health + fitness / music

“this guilt feels so familiar” / “i need light in the dark”

• by kerri

My body has spent the last five months throwing curve balls at me.

Curve balls that are only really caught after they’ve already hit me hard, and the time of impact involves yet more to actually catch it.

A week and a half ago, I got to take my first break from the hormone pills, then start up again on the lower, normal dose. After three days off, and three days back on, I knew things weren’t stellar, but I was like look, your body has been through a lot in the last few months–let it adjust. So I called the doctors’ office on Monday just to be sure things were okay. His assistant agreed that it was probably a normal response, but she scheduled me a same-day appointment anyways.

I am thankful I went with my instinct and went in. I’m pretty sure I said about three sentences and my doctor immediately increased my pills back to twice a day for another two months, confirming my thoughts that we lowered my dose too early. Gave me the real lowdown–you might bleed through this whole pack of pills. We might need to do another D&C. Sent me to the lab for a CBC.

Gave me yet more reasons to trust him.

Trust is something I realized two weeks ago that I’ve been having a hard time with lately–trusting my own body, primarily, and trusting the people taking care of me. Every time I think something is getting better, things crash out around me–every time I think we are making a good treatment choice, things fall apart.  Because as much as this whole thing can mess up my body, it can totally mess up my mind, too.

I am ready to stop feeling like a grenade waiting for the next explosion. I am ready to not only feel like I can trust things, but like people can trust me. Because this last one? That curve ball hit me hard.  Even if totally irrational, there’s an overwhelming guilt that can go along with a variety of medical problems–and when my problems mess up somebody else’s plans–like it has done this time–this guilt feels so familiar.

I’ve discussed the 2013 soundtrack. Invariably, I put a song in there, and I let the playlist cycle through, washing me through all of the moments of this year. And this time, the guilt kicked in and I could barely get a new track in there fast enough.

The guilt, even over what I cannot control? I feel it..

i’m lost at sea / the radio is jammin’ / but they won’t find me / i swear it’s for the best / and then your frequency / is pulling me in closer till i’m home. / and i’ve been up for days / i finally lost my mind and then i lost my way / i’m blistered, but i’m better / and i’m home.

i will crawl / there’s things that aren’t worth giving up i know / but i won’t let this get me / i will fight. / you live the life you’re given with the storms outside / some days all i do is watch the sky.

this room’s too small / it’s only getting smaller, i’m against the wall / and slowly getting taller here in wonderland / this guilt feels so familiar and i’m home.

i think i, i could use a little break / but today was a good day. / and it’s a deep sea in which i’m floating–still i seem to think that i must crawl

there’s things that aren’t worth giving up i know / when you can’t bear to carry me i’ll fight / you live the life you’re given with the storms outside / some days all i do is watch the sky.

[today was a good day]

watch the sky, something corporate

I have yet to reach that good day in this round.

The thing is though, without trying I found hope three minutes later when the first song on the soundtrack cycled up. Light in all the darkness.

But this? This makes me know it is coming–cycling back to fresh beginnings . . . someday.

there’s a lot that i don’t know / there’s a lot that i’m still learning / when i think i’m letting go i find my body it’s still burning / and you hold me down / and you got me living in the past / come on and pick me up / somebody clear the wreckage from the blast

i’m alive / but i don’t need a witness to know that i survive / i’m not looking for forgiveness / yeah i just need light / i need light in the dark as i search for the resolution

and the bars are finally closed so i’ll try living in the moment / till the moment it just froze, and i felt sick and so alone / i can hear the sound / of your voice still ringing in my ear / i’m going underground / but you’ll find me anywhere i fear.

[some stories i will never tell… and i’m almost home]

and you hold me down.

the resolution, jack’s mannequin

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life

finding the words

• by kerri

i try to speak but i cannot / words were harder than i thought / i tried to run to You but i’m stuck / and i can’t move / but i feel it in my veins / a change is taking place / breaking free the mould i’ve made / i’m starting to move . . .

love you back, addison road

I’ve been trying to find words to write, any words to write, for over a week now. I typically have no shortage of words, and yet, I am at a standstill.

So I write about having no words.

Writing, for me, has been as much therapy as anything. It’s a healing process in and of itself, it’s a healing process in reading back those words weeks, months, years later. It has been that kind of a process since I was nine years old. I write less so to write and more so to find something inside of it–inside of me–later on.  And when I feel like I have nothing to uncover–or nothing I really want to find inside myself–then I unfortunately shove it aside.

Yet, likely, in those moments, I need it then, too.

The stagnancy. The routine.

Things I do not like.

Maybe the words help me break free of that as well.

asthma

“some days all i do is watch the sky”

• by kerri

Some days, my day looks like this

running

But my night can look like this

IMG_1726.JPG

Maybe it’s because I ran around filming a video. Or inhaled a bunch of smoke all day drifting around with the breeze. Or sat around a campfire at lunch. Or maybe there’s seemingly no reason at all.

