Saturday, December 26, 2015

The Time Alex and I Saw a Psychic

Juanita works at the 24-hour massage parlor.  Everyone knows it's really a brothel. It's a yellow building with five-foot-tall pink flamingo on the sides in paint that was probably once very vibrant.  Now, during the hundred degree summer nights, everything in Phoenix seems to be covered in a dusty film.  July in the desert is seen through various filters of pastel depression.  Alex is having a hard time tonight, too, and we figure now would be a good time to get really stoned and get a palm reading.

We want our psychic readings like we want our Taco Bell: cheap, cheesy, and open at eight o'clock on a Friday night.

And that's how we find Juanita.

Alex and I stand in front of the massage parlor's front door.  Like the windows, it's covered with thick iron bars that are slathered in coats of the same faded yellow paint as the rest of the place.  Funny enough, it is built right next to a Taco Bell. Alex presses the call button (also yellow) to let whomever is inside know that the two people who had called and made appointments for palm readings have arrived.  We are a pair, standing in front of a brothel on a Friday night.  Alex has a mohawk and he has started to let his beard grow out over the summer.  I have been losing weight from stress so none of my clothes fit anymore, and my hair is neon pink.  Oh, Juanita, have fun down there with those damned hipster kids.

She shows up with the keys to the front door in her hand.  Juanita is both prettier and younger than I thought our psychic would be.  She's short and round and has a genuine smile. She's surrounded by a very calm and welcoming energy, and as she pulls open the heavy metal gate over the door, I notice a pink canister of pepper spray and I wonder if she has ever been forced to use it.

Alex gets his reading first, and this means that I am being contained in the waiting room that serves both Juanita's clientele and the massage parlor's.  Since I am the only person in the waiting room, I don't mind too much.  The windows in the waiting room are made of stained glass, and every time a car drives by outside, the headlights made the room burst into fractals.   The downside to this is that since cars are constantly driving by, the room is now very noisy and that means I can't eavesdrop on Alex's palm reading.

Ten minutes later, Alex opens the door, and it is my turn.

"So how do you two know each other?" Juanita asks me, referring to Alex.

"He came into the salon where  I work, and we were just kind of instantly friends" I reply, sitting across the desk from her.

I put my hands up on the desk and press my fingers together, then I proceed to fold and then unfold my hands, because I have never had my palms read before; do I wait to be told to present my palms or do I just throw them on up there?  These are things no one talks about and everyone needs to know.

"I am going to do a basic reading," Juanita tells me.  "Very general, nothing too in-depth, okay?  And good or bad, I'm just telling you what I see, no judgement, no hard feelings."


I nod, I stretch my open hands out towards her.  Juanita looks at them one time and immediately begins talking.

"I see here you are a very strong person.  You have been through a lot to become this strong.  I see that you are also a very kind person, but you are not seeing the karmic payback for any of your kindness; you're just getting bad luck constantly and you are thinking this is not fair.  Your life is like a roller coaster, okay?  And you just need to try and get through this down time.  You'll come back up eventually, but not right now.  You started this year very off balance, with an emptiness in you, inside your body, some sort of trauma, okay?  And you're trying to find balance with all the chaos around you."

I can't tell if my amazement is the result of me reading into Juanita's generalized observations in hopes of relief from the summer or if maybe she is the real deal, giving me an honest psychic experience.

"This year is a very bad year for you, and I'm sorry to say it's not going to get any easier until 2016.  That's gonna be your year, okay?  In the meantime, just try to keep your head down and get through this year.  You have very good spirit guides, they take really good care of you, but you have a chakra that needs cleaning and it's creating this gateway, like a portal, to one of your past lives.  You were a very evil woman in a past life...you were a witch."

When she says "witch" I pull my hands away.  I tell Juanita that as a child, I used to have recurring nightmares about being burned alive as a witch.  I know that I should try and play it cool and that this is just giving her more information than I should.  I know that but I tell her anyway.

She goes on.

"I see paperwork, legal documents, a courtroom.  Are you going through a divorce?"

I tell her yes, I am.

"It's not going to go as easily as it seems.  It's going to take longer than you think.  I also see a class?  Something that you put off for yourself awhile back.  Figure out what that is and get back to it."

Juanita tells me that I'm getting ready to go on a trip to see someone I love, in the next three weeks, to somewhere close.  California?

"Yeah, I'm going in two weeks to see my best friend, Charlie, in Hollywood."

"It's going to be a good trip.  Look forward to that, okay?"

I thank Juanita.  She gives me a hug and tells me I can come back anytime for chakra cleaning.  Alex and I pay her, twenty-five dollars apiece in cash, then we go to gay Denny's to discuss and compare our readings.

"Did she try to sell you chakra cleaning?" I ask him.


"No, it was super quick and super general.  Just a few, 'this line means this and this line means this' and that was it.  She did the reading so quickly, she felt bad for charging me full price so she let me ask her a question."

"So what did you ask her?"

Alex shrugs and says, "I asked her if I'd finish my book and she said that I will but that it will be a few years down the road. So she tried to sell you chakra cleaning?  How did that happen?"

I tell him everything I can recall from my reading, so he can analyze it now and so I can remember it all later. The bits about the divorce, the past lives, the starting the year off with an internal emptiness and no karmic payoff...I'm pretty sure I don't leave anything out.  Alex just listens.

"Dude," I say "Did you tell her I was getting divorced or started this year off with one kidney?"

"Nope," Alex says.  "We didn't talk about you.  I didn't talk at all, really.  Maybe I should have said more, then maybe I would have gotten a better reading.  I was too high to respond to anything she said."

I nod, take a drink of my hot coffee, and try to keep my head down for the rest of the summer.

Tuesday, December 1, 2015

One year

Twelve months ago, everything changed.


Everything.


It's amazing to look back now and to see the effect that surgery would have on every other aspect of my life.  I went into kidney donation thinking I was doing something to help change a stranger's life, and while I'm sure that I did accomplish that, I will admit that I was completely unprepared for the change it would bring about in my own life.


Nothing is the same.

NOTHING.

