Mourning

The Jewish mourning process is supposedly set up to help people mourn in stages. Five stages from what I've read in all those miserable books. Filled with rules and laws that no real human can follow. Maybe guidelines or traditions. Who knows.

The first stage is called ANINUT (or aninus for the Ashkenazic Americans). One who is in this in-between stage is called an ONEN. This person is free of all positive commandments. The law was established with the knowledge that all focus should be on the immediate death. I was in ONEN status for six hours.

It's not easy to get that call. And I have gotten it a few times over the years. The "you need to come now" call. And every time, I fly to the nursing home or hospital. Wherever we are spending our lives during those days. Driving like a maniac. Wondering is this it. Do I turn off the music. Do I run home and cut my nails. And, yeah, sometimes it was pretty scary. Walking into a hospital room. My family surrounding a large bed. With a very small person. My mother gasping for air.

But she has always made it through.

Except this time.

This was it. The final call. The call you think you have been preparing for your whole life. But when it comes. Total shock. Denial. Flying down the streets one last time. Maybe it is a false alarm. Maybe you misheard. Doubting your own ears. Your own comprehension. But you did hear it clearly. "Come now. Come now. Your mother is not doing well. You need to come now." And then within a few seconds, "she's very cold. She's dead." How can one deny such definitive words.

I entered the room and my mother was no longer. She was cold and grey. Her trach was disconnected. A gaping hole by her neck. Her eyes were slightly open. Limbs no longer stiff. Machines still beeping in the room. Feeding tubes and IV’s reaching to the floor. No longer attached. My father sitting by her side. Holding her hand. Crying silently.

My usual composure shattered. My cries uncontained. Sobbing. My mother died. My mother is dead. She lays before me but she is not there. I am motherless. I am an orphan. Have I willed this. This is what I always wanted. Freedom. From pain. For her. For me. Freedom from responsibility. So then why wasn't I ready. Why the intense shock. The overwhelming pain. How could I feel so alone. When she hasn't really been here for a long time. Maybe never.

Rabbi comes in and says we need to cover her. It's time. I scream and yell how I am not ready. I touch her feet. Something that she has always hated. Earlier years complaining. Recent years a grimace on her face. I stroke her face. Kiss her cheeks. There is no soul inside this hollow body. My mother died. My mother is dead.

We plan the funeral for later the same day. Allowing just enough time for family to come in from New York. The funeral home comes to wheel my mother's body out. All the doors are closed. We follow in sorrow. The tears just won't stop. At home, I shower and cut my nails. Not knowing when I will do them next. I sit on my bed to write my eulogy. Still regretting not speaking at Bubby's funeral. I will speak no matter how hard. No matter how painful.

At the funeral home, my siblings and family finally arrive. Thirty minutes after the service was supposed to begin. We all follow the casket. Of my dead mother. We enter a room filled with people. No seats left. People standing in every space available. No spare room to be found. In a box. In the front of the room. A large box. Way too big. My mother is dead. Inside this casket. A golden star of David on a blue cloth. Inside is my mother. My mother died. My mother is dead.

At the cemetery. We must rush. Have to beat the clock. Make it before the day becomes tomorrow. Lots of Rabbinic advisement. A rush job. Get the box in the ground. Cover it as fast as possible. So many people surrounding. All happening so fast. And then my brother says Kadish. For the first time. Something that he will have to say three times a day for the next year. Mourning publicly in front of a gathering of ten men. A minyan. Never to be missed. The mourners are ushered through two lines of people. One for the men and one for the women. And then we sit on the ground. Take off our shoes. We are officially in stage two.

The second stage includes the first three days of SHIVA, which immediately follow the burial. In an uncommon way. We started our Shiva at the cemetery. So as not to miss a minute. Delaying would cost us to sit Shiva another day. As we approach my father's house. Formerly my parents’ house, people are already on the porch. Waiting to comfort us. The mourners.

The point of this second stage is to allow mourners to experience their grief. Humans need time to be angry. To feel their feelings. Whatever they are. With no one to dictate how to behave. Mirrors are covered. Low chairs around the house. Hands to be washed. Washing away impurity. An egg to be eaten with bread. Symbolizing the circle of life. Perhaps. And in our case, due to the upcoming holiday, Shiva will only be during those three days. People will come in droves throughout the day. To comfort. Some to listen. Many to speak about themselves and their own pain or loss.

