I Do's and Don'ts

Someday I am going to get married.  And it will be the greatest day of my life.  I'm not one of those girls that planned out her wedding at the age of 9.  I don't have a scrapbook of flower arrangements, or even an idea of what I would want my dress to look like.   I don't know if I want to get married in the spring, or in the winter, or on a beach, or in an igloo.  I have none of the finer details planned.  But I know it will be the greatest day of my life because it will be the day that I stand in front of every person that matters to me and I will look into the eyes of the person that matters the most.  Because the only thing I've ever truly wanted - more than a career, or a nice car or house - is to fall in love with someone and then grow old with them.  To clasp our wrinkly hands together as we take walks around the mall for exercise.  That person that will help me grow, inspire me to be better, and in the worst case scenario hold my hand after 32 years of marriage as I suffer through a terminal illness.  It will be the greatest day of my life.

The thing is, whether my veil falls perfectly over my face, and my future husband's eyes well up with tears just slightly as I start my ascend down the aisle; it has the potential, at best, to be an almost perfect day.  Because even though I haven't obsessed over what the wedding would be as much as that it just would be, the only thing that's always been there are the parts that have to do with your dad.  Your dad walks you down the aisle.  When the officiant says "Who gives this woman's hand in marriage?" your dad says "Her mother and I do." And then he lifts your veil, and his eyes well up with tears just a little, too.  And then he watches a man promise to love and take care of his daughter for as long as they both shall live.  And then he holds you close for a daddy/daughter dance and tells you how beautiful you look that day.  That's what's supposed to happen at your wedding. At least that's what it is for me.  Or what I would want it to be.  But I am not everyone. And I am never going to judge how someone wants to have the best day of their life.  But it's hard to look around, to not just friends but family and see what hurts almost the most about losing my dad: those moments that I will never get to have.  

When we had the benefit for him just a few weeks back I had really wanted to dance with my dad to Rod Stewart's "Forever Young" as that was the song I always imagined we would dance to at my wedding.  It seemed a bit sappy, and lord knows I don't want to remind the guy any more than he already knows that we aren't going to get that moment together later in life. So with the confidence of an onslaught of old friends and family's love and support, and perhaps a few Corona's, the DJ turned it on and my dad and I danced.  And we talked, and we laughed, and we cried a little.  And the most amazing part is my wonderful friend recorded all four and half minutes of it. So of all those dad moments I am going to miss out on one day at my wedding, after I have the first dance with my husband, I will get to have that dance again with my dad.  I got to have that dance, in a Moose Lodge in Berwyn.  And now I get to share that dance with him again at my wedding.  It will be the greatest day of my life.  But it won't be perfect.

I understand that my reaction to weddings these days is amplified with the loss I am experiencing.  And the fact of the matter is, with no prospects on the horizon for marriage anytime soon, it's not something that should consume my thoughts or cause me this much frustration.  So you strip away the event.  You strip away whether it was done in a court house, or a destination wedding.  Whether there were or will be first dances. Whether it's in front of a hundred people or in front of nobody.  That person that I choose to be with, no matter how we choose do it, will never shake my dad's hand.  And I'll never really know if he likes the guy or just tolerates him because he thinks he makes me happy. That, I promise you, is harder to accept than the thought of any missed photo opportunity at my wedding.  

I guess the point I am trying to make is that when you are going through something traumatic sometimes even just the idea of something can be a fierce reminder of something so much bigger and harder.  At the end of the day, still sans scrapbook, I know my wedding will be the greatest day of my life. I have to change my expectations a bit.  I mean, I've already settled on less than perfect.  But my qualifications for perfect aren't everyone's.  And I really do hope they have the best day of their lives.

It Isn't Always, But Sometimes It Is

I had woken up for work one morning, very very late.  I had been very very late to work all week because I seemed to be losing the ability to sleep at night, and once I finally got myself into bed it became an impossibly daunting task to get myself out of bed the next day.  I didn't want to sleep, I didn't want to wake up.  I didn't want to shower.  I didn't want to get dressed, or go to work. Which, with Thursday marking my 4th day late into work that week, I would say the morning wasn't going well.

