An Open Letter To My Depression

Hello darkness my old friend...

Dear Depression,

Hey there. I’d say, “long time, no see” but I think we both know that’s not the truth. I hesitated for a long time even calling you by your name.

It felt, well, it felt wrong.

Because you see, I didn’t want to acknowledge you. I was trying to ignore you, actually. I thought that if I averted my eyes when I saw you, walked on the opposite side of the street, or ducked into a crowded room that maybe you’d go away or just give up.

But you are very persistent.

You’ve followed me through the years like a silent shadow; through traumatic heartbreaks, medical mishaps, and even just plain old everyday shit.

Sometimes you linger at times that are appropriate, others not so much. I’m not entirely sure anyone noticed you either. I was pretty good at shoving you neatly under a rug or tucking you in the back of a dresser.

At one point I tried to ward you off with medication but ended up with more dangerous side-effects than actual progress. I paid a lady with a couch to talk about you for a while, too. I’ve spent hours reflecting, trying to pinpoint what your fucking deal is and why you won’t get off my case.

You’re elusive, too.

Which is also why I didn’t like naming you because I wasn’t really sure it was you.

You morph and change all the time.

Sometimes you leave me dry heaving for oxygen as tears burst from my eyes like little flames.

Other times, well, other times you just make me feel fucking empty.

Like I’m missing something, but I can’t put my finger on it. Like walking into a room and then forgetting why you went there in the first place.

You’ve made me feel tired.

The kind of tired that can only be described as an unwillingness for my bones and spirit to move at a normal pace. I can fake it. But only for a little while until you remind me that I ain’t shit and my bed is the safest place for me to be.

I don’t feel comfortable telling my friends and family about you.

Sometimes I’m not sure if they’d believe you're real, tell me to just “get over you already,” or show genuine concern for your obsession with my body and mind.

I don’t want to talk about you because then I’ll feel weak.

Like I haven’t matured properly or like I’m some kind of failure of a person for having to deal with you. I don’t want people to misunderstand. I don’t want people to feel sorry or try to fix. I just want you out of my face, so I can move on with my life.

I haven’t even written jokes about you because I can’t find any possible scenario where you’re funny. And I certainly don’t want you to be funnier than me.

And you know what they say, tons of comedians talk about how sad they are on stage.

“It’s just what we do.”

Well, I want no part in it.

I don’t want to give you a single bit of my stage time or recognition. Even writing this letter is probably a waste of my time.

You haven’t whispered dark and terrible ideas in my head for a while now. You know, like the ones about killing myself. It’s been probably six years since you tried to feed me that shit and I never believed you.

I don’t want to die, you sick fuck. I want to live.

And that’s also what’s so frustrating about you. Every time I live and do something awesome, you still can’t be happy for me. You can’t pull your head out of your ass and tell me your proud or honored to know me.

A lot of cool shit has happened to me recently and you can’t even be bothered to notice.

I moved to New York City. I am doing all the comedy I ever wanted to do. I fell in love for a while. I am inches away from getting my book published.

And you’re too busy trying to convince me the world is on fire and that all the fire extinguishers in the world couldn’t keep everything I know and love from burning to the ground.

You’re such a fucking asshole.

There. I said it. You. Are. An. Asshole.

And not just to me. Shit, you’ve been hurting my friends too. My family. You’ve had your hand in so many of our lives and all you do is take, take, take.

Well, you can take your hand off me, you filthy bastard because I’m through with you.

I’m done hiding from you and pretending.

I refuse to let you rob me of my happiness, past, present, or future.

You get nothing.

You don’t get to push me around anymore or tell me what to do or how to feel.

I hope you had fun because those days are over. Done. I’m arming myself up with everything I can find to make sure I never see your face again.

I’m going to meditate.

I’m going to run.

I’m going to write.

I’m going to speak out.

I’m going to eat.

I’m going to enjoy.

I’m going to do the fucking work.

Because I deserve to be happy.

And you?

You’re dead to me.

Nah, you know what? You’re worse than dead. You’re decomposing. Like the rotting banana I see on my way to the subway every day.

You’re so insignificant I can’t even be bothered to notice you anymore.

So goodbye and good riddance. I hope the door hits you on your way out.

NOT Sincerely,

Mimi

What I Learned on a 30-Day Cleanse Diet

Hello, there my tiny scale friend! What news brings the day? Hark! A higher number than yesterday I see!

I’m not good at 30-day things.

My 30-day yoga challenges turn into 3-day yoga followed by 362-day no-yoga. With a few hot yoga’s thrown in there just because I hate myself and keep holding onto the idea that sweating my weight in liquids onto my yoga mat is actually fun and not the worst idea I’ve ever had.

This past month I tried a 30-day cleanse diet. And boy was it a doozy!

Never in my life would I have sought this kind of thing out on my own free will. But thanks to a lovely friend who posted a transformation photo and story recently (SHOUT OUT to Layne if you out there, girl you duh best), I thought hey, why the hell not.

I had zero expectations with this thing. Negative expectations actually.

I had this conception in my head that people who went on diets were crazy, deranged, wack-a-doodle’s. And sometimes just plain ol’ bat-shit sociopaths.

Who is this motivational person on this pamphlet to tell me not to eat bacon?

I. Don’t. Think. So.

But I called up my ol’ friend from middle school and we chatted about her transformation. It was amazing. She told me she not only looked great but actually felt great too. I liked the idea of not feeling so fat and lazy all the time.

I’d hit a point where I started to notice extra fat hanging around my sides in photographs. I took a selfie and had a double chin without trying. I ate a lot of delicious foods in Europe in the spring and I think they attached themselves to my belly button. Alright, I told myself. What the hell, let’s just do this thing.

Here is my (abridged) experience:

Day before:

• A lot of my friends are resisting the idea of me being on a diet “You don’t need to lose weight,” they say. “Haven’t you heard of working out?” “That’s a pyramid scam,” or my personal favorite, “Just cut out carbs, it’s easy.”

• I promptly want to punch them all in the face.

• I buy a sugary coffee on my way to an improv show, there was 5 dollar minimum on the card so I had to buy a bag of skittles (obviously).

• I drink a beer with new friends after the show because I have a feeling this is the last time I can do this kind of thing.

• I buy a tube of Pringles on the subway home. I feel hopeless and probably not even that hungry. I see a guy pissing on the side of the subway, run to the opposite side of the platform, and eat half the tube in disgust and shame. I get on the subway and try to offer the other half of my Pringles can to a homeless man and even HE didn’t want that shit. I get off the subway and proceed to throw away the can in the nearest trashcan.

Day 1: Sat 8/12

• Wake up, tired at 10:30 a.m.

• Read the directions on my giant box of mystery weight loss products.

• Take a “natural accelerator” pill.

• Drink 1 oz. of a weird brown liquid and start to question my life decisions.

