A Year Later...

A year ago today, I was sitting in a hospital bed in Beverly Hills, CA, fresh out of surgery and completely unaware of how far into a pit of misery I had fallen. I was broken, but not just in the physical sense (although I was very much broken in the physical sense- I broke 3 bones in my ankle and dislocated the darn thing running a Spartan race). It took a lot of moaning (and not the good kind), groaning, whining, complaining, crying and pain to get me to where I am today. Not to mention compassion, forgiveness, perseverance, rehabilitation and a whole lotta love. When I left California on January 6th to come home to recuperate in NH I NEVER thought that

A. I would stay

B. I would be so much happier here than there

C. I could learn to love again- myself and others

I was in a really bad place. Even if you took away the crutches and pink cast and ugly scars, there was still the shell of the person I used to be- I was supremely overweight, unhappy, in a relationship that was going nowhere, I had been working at two jobs that made me absolutely miserable and I wasn't writing and singing. I wasn't doing any of the things that make me happy.

Fast forward a year. I am still far from a perfect specimen. I have days when I look in the mirror and I'm not-so-silently cursing the MOON-sized pimple that had to show up at the MOST i opportune time or those ten pounds that, if lost, could REALLY help out my silhouette. Or the little voice in my head telling me I need to be doing more or that I'm not good enough. And I too have crap days when everything sucks. I still have many things I need to work on. BUT-  MOST DAYS?!

I feel like Superwoman. I go to the gym and I'm the only one smiling like an idiot on the treadmill because I just ran two miles on a slightly bionic ankle. I'm really good at my jobs and I'm appreciated for the work I do. I surround myself with caring, loving people who wish the best for me and I for them.  I take pride in my talents and show them off in as humble a way possible. I work on my art and it moves me. I am aware that I must take care of myself first before taking care of others. I love my body- flaws and all. My family and I like each other again.  I'm dating again. And I don't hate it. I'm learning to be better with my money (it's an ongoing process). I'm learning to work smarter, not harder. I'm learning to embrace those around me who are different from me but love them the same way- with a full heart. I'm learning to have fun and not set expectations to a sky-high level while keeping my standards intact. I'm learning to love myself for exactly who I am while acknowledging that there are things I'd like to tweak.

So, thank you to anyone who has helped me find my wings again on this last year's journey from Hell and back- it's been a prickly ride and I'm sure there are times when I didn't deserve your love and kindness and friendship. But I want you to know that it hasn't gone unnoticed and that I would have never been able to be standing here today feeling like this if it weren't for all of you who share little pieces of my heart. So- thank you :) I'm grateful for this moment

Coming Clean...And Starting Over

This may be a long one... but it's a necessary one.

As some of you may know, I recently moved back to New Hampshire from Los Angeles. I broke my ankle in December and came back to recuperate. I didn't know I was going to stay. I didn't know what I really needed most in the world was to be surrounded by family. I didn't know how much of myself I had lost out in California and just how miserable I had become. But the thing about family is, well....they tell it like it is. And for a while I didn't want to hear it. They think they brainwashed me, but I know the truth. I came to terms with my life as it was- the lies I had been feeding myself for a long time- and I allowed myself to see a future in which I was happy. And it included very few things that were currently in my life at the time I moved home.

Before I begin, I'd like to add a disclaimer:
I will not use any party's names within my blog.
I do not wish to make anyone's lives more difficult or make anyone feel as though I'm bashing him/her.
But these things need to be said. Because they are my truth, and it is time to come clean.