From early morning until late at night. I sat in that low chair. And I felt nothing. Empty. I laughed with some. But I could not remember any good memories to share. The disappointment in the picture painted of my mother. The careless things people said. The constant "well meaners." And yes. There were some who made a difference. But mostly numb. Until the night. When the house emptied out. When we laid in our beds. And we cried. I cried into my pillow. I sobbed. My mother died. My mother is dead. I will never see her again. I wasn't there enough. Who am I now. Without her.

The third stage is the reminder of the SHIVA. Literally translated as "seven." Referring to the seven days. This was more of a quiet stage for us. Unimaginable if we had to sit for an actual seven days.

The fourth stage of mourning is called the SHLOSHIM. Literally translated as "thirty". This stage refers to the thirty days from the burial on. Including both the second and third stage. I am now in Shloshim. The laws are not as strict as Shiva but they are still existent. Less joy. Less of everything. This numb feeling still overtaking.

And then she finally leaves. I am finally alone. After two intense weeks filled with people. I am back in my own place. My own bed. All I want to do is feel. So I open the link. And I watch the funeral. I cry out as if it is all fresh and new. It is fresh. I have not had a minute to feel anything. My mother died. My mother is dead. And now I am lost. I lay in my bed and I don't know what to do.

The fifth and supposed final stage is the year of mourning. It will be a long year ahead. Decisions to me made. Life to adjust to. New reality. New existence. Potential. Freedom.

Maybe the stages aren't so bad after all.

I was the Shabbat Imma in Gan. My mom always came. 

6 Years.

6 Years.

72 Months.
2190 Days.
52560 Hours.
3153600 Minutes.

Time is a funny thing.
Slows down when you need it to pass.
Flies by when you want to catch the moment.
You can't change it.
Only relive it.

Time has a mind of its own.
Memories are confused.
Brain in a fog.
Thoughts rearranged.
Is any of it true.

Time never leaves.

Always in the background.

You can't escape it.
Only avoid suffocation.
Wait to forget.

This day comes every year. 

Less and less meaning. 

As time evaporates. 

Memories fade. 

Tomorrow is another day. 

Polar

Polar opposites

Two sides of a coin

Day and night

Sun and moon

One young and the other old

The young one is quiet. Often introspective. Thoughts flood her mind at all times. She is mostly sad. Stuck in a past life. Forever reliving memories. She is 6 years old. Wants to be held. To be heard. To be listened to. She is artistic. Creative. A loyal friend. Would drop anything to be there for you.  

The old one is loud. A leader. A bitch. Take charge kind of gal. She has a hard shell. Built a fortress around her heart. No one would dare enter. Giving up is not option. She shows up. No matter what. Fights to lead a functional life. No one can think she is weak. She is 80. Propelled into adulthood. Forced to be mature. Make life decisions. She is a fighter. She will leave before you hurt her.

One is mean to the other

Telling her to snap out of it

Not to fall into the trap

Of life

Of love

The other is sad

She is tired

Begging the other to make things ok

To hold her hand

Waiting for a pain free moment

They are polar

But perhaps one day they could meet

Join forces

Unite

And form an alliance

Authenticity Is Overrated

She feels calm

Calmness to breathe 

To sleep 

She has clarity 

Clear minded 

Clear conscious 

She is free 

Freedom to express herself 

Be herself 

She has no fear 

Of others

Herself 

She is unique 

One of a kind 

Unlike anyone else 

She is legitimate 

Solid and whole 

Accepted and needed

She is genuine 

Inside and out

Transparent 

an orphan with living parents

How do you write about something when you've been avoiding facing reality for so long. How do you open that wound that has been so neatly packed. Danced around for so long. What do you say when you don't think anyone is listening. And if they are, you know they can't handle what you have to say. What do you do when you are afraid of your own humanity. Your own reality. The power. The sadness. What do you do when the sadness takes over your life. Threatens to swallow you whole. Suctioned to another place. Six feet under. How do you verbalize those words. Capture those deep emotions. Where do you place that self awareness. How do you keep going.

I am an orphan with living parents. I am alone. I am surrounded by people but I am alone. My parents are living and breathing. But they are not here. They do not know me. They do not want me. They are selfish. They never really looked at me. Seen me for who I was. They used me. Abused me. And left me to rot. All I wanted was to be loved. To be welcomed. To be wrapped in their hearts and never let go. But they were distracted. Consumed. And I was left to fend for myself. I am left to pick up the pieces. Of my shattered soul.

