I’m sure most of you are wondering what the hell is going on with me. Over the past three days, I have received numerous phone calls and voicemails from so many of my close friends that have done nothing but raise their pom-poms and cheer me on. I cannot thank you all enough for your prayers and your support within these past couple of days. However, I feel that most of you are in the dark as to what is going on with my life.
I feel I must warn you all, because what you are about to read is pretty gross –in my opinion that is—but I am a writer, and my job as a writer is to expose myself and be honest. So please take the discretion before continuing:
February 6 2010. Second day back at work. Everything was going all right. I was back in Escondido working at Barnes and Noble while applying to several jobs around San Diego in hopes to make amends in so many different areas of my life.
Emotionally and mentally I am fine. However physically, I was feeling crampy/sore in one specific area. Like someone kneed me to the groin and the pain is still residing. I figured I might have slept in an awkward position last night and it resulted in my discomfort. So I ignored it. However, it continued all throughout the rest of the day. It was my first date with a guy that I am currently seeing.
The next day, the pain was still there. I felt like I was not getting enough sleep and I needed a full night’s rest as opposed to my four hour sleep I had the night before. So on Sunday, two days later, I had work and was walking around totally normal. I was trying to ignore the pain because I knew that it was going to go away. Unfortunately, by the end of my six hour shift, I could barely walk and every movement felt like I was carrying a cement weight in between my legs.
Monday was my day off and I laid on the couch, beyond pain and taking drugs to dull whatever pain that is still lingering. At this point, I was starting to get very worried. I had figured it was probably a hernia.
I called a medical assistance program and arranged an appointment after yelling at them that my condition was not fit for waiting a month for treatment. They had tried setting me up for an appointment for March 11th, and there was no way I was going to wait in pain that long.
I sat in the CMS appointment and gave them the information that they had requested. Overall, CMS is comprised of women that are post-menopausal and taking it out on everyone that sits behind the double-plated glass. Sure, their job is to qualify you, but no need to take your anger or your bad day on me.
February 10th
It was when the pain went away that the real fear started to envelop me. While showering, I did my routine check on my “bits and pieces,” it was very sensitive to the touch and felt like it was swelling. When the pain was almost completely gone, I did it again and noticed something odd. There was a growth behind one of my testicles and it was not attached to the actual testicle itself.
I had arranged for a doctors appointment. He signed me up for an ultrasound so that he could find out if the growth I had developed was a cyst or if it was solid. If it was a cyst, they would give me antibiotics and it would go away; however, if it had turned out to be a solid. It could become cancerous.
Having someone tell you that your condition could be cancer is something that stays in the back your head. I had work after my doctor’s appointment, and it took me a while to recover from that hard blow. Some of the regulars that come into the store were starting to become very concerned with my well-being, but I told them I was going to be fine.
Ultrasound. Awkward, but having the warm jelly on me was enough to put me to sleep.
While I was laying there, with my legs hovering over the cold table, I felt a sudden form of peace. Now I know some of my friends are agnostic, or deist, or an atheist (and I am totally okay with that); but the only way I can describe this peace was a form was spiritual, like God himself whispered in my ear saying that everything was going to be okay and everything involving my insurance and needs were going to be taken care of. The only thing I had to do was have faith. I know that sounds very cheesy and sounding like something I may have stolen from 7th Heaven, but sometimes it’s in times of extreme crisis do I get a solution to my problem.
The one thing that is keeping me through this is by admiring characters from my shows/movies. When I was first diagnosed, I became Evita dying of ovarian cancer. Right now, I feel like God is preparing me for something big, almost like Olivia Dunham in Fringe is preparing for a battle between two alternate universes. It seems that the amount of stress I am experiencing me now is preparing me something involving the entertainment industry. Keeping them in mind helps me know that if Olivia Dunham can solve the mystery with being tested for cortexiphran, then I can for sure handle this. If I can handle the stress that is currently in my life, then the rest is going to be cake. So keeping that in mind makes enduring this task worth it, in a sense.
