Adventure Bowl Guide for New Readers * How it Began & How it Works

Dear BlogHer readers - I have marked below in PURPLE where the blog picks up from where you read it on BlogHer.

A friend recently sent me a link to BlogHer and asked me why I don't write some blog posts there.  I thought it was a sweet suggestion.  She felt that many, many women have moments of their life where they go through depression and maybe they might find my experience of overcoming it (though I am always aware it might come back), helpful.

I wasn't sure which one of my blog posts to post on BlogHer - maybe I thought if I started at the beginning, the cause of my depression - which started on the day I found out my cousin was murdered.  It was then compounded because within a matter of months I lost my job as a comedy writer, ended my relationship with my boyfriend and my Mom went through such a long illness (er, um... nervous breakdown after my cousin's trial) that readers might think my life was... hmmm, what's the expression...

"A colossal bummer."

So I started my first blog on BlogHer with an Adventure Bowl story that glossed over my depression and went right to the fun part (I'm such a good Catholic like that).  I talked of how I finally decided that laying in bed, day after day, was just not working for me.  I didn't mention that at the time, I was rounding the 2 year anniversary of my cousin's death and thought it would be a really crappy way to honor his memory by being stuck in bed, the covers pulled over me, a bag of Doritos for lunch... you know, just like yesterday, the day before that and all the days before that.

So I decided I would take action.  Everyone had been telling me to read, "Eat Pray Love" and I did.  It INFURIATED me.  How was THAT book supposed to help ME?  I could barely shower myself or make even a bowl of cereal for myself - how was I going to travel three countries for a year.  Um... and with what money???

But I did respect the author's desire to take action.  Okay, I could "take action," too.  I did want out of this depression and I wanted out BADLY.  I had already lost so much.  "Okay, take action... I'll do it."

BlogHer readers - The Post picks up here!

I would put, in a bowl, which I named the Adventure Bowl, all the fun things I wanted to do.  It started with 20 suggestions and I could ad as many as I wanted, whenever I wanted.  The only rule, pick one a week - and no backing down, no excuses.  At first, I started off small - get a pedicure.  Go for a picnic in the park, eat a cupcake like I'm a little kid again (pure joy!), go to a fancy hotel and walk the grounds.

Basically, I was going to "Eat Pray Love" within a ten mile radius of my house and for under ten dollars.

I started to find the old me on these little adventures.  Find my smile.  Feel... happy.  I started to get more daring in what I would ad to the bowl - go paddle boarding, save up and go for a massage, test drive a Porsche, crash a fancy hotel pool.

It was these more daring adventures that boosted my confidence and helped me conquer fears.  When you start doing that, it carries over into other aspects of your life:  soon after (many months) I lost twenty pounds, I landed a dream job (I became persistent because I was ready to go after what I wanted - another great aspect of these adventures).  Additionally, I was becoming more social and I found myself standing up for myself more.

I still do the Adventure Bowl each week.  My favorite one so far?  Going jet skiing with one of my best friends and my sister.  I conquered a few fears - the ocean and the idea of losing control.  My sister swore I would be too scared to go fast on the jet ski but it was she who was begging for mercy when I was ripping through the water, and she who was clinging for her life to me :)

I was shocked by how many women on BlogHer read the post.  I know that going through a depression, for me, a situational depression, and working hard to overcome it, would resonate with a lot of women - I get so many amazing comments here and in the blog's email.

But when I saw today, that over 800 women has read that post, I was shocked.  But thrilled, too.  And many of those readers have come here - many reading this blog for over 2 hours at a time.

I just want to say thank you.  It really means a lot to me.  I like the thought that maybe it makes someone reading this blog, going through a hard time - feel less alone.  A single mom wrote me, she just wanted to get under the covers.  She's scared if she does, she may never come out.  I know what that feels like.  

While she enjoyed reading my story and thought the Adventure Bowl sounded awesome, she felt like I did when I read "Eat Pray Love" - who has the time or money for this?  