New home, new job, new car, new diet, new medicines, new freedom, new plans, new adventures, new friends, new stories, new priorities, new outlooks, new books, new life.

And I can trace it all back the one spirit journey, riding the Mission Beach roller coaster at midnight two summers ago during Comic Con.  Things in my life were alright.  I was married to a nice guy, we lived in a cute house in Phoenix, and I was out of hair school and working in a salon that I really liked.  Everything was...fine?  So why did I feel so lost and restless?  I had everything I had told myself that I wanted.  I didn't know what my next step should be, and it was starting to drive me crazy.  So I rode the roller coaster at midnight.  I sat by the ocean.  And a few days later, while sitting at Dairy Queen with my daughter, it just hit me: I was going to donate a kidney.  It was something that I was going to do.  Simple as that.


Then it was a whirlwind of testing and obsessing before it actually happened on December 1st.  Once those lines were cut, once I woke up in that hospital bed,   I felt so... free.  I saw my life for the gift it was. For what it still is.   It's my life!  It's mine to live and it's up to me to spend energy on the things that I love.  It doesn't matter what I've been told is the right way to live.  It doesn't matter what I think I'm supposed to be doing at my age. It doesn't matter that nothing is terrible and that everything is fine. It's not fine. I learned the hard way that if I don't stay true to myself, I will feel trapped and stagnant.  I will spend my time wondering what's wrong with me, trying to figure out why I'm unhappy when everything should be great.
BUT... if I follow the opportunities that make me feel love, I will be shown even more opportunities.  And even if times get hard, even if I run out of money, even if I feel like I'm going crazy....I will not feel trapped.  I will have an infinite amount of opportunities in front of me.  I will be free.

That's what happened when I donated the kidney.  I saw through the bullshit that I had been feeding myself for years.  I saw what I needed to do.  I accepted that I didn't want the things that I once thought I wanted.  I took a chance.  Then I took more.  It wasn't always easy.  It's still not.  But it is my life.  And it's a beautiful, scary, fantastic life. And I am living it so much harder now with more adventure, more openness, more honesty, and with one kidney. 

Thursday, November 26, 2015

What I'm thankful for, 2015

1. A daughter who is happy and healthy
2. Everyone else in my family, blood-related and otherwise.
3. Friends, new and old 
4.  Ayahuasca and the things it has shown me and all it will show me in thefuture 
5. A job that doesn't give me anxiety 
6. People who let me do their hair in the kitchen because my job doesn't pay very much
7. A car that gets me from point A to point B
8. A place of my own to live that is safe and adorable 
9. My kidney recipient for turning my world upside down and showing me what true courage and freedom can be
10. Adventure

This Thanksgiving is completely different than any I have ever had before. I was supposed to spend it with a friend, but I caught a cold and spent the day (mostly) alone. Other than the sniffling and stuff, it was one the best holidays I've ever had. I knew my kid was with her dad's family, eating turkey and running around with her cousins. I didn't have to entertain anyone or worry about what they wanted to eat or do all day.  I could just fix myself some food, sit on the couch, watch tv, read, write, and be by myself.  For the first time in years, I got to spend Thanksgiving thinking about the things I am thankful for. Like really thankful for. Like the fact that I was born a human in this time period in this country. It is a miracle that my body came to be formed at all, especially in a place and time where I don't have to worry about scarlet fever or gential mutilation, and isn't that what the holidays are really about?

I don't know if I would have appreciated my own company as much in the past, but it's pretty nice. Plus, as things change, as life goes on, I know that alone time may not always be so easy to come by. Spending this next summer out of state and living out of my car is probably one of the most exciting things I have to look forward to, but in the meantime, I'm going to appreciate this bathtub while I have it. And yes, I may or may not be typing this on my phone while in the bathtub. My only regret is not bringing a bowl of leftover mashed potatoes in here as well...

I hope that your Thanksgiving is filled with love and gratitude, whether you are surrounded my family or whether you are spending it alone. Either way, I hope you feel peaceful and free and genuinely happy.

Thursday, November 5, 2015

Rebirth

There is no way for me to type out my Ayahuasca experience. The written word has no room, in any known language, for what I experienced six days ago. I can't even journal it in a way that makes sense.
 
So give me a little more time. 
I'll make a video post describing my ceremony, and even though I know it won't do it justice either, it will be something a little closer to the truth. But there are some things I can tell you now...

I know my purpose.
I know where I came from.
I have started to learn a second language.
I have physically experienced and relived what it was like for our fishy ancestors to crawl onto land for the first time.
I have a lot more work to do.

And most importantly...

The gut blob is gone. Just like that, it is no more. 

I promise more on all of this once I get a chance to make a video.
I hold so much love in my heart for every one of you.
Ayahuasca is absolutely, 100% the most pure and raw form of medicine that I have ever witnessed, and my soul has been healed.  I owe my life to Mama Ayahuasca and I will spend the rest of my life working to make the most of what I have been given. 
I have never felt so much love in my life.

It was incredible.

Friday, October 30, 2015

Famous Last Words

It's here.
I can't decide if I'm preparing for Disneyland or my execution. I think both are probably pretty close. 

I don't have a lot to say except that I don't have any expectations, really, but I am ready for whatever Mama Aya gives me.

I've got my list of things to pack. I have an offering for her. I have my intention. I bought a neon pink pair of long johns in the kids' section at Target because it's gonna be cold tonight. And I'm bringing my snow bear from when I was a kid.

I'll share as much as I can as soon as I can. I have no idea how long it will take me to process everything, so please be patient with me. 

I love you all. And I'm hoping to be capable of loving you (and myself) even harder once I come out of this on the other side.

Over and out, captain.

Friday, October 16, 2015

The Chemical Our Brain Releases When We Die.

What's it like drinking Ayahuasca?
 
Some people compare it to being shot out into space.
Others claim that it's more like dying.
Or being born.
Or an exorcism.
Years of therapy condensed into a few hours.
Lifetimes of memory recall.
Losing control completely.
It's loss of time.
Loss of ego.
It's being thrust into the deepest darkest parts of your mind.
It's being (quite literally) face-to-face with your demons.
Face-to-face with God.
With yourself.
It's realizing that all three of those things are the same.