My relationship with the person that for a while I really thought I would end up with has ended. It's still rather fresh, but it was coming for so long that in some ways it feels like its been over forever. In the beginning, it was wonderful. He was wonderful. We were great together. Maybe there were some warning signs right off the bat but I didn't see them. Almost half of the 3 years we spent together was spent in some sort of turmoil. I'm pretty easy to please. I don't ask for much. What do I want in a relationship? Someone who loves me. Someone who is caring, compassionate, sexy, driven. Someone who wants the same things I do. (Wanna check out my other blog about re-entering the dating world? Just started it but it should provide some laughs! thesamethinglp.tumblr.com

Anyway, I don't think the above qualities (and maybe a few more) are asking too much of anyone. I don't need expensive things. I don't need to be driven around in nice cars. I like cheap dates. Sometimes I even like to pay. I know who I am and I know I make a pretty good girlfriend. I'm easy to love. However, at some point throughout the relationship I became more and more convinced that I wasn't so easy to love. That I always had to do more and that whatever I was doing was not enough.  I ask myself now why at any point within that last year and half I couldn't just break it off right then and there. Because I was not being treated well. I was made to feel that if I left, I was unloveable. It wasn't said in so many words but I was so beat down on a consistent basis that my self-confidence took a nosedive. I truly feel (and though he would vehemently disagree) that I was in an emotionally abusive relationship. I've never been in a physically abusive relationship (thank gosh) but the manipulation I dealt with (and didn't quite even realize at the time) was absolutely too much. I don't wish the way I felt on my worst enemies. Granted during the last year and a half of our relationship I was working at two jobs that made me miserable. But he was doing very little to try and turn my outlook around and increase my happiness. When everything else sucks, the people you love and come home to at the end of the day should bring you up, not push you down. This was not the case. It took months of therapy and a kiss from someone new to be able to really recognize what was happening and how much I needed to let go of what I thought I wanted.

I was told not to wear certain colors, patterns and textures of clothes. Anytime I brought up putting my nose ring back in I got the cold shoulder. When I brought up how I was feeling, I was called crazy and emotional. I was told that it seemed like I was always on my period. I was made to feel that my past sexual experiences were dirty and bad and I constantly had to explain my past choices. Three consecutive birthdays were almost ruined. I resented my family. I was pulled away from things I loved. I was made to feel like an ignorant, non-educated woman. I was always being told the best way to do things in the most condescending way. I was made to question who I am to the very core of my being.

I went from living with my boyfriend, to being broken up with on the way to the airport before a much-needed vacation (but not being able to truly let go, because I was told "If you stop speaking to me, we'll have no chance of ever getting back together again"), doing long-distance while technically not together, being told that my normal feelings were not justified, and essentially being told that when we were back in the same city that he probably wouldn't have much time to see me. I had to ask him to tell me he loved me. At one point I was on suicide watch from 1000+ miles away.

The entire second half of our relationship, my family tried to tell me just how much shit I was in. I either didn't see it or didn't want to see it. Probably a combination of the two. He hated my family. He pushed me away from them, in the sense that he continued to treat me with less than I deserved and my family knew all along it just wasn't right. And I was trying so hard to give him the benefit of the doubt and see past the bullshit that I would just get upset when they tried to show me what was really happening. I didn't realize just how bad everything had gotten. I had gained A LOT of weight and I looked terrible. I couldn't fit into 97% of the clothes in my closet and I rotated between a few choice outfits. I've always hid my weight well, but there was no hiding it anymore. And I was so lost that I don't even think I realized just HOW bad it had gotten.

While I was in LA, I got into debt. Several credit cards worth of debt. It started innocently, a nail polish here and a dinner out there. And then it got bad very fast and I couldn't pull myself out of it. It was this thing, always hanging over my head. And for what? So I could have some "things?" I guess I thought I needed things to make me happy since I wasn't finding happiness anywhere else. I wasn't playing music. I was too miserable. I was lying so much to myself I didn't even know where to start when I would write. And then if I did write something, I would cry. Listening to music in the car. Any sad songs and I would cry. And I never knew why. I didn't tell my mom about the debt, but I was working like a crazy person and didn't even have a day off. She decided to help me out for several months, sending me some money with the notion that it would be for basic necessary expenses and that it would enable me to have time to really pursue my music. What did I do? I used the money for the credit cards. And I didn't even do a good job, because you know I kept using the card. Maybe not as much as I had been, but my head was so f'ed up with everything and I was so miserable and down so low, in so deep that I was drowning and I didn't even know it. It took many long nights and knock-down drag-out fights between me and my family for me to even start earning back their trust. It took them a while to bring me into the fold again. I screwed up. Majorly. And it's honestly a miracle that things ended up the way they did, and that I am sitting here early on a Saturday morning writing this to you, in the state that I'm in.

