“You know Summer, you can’t do this forever. You need to deal with this, have a break down. It’s not healthy to do what you are doing.” Caring words I know to be true, spoken by a loved one.

“Maybe tomorrow,” is all I reply. 

Today is tomorrow.

You’d think with as many break-ups as I’ve been through I’d be a pro at going through them. Which, maybe I am. Only this time it’s so much harder because it wasn’t a two month let’s try this out sort of relationship. This was a you’re the one I am going to spend the rest of my life with kind of relationship.

Cue the water works.

Rather than publicly hash out the details of our break-up I wanted to write about all the ways I have NOT been dealing with it over the past week. You see, when you are in a relationship you get used to always checking in with your significant other. Not in a controlling way, more in a how was your day way. Now that I have no one to check in with, I thought I’d just check in with you, Internet.

ED and I broke up on a Monday night. It still seems so weird to say.

Tuesday I took a half day off work (which was a life saver because I couldn’t stop crying, nor could I concentrate to save my life) and went boating with my parents, Karina the Russian, and our Russian children.

Being at the lake was theraputic for me. I have gone boating every summer since I can remember. There is a bit of magic in the mountain water and for brief moments of time I was able to forget that my life had just been drastically altered. 

Wednesday I made it through an entire day of work, went to class, and went to the 311 concert with Karina the Russian and my sister Staci.

I drove seperately. I said it was because I had to work early the next day – which I did – but it was also because I knew I wouldn’t be able to fake happy all night long, especially since the last time I saw 311 in concert was with ED. 

I called up my friend Sarah on the drive home to talk me off of a ledge.

Thursday I went to dinner and then to the Twilight Concert (a free outdoor concert put on every Thursday during the summer) with some co-workers and Karina the Russian. It got done fairly early and despite my co-worker taunting me that I don’t know how to let go and just have fun, I decided to go home. Only I didn’t. The thought of going home to an empty house was too much so I deviated my course into the arms of my wonderful friend Susan who opened the door with a large glass of wine in hand for me. She let me cry until the wine dried up the tears.

Friday I went back up to the lake with my family for some more water therapy.

Friday night was my cousin’s birthday (Happy Birthday Emmie!). The day before she had text to invite ED and I to come out for her birthday. I had a minor break down at the realization of how many people have known us as a package deal and how many people I am going to have to tell that we broke up. But I digress.

I met Emmie, my sister Staci and a group of Emmie’s friends for a few drinks. Can I just say that I was soooo not ready to be at a popular bar downtown on a Friday night? Within the first ten minutes of arriving I saw three people who I had previously dated. Obviously Salt Lake City is too small of a town. Luckily I had my sister watching over me and survived without being auctioned off at the meat market. I spent that night curled up next to her in bed, again not wanting to be home alone.

Saturday I did laundry and looked for a new place to live (more on that later this week). Then I went to my parents house for a BBQ and to light fireworks. For those of you reading this who are not from Utah, the 24th of July is Pioneer Day. It’s celebrated like a second 4th of July only we are lighting fireworks to celebrate our state being settled by the Mormon pioneers instead of the nations independence.

Saturday night I went home alone, in bed by 10 and completely sober.

Sunday… my day to deal with things. I spent my morning cleaning, writing and reflecting then took a mid-day break for lunch and shopping with Sarah. My evening was spent with vodka and sappy movies.

What? We all cope differently.

From this post I am sure you can see that I have the worlds greatest friends and family. They have been in a constant rotation of checking on me to make sure I have enough alcohol and moral support. I feel so fortunate that they are in my life. I would be a wreck without them.

One week down, forever to go.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

This notion of being selfish weighed heavy on my mind for quite some time. I meant to write about it a while back, but obviously I was too wrapped up in myself to find time to write about it. Then last Saturday as I am thinking about my plans for the day – pedicure, lunch with ED, lay by the pool with the girls, go to a movie (“Get me to the Greek,” HILARIOUSLY stupid! Totally recommend it.) – the though of being selfish crossed my mind again.

As a point of reference, my mother has spent her life in service. She is a full-time nurse, she serves religious callings for the LDS church, she is in a cooking club (which is the polar opposite of my cooking club), and on the weekends she is always watching one or more of her grandchildren. She has countless gift certificates to get massages or visit the spa but she just can’t seem to find the time because she is too busy taking care of everyone else.

I, on the other hand, would totally use those spa gift cards because I only have myself to take care of.

Well, I also take care of my cat.

Totally selfish, right?

Only I’m not.

Not really anyway.