I honestly have no idea what drinking Ayahuasca will be like.  But I'm doing it in two weeks, and I'm sure I will have a lot to say about it after Ceremony.  Right now, though, I can only compare it to falling in love.  Every song I hear is suddenly about Mama Aya, every conversation makes its way to ceremony, every day is a countdown to when I finally get to meet her. 


I understand how all of this sounds to most of you guys.  It is some crazy, hippie bullshit.  It gets weirder, so strap in tight, kids.

She started calling me over a month ago, waking me up at three o'clock in the morning, not in a menacing or an urgent way, but more playful.  "Let's go!" she would giggle.  "Come on!  Let's play!" 

I told you it got weirder.  But that's the only way I can describe it.  She would wake me up in the middle of the night until I did more research, I read books, I met with friends and shamans and made plans to take the medicine.   There is no other way for me to explain it, or believe me, I would.  I was being called. And just in time, too, I might add.  There are things I need to find out.  There are wounds that need to heal.  There is wisdom that needs to be shared.  And eventually... maybe in this ceremony, maybe in one years down the road, Aya and I will play.

Dieta is hard, I will admit.  Giving up weed was not fun, as much as I don't like admitting it.  Neither was giving up ice cream.  Bread.  Salt.  Everywhere I go, fried foods and pastries taunt my nose.  Oils and sugars have been the most difficult, for sure.  But I want this.  I want to go into this as honestly and as humbly as I can.

And I've noticed things changing.  My dreams are vivid.  She appears in them occasionally, telling me to write apology/forgiveness letters to my father.  She pushes me to write, to create, to share my stories.  She shows me old friends that had my back way before we even decided to come to Earth to be human.  She gives me flashes of information (like being shown a movie for just a split second on a black screen right in front of my face) of the vastness and overwhelming awe of time and space, and then she shoves me back into my living room couch.  "Everything is connected," she tells me, "You can see it if you stay open". 

All of this, and I don't even drink the medicine for another two weeks. 

It's going to be big...

I'm scared to see what she may show me.  All of this self-abuse that I've inflicted, all of these lies I've told, these walls and false faces I've put up for ones reason or another- I'm going to have to answer to it. But at the end of it all, I will come out of it with knowledge, with more questions, and being more Sophie than I have been since I can remember.  And that will be a beautiful thing.

Thank you so much, as you read this.  Whether you know me or not.  Whether you like me or not.  Whether we speak daily or if you just stumbled across my blog.  We are all connected, and we are here to learn from one another.  I raise my glass of black coffee to you, even though I still can't help but wish it had caramel in there, too.

Here's to freedom.  Here's to friends who understand and support, to friends who don't understand but support anyway.  Here's to being shot into space and lifting the veil and to dying and rebirth.  Here's to synchronicity.  Here's to being called to do something big and following it despite all rationality.  Here's to the panic attacks that show us how delicate we are.  Here's to the next day when we realize how strong we are for surviving.  Here's to feeling love on a bigger level.   Here's to heartbreak. Here's to feeling everything we possibly can while we are here on earth for a few precious years.  Here's to learning and failing and learning and failing and learning and failing. 
Here's to being connected.
Here's to being open.

Monday, September 14, 2015

La Medicina

Ceremony is October 30th.

While I haven't buckled down on Ayahuasca Dieta yet, I have seriously cut down on my weed, dairy, salt, and sugar intake.  I have been trying my best to journal all of it- my hopes to purge all of the dark blob that has lived in my gut since I can remember and also the fears I have of seeing everything in that dark blob manifested in front of me.  I'm both humbled and terrified by the idea of stripping down all of the layers of my personality, breaking through my ego, and seeing what is truly there.  Will I like what I see? Will I even recognize myself?  Sometimes I wonder if there will even be anything left once all the bullshit has been cleared away. 

If you think I'm doing this to trip balls in the desert, you are sorely mistaken.

I'm doing this because I am ready to face that dark blob in my gut.
I am sick of being stuck in the same relationship cycles.
I'm sick of feeling trapped.
I'm sick of superficial conversations and feeling like I'm pretending to be a human.
I'm sick of having to smoke weed to get through stressful times.
I'm sick of being tired all day.
I'm sick of comparing myself to other people.
I'm sick of worrying that revealing my true self will also reveal that I'm mentally ill.
I'm sick of lying.
I'm sick of grieving for people who died almost twenty years ago.
I'm sick.
And there's a reason they call it Medicine.

It's not a quick fix, by any means.  The work that I will do on the 30th of October will only be the start of a long process filled with its own ups and downs.  I am alright with that.  The pills I tried before this only treat the symptoms, and they make me apathetic and lethargic. 

