Did you know it’s been four years since my last book? That’s a long time. I’ll try to go into details as to why without the intention of giving excuses. The reason why I wanted to write this blog is that authors will so often beat themselves up over not producing content. Then months turn into years, and before you know it…years have gone by. Or, in my case, four years.
I can’t really pinpoint the catalyst for my lack of writing. It could have been very well due to the fact I was writing for a living for a very well-known YouTube channel. We’re talking 5,000-6,000 words per day on various topics. By this time, my book, “The Haunting of the Tenth Avenue Theater” was already written, and I was playing the waiting game for it to get published nearly a year later.
Then my mom passed. Writing did become part of my grieving process, but the content will never be seen by the public. Before my mom left this world, I already struggled with depression and anxiety to an extreme amount. I had also just had surgery to remove cancerous cells in a vulnerable part of my body. I was a wreck. And side note…the grieving process for a parent never ends. Even as I approach the fifth anniversary of my mom’s death, I still miss her…maybe even more so.
For the sake of avoiding gory details, my mental health took a dive. There were stories I wanted to tell, and knowledge I wanted to share, but I couldn’t get the words out. Then, responsibilities for my paranormal team grew exponentially, and I didn’t have the help to make it function the way the team wanted to. In short, I was burning out really quickly. Due to other things going on in my life, it wasn’t long before the words dried up completely.
It also didn’t help that I was surrounding myself with toxicity, and I didn’t see it. But it took a massive event to make me realize that my current situation was unhealthy, if not borderline unsafe. That was what made me realize I had lost myself and who I was. I also wasn’t taking care of myself both physically and mentally.
I also had to forgive myself and take responsibility for my own actions. I also had to cut myself some slack. Okay, a lot of slack. For the sake of my health and my existence, I had to start taking it easy on myself. Before I could even put words down on paper, I had to do this. I had to look at those in the eye who made me feel like less than human and say, “No more.” I had to put down boundaries and make decisions for my own benefit instead of that of others, because the latter was not only getting me nowhere, it was killing me.
It wasn’t long before the words came back. I started off simple; if I got 100 words per day, that was an accomplishment. Then, I built back up to about 2,000 words per day. It didn’t happen overnight. I also allowed myself to have breaks. I wasn’t competing with anyone, and I could finally write under my own [lack of] rules.
Before I knew it, my book was done.
So, here I am…another book out. My next writing adventure is diving into a world that I’ve spent years creating…and finally making that leap into fantasy. I can’t wait for you to meet these characters!
From 1986 until 2013 – My home was San Diego, California.
Moving to Raleigh, NC in 2013 was one of the biggest changes of my life. I won’t lie, the transition was really hard. I longed to return to San Diego any chance I had. In short, I didn’t see Raleigh as “home.”
I considered moving back, but the cost of living in San Diego was rising fast and I didn’t have job prospects to help me return. In other words, I was stuck in Raleigh. I then considered moving to another city to see if that felt more like home.
Each year, I watched the seasons change and I was still feeling very much like an outsider. In fact, I took pride in the fact that I was a “California Girl” and this was a temporary stay. I had a hard time connecting with people and finding new friends. I was completely starting from scratch.
Thankfully, being a theatre kid, there was always a new family waiting for you. I got heavily involved in the theatre community, and that was a good stepping stone. I quickly found a second family that continues to be there for me through thick and thin.
And yet, I still felt like an outsider.
I kept trying my hardest to live Raleigh, let alone North Carolina. I had multiple people try to show me around their favorite spots and where they found their place to call home. Again, I struggled. I was also dealing with guilt that I couldn’t find my place here. By this time, I had already been living here for a few years. And yet, I still wasn’t settled in. Was it time to move?
I decided to explore Raleigh for myself for a day. But this time, without anyone telling me to like Raleigh, without anyone giving me their preconceived notions about Raleigh. I ended up coming up with a short list of the things I did like about Raleigh and I went from there.
In case you’re curious, here was my list:
Four seasons
Lots of history
Driving distance or a short flight to my favorite east coast places
I joined several families in North Carolina from theatre to the con scene
Then, I decided to sign up for Great Raleigh Trolley’s “Hidden History” Tour, led by Heather Leah of Candid Slice/Hidden History. I often used Heather’s articles as a jumping off point for my own research, so I knew she was legit. Combining my love of history with my current residence seemed like the thing to do to really help me connect to Raleigh.