The doctor gave me a call yesterday, telling me that my condition is not a cyst, but something solid that needs to be removed immediately or it could become cancerous. But they need to do a biopsy to remove it or I could die. I told them that I have no means of paying for this and I am currently qualifying for medical assistance. In reply, he told me that he could talk to a doctor at the neighborhood clinic that could see me and he could help me out.
I felt fine. I was able to go to work and joke around with my regulars, put decaf coffee in those that mess with “the help,” and help cook dinner for my family while grading my sister’s math homework and work on the budget for a film I'm producing. I was able to feel like it was just another setback.
So now, you see how confident I feel that everything is going to be all right. I hope this helps put you at ease. But, I am a force to be reckoned with. I will only prove you wrong. If I could do it when I was a baby, when the doctors told me I would never be able to run, then I can definitely do this now. Shit, I am the Captain after all…
Friday, February 19, 2010
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Breaking Tradition
Valentine’s Day, in its earlier years, has been all about breaking tradition and deception. One of the initial instances of this holiday began during the reign of Roman emperor Claudius II. He believed that soldiers that were married made poor soldiers and mandated that anyone serving their country be single. However, one of Claudius’ priests, Valentine, disagreed and would conduct secret marriages for the young men—sometimes the men would be as early as twelve! When the emperor found out about these marriages, he ordered Valentine to be beheaded. While he was awaiting his execution in jail, he befriended the jailer’s daughter and would send her notes inscribed: “from your Valentine.” Thus begins the tradition of the worst holiday created in history.
I don’t know why St. Valentine gets sainthood for creating the worst holiday in world history. Although his intentions were not aiming to create the biggest Hallmark holiday, they were instead used for helping people achieve the happiness that they deserve in spite of what authority may say. But I still think the holiday is one of the worst creations ever created by man, because it only proves that the emperor was somewhat right: on a day like February 14th, everyone becomes a sap for one day.
Now I feel I must backtrack, because my intentions of blogging are not to bring down the holiday. Normally, people buy gifts for their lovers on a day like today; however, I am going to break tradition. There have been three important people in my life that I feel I do not give enough credit to, because I have spent a majority of my life ignoring the things that they have done to make me into the person that I am today. Since my resolution was to repair some of the relationships that I have damaged, I felt it was appropriate to use Valentine’s day to herald these individuals in the only way I know how to show my appreciation: by writing.
Her name is Miranda, my youngest sister. She is 15 and she is taller than me. I don’t know if that makes me feel older or smaller, but in any case, she’s got the legs and figure of a model. Out of all of my siblings, I feel like she has had the hardest time growing up within our house. The reason why I say this is because me and my two other siblings, constantly picked on her. Looking back on those days, I feel ashamed that I could never take the things that I have done/said to her. Recently, I have started making a change in my behavior and interactions with my sister.
There are several things that I find in my sister that makes me really appreciate her. She is a fragile flower. She is very beautiful; but at the same time, Miranda does not show it off the way other girls do. Another trait that she possesses is the girl can talk, almost as much as me. Last Sunday, we went out for frozen yogurt, and she told me some stories. Finally, I know that she is going to become a very talented and beautiful woman when she grows up.
Next person is my other sister Kera. Growing up, we hardly got along—unless our mother bribed us. It was your typical sibling rivalry. But like all siblings that grow up together, eventually we set aside our differences and began to enjoy each other’s company. Now when I see her, I notice just how much talent she has as a both a musician as well as a person. She exposes her talent as well as her personality to the people that are involved in her life. I know one day she is going to succeed and make it big in the music industry, and she is not too far from that day either! It seems that whenever I have a problem, she is always there to listen.
Finally, we have my mother. Mothers are sacred beings. They are responsible for holding the key to a better future as well as generation. Growing up, my mother would always tell me that one of the best decisions she ever made was becoming a mother, and everyday that I am interacting with my mom, I see that she is a woman of her word. Growing up, my mom was my best friend. There was never a person that would devote themselves to finding the best decisions for their children than she.
