I'm back, but am I really here?

It has been eons since I last wrote a blog post.

Okay, maybe not eons, I don't even know how long an eon is, but it has been half a year. Hard to believe, that half a year has passed. When I was a child half a year seemed like an eternity, and now it passes by in the blink of an eye. It's not as if the past six months have been filled with excitement and activity. One month was - it contained our wedding and European honeymoon. The rest was filled with the mundane stuff of life as an unemployed woman: workouts, putting off workouts, applying to jobs, being excited about job interviews, being disappointed when jobs fall through, reading, tv viewing, chocolate eating, sanity questioning and napping.

I first started this blog as a lead into the 'novel' I was planning on releasing. I quickly grew very discouraged with that, realized I am an average writer at best, and that my only feasible option was to self publish. If I did, sure some family and friends would fulfill their obligation to read and buy my work, but why put one more obligation on them in a life full of obligations? Wouldn't that be somewhat selfish of me? Or perhaps I'm making excuses for my lazy self who got so off track from her goal.

Whatever the cause, my manuscript is currently in the back of my closet. Maybe I"ll go back to it sometime, maybe I won't. The fact is I'm not an incredibly driven person. My largest ambition is to be happy and that is my focus right now. To get out of this unemployment rut I'm in, and get back to feeling useful and productive in my everyday life. I'm happy with my husband, I'm happy with my home, and I'm happy with certain aspects of everyday life, but I am not happy with my job (or lack thereof). So off to the job boards I go, hopefully I'll blog again before six more months pass.

I love to hear your thoughts and engage in discussion. If the comment box is not already displayed please click on the link which indicates the number of comments and let your voice be heard!

Hope is Beautiful

Last week, while the sun was shining and high temp records were being shattered I was busy reaching my low. I didn't realize at the time just how down and hopeless I was feeling, but looking back on it now that I feel hope again, I realize that I was circling the drain . . . luckily I did not fall in.

For me falling in would most clearly be indicated by binging and purging. I haven't in so long it feels amazing. It's been months, probably closer to a year since I stuck my finger down my throat and punished myself for being me. Sometimes I con myself into thinking I'm completely out of the woods, and then weeks like last week strike. I was overcome with ridiculously strong urges to binge and purge on almost a daily basis, sometimes for the entire day. What brought this on? Well I was having some medical issues that nobody wants to hear me go into detail about so I won't, and I realized for the first time how much I miss work and how scared I am that I won't ever find a job I care about so much again. I'm sure other unconscience crap was going on too, but what do I look like, a psychologist?

I'm not sure what kept me from giving in, but I'm so glad I managed to find the strength not to. Most of that strength I believe came from my loved ones, even though they have no idea what a role they played. I kept envisioning my wedding in July. I pictured my fiance, who loves me no matter how nuts I am, my mom, who has been there for me through absolutely everything, and others close to me and realized I wanted to make them proud. I wanted to show them proof that they weren't crazy for loving me and for sticking by me, that I have finally managed to become a stable, HEALTHY, adult. I couldn't do that if I was binging and purging. And I knew from experience that if I let myself do it just this once, I would do it again, and again, until I was doing it several times a day.

This week things are much more dismal outside (back to March in New England) but I feel as if spring has sprung within me. I'm proud of myself for not giving in, even when I had hours and hours of solitary free time to do just that. In the past I have had to make sure I wasn't home alone for more than an hour, because it was a sure thing I would binge. I've come a long way. I'm also feeling better medically, not perfect, but I've managed to get perspective. I think one reason it hit me so hard was that medical issues mean I am getting older, and that can be tough for any gal to deal with! I also feel much better about my work prospects this week, I've started really applying to jobs, jobs that excite me, jobs I'm qualified for, jobs I know I would be good at. I'm sure it will take awhile to find the right one, but that's okay, I will be learning how to cook in the meantime, doing my writing, and recieving love and support from those around me. I really don't have things so bad after all. I have hope again, and it is beautiful.

I love to hear your thoughts and engage in discussion. If the comment box is not already displayed please click on the link which indicates the number of comments and let your voice be heard!