You have abused your power. You were supposed to be there. Love me. Hold me. Guide me. You held the blueprints to the future. And instead you shunted my growth. You altered my reality. You forced me into roles where I did not belong. I took on everyone else's burden. But no one was there to protect me. You abandoned me. I am abandoned. And now all I feel is a void. An emptiness deep in my gut. That cannot be filled. You were supposed to be the parents. You were my example of how to navigate this complicated world. And you failed.

All I ever wanted was unconditional love. And support. And you couldn't even give me that. A basic need. My human right. Everything with you comes at a cost. A hefty price. Sanity is not an option. You don't care if I make it through the day. If I ever materialize to be something real. You have sucked me dry. Corrupted my thoughts. Controlled my mindset. Your voice echos in my brain. Saying nothing helpful. I lead my life in fear. Of others' knowing me. Of myself. Of never amounting to anything. Because you never believed in me. You didn't even give me a chance.

And now you have robbed me of my anger. The only defense mechanism left. There's no more hiding. Or avoidance. The truth has finally surfaced. Hit me in the face. You are toxic. You were never good for me. No matter how hard I try to find another conclusion. I can't. There is no choice. I can't survive with you in the way. You missed out on knowing me. Of being in my life. Of making a positive impact. I am an orphan by choice. Because although you are biologically my parents. You don't deserve the title.

I am an orphan with living parents. It's not something anyone wants to hear. It's not something I want to say. But I can hide from it no longer. I am an orphan with living parents.

My Life

While going through old boxes in the back of my closet, I found a lot of shit. Dishes. Clothes. Scrapbooks. Albums. Pictures. Letters. Memories that had been packed away. Mostly forgotten. Not sure what got into me. Why the nostalgia need. Most definitely was a bad idea.

I can be vague here as is my norm. Or I can just be honest. Tell you that seeing those albums was painful. Although I laughed and fake-gagged at the time. I can say that I am over it. It's all the past and doesn't affect me. But that is not the truth. I did flip through those pictures. Glanced at the scrapbooks containing hundreds of letter. Handwritten love letters. Flashing back to another time. A time that was less complicated.

I saw myself. What outsiders saw. Religious. Observant. Following the rules. Whatever you want to call it. I was playing the part. Living the lifestyle.

I know now that it was all a facade. Waiting to crash at my feet. Living in a fantasy land. Surrounded by infatuation. Desire for a future. No understanding of the present. Of the facts in front me. Avoiding reality. All to live in delusion. A dream of what I wanted and not what was.

I gave up myself. I lost who I was. And I did it willingly. I followed a path that I didn't want. To fit in. To please everyone else. But I was not happy. I was controlled. Miserable. I was uncomfortable in my own skin. I wasn't authentic.

And that's not who I am. Who I ever wanted to be. All I ever wanted to be. Unique. To be authentic. What you see is what you get. Not two-faced at all. Honest to a fault.

And now, although a lot has changed. It is not a bad thing. Looking at my face in those pictures, I see a lonely and sad girl. Standing at a distance from those around her.

Lost. Alone. Leading a life that is not her own. Trapped in a life she doesn't desire.

Today I am grateful. I feel lucky that I have myself back. That I am living my life. As I want to live it. And I won't take that freedom for granted. And I won't lie and say that it isn't hard. Doesn't get painful. The loneliness is definitely there under the surface. But I  no longer feel hopeless. Because my happiness and my life do not depend on you or anyone else. It's internal. My choice. My goals. My life.

My life.

Interference

It's not healthy for me. Don't you get it. Why would you even bother. Have I not made myself clear. I asked you to stop. In the nicest way possible. So please tell me why. Why would you even try. Do you think I wasn't serious. That I don't stick to my word. 

I don't need this. Reading old messages. Emails. Of a previous lifetime. Someone that wasn't me. That I never wanted to be. A trap that I fell into. Judging myself throughout. 

I've moved forward. Onward. I'm trying. But it's hard. All the time. Nothing comes easy. Nothing is simple. Blockades at every turn. The world desperately waiting to see me stumble. Fall flat on my face. Accomplishing nothing. 

I will not give in. Not to the pain. Not to the fear. No person will stand in my way. Not even myself. I will fight. And push through. No matter the cost. Or the loss. You will not be a problem. A tiny fleck of dust I have blown away. You and everyone else. No interference. Not a thing.

ok..but..yeah..so...well...

Ok.

I know I should be excited. Motivated. Energized to move forward. Take the next step. This is what I have been waiting for. Right? I do want to get married. In theory. Be in a relationship. Have someone to come home to. Cuddle with. A Shabbos table. Companionship. Love. Technically. I do want to look at that person and know we will grow old together.