I've made a boatload of mistakes. I'm 26-years-old and I feel like I've already lived a full life. But I also feel like I have such an exciting life ahead of me. I still have so many things to figure out but I really feel like I'm on the right path. I've lost over 35 pounds since I've been home. I still have some work to do, and I need to get back to strength training (Michelle Obama arms, here I come!) but I feel and look so much better. I feel sexy again. I feel like me again! I'm busy, working three jobs to pay for the moving expenses of getting my things back from LA, but I'm happy again. I'd love to be dating and I need to be playing and writing more but I've come leaps and bounds from where I was. I think Boston is in my future. I've written so many great new songs since coming home (I played a little solo show for my mom and made her cry- like sobbing cry!) and I'm actually at the point where I can say that something I've written is good and that when people ask me if I'm a good singer, I can say yes in a way that's confident but humble at the same time. I have new friends from three great jobs and I'm re-learning about me. I'm not settling for anything less than I deserve in all areas of my life. And I'm willing to work hard and be patient until what I deserve comes along. I'm falling in love with myself, and for right now that's enough for me.

Pimples

I tried to get creative with the title for today's post, people, but I figured I'd just get right down to business. What IS it about those pesky little pus-filled things that just makes me feel so irritated and usually just downright UGLY?!

But seriously. Maybe writing about pimples is stupid, but I feel like the issue is really bigger than that. For whatever reason, when I get a pimple I feel like the ugliest person that ever lived. I've been taking crap for my face ever since I was in high school and I've had my share of bad face days but I really thought the worst of it was behind me. Now mind you, I've never had bad acne. But I did, for a period of time, have pimples that would not relent and would come with lots of friends at a time. But I had a pretty long period of time where I'd get the occasional pimple but it was nothing to write home about. NOW for whatever reason, my freaking stress hormones have decided to wreak havoc on my poor little face. My chin is a battlefield and the rest of my face really isn't safe either. In the big scheme of things, acne isn't a big deal. It's a surface thing. It might seem shallow of me to even be discussing it. But when I get several pimples at once, it's all I can see when I look in the mirror. I don't see my big brown eyes, my usually pretty complexion, my nice smile or anything else. It's like someone took a picture and all the little pimples are in focus and everything else fades into the background. For some reason, when I break out, my self-confidence ends up in the toilet, and there's nothing I can do except wait out the war that's being waged on my face and hope to come out unscathed. So although my family roles their eyes when I ask if they would like to take up residence with the (bear with me, I'm exaggerating here) 1,000 pimples that live currently on my chin, they roll their eyes and start to get frustrated with me. But when I look in the mirror and all I can see are pimples, it takes me back to high school and feeling very unattractive. I get so in my head about it that when I feel that someone is admiring me I almost get embarrassed for them- like there's nothing about me that deserves a second look.

For the most part, I feel very blessed with the hands I've been dealt physically and mentally/emotionally/personality-wise. But there are always going to be those pressure points with me- pimples, legs that haven't been shaved, and frizzy/bad hair. Oh, and did I mention that my haircut makes me look kind of like a triangle-headed muppet? So that paired with the pimples and the fact that my ever-swollen healing ankle is now growing courser hair than usual is enough to make this girl crazy! Maybe you don't have these same pressure points but I'm sure there are things that get you going too.