• Make a vanilla shake, not the worst thing I’ve ever had. But it’s no doughnut.

• It’s snack time! I am so excited to eat again that I try to cut into a baby avocado that isn’t even close to ripe and butcher it horribly.

My life summed up in one photograph...

• I end up eating 10 grape tomatoes and a tiny spoon of hummus and kind of want to punch my boyfriend* as he opens a bag of Takis while simultaneously offering me a scoop of ice cream.

• Make banana bread with chocolate chips that I can’t eat and lick the spoon on accident.

• 2nd shake of the day, strawberry…I get the consistency down a bit better.

• First meal of day: half plate Kale (it’s surprising how good Kale can taste when you haven’t had solid food all day), half plate whole grain coos-coos with spoon of garlic, some artichokes, and a handful of grape tomatoes, plus some Trader Joe’s Mango Sweet and Spicy dressing (probably not supposed to eat this dressing but fuck it).

Day 2: Sun 8/13

• I feel sick this morning, like pukey. Maybe it’s the consistency of the shake. I’ve let it sit for a bit and now it’s lukewarm. I try to drink it, but cast half aside unable to stomach the texture of what feels like warm drool.

• I gulp down the brown liquid stuff again and feel like a whiny 9-year old taking my cough syrup medicine.

• For a snack, I have lentils and rice and veggies and don’t totally hate myself.

• Only one word can describe my emotions at 11 a.m. HANGRY. FUCKING HANGRY.

• I have my 2nd shake and a handful of almonds.

• I make dinner. A baked stuffed pepper with quinoa, asparagus, tomatoes. I inhale half of it and then have to get on a train to a house event.

• I break not once, not twice but THREE times at the house party. I sneakily inhale three bites of fettuccine alfredo, then cut a pizza into a small triangle and inhale that in shame, and then cut a small piece of bread. In my haste, the bread drops to the floor and I pick it up and dust it off, cover it with brie cheese and homemade berry jam and eat it anyway.

• I feel like a giant dumpster fire of a human being.

• No one at the party senses my disdain for them all as I watch them merrily eat everything and anything they want. Those fucking assholes with their brie cheese. BRIE.

LOOK AWAY.

Day 3: Mon 8/14

• I feel much better this morning and have my 1st shake of the day and prep for an interview.

• I get really hungry right as I’m leaving for the interview. I’m stressed because I’m helping someone new move into the house. I eat a “Go Lean” Isagenix bar and make a strawberry shake for the subway ride.

• My train is about to leave and I’m walking the new guy to the train but he needs to refill his MetroCard. I apologize and run onto the train anyway, not stopping for him because I can’t risk being late to this interview.

• I am early to my interview, encouraging me to stop at Starbucks and order an unsweetened pineapple black tea and call my best friend Kristen.

• I eat a quinoa bowl and water for dinner! Go me!

• I go to a friend’s comedy show. There is a 2 drink minimum which I confuse with a 2 item minimum. I buy zucchini chips…(okay they are fried), a hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps (minus whipped cream), and a way too expensive Perrier.

• I get to keep the mug from my alcoholic drink but steal the pen from signing the check because I spent 40 bucks and feel empty inside.

Day 4: Tues 8/15

• I get help from a friend on how to manage the 20-person co-living space I’ve just been hired to manage. I drink my shake slowly over the course of 3 hours.

• Later I go to a coffee shop and get a tea while I prepare for another interview for the next day.

• It’s 4 pm and I’m still at the coffee shop and now I am STARVING because I suck at following an eating schedule.

• I get home and eat a handful of nuts and cranberries.

• I eat 5 mini pretzels with cheese.

• I eat 5 cinnamon sugar almonds.

• I have my 2nd shake.

• I lead a house meeting and order pizza for my housemates. I eat a salad and fruit and try my best not to even look at the pizza. Go me!

Day 5: Wed 8/16

• I might be losing my mind but there are weird beige spots on my arms today…are these bruises? Am I dying? Wtf is going on.

• I feel more energy today but feel like I need more to really crush my interview. I eat a Go Lean bar on the way to the 911 Memorial and stop at Starbucks for a small iced coffee with a pump of vanilla. I crush my interview and feel awesome on the sugar high that I'm not allowed to be experiencing.

• I drink my 2nd shake then meet at Whole foods in Tribeca for manager training and dinner for my house. I get a box and head to the salad bar. I get some grilled veggies, salad, stuffed zucchini, tiki masala…and shit now I’ve gotten 2 large spoon’s full of mac and cheese, how the fuck did that happen. Oh, well.

• I decline dessert even though the CEO’s are buying.

• I go home and have a weird bowel movement.

Day 6: Thurs 8/17 (Cleanse Day 1)

• It’s cleanse day #1 and I talk to Layne on the phone about the schedule I should follow for cleanse days. I have absolutely no idea what I’ve gotten myself into.

• I spend the day eating my chalky capsules, pills, juice concoctions, chocolate (that’s my favorite part), and water.

• I sit and watch my boyfriend* order a veggie burger at a restaurant and can barely stand it.

• I have one slice of cucumber and a slice of tomato on accident.

• I’m writing like mad today because a publisher has requested my manuscript. I am having trouble focusing on the task at hand because I like to eat when I write. A lot.

Day 7: Fri 8/18 (Cleanse Day 2)

• It’s cleanse day #2; they are back to back every few weeks and I feel like that’s a recipe for disaster (and not the delicious kind).

• I’m actually doing okay. I’m surprised that I survived yesterday without real food.

• I follow the hourly schedule with fighter pilot precision.

• My boyfriend* lets me have a bite of mango at 3 p.m.

• This is more of a mental game than anything else. I don’t think I’m even that hungry, I just want to eat food to eat it, you know?

Day 8: Sat 8/19

• My book is due to the publisher today and I am stressed AF. I get up early to write, make a shake and forget to eat again until 5 p.m. I eat some pretzel crackers and avocado in .02 seconds over the sink.

• I lead an improv workshop in the basement of the house and buy some sugary snacks and alcohol for everyone. I eat a few pieces of chocolate but restrained myself from alcohol (okay so I took a sip and then bf was like “what are you doin’” and I was like “you right Bae, thanks”).

• I eat 2 bites of zucchini pasta and a shake for dinner.

• I weigh in and have lost about 5 pounds.

Day 9: Sun 8/20

• It’s Brunch Day at the house and we’re pulling out all the stops: biscuits and gravy, eggs, an entire case of champagne…

• Restrained myself and had Kombucha instead of Champagne and I’m going to be honest they taste about the same.

• I try to keep it light and have a few potatoes, half a biscuit, and tons of fruit (the non-Tequila-soaked ones).

• Lesson: I don’t even crave the alcohol, it’s the company. The people. I want to be around my friends!

Day 10: Mon 8/21

• It’s my first day at my editorial internship and I’m excited to walk into the office feeling like a big girl with a big important job.