And it worked.
Taking a history tour seemed like something small, but it was something I was truly interested in. I saw that Raleigh belonged to others beyond the people I knew (many of who took ownership of it and really made me feel like I was violating some territory-based treaty).
What also helped tremendously was that I found my dream career in Morrisville. I had another reason to be in the area besides the one I originally moved for. I found a sense of purpose by living here. I also started engaging with the community, even on days I really didn’t feel like it. I went to the Japan Summer Festival, went to concerts, watching local theatre more than being on stage, and of course, found local haunts that were available to me.
I finally found a reason to fall in love with Raleigh. That tour was the start of me making multiple connections with the community around me. I finally saw Raleigh and its surrounding communities as a part of my world, and no longer was I standing there as an outsider.
San Diego still has my heart, and always will. I still want to move back eventually, but I’ve found a sense a belonging here in NC that I’m so grateful to finally have.
What is even more extraordinary is that I was nominated by the community as a WRAL Voters’ Choice Award for Best Blogger in the Triangle! . If you’re a resident of North Carolina, be sure to vote for me here. I’m so honored and this is truly symbolic of the community embracing me as their own.
When did the social media giant become the enabler of harassment?
I’ve been on Facebook for over a decade now. I’ve seen watched it evolve from “The Facebook” in college to what it is today. I remember freshman year of college when my friend told me how I needed to join this awesome website. I remember I had to use my college email to sign up and I was able to reconnect with my friends from high school who had moved out of San Diego for school. I look back at some of my first posts thanks to Facebook Memories and cringe at how cringey my 19-year old self was.
But now, I cringe for another reason. After my swimsuit pics went live on my Facebook profile and page, friend requests started flooding in. Thrilled, and after looking carefully at each profile making sure they were real people, I went through the accept and decline process. It didn’t take long to get the hang of it.
It was only a matter of time before the harassing messages started coming in. I had men messaging me filthy things, asking me for pics of my private parts, and then threatening me if I didn’t oblige. I have also been sent countless photos and videos that I can only describe as pornography and dick pics. Obviously, the block button was used. And the messages were reported. The profiles were reported.
Guess what? These guys still have profiles. They are still messaging unsuspecting women photos of their privates and messaging them threats of sexual assault and rape. They still have active accounts and profiles. Let that sink in. Facebook also doesn’t give you reports on what happened to the message you reported. It’s like it disappears into an abyss of identical reports, never to be checked or followed up on. Facebook seems to selectively decide what derogatory comments and posts stay up.
Ironically, Facebook took down a screenshot of a censored dick pic I had posted on the offender’s timeline, saying it violated their community standards. But they didn’t take down the original post the offender made on my profile, nor did they do anything about the dick pic he sent me. So, is Facebook is willing to protect the offenders but not the victims? I can’t tell you how many reports I’ve filed on Facebook in the past few months. I can guess that the number is well over the triple digits. I’m not alone. Ever since I started sharing (censored) screenshots of the messages I’ve been receiving, hundreds of women have reached out to me to share their own experience and how this is a regular occurrence for them. This is absolutely unacceptable.
What is interesting is that I don’t have the same experience on Instagram or Twitter. When I report, the offender’s account is gone in a matter of hours. I know others have had differing experiences, so maybe I was just lucky. As noted in my blog, You Should Be Grateful for the Attention, there was a convicted pedophile who had his profile up for weeks after it was reported for sending unsolicited derogatory photos. His criminal record is accessible, and there were reports sent in about his harassment of women…and yet, Facebook dragged their heels on this.
I get it…going through these reports have to suck. But it’s necessary. At this point, Facebook is merely slapping the wrists of these people, which empowers them to continue doing what they’re doing. Social media is already becoming a cesspool of negativity thanks to people using their keyboards as a security blanket. If an offender flashed someone on the street, they would be arrested. In most cases, we have a name and a location for these offenders, and yet there are no consequences. Because there are no consequences, the behavior continues in this vicious, sick cycle. It must stop.
Bill Maher is in the headlines for more insensitive comments, this time against overweight people. His idea of how “fat shaming needs to make a comeback” as a way to combat the growing obesity epidemic isn’t a solution. It’s perpetuating an ongoing issue that fat people need and deserve to be bullied and harassed.