I was trying on clothes today in the dressing room of Marshall's as part of my birthday present (I'm learning to stay on a budget...my mission was to find 3 tops and 2 pairs of pants for $100). I found a few things that were brightly colored (the snow and winter gloom are KILLING me right now and all I have here are black and drab colors right now!) and tried them on- for the first time in a lot of years I actually felt good about the way these things were fitting on my body. I still have a long way to go to get to my ultimate weight loss goal, but I've lost about 20 pounds and gained some muscle back and I was so excited that these brightly colored confections looked good on my frame. HOWEVER, only one of the tops was actually reasonably priced so I had to put back a Juicy Couture blouse, Michael Kors zipper tee and a pair of Lucky Brand jeans. Because even though it's Marshall's....it STILL wasnt' going to be below $100. So I had to put back the items that looked so good. Was I a little sad upon leaving the store? Of course. But I was also happy that I enjoyed putting clothes on my body again and I hope that continues. I had a moment, though (here's the tie-in) that I looked in the mirror, full-body and full-face and thought wow! Pimples and all, I look really pretty today. And that was a really great moment for me.

So I'll try to be not so hard on myself for each stupid little pimple that makes its way to the surface of my face (but could we be done now, please? All the stress from the last job and all the dirt from the Spartan race should be gone now, so if I could go back to normal, that would be awesome!) but with my crazy anxiety issues that I'm dealing with, it could be difficult. I'm working on those, too, but it's difficult. I have to make sure I do things that scare me a little every day so that the big things won't feel so scary and so I'll be making strides to combat my anxiety. I made myself a schedule today to cross some things off my music to-do list and although the anxiety still looms, I feel better that I've accomplished some things.

I apologize if this has felt like a big, rambling waste of time. But sometimes we all have to look inside and realize that a pimple doesn't have to crumble our entire sense of self. So here's to looking in the mirror and loving what we see, even if it isn't perfect...or even our version of perfect!

Lizz

What's Worse? A Broken Heart or a Broken Ankle?

Okay, so I'm officially the worst blogger in the world. Can you really say that you have a blog if you only write, say....once a year? I don't think so. I enjoy doing this, and even though probably only two people read it, I'd like to utilize this outlet more often than I have in the past. Want some updates? Here goes nothing...

SPOILER ALERT! So I'm currently in NH dealing with a broken ankle. My boyfriend thought it would be a good idea sometime this past year to sign us up for the Spartan Sprint in Malibu. I don't know if any of you have done triathalons, mud runs, 5Ks, what have you, but this thing looked challenging but like a good milestone to have. The idea was to do this "towards the end of our weight loss journeys." Uh huh. Yeah, right. Of course, when it came right down to it, my boyfriend was out of town. There was the first problem. This obstacle course race was SO far out of my comfort zone I couldn't really imagine doing it by myself...yet I had already paid my $65 to do it and on the video there's a dude with no legs doing it...so with that in mind and my aunt's convincing I decided to say f*ck it and do it anyway. I had a few work friends who told me they'd do it, but you know how that always goes... if I've learned anything since becoming a real life adult, at the end of the day you can't truly count on anyone but yourself. So my hope was growing slim as the days were counting down to the race but one of my best friends, Sarah, decided to do it with me not even a week out! I was beyond excited. Now, at least I'd have someone laughing WITH me instead of AT me when I fell on my ass a bunch of times...or maybe still "AT" me anyway...

So Sarah and I get to Calabasas, CA at what felt like the ass crack of dawn (probably around 7) on Sunday, December 8th. It's freezing cold...like I seriously felt like I was in NH. Not cool, California, not cool. I was wearing a t-shirt and capri workout pants and Sarah wore short shorts. I knew we were at least going to have to tussle with some mud and I think Sarah regretted the shorts as soon as we left the car. We then got on a shuttle bus to get to the race in Malibu (about 20 minutes away), which was located right by the Biggest Loser Resort. We got our timing chips and bracelets and all that good stuff and signed some stupid waiver that said something along the lines of "THERE IS A VERY GOOD CHANCE YOU MAY DIE TODAY," which really should have been a sign right at the beginning. There was a small fire pit that Sarah and I huddled around along with a bunch of other freezing cold Californians until it was just about 9:00 AM, which was when our heat began. Of course we missed our heat but we waited in line for the 9:15 AM heat. Before you even START the race, there's a tall-ish wall you have to jump over. My heart leapt into my throat.  The little voice in my head was saying "Elizabeth, what the f*ck were you thinking? You're so NOT in shape enough for this, and you can't even jump over the stupid wall before the starting line of this godforsaken race!" However, I saw a woman put her foot on a piece of wood that attached the wall to the ground about halfway up and thought "Ahhh...well maybe I can do that too!" And I was successfully  able to get over the wall. The first part of the race is running uphill. If you aren't aware of how out of shape you are, you'll realize it once you are out of breath after, oh, not even a minute? Ha. And I thought the running would be the easy part (and perhaps it was). The first obstacle is a very large netting attached to the ground by metal. You go hand over hand, foot over foot and the hardest/scariest part is getting yourself over the top, especially if you're afraid of heights (like Sarah). There are a mixture of obstacles throughout the race, and if you can't do something you're supposed to do 30 burpees. If you don't know what a burpee is, then...maybe keep it that way. They were basically invented by the devil himself.