• I kind of forget to eat again during normal lunch time but brought snacks and had a salad and shake.

• After the internship, I meet up with my new friend Becky and BREAK the shit out of my diet by eating a cheese board, bread, and “world famous” mac and cheese.

• I regret nothing but also everything.

• I feel a bit guilty, but also manage to restrain myself from alcohol for the 3rd day in a row! Wow!

Day 11: Tues 8/22

• Adding this Isagenix orange energy powder thing to my Vanilla shake (tastes like Orange Creamsicle) is rocking my world right now.

• I do a 4 mile run at Prospect Park and talk to geese and turtles and see a swan floating away like he didn’t want none of your bullshit.

• Lunch/Dinner: Veggie burger with Ezekiel bread, garlic spread, sweet corn salsa, tomatoes, and cucumbers OMG FOODGASM.

• Another shake at night and some bites of curry (bf is so supportive he gives me bites but only of healthy stuff).

• I realize that I am saving so much money on not eating out, drinking alcohol, and grocery shopping! YAY ME.

Day 12: Wed 8/23

• This Orange Creamsicle invention is still giving me life.

• I find out about the release of a new shake flavor, Cookies n’ Cream. I order it immediately and within a few hours, it completely breaks the internet.

• I make Quinoa pasta with Ezekiel bread on side for dinner 😊

Looks like I'm cheating...doesn't it. WELL I'M ACTUALLY NOT THIS TIME.

• I notice: not drinking enough water! Bad!

• Not much physical activity today but I felt pretty energetic.

• Made banana bread and subconsciously (or consciously) forgot to add the 3/4th cup of sugar! Woops. Still tasted good though with chocolate chips, soy milk, applesauce, and some agave.

Day 13: Thurs 8/24

• Was doing fine today until I saw an almond croissant from a bakery window…I ate it, naturally. I thought to myself, wow that was bad, why don’t I make up for it with this $8 juice, that must be healthy for me right? Um, NO. 190 calories, 810 mg potassium (okay, that’s okay right?), 45g carbs, 16g sugar, 340% Vitamin C. Alright, so not altogether awful. At least it’s not a Coke, right? But definitely not as healthy as the happy leaf on the front of the bottle would have you believe.

• I also notice when I tell myself I’m “hungry,” I actually get hungry. Like if I wasn’t thinking about food 24/7 I probably would have gotten on the train, skipped the almond croissant and juice, and been just fine.

Day 14: Fri 8/25

• I think I did okay today?

• I drink two shakes, a sushi dinner…is sushi in my diet? Can I eat this? No matter, it’s fucking delicious.

• I do some stand up at an open mic and don’t get any alcohol.

• When I get home some of the boys downstairs are playing a drinking game on the porch. I join them and feel super awkward when I decline alcohol again. “C’MON, ONE SHOT!” They scream. Nah, I’m okay. I just want to watch you all fail at the simplest of tasks in this game right now.

Day 15: Sat 8/26

• I have a comedy show tonight! I’m super excited and surprised that I got booked (shoutout to Raman if you in dis, thanks for hookin’ me up!).

• I have my shakes throughout the day and prep my set.

• I go to lunch with my good friend and brain buddy Emily who I haven’t seen for 6 years and we order a pizza and some salads. I wonder if it’s healthier because it’s gluten free but at this point, I think I’m just trying to make excuses. A pizza is a pizza.

• The show goes great and I feel back in the swing of stand up!

Day 16: Sun 8/27

• I’m getting a little frustrated because I’m not seeing the number on the scale go down…like at all. Damn it, pizza.

• I’m also on my special lady time so I’m bloated and feeling gross.

• I go for a run today which feels good.

• I want to eat a lot today, and I’m not really sure why...

• We do a taco bar for house dinner and I make mine like a salad…which is still probs not that healthy because I’ve dumped a bit of queso (okay a luxurious amount of queso) onto it.

• I’m not loving myself today. I feel shameful when I have these “fat” moments. It feels like I’m really screwing this up pretty much every day. Maybe I’m just emotional because my uterus feels like it’s on fire? I don’t know.

• I eat some snacks in the basement when we watch the Game of Thrones finale and feel real triggered.

Day 17: Mon 8/28

• Ate a “snack” tablet (kind of like a chalky tablet version of a shake) and an energy shot before my…wait for it…10.5 mile run. Yes. It’s true. I actually spent like 4 miles of this run getting lost in a cemetery, because that seemed like a good idea at the time.

• Finally arrive at my destination (a Trader Joe’s, obviously) and am a little disappointed by the scope and size of this location’s store. I buy some protein bars, water, and a non-Isagenix protein shake and call an Uber right as my phone is about to completely die.

• Take a shower. Get lunch with boyfriend* and another friend at an Israeli place down the street. I don’t realize what I’m ordering and it’s a sandwich. I pick off the bread and eat all the yummy veggie insides.

Day 18: Tues 8/29

• The granola from Trader Joe’s is like crack cocaine…I hope I’m allowed to eat this. It looks healthy. It’s gotta be healthy. I mean come on.

• I snack during the internship on dried mango, a banana, and some chips and pico de gallo from the deli downstairs during lunch break. I’ve spent all day writing about food that I can’t eat and alcohol I can’t drink. It’s getting kind of annoying.

• I stop at a chocolate store to buy something (for my boyfriend*, not for me!) and end up getting a sample piece of chocolate and a sample of a pistachio macaroon. What! What was I supposed to do? Turn down a macaroon from the nice man? Come now, I might be on a diet but I do have a soul.

• Caught a whiff of Chick-fil-A on the way from the chocolate store to the subway and hate everything.

Day 19: Wed 8/30

• A French house guest catches me making my shake this morning (with my new Cookies and Cream flavor!) and comments that “zat stuff eez really bad for you.” Hmm. Pourquoi, my little French busybody? I guess it’s starting to piss me off a reasonable amount that everybody and their mother has to weigh in on my dietary choices. What’s that? It’s bad for my liver you say? Please tell me more as you smoke that cigarette.

• The office ordered pizza for a meeting. And I sit contemplating my next move. Which is to eat 3 slices, obviously. I proceed to hate myself despite the deliciousness. I try to tell myself it’s okay because it was thin crust.

• Bargaining. The third step of grieving. Next, I will slip into a foodie depression.

• When I get home I eat some biscotti cookies.

• I don’t have my second shake until 11:30 p.m. I just can’t seem to get the scheduling down. I get distracted and I’m like “oh I already ruined my diet today so might as well just not eat!” That’s not good.

Day 20: Thurs 8/31

• I felt much better today. A bit more in control. I have 2 shakes throughout the day, some light snacks, a veggie patty, salad, and risotto (okay it had cheese in it but that was an oversight on my part, don't judge meeeee).

• It was a stressful day at the internship. I have a lot on my mind today and people are moving in and out of house like crazy. A friend calls to tell me she is having health issues. I cry for five minutes in the private phone booth at work for no apparent reason other than being overwhelmed.