The conclusion I have come to is this: At this phase in my life my priorities involve bettering myself through school, working hard in a career I love, spending time with building my relationships with friends, family, and of course my significant other, ED. It is not that I am selfish, I have made a conscious decision to be where I am.

Having grown up in the Mormon religion I know that, especially as a woman, spending too much time taking care of yourself when you could be taking care of others is considered a selfish thing to do. Your life should be all about service, not about discovering your own dreams and ambitions. It wasn’t until I reached the age of 25 that I finally made the decision to claim independence and find out what I was really made of.

Almost five years later, I do not regret my decision.

One day my priorities will be different. One day my priorities might involve the most selfless act of all – parenthood! One day it might involve feeding starving kids in Africa or actually being active in charitable groups instead of just attending their events. Who knows! One day it might involve the Peace Corp, rescuing stray kittens, baking cookies for the homeless and mowing my elderly neighbors lawn.

One day…

But until then, this is my life and I am pretty damn okay with it.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

I hate when I hurt.

It sends me into all sorts of upsetness.

Back in December I started researching a new nutrition plan to help with my Endometriosis. I began working it into my everyday life, little by little, in the hopes that a holistic approach to my condition would be the answer. Right now I’m buying organic everything, which, holy shit is expensive! I’ve cut out all the “bad” foods (well most of them anyway) and I am making an honest go at it.

I mean, last week I turned down a FREE asiago cheese bagel for chrissake!

Truth be told, I’ve felt really good for the most part. But right now, I feel like there are multiple knives shoved in my lower abdomen and each knife is getting twisted at a regular interval just so I don’t forget they are there. I don’t even know if that makes sense. I JUST EFFING HURT!

Why do I hurt? I mean, outside of the obvious endometriosis thing.

I can’t say entirely for sure, but I think it has to due with the fact I went to see the Utah JAZZ play.

You heard me.

The tickets were amazing! We were in a suite catered with yummy food which was entirely NOT on my nutrition plan. I ate it anyway.  I washed it down with two glasses of “non-approved” wine too.

Pain woke me up the next morning.

Is that really it? Is my body–after less than a month of mostly clean eating–so upset that I dared eat a meatball and some cheesy artichoke dip, that it would cause me this much pain? Really?

I know I am giving myself a bit of a pity party, but that? That is pure BULLSHIT!

I’m sorry, but as I sit here, waiting for the pain pills to kick in and pounding out my frustrations on the key board, I can’t help but feel the way I do. Anyone who has read this blog will know I try to stay positive for the most part, but right now I am tired. I am flat out tired of feeling this way. And what’s worse is I know I am exacerbating my symptoms by getting upset about them. Stress is another trigger. So is working out, which I totally did.

I hate this. I feel like I just can’t win.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

When I was around nineteen years old, I was diagnosed with Endometriosis. The simple explanation given by WebMD is:

Endometriosis is the development of uterine-lining tissue outside the uterus. Symptoms include abdominal pain, heavy periods, and infertility. Treatments include pain relievers, birth control pills, and surgery.

Without going into great detail, it basically causes chronic pain. I have put my body through hell trying to combat that pain. There is no cure, outside of a hysterectomy, and while my chances to actually conceive a child are impossibly low, I don’t want to give up that  option just yet. I have only brought up my Endo once before on this blog and it was after my OBGYN doc told me to start mentally preparing myself for the fact that I will not be able to have a child. It was harsh. I’m still not over it.

Throughout the years the primary goal has always been to treat the symptoms. I swear to you I have tried just about everything. Surgery (twice!). A bazillion types of birth control. Monthly shots (which my mother and ex-husband happily shot in my ass), throwing my 22 year old body into menopause. For the record, NO woman should ever have to go through hot and cold flashes twice in her life!

I have tried having no treatment what-so-ever; just managing the pain with medications. Constantly taking pain pills is incredibly hard on the stomach and to be honest, I am lucky I didn’t get addicted to pain pills.

Finally I went to my doctor and got an IUD. Normally women who have not given birth are not encouraged to get them, but I was running out of options.

The first two months were absolute HELL. But I waited it out and eventually my body accepted it. For the first time in years, I could go months at a time without taking any pain medication. For someone who has spent the majority of her adult life battling pain, this felt like a godsend.

Of course it hasn’t been perfect. Far from. I have my ups and downs. I’ll be feeling good for a while and I forget there is anything wrong with me. I start living my life like my actions will have no consequences. Eating poorly, drinking too often, not getting enough sleep or exercise and, of course, my largest trigger, STRESS. These factors all contribute to whether my Endo makes an appearance.