That's why I wrote today's post.  To clarify how I started off doing "adventures" that no other person, except one going through a depression, would consider an adventure.  If you are not getting out of bed because you are depressed, going for a pedicure, going to lay under a tree with a good book IS AN ADVENTURE.

Start off slow.  The only goal in the beginning is to get out of the house.  To put a smile on your face.  To remember the old you.  And to work slowly and gently to getting back to her.

I also explained that giving yourself these little adventures would give back to her family 100 fold.  Never feel guilty about taking time for yourself when ultimately, a happier more joyful you, makes your family happier, too.

I hope many of you will try an Adventure Bowl for your self.  I'd love to hear about what Adventures you would add to your bowl.  Also, if you have any questions, please let me know.  I would LOVE to answer them.  Thanks for stopping by :)

**

Adventure Bowl
Guide for New Readers * How it Began & How it Works

Blog Dangerously

I was surprised when I read through all the comments from the post "What Do You Want From Me?" and there were so many comments from people weighing whether or not it would be better to blog anonymously.

Most were finding that, when you put your name on your blog, depending on who knows about it, you might not have the same freedom to scream, cry, rant, be petty, freak out or confess to eating a whole box of Ding Dongs after laying into a coworker, friend, mother or boyfriend.

It seemed a lot of you were "editing" yourselves as you wrote. It becomes convenient to be the happy, best, most upbeat version of yourself if you know someone is reading. How can they judge you when your life is so happy/perfect/awesome/neat/tidy/not full of Ding Dongs?

But with that, certainly, comes the price of falling farther and farther away from the person you truly are, and more importantly, farther away from your purpose to blog.

Someone got all up in my Twitter last week about being "authentic" and that she thought I would find a deeper honesty if I didn't blog anonymously. And I was like, "What the fuck, are you kidding me"? She's kidding me, right? Because I could not be more honest. (Okay, I could be. But right now, I could not be more honest.) (I'm at Level 9 honesty, BTW, that's pretty frickin' good.)

There seems to be a judgement over what is or isn't authentic or brave or real. Here's the thing and I mean it. If this girl wants to put her name to her blog and she can write with 100% honesty, do it. That's great. But she might also be being honest about her favorite recipes or her new weight loss program (not that those aren't great topics to blog about). But those subjects don't have collateral damage.

I blog about super private things. It is not feasible for me to be a comedy writer and go to a meeting at a Network and then be completely thrown when an executive asks about this blog which his assistant found when they Googled my name and as my ears start to tighten, and the sweat profusely comes and all I can think about is mother-sickness-grief-kidney transplant-breakups-murder-holy shit how am I going to take this blazer back to Bloomingdales now that I'm sweating like a mother fucker-court cases-funerals.

Meeting bombed. Agent angry. Career doomed. Bills not paid. Dogs not fed. Me, eaten by dogs in the middle of the night.

That's not going to be good for anybody.

More importantly, I have a family. Let's say, I put my name to this blog, how freely could I blog about my Mom's nervous breakdown? Because that makes guys wanna date you and people want to hire you. (And for new readers, let's be kind about my Mom, her breakdown was just after the trial for the person who killed my cousin.)

So forget how it would affect me - me, now being clearly BALLS out AUTHENTIC & REAL & BRAVE for putting my name on my blog, while my mother, a therapist, loses her job because she had a nervous breakdown.

Unemployed, boyfriend-less with family not speaking to me. Good times.

I started writing this blog for so many million reasons. It was really to have a stare down contest with the second year anniversary of my cousin's death and try to do that with not only some dignity and grace but with some god damn life in me. I was daring myself to... just DO MORE with my life than just feeling bad about it.

