hello byeeeee

Yeah, all my stuff is self-archived right now. Not deleted, though! Waiting for the right time to figure out what to do next/who the heck I am these days. Am I a person who blogs? Am I a person who never makes a new personal website? AM I OLD NOW?

One thing I do know is that I'm real good at naps, and I think we all know what that means.

animal dreams, I guess?

1. There was a finch panicking in my bedroom. I helped it out of my window. It flew to the ground and became a fox wearing a bird skin. This seems symbolic. Animals are hella symbolic. Could be some sort of spirit thing? Hm. I should contact Jung through my Ouija board, which is a medium known for very intelligible answers. Although Daniel discourages me from using my Ouija board because I am super scared of the Devil and/or Zozo (Even Bustle has a post on Zozo). Still tempted to do it, though. I own this painting of a woman that I'm about 65% sure is haunted, and I want to ask her if she needs me to resolve her unfinished business. I would also like to ask her name, but in the meantime I'm going to call her something fancy and sad, like Eleanor or Beatrice.

2. There was a wounded bobcat, and no one would help me fix its broken paw. But it let me hold it like a baby and it didn't try to bite me or jump out of my arms, so that made me feel nice even though I was sad. BIBLICAL??? I think that's a Bible thing, right? But with the lion and the thorn and a Daniel in its den? There's a joke about how Catholics never read the Bible. The exception is when you're young and it's an illustrated book of stories by Tomie dePaola. Point being that I may be taking liberties. (Wait, the biblical lion was pretty peeved before the thorn was taken out, wasn't it. I'm not going to look it up.)

3. There was a staged horse fight at an open mic night. I don't remember encountering any horse-related media before this dream, so that's a real weird one.


This has been an episode of Talking About Dreams, Which Is Literally The Dumbest Thing To Tell People About Because They Super Don't Care About Your Dreams. Thank you for joining me.

I Need to Talk About My Stupid Body

1.

About a year ago, now, I developed a wildly new sleep disorder. I didn't know it at the time. I thought it was jet lag. Even if it wasn't the adjustment from GMT to PST, this wasn't the first time I'd needed to sleep a lot: as a veteran depression-haver, my life has been a near-constant vacillation between three-ish week stints of insomnia, then hypersomnia, then insomnia, repeat. So I wasn't worried about it. This, too, shall pass, I thought.

Only, it didn't. I went a whole year of needing twelve to fourteen hours of sleep per day. Doctors were unhelpful, tests were unhelpful, and insurance in the US (which has never been "good") is particularly unhelpful when you are suffering from a chronic mystery condition. If it doesn't seem like it will kill you outright, then you can either shell out your life savings to be shuffled around hopelessly, or you can give up and learn to deal with it. It was a difficult year. The official diagnosis was Idiopathic Hypersomnia. "Idiopathic" is the medical term for "Mysterious." I went back to trade school to become a tattoo artist, and every day was a battle to stay awake, to memorize new information, and even to speak. I felt like an idiot. I lost words all the time. There was more than one day where I couldn't even remember the word "toilet."


2.

My stomach issues started, in ernest, a couple of years ago. IBS is the diagnosis--Irritable Bowel Syndrome. It is--without clear cause--also idiopathic. Another medical mystery. This one makes me feel nauseous constantly, causes my stomach to bloat. Diarrhea, constipation, constant pain. I've never been able to nail down my triggers, but when it gets bad, the diet suggested is white: white rice, white bread, simple sugars. The worst foods for your body are the only ones it can handle. Trade the bloat for the magic (havoc) of carbohydrates.


3.

I went off my antidepressants at the end of June. It was another insurance-related situation, and (as a result of not having the meds) I quit cold-turkey. I don't advise doing this, but there are a variety of factors that didn't give me a choice. It worked out ok. In fact, for that first month, I felt spectacular. I felt sexy and alive and goofy and bouncy and like my old self--a self I hadn't reliably seen in six years. My sleep didn't improve--an interesting data point, as I thought it may have been the long-term use of fluoxetine causing the hypersomnia--but I felt alive, and that made the few hours I spent among the living totally worth it. I was tentatively hopeful that this was the new me: sleepy, but happy.