• I probably ate something small I wasn’t supposed to at some point today. I can’t remember.

Day 21: Fri 9/1 (CLEANSE DAY 3)

• I hated today. I was very emotional, and it felt like there was drama around every corner. It was a terrible day for a cleanse day but I stuck to it. I watched a friend eat Indian food in front of me and I’m really proud of myself for that.

• Just a bullshit emotional day.

• I’ve lost 10 pounds.

Day 22: Sat 9/2 (CLEANSE DAY 4)

• I’m still emotional and at this point, my eyes just look puffy from all the crying I’ve been doing. I go for a run and call a friend to debrief her on the newest developments in my emotional roller coaster ride.

• I fucking hate not eating.

• I look real skinny today though.

Day 23: Sun 9/3

• I feel happy to be back to shakes today, Cookie’s n’ Cream is pretty bomb and I’m happy it exists.

• I go to a BBQ for my house and feel a little anxious about not being able to find food there that I can eat. I’m relieved to find a veggie burger.

• But I have a few Oreo’s from the dessert table. I’ve had a rough freaking weekend. I deserve this.

Day 24: Mon 9/4

• I wish I knew what went down on this day. I can’t find my notes for this day anywhere. Oh well. Use your imagination!

Day 25: Tues 9/5

• I did aiiight today.

• I did manage to start pinning doughnut places in NYC to my favorite’s tab today during work so that I can visit all of them once my diet ends. Sounds like a great idea.

• I made veggies and a sweet potato for dinner. Veggies go bad so fast I notice…

Day 26: Wed 9/6

• The Hannah’s (the names of the other interns, lol) are making fun of me for my lame shakes at our internship today. Not like in a mean way. I think part of them admire my quasi-dedication to this thing.

• I have a veggie burger for dinner and it’s delicious but I wasn’t supposed to eat the bread (don’t care). I eat some chips and guac and a swig of fancy cognac (that’s alcohol, and no I don’t care) for a friend’s going away party at the house.

• I make scones for the house snack. And eat one.

Day 27: Thurs 9/7

• Made a healthy quinoa breakfast with blueberries, cinnamon, and some other healthy bullshit. It’s actually really good. I know I’ve been grumpy these past few days, but really it’s not so bad.

• I accidentally skip a meal.

• I get home to find that my boyfriend* has made me a bowl of ice cream with blueberries and it makes me feel very special but I also know I’m not supposed to have it. I agree to have several bites and make him eat the rest of it.

• I eat some Ezekiel bread with garlic spread close to 10:30 p.m.

Day 28: Fri 9/8

• My boyfriend* and I stay in all day. We have granola and fruit for breakfast, order Pad Thai, and binge watch Bollywood movies all day.

• I’m feeling down this week, for a lot of reasons unrelated to the diet, but a few caused specifically by the diet.

• I’m getting really angry about having to say no to food. I feels like an open invitation for people to question me when I’m out somewhere. I also don’t think I’ve lost as much weight or fat as I wanted to, which I know is probably because all of my not-so-sneeky food cheating. I’m back up a few pounds from the cleanse day when I was at my lowest weight.

Day 29: Sat 9/9

• I unofficially end my diet a day early by eating peach french toast out with a friend for brunch.

• I get a green tea frappacino later in the day as I kill time before my improv class.

• After class I meet my boyfriend* at the bus station to go to Saugerties, a small town in up state NY where we’ve booked an Airbnb and decide to take a long weekend.

• Our bus makes a stop along the way at a cute diner and we order grilled cheese and fries.

• I have definitely ended my diet and I feel a lot of things about it…

I raise a grilled cheese to YOU, good friend.

Day 30: Sun 9/10

• For breakfast we go to a cute little restaurant in the main strip of town and I order a vegan pancake. I feel a little better about ending the whole thing but the lure of vacation food is too tempting. For lunch we have some chips and queso and for dinner I eat a steak taco and get a cider. Later I drink half a bottle of wine and we watch more Bollywood movies.

If you’ve made it this far, congratulations!

You’re likely well suited to attempt a 30-day adventure just by your shear will and determination to get through this long ass post!

A few last thoughts.

Since ending my 30-day diet I have bounced back pretty closely to where I was before, numbers wise. I’m not happy about this, but I know that I was also going through a tremedously difficult season of life (and still am). I realize now that it took extreme focus to live my life this way for this period of time, even if it wasn’t executed perfectly.

I know deep down I could have done better, I could have been more careful about falling back off once the diet was over. I could have done a lot more sit ups, probably.

But this is life. It’s a process. There are no 30-day magic fixes for our lives, in the health department or otherwise. I’ve decided that this was the first step that I needed to take to achieve a healthy lifestyle and I’m willing to try it again and would truly recommend it for anyone who wants to be healthier in body and mind.

I think there should be a balance though. This thing was no joke. It was extremely strict and as a result I sometimes felt ill-equipt to follow it with precision. But what I was doing before (and started to slip back into after) was the completely wrong way to go about eating.

I had no mindfulness about what was going into my body, nor did I care what it did to me.

And this truly has to change.

I’m still working on it. It might take me another 30 days. Maybe 90. Shit, maybe 365. But I’m conscious of this now and I owe it to myself to keep working.

Not half bad for sneaking contraband food items under the table more than a few times...

*Editor’s note: Yes, it’s true. I was dating someone during this time. And it truly made me a better candidate for success. If your curiousity is killing you because you haven’t talked to me in 2+ months please feel free to call me on the phone, send me a hand written letter, or a carrier pidgeon if you wish to know further.

13 Reasons Why You Need to Talk to Teens About Suicide

Listen. I love Netflix binges.

On Saturdays and Sundays, and sometimes (if I’m really getting addicted) on a weeknight. I’m likely not unique this way. There’s simply nothing better than getting wrapped up in a good story.

I’m also aware that I live under a rock.

Aside from my Facebook news feed and my high school students, I’m pretty damn oblivious. And with the way things are these days, I generally like it that way. 14-year-old's, college buddies, and the occasional depressing dose of National Public Radio are my only connections to “the world.”

And don’t forget those Netflix documentaries.

After seeing My Beautiful Broken Brain I immediately emailed the producer demanding to meet her and the writer. After watching Black Fish I cried for one whole hour, called my best friend, and then watched Free Willy and cried some more.

The information we consume in the world and on the screen emotionally impacts us. These things have the power to take hold of us, consume hours of our time and make going to the bathroom in the middle of a binge seem like high treason.

“Miss,” my student piped up as I was about to change the slide on yet another thrilling lecture on The Cold War. “Have you seen 13 Reasons Why?”

“I haven’t,” I said. “What is it?”

“Oh, MISS. You’ve gotta see it. Netflix. This weekend. You’re welcome.”

And so I went home like any respectable and curious teacher and voila, there it was.