I feel sad that these are not conversations I felt like I could have with friends. I haven't really been raised to be very open or emotional with the people I love. And yes, I'd like to change all that, yadda yadda - but the fact is, when I was 12 and my Dad had months to live if he didn't get a heart transplant (he did), it was journaling that saved me. That I could write down every fear, worry, guilt, regret, sick to my stomach thought about what the outcome might be. Even as I was split up to live with another family for a year while this surgery happened, that journal, ANONYMOUS, kept me tethered, focused, free to purge and then walk away and have some remnants of a normal little girl life.

So that's why I blog anonymously. And it can still be dangerously, as one blogger put. It's not easy, either, just because it's anonymous. It's still a force not to move back, not to rewrite, not to reread. Just lay it down. Make it bare.

It's a personal choice. It's different for everyone. This just happens to be mine. Putting your emotions into words, to me, is the brave part... not putting your name to it.


I'd love to hear of you agree, disagree or if it's making you rethink changing your blog to one that's written anonymously.
***

Blog Dangerously

What Do You Want From Me?

As the blog has newly been relaunched, I feel like... brand new. I never go back and look at old posts, mostly because I will feel extremely self-conscious about the things that I write. Good and Catholic, you don't rehash the grief you feel over your cousin's death. You're supposed to just let it be. Overrun you like a kind of ferocious weed until you're consumed and immobilized it.

That's the polite thing to do.

I'm tired of being polite.

But I have to ask... what do you want from me?

I'm a nice, good girl. But that hasn't served me so far. Now I want to write posts that help me take apart my grief, not just of my cousin's death and Mom's illness but all that's been lost from that. While I was busy being a puddle on the floor... so much was lost. But now, I want to lay it out, like when a mechanic is fixing a Vintage car, and examine and inspect and then fix all the things that are broken...

And then put it back together.

I think that's the only way you become free from things.

I just wonder - because I'm a self-diagnosed people pleaser - is that what you want from me? I like this being a give and take, I love your comments, I love that this blog is something you relate to and I don't want you to be disappointed when you read a post.

I notice when I write something honest, truthful, raw, people will read... one person read for 171 minutes last week... but hardly anyone will comment. No comments as others read for 5, 10, 20 minutes.

"What are they thinking? Am I too much?" I am too much for them? I am. I am made of scary little scars that are all on the inside. I should only write happy posts. Put a smile on it. Keep the uncertainty on the inside. That would be for the best.

Who am I doing this for? I thought I was doing it for me. But maybe I'm really doing it for you.

So what do you want from me?

No, really, I'll do it. But you have to tell me. Do you want to talk about figuring your life out after it's thrown you a maddeningly huge gut punch? Can I talk about my cousin's death? Does it make you feel uncomfortable? Sometimes I think you guys think I have it more together than I do. It might be my fault. Sometimes, I'm very rah-rah. I need to tone that down a bit.

All of this started to gently cross my mind as I opened a Facebook and Twitter page for the blog. A lot of people started following me and I think I became shy... a little freaked out. To combat the uncomfortableness of that, I have to be witty, asurbic, sarcastic.

You wouldn't know the girl who writes on that Twitter account writes here. That girl is the me with the mask. She hides behind a wall, she dangles a sparkly ball to distract you from cousin's who are murdered and lives that are turned upside town and cousin's that have brain cancer and life choices that will break your heart and mother's that are sick and court cases and do we go for the death penalty?

Maybe going for the death penalty would be impolite.

I'm wrestling with this... I know people like me on Twitter but that girl... she's having a ball but she's not going to grow and change. She's not going to make the big decisions that I am determined to make this year - I think I want to leave Los Angeles. I think I want a new job. I know I want to live without so much fear and responsibility.

My cousin has brain cancer now.

I want to do the things he's wishing he did. And that is either the most brutally honest thing I have ever said or the most damn selfish or maybe it can be both.

Everything, all these thoughts, doubts, feelings came swirling around yesterday when I read the most beautiful essay on grief by someone who had lost his daughter.

The author spoke of how, after you lose someone unexpectedly, you become consumed with fear.

