Irony

Ha, yes! Blaes has a blog. And if you know me, this is a really late start.

I like to talk, I like to read, and I like to write. And that is why I was an English major. Then, life started happening really fast and I graduated, and I got a job (whether or not you want to classify it as "real" is to your own discretion) and I got engaged (!) and life just keeps swirling around while I try to keep up with it. Regardless, writing was once something that I did often--not necessarily only for 30-page papers, but something that I enjoyed. And I think I was pretty good at it, but sitting here now to introduce this blog, I realize that I am very much out of practice.

So, this "blog" (which, when you think about it, isn't "blog" such a strange word?) is not about anything in particular. It might not last more than a week or a month. It is definitely not to document every special detail of my wedding plans (to which I am already at a loss). I'm hoping to reach some sort of cathardic release by writing things down which I probably wouldn't say. Because I am the kind of person who chews things up over and over and over again in my head until I drive myself a little mad (and definitely to insomnia). And I intend to address you, dear reader, as some faceless listener who will give me no reply. Let's face it, if I needed an opinion, I have plenty of people to confide in. So, simply put, I'm planning to be selfish.

This year (which I just realized has no actual timeline to me...it could include 2008, 2009, and the current 2010) has been extremely challenging for me on so many levels. Like I said, I graduated from college. But then I started grad school while I finished my last year of eligibility for softball, so my "life" in terms of career and non-school related activities didn't start right away. And then I got a job offer before I even finished my first year of graduate school, to which, of course, I said yes. Because that doesn't just happen to people. Everyone is trudging around trying to find work right now, and I get a call before I'm done educating?! So, I packed up and came home and started working while I tried to finish grad school (which I haven't done) and I haven't stopped moving since.

This is the pause in the information for a small soap box: When experienced people tell you to stay in school as long as you can or need to, please listen. It is really cool that I have the job that I do. Really, really cool. But I always intended to finish my degree, and that hasn't happened yet, and there doesn't seem to be a good time to make that happen. So, choices, I guess.

Working, working, working. Playing a lot and a little in between. But working. And, just like any job, I'm working to make sure that people know who I am, and know that I'm kicking ass at what I do. Which, by the way, it is really hard to kick ass when more people want you to fail than they want you to succeed. And, if you are being honest with yourself, everyone loves to see a good failure. Its human nature. So, if you want your kick assery to be known, you've got to just let the haters wait it out and get on board.

Lowest point of the year (and I'm going to go ahead and say it, I'm tired of talking about it): In September, I had to have my second small-bowel resection. Everyone tells me now that they knew I wasn't well for some time, but I don't remember feeling ill. I don't remember suffering through much. But everyone says it started around the end of July. To me, it felt like my life stopped moving in a very abrupt manner.

I got stuck for a long time. I felt fairly normal, like I had moved beyond everything and re-assimilated into life. And I feel certain that if I had the words to describe it even now, it would have helped me then. But I was hopeless for the first time in my life. I was living every day as a fake: I am a sick person living a well person's life.

I know, drama, drama. And even in claiming that it was dramatic, I am showing you one of my life's major coping skills: pretending everything is okay. So, long story short, I repressed my anxiety and guilt for months and I wasn't even aware of it until a short, mean little psychiatrist who I was required to see at Vanderbilt before they would let me see a GI doctor told me that I had a mood disorder. A what? Dude, I am truly one of the happiest people you will ever meet.

Long story short, although this guy was a prick, he made me really think about my health on more than a physical level. So, after about a month of seething, I decided I would never talk to him again. And I found a nice lady who would force me to share every woe-is-me moment of my life, past and current. She's nice enough, only gives me those deeply understanding eyes maybe once every hour that I'm there, and mostly she just listens and doesn't judge. She asks some mighty tough questions though, which might catch you off guard if you assess her by her homilier-than-thou appearance of not blow-dried long mousy hair and loose, flowing clothes. While I mock her, she did help me understand some huge things about myself and about the events of the year:

a. I am not guilty for being sick. I didn't take medicine from years 18-24. And even still, I might have had to have this second surgery. I might have to have another one. Not my fault.

b. It was a big deal.

c. I am a chronic coper. Give me a situation, and I will figure out the best way to cope with it, even if I have to carry it on my back for 2 weeks.

d. Its okay to talk about. In fact, its necessary. And so I started talking about it more, and until I was unable to say another word about it. "This is what I've been through..." "This is how it has affected me..." "This sucks because..."

e. All of these feelings will cycle through again. The guilt of seeing so many doctors and spending so much money. The guilt of burdening my friends with complaints regarding anything to do with all of it. The anxiety of worrying about whether or not something is going on in my body that I can't feel. And constantly coping with all of this....

A few weeks ago, my lady asked me to start keeping a mental journal. To which my mental reply was, "Lady, don't you see that I already do that?" What she meant was, she wanted me to record every moment that I felt guilt, anxiety, any negative feelings. She wanted me to organize my thoughts into three sections: Event, Thought, Action. Okay, if we live in the real world, and I do, we don't have time to stop and assess every stop sign we come to. But I guess she's talking about the more major ones. She gave a mental tool that I think is really awesome: imagine the problem like a big cloud of fog (I always imagine it over the river, and I'm standing on my running bridge), you can see it coming, you can see it when it is upon you, and then you can see it when it has moved past.

So, my lady, as I call her, has not healed me. She hasn't given me some secret that will fix every negative feeling that I have. But she has helped me cope, which is ironic because I'm trying not to have to cope so much. And I haven't felt hopeless in months. In fact, I'm thinking about breaking up with her.

And now we can get to the title of the blog. While I said the topic will not document every detail of wedding planning bliss (and, can I take that back? I might have to include some of it. Give me a break) the title has a lot to do with it. Because leaving behind a name like Schmissrauter and trading it in for Green is going to make my life so much easier. I could ramble on about all the beautiful, romantic ways in which Matt makes my life better, but the simple fact is that I get a nice, easy, Smith-like name. Please don't misunderstand, I love my family name and everything that it stands for, but my God! It takes me at least 30 seconds just to sign a check. And half the time when someone writes me a check, they write "Blaes -----" in the made out to line. I realized by the age of 9 that my name is Blaes and that it is different, interesting, sometimes tiresome. I also realized that I could get rid of the cumbersome Schmissrauter at some point, having found the right person and not marrying into a Jedrochowski. Life is full of small successes.