Last month, I was thrilled to take photos in a two-piece swimsuit. I got some amazing feedback and responses from other people who could relate to my story, were also victims of fat-shaming, and felt uncomfortable in their bodies. I was sent hundreds of photos of people in their own crop tops, two-piece swimsuits (or shirtless swimsuits from the fellas), and other revealing styles while thanking me for inspiring them to take that step.
There was another response that I had anticipated, but I was caught by surprise at the sheer volume of it all. I had men messaging me, and let’s just say what they had to say wasn’t rated G. I think I’ve received more unsolicted pics of men’s junk that I ever did while I was the dating scene. My inbox was blowing up to the point I had to uninstall Facebook Messenger. When this happened, I usually blocked and reported the offenders.
What surprised me was that the men who sent me photos of their genitals still had their Facebook profiles up. I even received reports back from Facebook that the message didn’t violate their “community standards.” I’m sorry, what? What was truly troubling that one of the senders was a convicted child rapist. Like, he was on the national offender registry for sexual assault against a child. It took almost a month for his profile to be taken down.
There were other men who had sent me photos, and I would go to their profiles to see that they had done similar, and to minors, as noted in the comments on their public posts. People are trying to report these profiles to Facebook, and when the social media giant fails to remove the profiles, people are taking to the comments to publicly declare the bad behavior (with screenshots).
I thought I reached my threshold of being shocked, I was then told that I needed to be grateful that I was getting all of this attention from men because fat girls like me don’t get “compliments” like these often. It’s like, because I’m overweight, that I need to just take the harassment and accept it. Not only that, but I’m also supposed to enjoy it? No. Actually, hell no. I know this isn’t an issue exclusive to overweight people. It’s definitely a problem within humanity.
Because I’m an analytical person, I also looked at the types of people that were harassing me. What I found interesting was that these folks were geographically in similar locations (small town America), they were typically men who were not college-educated, and they were conservative. They also had the same empty look in their eyes, and their posts indicated that they likely used illicit subtances. I don’t want to draw stereotypes, because I was harassed by a few wealthy executive-type men. This behavior isn’t exclusive to a single type of income, personality, etc.
I will admit that I found this response overwhelming because it brought back a lot of memories of being sexually assaulted. The men who hurt me told me that I needed to just appreciate and be grateful for the experience because no one else would give me this attention or want me in this way…because I was fat. When I reported my rape, I wasn’t taken seriously because surely no one would do this to a fat girl.
I find these days, being complimented on my appearance makes me cringe. I would almost prefer to be called names in regards to my fatness. Sure, the compliment-giver may mean well, but when I don’t know the person and I can’t gauge intention, I am reluctant to even say, “Thank you.”
I had to make a decision as to whether or not I wanted to continue my social media presence. I had to make a decision on how to respond to these messages and whether or not I still wanted to “call out” the men that were harassing me and sending me inappropriate photos. My method isn’t perfect. I pick and choose which ones to respond to. Most of these messages are being ignored, the sender blocked and reported, and I move on.
Today, I’m still troubled by how my assault was handled. The fact that I was told to appreciate and be grateful for the assault because it would be the “only time a man would touch me” was almost as bad as the assault itself, if not worse. What is even more troubling is watching the segment Bill Maher recently recorded and said that fat shaming needed to make a comeback. Again, it opens the issue of how just because someone is overweight, they need to be subjected to bullying and abuse because it will help them. This is only adding more poison to the mindset that justifies the rape of an overweight girl and the harassment of a human being on the street. It needs to stop.
From the time I was little, I was always aware that I was overweight. Well, that’s what it was called when I was younger. Today, I look back at photos from the time and thought, “I really wasn’t fat.”
As my body grew and changed, I knew I had to cover up my thighs, my arms, and my stomach because “No one wants to see that.”
I’ve never worn a two-piece swimsuit that exposed my stomach. I have always wanted to because I wanted to know what it felt like to be completely out there with my body.
To be completely present with myself and my body.
Origin Story
Photo by Katlyn Wright Photography
My mom put me in figure skating in my elementary school and middle school years. I wasn’t as thin as the other figure skaters. I was always getting second place at skating competitions, and my mom told me that they didn’t give first place to “fat girls.”
