Labels suck.

Well, the title says it all.  Labels suck.  They're presumptuous and rude.

Apparently you're not beautiful if you're not thin?

And this guy lives with his mom and plays Wold of Warcraft all day?

She's a rich daddy's girl whose never suffered a day in her life?

What if the girl on the top has a really slow metabolism, has cancer, or ya know, just likes food?

What if the guy in the middle is living with his mom so he can take care of his mother who's suffering from Alzheimer's, works three jobs, and just happens to unwind to W.O.W?

What if I told you the girl on the bottom was brought up in a family of abuse and poverty?  That she fought and clawed her way to get a better education for herself?

And.... what about this girl?  What about me?

Would you guess that this girl went through abuse from three family members?  And all forms of abuse from many family members?  That she attempted suicide many times?  That she thinks she's ugly and chubby?  That she survived a drug overdose?  That she survived anorexia?  That she survived binge eating?  That she survived the worst kind of depression and anxiety?  That she got married at eighteen and was looked down upon by everyone who knew and loved her?  That she married for love, and not because she was pregnant?  That she deals with many diseases, including Fibromyalgia, and Multiple Sclerosis?  That she was told she'll succumb to M.S. by the time she's thirty five?  That her Hypothyroidism makes fighting depression, anxiety, and the image of "fat" even harder?  That she's also raising four, small children?  That she's an amazing person who loves everyone.  That she loves to laugh.  That she loves to sing, read, play video games, watch movies, drink tea, go hiking, spending time with family and friends, texting those close to her, just to check up on them.  That she kicks arse at makeup.  That she always knows what to say, even in awkward situations.  That she can make you feel better and loved, no matter what.  That because she's been through so much, she means it, with her heart on a plate, when she says, "I am so sorry you're going through that."  That she'll never judge you based off what she doesn't know.  That she'll always give you the benefit of the doubt.  That she'll give you the shirt off her back.

She is complex.  She is not, like pictures could suggest, into herself, "too girly", or too good for anyone.  She is real.  She is a person.  She has feelings, and she rocks.  She is me.  No labels.  I am not depression.  I am not makeup, I am not abuse.  I have become this beautiful cocktail of what these things made of me.  I am strong.  I am aware.  I am a fighter.

People are always shocked when I tell them how much disease I have.  "But you're so young.  And you're skinny.   I thought you'd be fat."  Wha...?

Hence the, "but you don't look sick" movement.  It's huge.  Google it.  People who are dying and suffering on the inside, with absolutely no visible signs on the outside.  Would you look at this girl and say she's terminal?  No way, neither would I.  Would you look at her and guess showering is as much of a chore as running fifty laps around a track for you?  That she tires from raising her arms?  That she acts normal around family and friends so they don't say, "you whine so much!"  Or, "no one wants to hear about your pain."  But this tires her out, and she needs an entire week to recover from acting "normal."  Or that she never gets tired of hearing, (that was sarcasm) "but you look so good!"  That is takes her two hours to look like a normal person.

Please don't judge.  It's sooooo hurtful.  It's untrue, and it's not only damaging to the person you do it to, it takes a little piece of your humanity away.  Don't be that person.  Find the good.  Every single person on this planet has something good about them.  Every single person on this earth is going through a challenge.  Think again if you think you're the only one stressed or going through what you're going through.  We're all fighting our demons.  And it doesn't matter how you'd handle someone else's situation.  You've never been in it, so shut up.  :)  They're doing the best they can based off their cocktail life made out of them.  End of story.  Spread nothing but love.  There is no room for hate.  None at all.  And if that's all you have to dish out, and yes, I can say this, because I used to be that person, you'll have nothing but anger, sadness, and fear.  And that is no way to live.  It's very dark and lonely.

Don't judge a person just because their trial is different than yours.

So that "fat" girl?  She starves herself.  She's tired of being made fun of.  That skinny girl you tell to "eat a sandwich?"  She eats like a cow, and can't gain weight.  Whose fault is that?  Yours.

Tonic-clonic/Grand Mal Seizure.

I just had one.  Scariest experience of my life.  Here it is two days later, and I'm still trying to recover from it.  First of all, what is a Tonic-clonic/Grand-Mal seizure?  Since I was the one experiencing it, I didn't know what it looked like.  Well, there's this beautiful thing called Youtube.  I made the mistake of watching it, and it scared me even more.