"Maybe what I’ve learned more about, for better or worse, is fear. I think I can pretty comfortably say I understand fear. I’ve learned to understand fear in and out... I live in fear. I’ve learned how randomly things can go wrong, horribly wrong, and I fear that moment, I fear that moment coming into existence. Logic be damned, it terrifies me."

I found myself nodding, yes, yes. That's how I feel. In a matter of a few paragraphs, the author had boiled down exactly how I feel... a feeling that seems to elude me as I try to turn it into words.

When I am in that uncomfortable place, I gloss it over with a lot of humor. I'm straddling both worlds.

I haven't faced the deep dark fear like the author expresses. You have to be in club to get it. You don't want to be in the club. But it's when... if terrible things happen with no warning and they are so terrible and so terrifying and so unspeakable that just NO ONE will speak of them -- how to you ever feel safe again?

How do you not just completely collapse and fold in on yourself? So nothing can touch you. Or hurt you. Yes. This is deep. Does it scare you? Will you not love me if I speak of scary things?

I can tell you this: I have lived like that and I don't WANT to anymore. But it's like, after something truly bad happens, your blood gets stamped with the "fear" DNA and it just corses through you becoming part of your whole being.

I guess what I'm saying, (Get to it, girl), is I need to talk about those fears more. I know that is everything that is holding me back in life. It's like I have the knowledge that life is short, that you better live it now because Good God, how fast it can be gone in a day.

And that is in one hand. And in the other is what I am going to do with that knowledge. Every week, through an adventure, I am trying to move the needle as they say... push it closer to the life I want to live and away from the life of fear.

Do yo want to hear about that?

What do you want from me?

***

What Do You Want From Me?

I Like You

You guys are awesome. First of all there are so many new readers and that just blows my mind. I'm spending tonight & tomorrow getting back to everyone who commented on posts because it means the world to me that you do.

My whole life, I have been taught to never say when I'm sad, afraid, nervous... are nervous and afraid the same thing? Through my Dad's heart transplant, my cousins deaths, when I donated my kidney to my Dad - I was told, "never let anyone see you cry," "don't let people be burdened with your emotion, it will make them feel bad."

So this blog is like major rebellion for a good girl like me. And the fact that people read it and say they're inspired by it-- Amaze-mas. Yeah, new word I made up. Like when something is as amazing as Christmas is to a five year old. Amaze-mas.

I have to make jokes when I am talking about emotional things.

I'm working on it.

Anyway, yes, this is a short post so I can get back to all of you. In the meantime, I wanted to show some mad love for people who took the time to comment, and who either made me have to reach for a box of Kleenex, or made me laugh so hard Folgers coffee came out of my nose.

I heart you all. Okay, love. I do, I love you guys.

Aubrey said... I love you. Can I say I love you or is that a little creepy? Like, weird internet stalker creepy or weird random person in the street that comes up and hugs you creepy? Oh well. I guess I'm creepy then.

Lia said... That is the most beautiful post I've ever read. I found you on Twitter and I just get everything you are saying. I'm so glad I found this blog. I feel like you are speaking to me.

Lynda with a Y said... Seriously? I think I have a girl crush on you. Anyone who has been sucked in by the beast that is depression--well let me just say--your blog is a tiny little miracle. Thanks.

simone said... oooo brave brave brave! and bravo to you. I am standing at the foot of a bridge wondering if I should walk around and cross it, thanks for this timely post on being happy. xxoo

hope n laughter said... 1. Keep writing, I've missed your post and I'm glad that your still kickin' and screamin'. 2. You write what I'm thinking, but in a much more intresting way. 3. Feel that you and the Eat, Pray, Love are the same, except with you I get to experince your journey with you.

Kristen said... You.Are.Awesome.