The other night, I let myself cry, really cry, for a long time.  It started out with tears of frustration, but once I opened up and let myself feel the sadness, it wouldn't stop.  Every bad thing that I had seen or done or heard or thought, every death I had mourned, every mistake I had made, it all came crashing down onto my chest. I felt judged in the worst possible way, like I was sitting in a courtroom across from every other human being in the world and they were pronouncing me guilty before I could even open my mouth to defend myself.  For the first time in my life, it was too much. 
I didn't know what else to do.
"PLEASE," I called out to my ceiling and whatever was out there that would listen.
"Please, please, please make it stop!  No more!  I can't take any more!"
The contents of entire rivers poured down the sides of my face while I continued to pray for the first time since Brandon died.
I wasn't praying to the Christian God that I had been raised with.  I wasn't praying to the Patron Saint of anything.  I wasn't even praying to Mother Ayahuasca.  I was pleading with anyone, anything that would take mercy on me.  A higher power.   A lower life form.  Anything that could turn the volume down on my life just until I got my shit together. 
After another minute or so of bawling on my bed, I wiped away my tears, I sat up, and I pulled my shoulders back.
You are a force, a powerful being, I told myself.  You have no other choice except to deal with this shit.  Now DEAL.  After my mental pep talk, I pulled myself off my bed.  From somewhere in my brain, the idea came to me that all of these bad things that I was dealing with- the bad decisions, the abuse, the mistakes, everything that has been beating me down this summer- it was all my doing.  I became aware that I had CHOSEN to have these things happen to me before I even started out in this life.  I had decided before I was even born that I needed all of these terrible things to happen so that I could learn from it.  And that thought, while it disappeared as quickly as it came, did not make me feel any better; it only continued to frighten me.
I marched into my living room with a sense of purpose and general ass-kickery to combat this depressive episode.  In my head, I personified it into this slimy, giant creature, and I was coming out swinging.  I am going to do some yoga, I told myself, to bring myself to center and to remind myself how strong I can be.
And then it happened...
As I pulled my mat from its spot in the corner of the room, I looked over at the framed photographs I keep of my family.  My sister, my mother, my stepsister, my beautiful daughter.  All of them stared at me behind glass, and I did not recognize a goddamned one of them.
I'm not being metaphorical.  I'm not exaggerating.
I could process that these people were related to me and I was aware that they were people in my life, but there was no emotional connection to them.  They could have been any four strangers on the street for all my heart knew.  The more I tried to attach myself to my family, the more distant they felt from me.
It had never gotten this bad before. 
I unrolled my mat with shaking hands and repeated out loud to myself the only thing I could think to say, "There is good.  There is love.  There is good.  There is love".
If you have ever been to my house, you know that I fill it full of things that make me feel good (because, let's face it, when you make eight dollars an hour, you tend to spend a lot of time at home).  My bookshelf, my walls, everything in my home has a purpose, and it all has been put together in a way that makes me feel like I am in my own space.  But my living room that night may as well have been a dark, empty cave on another planet in another dimension.  The bookshelf, the books, the art, even the crayon drawings on my fridge were foreign to me.  Nothing felt normal or comforting.  From where I was standing, I could see no good, no love.  But I didn't know what to do so I just kept repeating it to myself while I tried to stretch and breathe. 
After about an hour or so of poses, I wrapped my arms around myself.  I felt so tiny and weak.  I wondered if this is how my friends feel when I hug them.  I have lost a shit ton of weight since the surgery and the divorce, and I could feel it when my fingers found homes in the gaps in my rib cage.  Nevertheless, I pulled myself even closer, digging my fingertips in further.  "There is good.  There is love". Over and over again.  I felt a little better.
More poses.  More hugging.  More chanting out loud like a lunatic.
Once my house began to feel more familiar, I turned on all of my lights and burned some sage, leading the smoke out the front door of my tiny apartment.  Yes, it's a hippie thing to do.  But after an evening of praying to my ceiling and not recognizing my own family, feeling silly for burning some sage was the least of my worries.
I felt a little better, but I was shaken up for the rest of the night.  To be honest, I 'm still recovering from it.


I debated for days about whether or not to post this story.  It's not a happy one.  It's not even a sane one.  It negates logic and reason and everything that I have held true, and it only reaffirms the idea that I am crazy and incurable.  But the truth is, this is something real that happened to me.  It could happen again.  That's the bad news.

The good news is, wounded and broken, I'm still standing. 
The good news is, somewhere in space and time, I've already taken the Medicine.
The good news is that there IS good.  There IS love.
And I'm going to find it in myself, over and over, until it has become a part of me.





Wednesday, August 26, 2015

Turn to Face the Strange

I have some big stuff brewing in my life, both literally and figuratively. Once I can say things with more certainty, there will definitely be a longer, less cryptic blog post. 

Until then, here is a page from my journal that can give you a little peek.


Friday, August 14, 2015

On failing


I asked a few of my friends to tell me about a time that they failed.  I asked them if they felt like it was worth it to try something, even though it didn't work out.

I am really lucky to have friends who will tell me things like this.  Their responses were honest and raw and revealing.  All day today,  I've received texts and emails describing how each of them came up short in his or her life.  I know people who have lived through death, divorce, drugs, poverty, abusive relationships, and sex addiction.  They have let down their children, their parents, their siblings, and their friends.  And on top of that, they were willing to share their failures with me and have me type them up and put them on the internet. 

I don't think I knew what I was getting into.


There were short text message responses like: I'll take life for 1000.  Still waiting to see if it was worth it.  Other, longer responses came via email.  One friend of mine has started writing six different novels, none of which were ever finished, and he sent me the stories behind each of them.  With every email and text, every tale of humility and disappointment, I felt closer to these people, like having this information about them somehow made them more human and fragile while also making them more badass and admirable. 


"I failed at being the manager at (my job).  No matter how hard I tried or didn't try, once I was promoted, my team was consistently unhappy and so was I.  I was so wrapped up in...family stuff that I didn't have compassion for me, and even though I knew I shouldn't be the manager, I never did anything to release the stress."
 

"Last year I tried to pass the Motorcycle Rider basic course to get my license and failed 2 times, then the third time I crashed and dislocated my knee and sprained my whole leg.  Embarrassing and sad as I come from a 'long line' of riders and enthusiasts and both my 17 year old nieces and my 22 year old nephew were successful in passing and have went on to buy their own bikes and ride happy."

"One that comes to mind is school, mainly high school, I failed it because of the time I was in my life. Moving to 3 different high schools in 3 different states when your dad tries to send you to a mental house and when your mom kicks you out at 15 when all she was doing was beating and abusing made it hard. I had to focus on being happy and self worth, while struggling to pass my classes."


Sometimes we failed at things no matter how hard we tried, no matter how badly we wanted them.  Sometimes we failed people. 

The inspiration to write this blog came to me the other day, when I was running some errands with a friend of mine and her six-year-old son.  While we shopped and ate lunch, I watched the two of them together and made a note to try and be more like that with my daughter- more patient and considerate of her age and how she thinks. I unloaded all of my anxieties and some future plans onto my friend, and I was relieved when she responded with excitement and support.  Her opinion of me as a fellow mom means a lot, and I felt way better about my decisions once we had spent the afternoon together. The very next day, she sent me text messages about how she felt like a "shitty mom" because she feels like she is constantly making wrong decisions with her son.  This same woman that I use as an example of how to be a good mother, she is so worried about failing her child.  We do this with our siblings.  Our mothers.  Our lovers.  Failing people is something that a lot of my friends wanted to tell me about.