Recently, with the death of my dear friend Zach and the end of the semester, I have let my health go and I am paying the price. When I felt the pain coming back, and more importantly, when I realized it was not going away, it really hit me hard. I became depressed. I started feeling sorry for myself. I moped around and ate a lot of chocolate. Then I decided I wasn’t going to let the Endo take over me. Not while I have the power to do something about it.

I’m starting on a new, very strict, very clean diet that I found from an Endo website. Basically I’m taking out all things that make life worth living are unhealthy, like chocolate, sugar, fried food, red meat, caffeine, wheat and dairy, and I’m replacing them with lots of vitamins, water, fresh fruits and vegis, chicken, fish and brown rice.

I’m only three days in…

Making this change right before the holidays may not have been the smartest decision, but honestly I can’t put my health on hold any longer. I can’t pretend that if I ignore it it will go away. This is one of my challenges in life. We all have them. It’s how we choose to cope with them that matters. I am choosing to do what I can to take control.

Because frankly, I’m out of options.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Everyone deals with grief in different ways. Zach’s passing was the first real opportunity for me to find out mine. I’ve had relatives pass away, but aunts and grandparents are rarely as close as friends.

I will always remember every detail of loosing Zach. It’s a video montage burned in my brain that I can’t stop watching. It starts with a phone call, every word of which I could recite. Followed by tears, hysterical balling, running in a race that I remember starting and finishing, but the middle is still a blank. How I got my legs to move, how I kept it together, I honestly don’t know. I only remember thinking about finding every picture I have of Zach and asking ED to keep talking so I could maintain my composure.

When I crossed the finish line my eyes immediately filled with the tears I was pushing down, but I could not let them break free the way I wanted to. I had to say goodbye to clients and friends at the race (I do the PR for the event) then I went directly over to my sisters. I called several times and when she finally heard her phone all I could get out through my tears was, “Can I come over? Zach, he’s dead.”

When she answered the door she was wearing a fuzzy pink robe. I immediately lost myself in it. Crying harder than I ever knew I could. Sobbing to where I couldn’t catch my breath. She lead me to the couch where I collapsed on to her pink fuzzy robe and sobbed even harder.

I don’t know how long we sat like that. Days? Hours? Minutes? I had no concept of time. My friend was gone and the only thing that mattered was crying.

My sister canceled her day and told me she was my shadow; there to do whatever I needed her to do. We went to my parents house, unearthing boxes of memories from the past 15 years. I found every picture I wanted to find, but none that I did not expect to find.

That night the shadowing duty was passed on to Karina the Russian.

We blared music that Zach and I had listened to together while searching for more pictures on my computer. She got me sufficiently drunk. I passed out and sleep through the night.

I woke early the next morning (Sunday), sat up in bed and cried. It was the hardest day for me. Looking back now I can say, it was harder than the viewing, harder than the funeral. It was me alone with my grief. Every movement was painstakingly hard. I made coffee. I sat on the couch drinking my coffee and staring out the windows. Right as I had finally talked myself into taking a shower and actually moving off the couch, I got a phone call where the well intentioned party encouraged me to “keep moving”.

I knew they meant well, I knew they were probably right, but I was enraged at the words “keep moving” and ended up on the bathroom floor, sitting naked holding my legs tight to me, crying so hard I was actually dry heaving. I just let the shower water run while I wailed.

When I finally got out of the shower I tried to work on homework. I wrote two pathetic excuses of essays.  I wandered around my house aimlessly. As I walked through the family room I saw a large patch of sunlight on the carpet. I laid in it, looking up at my cat laying on the couch looking at me. I stared at the fibers in the carpet. Again I had no concept of time, but I laid there until the sunlight started to shift and no longer covered me.

I couldn’t bring myself to “keep moving” doing things I knew I needed to do, so I decided to rake leaves. As I began to rake, I could picture Zach walking around the corner to where I was. He had a big goofy grin and said,  “Summer, don’t be all upset. I’m fine. I don’t want you to be sad.”  I raked harder, trying to see what I was doing through the tears, until I finally gave up and let grief take over me again.

The leaves are still sitting in piles in the back yard.

I don’t know when exactly things start to get easier. I know that no day will ever be as hard as that Sunday; at least not when it comes to grieving the loss of my friend Zach.That Sunday I finally understood cutters. I finally understood wanting to feel physical pain over emotional pain. I never understood it before.

To be honest, I am doing OK. Sure, I yelled AT MY TEACHER when he compared Zach’s death to his cat being sick and yes, I did overreact and scream at ED because he dared not to call me while studying for a chemistry exam. Yes, I have been crying more often, drinking more often and getting out of bed was very difficult for a while…

But… I’m doing OK.

