It's been hard

I had said that following my last letter would be a post about what I am going to be when I grow up. A career exploration that would have hopefully concluded in a plan of action. Then, I could bring you all on my journey into the workforce. On my way to being "Katie Again".

Unfortunately, I had a bad night last night that made me realize I'm not ready for that yet. Even the next morning (2pm, actually), with a new day dulling the urgency of last night's problems, I still feel broken. Fragile, with a potential to break more.

I didn't make it to Jake's friends' Friendsgiving dinner. I spent all week battling worry, all day preparing, all evening fumbling with foundation to cover my face, trying to decide what pair of jeans felt the least intolerable. I made it as far as sitting in Jake's passenger seat, two minutes away from arrival, when it became evident that it wasn't going to happen. Unless I wanted to walk into a group of acquaintances as a teary, fear-stricken, discharged surgery patient. To sum it up: Eating and intubating my k-pouch is hard. There is a lot I need to learn and trust again after, in late August, my intestines twisted, I had surgery, and I finally made it back to Austin by late October.

The word "PTSD" seems to bring the opposite of understanding when I use it to describe my experience. So instead, I'll just say I'm extremely on-edge, almost all the time. Even with all the talking off a cliff I do with my thoughts, the survival part of my brain just trying to avoid any more horrific pain is incessant. It makes me feel like I never have enough time, like any moment my stoma will explode or suck into my abdomen or twist, and I'll be in a nightmare again. I've become controlling over everything, down to the temperature of my water. It makes me feel like I can't sit still for too long, while at the same time, I end up not moving for hours. I don't like my appearance anymore. I don't feel comfortable in my clothes. I feel like I've lost myself.

Yikes! You might be thinking, "Get a new therapist, get on medication!" But to those of you reading who are struggling with something, especially something mentally (depression, anxiety, addiction, PTSD, whatever it is) you'll know the solution is not that simple. There are no quick fixes. There is just what helps you, and giving it the time to work. I'm in that time. Luckily, I have found people and tools that are really working for me (sounds like it, huh?). It does no good to think about how much longer it will take, but I know I'm not there yet. I have faith I will get there. But all I have the energy to say now is the understatement: It's been hard.

I won't languish on anymore, instead I'll end with what I'm currently doing: Re-watching You've Got Mail for the 1000th time. I was originally planning on writing about how my favorite movies could help me discover my future career, and even come up with a new theory you could implement yourself to do the same. I could have done that, but then I realized this isn't an assignment and I can say whatever the hell I want. It's mainly a handful of family members reading this anyways. So relatives, don't worry about me, really. I'll be okay in time. In the meantime, thanks for caring. It feels good to be honest.

PS: I'm on this part of You've Got Mail now, and it seemed fitting to my current situation. Thanks, Birdie.