"I feel like I failed (at my marriage) because no matter what I did, said, showed, it was never enough.  It was never enough to prove I was throwing every piece of myself into the marriage...marriage is a two way street, both spouses need to put in the effort and I felt  like the only one drowning in both our problems trying to fix them and make it all work."
 

We've all felt like this.  The sentiment is still the same.  We've failed at things that we wanted soooo badly- like getting a motorcycle license or a marriage- and that is terrible. When we're kids, we're told to try our hardest, and it didn't matter if we succeeded, as long as we tried.  But we also are told that failure is not an option and that it's important to finish what you start.  Sometimes our best is not enough.  Eventually, we fail the people we love.  We can't always give them what we feel they deserve, and we take them for granted. The failure cuts extra deep on those days. 


"I failed as a big sister when I was younger.  I am 22 months older than her.  We should have been tight, but we just seemed to have two different childhoods, even though we had the exact same living situation.  I can still remember her coming up to me when she was a freshman, I was a junior.  She had gotten her period and needed help.  I showed her where the nurse's office was and went about my day. I still cry about it and tell her I am sorry. I was just an asshole at that age."  


"My marriage.  I thought I was ready to be with her for the rest of my life, but I didn't realize that I had many more years ahead that would alter and change me into a person that didn't need her around anymore.  I failed her and I failed our marriage."


We also failed at things that we didn't even care about, and that is such a strange sort of failure, like a double whammy.  Not only did we fail, we didn't even really want it in the first place and we STILL failed.


"I feel like I failed (college) because well...I literally did fail....but also because I failed to push myself to be better and actually try.  Looking back at it now, I feel like I was afraid to succeed and do the hard work I knew I was easily able to do but I failed to put in the effort."

"I moved away from home to another state when I was 22.  I lasted less than a year in Ohio before (I) moved back in with my parents.  Even though I didn't like living in Ohio, I still feel like I failed because I ended up going back to Kentucky, even though I'm happier here than there." 



These stories, they all feel important, like I should do more with them than just put them in a blog.  These are the stories that made the people I love into who they are.  These are the hard times that took the hardest blows to their spirits and made them look at themselves in new ways.  Success is a wonderful, beautiful thing, but it rarely makes anyone introspective.  Failure is so powerful, it can easily discourage us from ever trying again, but it can also motivate us to be better next time, to change and evolve to adapt to what life has given us.  My friends, they are experts on survival, and not only that, they are all way more optimistic than they should be. Nearly everyone said that they would love to go back in time and warn themselves to make better decisions.  But they ALL say that it was worth it to try something new, to gain the experience, to have the stories.  Despite the broken bones, broken hearts, broken egos, and broken homes, despite all of us having this underlying dread that we don't know what we are doing with our lives, despite all of that... we would take failure over nothing at all.

And that means everything.


Thursday, June 25, 2015

Letter to my Sixteen-Year-Old Self

Dear Sophie,

            You're doing great.

Before I say anything else to you, before you get any further... know that.  You are doing great.  I know it doesn't feel like that at all right now.  You feel like you're barely surviving and things just seem to be going from bad to worse.  You feel alone and frightened and confused.  I know.  You're me, almost sixteen years ago.  I wish I could tell you that things aren't as bad as they seem and that you'll look back on them and see that they weren't as hard in hindsight.  But I'm not going to bullshit you.

Your sixteenth year is not your easiest, and not just for the usual reasons.  Adolescence is hard enough in a healthy, normal house.  Adolescence for you is insane.  And you are getting through each day marvelously.  You are true to yourself and your feelings.  You are clinging to whatever stability you can- friends, church, music- and that is fine.  All of that is fine.  You'll change your mind on a lot of things in the future, but for right now, you keep doing what you have to do to keep your head above water.

It's really intimidating, writing to you.  I want you to like me.  I want you to be proud of me.  I value your opinion, quite a bit more than I thought I would, actually.  You are a real badass.  I mean it.  You have this soft heart and this rebellious nature, and all of that is just bubbling up inside of you.  You're so much bigger than your awkward little body.  You're starting to question everything you've ever held to be true, including religion, even though it's such a large part of your world.  Question it all, darling.  The things that stick with you,  the things that hold up through the questioning and the searching, those are the big things. You'll change your mind a lot in the upcoming years.  It won't always be an easy thing, either.   You will make some really bad decisions.  Like, REALLY bad. You'll have your foot in your mouth so often that you start to enjoy the taste. It's okay.  It's how we learn.

"Change is always good.  It's not always easy, but it's always good."  That's some of the best advice you'll ever get. You'll hear it from from our friend, Bryan, when you're 26.  But I think you could definitely use it now.  Speaking of advice, that is NOT the reason I wrote you this letter.  While I do have some advice for you, I don't want to change the path that you're on.  Not too much. You're going to hate me for not warning you about a lot of shit, but you're going to need to go through it.  I'm sorry.  It's going to make you kinder. It's going to show you how much you can take.  It's going to force you to change when you're too scared.


So, you're probably wondering, how am I doing?  Am I living the life I saw for myself at sixteen?
First of all, you ARE.
Secondly, I wish you had set your goals a little higher.

At sixteen, you have this very foggy vision of our life.  You see us living...SOMEWHERE?  Somewhere warmer, definitely.  Somewhere with palm trees?  Like in "A Prayer for Owen Meany".  Maybe somewhere with an ocean.  You picture us in a small apartment, in a big city, with a pug.  At thirty-one, you would assume that I have a cool job and a really cute boyfriend.  He will live in his own place and we will go on awesome vacations.  I will not have any children.  Neither will he.  I will play in a punk band on the weekends.  I will have lots of tattoos and pink hair, no matter how old I get.  I will read a lot and will probably have written and published a couple of children's books by now.  But you're not sure WHAT my career will actually be. At sixteen, getting out of Winchester and supporting yourself seems light years away. Nowhere feels like Home, and you don't know what you'll do or where you'll do it.  You just want out. What you don't realize is that at sixteen, living in that trailer, you're learning how to survive.  You don't know yet that you will always look back at where you are now to remind yourself what you can make it through.
 * side note:  I also am very aware that you are willing to re-evaluate your vision of our future if Matt Helfrich ever decides to take a chance and date you because, let's face it, you'd totally change your plans for him.  And I know you're not proud of that.  Neither am I.