Now it's nearly September. August was rough. It started slow, I think, though it's hard to tell. I'm jetlagged again, for real, so who knows what my sleep is like, but before Daniel and I left on our ten day trip to Europe, I went a week or two being unable to sleep until 3 or 4am. I was still napping every day, but was up at 8am, so it seemed more like a normal distribution of sleep, albeit an annoying one. But that couldn't possibly be all! What would life be if my only issue was staying up late? No, something new and exciting was on the horizon!

I've flirted with disordered eating my whole life. I never crossed the line, but I considered it. I'd eat, I'd take pleasure in the food and the people I shared the meal with, I'd look at myself in the mirror and stare, and pinch, and sigh.

I miss July. I felt beautiful, confident, happy for one whole month.


4.

Things have progressed. Progress, such a funny word: I've made progress, negatively. The IBS is a constant battle with food: I'm bloated often, and I'm gaining weight because what doesn't kill my stomach (organ) still kills my stomach (appearance). I look in the mirror and see an active distortion. It feels like a hallucination sometimes. I don't know when I can trust what I see. Some days, it's a straight-up Fun House mirror. Days when it's not, it's still bad. And I know I've gained weight. And I know I don't have the energy to exercise. This is the trick with depression and anxiety: you know you need to do healthy things, and you can't. I got as far today as putting on a tank top and running pants, and then I saw myself, and I couldn't leave the house. I am so out of shape. I can't handle being bad at anything, and I know I'll be bad at working out for the first few weeks, so I put it off. I can't handle the embarrassment. I feel the guilt and grief and anger at myself amplifying. I just want to feel good again. I don't care what I weigh--I very intentionally do not own a scale. I just want to feel good again. I want to look in the mirror and see me: not my thighs, my stomach, my chin. I just want to feel good again.

I read online that body dysmorphia can hitch its wagon very comfortably and easily to OCD. Checking, re-checking, developing compulsions custom-made to punish yourself. I thought I was in remission. Things just changed, I guess.

Why can't I have this. Why does my body have to be a constant shitsack of issues. I just want to feel good again.

Sometimes I worry that feeling good for that month broke me. That it's better not to even remember what your old self feels like. Is that pessimistic? Is it realistic? I just want to feel good again. There are people in this world who do not feel like this every day for years. They feel like Killian in July, and they have bad days, but not every day. I just want to feel good again.

I still laugh. I have brief moments--seconds, sometimes minutes--of distraction. I'm lucky that I have people who love me (and who I love very much) around me to reassure me or give me pep talks or to distract me. But it's not enough, and that makes me so angry and sad. It should be enough. My life, on paper, is great, and it should be enough.

I hate being a burden on my people, on myself. I get nothing done when I feel like this.

I just want to feel good again.


5.

I ate a big dinner tonight, because I was hungry. I eat when I'm hungry. That's how humans are supposed to work. I'm doing it right, but it doesn't feel right. That's probably the white rice talking.

I want to punish myself. I won't--I know, logically, that's incorrect--but I very strongly want to. It's important to be honest about these things.

I just want to feel good again.

Please, God, just let me feel good again.

life update

Tudor Close Preorders are Open!!!!!! WOOO!!!

Polish your magnifying glass and dig up your obscure monographs on cigar ash, because PREORDERS ARE OPEN for TUDOR CLOSE: A MYSTERY ANTHOLOGY 

This is the second book in the Apiary's collection. We'll have ebooks and print copies available! Preorder for $20 before November 20th to receive a print copy, ebook, and an audio recording of the story of your choice from the collection! Seven authors, seven mysteries. For preorders, contact me @ killian.czuba(at)gmail.com. After preorders close (Nov. 20), the book will be available for $20 print (+ free ebook), $5 ebook only, $1 per audio download, and $5 for the "audio book."