Jennifer H said... Brillant. Beautiful. I would love to post this link on my blog! I have just hit a wall I have never hit before...and you sum it up all very well. And have given me hope. I can feel something inside, the childlike wonder of life of me, stir in excitement, instead of just seeing the the overbearing responsibilities I feel. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Krista said... I'm in awe right now. It's taken me 24 hrs to respond and it's still not going to make sense. I can't believe i'm not alone. There are others at the bottom of this miserable, painful, dark, pit. And there is hope to see light again. Thank you God for allowing me to find your blog last while driving home during a 17 hr trip. Somewhere near Buffalo,I found a friend in the darkness.

Okay... where is that Kleenex box???? You guys are the best. You have no idea... your comments are changing my life because they inspire me to keep me moving forward. So thank you. Really, thank you. xoxoxoxo

PS... If you're a New New reader there are a few posts will be helpful if you want to know the inspiration for writing this blog go back and read You Can Get To The Other Side - June 20, 2010; Some Stuff About Me - June 27, 2010 and Adventure Bowl: Let's Kick Ass & Takes Names Later - June 23, 2010.

Also, feel free to follow me as I am a naughty naughty infrequent bad girl poster. xoxoxo And if you join my Facebook page we can have ACTUAL CONVERSATIONS. Oh, those are the best!

I Like You

You Can Get To The Other Side

When I started this blog is was because in a matter of months my cousin was murdered, I broke up with my boyfriend, I lost my job and my Mom... she lost her mind. Not the medical term for what happened but it will do.

I laid in bed for months. The loss of the job was somewhat of a relief since I was a comedy writer working on a TV show and I had now lost all ability to be funny. I could see my life that I knew disappearing before me. I was disappearing too. How could I ever emerge without being completely damaged? I didn't want to die but I knew this was not living.

Every one in the damn world said I should read "Eat Pray Love." "She's going through exactly what you're going through." Um, no she's not. She's getting divorced, my family's preparing for a trial.

But there was that damn book. Everywhere. In the airport on the way to the funeral. Women devouring it in a coffee shop, at cafes, in hotel bars. I realized what might be stopping me was my own stubbornness. I was in the mind set that things COULD NEVER GET BETTER. And I resented that anyone was going to to tell me I could get on the other side and make me pay $14.95 for it.

No, there was just this side. Imagine a nightmare where you are standing in quick sand as your drown in a tsunami of guilt, pain, anger, depression and hopelessness. Times it by 100. And I'm just the cousin. You can imagine how my surviving cousin and aunt and uncle felt. Times it by a 1000.

But that book, it was just so constantly in my face. And one say... I bought it. At Goodwill for 2 bucks. So score 1 for me, Elizabeth Gilbert, 0. I read it, I got it. I got why everyone loved it. It's hope between to card board covers.

But it would never work, not for me, not for most women. It sold what, 4 million copies? How many of those 4 million took a year and a half out of their jobs and left their families to travel to three countries to find themselves?

Now before you and your book club come and beat me with your Eat Pray Love hardcover, autographed editions, know this: I admired her. Because she got what most of us women feel - we are in a rut. We are bored, overwhelmed, over worked, over parenting. We've lost our spark. We've lost ourselves but we are too crazed to do anything about it. We have looked up and said, "How is this our lives?"

But most of all I admired her because SHE TOOK ACTION. I like that. She identified her problem and she decided to take time to fix it.

But it still made me feel empty. EMPTY. Is that the only solution? Will I only get over this despondent sadness by spending tens of thousands of dollars, leaving any possibility of work to travel the world? I mean, at this point, I can't even get out of bed.

But I took her example of TAKING ACTION. How can I get out of bed? Okay, what if I thought of one really fun thing I could do. Something I have never done before (paddle board, sing in a rock band, ride and elephant) things that I'd given up doing because "I'm an adult now" (get pink hair) and things that just scared the crap out of me (literally, THE CRAP) (jump out of an airplane, be in a roller derby).

