Why I'm Going to BiSC.

For most people, making the decision to go to Bloggers in Sin City was probably just a matter of finances, availability, and the desire to go meet awesome people. As long as they could go without making too big a dent in their bank accounts and were free that weekend, they were signed up. Simple.*

When sign-ups started, I was clear in my decision not to go. I needed to save the money and I was still too scared to get on a plane. It didn’t even cross my mind from the day registration opened until the week it was going to end.

That Monday, for the first time, I entertained the idea. I clicked the link to register to remind myself what the price was, and thought to myself, that’s actually doable. The thought of getting on a plane still scared the crap out of me. So, still no.

On Tuesday or Wednesday, I looked up how long a flight from New Jersey to Las Vegas would take. Five or six hours? No way José.

Then, it was finally Thursday, the last day to register. I sat at work, tweeting about how all the BiSC discussions were bumming me out. My excuse was that I couldn’t afford it; the truth was I didn’t want to fly. I eventually said as much, knowing subconsciously that tweeting about it would open up a conversation about my attendance. People began begging me, claiming they’d fly with me and meet me at baggage claim.

That’s when I knew. I knew that, deep down, I wanted to go. In my heart of hearts, going to BiSC was something I was dying to do. It’s on my 30 Before 30 list, I wanted to meet all these fabulous people, and I wanted a really awesome experience under my belt. I was going to have to fly eventually, so why not go big? Recently I've had this pull to do more, live more authentically, go with my gut and make choices that might be scary but also really exciting.

I decided before the work day was over, but gave myself the drive home to make a “final” decision. After talking it over briefly with my mom and Erik – who were both, surprisingly, supportive – I registered. And then I had a panic attack because holy shit, I’m actually going to have to GET ON A PLANE and FLY FOR FIVE HOURS.

Despite the panic attack and the fact that I still get anxious (and a bit nauseas) every time I think about actually flying, I know it will be worth it. Totally, one-hundred-percent worth it.

*This is just for storytelling purposes and to emphasize my own story. I know the choice might not have actually been that simple for everyone.

the root of the problem.

Note: Starting off the week before Christmas with a post like this is the last thing I want to do, really. But, I wrote it and need to publish it, because if not now, when? I can promise that the rest of the weeks' posts will all be holiday-based because I'm giddy with Christmas spirit.

I’ve spent the majority of my health issues being bombarded by multiple parties on how I should be better already, how easy it should be, and how the longer this goes on, the more it’s my own fault. My parents were sympathetic at first, but have now joked in a sarcastic and somewhat hopeless fashion that I’m going to live at home forever. My ex constantly checked up on me, told me things I should be doing as if he were my parent, and instilled a certain amount of guilt in me because I was usually unable (or unwilling) to go out.

Basically, I’ve come to believe that I am a sub par member of society and that my value is decreased because of my problems. My relationship would’ve been better if I could go out to dinner or the movies more; my parents wouldn’t be embarrassed to talk about me if I was healthy and had a job. The basis of these statements is accurate - my health is adversely affecting my life - but adding guilt to the list of things I struggle with isn't helping.

The other night, as I was having a down moment and contemplating all of the problems in my life, it became painfully obvious that I have major anxiety issues. I don’t even hesitate putting a name to it – my entire life, I’ve worried too much about things. I've woken up with anxious stomachaches on any day that included something out of the ordinary. I have issues with eating in front of people, even in my own home, and feel flustered before going almost anywhere. Being away from home for extended periods of time – unless it’s someplace that feels like home – makes me tired and ill.

If that sounds like a lot to deal with, it is. But, to be honest, until recently I had learned how to cope with it. I took medicine preemptively to calm my stomach. I laughed off my eating habits, getting through barely half of my meal in public places and eating normally once I returned home. I turned down invitations to go on trips or stay over people’s houses because I worried about feeling too sick or becoming an inconvenience.

For most of my life, I have found ways to temporarily solve the problems and live normally. With the onset of my health issues, however, I have lost those skills. What I have feared most – feeling sick, calling attention to myself, needing to find bathrooms quickly – has come true. They’re not irrational fears if they actually happen.

So what happens now? I make my way through Christmas, New Year's, and my birthday, using my well-practiced tactics. And then I look for a therapist. Honestly, I can’t do it anymore. I'm tired. I'm frustrated. I have to admit to myself that I’m not superwoman, no matter how hard I want to be, and I can’t keep using quick fixes and putting a smile on my face. I can't keep popping pills and eating poorly just to go out, only to suffer for days after. It's a disservice to my friends to show up somewhere and be too concerned about how I feel to fully enjoy myself. Some lovely girls have inspired me and made me realize that it’s okay to ask for help when you need it. I know I have an extremely supportive group of friends who will see me through this and a family who, at the very least, won't judge me for this.

I just hope I’m brave enough to go through with it when the time comes.

life choices, weekend edition.

Occasionally I like to define certain things I do as either Poor or Amazing Life Choices. This weekend was filled to the brim with them, which is to say, it was equal parts fabulously awesome and horrifyingly irresponsible.

Poor Life Choices:

• Eating too much candy Friday night
• Staying up after being woken up too early on Saturday morning
• Taking a death nap Saturday afternoon
• Taking too many meds for my stomach in prep for going out
• Not eating anything all day until I came home at 3am
  
• Getting only five hours of sleep Saturday night (despite DST!)
• Having a mozzarella-and-salami sandwich at 1am when I should've been in bed last night
• Staying up until 4am reading through e-mails/gchats between me and my ex

Amazing Life Choices:

• Creating a Disney-centric Pandora station
  
• Spending Friday night in my p'jams with my mom, watching (and mocking) Home Shopping Network
• Attending Hot Mess House (albeit for far too short of a stay) at Melissa's on Saturday night, despite feeling like, well, a hot mess (and not in the good way)
• Getting the chance to hang out with Melissa's hometown besties and thoroughly enjoying myself
  
• Giving in a little bit and having a convo with my cousin via text for the first time in months
• Making plans for the holidays
  
• Watching the Jets and Giants win their games on Sunday
• Planning a last-minute party for next weekend, even though compulsively checking the RSVPs to make sure enough people are coming will give me an ulcer by the end of the week
• Finally de-tagging and deleting the majority of e-mails/gchats between me and my ex

So, there's my weekend for you. I feel like bloated, sinus-headache-y death, but I had fun! And having fun is all that matters. Right? Right.