Authors:
H.E. Bilinski
Tabitha Blankenbiller
Leigh Camacho Rourks
Stephen Cox
Sherri Hoffman
Moye Ishimoto
Gina Mulligan

For more info, podcasts, blog posts, etc, you can visit our website: apiarylife.org !

We also have a few copies left of the The Egret's Crossing: A Collection of Adventure Stories, so if you're interested in picking up a copy of that one, shoot me an email (same address as above)!

Giving What We Can

Today I officially joined Giving What We Can (a long time coming, I know!) and took the pledge to donate at least 10% of my income for the rest of my earning life to eliminating extreme poverty on a global scale. We are all humans, we are all family, and (being a Gryffindor with strong loyalty tendencies) I'd do anything to help my family.

If you're interested in evidence-based giving (charity + science!), you should check out the Giving What We Can website, and also check out GiveWell for charity evaluations. And if formulae aren't your jam, look at charities like Deworm the World and the Against Malaria Foundation, which save lives (and promote education as a result--you don't miss important days of class if you don't have to deal with malaria) in a super tangible way that will give your heart warm fuzzies.

https://www.givingwhatwecan.org
http://www.givewell.org/

And here's John Green talking about these feelings in the context of Syria and the refugees in search of safety. I recommend the whole video, but skip to 7:17 or so for the heart of the message:

While we're on Syria, I also donated through Google, since they were matching donations 1:1 up until ~$6 million, and from the conversations in effective altruism circles and the articles I've read, unless you're a politician, the best we can do as private citizens in the USA is to write letters to government officials and send money. I sent money today. D and I are writing letters on Sunday. Here's a link to the UN Refugee Agency--a very reliable place to send your donations. You can also donate to places like Doctors Without Borders.

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The two peer groups I interact with most are: 

1. Rationalist Utilitarians (or those who identify generally in one or both of those terms)

2. Existentialists who Do Art

This makes my brain a mashed potato of feelings. If forced to pick a Philosophical Camp, I'd definitely identify as an Existentialist, but I've spent a ton of time with (and am married to an) utilitarian(s). They rub off on you. You start to incorporate effective altruism with your more heart- or passion-motivated giving. You consider your political biases and think "wait, but WHY do I feel this way, and what does the EVIDENCE say?" And then sometimes you change your mind. It's awesome!

However, my Existentialist brain promotes thoughts like "TAKE CHANCES, MAKE MISTAKES, GET MESSY!" My existentialist brain says: "You want to live in the woods by the water? Go move to the woods. Go live by the water. Pete did it. Pete is a beautiful writer. Pete is probably sad, because every good writer you've ever met is sad, but he also loves his life, and you'll always be sad, so how can you love your life?"

My rationalist brain says: "Factor in costs, factor in distance from your people, factor in practicality, factor in expected emotional impact, factor in factors on factors on factors."

I'm lucky. I'm starting in on tattooing, which is a super mobile career (especially on the west coast of the USA). I could move to a beach town and set up shop. My partner is a contractor, and his work is online. We're free to go (theoretically) anywhere. Most people do not have that luxury. But, like most people, the things holding us where we are, are family, friends, roots, normalcy, convenience. And I don't mean "convenience" as some kind of lazy synonym (although it is partially that, too) but the fact that living in a city means you don't need to own a car. There's an airport a 20 minute drive away, and the buses take you there in an hour if a family member can't drop you off. You can walk to the grocery store. You can meet your BFF at the park at 11. These things change when you move. A person is required to depend on a car to see family regularly, even if you're lucky enough to live in a walkable town.

I just want to melt into the forest ground and talk to animals. I want to be Saint Francis. 

I don't know what to do. And people are going to tell me that what I should do, what I want to do, is stay here--but when do you know you're staying because it's easy and not because it's good?

How the flip do people make decisions?? And when you're married, two people have to AGREE on those decisions. Decisions are crippling, man. They can be your whole life. And some decisions that seem huge are essentially inconsequential when it's all added up, and that's stupid, too! Just be honest, life! Ugh!

#feelings or whatever