After figure skating, I discovered theatre. When I decided to become an actor, I became hyper-aware of what my body looked like. I could tell you what my chin was doing when I spoke a monologue. I can tell you what part of my body jiggled when I sang.
This inhibited me as a performer. I couldn’t move like I wanted too because I didn’t want to look “fatter.”
Even with all of the dance classes I took to be more comfortable with my body, it only intensified what I already knew about myself; I was fat.
Growing up, I was bigger than the other girls in my dance classes. And I wasn’t as thin as the other girls in my acting classes.
In elementary school, I had a bully who called me “Fatsuo.” The crazy thing was that she was shorter than me. She was tiny. I could have stood up to her like a force.
But I didn’t.
She only validated what I was told every day by others around me. After my physical for cheerleading, the first thing my Mom looked at was my weight. I can still hear her voice in shock saying, “One-eighty?!?!” I weight 180 pounds at 14. But I had just come from years of ice skating, working out every day, and eating a reduced-calorie diet. I was a size 12 and doing it right. I had a lot of muscle. But it’s all a numbers game. I looked at the number on the scale instead of my measurements.
At one point, my father force-fed me broccoli and took away my cup so I couldn’t chase it down with water. Of course, weight was always a conversation peppered in with gym visits. My identity was surrounded by diet and exercise. It was like I wasn’t a person because I was overweight. I wasn’t his daughter yet, because I was overweight. It went against his healthy physique and lifestyle.
Bad Solutions
Photo by Katlyn Wright Photography
In middle school and high school, I went through years of yo-yo dieting, eating disorders, binging, throwing up, starving myself, water fasts, Hollywood juice cleanse…the list goes on. I did a lot of damage to my body to fit the mold I felt obligated to be a part of.
In college, I remember my Mom did a Google search on me and found a comment from one of my classmates on MySpace. He was responding to a photo of a morbidly obese woman that was posted in his comments. He said something to the effect of, “If you ever post a photo of Alex Matsuo again…”
Instead of sympathizing with me, or just keeping it to herself, my Mom called me and told me off. Apparently, Bobby was in the right, and this was my fault because I was overweight.
Today, I’m paying for that damage to my body.
Had I been able to enjoy myself and enjoy my body at the weight I was at, who knows what I would have weighed today.
What I would give to weigh 180 again and fit in a size 12.
The Cocoon
Photo by Katlyn Wright Photography
I also used my fatness as a defense mechanism. It was like a protective cocoon that made me feel safe. I was safe from the hurt, abuse, and any threats to my wellbeing. After going through physical trauma in my teen years and early twenties, my weight was a comfort instead of being who I was.
The only boyfriend that ever had a problem with my weight was always comparing me to his ex-girlfriends and how much skinnier they were. He actually convinced me to join Jenny Craig, and I had to report my weigh-in results to him. When he broke up with me twice, I was devastated. I had made so many sacrifices to fit into his definition of what beautiful was as a condition of our relationship. It broke me.
In defense of my Mom, it seemed that having a fat daughter was one of the worse things she could have. I don’t think she believed it, but I think she was so wrapped up with what other people thought of her, or what one man thought of her, she must have thought she failed somehow because I was overweight. Don’t get me wrong, my Mom loved me and she was very proud of me. She grew up extremely insecure about her body as well. A certain man didn’t help with her confidence either because he made comments about her body that destroyed her self-esteem. She wouldn’t ever move on from them.
I love my Mom dearly. I think a lot of how she treated my weight struggle was from her own experience with her own weight as she was navigating through her life. She didn’t want me to go through what she had to go through. She didn’t want me to feel the rejection and pain she felt. I’m so sad she felt so inhibited to open herself up to someone she loved because of a few cruel words. That was the turning point of my life.
Lessons Learned
Photo by Katlyn Wright Photography
That stuck with me. I’ve been with wonderful men and women since who reminded me that I was beautiful. We were in awe of each other. My relationships since the “Jenny Craig Ex” were beautiful. I’ve met and connected with extraordinary people in my life who didn’t see past the fat, they saw my fat as a part of me, which was beautiful. Why couldn’t I see myself in that way?
One day, I took off all of my clothes, and I looked at myself in the mirror.
This was me.
Even with all the angled selfies and different styles of clothes to try to hide my fat, this was who I am. This was what people saw all the time. People still cared about me…they accepted me for who I am.