I was 19 years old working at a University.  I really liked my job, and my boss was a nice, understanding lady - but I knew I had been slipping and it was noticeable.  I was prepared for some sort of confrontation when I slide the back door of my office building open and settled into my desk.  Lori walked in from the other room and sat down in an open chair near by.  "You're in a little bit late again today, Katie." Her tone was sweet, sounding more of concern than anger. "Is there something going on?"

Silently, and without warning, I started to cry.  I was crying a lot. I knew I had to say something, give some reason that would explain this sudden meltdown in my office at 9:25am.  "My brother just left for the Navy." I sobbed.  It was true.  My brother had come home on leave before getting stationed, much like we all knew he would months before.  Yes, I was very upset my brother was leaving again.  I was sad he wouldn't be around.  But what I wanted to say was "I got pregnant. And the guy that got me pregnant left me. And I don't think I can afford the apartment that I am living in and I am sinking into debt. And I may or may not be drinking too much for a 19 year old girl.  And I think I have to move."  But instead, I sat in my office silently crying.  After about 10 minutes of watching me cry, Lori went in the other room and got on the phone.

I didn't know what she was doing, all I knew was that I had to pull myself back together, turn around and get back to work.  But instead I sat in the same position, facing her empty chair, and cried and cried.  Lori came back into the room shortly after.  She handed me a piece of paper with an address.  It was a mental hospital just down the road. There was a therapist waiting there for me.  I was being sent by the University's HR department to be assessed.  

The next 2 hours are kind of a blur.  I sat down with a women in a basement office of what looked like any other normal hospital building.  She started to ask me what was going on, and I determined that if I was being sent to a mental hospital by request of my employer, it was probably time to start being honest.  I started with the story about Zach leaving, as it seemed to explain some of the sadness.  At least enough to transition into the worst of it.  I ended up explaining everything, which lead to explaining a lot of other things from before that had just never been explained to anyone.  After an hour long chat, I was handed paperwork to be admitted into the psychiatric out-patient program at their hospital.

The out-patient program was designed for people leaving in-patient with more serious problems, while being on the mend.  And with folks that weren't bad enough to warrant checking into The Hotel-Crazy.  After signing my name a dozen times, I was being walked into the back of a building to a small classroom. Inside there was 9 people sitting in a semi-circle talking to a leader.  As it had been explained to me, I was going to come to this classroom everyday from 8am-4pm for group sessions, individual therapy, arts and crafts, and reflection.

Over the next 2 weeks I got to know a mother who recently buried her son, a woman who was admitted for a severe shopping addiction that was threatening to destroy her family, a homeless alcoholic that was transitioning from upstairs, a few older drug addicts that used the program to stay on the straight and narrow, and one other "just depressed" older man.  We spent time sharing stories and learning how to apply cognitive behavioral thinking to the things we've already been through to prepare ourselves for similar situations we'd be faced with.  I met with a handful of doctors.  I was diagnosed as having a "Depressive Personality" and increased chance of addition because of my depression.  I was put on prozac.  I cried a lot.  I sat crossed armed through a lot of classes where people tried to explain to me how I was feeling things when I didn't really believe they could know why or how. 

I didn't stay on the prozac at the end of the two weeks.  I didn't remain friends with any of the people I had spent hours laughing and crying with.  I did from that point recognize the fact that I was going to probably always struggle with depression, and that yes, I was probably drinking too much for a 19 year old girl.  Other than that, I was resolved to just try harder. Try harder to be less sad, and keep it together a little bit better.  It didn't fix me though.

Here I am now, 25 almost 26 years old.  And in the past few months the dark, in-explainable sadness had crept back in just like it so frequently does.  Only this time, that 19 year old girl with a lists of reasons of why the world seems to be falling apart is looking at me telling me this isn't shocking or something you didn't know would happen.  The world is kind of falling apart again.  And I maybe haven't worked out all the kinks from long before as much as I have ignored them or blogged them out of me as best I can.  I am a chemically imbalanced person.  And right now I don't want to do the things I normally like doing.  I don't want to go and hang out with friends at the bar.  I don't want to leave my couch when I don't have to.  I don't want to have sex. I have a hard time falling asleep at night and I'm having a hard time waking up in the mornings.

