#even when my dad was in the hospital I’d meditate almost everyday

[flowachild]

anyway going to ~feel my feelings~

[solennitawrites]

The Voice in the Silence, Part I

The pandemic has really been getting to me. I think I’m hearing things—or, really, just one thing. I don’t know what is real anymore.

My favorite time of night is when I can hear the palm trees in the wind, so loud it sounds like rain even if the night is perfectly clear.

First full moon of the year. I’m standing outside, sand in my toes, bathed in the brightest moonlight casting shadows as if it were already dawn. I close my eyes as the waves quietly lap over my feet and let the sound of the palms quiet my mind.

It’s been a tough year for me. Job losses, grandparents succumbed to COVID, parents struggling to keep their restaurant afloat. And it’s just me now. College and business school— that was the plan. I was going to be the one to save all of us. I was going to buy my parents a big house on the beach with a condo close by for Abuela and Abuelo.

Guess I’m too late.

Corporate life was never for me, unfortunately. I tried to suck it up and do the whole networking thing in college but I just couldn’t bear to end up another miserable finance employee...not to mention, the side glares, the derogatory comments, the quiet laughs I got just for being female in these spaces, not to mention an immigrant.

I’d found some decent jobs here and there, but my last one was in the hospitality business and I got let go a few months into the pandemic. So here I am, living at home again, trying not to let my parents’ disappointment kill me.

The beach is my quiet place. My parents still don’t understand the need to isolate, despite their ages and despite my mother losing both parents to COVID. “Estaban viejitos, mija. Cuando Dios los necesita, no hay nada que hacer.”

I tried. I tried to get them to wear masks. To stop letting neighbors over. To get tested. To get the vaccine when it started to become available near us. Nothing was enough to convince them. So I’d escape to a quiet spot of the beach, away from the touristy shores and just let the waves roll over my feet until the wet sand pulled me ankle-deep.

That’s where I am now. But not because of frustrations with my parents about health precautions. Because...something happened, I guess? At this point, it’s hard to tell what is real and what is quarantine brain.

It was just this morning, when I think it all started. I woke up in the early, early hours of the morning, the moon still up and the sun not yet creeping above the horizon. I started on what had become my daily routine—not out of necessity, but because preparing breakfast before we opened the restaurant was the only thing I felt I could do to help my parents.

So it went: cafe brewing in the Greca, arepas warming in the oven, queso guayanes cut into thick slices on a plate, and fresh jugo de parchita on the counter.

“Emilia...”

“Aquí!” I called back, thinking one of my parents was calling for me from their room. “Su madre!” I hissed immediately after under my breath, wincing as I sliced my finger instead of the ham I was preparing.

No response. I waited for a moment, glancing down the hallway towards my parents’ room but all was silent. Shaking my head, I ran to the sink to wash the blood off of my finger. The cut wasn’t deep, thankfully, and I pressed a corner of paper towel to it until the bleeding stopped. I was just about to throw the blood-soaked scrap away and get back to the ham when I heard it again.

“Emiiiiiiliaaaaaa.....”

The voice was quieter now but also felt so much closer. Like a whisper just against my ears making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I looked around slowly but my vision felt like it was blurring, just around the edges, like it was slowly going out. I shivered violently and crossed myself, shutting my eyes tightly and telling myself I was imagining things—pandemic exhaustion, too many early mornings opening the restaurant, too many late nights job hunting and poring over our finances. It was all just getting to me, that was it.

A few minutes later, my mom walked into the kitchen with my dad close behind and I started to open my eyes, slowly at first and then all at once as the bright kitchen lights came flooding in. My vision was back to normal and the voice was, apparently, gone, affirming in my mind that I had imagined all of it—a product of an overworked brain and nothing more.

“¿Que haces, Emi?” My mom was shaking her head in judgment at me while she picked up where I left off slicing the ham.

“Sorry, mami,” I muttered, holding up my finger with the bloody paper as way of explanation. “Got distracted.”

“Esta hija tuya es más despistada...” my mom sighed at my dad, as if I weren’t there. Whenever I screwed up, which was often in her eyes, I was my father’s daughter. As per usual, my dad made no response and simply made his way to the kitchen table to wait for breakfast. Any other day, I would have made a teasing remark about his machismo preventing him from helping serve the food, knowing he’d respond with an exaggerated grumble about his joint pain, which I would laugh off despite knowing his pain was only getting worse each day. Today, however, I said nothing and silently brought the arepas, cheese, ham, butter, and coffee to the table.

I nibbled on some cheese, having lost most of my appetite, and pretended not to notice the heavy silence that hung over the three of us. Glancing out the kitchen window, I saw that the sky was finally starting to lighten and I stood up, still saying nothing, to make my way downstairs and open the restaurant while my parents finished their breakfast.