Always Feels Like I'm Waiting For Something

 I feel like I've spent far too much of my life waiting for my life to begin. I have a very difficult time focusing on the moment, and often find myself preoccupied with memories, regrets, and questions from the past or longing for the life I will have at some point in the future. If I could change any one thing about myself this inability to just LIVE very well may be it.

I can spend days obsessing about choices I've made in the past, and how my life would be different if I had made different choices. We have all made mistakes but I can't seem to forgive myself mine. Instead I emotionally whip myself regularly, berating myself for the stupid things I've done, even when everything turns out all right in the end. I am the queen of What If's? and I'm tired of it.

When I am actually paying attention during the present I find that I choose whether or not to do things based on what I want my memories to be like. I may not feel like making homemade cut out sugar cookies, but I want it to be a tradition, something we always do at Christmas, so I make myself do it. I may not have felt like going to all the parties I went to in college but did I want to remember college as one big fun party or as nights spent alone in my room? I went to the parties. It's a maddening way to live, making your choices based on how you want to remember your life rather than on how they will effect your life.

Waiting for the future is the other bothersome part of my thought process. Right now is a prime example. Matt and I plan to live in our apartment in Somerville, MA until he finishes his degree and then move away, buy a house, etc. I'm quite eager to get away. I'm not a huge fan of the area's overcrowding, traffic, trash in the gutters, parallel parking, weather, and I could go on. To make matters worse, I just lost the one thing in this area that mattered to me other than Matt, which was my job. I find myself far too often wishing these next couple of years away, just so life can really begin. That is no way to spend life! Two years is a long time and I should be living them to their fullest not counting the days until they are gone.

I've always been like this, in a rush to get on to the good part of life. Way too often I end up missing, or not enjoying fully the good part because of this. Thank God I don't always listen to my voice which says now now now. If I did I would have skipped college in favor of settling down right away. I now consider college to be the best years of my life, but back when I was 17 I really couldn't wait for it to be over.

So what's to be done about all of this? I don't know. I just wanted to get it out. And see if maybe others experienced similar difficulties. Please tell me I'm not the only one who does these crazy things! Or tell me I am, as long as your honest, I welcome your input. If the comment box is not already displayed please click on the link which indicates the number of comments and let your voice be heard!

Honesty in Writing

This morning I completed my first round of edits on my book. This is rather exciting for me because I have been trudging through the manuscript for over a month, trying to get it to look presentable. Although I will celebrate today by laying outside and finishing the third book of the Hunger Games, my work is far from over. I have line editing to do. I have a wealth of material and many decisions to make about content before I start that.

The problem I'm having is that I am writing about real people. Sure, details have been changed, especially when I refer to client's, but if any of my co-worker's read the manuscript they will know who they are. Not everything I write about my co-workers is flattering, even those I hold in high esteem and who will be attending my wedding in July. My goal in writing this book was to be completely honest, to not sugarcoat the flaws of myself, others, or the drug treatment system as a whole. I'm  not sure everybody mentioned in the book will understand that. I'm left with a dilemma: Take parts I know will be offensive out of the book and sacrifice realness, or leave them in and risk upsetting people I care about and respect?

I also have to decide how much I want my mother to know about my inner most thoughts. I love my mom dearly, but I don't tell her everything that pops into my head, mostly for fear of giving her a heart attack. Do I really want her to read about my own history experimenting with substances? I think I can handle that. Do I want to risk breaking her heart by exposing her to my doubts about the religion she is completely devoted to? Not so much. The section on spirituality is important to the book as a whole though so I'm left with another dilemma. Take it out to protect my mom or leave it in and risk hurting her.

I know that many writers deal with this, after all we do not write in a vaccuum. By publishing a book you are giving the entire world permission, actually an invitation to read it. What do you think you would do? Or if you are an author, what have you done? Is maintaining the original integrity of the work worth risking important relationships?

I love to hear your thoughts and engage in discussion. If the comment box is not already displayed please click on the link which indicates the number of comments and let your voice be heard!