When I was a kid, I would always write letters to my mom, because I felt that this gift was my only way of best conveying my thoughts. In return, my mother would write back, in the most beautiful penmanship. So to an extent, I want to thank my mom for encouraging me to write. Had it not been for her, I would probably be an engineer.
Valentine’s day is a day where people become sappy and emotional as they hand See’s Candy to their lovers along with some bear that will only end up at the nearest Salvation Army in six months. On a day like today, we feel obligated that we need to give gifts or express our affection to those that we care about. I am too poor as of this point to give gifts, so I would rather use the gift that my own mother gave me to let her, as well as my sisters, know how much she/they mean to me in my life. I don’t like buying cards, because they never say what is on my mind, so I would rather write in boring black and white because that’s what Valentine did the same thing.
I don’t know why St. Valentine gets sainthood for creating the worst holiday in world history. Although his intentions were not aiming to create the biggest Hallmark holiday, they were instead used for helping people achieve the happiness that they deserve in spite of what authority may say. But I still think the holiday is one of the worst creations ever created by man, because it only proves that the emperor was somewhat right: on a day like February 14th, everyone becomes a sap for one day.
Now I feel I must backtrack, because my intentions of blogging are not to bring down the holiday. Normally, people buy gifts for their lovers on a day like today; however, I am going to break tradition. There have been three important people in my life that I feel I do not give enough credit to, because I have spent a majority of my life ignoring the things that they have done to make me into the person that I am today. Since my resolution was to repair some of the relationships that I have damaged, I felt it was appropriate to use Valentine’s day to herald these individuals in the only way I know how to show my appreciation: by writing.
Her name is Miranda, my youngest sister. She is 15 and she is taller than me. I don’t know if that makes me feel older or smaller, but in any case, she’s got the legs and figure of a model. Out of all of my siblings, I feel like she has had the hardest time growing up within our house. The reason why I say this is because me and my two other siblings, constantly picked on her. Looking back on those days, I feel ashamed that I could never take the things that I have done/said to her. Recently, I have started making a change in my behavior and interactions with my sister.
There are several things that I find in my sister that makes me really appreciate her. She is a fragile flower. She is very beautiful; but at the same time, Miranda does not show it off the way other girls do. Another trait that she possesses is the girl can talk, almost as much as me. Last Sunday, we went out for frozen yogurt, and she told me some stories. Finally, I know that she is going to become a very talented and beautiful woman when she grows up.
Next person is my other sister Kera. Growing up, we hardly got along—unless our mother bribed us. It was your typical sibling rivalry. But like all siblings that grow up together, eventually we set aside our differences and began to enjoy each other’s company. Now when I see her, I notice just how much talent she has as a both a musician as well as a person. She exposes her talent as well as her personality to the people that are involved in her life. I know one day she is going to succeed and make it big in the music industry, and she is not too far from that day either! It seems that whenever I have a problem, she is always there to listen.
Finally, we have my mother. Mothers are sacred beings. They are responsible for holding the key to a better future as well as generation. Growing up, my mother would always tell me that one of the best decisions she ever made was becoming a mother, and everyday that I am interacting with my mom, I see that she is a woman of her word. Growing up, my mom was my best friend. There was never a person that would devote themselves to finding the best decisions for their children than she.
When I was a kid, I would always write letters to my mom, because I felt that this gift was my only way of best conveying my thoughts. In return, my mother would write back, in the most beautiful penmanship. So to an extent, I want to thank my mom for encouraging me to write. Had it not been for her, I would probably be an engineer.
Valentine’s day is a day where people become sappy and emotional as they hand See’s Candy to their lovers along with some bear that will only end up at the nearest Salvation Army in six months. On a day like today, we feel obligated that we need to give gifts or express our affection to those that we care about. I am too poor as of this point to give gifts, so I would rather use the gift that my own mother gave me to let her, as well as my sisters, know how much she/they mean to me in my life. I don’t like buying cards, because they never say what is on my mind, so I would rather write in boring black and white because that’s what Valentine did the same thing.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Prodigal
Religion is a drug that can be used to better the health of an individual; however, it can be abused and drive a person to have a sense of total dependency on the belief system. In my life, Christianity has allowed me to realize that even though I may experience hard times right now, I can be certain that there is something better for me in the distant future.