But.

I am finally settled. In myself. Getting there with my life. Internally, I feel strong. Most of the time. I know what I want. I live how I want to live. No one calls the shots. No one controls me. I don't feel controlled. I feel quite free. I am not even shackled in myself. For the first time I can admit that I am breathing. Living. Enjoying.

Yeah.

I have my moments. When I am down. When I see no hope. When I can't move. But I no longer feel defined by those moments. That is all they are. Moments. They are not me. I am finally comfortable. Doing things that make me happy. Productive. Making smart decisions. Living in the present. Working towards the future.

So.

Why would I mess that up. Progress. Is it smart to rock the boat. Will holes appear in the deck? Water start pouring in. Sink. Will I sink all over again. Is this all fear talking. Fear of the unknown. Of difference. Being vulnerable. Opening up. Letting someone in. Am I so closed off from the past. That I cannot move forward. Or am I just cautious. Guarding my heart. My soul. My life.

Well.

Sometimes things come up. Life is unpredictable. And you gotta roll with the punches. Or else life passes you by. You blink and you miss something. You can't take a break from reality. You have to face it. Because you never know what you might be capable of.

Here goes nothing.

Organized Chaos

This blog is my diary. I can look back and see the last 5 years documented in ink. Organized chaos. I write when I am angry. Sad. Agitated. Introspective. When there is a big or momentous event coming up. Or passed. It's pretty rare for me to write when things are going ok. Status quo. And there are times like that. When I am managing in this life. Holding shit together. Not sure I would call it happy. Maybe satisfied. Surviving. And that may sound negative. But I (partially) mean it in a positive way.

I write to let things off my chest. Because most of the time I can not share what I really think with others. Choose not to. I write in a blunt manner. Say it how I see it. How I feel. But then there are times I can not be honest. I hide behind the words. Cryptic messages. Beat around the bush. Because even though you don't know me, I am still cautious. Sometimes scared to reveal myself. Rip off that outer layer. For fear of being recognized internally. Apprehensive of the vulnerability.

There are so many unfinished drafts. Of writing. Indicative of real life. The thoughts are there. They come at random times. Driving. In the shower. When I shut off technology for the night. That's when I'll come up with my best thought-processes. Begging to be written down. But somehow, the minute I sit in front of my computer and open the blog option on my phone. The inspiration evaporates. Disappears from my head. As if it was never there. And sometimes, I'll try to write. A sentence here or there. But it's filled with emptiness.

There are topics that I completely avoid writing about. Or I write in code. Sometimes they are places I would rather not dig through. Or situations I cannot analyze. Pretend they don't exist. Harmful or traumatic experiences. You would look at me and feel bad. And I can't bring myself to share.

But in truth I am doing all right. A close friend called me stable the other day. And I realized she was right. I have mainly conquered my demons. Made some smart choices. Leading a good and honest life. My emotions and feelings are under control. And I've realized that loyalty is most important when it is to myself. It's taken me almost thirty years, but I finally put me first. I matter.

It's possible I won't fast on Yom Kippur. I didn't last year. And I feel no guilt. I am doing what's best for me. And not letting religion or guilt dictate my life. Other people no longer control me. Nor does the fear of the unknown. People in the past may have always thought of me as controlling. But in truth, it was me who was controlled. I lived a caged life. Stuck. Hiding. And now I am done. I will live however I choose. In my own comfort zone. With no apologies.

So there.

secrets secrets are so fun

I have a confession to make
I like secrets
Privacy
Keeping things to myself
Not sharing with others
Certain others

Sometimes I even lie
To others
To their faces
And I say that I lie to myself
But that is not true
It's false

I am very honest with myself
Totally self-aware
Maybe too much
I know what I am doing
What I am feeling
What I want

I play a part
Wear a mask
A cape
To maintain an illusion
Make the world think one thing
When it is not necessarily true

I make decisions
Plans
Lead my life
Without input
Or advice
Without anyone knowing

I am who I am
Despite everything
And everyone
The walls
And blockades
In Spite of it all

Your advice is unwanted
Commentary can be hurtful
Words are unnecessary
Keep your thoughts to yourself
I am not interested
Makes no difference

So cheers to my secret
It is only mine
For me to screw up
Or possibly succeed
It's mine
My Secret

Accountability

It seems self awareness is not enough. Instead, how bout we go to three different therapists. The goal is to find meaning in something. In life. To find accountability. To actually be held accountable. By someone else. From yourself. Setting goals is a scary thing. Once they're set, they need to be completed. No backing out. Must choose to face reality and not hide behind distractions. Cut off the ball and chain that has always been dragging behind. Take one step forward. Instead of the constant million steps back.