All I remember was telling my husband I had just bought some super sexy shoes.  Next thing I know, there are six, huge, EMT's standing over me.  "What the heck?"  "What's going on?"  I am deathly afraid of needles, and don't even notice as an IV is jammed in my arm.  I remember my seven year old crying as I'm being taken to the ambulance in a stretcher.  "Alee, don't be afraid.  I'm alright."  Alright.  What is alright?  I heard the words, but I didn't understand what they meant.  "What's the date?"  "Um.... January?"  "Who is the president of the United States?"  "Obama."  Why is he asking me these questions?  "Who was the president before him?"  Oooh, I don't wanna go to the hospital!  It's a Friday night, I'm fine!  "Uh, Bush."  "Do you have any health problems?"  I know this, I know this!  "No."  Wait, that's not right.  There is SOMETHING wrong with me?  What is it....?  "Hypoglycemia."  "I have hypoglycemia."  There, I knew it wasn't that hard to form a thought.  "And...."  Crap, I know there's something else... "Oh, Fibromyalgia, and Multiple Sclerosis!"  Now I'm in the hospital.  I don't know how I got here.  I don't remember coming in at all.  Why am  I here?  Where is Adam?  "How tall are you?"  "5'6."  "Are you allergic to anything?"  What does THAT matter???  Leave me alone, I wanna go home!  "Do you spell that with an "o" or an "a?"  "Um, an "a."  Without any explanation, I'm hooked up to an ECG to monitor my heart.  "Sorry, I kinda need to put them up there..."  "Honey, I have four kids!  I lost my modesty a long time ago!"  Giggles.  Why are we laughing?  There is nothing funny about this.  I am in an emergency room and I have no idea why.  I am getting hooked up to a bunch of stuff and I don't know why.  WHAT HAPPENED?!?!?  CT SCAN.  What for?  MRI.  "Make sure not to move."  "Okay, sure thing!"  Then finally, "your family is here, do you want them in here?"  "Um, yes, of course!"  My husband comes in with red, puffy eyes.  "What is going on?"  "You had a seizure.  Hun, I thought you were dying in my arms!"  "A seizure?"  I don't have seizures.  "Did you call my mom?"  "Yes."  ".....So, what happened?"  "We were just talking.  Then all of a sudden all your muscles locked up.  You were foaming at the mouth and didn't breath there for a while.  You were like that for two minutes.  You don't remember anything?"  "No.  I remember talking to you, I remember the EMT's in the house, and now here I am."  As far as I was concerned, nothing happened.  I didn't feel any different, and I sure didn't remember anything.  Turns out I had a Grand Mal seizure.  It was caused from taking my Tramadol with my anti-depressant.  I was told it was a risk by my doctor, but, "if you've never had seizures before, it should be fine."  Turns out low blood sugars make having a seizure easier, too.  He never asked me that.  So, I was told to go home.  Get off the Tramadol.  Okay.  I did, and I did.  I am no worse for wear, psh, I don't even remember it!  No problem!  My husband's a little shaken up, but that's to be expected!  Whew, we're good then?  No, yeah, turns out we're not good.

Turns out the next day would be a pain like I have never felt.  Not like the flu, not like Fibromyalgia, not like a long hike.  I've done all those before, but have never felt this.  Unless you've actually had one of these bad boys, I just can't explain it.  Your brain is your computer.  Imagine your computer telling you to lock every single muscle in your body.  Every one.  Not just the ones you need to hike.  Every.  Single.  One.  I am two days post seizure and it still hurts to move an inch.  And holy tired!  I have birthed four babies, had the flu, done many exhausting things.  Who knew a seizure was this tiring?  You guessed it, not me!  And that's just the physical.  I wasn't expecting the emotional side of it.  Turns out seizures drain you in every way you can be drained.  Now I'm pissed my house looked like an episode of Hoarders.  No, no one can come when your house is clean.  It's when you don't feel well and you have four kids destroying it.  THAT is the perfect time to come over for an emergency.  When the lady who can't go more than every other day to shave her legs, somehow went a week.  The girl who washes her hair every other day looks like Mr. Wong's takeout today.  In muh Hoarder house!!!  Did I mention that?!  Then the night goes into feeling inferior.  I am a makeup artist.  I take huge pride in my looks.  So being caught off guard, by strapping, muscled EMT's?  My finest hour!!!  Followed, yes, of course it was followed by something worse, a gorgeous female doctor who couldn't have been too much older than me.  That bi*ch was skinny, gorgeous, made up, and did I mention she was a doctor?  After being brought in by Playgirl, I am surrounded by, I do not lie, an entire female staff.  Gorgeous, intelligent female staff.  I look like crap for the guys, fine, but way to make a sick girl feel better.  It was a rather bizarre night.  And ya know what, if I hadn't just had the worst seizure known to mankind, I'd be judging me, too.  But I knew writing about it would help me feel better about a dumb situation.  It always does.  So yes.  Physically and emotionally, one of the hardest things I've ever gone through.  I cried for two hours last night.  Cried over the hairy legs, cried over no makeup, cried over scaring my husband, I definitely cried over my messy house.  But.  I cried most of all, because that was, hands down, one of the scariest things I have ever gone through in my entire life.  I cried for myself, I cried for Adam's boss' daughter who has these, I cried for every person on Youtube that recorded themselves going through one.  I cried over how unfair and unjust it is.  I cried over the frailty of the human body.  I just cried.  I was terrified, and couldn't exactly say why.  Will this happen again?  Will I be alone?  Will my seven year old have to call 911?  These are questions I don't have answers to.  It's the not knowing that scares me.  How dare you be so weak and frail, body?   I feel violated.  I know it's a funny way to describe it, but there it is.  I feel violated.

So here's to my ruining my naughty fantasy with an EMT, Grand Mal!

Next time you send me this....

    

Please make sure I look like my FB profile pic.  And not this...

That would be great, thanks!