My better half

When I was younger my journal entries, both on paper and online, tended to focus on whatever boy I was into at the moment. I cringe when I look back at old entries and find myself talking about how wonderful some guy was, now that I know he wasn't. I don't mean to say all of the guys I was interested in were losers, but none of them were forevers either.

Now that I have finally found my forever guy I rarely mention him in my writing. Does this mean I take him for granted or does this simply indicate that I've finally grown up and realized that there is much more to life than who you are dating? I think maybe a little of both.

I have realized there is much more to life then who you are dating, and perhaps this is one reason I shy away from mentioning my love life in my writing, but on the other hand I am no longer dating anybody so this is somewhat of a moot point. When you find, dare I say it, 'The One', dating is far too casual of a word. You are dreaming dreams together, building a life together, making plans together, creating traditions together. As corny as it sounds you complete each other and you make each other better. Thats what the expression 'my better half' means to me. Not that your partner is a superior being, but rather that he/she makes you a better version of yourself.

I know that my fiance, Matt, has helped me become a far better me. I believe I've done the same for him.  I do think that sometimes we take each other for granted. I'm sure most couples do.

When I recieved some upsetting/stress inducing mail this past Saturday which threatened to ruin my entire weekend, it led me to realize just how much better I am because of Matt. Within a couple of hours he had managed to help me completely forget my worries and instead have a wonderful night playing card games involving killer bunnies and the mafia. How did he do it? He simply reminded me that I wasn't alone and that no matter what happens we will be okay. We. I've become so used to being part of this unit that I forget how scary and uncertain it can be to be alone.

I am tremendously lucky to have found the person I'm meant to be part of a unit with. Many people don't, and thus many unit's don't work out. I have no doubt ours will. I had no doubt 3 and a half years ago either. Little things like the scenario I mentioned above happen on a daily basis. I need to remember to be grateful for that and not take a moment of it for granted.

This concludes my self-indulgent love life entry, I promise not to write another one for quite some time!

Growing Up

Yesterday I got my 23 year old teddy bear out of his home with all my other stuffed critters (much to the consternation of my fiance, they live in a forever-growing pile in our living room) and hugged him tightly for a couple of hours. I cried into his fur like I had so many times before over a broken heart or a broken dream.

Whenever I'm incredibly upset or overwhelmed, this aged teddy bear, who I call Cuddily (yes I know it is spelled incorrectly) is my go-to source of comfort. I don't feel like there is anything wrong with this, after all I always stand up tall, brush myself off and keep on going after a good cry, but some may disagree.

I needed Cuddily yesterday because I got more bad financial related news. I haven't received any pay for over a month, (I'm laid off and the wheels of unemployment seem to turn slowly) but I somehow have to pay over 500 dollars a month to keep my health insurance. In July once Matt and I are married I can get on his, but until then I'm out of luck. He could put our pet guinea pigs on his insurance if he wanted to, but he can't add me. I digress. Yesterday I found out I owe an additional 400 dollars largely due to a mistake made by someone other than myself. I had a temporary breakdown.

What surprised me, and made me realize how much I've grown up is who I called after the initial cry and hugging of Cuddily. I was stuck for a moment, unsure whether to call my mom or Matt. I'm still, even at the age of 28, used to my mom being there to fix things when I find them unfixable. I'm lucky to have her, but I realized yesterday that I didn't need to always go to her anymore; she didn't need to be my first call. Matt is my family and he will always make sure I am okay. So I called him and he made me feel light years better. We worked out a solution together and by the time I talked to my mom later that day I was able to share the crisis with her but not ask her to pull me out of it.

Something about this made me incredibly sad. I felt as if I was ending an era with my mom, almost being disloyal by not going to her. I had to acknowledge that our relationship has changed and it never will be what it used to be. She is no longer my caretaker. This really isn't anything new, she has been my friend much more than she's been my caretaker for ten years, but this feels like the final step and it's hard.

I know this is a good thing. She has done far more for far longer than many parents do. It is time for me to be completely independent and allow her to focus on making herself happy. I am my caretaker and Matt is my partner in all my endeavors. She took care of me for years, her role is changing now.