I moved as if in a trance, like I couldn’t shake that weirdness from earlier, like the gloom of our family life just added to the weight of it all. Before I knew it, I had opened the cash register, checked the inventory, wiped down all ten small tables (which were almost always empty nowadays), and updated our chalkboard easel before placing it carefully out front to list the day’s specials—if you could call them that. It was the same special everyday because we had so few customers, our avocados weren’t going to last. So Reina Pepiada Arepa it would be, again.

I passed my parents on the stairs as they headed down to begin their work. I usually spent the morning job hunting, driving for Uber and Lyft, or whatever odd jobs I could manage until lunchtime, when I would watch the restaurant for a while the give my parents a break. Not that it really mattered—no one was coming.

I didn’t have it in me to deal with strangers today, even though I knew my mom would berate me for not earning extra money later. I just needed to be alone, doing nothing, for once. Grabbing my masks and keys, I took the car and drove to my spot on the beach.

I had found my spot a few weeks into moving back home—far away from the tourists and hotels, past the wanna-be surfers, the boaters, the old-timers. Partly hidden by trees and brush, the shore was often “dirty” with seaweed, more so than the rest of the beach, and so was largely left alone. If anyone ever crossed into my area, they were either like me and sat at a large distance to be alone or had wandered there by mistake and quickly turned around to return to the more populated areas.

Today, it was especially quiet. The silence felt almost oppressive and I kept picking up and tossing seashells just to hear the -plop- in the water. But they sounded like they were coming through a tunnel or something, muted and slightly echoing. I shut my eyes, counted my breaths, opened them again. I did a toe to head meditation to ground myself in the present. Still, the silence grew thicker and there—again—was the blurriness at the edge of my vision, the colors starting to look more and more faded. And then—

“Emiliaaaaaaa...”

It was behind me—or on top of me, I was sure of it. Quiet and close, the voice repeated my name faster and faster, without getting louder but with the silence all around me deafening me so that the voice and only the voice filled my head. I was frozen, staring at the sand in front of me, unable to turn around.

“Emilia...Emilia...Emilia...”

I squeezed my eyes shut again, willing myself to scream, but my mouth wasn’t working. Or maybe it was—I had no way of knowing.

“Emilia...Emilia...”

There was something horrifyingly familiar about the voice but I refused to let myself think about it. I couldn’t let myself think about it. My stomach churned and I thought I was going to vomit out a lung. Still, I kept my eyes squeezed and kept screaming at my brain to send the signals to my body to move, to run, to scream, to do anything but sit there as the voice got closer and closer, making its way around to face me.

“Emiliaaaaaa...”

There. I could feel something like hot breath on my face. My heart was pounding in my ears. Or maybe that was the silence. If I just opened my eyes...if I could just...

“Wake up.”

I bolted upright, my eyes flying open. My mouth was formed in a big “O” and my jade cracked as I shut it. I was in my room. In my room? I looked around to be sure but, yes, this was my room. Or it was the living room since we didn’t have a second bedroom but I had pretty much converted it into my living space. It was dark and I scrambled around, looking for my phone. 9:02PM.

What? Missed calls from my parents, texts from my dad, but only until around 3:00pm. I stumbled to my feet and towards the kitchen sink, needing to wash the sweat away.

“There she is, la bella durmiente!” My mom walked into the kitchen, annoyance written into every creased line of her face. “We tried to wake you up earlier but you were dead to the world...Dios sabe porque ya que no haces nada, no tienes trabajo...”

I couldn’t even respond to her not so passive aggressive commentaries. My stomach was still churning and I felt hot, too hot, too sick to be standing. What had happened? I couldn’t make sense of it, not in this house. Ignoring my mom’s cries of where I thought I was off to, I grabbed my phone, masks and keys (hanging where they always were by the door, as if I had never left...) and drove back to my spot on the beach.

And here we are now. Sitting on the seaweed-infested shore, full moon above me, writing all this out here in the hopes I can make sense of it. Though, now that it’s all out here, I feel even crazier than when I started. I just fell asleep and dreamt it all, didn’t I? At least it’s here now for someone else to read, for someone else to figure out. If anything else happens, I’ll be back though. Count on it.

But it was probably just a dream. Just quarantine exhaustion. Just pandemic brain.

Although...

I could swear the palm trees just went silent again—but they’re still moving and I can feel the wind on my face.

I can’t hear the ocean anymore either...

Oh God. Please. Not again...

I hear it. The voice. It’s back...I’m posting this before I lose myself again, or lose time again. Please help me.