Okay... okay, one fun thing a week. That will take what? Two hours and then I can go back to bed? Done. I'll do it.

Now, I "Eat Pray Love" without leaving my city, without leaving my job, without spending tens of thousands of dollars. I made a list of adventures. I put them on index cards, folded them up and put them in a bowl. Each week, I pull one having no idea if that day I'm crashing a Bat Mitzvah, taking a beer making class or learning how to surf.

And it is thrilling and exhilarating and life like I didn't know. Or I knew it but I had moved so far past that happy-go-lucky be spontaneous and love it girl, that I some how forgot. To live. This one life. That is so challenging. And there are so many times, I just want to do errands, or call the cable company and yell or cross one thing off my list BUT I DON'T.

I go. I pool crash. I ride Ferris wheels. I go to a sewing class.

Because it's beyond the adventure - IT'S WHAT I GET FROM IT. Strength, energy, confidence. If you take something you never thought you could do, for me it was trapeze lessons, you will FEEL so STRONG AND BOLD AND FEARLESS that the next time you are faced with something you have purported that you'd never be able to do - you know have the confidence that you can.

It's also put me on the other side of grief and sadness. It's made me feel happy again and positive and hopeful. And a month ago, when I felt like I was slipping back to the other side, I knew it was because I had slacked on the promise I made to myself to do an adventure once a week.

So here I am again. When I found out my cousin had brain cancer a month ago, I had a shocking revelation that had I been confronted with how I'd lived my life so far - I would not be happy. I would be disappointed that I had played it safe, worried to much, didn't take enough risks, didn't have enough fun.

I reinstated the adventures because I NEVER need to be where I was after my cousin died. I need to be over here. On the this side. The other side.

I'm hoping that in doing what I am doing, I will be in the happiest, most clear head and I can make a decision of a lifetime... to move to New York and start a new business. The fear is palpable. But the fear was possible when I climbed up the trapeze ladder... and stood on the platform... and had to grab onto that rope thing-y.

But then... I leaped.

AWESOME.

Come join me on the other side. Whether it's a break-up, divorce, loss of a job, illness or loss... you can get to the other side. I promise.

***

You Can Get To The Other Side

Matthew

Matthew is my cousin David's younger brother. Now Matthew is an only child after David was taken away from us by a raving lunatic who somehow slipped through the system and was let out of the crazy hospital too soon only to score some crystal meth and decide that that night he would really like to kill someone.

When I see Matthew, who we now call Matty, who is our baby, who walks on water, who we pay for everything when he is around to somewhat make up for having his brother be murdered, my heart kind of breaks and I always feel very emotional after.

It's because he is wise and smart and sensitive and forgiving and loving and commpassionate and has forgiven his brother's killer and is easy to make laugh AND he is LIV-LIV-LIVING. How easy it would be, to be the opposite of all these things.

He is touring with his band. After his brother died, I think he got the sense that, anything can happen at anytime, we are all so... unsafe from having our lives ripped out from underneath us all. I think he thought, "I'd rather have my life ripped out from underneath me living my dream and playing my guitar than stuck in a cubicle banging on a computer keyboard."

So he is touring in L.A. E, my sister came to town to see him. They are like new best friends, closer in age than Matty and I, yet their is this fierceness to E, fiercely protective and loving of him and I think if someone hurt him, they would have to deal with her and that would not be pretty.

He said to us this morning, "You guys treat me like I'm a baby." Yes, we do and we will. We don't want you to suffer or worry or want for anything ever again. No one can hurt you if we are here. Did you see the brick wall we built around you? No one can get to you without getting through us.

Then he talked about driving all over the U.S. of A., in a van, with his friends and he said, "It's amazing how kind everyone is, people are so friendly and nice. I needed to see that of humanity, it's very healing for me." I know he's speaking of David's murder, it's in the room again, which is always firsts jars me and then comforts me. He knows he is safe. He can talk about anything with us.