 I don't even want to type this, but if I am honest with myself I know that one reason this is difficult is because this natural progression means we are both getting older and I am forced to face our mortality. It is especially difficult to face hers.

 Has anybody else had a similar experience? What was the process of transitioning roles with your parents? Do you have your own Cuddily to help you out when you are blue?

I love to hear your thoughts and engage in discussion. If the comment box is not already displayed please click on the link which indicates the number of comments and let your voice be heard!

Small Talk

In the past four days I've been asked about my job five times.

When I went to the dentist both the hygeniest and the doctor wanted to know how work was going and if I had the whole day off. I filled them in on my recent lay off and recieved their sympathy.

When I went to the doctor the next day two different staff members asked me if I had to go back work once I was done with the appointment. I filled them in on my recent lay off and recieved their sympathy.

Today when I was doing laundry the maintenence guy for my apartment building asked me if I was on vacation from work this week (I've bumped into him about four times, all during work hours, all while wearing my pajamas). I said "Yes actually I am," and went back to my apartment.

Why did I lie? I don't think it's out of shame, after all, I was very direct with the previous four askers. I think I lied for two reasons. One, I really just didn't feel like telling my story again and hearing the niceties that came with it. If one more person lamented this economy to me or assured me I would land on my feet I may snap. Two, I was getting angry. Not angry at the maintenence guy but angry that I was part of a society that puts so much damn emphasis on what people do for work.

Think about it, why did five people ask me about work? It's not because I inspire curiosity and fascination or because they even truly care, it is because after asking me my name, it's the natural next question. It is the cornerstone of small talk. What we do for work has become our identity and when you are part of unemployed ten percent you have been stripped of that identity.

Imagine answering a well meaning stranger's question "What do you do for work?" with "Well I'm unemployed." Doesn't make you feel so good.

At what point did our jobs become such a vital part of who we are? And is there anything wrong with that, unless of course you don't have one?

Nice to Meet You

Yesterday a happy surprise came in the mail: five copies of the magazine I was recently published in. Once the article is online I will post a link for all to see. In the meantime I thought I'd share a different article that was published this past summer, in order to introduce myself to people who choose to visit this blog, and the corresponding facebook page. This is a short reflection on my struggles with eating disorders, one of the themes that runs throughout my upcoming book Stories From Rehab. Hope you enjoy it!

Weighting for Perfection

I don’t remember how I felt when the twin towers fell, nor do I recall any specifics of my senior prom or college graduation. I can tell you exactly what I weighed on each of these occasions, and on any other significant date from the past 15 years of my life. Freshman year homecoming – I weighed a glorious 110 lbs. High school graduation day – that’s when I weighed 125. The first day of eighth grade was a particularly fatty time, when I weighed in at 145, but not as bad as soccer season junior year of high school when I tipped the scales at 170. I weighed 90 lbs. the first time a boy kissed me, and I weighed 117.5 the only time a boy hit me. My body, or the lack of it, defined my existence. It was my armor against the world.

Our memories should be dominated by touches of lovers, smiles and tears shared with friends, and warm embraces from family. These details should not fade into the background, outshined by a meaningless number. Meaningless. Yes, I the girl who has dealt with anorexia, bulimia, and compulsive overeating for most of her life, am saying weight is meaningless. My ability to say this, and mean it, is why I am finally getting better.

My story is not a fairy tale, and that is why it is important to tell. I loathe saccharine sweet accounts of eating disorders, complete with neat and tidy, picture-perfect endings. They discourage me. What is wrong with me; why haven’t I beaten this beast? It took me quite some time to realize that nothing is wrong with me. Overcoming an eating disorder isn’t easy; most women who suffer from them will continue to deal with them in some way for the rest of their lives. This is not to say recovery is hopeless, but quite the opposite. Even if you have struggled with an eating disorder for years, it is still possible to make peace with it and lead a fulfilling life. If you are determined and relentless, you can reclaim your life from an eating disorder. The eating disorder will no longer be your identity; it will be a side-note on your journey.