In the four gospels in the Bible, there is a man by the name of Jesus that would teach valuable lessons in the form of parables. Some of the best lessons in life are always told in the form of a subliminal message. Aesop, a Greek slave born in 620 B.C., was a intelligent writer that would write in the same manner. The only difference was Aesop was more direct than Jesus’ parables.
However, one of the parables that Jesus taught is one that I can relate to at this point in my life. It is the story of the prodigal son. The son demands his inheritance from his father, in which he takes to Vegas. It is in Vegas, that he appears on Boys Gone Wild; parties like Amy Winehouse, and goes broke, all within a paragraph.* However, upon waking up in a pig pen on some random farm, he has an epiphany. He took advantage of the blessings that God gave him and tried to live fast. As a result, he went broke, has a restraining order from his baby’s mama, and getting dirty in the pig pen.
Six months ago, things between my mother and I took a turn for the worst when I was given the opportunity to move to Long Beach. I got in a fight with her on moving day, grabbed all of my belongings, and moved to Long Beach. All without knowing it was the beginning of my descent.
Within my family tree, there has been a tradition that still reigns true within my mother’s side: When family is about to leave each other, they feel that it is better departing in anger than in relief/grief of bidding “adieu.” My aunts do it almost every time they leave each other every Thanksgiving and Christmas. It’s funny how my own mother, a person who abstains from allowing her sister’s bickering to get to her, has done it to her own son; making the move to Long Beach that much more difficult.
It took more than a couple dials on the phone to talk to my family. I felt like I wanted to do nothing but try to make them proud of me by showing them that I could make it on my own. But the more wrong turns I was reaching while in Long Beach showed me that there was little to no hope for my dreams to come true. Feeling more isolated and displaced from my friends and family like a prisoner stuck on the island of Alcatraz.
Rock Bottom. The point in your life when you wake up in a pig sty. Personally, my own pig sty became the revelation of living with myself. Recalling my exit from the house was so gut-wrenchingly painful that it took every fiber in my body to pack my U-Haul and make the drive with Jeff.
I am the kind of person that feels the guilt of hurting someone immediately after I committed the wrongdoing. Once I had finally left my family and had unpacked all of my belongings in Long Beach, I had started to feel the weight of guilt weighing heavily on my shoulders. Soon, my own brain became my private hell. If I wasn’t too careful, I realized I was slowly nearing my destination: the Gates of Dante’s Inferno, aka Rock Bottom. “Abandon all hope ye who enter here.” December 31st of last year became a time of self-intervention and reflection when I realized that, in 2010, I was going to repair the relationships that I had damaged, and turn my life around in a more positive direction as opposed to being self-centered and achieve what I want.
In the conclusions to Jesus’ parable, the Prodigal Son had a self-intervention as well. He realized that his dad’s servants got better treatment than this. In the same manner, I had a self-intervention that my sanity was slowly beginning to unravel. Two weeks ago, I stared in front of the mirror, hung-over, hair tossed from lack of sleep as well as a shower, and missing a tooth. It was revealed to me that I need to repair the damage that has been broken in my family in order to advance to the next stage in my life. So the son returned to his family’s house, where he was welcomed to back with arms open wide.
Long Beach felts like a nightmare I was not able to wake up from. Granted, I will always cherish the memories as well as friends that I made there. But trying to run away from your past is as pointless as trying to speed through traffic. Like a horror movie, the hero always takes back something rather important so that way, he is that much stronger for the next obstacle that may come at his/her way.
I may have been the Prodigal Son for six months, but I did learn a lot. Overall, I learned that I need to be more prepared to always have a back-up plan. Having learned that mistake the hard way led me to Rock Bottom. Granted, being back home feels like, in a way, I am back to being a failure. It feels like I am having to Go Back to Start in the Game of Life. But right now, since I reached Rock Bottom, there was no way to work on but up from here. I guess that is all I really have to look forward to….