One Tiny Little Pawn

I did it.
Took the first step.
Again.
Agreed to play the game.
Showed up.
Faced my opponent.
I made a move.
Moved one pawn.
One tiny little pawn.
I committed.
It's just one move.
But it starts the game.
Gets the ball rolling.

Timer is ticking.

"I am not..."

I'm listening to Israeli love songs. The music breaks my heart. The Hebrew words are so beautiful. So raw. Yearning. I try to find meaning in this life. I aim to feel joy and happiness. Purpose and fulfillment.

I have been following this "what I be" campaign. Basically this photographer has been taking pictures of people with a word or statement written on their body with a black sharpie. Each person revealing and unleashing a different insecurity that they hide from the world. I can't stop looking at the pictures. What word would I choose. What statement would define me. The first word that comes to mind is DIVORCED. My statement would be "I am not my trust issues." Or how about ALONE, followed by the statement "I am not my depression." I could go with ANXIETY and say "I am not my suicidal ideation." I think this photographer is brilliant and is effecting tremendous change in the world through this movement. 

I think about the fact that I should be pursuing dating. And yet I can't make myself do anything about it. Going to shadchanim. Saying yes to profiles. Judging a book by its cover. A first phone call. All makes me want to puke. And that's even before going on an actual date. The prospects are embarrassing. Pathetic. Almost worth it to be alone. Almost. 

Going to a new neurosurgeon tomorrow. The saga continues. Can't escape it. A routine appointment. Still have this unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach. What will be. Have I been through enough. Have I not put in my time. Suffered enough agony. How long can this life go on. How long can life go on this way. At what point do I get swept under the current. How long can I tread in this ocean. 

One more day. One foot in front of the other. 

A Worthy Self

Here's where I stand. I'm Confused. And yes, I'm going to make this about me. This is about me. This is my life. I'm the only one who has my back. There is no one else looking out for me. I have to take care of myself. Call me selfish if you want. I don't care. It doesn't bother me. I'll accept that label. I deserve to be selfish. I have never chosen myself. I have always chosen everyone else. I have lived my life choosing everyone else. And I have put myself aside. I have never been important. But if I have learned anything in the last few years it's that I matter. That I am important. Just as much as everyone else. If not more.

It's my time. I have to choose me. If I don't make myself important, I won't survive much longer. I won't make it through this life. I will continue to feel broken and bruised. And I deserve better. I deserve. I am worthy. I matter. So I choose me. I must protect myself and make smart decisions.

I choose to do the right thing. I choose to be a good person. I choose to be alive. I choose to continue to fight. To fight to be happy. To function. And not let this life I've been handed knock me down. I choose not to drown in my misery. I'm choosing me. I choose to look forward. To have a future. Because I deserve everything. I deserve it all. I am worthy. I matter.

And I will put myself first one day. And maybe today is that day. This moment. Right now. I take the first step. And one day, hopefully soon, I will be loved for me. I will be accepted and appreciated. For me. Someone will know me and accept me. Me. For who I am. I will be cherished. And desired. Treasured. I will be special. I will matter to someone else.

It won't be a fairy tale and it won't be a happily ever after. It will be imperfect. But it will be my imperfect. A life for me. It will be my life. Because I matter. And I deserve. I deserve great things. And somewhere deep inside, I believe. I believe in goodness. I believe I deserve. I believe that good can happen. It can happen to me too. Because I am worthy. I matter.

So I choose me. I am taking a stand. I am doing the right thing. No matter how difficult. This is my life. And I will not watch it pass me by. I will not be a passive passerby. I will participate. And live this life the best way I can. The only way I know how. I will make smart choices. And I will get up when I fall. I will not let mistakes swallow me. I will stand up and dust myself off. And I will continue on. I choose me.

Bring It

The first day of the year 2014. How can I say more? That statement itself is crazy enough.

I honestly never thought I would make it to this year. More like I couldn't picture myself living this long. Or what my life would look like. And here I sit, very much the same. Unchanged. Same location. Same space. Maybe a few (or rather, a lot) more experiences. But I am still the same me. 

It's common to make resolutions on a day like today. People like new beginnings to start fresh. Make wiser decisions. Lose weight. Save money. Be a nicer person. 