So, why couldn’t I do that for myself? I didn’t want that mindset for the rest of my life.
Looking Forward with Fat
Photo by Katlyn Wright Photography
As I mentioned, I’m now paying for all I put my body through. Even as my body continues to change because of hormones and medication, I’m celebrating the person I am right now. If I don’t fall in love with my body now, I may never get a chance to. I’m eating healthier than I ever have in my life. I exercise and slowly falling in love with it.
Guess what? Still fat. So it’s who I am right now. Not every plus-size person is overweight because of food. It’s going to be a slow process. But instead of trying to lose weight, I’m trying to be healthy.
Probably the most incredible thing happened; once I started truly loving myself and my body, I started eating better for my health’s sake…not for the number on the scale. I want to keep my blood sugar in the normal range, so my eating habits reflect that.
So, if someone has an issue with my double chin or my flabby arms…oh well. That is their issue and not mine.
Just because someone is uncomfortable with my body, it is not my obligation to change myself for their peace of mind.
To mark this new mindset, I decided to do something I had never thought of doing at my current weight.
Wear a two-piece swimsuit.
I’m no longer going to cover up my arms for anyone. And I’m going to wear that two-piece swimsuit and show off a bit of stomach for this last bit of summer.
If anyone has an issue with that, you’re welcome to look the other way.
If you’ve been following my Facebook or Instagram, you’re probably aware that I’ve become more serious about a low-carb lifestyle. I suppose you could call it “lazy keto” since I’m only counting carbs and not worried about the macros (yet).
I’m not doing this because I want to lose weight. Nothing else was lowering my blood sugar. Being a diabetic, I was constantly in the 200s with medication, so something had to change.
I’ve learned that I do need to plan and prep if I’m going to stick to this lifestyle. It means looking at the menus ahead of time if I’m going to a restaurant.
It also means cooking. A lot of cooking. Luckily, I have my boyfriend to help shoulder the burden. But even so, I don’t like cooking overly complicated things. So, these recipes are fairly simple. It’ll require a trip to the grocery store, maybe a few. These are recipes that have honestly helped me keep my sanity as I make this transition.
Pizza Rolls
This was created by my boyfriend. So he gets the credit. These are delicious, and really simple.
You’ll need some mozzarella, pepperoni (or your favorite low carb topping), and some tomato sauce. Store bought pizza sauce has a LOT of sugar. However, if you buy the plain generic tomato sauce, it’s only got 3 carbs per serving.
You’ll make little piles of mozzarella of about 1 ounce on parchment paper. Bake at 400 F for about 10 minutes.
At this point, the mozzarella piles have melted down. Take it out of the oven, you can put about a teaspoon of sauce on it and your pepperoni. Put it back in the oven for 5-7 minutes.
I like to roll mine, but they can also be folded in half like tacos.
It should round out to about 1-3 net carbs depending on your ingredients.
“No Bake” Peanut Butter Balls
This recipe is great. Having these little balls on hand is great if I need a quick snack.
This one is DELICIOUS. I’m not a fan of eating vegetables, but I can tolerate mushrooms. This recipe had me wanting more mushrooms. It’s great over a bed of zoodles or spaghetti squash.
Heads up, this recipe isn’t really keto-friendly. But, if you have a craving for tomato soup, this will kick it while keeping your carb-count relatively low.
You’ll need a 6 oz. can of tomato paste, 1/4 cup heavy cream, beef broth, oregano, and your favorite shredded cheese.
The original recipe I found had one cup of heavy cream. I found this mixture to be way too heavy, so I diluted it with beef broth.
Play with the ratios and see what tastes the best for you.
You’re focused on a lot of things right now, like your next Disneyland trip, Hanson, figure skating, karate, visitations with dad, and Sailor Moon. I know you’re dealing with some really messed up things at home. If I could go back in time and give you this letter, this is what I want you to know.
Ask your grandma tons of questions about her life and your grandpa’s life while you still have time. I know living with her with all of her health problems is hard, but she won’t be around forever. Spend as much time with her as you can.
While you and Mom aren’t getting along, know that she’s going through a lot that she will never tell you about. Also, appreciate her too and spoil her on her birthday. Ask Mom to be more honest with you. She will not ask for help when she needs it, and it will end up causing more issues.
