing so much about a person, the impression in memory of what it feels like to be in one person's arms. The fading of those initial feelings is what allows us to settle down, to find deep satisfaction in love, and to have successful and beautiful long term relationships. It allows us to push ahead in our relationships, find truth in each other, and to find new things each and every day to love.

I remember those initial feelings I had for Joey, and I remember them so viscerally, so strongly, and I now know that I don't need to feel them again for my life to be perfect. I felt those things at one time because that time was the right one, but now I have been given things deeper and more wonderful. Taking my medicine and sorting out the deceit of mania have afforded me two brilliant revelations. Those initial feelings only seem like the best feeling in the world, but they are truly superseded by the warmth and true joy that later come in their place. And I don't need a million trillion lifetimes to fall in love over and over again with Joey, because I get to do it every day.

Dysfunction Rears Its Ugly Head

"Well, all I know about this page is that the vesicle gets carried up."

"How do you know that?"

"I have the word 'vesicle' and an arrow pointing up."

"My arrow is pointing down."

A Quick Cry

This is a mini-documentary about a family whose first child, Eliot, was born with Trisomy 18. 50% of the children conceived with this genetic disorder die in utero. 50% of those who survive birth die before 2 months. Eliot lived 99 days.

While I was watching this, I was astonished by how much life these parents crammed into 99 days. I love the footage of the birthday photos, the birthday parties, the walks in the stroller--all of the "normal" things that families do. It's well worth the six minute watch.

It's Beginning To Feel A Lot Like Something.

I can't decide how I feel about right now. It finally got chilly outside, after a few weeks of positively balmy weather. I'm really getting into the idea of hot chocolate and Christmas music, but it's taking time. I bought Christmas presents the other day, which went a long way into making me excited about Christmas. But it still feels a little off.

Perhaps it's because I have a huge obstacle between me and Christmas. Hundreds of pages of notes to know, a six hour final with two practicals and an interview test. Cumulative material that I have to review [and on some accounts, learn for the first time]. The path between now and then sometimes seems interminable.

So, this is the paradox of now, the conundrum I'm in. I'm wishing away my hours and days because I am so ready to be home. Today, while we were studying cell bio, I looked at Joe.

"I just want to be at home," I said.

"Well, you can't be," he said, "Right now, I need for you to be here, because if you're not, then I'm just talking to myself and I need some quality control."

I have to remember that, that I have to be here, engaged in now. It's very easy for me to get lost in the wistfulness of wanting it to be ten days from now, when I can sleep and watch TV and spend a lot of time with Joey, with the remnants of the Tenacious Ten, with my awesome siblings.

But I need myself to be here, because I'm not, then I'm cheating myself out of something. I need myself to be here, because--again--it's the only option I really have.

Laughing and Happy in the Sunshine

You say there is no perfect place,
I say I know this is true.
I'm just learning how to smile,
that's not easy to do.
[Everclear]

The guy who sits in front of me in lecture knows way too much about me. Today, we were talking as we were leaving the anatomy lab. He was wondering what had made us laugh all through lab. I told him he should be used to me laughing, as he sits in front of Joe and me, and we constantly have bouts of SLS [Spontaneous Losing of Shit].

This actually wasn't the first time today we'd had this conversation. You see, David--the guy who sits in front of me--is in my doctoring class. Today, we all had pizza for lunch, and David and I started talking about how much we laugh behind him. We were explaining it to the rest of the class. "Remember the day we had that fake patient, 'Lotta Topaine?' And Dr. Krupenko kind of stopped in the middle of it? That's because Joe and I were losing our shit."

David confirmed. "What did you guys lose it over today? Oh yeah, that's right. The guy there to fix the projector."

As we washed our hands, he looked at me. "You are funny," he said, "You keep me entertained."
David sits in front of us because of--and not despite--our laughter. It's funny, because laughter is not welcome in a lot of places, especially a lot of academic places. Sometimes laughter makes other people scowl or complain. Some people find laughter--my laughter, I'm sure--obnoxious and annoying.

But laughter is a gift.

I know this because I've felt, at times, like I would never laugh again. I've spent soporific days in bed trying to convince myself to get up and move. I've had crying jags that have lasted for hours, days that were painful because I had to get up and do something, anything. I've been clinically depressed. I've lost my laughter before.

I love people who make me laugh. When people ask me what attracted me to Joey, the first answer is always that he makes me laugh more than anyone else ever can. This has always been--and I suspect will always be--a true statement. My family never stops laughing, no matter how loudly, no matter where. We've laughed too loud in restaurants, we've laughed at inappropriate times at church. I've laughed at weddings, I've laughed through lectures and presentations. My roommates, my friends, my lab mates--these are the important people in my life, and I keep them close for many reasons, one of them being that they make me laugh.

So I'll keep being that girl, that laughing obnoxiously, can't help giggling, constantly loses her shit, silently cracking up with shoulders shaking and tears in her eyes girl. I'll keep laughing at things that strike me as hilarious, whether they are intentional, ironic, uncanny, immature, silly or misspoken. I'll take all your dirty looks, your glaring disapproval, your smiling appreciation, your tendency to quietly sit in front of me, soaking it up all.

I'll keep it up, for myself and for my sanity, hoping that I never lose the laughter again.

Time Warp

What can brighten up a December evening [a Monday, no less!]?

This during dinner:



As I was watching these, and some [sheepish look] other Sesame Street clips, the universality of Sesame Street's appeal was really amazing to me. Sesame Street has great songs, awesome guests, and lessons that even grownups can appreciate! Sometimes, I forget how awesome Sesame Street was, and how much of an impact it has had on my life and the lives of my siblings and friends.

Over Thanksgiving, my cousin Joey was telling me that he has been watching a lot of Monsterpiece Theatre on YouTube. Tonight, while I was looking for a video of a Joshua Bell performance, I stumbled upon a cache of Sesame Street videos. I searched and found many videos that I haven't seen in years, and I found some others I had never seen.

All in all, it's a pretty uplifting way to spend a couple of minutes [or an hour...].

My Secret Fucking Garden

December's header was made with brushes from 500ml Brushes. The tagline is from a conversation with Joey, when he was thinking that he may work at the Wal-Mart gardening section during the summer.

Joey: I can't wait until this summer, when I can play WOW and tend to plants.
Me: Where are you going to be tending to plants?
Joey: My secret fucking garden, what do you think?
Me: [lose my shit]

Anyway, you're stuck with it for a month, like it or not.

In addition to the information about my header, I am announcing a new posting schedule. Since NaBloPoMo was so "popular," [and by popular, I mean that Allison decided she couldn't sleep until she'd read my daily post], and because this is something I've wanted to implement for awhile [and NaBloPoMo was my effort to show myself it was possible], I am introducing my "blog schedule." Like some other sites I know, I plan on blogging on every weekday [M-F], and taking the weekend off, though I will definitely post on weekends if I think of something blog-worthy.

I'm not really expecting people to be particularly excited about this, or pretending this is a some huge event, but I just wanted to let people [Allison] know when they could expect a blog out of me. And also to make a commitment to myself to write non-academically on at least five days of the week, just so I won't go crazier than I already am.