This is depression.  It isn't always.  But sometimes it is. And there will always be more times.  I am going back to the doctor in a few weeks.  I am ready to stop thinking I can fight this entirely on my own.  I do want to get back into therapy and I do want to relearn and learn the things I can to combat the way my brain seems to process things. Which sometimes is brighter and better than I even know how to feel.  But the other times, the times where it's not, it's scary, and hard to explain to people, and most importantly is it's my least favorite version of myself. 

I don't know if I would have recognized the importance of writing this blog or forcing myself to read these words back if it wasn't for the brilliant writing of Jordan Holmes over the past 2 weeks.  

You can read his blog at www.craptrap.net

You Can't Kill Heroes

2 years ago my dad was diagnosed with stage 4 renal cancer.

Did you hear me?

2 YEARS AGO.

2 years ago I was told to enjoy the holidays that upcoming December and to cherish every moment we had because this is a terminal disease.  I have seen my dad spend 2 more summers golfing, riding his motorcycle, and drinking beers with his friends.  I opened Christmas presents with him 2 times since, took him to see "A Christmas Carol", went with him to get my driver's license, and have shared a million laughs.  And he has stage 4 renal cancer.Of course now he has stage 4 renal cancer in his lungs, blood, spine, liver, brain and 1 remaining kidney.  But it's still a full 2 years later.  

Now, with my personal beliefs, those full 2 years later didn't fall upon us on through an act of god.  They came at a heavy price.  A price of weeks in the ICU for IL2 treatments, to weak-fatigued days and nights with chemo treatments, and to start 2013 with intense radiation treatment.  My dad has fought for every moment to beat this thing, even as it gained momentum over his body.

The past few weeks have been especially hard as all these little medical miracles have finally taken a severe toll on my dad's health.  He is still my dad in every witty, quick, and sarcastic response to the attention and support he is shown through so many friends and family.  But things have gotten a little bleak and as to be expected it's exhausting mentally and physically.  I'm experiencing my own response in ways I never imaged - beyond the sad and worried, but the heartbreaking feeling that someone you love with all of your heart is in pain.  And you just want that pain to go away.

2 Saturdays in a row I have watched the Chicago skyline zoom past me on the way to Northwestern Memorial Hospital.  Both times not knowing if I would leave that hospital with a dad.  I think there is a thing as to being over prepared, and I don't want to tarnish the moments we have together now thinking about what is going to happen when we aren't.  I have to just get up every day and have a dad, and love him and support him until I don't have a dad any more.  And that's a weird and confusing thing.

But here's what's amazing: after fighting like hell, and struggling to keep to his feet in this fight, he met with his oncology team today and started another round of chemo.  It's borderline insane behavior.  But I am humbled and in awe of the strength and will it takes to keep punching through it.  I have known so many men, and I can't think of a single one of them being so badass as to just jump into survival at any means they can find it.  It's brave, crazy, and in a world where he isn't my dad, crazy sexy.

2 years ago my dad was diagnosed with stage 4 renal cancer.  Yesterday night my dad called to tell me his new nurse was George O'Malley.  I am so lucky to have had every moment we weren't supposed to, and I am even luckier to have a dad that will fight for as many more as we can.

Fake Dating 101

When I am in a relationship there is nothing I enjoy more than being home with my man.  My favorite moments are spent cuddled on the couch, watching entire seasons of television shows in one sitting.  I like to cook chicken nuggets and french fries - share spoonfuls of ice cream out of the Ben and Jerry's container.  I don't need to be wined and dined to feel like I am the luckiest girl in the world that has everything.  I feel sexiest in an over-sized t-shirt and a pair of boy-short underwear.  I like dozing off on the couch with someone just as much as I love being completely distracted from the television when hands and mouths start wandering all over.  I like getting up to grab him another beer, I like watching him watch me walk away with no pants on.  Even if I am in torn up shirt with my hair a mess - I know you still love it. 

