Tag: risk

Hippies and Hyperventilating

goashape-61244goashape-61244(For the beginning of the story, check out my previous blog post!)

Having had only a few months to help my mother with the estate sale, fill up the storage unit, and pack up my apartment, planning my life out once I got to California was like trying to button up my summer shorts in the dead of winter. It wasn’t going to happen. The best I could do was buy a ticket to a festival where I could camp out, in the hopes that the universe would orchestrate the perfect encounter to guide me to the place I was suppose to be. However, what was orchestrated there was no symphony, it was more like a catastrophe.  

If Coachella and Burning Man had a baby, it would be the festival I went to. I found myself surrounded by people dressed up like they were about to go trick or treating, with pupils the size of gum balls. Every time I would meet someone, I would wonder if they were the one who would help me get out of this mess some way or somehow. I would check out a good looking guy in the hopes that he’d be my knight in shining armor, or knight dressed like Tarzan on acid. It didn’t take me long to start completely losing it and questioning my choices.

Terrified of my own state of mind, consumed by my thoughts of food, fear of relapsing, and desperation to figure life out, I chose to not experiment with anything that might enhance my state of being. Sober, I meandered around the wide dirt paths alongside the extravagant and colorful tents and booths, full of psychedelic t-shirts, onesies, and leather outfits. I started to cry as I walked across a wooden bridge that brought me to more tents with people laughing and enjoying their lives. A part of me resented them for rubbing salt in my large opened wound, and resented myself for not being like them.

As the sun set, I stared out onto the horizon and felt like I was looking at a real life version of the sunset from The Lion King minus the hundreds of tents. I turned around and saw half naked people drinking and doing drugs, so they could continue their momentum into the night. Having been a sober mess the past few days, I figured I’d join the party and have a beer or two. Nothing crazy, but just enough to give me a buzz and take the edge off. It still doesn’t seem like a horrible idea, so long as something horrible didn’t happen as a result.    

Dancing like I had Spanish in my blood, or so I thought, I began to enjoy my time and buzz. Shortly after, I started not to feel so well from the alcohol, and decided to step away for some fresh air. As I made my way around the bend towards my campsite, I began to worry far worse than my mother does trying to make thanksgiving dinner. I felt so sick that I could tell I was about to throw up, but my ego assured me that everything would be okay if I did. Deep down, I knew this could easily be a floodgate for my old addictive behaviors to resurface.

I came out from behind the bushes, relieved that I physically felt a million times better, but that was the only thing I was relieved about. The flood gate was officially open, and my thoughts after that consisted of “uh oh uh oh uh oh” and “There, there, it’s okay. Eat this and you’ll feel better.” … to be continued

 

Jump and the Net Will Appear… Or Not.

You know that saying, “Jump and the net will appear.” Well, I did, but there was no net, and I hit the pavement. Thankfully, I took the leap thinking the net would catch me because if I knew I was about to eat shit, I probably wouldn’t have made the jump that has been transforming my life.

It all started with a phone call. Walking down the cobblestone streets in the West Village, I felt my phone vibrate in the pocket of my black Lululemon leggings. I was relieved to see it wasn’t my friend calling to tell me about her new love, knowing she would be calling me the following week crying like she was just arrested for public intoxication saying “You were right”. I swiped the screen displaying “Mom” to my iphone to answer the call, not knowing at the time, that phone call would change the course of my life. The words that came out of my mouth after my mom spoke still baffle me.

“Why don’t you move into my apartment, and I go to California and I figure it out?” I pulled the phone a few inches away from my face and stared at it with furrowed brows as if to say “He said what to you!? What’s his address and social?”. I had no intentions on going anywhere, as I liked living in NYC, but the moment I said that to my mother, there was a gut intuitive “Yes!” in the pit of my stomach, as I felt the hair on my arms stand up, and the chills rush through my body from head to toe.

She had just called to tell me someone had knocked on her door with a great offer on her house, wanting to move in within the next few months. Though she felt like this was the universe giving her what she wanted, within our time living there, we had turned the basement into an antique warehouse, the garage into a storage unit, and my old bedroom had turned into a giant cluster fuck of clothes, toys, trinkets, and god knows what from my emo stage of punk rock posters and anime comic books. With all of the work that had to be done, she saw no way that she could move everything out and simultaneously find another place to live in that short period of time.

I had always been a planner, and could never have seen myself flying across the country without anything in place. I thought the people who did stuff like that were insane, or never wore shoes and had dreadlocks. That being said, I knew I had to take a crazy leap of faith, because to say no to that intuitive guidance, would have meant saying “What if…” for the rest of my life.

Not long after that decision was made, I began to hear old addictive thoughts and habits return. My urges to binge, purge, and restrict, creeped back into my conscious mind, and next thing you know, I was back at the bodega buying three packs of gum every day. By the time I left, I was under the impression I was the only person keeping them in business. These flags were more red than my friends eyes on 4/20, and I kept trying to ignore these subtle thoughts and behaviors in the hopes that I could hold myself together and everything would be all hunky dory once I got to California.

A few months later, I’m standing at baggage claim in the LAX airport with just a ticket and a suitcase. No job, no place to live, just a bunch of clothes with no place to put them. I felt my soul was guiding me down this path, so surely the net would appear and I’d know where I was meant to go, right? Wrong. Utterly wrong. My biggest fear quickly went from “Where am I going to go to the Gym?” to “Where am I sleeping tomorrow night!?” and those red flags continued to wave until I was blinded by them. 

Stay tuned to see what happened next !