***

At the age of thirteen, I was trying to come to terms with the excess flesh on my five-foot-three build while navigating the feelings that came with my first intense crush on a boy. One day, said boy called me heavy, and quickly followed this up with asking the skinniest girl in our class to go steady. Something in my mind snapped, and my quest for perfection began. Through a diet consisting of diet coke, rice cakes, and bananas I dropped over a third of my body weight in 3 months. It worked; I got the boy. I also got a hospital stay when the doctor informed my mother that my pulse was 30 beats per minute and irregular. My body was shutting down and I could die at any moment. I went to the hospital and gained the required weight, but I did not even begin to address the inadequacy I had felt which led to my decline. When I was released, I was counting calories by the time I made it to the hospital lobby.

The following year I landed in the hospital again, after progressing into bulimia. I gave up after that hospital stay, and began bingeing without purging. I just ate, and ate, and ate, flipping my middle finger to all of the pressure to be thin. What did I care about being pretty and boys liking me? They always broke my heart anyway. I gained 60 lbs., and convinced myself I was okay with it. Then I developed a crush on a boy, realized what I had done, and purged myself back down to an acceptable size.

After high school I managed to maintain a somewhat stable weight. Sometimes I starved, sometimes I binged, sometimes I purged, and sometimes I ate like a normal person. My disorder flared up during times of great stress, and subsided when I felt fulfilled personally and academically. I kept this up until I turned 25. Then I reclaimed my life.

***

I had attempted recovery many times before, and it never worked long term. It took me a long time to realize why. I was concentrating on food and weight, when really that’s what I needed to let go of. It’s the underlying issues that make an eating disorder, not the other stuff. That’s what we use to distract ourselves.

When I had tried recovery before, there were always conditions attached. I was willing to do whatever it took to recover . . . as long as I didn’t gain any more than five pounds, as long as I could still eat chocolate every day without gaining weight, as long as everything else in my life was going well. I was willing to do anything necessary to recover as long as I was guaranteed I’d come out truly happy on the other end. Recovery has no guarantees, and it can’t happen in an environment of conditions. It took me 12 years of dealing with this disorder to realize that my life is worth more than any damned ‘as long as’ I could dream up, and that I was worth taking a chance on. As long as I kept my focus on my arbitrary recovery conditions, I would never face the real issues.

            These 12 years were not a waste, and I am proud of them. I was battling one of the most brutal beasts there are, and I never gave up. Living with an eating disorder is not easy. If you are strong enough to live with it, you are strong enough to live without it. I thrived academically and socially, and built amazing memories, even with the beast on my back. It was exciting to imagine what I could achieve without it. Everybody has something from their past which colors their present, everybody has suffered; that is what makes us human. Our ability to rise above these challenges is what makes us extraordinary.

For years I thought I would get all better, and then go on to help others with the same issue. I was partially correct.  I did come to terms with this illness and learned how to live with it. I have tamed it enough to help others with the same issue, or at least a similar issue. I work in a drug rehab center with addicts. I use my firsthand knowledge of the power a substance can have over a person to make a contribution, albeit small, to the world.

***

Life is worth more than any condition you can put on it. Realize this and fight. Don’t get discouraged if recovery doesn’t work right away. Remember, this isn’t a fairy tale. It has been three years since recovery really ‘clicked’ for me, and I still falter. I wish I could say say I haven’t restricted caloric intake, binged, or purged in years, but I can’t.  I can say that since deciding my life was worth more than being a perfect size 4, my eating disorder episodes have decreased exponentially.

I still count calories sometimes, and I still get a little anxious if my pants feel tight, but I don’t let that rule my life anymore. Instead of calling into work and locking myself in my apartment when I’m having a fat day; I keep my head held high, focus on what truly matters to me, and forget about it (for the most part) within an hour.  I am heavier than what I would consider ideal, but I have come to terms with my size, and am learning to embrace my belly and thighs. I deserve a life that is about more than food and weight, we all do. I look forward to remembering my wedding day not by how much I weigh, but by how I feel when I look into my future husband’s eyes.

Too much of a good thing

One of the main things I miss about working (besides the paycheck) is how I feel when I'm not working. I'll explain.