But I'll make no such resolutions. Because the minute you set aside a goal, you are destined to quit. To fail. And the things I would like to accomplish are going to happen this year. I will not write them down. Nor will I tell anyone. They will be my secrets. And when I succeed, no one will know. It will be a surprise to us all. Me included. 

So once again, I welcome the new year with open arms. New beginnings will not phase me. I am strong. Bring it on. 

A Millisecond of Time

It's that fear of the unknown. Of walking into a familiar place and not knowing where you are. Forgetting who you are. Being accosted by memories. Glimpses of a past you. A previous lifetime. It's the lead up. The buildup. The knowledge of what if.

The moments before are just as bad as during. The anticipation and over obsessing that make the actual moment worse. Almost unbearable.  Thoughts of nothing else. No matter how prepared you are, that moment knocks the breath right out of your chest. Your brain pauses. Your heart stops beating for one tiny, little second.

A millisecond of eye contact. One intimate moment shared.  If it was a movie, still pictures would flash through your mind. Time would slow down. Nothing else would exist. Familiar and foreign at the exact same time.

Then in a flash it's over. As if it never happened.  Maybe it never happened.  All made up. Imagination gone wild. The mind playing tricks on the heart. But the anxiety blazes through every vein. Pulses beat throughout the body.  A packed room keeps the body erect. Standing still.  In place.

And then life goes back. Back to normal.  Time fast forwards to the present.  No more glimpses of the past.  The mind is propelled back to reality. The body can stand on its own. Control returns. And life goes on. Once again.

Hashgacha

Sometimes there are these moments that happen. It's very rare but when they happen, they blow you away. Blow you away big time. I struggle with religion and bigotry. I don't get how G-d can make people suffer. Be it money, health or unhappiness. I don't get why certain people have been allotted a painful and bitter existence.

And then once in a blue moon, I get a zap. A reminder. G-d whacks me on the head and says "Look! I'm here!" And I remember that I am glad I'm not in control. That if I had final say, my life would look much different. It would most likely be a disaster. A definite disaster.

Since I am such a fan of going to specialists, I went to my pediatric neuro-opthalmologist last week. (triple specialty yay) My anxiety level was sky high. I hate going to his office because I know the torture my eyes will endure. It's also pretty stressful to know that it's possible to fail a test at this point in my life. You can't even study. Your eyes just get judged on how they perform that minute. No one cares how nauseous you feel or how your heart is racing. Most people find the visual field test to be a walk in the park. For me it brings back awful memories and flashbacks. I start getting sweaty and breathing becomes difficult. I start thinking of my ex, of hospitals, and the smell of the iv drip. I start hearing doctors yelling at me. I feel abandoned and ill all over again. That I fail everything and can't keep my world together.

But this time, I was able to hold it all in. I finished the test in record timing and managed not to throw up. Very few blind spots. Yay. And then the big news. This doctor is as blah as they come. He basically has no personality. He's definitely a nice guy, just not Mr. Personality. He asked how I was doing and commented how he hadn't seen me in a long time. I went on to tell him all about how I moved to NY and ended up getting really sick AGAIN and how I chose to get the shunt implanted. I told him how it changed my life. Saved my life. All of a sudden he became animated. He then informed me that they no longer give shunts to Pseudo-tumor patients in MD.

Wait what? I couldn't believe what I heard. I was in literal shock. He basically said good luck to anyone suffering from this awful disease. That no neurosurgeon will perform the surgery in all of Maryland. How he had a girl come to him the week before who would have benefited tremendously from this surgery. And no surgeon would help. Are you kidding me? He was so happy for me. He told me that when I go to my appointment with the neurologist, I should tell him how happy and healthy I am. Get him to see what a mistake it is not to operate on these poor souls. It changed my life.

And then it hit me. I moved to NY on a whim. A spontaneous decision. That many people thought was dumb and careless. That I was running away from my problems. And then I went skydiving. And again, everyone thought I was being careless. That I didn't care about my life. But no one realized that I was so happy to get sick again. And no not in a crazy way. I didn't want to die. I needed to close that chapter in my life. A few chapters. And yeah, I walked out of that hospital with crazy debt. But I walked out with my life. My life. And the glimpse of a future. It was the first time I was able to see the future. My future.

So as I sat there with my eyes dilated and my queasy stomach, I felt truly grateful. I feel overly grateful. It's not often you see a revelation. A nes nistar. This was a revealed miracle. Out in the open. Obvious Hand of G-d. Choosing the path for me, whether I realized it or not. Guiding me in the right direction. Always. Whether I like it or not.