In the four gospels in the Bible, there is a man by the name of Jesus that would teach valuable lessons in the form of parables. Some of the best lessons in life are always told in the form of a subliminal message. Aesop, a Greek slave born in 620 B.C., was a intelligent writer that would write in the same manner. The only difference was Aesop was more direct than Jesus’ parables.
However, one of the parables that Jesus taught is one that I can relate to at this point in my life. It is the story of the prodigal son. The son demands his inheritance from his father, in which he takes to Vegas. It is in Vegas, that he appears on Boys Gone Wild; parties like Amy Winehouse, and goes broke, all within a paragraph.* However, upon waking up in a pig pen on some random farm, he has an epiphany. He took advantage of the blessings that God gave him and tried to live fast. As a result, he went broke, has a restraining order from his baby’s mama, and getting dirty in the pig pen.
Six months ago, things between my mother and I took a turn for the worst when I was given the opportunity to move to Long Beach. I got in a fight with her on moving day, grabbed all of my belongings, and moved to Long Beach. All without knowing it was the beginning of my descent.
Within my family tree, there has been a tradition that still reigns true within my mother’s side: When family is about to leave each other, they feel that it is better departing in anger than in relief/grief of bidding “adieu.” My aunts do it almost every time they leave each other every Thanksgiving and Christmas. It’s funny how my own mother, a person who abstains from allowing her sister’s bickering to get to her, has done it to her own son; making the move to Long Beach that much more difficult.
It took more than a couple dials on the phone to talk to my family. I felt like I wanted to do nothing but try to make them proud of me by showing them that I could make it on my own. But the more wrong turns I was reaching while in Long Beach showed me that there was little to no hope for my dreams to come true. Feeling more isolated and displaced from my friends and family like a prisoner stuck on the island of Alcatraz.
Rock Bottom. The point in your life when you wake up in a pig sty. Personally, my own pig sty became the revelation of living with myself. Recalling my exit from the house was so gut-wrenchingly painful that it took every fiber in my body to pack my U-Haul and make the drive with Jeff.
I am the kind of person that feels the guilt of hurting someone immediately after I committed the wrongdoing. Once I had finally left my family and had unpacked all of my belongings in Long Beach, I had started to feel the weight of guilt weighing heavily on my shoulders. Soon, my own brain became my private hell. If I wasn’t too careful, I realized I was slowly nearing my destination: the Gates of Dante’s Inferno, aka Rock Bottom. “Abandon all hope ye who enter here.” December 31st of last year became a time of self-intervention and reflection when I realized that, in 2010, I was going to repair the relationships that I had damaged, and turn my life around in a more positive direction as opposed to being self-centered and achieve what I want.
In the conclusions to Jesus’ parable, the Prodigal Son had a self-intervention as well. He realized that his dad’s servants got better treatment than this. In the same manner, I had a self-intervention that my sanity was slowly beginning to unravel. Two weeks ago, I stared in front of the mirror, hung-over, hair tossed from lack of sleep as well as a shower, and missing a tooth. It was revealed to me that I need to repair the damage that has been broken in my family in order to advance to the next stage in my life. So the son returned to his family’s house, where he was welcomed to back with arms open wide.
Long Beach felts like a nightmare I was not able to wake up from. Granted, I will always cherish the memories as well as friends that I made there. But trying to run away from your past is as pointless as trying to speed through traffic. Like a horror movie, the hero always takes back something rather important so that way, he is that much stronger for the next obstacle that may come at his/her way.
I may have been the Prodigal Son for six months, but I did learn a lot. Overall, I learned that I need to be more prepared to always have a back-up plan. Having learned that mistake the hard way led me to Rock Bottom. Granted, being back home feels like, in a way, I am back to being a failure. It feels like I am having to Go Back to Start in the Game of Life. But right now, since I reached Rock Bottom, there was no way to work on but up from here. I guess that is all I really have to look forward to….
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