When you work 40+ hours a week and you unexpectedly get off an hour early for whatever reason, it feels like a gift from God. As you drive away from the office at four rather than five, you almost feel like a kid playing hooky, giddy with the possibilities for how you will spend this unexpected free time. At least, that's how I remember it.

Yesterday my dentist cancelled on me at the last minute so I had an unexpected free hour. Somehow having an extra hour to do exactly what I had been doing all day (whatever I wanted) did not have the same effect. I tried to get that high; I even spent five bucks at Starbucks on a frappacino and sat out in the beautiful weather reading while I sipped it . . . nothing.

It's really true that you appreciate something more when you worked for it, when you earned it. When you are living a crazy hectic life sitting down to watch your favorite prime time show can feel like Christmas, and a part of the enjoyment is knowing you deserve some leisure time. When you are free to peruse your DVR any day, all day if you so wish, it's harder to get excited about an hour of television, and it's impossible to feel good about it - how on earth did you earn that?

With the beautiful weather we had yesterday I found myself wondering if it was the same with the weather. Sometimes I wish I lived somewhere warmer but I wonder if I would appreciate beautiful 70 degree days in March if they were given to me freely. I don't think so, but I've never lived anywhere it didn't snow half the year so who knows.

I do know that hot cocoa always tastes better after you've been out in the cold. Bed is always cozier when you've had a really long day. A glass of water is so much more refreshing after a hard workout. A shower feels better when you're good and dirty.

Maybe the problem is mine, maybe I'm too hung up on feeling like I need to earn things, but I think that this is one way in which I am normal. What do you think?

And lastly I find myself wondering about money. If this general principal is true, doesn't that mean that having endless money wouldn't be nearly as satisfying as I think it would be? I'd love to test that one out but I think first I need to get a job . . .

iPhone 4S - Taking my procrastination to a new level

Unless I'm having a particularly positive day filled with motivation and feelings of good things to come, I rarely find it easy to make myself sit down and work on editing my book. Writing is the fun part, but the editing can be tiresome. I am not a grammer whiz and figuring out if  period should go before or after parentheses is not my cup of tea. Yet I can't afford to leave it to the professionals so day in and day out, I sit down and edit.

I've noticed since I got my very first smart phone two weeks ago that it has been much, much harder to sit down and edit, or for that matter, to do anything productive, and far too easy to spend hours pecking away at my smart phone, building imaginary towns and bakeries, playing word games with my friends, updating my calendar, and roaming through facebook. One minute I'll be heading to the gym, and and thirty minutes later I'll still be standing by the door, in my workout clothes, checking my notifications or texting a friend. It seems to be getting harder and harder to find completely uninterrupted time in which I can concentrate solely on the task at hand . . . and I'm unemployed!

How do you cope with a world overly saturated with technology and distractions? When I write I turn off wireless on my computer so I stay focused, but even that is less effective now that I have the entire world at my fingertips with my iphone. And this phone isn't just detrimental to my productivity but also to relationships - my fiance grows tired of me picking up my phone and messing with it when we are supposed to be having quality time together. I know I'm not the only one with this problem . . . is there any hope for us?

Hitting the Wall

Yesterday during my daily visit to the elliptical machine at my local gym something happened to me which hasn't since I began working out daily in January. Usually if I have energy for a workout the entire workout is good and I am able to push myself the entire time. Conversely, usually if I am not into the workout, the entire thing is a struggle. There isn't a crossover.

Yesterday after 45 record setting minutes, at a pace and a resistance unheard of to me, my body gave out. One minute I was jamming to Til the World Ends, bobbing my head, and feeling incredibily alive, and the next second the music was no longer motivating but annoying, my head ceased to bob, and my legs felt like dead weight. It was all I could do to push myself through the final 15 minutes of my workout, and even then it required lowering the resistance and the pace dramatically.