“The kids won’t shut up about this show,” I told my mom. “Want to try it?”

And so we sat. For hours. Binging one of the most emotionally compelling, depressing, and horrifying program I have ever seen.

I won’t spoil it for you. That’s just mean.

But what I will do is tell you how hard this show was to watch, not only as a human, but as a teacher who has lost a student to suicide and who interacts with children every day.

Here are 13 Reasons to talk to a teenager today about suicide:

1.     Suicide is the second leading cause of death for people ages 10-24 years old after motor vehicle and other related accidents.

2.     Four out of five teens who attempt suicide gave clear warning signs.

3.     As girls begin to enter puberty earlier and earlier, they encounter changes sooner. According to Arielle Sheftall at the Center for Suicide Prevention and Research at the Research Institute at Nationwide Children's Hospital in Columbus, Ohio “girls might be opening the door to anxiety, depression and other psychiatric disorders earlier on in life.” This in turn makes girls into women faster, leaving them vulnerable to sexual abuse, harassment, and cyber bullying.

4.     Teens are highly influenced by the media and news they consume daily. Things as small as a twitter post or a video can go viral in an instant, and so too can stories of teen suicide and the perceived and real attention it gathers. “When you talk about death, you be sure to talk about the resources that are available in that community for people who may be at risk,” says Jarrod Hindman of the state Office of Suicide in El Paso County, Colorado.

5.     Children are still developing the problem solving and reasoning areas of their brains. Many teenagers don’t know yet how to process their emotions or feel that they could be punished if they reveal them. This can make asking for help difficult.

6.      Since 1995, a new game among teens has developed called the "choking game" which involves the dangerous practice of strangling yourself (or being strangled by someone else) to get a quick high from the oxygen being cut off from the brain. In a report released in 2006 by the Williams County Youth Health Risk Behavioral Survey, 20% of the survey sample of 17 to 18-year old’s in the county had participated in this fatal game.

7.       Teen suicide often comes with what is refered to as a “cluster effect.” Madelyn Gould, of Columbia University and the New York State Psychiatric Institute in New York City's team of researchers “used state death data to find 48 teen suicide clusters that occurred across the United States between 1988 and 1996. Each cluster involved a community where between three and 11 teenagers killed themselves within a six-month period.”

8.     Our world can make it hard to catch warning signs in teens like loss of interest, over or under sleeping, small changes in appearance, and more. Classrooms are packed making it hard for teachers to talk to each student every day. Parents are busy. Friends can be flakes. We live in a society that is so fast paced and distracted that simple and preventative measures are not taken with children who may be struggling right in front of us.

9.     People can be really shitty sometimes. Adults, children, and elected government officials. Not everyone is taught to truly care about other humans around them. Not everyone learns that love is stronger than hate. If children are not shown love properly, it is no wonder they see the world as a cruel place, which sometimes it can be. Teens who attempt or succeed suicide try to escape bullying, humiliation, and harassment and often feel that they have no other choice.

10.  There are more resources surrounding suicide today than ever before. There are help groups, phone numbers, outreach programs, and start-ups. Survivor Dese’Rae L. Stage created the Live Through This project, inspiring hundreds of suicide survivors young and old to share their stories of struggle and survival openly to others in need.

11.  Luis. Luis is a 14-year-old. He’s in my Geography class. Over the past year I have developed a special soft spot for this kid. In the 8th grade Luis got hit in the head by a soccer ball by another student on purpose. He had a severe concussion and has recently been overcome with anxiety and depression over his new symptom of memory loss. Sometimes Luis tells me he feels “behind” his peers and takes longer to do assignments now. He has an A in my class and works his butt off for it.

The day after Donald Trump got elected Luis came to me crying. He was scared that the new president was going to take his mother away from him because she didn’t have papers. I let this sweet child cry on my shoulder that day, and many days since then.

This year Luis made the counseling department’s watch list after expressing to me and the counselor that he was depressed and that he’d thought about hurting himself. He felt alone and scared. He didn’t think his brain could heal or that he’d be able to keep up with school or have a social life.

When I was in Spain for Spring Break I worried about Luis a lot. I worried that for 10 whole days he’d be on his own without me to protect him. I found Luis’ last name on a little key chain with his family crest and brought it back to him.

He wouldn’t even take it out of the plastic wrapping. He told me it was his most cherished possession.

In the past few weeks I’ve convinced Luis to join my after school Comedy Club program. He’s a natural. He has a shy and sneaky comedic presence and the crew has taken him in as one of their own. The other boys invite him over to their houses to play video games and the girls in class even share their fun drama with him.

I monitor Luis closely. Because he’s more special to me that he will ever know.

12.  His name was Charles. Sometimes Chuck. He made me cry during my student teaching semester in the Spring of 2015 when he challenged my authority after an administrator from another school was observing me teach for a job interview. He was quiet, but social. He might have appeared broody, poetic even. His handwriting was messy. I think he had a girlfriend, or at least a girl he sat in the hall with during lunch. He wasn’t much for talking to me, but he was smart. Scary smart for a 14 year old.

One time he wrote something concerning on an assignment I graded. It was hard to make out because of his handwriting. But it was political, maybe even a little aggressive. I got the impression that he did not think that people were genuinely good. “Nobody actually cares.” I told my cooperating teacher and we took the assignment down to the Psychologist’s office. We talked to her about Chuck and our concerns, we were told to “keep an eye on him.”

I made an effort to ask him how his day was going. I think I asked to stand on his skateboard once. He thought it was funny to watch me goof around and lose my balance.

Maybe he smiled. Then again, maybe he didn’t.

My memories of this young man and our time together are as quick and fleeting as a startled bird in flight.

Chuck committed suicide in the Fall of 2015. I got the call from my friend and former cooperating teacher on my way home from school.

My new job. With new faces and new names. New stories of students who had the ability to make me want to drive my head through a wall and smother them in love all in the same 50 minute class period.

I hadn’t thought about Chuck in a long time. I hadn’t thought about all the small moments that could have lead to his decision to leave forever. In a sense I’d put it away. He was a tiny memento on my teacher desk. I could still teach my new students. I could love them without fear of losing them.

That’s when 13 Reason’s brought it all back.

It brought everything back like a painful collision with a 2 by 4 to my entire being. I couldn’t even measure what I was feeling. I couldn’t understand why my stomach felt like it had slowly fallen out of my belly button and onto the floor.

How many Chuck’s have to sacrifice themselves before we finally see the truth?

I know in my heart that I did everything that I could think of at the time to help Chuck. I know many others that did the same. I know the cruelty that the world can possess and the consequences of feeling alone. I know that Chuck’s story is one of millions.

And I need it to stop. Right here and right now. And I know what I have to do.

I have to keep loving my children. Big and small. Size 14 Shoe and Soon To Be Growth Spurts. Mexican, Muslim, and even that one kid that I’m pretty sure is a Nazi.