So how do I, almost twice your age, hold up to our teenage vision of the future?
I live in Tempe, Arizona.  Look it up.  That is a huge city compared to what you're used to.  There are palm trees everywhere, and moving here will be one of the best decisions you will ever make.   I am going to warn you, it's not Home.  Summer's are absolutely awful, and this is not where you will end up forever.  I don't know if there is anywhere we will ever find in the world that feels like Home.  It's not as sad as it sounds.  It's actually kind of liberating.  You understand.  Of course you do.  As it turns out, I DO live in a tiny apartment.  It's kind of sweet how realistic you were with how poor we would be, but I'm okay with that. I do have a pug.  I named him after a John Irving character.  I also have a seven-year old roommate.  My daughter.  I know, I know... but she's cool.  You'll  name her after a band, and no,  I won't tell you which one.  Having a baby is very weird for you, but as she gets older, you will realize how lucky you are to be her mother.  You will also hate being called a mother by anyone but her, and you will feel guilty about that, and then (like most things), you will just say fuck it.  I can't tell you what happens with her dad or the other men you have in your life romantically.  You need to go through all of that.  I'm sorry.  It's not all bad, and even though relationships don't work out, it's all teaching you what you need. I am so proud of you for picturing us so happy and independent, though.  As it turns out, you were right about needing my own space.  I have pink hair and a ton of tattoos, but still not enough.  I'm sorry to tell you, I slowed down on the writing a LOT.  I'm sorry.  I dropped the ball on that.  I'm telling you this to warn you- Jacob Marley style- please, please, please don't stop writing.  It sorts your thoughts, and at sixteen, you are still really good at it.  Now?  I'm a fucking mess; I'm all over the place.  I lost it, and I'm sorry.  I also stopped drumming.  My bad.

All in all, I'm pretty proud of us.

Good job.

I do wish I could say that you fully recovered from feelings of crippling self doubt.  I wish I could tell you that you stop obsessing about the parts of your body that you hate.  I wish I could say that you fully get over Matt Helfrich.

I can't.

I can tell you that I am starting to love myself more.  This means not starving myself or mentally bashing myself when I fuck up.  I do more things that make me happy, and I try to help others as much as I possibly can.  I still assume that all of my friends are talking shit behind my back all the time, but I am finding out that everyone else worries about that, too.  We all are so insecure.  And as for Matt Helfrich?  He has not yet professed his undying love to me, but I do talk to him a few times a year, and I still consider him one of my dearest friends.  At some point, that becomes enough.

I hope you think I'm cool.
I realize how lame that probably is.

What else?....
Your shitty taste in music never changes.
You will never understand why anyone pays more than $15 for a pair of pants.
You DO stop eating meat!
You DO NOT stop craving Ale 8.
You don't stop biting your nails.
You pose nude for life drawing classes.
You donate a kidney to a stranger.
You will go to a lot of weddings, and even more funerals.
You will wish you learned to cook.

The good news is, we make it out alive.

Stop feeling guilty for things that you wish you'd done differently.  Realize sooner that it is okay to try and fail and try and fail over and over again.
Keep trying.  Keep failing.
Just please don't lose your spark.
Don't stop being a badass.  Don't stop writing.  Don't stop questioning.
Just get through it all the best you can, and meet me at thirty-two with some children's book titles and the keys to a beachside house, somewhere that we can call Home.   How will you know which thirty-two-year-old woman is me?  I think you'll recognize me.  And that makes me really happy.

In case you're wondering...
I am not ashamed of you or what you have been through, or what you have done or where you came from.

Sixteen-year-old me, you're doing great.
I wouldn't bullshit you.

I love you.

Sincerely,
Bonanza Jellybean

P.S.  Don't worry about paying off those video rental fees. Trust me.

PPS.   Hey, hey,hey, hey.  Smoke weed every day.



Tuesday, June 2, 2015

Epilogue

It has been six months since I was admitted to the Mayo Clinic Emergency Room.
From the moment I slipped from consciousness under anesthesia, nothing in my life has been the same.
NOTHING.

I  awoke with Amy Donohue at my bedside, feeling more tired than I had ever felt in my life.  It wasn't a tired like right after you have a new baby.  That kind of tired is exhausting and panicked and satisfying and beautiful.  I was what Amy described to me as "kidney tired", which I can only compare to a Xanax nap during a very bad bout of depression on a cold, icy morning in January in the south. I felt disgusting.  And to make it worse, I was sure I had a urinary tract infection.

 It fucking sucked.

I knew that it was going to hurt.  I knew that it was going to make me tired.  I knew that I didn't really have a uti; it just felt that way because my catheter was messed up.  I knew all of this and I didn't care.  I had expected to feel happy, proud of myself.  I was hoping to feel a connection with a stranger on this new bizarre level, and instead I only wanted to roll over in my hospital bed and sleep forever.


Eventually, I woke up. I put my eyeliner on, and I walked slow and painful baby steps around the hospital in these ridiculous socks that the hospital provided.  I was released the following day. 



Over the course of the next few weeks, my friends took amazing care of me.  My (former, now) husband lifted my legs into bed every night when I had to get up to go pee, because I didn't have the strength to pull myself up.  I had friends come over to babysit.  I had friends bring me food. Some friends brought me flowers.  Others brought me weed.  I got facebook messages and emails and texts and letters in the mail, and I was so thankful for all of them.  I had never been so helpless in my entire life, and I don't think I can ever say thank you enough to the people who were there for me.