[ili-taught-you]

Health in all aspects is something when we’re young we don’t often think about. We feel invincible, until it hits you hard. It all hit me hard into something physical. Because I held everything in. I never wanted to be sober. Because I wanted to block all of the trauma. I wanted to block all of the pain. The nightmares every night & sleep paralysis. I’m naturally drawn to being alone. Went through different therapists & counselors. I tried stopping so I can take my medication, but it was hard. So sometimes I mixed it. I was being mistreated at work, but no luck on finding better. When I finally got a better one. I couldn’t hold it together & lost that. I got sick. My body rejected anything I put in it, even water. I’d fall asleep in bathtubs instead of my own bed. My roommate/bestfriend would have to come home to check on me to see if I was still breathing. I’d crawl to the bathroom to throw up because I couldn’t hold down food. I was in so much pain. I was home everyday & felt like a burden. When I went out to drink I’d immediately get sick & just leave from w/e I was at. I was ignoring all the signs. I pushed myself to even go to protests & was barely making it through and came home & was sick again the first day I was sober. So I just stopped everything. Then I started going through withdrawals alone. I ended up in the hospital because I couldn’t digest I was malnourished. And could only get fluids through IV. After multiple tests. I was told there was damage to my liver & there was a mass there. And I had nerve damage & my stomach lining and instestines were damaged. My white blood cell count was abnormal and etc. So I couldn’t even solid foods. They told me I needed to be seen by other specialists. I finally expressed to me family the severity of it. Feeling ashamed. My father and step mother picked me up and saw my room & immediately cleaned it because I couldn’t move much. They took me from my apartment & I stayed with them so I can have proper testing and care done cause I was bed rest. I had multiple fevers everyday, I cried everyday. I was in pain everyday. I couldn’t walk on my own. I couldn’t bathe on my own. To the point my dad had to sleep in the same bed as me. It got to the point they noticed I needed my mother. Her and my sister came & I just felt ashamed cause I didn’t look healthy. I had no color I lost weight dramatically. The clothes & underwear I brought didn’t fit. They all stayed unified & stayed in the house with me. They didn’t give up. I had days I’d say I don’t want to be sober & had to fight urges. & all I could do is think. Just think & overthink. Almost everyday I had blood tests done. Multiple doctor visits. Then MRI’s then COVID testing. My periods weren’t regulated cause I had multiple periods in one month time span. Along with alcohol abuse, I also found out my weed was being laced which had doctors questioning if I was on harder drugs, which I didn’t do. I had enough. I just wanted to be normal. When I was able to sit in the tub by myself for short periods of time. I was forcing my legs to move on there own, one at a time. Fast forward, I was able to start eating solid foods. I never left the room they had me in unless it was for the bathroom. It felt like a rehab, but thankfully it was with my family. I didn’t want to speak to anyone in the outside world. I finally got myself to limp to the guest room and bathroom my own. I started to smile. When I got strong enough I was taken to parks and the beach for clarity. I relocated my life back to my hometown with my mother &sister. I since then can walk & do things on my own. I’m gaining knowledge, I’m sober, going back to school, doing projects, reconnecting, meditating. I’ve been dissected, now I’m being reconstructed to be reborn. It’s ok to fail. I know others might not have the same support system. I left the life I lived for so long. Not noticing the toxicity. It’s ok to start over. If you have to be selfish start over and focus on you. I needed to let this off my chest cause I’m so closed off. I want to be transparent. So here it is

[orionsbean102]

I should probably tell you a little bit about myself right?

While pregnant with Fynn I started to have terrible anxiety. My OBGYN put me on the lowest dosage of Zoloft which did help to make me even keel. After I had Fynn I began to suffer from post pardon depression. The Zoloft wasn’t working at all. I had so many fears inside me that I had never felt before. I always suffered from anxiety but this was different. This was a real fear to be alone with my son. The person I loved more than anything in the world yet I had these thoughts which held me back from enjoying the baby I had just given birth to. I was afraid to tell anyone what was going on inside me because I didn’t want to be judged. What if I wasn’t normal? What if people thought I was a bad mom? What if... what if... and why is this happening? Am I crazy? At the time this was all occurring I was living alone and I thought if I moved back in with my parents it would help me with my almost unmanageable fears. This did work for a solid year until I stopped nursing Fynn. My hormones must have taken another turn because not only did I feel very uneasy inside. I also couldn’t focus long enough to know what my thoughts even meant. The post pardon had come back 10xs worse than the first time. I reached out to my doc and they explained I was very normal. They changed my Zoloft to Lexipro and added in an as needed anxiety pill called Buspar. Yet still I was doing nothing to help myself. I was popping pills to take away the pain which then lead to never knowing how to cope and work through my issues without a pill. I had no sex drive and even when I had sex it wasn’t good because Lexipo is known to kill your sex drive. Needless to say my son’s father and I weren’t in the beat of situations. I had become a walking a zombie. I still had so many fears inside of me but this time it was guilt and a constant struggle to feel that I was a good enough mom. My friends would want to hang out and/or my son’s father would ask for a date night and I didn’t want to leave my son. When I did I felt I wasn’t a good mom and had chosen someone else over him. The Lexipro was working to stop the thoughts but it was only bandaid to under lining real issues I was having inside myself.