I have to love them. And love them. And love them some more.

And even when my time in the classroom ends I will still love them. I will dream of grading their papers in my sleep. I will write letters to each and every one of them before the school year ends.

I will cry a whole lot. Because I can’t save them all.

But I will love them anyway for as long as I can. Because the world does not need reasons to help a child in need.

Not a single one.

For more resources about how you can help combat teen suicide please click the bolded links in this blog or visit www.safe2tell.org for more information and share this post with friends and family.

Editor’s Note: Writing reason number 13 was interrupted by half an hour of sobbing, a teary eyed phone call, 6 hours of sleep, and a school day. It was not until the next day that I was able to compose myself enough to finish this.

Brain Injury Awareness Month: Stop Telling Me Not To Be Tired

Who me? Oh, I'm fine. Never been better, actually. 

I’m tired.

I’m tired of being tired.

But mostly I’m tired of people pointing out that I’m tired. And telling me not to be tired.

Most people would attribute this to, you know, normal tiredness. A standard result of lack of sleep, early mornings, and insufficient amounts of caffeine. But most people don’t understand what it feels like to have a brain injury.

In honor of March, Traumatic Brain Injury Awareness Month, I’d like to take you on a little journey inside the mind of brain injured person. Please keep in mind that this is only my story. There are thousands of people with TBI and I am only one voice.

Here goes.

4:45 A.M. My alarm goes off. A lovely Adele tune. But Adele can fuck off right now cuz' I’m pushing snooze.

4:55 A.M. Adele’s back. And this time she sounds aggressive about awakening me with her love ballad. But it won’t work. I don’t need to shower that bad. I roll over after carefully selecting an increment of time to awaken me once more.

5:08 A.M. Okay seriously, Adele, fuck off. Fine. Fine. I’m up. I peel the covers off one baby toe. Nope. I was lying. It was a farce. A charade. I’m not ready. I add an unknown amount of minutes to the alarm and crumble back beneath my sweaty covers.

5:12 A.M. The alarm sounds once more and I delegate if I really need to wash my hair or if I can just throw some water on it and affix it to the side of my head like a chic explosion of hair. How hipster of me.

5:12 A.M. I pull my phone from the charger and close one eye as I check my Facebook feed for any new friends to be engaged or pregnant. I have to close one eye or else my vision is double. At least this early in the morning. Three engagements today. I then open my email to check for any email responses from book agents. One. We’re sorry to inform you that your book is not the right fit for us at this time. I think about asking if they’d reconsider in a few months once they’d lost weight. I chuckle because I think I’m funny. Instead I say nothing and violently throw the covers from my body.

5:13 A.M. I stumble out of bed, knocking things over and dropping my phone on my big toe. I grope my way to my dresser and find several bottles of medication. Some to keep me from getting fat. Other to supposedly keep me awake. And a gummy vitamin because I’m a god damn adult.

5:15 A.M. I’ve made my way to the shower now and am waiting shivering and naked for the water to reach 1,000 degrees. I step inside carefully, making sure to hold onto the towel rack as I enter one shaky leg at a time.

5:20 A.M. The scalding water renews me. I spin in slow circles as waves of warmth hit various parts of my tired body. But I’m dizzy. I’m always a little dizzy in the shower. Every so often I have to stop and check for the presence of walls and try not to slip my way to an embarrassing death.

5:27 A.M. I pull my towel from the rack and press it to my face, then to the back of my neck. I let the soft material trace the outline of my scar. I shake it through my soaking locks then reach again for the towel rack as I clumsily step out of the shower and onto the bath mat.

5:33 A.M. I tear apart my closet looking for the shirt I want to wear. I could have sworn I put it back in the correct spot. But instead it plays hide and seek as I run around my room naked and helpless. I refuse to wear any other shirt.

5:40 A.M. I discover the shirt rolled up and under my pillow. Which makes absolutely no sense. By now my hair has frizzed out and requires a complex set of taming techniques to regain composure.

5:41 A.M. Did I take my medication? I can’t remember. Fuck.

5:45 A.M. I sit down on my floor in front of my mirror and begin the task of making my face look less terrifying. I add layers of tinted goo to my cheeks and nose and make sure to cover any trace of acne. Which is a pretty lengthy task. What am I, a fucking 14 year old? What the hell is this, the surface of the Moon?

5:55 A.M. My face is done but my eyes fill with tiny tears as I yawn. They stream down my face like I’ve just watched The Notebook. I dab at them and riffle through the kitchen for breakfast and lunch options.

5:55 A.M. I wander around the kitchen but then forget why I’ve gone there.

5:55 A.M. No seriously, what am I doing in here.

5:55 A.M. Oh shit, food. Okay, I can do food. Food is good.

5:58 A.M. I throw a frozen burrito in my bag and pull hot water from the microwave for my tea. I know it’s a bad idea to go with tea instead of the coffee. But maybe it’s all the coffee that’s making me so tired. Also I’m an addict. So I am already flirting with disaster and it’s not even 6.

5:59 A.M. I see a reflection of myself in the microwave and notice that all of my yawning has effectively ripped half of the make-up from my face. I run back to my room to fix myself.

6:05 A.M. I leave the apartment and walk swiftly to my car, trying my best to see through my fogging contact lenses.

6:20 A.M. I’m well into half-way through my commute to work now, jamming to Backstreet Boys and sipping my tea carefully. I’ve already sipped prematurely; burning my lips twice.

6:25 A.M. I feel comfy. Like I might fall asleep. The problem is I’m not in my bed, I’m in my car. Driving a metal death machine. I stretch my eyes open wide and turn up the music louder.

6:33 A.M. Shit am I going to make it to work? How am I this tired? Didn’t I get the standard 8 hours of sleep last night? Did I take my medicine? I can’t remember. I must have. But it’s not working. Focus. Focus. Sip tea. Focus.

6:40 A.M. I arrive in the parking lot of school and close my eyes in relief. But I open them immediately because I’m afraid that I’ll fall back asleep and miss 1st period.

6:50 A.M. I finally exit my car after 10 minutes of trying to coach myself out of the vehicle. You can do this. Greet the day with enthusiasm. What a load of bullshit.

6:52 A.M. Another teacher starts speaking to me from across the parking lot as we approach the school. “Are you awake? Time to wake up, Mimi! Rise and shine!” I feel like hauling off and hitting her. She has no idea the battle I’ve endured just trying to arrive here without committing vehicular homicide.

7:00 A.M. I’m in my classroom now and I’m moving slowly around the room trying to decide which task on my to-do list I should tackle in my tired stupor.

7:15 A.M. I didn’t tackle anything on the to-do list. Because I’ve passed out on the couch in the office and am awoken by the sound of colleagues moving around the office and tapping me to make sure that I’m breathing. I’m sure they are annoyed that I’ve been drooling all over the couch but they kindly motion me to join the waking world.