Take more pictures. While you might feel embarrassed to ask people to take a picture with you, it’s better to feel that temporary feeling than the lifelong regret of missing a photo with someone you love.
Go to Disneyland more often. Take advantage of the annual pass monthly payments earlier in college. Also, don’t let people make you feel bad for your monthly Disneyland trips.
Don’t let people’s fat jokes get to you. I know you have many people from all facets of life telling you that you’re overweight. Yeah, maybe you can’t run as fast as the other kids. But you’re strong. You’re athletic. You eat pretty healthy. Also, you’re not fat.
Wear that two-piece swimsuit you’ve been dreaming of. Go ahead and enjoy life. You will keep yourself from enjoying life because you will keep them as rewards for your weight-loss. Appreciate your body and love your body. Because 33-year old Alex wishes her body can still do what it did at your age. She will wish that she weighed what you weighed right now.
On that note, seriously…you’re not fat. You won’t be fat in high school either. Don’t pay attention to that number on the scale because most of that weight comes from the muscle you’ve built from figure skating and cheerleading.
Sign up for acting classes. That itch to perform will turn into something more.
Speaking of creative itches, don’t let your teachers tell you that you’re a bad writer. In fact, you’re pretty damn good at writing and research. Look out for a friend named Anneke, because she will give you that creative boost and tell you that you’re a good writer.
Eat more vegetables. I know you hate them, and Mom went overboard in forcing you to eat them. Tell Mom and Grandma to put more spices in the veggies and add cheese. You’ll be able to eat them. Ask to get your blood sugar tested, and often. Diabetes is already living inside you.
You’re beautiful. Tell yourself you’re beautiful every day, because you are. Be confident in who you are and love yourself.
Don’t let your 5th grade teacher change your name because there’s a boy who has the same name as you. “Alexa” won’t stick after 5th grade. Your teacher was awesome, but you shouldn’t have had to sacrifice your name.
Stick with the piano lessons. You’re musically gifted. Yeah, the lessons sucked, but you need a different piano teacher.
There will be people who will fat shame you well into college. Don’t give them the time of day.
Take the time to learn math.
Did I say you’re beautiful?
Take naps. As you get older, you will try to bank sleep. It doesn’t work that way. Your 33-year old self is learning the value of sleep after the damage has been done.
If someone stresses you out so much that you’re physically ill, and they’re not changing their behavior after years of you talking to them…let them go.
Challenge yourself. Sometimes you will be put in situations that you’re not a fan of, like remedial math. Know that it’s for your benefit and growth. Take punches in stride, and know it’s okay to cry.
Keep reading those books on the bus. Read as much as you can.
Keep singing.
Keep watching anime. And no, it isn’t from the devil.
Take pride in your Japanese heritage.
Take advantage of the travel opportunities you have. Tell Mom to let you travel to France with your Dad.
On that note, tell Mom that you want to study the arts with your Dad’s friends.
Speaking of Dad, he has a secret to tell, and it’s okay. It’s nothing to freak out about regardless of what religious bigots will say.
You have crushes on girls, and it’s okay.
Be proud of yourself and who you are. Can you tell there’s a self-esteem empowerment vibe here? That’s because I know how bad you feel about yourself, and it’s not your fault.
Be comfortable in being uncomfortable. Once you settle into this concept, it’s extraordinarily powerful, and you’ll be unstoppable in achieving your dreams.
Call people more. Write letters and postcards.
Ask Mom to have you see a therapist in high school. Those feelings you have weren’t just hormones. You will develop anxiety and depression. Take care of it sooner than later so you can enjoy life sooner. Medication is okay.
It will take you years to unlearn a lot of things. But trust me, it’s worth it.
Don’t let people disrespect you. It’s okay if people don’t like you. Self-respect is key.
Learn to walk away. Understand that there will be some people who will never see beyond themselves or the hurt they caused you.
Wear your retainer.
I keep saying this, but you’re beautiful. You will spend a lot of time on trying to make your body perfect that will hurt you. Just because you’re huskier than the other girls (let’s face it, you always have), it doesn’t mean you’re worth less or you’re not beautiful.
There is power in words.
Smile and be kind. Sometimes you can be a light not only to others, but to yourself.
You love cats, and it’s okay.
I hope you start loving yourself much earlier in age than I did.