Each day gets a little easier.  For example, I had a memory of Zach tonight that I had forgotten. It came out of nowhere. Instead of crying, I actually smiled and laughed. I poured a glass of wine and cheers’d Zach for being a part of my life! I was grateful the memory came to me and that I now get to keep it in my memory folder.

It’s a small step, but a step none the less.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

***

I met Zach my sophomore year of high school at the first “sock hop” social event. His bright eyes, playful smile and sweet personality lured me in and instantly I knew we would be friends.

That was 14 years ago.

Zach picking me up for "Spring Formal". It was girls choice, but I was only 15 and couldn't drive.

He is so adorably young here.

Zachary Hall, my oldest and dearest friend, passed away Friday, November 6, 2009.

I got the phone call 30 minutes before I was supposed to run my first 5k.

His passing has been one of the hardest thing I have ever had to face. I can not tell you just how bad my heart is aching right now. I have lost one of my closest friends, a man who has been there for me through thick and thin, a man who has always been “just a friend” but who loved me, and would literally do anything for me. I know this not only from countless examples of his actions, but because he never failed to tell me so.

I am at a loss for what to write. I’ve started this post several times but my words never seem adequate to express my joy for having him in my life; my anger with him for leaving so soon; my sorrow for not getting to say goodbye; my tribute to him for all that he was to me.

I have so many fond memories of him. In high school, besides going to Spring Formal with me, he took me to my first ever formal dance. It was called “Spartonian Ball”.

I'm in flats and he wore his hair 3" taller.

I thought the dance was more formal than it actually was and told him to get a tuxedo. He was the only guy at the dance, outside of the wait staff, wearing one. I was so embarrassed, but he just laughed about it and told me not to worry.

I see this picture and I want so bad to call him and laugh about his hair and baby face, my black nylons and ugly shoes. I want to reminisce and see if he remembers how his mom had to pin the boutonniere on for me or where we went to dinner or if we did an activity after the dance. I want to tell him thank you for wearing a tux because I asked him to – we were 16 and I know neither of us had money.

But I can’t…

I can’t call him because he is gone. He is gone and there is nothing I can do about it. I feel so helpless. I know people will say to just hold on to the memories, and believe me, I am trying. But he is gone, and my heart hurts! Just saying “he is gone” sounds so absurd to me. Why am I even writing this post? Zachs not gone. He can’t be. He is my Zach. How could he let drugs take him from me? How many times did I yell at him? How many times did I tell him that he was worrying me? How many times did he tell me not to worry? This isn’t right. Nothing feels right about it. It’s all wrong! We were supposed to go to lunch together. I missed his call. Why did I miss his call? Why didn’t he answer when I called him back? Why didn’t I try him again? How can he be gone? Why can’t I just call him?

Zach and me camping, Memorial Day 2008. Our last photo together.

I’m sorry this post is all over the place. Maybe it is too soon to have tried to write this. I had planned to tell so many great stories; driving his dad’s fork lift in his shop, drinking vodka in his garage with my sister until we puked and he had to carry us home wrapped in his blanket, his confession about why he really could not take me to Sr. Ball (ten years after the fact!), our failed attempt at community college together, moving me out of a very bad situation after I hadn’t talked to him in six months, and how he was such a loyal selfless friend.

Maybe I’ll write those stories another day… in my hand written journal. I’ll place it on the shelf next to my high school journal, or better yet, next to the entry where I first mention meeting Zach… at the Sock Hop.

Zachary Hall I am going to miss you!

Blogfully yours,

Summer

PS – in case you were wondering, I ran the race. It was incredibly hard and if ED hadn’t of been there I would have been hyperventilating, sobbing uncontrollably in the bushes 1/4 mile in. As it was, I finished with a time of 31:36 and saved my sob fest until I got to my sister’s, 15 minutes after the race.

My sanity.

Talking to ED last night he tells me, “Sweetheart, I just feel like all of your emotions are very raw right now.” He is trying so hard to be patient and understanding with me when he is probably wondering how in the world his girlfriend went from happy and fun to an emotional wreck. But still, he claims to love me and I choose to believe him.

Today I am happy to report that while I am not better, I have decided to make the conscience decision to be happy, healthy, positive and productive. I’m taking The Secrets approach which is a kind of a “fake it til you make it” approach. I’m going to keep telling myself that I am happy, healthy, positive and productive until it is the truth. Over and over, that is what I am telling myself. So if you walk up to me and I scream “I AM HAPPY, HEALTHY, POSITIVE AND PRODUCTIVE!” Please do not be alarmed, I’m just in the middle of healing myself.

Blogfully yours,

Summer