7:30 A.M. My students enter looking as exhausted as I feel.

“When I say ‘Good,' you say ‘Morning.’ GOOD………"

"mmmoroingign……."

"GOOD" 

"mmourrni.”

They mumble and grumble and we’re all just putting on a brave face because we all have beds at home and couches in the office missing us dearly.

8:15 A.M. My tea is cold because I’ve been too busy pestering my freshmen about writing in complete sentences to drink it. There’s also a bowl of yogurt getting warm because I haven’t remembered to eat it. And a burrito thawing in my bag because I’ve forgotten to put it in the freezer. There’s a pill on my teaching desk that I think I was supposed to take with food.

8:35 A.M. 2nd period. They’re a pretty chill group of kids. Except on days when Diana thinks it’s funny to shush me and Shawn literally will not stop asking me to check his grade. I am slightly more awake now and take a few bites of my warm yogurt. I am so busy helping students I forget to take attendance until the bell rings to end class.

9:20 A.M. I have 3rd period off. I want to take another power nap but I know I have to make copies and do shit. I finally put my burrito in the freezer. I heat my tea back up again.

10:00 A.M. I am trying to grade papers I’ve been putting off for days but keep getting distracted at how dirty my classroom is. I spend the next 15 minutes picking up every scrap of paper and gum wad on the carpet.

10:15 A.M. I decide to try to finish a stack before the kids come in for 4th. I search my desk for my tea. I’ve forgotten it in the microwave and it’s probably cold again.

10:16 A.M. I give up on the tea and pour some hot coffee from the pot instead.

10:20 A.M. I sip that coffee like it’s the only thing between me and a dark and mysterious death. It revitalizes me.

10:35 A.M. 4th period rolls in as the loud bell sounds shrill to my ears. I wince as the bell seems to last 30 whole seconds.

11:00 A.M. The kids start yelling at me because I keep telling them it’s Tuesday when it’s actually Friday. I misplace my worksheets three times and Brendan has to help me find them.

11:22 A.M. I haven’t sat down in what feels like years and I can’t remember the last time I went pee. Should have gone during 3rd. I stand on a chair to make an announcement to the class then immediately forget what I was going to say. “Have a great weekend!” Damn it, I hope it wasn’t important.

11:30 A.M. Lunch time. Hell yes. I heat up my burrito and sit happily to eat it. My colleagues join me in the lounge and the small office fills up with sound. Suddenly every word feels like a blow horn. I try to focus on eating and checking my phone. I have 30 junk emails, 5 Snapchats, 1 text message, and a missed call. I am overwhelmed and put my phone back on the table.

12:05 P.M. The Children of the Corn are here -I mean 5th period. There’s less than a 5% chance that they’re going to listen to anything I say or get any work done whatsoever. I adjust my collar and fake a smile of confidence as they enter my classroom.

12:15 P.M. If someone walked in this room right now they’d fire me or take me to jail. I haven’t taken attendance, my coffee is cold again, and I already lost my patience with every child in this room. Half of them are either eating (not allowed), texting (no), waltzing around the room (what the fuck are you DOING), or yelling to each other and cursing.

12:22 P.M. Just when I think I’ve gotten most of them SEATED with a god damn PENCIL so that they can answer a simple QUESTION on the BOARD, the phone rings. Angel’s mom is here. Great. Okay, bye Angel. Okay, back to-

12:22 P.M. A kid walks in the room with a pass. Alex needs to go to room 308. Okay. Go. Get out of here. Fine whatever. What am I teaching? Is anyone listening? We haven’t even answered the warm-up question.

1:05 P.M. I’ve resolved myself to attempting to carrying out the lesson. I can feel my blood pressure rising and my emotions the past half hour have ranged from psychotic to on the verge of a mental break down.

1:15 P.M. The calm after the storm. 5th period is gone. I collapse into my chair. I want to take a nap again or maybe cry in a corner, but I have to go to a meeting. I go to the office to fill my water bottle that I haven’t used all day. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror on the wall. I look like death warmed up.

1:45 P.M. The meeting’s done but I’m not sure I understood what anyone said. The words seemed to fill the air and get stuck there; tangling together. I leave the meeting and go to the restroom for the first time all day.

1:50 P.M. I go to the teacher’s lounge to buy a Cherry Coke. I sit on the couch and pass out until the bell rings for 7th period to start.

2:20 P.M. I sip my Coke and tell the kids that I fell asleep twice today on a couch older than I am. They laugh and we get our notes out for our activity. I walk them through directions but stutter on some of my words. They slur too, like I’m a little drunk.

3:21 P.M. I take attendance again as the kids are leaving, trying to remember which kids were in class. I peruse my room for further signs of food wrappers and scraps of paper. My body feels as though it’s been hit by a bus. My pedometer on my watch reads 7,000 steps.

3:45 P.M. I begin the long journey across town to my apartment.

4:10 P.M. I’m tired again. The kind of tired I was this morning and pretty much every moment since Adele rudely woke me up. I call up a friend to talk to me and keep me awake in traffic. She’s worried I’m so tired all the time. I tell her I drooled on myself today.

5:00 P.M. Home. Thank God.

5:01 P.M. Pants are off and I’m in bed.

9:30 P.M. I wake up to the sound of my own snoring. Is it too late to eat dinner? Cottage cheese and some potato chips? Is that fine? I eat my snacks then brush my teeth and wash my face and return to bed.

4:55 A.M. I do it all over again.

Traumatic Brain Injuries are unique and all-encompassing. They can mess with your emotions, your memory, and even your sense of self. Every survivor of TBI fights invisible battles every day.

Many of us are frustrated at the obstacles we face now that were never there before. We are tasked with overcoming these obstacles in whatever ways we can, all the while having to explain to people why we are the way we are in the hopes that we’re not told we’re “over reacting” or that we “look fine.”

My legs work okay. I’ve ripped 3 pairs of pants and a skirt this year while running into desks in my classroom. But I don’t have cancer (that I know of) and I can drive a car. I have singular vision now except in the morning when I wake up. I can do all the things I never thought I could just a few years ago.

But since then I’ve found that the struggle is still very much real. There are things I deal with every day that have changed who I am as a person and have held me back from certain things.

I’m not upset at my TBI. I actually think it’s the coolest thing about me. Not to mention all the hot dudes I can pick up in bars now with my sick scar.

But it’s changed me in a lot of ways that I am still coming to understand. And as I learn more and more about my brain and how it has impacted me, I just ask that you please be aware of TBI’s around you.

Don’t tell me not to be tired.

Ask me how I’m doing and mean it. Let me sleep on the couch and try to remind me to eat when I’m supposed to. Help me remember to take attendance and keep an eye out for where I hide things from myself.

Please help spread awareness for Traumatic Brain Injuries this month by clicking here.

Don't Forget Brain Month!