Be a warrior instead of a worrier. Everything will work out in the end.
This may not be a big deal for some, but it was to me. I was diagnosed with diabetes in July 2018. Still trying to figure out exactly what type I am. Thankfully, there’s a glimmer of hope in solving the mystery.
Anyway, since my diagnosis, I’ve had to be extremely cautious of what I put in my mouth. I flip-flop between eating keto, dirty keto, reduced carb, etc. since looking at a carb seems to spike my blood sugar. I took a brief hiatus from ghost hunts and other paranormal investigations since my blood sugar was going crazy as I was adjusting. My first paranormal investigation as a diabetic wasn’t until September 29th, so I had time.
The biggest change for me was how much more I had to prepare before the investigation. Packing equipment and making a plan is tedious enough. But then I had to consider the following supplies:
Glucose tablets
Glucagon Kit
Blood Sugar Meter
Snacks
Caffeine
Water
Stress Level
Insulin
Oral meds
You’ll often see sweets and salty carb-centric snacks at a paranormal investigation. I couldn’t eat any of that. The food I was going to eat was going to have to be protein centric. I did end up eating some Pringles chips since that didn’t spike me as much as regular potato chips. But besides that, it was all beef jerky, boiled eggs, etc. Also, I couldn’t eat anything with sugar, and it’s no longer an option for me to get energy.
Speaking of energy, the other issue was caffeine. I could drink coffee, but I had to be really careful because I didn’t want to cause chaos in my blood sugar numbers. I usually drink Diet Coke for caffeine anyway. But, if I don’t drink enough water these days, my sugars will spike. So, I have to do a ratio of 3 parts water to 1 part Diet Coke. Obviously, this also causes an inconvenience as it makes me have to use the bathroom a lot. If I started to spike, I had to chug water.
I had to also make time to take my medications. I actually forgot to take a round of oral meds, which could have been a disaster. I ended up remembering later than I wanted, which pushed back my round of insulin. So, for the future, I’m going to have to set an alarm for myself.
The other issue I was concerned with was what would happen if my blood sugar dropped. I had to let one of my team members know where they could find my meter, glucose tablets, and medication. I also have to train them all in using a glucagon kit. In the event I had to be taken to the hospital, I made sure that my prescription paperwork was on hand. It was weird to have to do so much prep work just for myself.
Also, stress can cause blood sugars to rise. Besides the investigation, my team and I were also putting on a fundraiser for the Trivette Clinic and I found myself in the middle of a spike and a dizzy spell right as the event was starting. I made friends with the wall and anything that was nearby I could use for balance. Fear can certainly stress anyone out, but luckily, the Trivette Clinic isn’t haunted by anything that is volatile or malevolent so I wasn’t afraid.
Lack of sleep can also mess with my blood sugar. Considering that ghost hunts typically happen at night, I had to do a check whenever I started feeling off.
Besides a few spikes and running high, I survived. I’m annoyed that I have to have such a contingency plan from now on. But it’s better to make this plan now instead of having my team members not know what to do should I pass out or I spike to a dangerous number like 600.
I ain’t afraid of no ghosts, or crazy blood sugars (for now).
It’s a bit odd to think that it’s been 3 years since my mom died. A lot of things have happened in the last three years; I became a published author, got back onstage, found myself in a serious relationship, started working from home, and moving forward with my life…finally. Granted, the thought of moving forward without my mom was terrifying because it reminded me that she was gone. If and when I get married and have kids, my mom won’t be there to celebrate with me. I often find myself somewhat haunted by her memory with moments. I can see a movie and think, “Oh, Mom would have loved that.” Or I see something in Target and think about how I would have bought it and sent to my mom as a surprise.
I stopped living. But this wasn’t the first time I stopped myself from living life.
No one really talks about the regrets. I had a rocky relationship with my mom that only improved in the last few years of her life. Things happened that would’ve completely destroyed our relationship. Things happened that should have determined that we weren’t a family anymore. But, there’s that thing called forgiveness. I don’t know how to describe it. Even though both I and my mom did things that weren’t part of the “picture perfect” narrative of a mother and daughter, at the end of the day…she still loved me with all of her heart. Her former tax clients and coworkers still come up to me to tell me how proud of me she was and how much she loved me.