When I described the experience to Matt after we were done he said "Sounds like you hit the wall." Huh? I had heart that expression before but never really knew what it meant. Matt explained to me that my body had switched into fat burning mode at that point. Well that's a good thing right? It's certainly not bad he explained but its harder to keep going. My body had run out of available energy to burn (my breakfast) and was now reaching into my fat stores for energy. It apparently is a lot harder to process fat store energy than just ingested oatmeal energy, which is why the whole workout began to feel like a massochistic ordeal.

All those years of trying to exercise while on a starvation diet suddenly made sense to me. No wonder it had been so difficult, so awful: my body never, ever, had any available energy to burn. Hell, at some points I have to wonder where it was getting any energy from because I'm pretty sure I depleted the fat stores for the most part as well. It made sense why an act as simple as walking felt impossibly difficult when I was sick. Now I know this is all kind of obvious but I had never really thought about it this way. I wasn't giving my body anything so I was having a very hard time getting anything out of it.

If you want results from something, from anything, you have to put in the fuel, whether it be in the form of food, or probably in most things, time and hard work. People always want something for nothing (just look at  lottery participation) but there is a reason most of us never hit it big that way. It's not how things work.

Sure you can skimp on effort and time and still get something out of your endeavors but it will never be your best and it will never be that enjoyable either. It will be a chore. Why not give your all to whatever it is you do and get better results while enjoying it so much more?

I'm pretty sure there is a moral to this story besides the fact one should make sure to finish their oatmeal if they plan on heading to the gym shortly after. I plan to embrace it.

Nowhere To Go

It was cold this morning, and my car required cleaning off for the first time since October. I did it in my normal half-ass way and then leaped inside. Still shivering, I put the car in first gear and pressed the gas. Nothing happened.

The heater was running, it had been going strong for the past five minutes. It looked like for whatever reason the car was running on the battery and not on the engine at the moment, silly me. So I restarted it. Click, click, click, nothing.

I tried again. Same result. After about ten more tries I remembered what my fiance had said at some point in the past about not wanting to drain a car's battery by trying to start it repetitively. Oops. What was I supposed to do?  It took me a second to realize the answer - nothing.

A mere month ago  I would have been getting my car towed and preparing to take the two hour public transit trip into work at the Shattuck Hospital. I worked at the Kitty Dukakis Treatment Center  as a clinician, and it was the first job in my life I actually went to responsibly. Sure I had held jobs before, but I coped with them by calling in sick at least once every month or so in order to recharge my batteries. Not at Kitty; I went in blizzards and I went when my long time friend, depression, tried to keep me in bed.

Today I had the luxury of a surplus of time and a lack of obligations. I called my fiance, was told he'd look at it when he got home and went inside. No need to call AAA, if he couldn't figure it out over the weekend I'd call them Monday. What do I need a car for anyways? The only place I go everyday is the gym, and my body could probably use a break for a day or two; I've been working it pretty hard. Gotta look good in that wedding dress.

This is just one example of the many ways in which my life has changed drastically in a very short period of time. I went from being a full time worker whose presence mattered every day to multiple colleagues and clients to an out of work loaf whose absence isn't noticed by anyone. I could stay in bed all day and no one would care. Back when I was working full time that would have sounded like a dream come true. It got so old having people wanting things from you, needing things from you. Now that it's gone I appreciate what I had.

A purpose. I had somewhere to go everyday, people who counted on me, and people who needed me. I was earning my way in society and helping others at the same time. I had a job!

What is the first question you ask somebody when you meet them, besides their name? I'm guessing some variation of "What do you do?" or "Where do you work?" Our society puts an enormous amount of importance on our occupation. It's more than just a job, for many people it becomes their identity.

So what happens when you strip someone of that identity? Apparently long, drawn out blog entries about car trouble.

They say that when one door closes, another one opens. After learning I was being laid off in a month, I didn't see any opening for me. After a couple weeks of moping I realized I would have to find my own door push it open.

I went back to a manuscript I had set aside for almost a year, all about life at a drug treatment center. This would be my window. I would finish it, edit it, publish it, and achieve a long time dream of writing a book.

 It isn't about the money, lord knows this won't be a profitable endeavor; it is about the accomplishment. It is about rebuilding a sense of self-worth and building a new identity. It is about finding someplace to go.