Anyway, so we were actually able to do most of the obstacles, even though we definitely needed some help from a few strong men (and one woman!) along the way. The most difficult obstacles (in my mind, anyway) were the monkey bars (very little upper arm strength coupled with a large body to haul). However, the strong woman I mentioned hoisted my fat ass up to the top of the monkey bars so I could place my legs over the top and use my hands and knees to propel me to the other side (NOT EASY. I NEEDED THIS WONDERFUL LADY'S CONSTANT ENCOURAGEMENT AND ALSO MY OWN MIND OVER MATTER TO MAKE IT TO THE OTHER SIDE). Once I was finished with that obstacle, I felt SO accomplished. Granted, I did help, yet I was able to succeed. I was very proud of myself. Some of the more difficult obstacles included a wall with tiny blocks for your feet (caked with mud) which were so slippery I couldn't stay up. Also the most painful obstacle (Obviously except for the one I'm getting to where my injury happened) was the barbed wire crawl. Okay so crawling in mud isn't bad right? It's soft. It's cushiony. People use it for face masks. Great. But this sh*t wasn't just mud....it was muddy rocks. Under low barbed wire. For what felt like a mile. It was awful and I don't think one person left without scabby knees that day. Some even left missing some of the hair they started the day with. Blame the barbed wire. And the muddy rocks.

So as we're getting to the end, there's the part where you have to life a heavy rock-type object up with a rope and bring it down without splashing water. Of course we started with the men's weight one which was NOT happening. So we did the women's one, and even though you were supposed to do it as an individual, we did it together. So we bent the rules a few times. Who's going to be able to do 30 burpees several times and all the hard crap and not be crawling to the finish line? Not this girl! We did 5 burpees and called it a day when we couldn't do an obstacle, like the one where you pull yourself up a rope from a chest-deep pool of water and ring the bell at the top. Not strong enough for that yet. Then there was the spear-throwing. I'm sorry-I can catch a ball but I can't throw a spear. Nope. Not happening. Even if I WERE in tip top shape I'm STILL not sure I could throw a spear and have it stick in a bale of hay. Then the next obstacle we did was basically a few walls that you swim under and some water that you have to swim in. So once you get out of the water you're COMPLETELY drenched, muddy, dirty, slippery. The very last obstacle before the fire pit and the guys who hit you with large padded mallets is a tilted, slippery, muddy wall that you pull yourself up with a rope and then climb over the top. I pulled myself up almost to the top but wasn't strong enough to vault myself over. So I slid down. And I tried again (BIG MISTAKE- KNOW YOUR LIMITS, PEOPLE). Got myself almost to the top for a second time and held myself there, waiting for someone to help pull me over. Some dude finally was trying to help me but the two of us weren't strong enough to pull me over. So I slid down again, this time fast and furious and BLAM! Something cracked. And my leg went all wonky. And I made some sort of gutteral, animal moan-cry and that's when it was all over. I could SEE the finish line. It was probably not even 100 feet away. Stupid, stupid, stupid. A few medics lifted me to the side and two dudes helped me hobble over the finish line. At one point, I forgot my leg didnt work and I put some weight on it- don't know if I further injured myself then or not but not a good idea. They took me (DIRTY, HUNGRY, THIRSTY, FREEZING COLD) into the medic tent and my friend Sarah went to go get the car as they tried to "set" my ankle and put some ice on it. Sarah had to wait for the shuttle (10 mins) take the shuttle (20 mins) drive back (20 mins) and then we drove the 40 mins back to LA to go to Cedar's Sinai because I figured it would be closer to where I was staying. And I didn't want to take an ambulance, because I could already see the near future hospital bills adding up in my head.