Fast forward 3 years. I was non stop getting migraines. I was at my lowest weight ever. I was unhappy but okay day to day as long as Fynn was around me. I was constantly tired and couldn’t catch my breathe yet I worked out all the time so doesn’t that mean I was healthy. I was seeing docs on a pretty regular basis because my head wouldn’t stop hurting. They kept telling me it is a sinus infection. Take IBprophen for the pain. Flonase and an allergy pill. They also were giving me steroids to take away the swelling I had all on my face and around my nose. The combination of all that put a nice whole in my stomach (an ulcer) and after months of this routine I wound up passing out at the exit of Target. The ambulance had to come. I was taken to the ER and still nothing was found wrong with me. I was given two bags of blood and went home. The next day I couldn’t breathe again. I called my dad and said something is wrong. He took me to the hospital and while waiting for a room I said “Dad I don’t feel good....” and I went down. The last thing I remember is throwing up and a nurse screaming we need help. I then came to and heard them say, “she’s back.” I was in the hospital in ICU for 5 days. I was given 5 more bags of blood. I got a colonoscopy which showed signs of ulcers. The ulcers are what lead to my loss of blood and passing out. I was able to go home and was told to check in with OBGYN because my period was very irregular. A few days after I left the Hospital I met with my OBGYN. He checked the IUD I had in and said it looks fine to me. Does sex hurt for your partner? I told him no but it hurts for me. He looked up and said do you have time for an internal sonogram. I said yes..... not even 1 minute into the sonogram he found a tumor that was sitting on my ovaries. He pointed it out and said we need to get this out right away. It’s very large. This is why sex hurt you. The tumor was removed 2015. The tumor I found out was not connected to my ovaries. Because of its large size is laid on them but was connected to the outside of my colon. The tumor was called GIST. It was malignant.

I went for two opinions. One at a branch of Roswell and the other CCS Oncology. I stayed with CCS because Roswell told me the treatment they had me on was the right treatment but they would need to up the dose because the likely hood of this GIST coming back was high due to the size of the tumor. CCS never upped my dose. They told me I was clean and that the chemo pill was working. This went on for three years. On the third year they found stops on my liver. I got a biopsy and they told me they were non cancerous. They were wrong. So I went another year having cancer grow inside me and never knowing a thing. I also didn’t know because CCS wasn’t scanning me correctly that there were lesions on my pelvis as well.

I was referred to Roswell after nagging the doctors a lot at CCS and Roswell took me on. It was jaw dropping when I found out the lesions were cancer and they would have known right away. They said you have options. I started to panic. I couldn’t breathe. I was crying. I was silent. I screamed out, “My Son!!!”

Something happened that day at Roswell. Something more than being told about the cancer. Something amazing. I walked out of there and honestly I don’t remember much. My next memories were you will never give up. You will never stand for this and this piece of shit cancer will never own you. I threw myself into research mode. I read until I’d pass out. I then read more. I researched holistic doctors and how to beat cancer with nutrition. How to beat cancer with how you live your life.

I wanted to share my holistic approach on life with anyone who wants to listen. Cancer is not the only illness or struggle out there. People have depression. People have anxiety. People drink and do drugs to cover the real issues. People have everyday problems they can’t sort out and why? Because unfortunately we live in a world full of judgement, fear, and living the rat race.

My goal is change our way of thinking. Through mindfulness, meditation, herbs, nutrition and so much more.

I do not take any of the medications I was given anymore. The only pharm medication I take is chemo. I still suffer from anxiexiet but I work everyday to keep it in check. The difference between Lexipro and my way is that I get to still feel even when the feelings might hurt. And the difference between then and now is that I have used the tools I wish to share with you to work through any fears, anxiety, and not just get through but enjoy it. Sex is also good again and if that alone doesn’t encourage you to follow me I don’t know what will.

I will touch base a lot of my current status. Where I am now and add it all together for you. I wanted to give you an idea of why I began this blog and how much it means to me to share my experinces with you. We can grow together and live our BEST lives ever.