For me, the asthma monster-under-the-bed, I am lucky, doesn’t come around often. Maybe once a month, maybe less than that.  Most of the time, unless I’m really sick, it lurks from inside me slowly–waking up and not realizing my lungs are the reason why, usually wandering to the bathroom and back before laying down to realize “Hey, I’m pretty short of breath over here.”

Sometimes a couple puffs of Ventolin is all it takes for me to drift back to sleep.  Other times like the other night, I slip into some sort of autopilot while feeling a heaviness settled in my lungs: two puffs, fifteen minutes. two puffs, fifteen minutes, two puffs, fifteen minutes. Last night, it was after round three, or six hits, I fell asleep again.

The next day, still, can look like this (…okay, a little tired I guess!)

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It’s a mind game. It’s thinking I’m fine and when I’m least on my guard, the previous day somehow grabs onto me and shakes me back into it–in one of the ways I least want to be inside it.

this guilt feels so familiar, and i’m home / i will crawl / there’s things that aren’t worth giving up i know / but i won’t let this get me / i will fight . . . / you live the life you’re given with the storms outside . . ./ some days all i do is watch the sky

i think i, i could use a little break — but today was a good day.

watch the sky, something corporate

mirror mantra

progress not perfection.

• by kerri

My friend Mike started a thing called “Mirror Mantras”, where he posts a positive or motivating phrase on his bathroom mirror to keep him inspired throughout the week. Here’s mine for the week . . . “We’re standing on the ashes, with a clearer view and a new perspective.“

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health + fitness / life / wellness

intention.

• by kerri

The last six weeks was, I am sure, more than enough to make me unsettled (in a not-good way).

Last week, the seventh week, was about reclaiming ground, becoming more settled in my body, knowing things are getting better.

Saturday . . . i had this feeling arise over me. For the first time in a very long time, I felt healthy. I have clung on to that feeling for the past 30 hours. (My lungs still don’t feel right, but hey, otherwise I feel good, I can deal with the lungs. I’m blaming the rain for that).

Finally feeling healthy, though, made me realize everything I need to work on. Things I have the energy to work on. Finally.

Physical Activity.

Exercise is a thing that suffered–which is also a thing that I’ve found keeps me balanced . . . contributing to the state of emotional unbalance on top of the obvious physical unbalance.

Exercise graph

Part of this dropoff was intentional. When my hemoglobin was slipping bad, I was intentionally not exercising beyond walking to and from the bus, because I didn’t want to contribute any to the state of dropping–the reality is, I’ve been sicker than I cared to admit since March. And I was trying to be proactive and my doctor was not engaging with me on working with me on that.

The other part is that I simply could not do things. I would walk home from the bus and have to take breaks because it was too hard–my heart would pound inside me with even small amounts of moderate exertion. I would get short of breath and it wasn’t the asthma. I was a mess for a lot longer than I admitted to many people, but what else was I supposed to do? I didn’t know better that what I was feeling would become as bad as it did down the road.

This, I need to rectify.  Back to paying attention to the fitbit, and doing some TribeSports challenges to bring my focus back to where it should be.

Nutrition.

It is not so much the fact of micromanaging the micronutrients that I need to work on, it is just simply making healthier food choices. Leaning away from all of the stuff that I know I don’t feel good from or about after eating, and having all that stuff on a less frequent basis. It’s a fine line, and I know myself–and I know that I have a hard time balancing this stuff in the most basic way.

Creativity.

Writing has for as long as I can remember been my release. I started journaling and writing lyrics/poetry in the fourth grade. These things have been the sole methods of getting me through so much of the tough stuff in my life.  2013, having the theme of Make Yourself, I want to expand on that. I’ve been trying to make a more focused attempt at journaling–“and i scratched these words / into a black notebook”.

Words have always been my weapon. Music has been a second.

Visual art? Even farther, yet still something I have gravitated towards and wanted . . . but seldom wrapped my fingers around.

Friday . . . I started to transform that with a quote inspired from one of Andrew McMahon’s tattoos.

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my intention / a bullet / my body / a trigger finger / . . . and my pen is a pistola.

my secret arsenal is an infinite, ageless inkwell / it’s a fountain of youth and a patriot’s weapon of choice.

pistola, incubus

I’ll be capturing that process on deviantART.

Balance.

I’ll be honest here. It’s a paradox: when my health is at its worst, the things that keep my body and mind balanced are the first to go in the effort to simply survive. I’m realizing now that this is incredibly backwards, yet . . . it feels incredibly necessary at the time.

when dark clouds cover the sky / like there’s no hope, You are my light / You tell me to live. / when i’m all by myself / and i’m scared about my health / You tell me to live. / and when You heal my broken wings / yes, You heal my everything / You tell me to live.

You tell me to live, the rocket summer

Be intentional.

This week . . . I am rolling back onto Operation Intention. Getting back to making better choices . . . for all of me. Body, mind and heart.

Recovery.