I don't want to admit that going out or "dating" by societal standards matters to me.  But it has been brought to my attention that maybe the reason I have so little interest in it, is because it is so seldom something I get to do.  A close friend had asked me a few weeks ago if he could take me out on a date.  Not with hopes of redefining our platonic relationship, but strictly for the sake of showing me what a date could be, should be, and how it could leave me feeling.  

I got to put on a fancy dress.  I got to do my hair, and my makeup, and even though he is a friend who knows me incredibly well, and I've spent more time with than most people, I even found myself getting butterflies just minutes before his arrival.  He showed up in nice jeans, a suit-coat, with roses in hand.  He commented on my appearance and with a hand on the small of my back led me out on a real date.  We didn't need to go on a carriage ride through the city, or have a paintball fight set to Semisonic's FNT.  We went to dinner and a movie.  We ordered a bottle of wine.  I ate a burger.  He touched my arm when it was appropriate and laughed at my jokes.  It was nice.  I felt like the prettiest, most adored girl in the room.  And there were other people in the room to draw that contrast against.

HSF has been in my life for like, 103 years now.  Would you even believe that in all the time I have known him, all of the countless hours we have spent together, only once have we ever gone outside of my house.  ONE TIME.  And it was for ONE DRINK at the closest bar within driving distance.  Jason was no better - we went out once a week, every Thursday to the local bar-trivia he attended anyways.  And quite frankly the entire evening was spent with him resenting me for knowing answers to questions or wearing a low cut shirt in public.  These weren't dates, I didn't get to dress up for them or feel like they wanted to show me off, or even what the very essence of what dating should be, which is trying to win over the attention and desire of the woman you want to love you back.

I'm not under the impression that men are solely responsible for maintaining romance, or for putting in the effort.  Lord knows more than anything I love doing little things for the men in my life as a reminder that they matter more to me than anyone else.  I recently purchased a Christmas present for a special guy in my life, and I can honestly say the satisfaction and joy of getting him that gift over-shadows even the greatest feelings from the greatest dates. But just because a girl is content with, more than content with - elated with, spending their days with you on the couch doesn't mean we don't need that reminder that we are worth wooing and fighting for.  And I think girls need to be reminded of that whether you've been dating 2 weeks, or married for 50 years.

I'm so quick to jump to that point in the relationship spent makeup-less and in pajamas, that I let guys off the hook for having to "real" date me right out the gate.  Who am I to expect, months later, them to have some desire to take me out or want to make me feel those things that get lost in Mad Men marathons and grilled cheese sandwiches. I guess I just wish that being that girl that would rather be low-maintenance and remove the pressure of romantic "dating" would more likely be the one that deserves to feel insanely loved and sometimes in the way of a $20 dinner for 2 at Chilis.  And I'm having a hard time convincing myself that that's too much to ask. 

Merry Christmas, Here's To Many More

Well, it's that time of year again folks.  Time for turkey, Christmas lights, long nights with friends and family, and crippling seasonal depression that makes me want to padlock the door and hide until it's all over.  I wish I could pinpoint what it is exactly about these cold months that make me so uneasy and anxious, but I suppose it's just a combination of everything.  From the financial stress of coming up with the perfect presents for the people in my life that deserve nothing less, to sitting around a dinner table with family trying not to feel like that 16 year old girl who fears she's incredibly misunderstood, or worse, ignored.

It doesn't help that for the past two holiday seasons I have found myself wondering if it will be my last spending them with my father.  And it increases the pressure I put on myself to not be the sullen, black sheep that shows up to most family functions. But fear alone doesn't change the self-doubt I have that the person pounding red wine at Christmas year after year isn't the person my family would want or hope for me to be.  Or the fact that when my siblings show up with their significant others, their new families, I still sit alone.

Ah yes, another holiday season sans boyfriend.  Another Christmas without someone to hold my hand through my typical anxiety, to share a midnight kiss with on New Years, to hold me close watching "It's a Wonderful Life" on Christmas eve, to put on a slutty Ms. Claus outfit for, and to be my plus one at the company holiday party.  I could name just as many summer-time activities that suck without a significant other, but the weather seems to make the winter ones that much more lonely.