We kind of, me, he and E, took a drunken pact one night that we would not be like the generation before us, keeping secrets and telling lies and holding all the pain is. Matty said that night, "I feel like I lost my brother but I got three sisters in return."

He is a good boy. He says, "I love you" on the phone and he says "I love you" instead good-bye. Sometimes, I think he's the strongest one of all of us.

Matthew

The High Price of Feeling Low

It's expensive to be depressed. You would think you would save a lot of money on going out, 'cause you never want to go anywhere or see anyone; groceries, 'cause a bag of chips from 7-11 will suffice for the day; hair cuts and colors, 'cause what's the point if you never go out; clothing, 'cause sweat pants will do; utilities, because laying in the dark and not showering are you're number 1 hobby.

But all that savings doesn't amount up to the high price of feeling low.

And I'm not talking about how relationships, in my case, were strained: with the boy I loved, the friends I have (you become a flake when you constantly cancel or never show up anywhere), you're productivity slows because you never have the energy to do anything and your ass gets fat because you simultaneously don't move and don't care what you eat.

I'm talking monetarily, the high price, the cash, the cabbage, the hundred dollar bills y'all. Money mistakes depressed people make because they have their heads buried under the covers. I know. I've been there.

This weekend, having seen Suze Orman on every book in the library and every TV show I seemed to turn on (PBS! Oprah! Larry King!), I took it as a sign that I really needed to deal with my finances.

There is money laying in a 401k that had never been invested. There is a broken phone from Sprint that had never been sent back so they changed me $179.00. There's two companies threatening collection, although I know I paid those bills (I swear I did!) although I have not wanted to deal with calling my bank for the cancelled checks. How about those receipts that if I don't send into my insurance, I won't be reimbursed for? How about that free plane ticket I found that had expired because it was not prpoperly filed away?

It's all haunting me, day and night but the more I think about it, the more I want to crawl under the cozy covers with my fluffy Chihuahua and escape the choking OVER-WHELM-ED-NESS of it all.

I'm trying to shift my thinking. All this money, it adds up to like, a free vacation. Would I give up a free vacation? Would I give up two months rent?

Come on, BE A GROWN UP!
But I don't want to be.
It's so cute you think you have a choice.

The problem with me is I am an ALL or NOTHING girl. I want to handle all of this in one day or NEVER AT ALL. I think the thing with us recovering depress-ties and those of you with serious cases of Over-whelm-ed-ness and Stress-ful-itis is we have to make up realistic goals. Small goals.

Could I do two things a day? If I did two things a day, eight things would be done by Friday. It would reinforce to me, that it's not so hard to do it that way. I have this cute pink folder with a Hawaiian flower on it. I'm going to call it my TWO A DAY FOLDER.

Every thing that needs to be done will be filed on the left and the two things I'm gonna do that day will filed be on the right.

And all the money I save, will go into a little vacation account I'm going to start. And that will be the first thing I'm gonna do.

The High Price of Feeling Low

For David, Who I (Double) Love & Miss

I can still remeber when my Aunt brought Baby David home. That's what we called him. Because he was a baby and his name was David. He was my cousin and the first Grandson in our generation... and we are Italian so that is very important. When people ask me what I remember about David, I lie. I lie because I don't want to say, "I remember that he loved bees and was fearless and would catch them by their wings... And I remember that I wrote a check for his funeral." Of all the things I thought when we were kids playing together (that he was bugging me, that if he stuck a bee in my face one more time there would be hell to pay, that I loved even though he wasn't much younger than me he would sit on my lap), I never thought, "I'm going to be writing a check for your funeral." I can still remember when the conversation was had, when the idea was floated. I jumped at the chance. It would make me feel better for the fact that my life was perfect, my sisters were alive and now there could be nice sandwiches and an open bar after the funeral. After the funeral you have for your baby cousin who is fearless who plays with bees and sits on your lap.