Six months ago, I woke up with one kidney.  It wasn't working hard enough to compensate for the loss of the left kidney quite yet.  But I still had one very healthy kidney.  This means that I woke up feeling A PORTION of the lethargy that my new recipient had felt every day of her life for years.  I still can't fully understand how awful it must feel to be in kidney failure, but that little taste of it was miserable.

My body is healing right on schedule, and my energy has returned with full force.  I feel more healthy now than when I had two kidneys.  I'm not sore anymore, and I could even have a glass of wine if I wanted to.  Just no ibuprofen or mosh pits, neither of which I was a huge fan of in the first place. 

If I could grow another kidney and donate again, I would do it right now.

After December first, I felt like I was free, more free than I had ever felt in my life.  I was unafraid, and I reevaluated every aspect of my life that I had previously been too scared to look at.  I ended my marriage.  I moved to Tempe with my daughter and my pug. I changed my work hours.  I started writing again.  I made new friends.  I covered up that damned tattoo.  I make more mix tapes.  I write more love letters to my friends.  I do more yoga.  I go on camping trips.  I drive out to the desert by myself.  I know these things are kind of dumb.  These are all silly, small things in the vastness of the void of space, on this tiny rock with seven billion other people.  I could have done all of them with two kidneys.  But I didn't know that I needed to.

I am more myself than I have been in years, and I have a stranger to thank for that.  I'm so, so sorry she had to go through what she did.  But I'm inspired by her strength and her determination.  I don't want to take time for granted anymore.  I don't want to lose this feeling of freedom and inspiration.  I don't want to ever feel tied down by anyone or anything again.

I get asked all the time why I donated a kidney to a stranger.  During the process, my answer was that it just felt right.  It did.  I didn't know why.  In hindsight, I can see that the answer was:
I donated my kidney because I wanted to feel love on a grander scale.


It is the coolest thing I have ever done.
It is my favorite story to tell.
...

so far.




Sunday, May 24, 2015

The Kidney Post Part V

 11/20/14

The craziest thing happened today....

Earlier, Amy posted a photo of the two of us on her facebook page for Social Media Stole My Kidney (her non-profit).  This girl who had been going through donor testing saw the photo and commented that she was going to donate... on December first... in Rochester... as part of a six-person chain.  She is IN MY CHAIN.  It's fucking incredible.  She and I started talking online, and she is pretty sure that my kidney is going to the friend that she was originally trying to donate to!

We've continued talking about  the experiences we've had in testing.  She decided not to tell my recipient much about me, or vice versa, unless we both agree to it.  That relieves me.  I'm still not sure that I ever want to meet or talk to the person who receives my kidney.  I just... I really like the idea of  it being anonymous.

But still, what are the odds of meeting this girl in my chain?  I suppose if I were online searching for them, I could probably track down a couple of people in it, but I wasn't!  And neither was she!  Oh man, the magic of the internet.


11/24/14

One week.  That's it.

I got the phone call today while Cami and I were Christmas shopping at Wal Mart.  I'm NEVER at Wal Mart.  It gives me anxiety, and I usually just put all my stuff down and leave before I can even pay.  But we were there. 

Mira called while I was shopping and told me that while we are waiting on the lab blood draw that was taken this morning, she has locked down December first.  I will admit into the Mayo Clinic Emergency Room at 2 am (sweet mother of god), and from there I will prep for surgery.  I will be under the knife by 5 am.  Surgery should be done by 8, then my kidney will fly to Minnesota.  Without me.  I wonder how many states I can say I have been to after all this...

Holy shit, it's real.

After we hung up, I asked Cami if she had any questions, and she did.  She wanted to make sure that I won't wake up and if I do that I won't feel anything.  These are real fears, and I hope she understands when I tell her that I'm not scared and that good people are taking very good care of me.

A woman overheard our conversation and stopped me.  She told me that her sister just received part of a lung from an organ donor, and she asked to give me a hug.  She cried and apologized for crying, saying that she would give anything to hug the family of the lung donor and thank them for keeping her sister alive.  I cried, too, then apologized.  I never know what to say.  I know it's a big thing that I'm doing, but for me it's such a simple thing.  I make the decision.  I go through testing.  I go to sleep and wake up.  But I'm glad that woman was there today, and I'm even glad that I was there.

11/26/15

I took my daughter and my kidney on roller coasters today as a last hurrah before the surgery. Cami had never been on one before, and she jumped right into the seat- no fear.    I am impressed by her and also scared as hell.  Three days until surgery.


12/1/14

Checked into Mayo right now and hooked up tp my IV!  Mary and Jessica, my nurses are so nice, and the entire hospital is empty.  It's really nice and private and relaxed.  My gown has a heater hose, but it's still cold in here.  In less than an hour, I will meet my anesthesiologist and my surgeon.  After talking more to Sarah, the other girl in my chain, I am not even nervous.



This is going to be incredible.



Over and out, Captain.


Thursday, April 30, 2015

The Kidney Post Part IV



October 12, 2014

                I may have a match.  Already. I was in the database for one week before I got the call.  It’s a six-person chain with my kidney ending up at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota.  I could say that I haven’t journaled about it yet because it’s all sinking in.  The truth is, though, I just suck at journaling.

Two days after the phone call, I received a package from Minnesota with the vials in it for my blood.  At 7 am tomorrow, I will go back to my Mayo here in Arizona, fill those up, and then I’ll wait some more.   I’m hoping this is it.  No more waiting.  I had a dream last week that they would schedule my surgery on November 12th.  That’s one month from today, so I don’t see that as a possibility.  But regardless, it’s definitely coming up soon.  This is huge.  What I am getting out of this is so amazing.  It’s indescribable.  I am trying to keep my brain busy on what I have going on in the present.  Yes, I will be donating an organ very soon.  But...
In the meantime there is work.
In the meantime, there’s my daughter.
There’s Halloween.
There’s laundry.
There are books. 
But the whole time , in the back of my mind now, is donating a kidney.



I’m not sure I believe I have a” purpose”, but I do believe that I am doing the right thing right now.  My body is a prime candidate for donation, and I am so beyond happy to do it.  And for whoever gets my kidney, I hope it works out for him or her.  And if they inherit any of my quirks or habits, I hope they get my joygasms and not my nail-biting.