One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned is that you can still make some terrible mistakes while loving someone. Of course there are lines, and there are times where lines are crossed and separation is healthier. But my mom never ceased to love me and do whatever she could to prove that to me. Looking back, now that she’s gone, I wish I would have forgiven her sooner. In the moment, not talking to her or being mean to her seemed like the right decision. At the time, trying to separate myself from her seemed like a good idea. But all it did was prolong the pain and put off the resolution that would eventually happened. It caused me to lose time with my mom, and I truly regret that. I regret listening to those who encouraged me to continue that division, not looking at the bigger picture and only looking within myself. Because I neglected to look at long-term, I’m left living with the “what ifs.” There are a good amount I’ve finally let go of, but there’s still work to be done.
For too long, I have held myself back from living my truth. I literally put myself on hold because I wasn’t skinny enough. I thought that because I was fat, I wasn’t allowed to enjoy things in life-like go to the beach. I also saw myself unworthy of love, and I literally held myself back in relationships because I thought my weight deemed me unworthy. I got this from my mom. She held herself back for decades after I was born. She didn’t date, she didn’t allow herself to enjoy the body she was in because of some awful words my biological father said to her years before. I found myself following in my mother’s footsteps because she projected her issues of self-image onto me. I need to break that cycle. It’s not my mom’s fault, it was the society she was born and raised in.
You know what I also wish? That we didn’t have such low self-esteems of ourselves that we barely took a picture together in the last years of her life. So, next time you’re taking family photos and you’re worried that you look fat, tired, stressed, etc. Just take the picture. If anything, take the picture to remember that moment in your life. None of use look as bad as we think we do. How many times have we seen pictures of ourselves from 10-15 years prior and thought, “I looked pretty good.” I never got to enjoy who I was back then. I’m sure as hell going to enjoy myself now, even if I am overweight, boring, etc. I owe not only myself that, but also my future self.
Grief is truly a funny thing. It comes in waves. You’re fine one minute, but then something as simple as a flower will send you over the edge. You don’t ever get over losing someone you love. You just learn to live without them. Yet, no one talks about the regrets you have. You can’t go back in time and reverse your decisions. For the sake of not going through the same thing I am, call that family member you haven’t spoken to in a while. Take that picture with your kids. Say, “I’m sorry.” Go to the beach and let your bat wings fly.
You would think that after surviving a car accident over 10 years ago, I would be well aware that one could die at any moment. But instead, I think that accident made me feel immortal in a way. What were the odds I would survive that accident? I should have died. But I got by with several broken bones, a surgery, and months of physical therapy. Yes, I had a weird experience on that night, but that’s a story for another time. Anyway, I hadn’t thought about my own death that much. Even when I’m looking for ghosts, that’s someone else’s death…not mine.
For some reason, in 2013, as if that year wasn’t messed up enough already, it hit me.
I’m going to die someday.
With this newfound fear, and yes it is a fear, it has changed the way that I approach paranormal investigating. First, I really REALLY want that confirmation that there is life after death. Second, when I pass I want someone to talk to me like I’m a person and not a blip on a gadget. Third, I can feel death looming around me when I’m investigating or in some location where a lot of death has taken place.
I’m not saying that death is a conscious being that is following me around. But there has been a consistent vibe that I’ll feel when I’m in a location that has seen a lot of death. The vibe has been the same from the time I walked into my mom’s trailer after she died to visiting a location like Old South Pittsburg Hospital where people passed. I even get that feeling when I’m a Duke sometimes, knowing that there are people dying every minute and there are bodies in the morgue.
I visualize death as a personification of the life I’ve lived. As I survive each day, a page is added to my book of life. I see death as this faithful companion who is with me and on my mind each day; reminding me that it’s waiting for me.
Of course, I was also raised Christian and taught to believe that we will indeed survive and go to heaven once our time here is over. I want to believe it…I truly do. But between my interactions with some not-so-perfect Christians and seeing how unfair life can be (example: kids dying from cancer), I question my faith all the time. If there is a heaven, awesome. If not, what is waiting for us? In this case, death is the door…the door that remains unlocked and is waiting for us to open.
I just hope it’s not nothingness and ceasing to exist. But, I feel like it is likely identical to falling asleep. You don’t know you’re asleep, and you’re not aware of yourself. You don’t remember when you fell asleep, just like we will likely not be aware when death finally does come to collect the debt.