The idea of writing a check - who cares - it was not about the money but it was a pinnacle moment of: I AM A GROWN-UP. People die on me. And then I help pay for their funerals. "Don't tell anyone," I was told. It will make people feel bad, less than, fill-in-the-blank. When I was writing that check all I could think of was, "What else will I help pay for? Who else's eyes will I look into and have no idea they might be gone one day and all I will have left of them is a canceled check and a debit on my Bank of America card?

David's two year anniversary was yesterday. All I could think of was, exactly two years ago today, before the accident, before the police called my father thinking he was David's father to tell him the news, before my father had to call my uncle and tell him David was dead, before I called my father and had to hear the news, before I had to take out my red sparkly monkey check book holder that is not very grown-up, but obviously now was being used for grown-up things... my life was perfect.

Once it got turned on it's side and shook up and down and was never the same because of the things that happened and the things I know and the check I wrote. But I'm still standing. Sometimes barely. Sometimes I am laying down. For really long periods of time. Sometimes I am crying in bed and I am howling so loud that my dog howls with me... which makes me laugh and I stop and I comfort him and he comforts me. I am looking for the hope and the silver lining and the wrap-up sentence that UPLIFTS us all and INSPIRES us to move FORWARD. But today, I know none. Tomorrow, I hope tomorrow will be different.

For David, Who I (Double) Love & Miss

Depression Confession

You know what totally stinks? Figuring out you're not perfect. See, I had this whole idea that if I started this journey of digging myself out from underneath a landslide of grief, sadness, over-whelm-ed-ness (yes, I make up words) and lost-ed-ness, I would immdiately get a job, lose 30 pounds, never eat another bad thing for me, run 18 miles a day and meet a great guy. "When you name it, you claim it." So there I was in my apartment, day five into doing anything and everything I can to get out of this damn funk and... I was still chunky. No guy knocked at my door. I ate garlic bread... a lot of it. There might of been chocolate too, but that memory is unclear - DUE TO ALL THE WINE I DRANK. WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME? Oh, yeah... I'm not perfect.

Everytime I set myself up for perfection, I fail, beat myself up and where does that lead... THAT LEADS TO BED. And not in a sexy way.

I had the best example for perfection growing up. My Mom. She held down a full time job, went to Church twice a week, did everything in the house that needed to be done, volunteered endlessly (she used to take a blind woman for ice skating lessons - can you spell SAINT?) She could be freaking out at us for something we didn't do two seconds before we walked into a party but the second we walked through the door, the pagent smile came on, then the wave. It was like she flipped a switch, "EVERY THING IN MY LIFE IS PERFECT." But it wasn't perfect. She lost her own Mom to cancer at 19, my Dad had spent at least 20 years of my life sick - he had a heart transplant and years later a kidney transplant, my cousin Michael died when I was fourteen and David died just two years ago. But she was perfect. I can't remember her crying through any of it.

But that didn't last for long. My mother... and I'm really not trying to be flip here... literally, blew a gasket in December. All that perfect, all that stored up, pent up emotion exploded just days after Christmas. We took her to the hospital. We debated committing her. She was babbling all her family secrets because in her nervous breakdown state, there was no edit button. I said to my sister after: "She has spent our whole lives keeping all that in. And now, in ten minutes... it's out." Amazing. It made me sad to know she has been holding down the pain all along, all alone.

So here I am. I'm not perfect. And I AM TRYING SO HARD TO GET TO A PLACE WHERE I'M OKAY ABOUT THAT. If I harness all the time I try to be perfect and x (times it) by the time I beat myself up for not being perfect, that equals A LOT OF TIME where I could be doing something sooooo much better. Like blogging. Like reading the sweet replies people send me to let me know they are digging my journey. Ooo, and for cup cakes. Okay, maybe not cup cakes... a bath. A bath with no negative, beat-me-up dialogue going through my head. Because hey, I'm not perfect so why would I waste my time on that?

Depression Confession