OH BABY. TALK BRAINY TO ME.

When I take my Thyroid medication in the morning I throw back my water cup, screw the little lid back onto the bottle, and flip the container upside down.

That last part is key.

If I don't flip it upside down then I never took it. Or at least that's what my brain thinks, anyway. Unfortunately my brain cannot hold onto whether or not I took this medication essential to my health and well being.

I actually can't recall if I took it this morning, so that's fun.

Last year I forgot about Brain Injury Awareness month because like the location of my keys, wallet, and cellphone, this information was beyond me.

How fucking ironic. 

A brain injured person forgetting a month dedicated to them. This is actually quite hilarious if you ask me. I also wrote this post about a month ago and am just now posting it.

Figures.

But this year I made a point to remember that I am not alone in brain injury. And I wanted my students with brain injuries to know that they are not alone either.

That's where the brain facts come in.

Every day this month I have been reading out brain facts to my students. Some have to do with which centers of the brain control certain functions, others with addiction, and some just flat out cool shit about how our brains run this show without us even realizing it. 

Like did you know the language center of the brain responsible for speech has different pathways to neural connections than the part responsible for reading?

Freaking cool, you guys.

Some days my kids are reluctant to hear the brain fact of the day, rolling their eyes at another silly brain pun. Other days they refuse to do any work until I read them off a new one. They even correct me when I repeat an old fact from the week before.

"You already told us about how similar sugar is to cocaine to the brain, Miss! Give us a NEW one!"

I even showed them some of my "brain videos" of me in rehab rolling around my hospital room in my wheelchair popping wheelies.

We all had a good laugh. 

It's startling to see how far I've come since then; a frail, silly excuse for a human trying to do tricks over broomsticks and skipping down hallways with tennis-ball-clad walkers. 

And up until now I never really understood what it all meant. To have a month dedicated to all this. 

And then I got a note from a kid on one of my worst days on the job. 

Picture two tiny mice sprinting across my classroom as twenty Freshmen leaped over desks and squealed. This was not my idea of an engaging Geography lesson.

I was being upstaged and I was not amused.

The mice were derailing my 5th hour and nobody accomplished anything but adequately pissing me off by continuing to discuss the size, shape, and color of the intruders for the entire class period. It got so bad at one point that one mouse was doing a sprint routine up and down the length of the room and I threw everyone out in the hallway.

"This is ridiculous. Everyone out. OUT."

What a disaster. We tried to work on our Mayan packets but all seemed lost.

By the time 6th hour rolled in I was exhausted and peeved; utterly incapable of dealing with one more disruption. 

Someone tested me again by popping the N word to his friend like it was no big deal.

"Excuse me?"

"Miss, I wasn't saying it to you, chill."

"No I will not chill. We don't use that language in here and you know that. 10 push-ups. Now."

He reluctantly moved to the carpet. 

I have a rule in my classroom. You curse and you owe me push-ups. Some kids make it a daily routine. Drop an F-bomb. Drop and give me ten. It may be a little corporal-punishment-y for some, but it works. Also you have the option of a parent phone call.

9 out of 10 kids prefer a little exercise.

I tried helplessly not to roll my eyes at this utter waste of a day. 

"Miss, are you okay? You seem...off today..." The kids know. They always know.

"Oh, I'm fine. Just a long day, that's all," I lied.

I continued with my lecture on the Cold War and hoped to the heavens that I would survive the day without my brain re-exploding all over my dusty teacher desk.

As 6th hour left at the sound of the bell, I went back to my desk to take attendance that I'd forgotten to take all day. No surprise there.

By my computer was a small note, folded up with tiny hearts and the words "Open Me" scrawled on it.

As 7th hour sauntered in I opened it curiously. It read:

Dear Ms. Hayes,

You're the greatest teacher to ever exist! You actually make learning fun and make school fun. I love coming to this class because you're always so happy and smiling, I could easily have a really bad day and the moment I step into this class all my worries are gone! I can trust you as someone to come to when I'm having problems, you're like the psychologist I need, someone I can talk to! I really appreciate you Ms. H! You're amazing and so wonderful! Don't let anyone tell you otherwise! You're so brave and strong and that's also why I look up to you because we both had a brain injury, and we still managed to keep moving forward! Yay us!!! If you're ever having a hard or tough day just remember how far you've come and why you became a teacher! I love you so much Ms. H! You're like a mom but here at school. I hope you have a great rest of your day! Love you!!!

Your favorite student always,

Alice E. , 10th Grade

It took a while for it to sink in, most likely because I had to greet 7th hour and lead them through their case studies without someone smacking someone else or throwing a pencil across the room. But when I took the time to read it again that night I cried and cried.

It felt like I had waited my whole life to hear the words. 

I had bonded with Alice before about our shared experiences of brain injuries. She told me that she hadn't felt like herself since her stroke and that school was hard for her now. I couldn't help but feel for her. Being so young with a brain injury, things would likely get harder for her trying to get through school.

I felt lucky to have had my brain explode after college. There would be no way I could have finished my degree with my lack of focus and inability to remember anything. 

But she said the words, "look how far you've come" as if she was right there with me when I couldn't do anything. 

Back when being able to read a text message without double-vision was a good day and when my go-to outfit was stretchy pants and a stained t-shirt. 

Now I am executive functioning at top speeds. 

I put make up on my face without poking my eye out, am currently wearing heels that I can walk in without falling off a curb, and even drove a car this morning.

I teach students to be their best selves as I strive to be my own.  

I am doing everything my body never dreamed of doing back in 2014. And the fact that someone else could see that and looked up to me for that reason simply blew my mind. 

Brain injuries are silent disabilities.

They impact people in unique and strange ways. What Alice didn't know that day is that just a few short years ago I never would have expected to be standing in front of a group of teenagers imparting my quasi-wisdom, much less standing without a nurse nearby to catch me when I inevitably tumbled off the sidewalk.

For every step I take there's a neuron hard at work. Every movement a reminder of who I once was, and will always be.

On my year anniversary I posted a picture of me in my hospital bed after brain surgery; a stuffed elephant on my head and a lopsided smile, my face puffy from brain drugs. I shared my excitement at how far I'd come and thanked my friends and family for getting me through my "brain days."

A woman who I didn't know, but followed me on Instagram congratulated me on the accomplishment but told me "not to dwell" because it was "all about the future."

Dwell?

Wait. Isn't dwelling a negative thing?

I almost wanted to smack her through my cellphone screen.

How can I appreciate the future if I don't respect where I've been? Why forget the past when it's made me who I am today?

That's the whole reason why we have Brain Injury Awareness Month, people!

I don't expect sympathy. I don't ask for pity. I simply want to show my humbleness for an organism that nobody can fully understand. I want to share my story so that others are empowered to share their own.

Unlike my keys, wallet, and cellphone, I will never forget Brain Injury Awareness Month.

And that's a pretty big deal these days.