Fart in a Bottle

Kim has been in town for the past week and she leaves to go home tomorrow. I wish we had more time to spend together. At dinner tonight with my family, I reminisced about the meltdown I had the last time she was in town and how far I have come since then. During Kim's last visit, I was just about a month into recovery from my first surgery. When she hugged me before she left to go to the airport, I lost it. I sobbed about how overwhelmed I felt with the stoma and ostomy. I cried because recovery was hard and it sucked. Tears also found my face-cheeks because I knew I was going to miss her. I was a mess. I felt defeated even though surgery went better than expected.

My family was shocked to learn that I had been overwhelmed and emotional about the surgery and ostomy. Is that a testament to my ability to keep things bottled up?  They couldn't have known I struggled coping with my new reality if I didn't tell them. For having uncontrollable bowels at times, I sure know how to keep shit to myself. My instincts were to avoid feelings, bury them, and hope they went away. For the most part, it worked. My emotional maturity is questionable. I don't know what it was about that moment with Kim that cracked the bottle with the things. Once she left, I collected myself and put the things back in the proverbial bottle.

I hugged Kim goodbye tonight and I didn't have a meltdown. There weren't any feelings I was suppressing either. I am a lot stronger emotionally and physically than I was a few months ago. I can't wait to see her in August!!!

I think if I trapped a fart in a bottle and I left it in there long enough, eventually it would not stink when I opened the bottle. I also think if I bottle up feelings long enough, eventually they will lose their potency when/if the bottle gets cracked. I could probably afford to get better at expressing myself. But then again, I think my "fart in a bottle" analogy is pretty fucking expressive. It could also be absolute bullshit.

My Unscarred Belly's Reflection

I find myself lifting up my shirt more frequently when I'm standing in front of the bathroom mirror to look at my unscarred belly's reflection. When I get dressed and undressed, I glance down and stare at my bare stomach. How can it appear deceivingly healthy on the outside when it is a  disastrous mess on the inside? Suddenly, I have this weird fascination with constantly stealing glimpses of my gut.

I took this when I woke up from my nap yesterday.

 It likely won't look like this for much longer. 

When I'm in bed, I place my hands on my abdomen to feel my belly. It's smooth and it doesn't hurt to touch. I don't feel foreign material, scar tissue, or tenderness. Sometime last week, I started looking at my belly whenever I wake up... envisioning and preparing for the worst case scenario when I first wake up from surgery. My eyes flutter open and then close. As I take a breath I slide the blanket off and lift my shirt to reveal my stomach. I tilt my head down and as I let the breath out I open my eyes. I cry every time I open my eyes. I imagine a lengthy incision held together with ugly staples. I picture a shit bag attached to a new asshole. I hear the sobs of my mom and Taylor only to realize the sound is coming from me, not them.

Despite the fun and distractions I have thanks to my friends, it's getting more difficult to stop thinking about the surgery, the outcome, and the recovery that awaits me. I look at the photo above and I think that's not me, that's not the me I'm going to be in a couple of weeks at least. And so it goes, another day passes, another tear falls.

I Cried Today

Today was my Grandpa Ace's birthday.  He passed away last May, so this was the first time he wasn't here on his Earthly birthday. Thankfully, I worked the early shift today and got off work around 5pm, so I was able to have dinner with my dad, uncle and grandma ace tonight. I hugged my grandma a little tighter than usual to let her know that I love her. If today made her emotional, I didn't see any signs of it. I held my tears until my drive home and then the flood gates opened. I cried because I miss him. I cried because I want to talk to him and he's not here. I know he would be proud of me for getting into car sales because he was a salesman most of his life. I cried because he won't be around to celebrate with when I graduate from UCF. I cried because I can't see him smile. I cried because I can't see his eyes squint and nose wrinkle when he laughs at something funny I said. Like today on the way to dinner when grandma butt dialed someone and my dad and I had to explain what "butt dial" meant. I said it basically means there's an asshole on one end of the line.

I cried today, and that's okay. On Sunday, my family is getting together at my grandma's house to carpool to the graveyard so that they can put new flowers around his tombstone. I'll be at work, so I'll miss the waterworks for that, but if I get off work on time (which never happens), I'll swing by my grandma's for dinner on Sunday.

I Have Learned to Cry

                It sounds crazy, but up until about August 2012 my emotions were pretty much non existent. I mean it was so bad that not one tear escaped my eyes when my childhood dog died. People's emotions used to baffle me and now it's my own emotions causing the confusion. Once I had the huge Crohn's flare of 2012 things started to change. I struggled through some of my most painful days and I also battled through depression. Sometimes it's easy to forget that others didn't go through it and don't completely understand how it changed me. I think the chemical balance in me changed and I came out feeling very different.

                I find myself being less critical of others because I am better able to empathize with them. I no longer run from crying and tears, I embrace them. Perhaps it's part of healing or it's my transformation to being normal. I think it's my journey through the 2012 flare that really opened my heart to others and even myself. The boat I find myself in now is that my sisters continue to treat me like my thick skin hasn't been worn down. At times they criticize me and I try to ignore the hurt I feel from their words. Their stabbing words never used to inflict pain, so it's weird for me that they do now. It's annoying! If I cry, they'll think I'm still depressed. Maybe I am. If I ask them to stop being mean, their augment is that I've been just as sharp with my words in the past. It's probably true, but I know I haven't been since the end of 2012. So, I try to let it roll off my back and focus on embracing this change that is making me so gosh darn sensitive. I can't expect them to understand this change after 24 years when I'm still trying to understand it myself. I can't convince them I've changed, it's something they are going to have to observe and conclude for themselves.

               Tears falling from my eyes is something I'm adjusting to. This used to never happen. When I'm watching a sad movie or TV show and I catch a tear falling on my cheek, I wipe it away and shake my head because I had no control over it.  It was going to fall whether I wanted it to or not. For example, I knew this character Bonnie in the Vampire Diaries was dead for at least three episodes before the other characters actually found out and had her very emotional funeral. I cried like a baby in Bonnie's funeral scene. It's a frickin' fictional character that I knew was dead for three weeks before her funeral! My eyes didn't care, they cried so hard I had trouble breathing. It was ridiculous! I'll cry if I hear a touching song. I get emotional crossing finish lines at races. Tears find my cheeks so often that I can't keep track. This is my new normal.

                In the future, I want to learn to better communicate my emotions and have a better understanding of the emotions of others. I want to be better at comforting someone going through a sensitive situation. I want to focus on lifting others up with my words and when I have to be critical to be so with empathy. I want my family and friends to associate the words sensitive, empathetic and caring with me. Though it's annoying, I have learned to cry. The best of all is that I have learned to be okay with it.