So I'll put up my tree alone another year - a tradition that is both comforting and incredibly sad. I will turn on Reliant K's "Let It Snow, Baby...Let It Reindeer", because it's a beautiful Christmas album that has made me feel less alone each December every year since I was 18.  And I will continue to spend another year ending fighting the urge to shut down and close off from the amazing people in my life that battle me and struggle constantly to stay close to me.  The kind, selfless family of people I hold near and dear to me through 3 other seasons, that I become incredibly fearful of showing a broken Katie Keller to through the months of November through February. Because for what ever reason, chemically or psychologically, these aren't my best months.  And I know that.  So I can, as always, either hold myself accountable to the self-awareness I possess, or make the same mistakes over and over until these blogs can simply be copied and pasted from year to year.

So, with that said, Happy Holidays everybody.  I'm trying.

We've All Got Issues.

I have used my facebook, twitter, and other social media networks to express my political beliefs in the past few months.  But rarely do I speak my own words.  I more often than not quote a comedian, or even more hilariously the republican candidate.  I feel like with the election being just around the corner, I would like to take a minute to explain why I believe the things that I do.  This isn't open to debate, as this is strictly me stating why I will be voting the way I will in November.  I don't expect people to agree with everything I say, nor do I want to be dragged into a argument with anyone because I posted a blog on a Thursday evening.  If you are one of those people that can't hear someone's opinions without writing a rebuttal in your head before the words even fully enter your brain, do us both a favor and stop reading right now.

Ah. Isn't that better? That guy is such an idiot. 

I will be casting my vote for my president of the United States of America; the charismatic, handsome, intelligent, and bad-ass Barack Obama.  There are a few core issues that make me stand behind my POTUS, and those are the issues I care enough about to pay attention to government at all.  I can't sit here and pretend I know who is more qualified to handle foreign policy or even explain back to you what the proposed tax cuts or increases are.  I'm sure I would care more about those things if I owned anything - like a business, a house, or even a car.  Or perhaps if I was an active member of the US military.  Since I don't qualify for any of the previously mentioned circumstances - this is what I do know:

Gay rights.  How is this still even an issue?  I have only been on this earth 25 years, and it didn't take me all that long to figure out the greatest thing one person can ever have, be, or want is simply love.  I want everyone to be in love and to love.  I want my worst enemy to be loved so fucking hard they die from love.  If two, consensual, independent-minded individuals are in the love with each other, I don't care at all what gender they are, they have every right to, and should, broadcast it from the mountaintops.  They should be able to stand in front of a judge, or a priest, their families and friends, and hold a marriage certificate like anyone else.  Because if two people take a vow to spend the rest of their lives together, and love each other so much as to want to do so, that shouldn't be denied to anybody, ever.  Period.  End of discussion.

Women's rights. I have a vagina.  Though it's been questioned by those who have witnessed my abilities in the kitchen, or when picking out matching clothes, I am a lady, with delicate lady parts.  Government has always been a man's game, and that's fine.  Quite frankly, I wouldn't ever want the job.  But there should also be an acknowledgement to the fact that if you don't have ladybits, you shouldn't be the one deciding the appropriate maintenance and care for ladybits.  (Unless of course you are a man that studied vaginas, and became a vagina doctor - in which case, good for you guy.  Vaginas are gross).  I don't make a million dollars a year, I don't have unlimited funds to ensure I can keep myself safe and protected throughout these very transfomative and honestly scary sexual developmental years of my life.  I want to know that those choices will be determined by me, and the government will be supportive towards my effort to keeping my body healthy and safe.  Let's also consider the fact that if I didn't have the right to make choices for my life, and my body - I would have a 5 year kid right now who would be living paycheck to paycheck right along with me.  Who knows where I would be, or the person I would have become if I didn't have the ability to choose the life I want and to make the hardest decision I believe a person ever could for myself.  Which leads me to my next point...