So we get to the hospital, and thank god it probably didn't take even an hour for them to get me to a bed and give me some strong ass pain meds. While in the waiting room, my foot/ankle was starting to swell and the shock was starting wear off (PAIN, HERE WE COME!) so it was a good thing they were able to see me probably 10 minutes from when the pain started getting worse. The nurses and doctors and staff at Cedar's were all lovely...minus one nurse who came in to my room early in the morning, said nothing and started unbuttoning my gown to place sensors underneath and around my chest (EKG?). I sort of felt like I was in a bad movie. I mean, I left my modesty at the race, people...they cut off my shoes, I changed in the tent around other people...but not announcing yourself and what you're doing at a hospital? Weird. So I knew very shortly after seeing the ER doctor that I was going to need surgery...I had broken 3 bones in my ankle and dislocated it. I was hoping it was a sprain but had a feeling the sound it made when I fell was something else... I was joking with the staff and trying to keep the mood light. I sort of felt like...well, if this is what's happening, let's just do it and deal with what we have to deal with...there's no going back and "un-breaking" my ankle. So I stayed in the hospital for three days, had my surgery, peed in a bedpan (Nothing makes you feel 85 like wetting the bed while using a bedpan and using a walker), learned to use crutches, etc. Oh and one of the nurses had told me to take my "knickers" off pre-surgery so I did. When the surgical team went to flip me over to do my surgery (face down) the WHOLE room saw my bare ass. Thanks, nurse whatever-your-name-is. Everyone got a good laugh from that one.

My boyfriend was coming to spend the holidays with me later in the month, and he was able to change his ticket to come several weeks early and help me out while I was recuperating. He was a godsend, seriously. Because the truth is that anyone could have been paid to help me, but I wouldn't have trusted anyone else or felt as safe with anyone else helping me out. No girlfriend wants their boyfriend to have to help them wash their hair in the sink, or take a sponge bath or all the little things you normally do yourself when you AREN'T broken. But it was sort of out of my hands and he was so wonderful for helping me with everything. We wanted to have this nice break and instead he had to babysit me the whole time but I so appreciate him being there and changing his plans in a hearbeat for me.

I decided I'd go back to NH for the duration of my recuperation (That sounds like it could be a song from the 70s from Supertramp or something). Let me say that even though it's freaking cold here I think I've been needing some help for a while (besides the ankle) and I'm not sure I would have sought it out had I not needed to come home for further care. First of all, thank GOD for insurance because I would never, ever, ever have been able to pay the hospital bills myself. And I'm very glad my mom has agreed to help me with this process- not just the ankle rehab but I haven't been in a very good place for probably the last year plus. I've had a few jobs that have taken it all out of me and made me not a very nice person to be around. I've been pretty miserable and depressed for the last year and I apologize to anyone who got caught in the crossfire. I'm making changes in my life and learning to love myself again, which includes getting healthy, knowing when to get myself out of bad situations, regaining my self-esteem and self-worth, and doing the things I know are good for me. My mom's taken so many self-help books out of the library that I literally can't read them fast enough. I'm just learning what I can and taking small steps to reclaim my life. Breaking my ankle may have been the catalyst to all my issues coming to light, but many of them have been festering for a while and it was high time to take care of them. So even though I'd rather have NOT broken my ankle, I'm glad I have this time to un-break my heart, soul and mind. This is very difficult for me, but I need to find my way back to the person I was before I became angry at the world, depressed, unmotivated, etc.  I don't like change, but I'm learning to accept what I cannot change and deal with what I can and will change. Let the transformation begin!

xoxo

Lizz