November 18, 2014

The waiting has been killing me.  I think that once this is all done, I will appreciate the waiting.  It makes me more patient, more mindful.  But it also distances me from the situation.  I’m no longer at Mayo twice a week.  It’s been almost  two months since my last test.  It’s almost becoming less real. Or at least it was…

Mira called today.  My recipient has been found.  The other donors and recipients in my chain are done testing.  They are talking about scheduling the surgeries as soon as December first.  That’s two weeks away, and I really hope that’s when it happens. 
It’s surreal.  I’m so happy.  I’m a little terrified, but I’m more happy.

I hope things start to move quickly again.
I hope everything goes well.
I hope my recipient can understand on some level, how much I am getting out of this.
I hope my family doesn’t worry too much about me.
I hope I get books and ice cream in the hospital.
I hope the new kidney works for my match.
I hope he/she gets books and ice cream, too.



November 19, 2014

                Twelve days.

If everything goes as planned, the surgery will happen in twelve days.  My mother is freaking out.  I can't really tell how Gren is, but I think he's okay.  My friends are all planning on bringing me food and babysitting me for the first week home from the hospital.   I’m not sure how I’m feeling.  But it is soon, and I am thankful for that.



  Mira called me back today to go over one more blood test this Monday and also to help me apply for financial assistance.  She said it’s definitely looking like December first.  I am excited but kind of scared, like being strapped to a rocket ship for the first time except not nearly as much pressure is on me to know what to do.  I just show up and get knocked the fuck out and then I wake up a few hours later.  I’m the lazy man’s type of hero, I guess, and I'm okay with that.

God, twelve days…

I don’t think I’ll have a goodbye party or anything, but I will spend a good amount of time with my kidney.  One-on-one.  Just to bid it farewell and to say thank you for everything it’s done for these past 31 years in my body.  And also to say I’m sorry for all the times I didn’t appreciate it.   There is no doubt that it will be appreciated in its new home.

Thursday, April 16, 2015

I found this tonight



damn.

The Kidney Post Part III



October 2, 2014

                Everything I’ve experienced in this process has felt really good until now.  It’s not that I’m having second thoughts or anything like that.  It’s just the opposite.  I wish I could figure out a way to grow more kidneys so that I could donate to more people.

                Two nights ago, my friend Stacey tagged me on a post on facebook.  One of her friends back east, Becky, needs a kidney and is reaching out for a donor online.  It’s not uncommon; since I’ve started this journey, I’ve seen countless facebook pages for people like her.  It’s heartbreaking, and it made me firm in my decision to donate anonymously.  I could easily go through and pick a recipient that I thought was most like myself.  Or I could try to find someone who was the complete opposite.  I could make a list of people and pick one at random.  But no matter what, someone would lose out.  Until now, I have had no control over that.  My only responsibility has been to stay healthy and willing to donate.

                It’s really cool that Stacey tagged me, by the way.  She saw her friend in need and knew that I was giving a kidney.  It makes perfect sense, and that is how so many transplants happen now- via social media.  I began talking to Becky online and then via text.  She is so great.  She’s funny, she’s into puppets, totally a person I would be friends with.  She’s on dialysis and losing feeling in her legs.  I could call Mayo and tell them to stop the chain so I could donate to her.  I felt so torn.  Is telling one person yes and a whole chain of people no okay because there’s a face and a voice to that one person?  Would any of these people fault me if they knew I was saying no to them?  But they wouldn’t know…

In the end, I had to text her and tell her I couldn’t be her donor.  Her hospital wants me to fly to Florida for three weeks, and I don’t want to recover without my friends and family close by.  She understands.  But it has to hurt.  She has had two other possible donors back out already.  I wish I could do something.  I feel like I have so much power to help people, yet for so many others I am helpless.  I’m doing the best I can right now, for a stranger.  And hopefully soon, a stranger could come through for Becky.

I just don’t get it sometimes.  I understand that this is a big weird thing that I’m doing.  I know that the majority of people couldn’t do it even if they wanted to, due to the testing.  But surely SOME people could do it.  I’m not upset with anyone in particular.  The people I know are not selfish or mean.  They all help out with things that are important to them.  They all are giving so much already.  They inspire me do things like this in the first damned place.  I guess it just hurts to be able to help someone and to leave so many others in pain.  It’s not an easy feeling to put into words…

This is the link to Becky's search for a kidney. Please watch, share, and do what you feel you can to help. She is amazing.



October 15, 2014

I’m an emotional wreck (in a good way, I think?).  It’s not surprising.  My whole world right now revolves around kidneys.  I have this huge cloud around my head most of the time, but it’s not like a depressed rain cloud.  It’s more of a storm of “How amazing and magnificent it is that I was born at all!”  It’s reminding me how big and beautiful the world is, whether I’m in a good mood or not.  Big bolts of lightning hit my brain like, “LOOK AT THAT GODDAMN MOUNTAIN! IT’S SO FUCKING GORGEOUS!”

My “joygasms” still come pretty frequently, and they hit very hard.  I’m pushing back tears almost daily.  Last night, Cami and I sat around and played Uno and Candyland.  Then she pulled out her karaoke machine and sang.  I had to run to the bathroom so she wouldn’t see me cry. 

I don’t think this surgery puts me in great danger.  I’m not afraid of it.  But this experience is showing me how beautiful life can be.  These people on dialysis every day, they’re working to stay alive and fighting so they can discover as much of this world that they can. It’s inspiring.  And it reminds me that I will die.  And when I do, I hope Cami remembers nights like last night.

 I’ve had a great life.  I don’t want it to be over.  I want to meet as many people as I can.  I want to hear their stories, and I want to share mine, and I want to feel as many types of love as a human can possibly feel.  I want to try a million new tastes and smell the rain in Japan, and I want to honestly say that I know how black holes work.

                But if I don’t get to do any of those things, if I die right now, I will fade out of this world knowing I did all I could and loved as much and as hard as I knew how.  And I am so happy with where it got me.