Obamacare. My father is technically unemployed.  He is also battling stage 4 renal cancer.  If ever in my entire life have I seen a need for the government to step in and provide healthcare to those in need, its right now.  My father has worked his entire life.  He has provided to a family of 6, raised 4 pretty intelligent individuals while working 40 plus hours a week and being home for dinner every night.  The man runs into some bad luck when the economy took a turn for the worst.  He lost the house he spent his entire adult life paying for.  He lost his job.  And after providing for his family, his community, and giving back to his government in the same way every hard working American does, Mitt Romney wants to turn his back on a plan that would give my family the resources to fight this thing, He isn't a lazy man.  He didn't decide to get cancer one day, and then sit back and collect money from your tax paying dollars to be well again.  But god dammit, if there is a way we can give back to people, regardless of circumstance, to give every American a fighting chance at healthy lives - why wouldn't we? 

These are the issues that matter to me.  This is why when I go into the voting booth in just a few weeks, I have no doubt in my mind that I am making the right decision for myself, and I do truly believe, this country.  These issues are the ones I will always fight for, in the horrible case that they remain issues to fight for.  I stood up every day of my school years, placed my hand over my heart, and recited the words "with liberty and justice FOR ALL".  I believe in this country.  I believe in the people that fight for good in this country.  And I hope if these issues matter to you too, that you read up on what these two very different men stand behind and let your voice be heard on November 6th.

Trust Me, I'm Lying

I have been filled with anxiety this week.  I could list off all contributing factors, but it would require multiple blogs and I fear that if I don't occasionally reference my sex/dating life that you fine people will all stop reading.  So I will bypass that overwhelming list and skip to something that has been weighing hard on me the past few days.  I am in a relationship now.  It's going well.  I am falling, in that wonderful way you do when you start getting to know someone and let them get to know you.  I fall asleep with strong, warms arms around me more often than not these days.  I get to kiss someone on the regular.  Which is one of my favorite perks of all.  There are meals together, cuddling, and hours spent watching movies and television on the couch.  I have someone to talk to, someone to play with, and someone to get irrationally mad at when I am having a bad day.  It is a relationship, and it is all the great things that come along with it. 

The problem is that my history with men, and self awareness, set off red flags left and right that make me feel like I am going to make a bad decision.  Or fall too hard.  Or run away.  I don't trust the decisions I make with men, because every one that I have made in the last 10 years has been wrong.  That's obviously an exaggeration.  I have been in love and have been loved. And to be able to say that, in and of itself, shows that I did something right along the way.  But the outcomes of these relationships, or the people that the men I have been involved with have turned out to be, were far from the best choices I can make for me.  And after learning these lessons through so many relationships, I feel I have a responsibility to not let history repeat itself.  The simple fact that I don't want to fail again has me questioning my heart harder than I am letting it fall in love.

I don't want to run screaming at the first signs of trouble.  But when things aren't great it's also my responsibility to evaluate whether or not it's bad in a way that's normal or bad in a way that will land me in the same place I have so many times before.  Part of me thinks it's great that I am being cautious.  That this shows growth that I am trying to determine the outcomes of choices I am making before and as I am making them.  And the other part of me is terrified that me being terrified of being brokenhearted again is going to prevent a relationship that is and can make me happy for a very long time.

I just want to trust myself.  I want to not worry about whether I am thinking too much or too little.  There are so many qualities about myself that I believe in, and know to be true and good.  But anything related to my romantic or sexual relationships are not any of them.  A present moment evaluation of the relationship is to say that it's good; that I am happy.  That although I've been stressed for the past few weeks for a variety of reasons, at the end of the day I am happy that he is sitting on the couch in the other room playing video games.  My heart would be broken if he were anywhere else right now.  I get to sit in my room, listen to Del Amitri, and write this blog hashing out feelings about dealing with my own feelings.

This is the same shit I would be doing if I were alone, only I am not.  I have someone here that cares about me enough to be here when I needed him to be, and is comfortable enough to leave me be when I need to write a blog about my insecurities in our relationship and about life.  So I am going to trust myself for now.  Or at least try really hard to.