This Body is Bullshit

This morning I dropped Frank off at the vet for his dental procedure, and I just wanted to cry. They’re cleaning his teeth, but while he’s under anesthesia, they’re also biopsying a lump in his gum that doesn’t seem dental-related. On top of that, they’re scoping his esophagus and nose to check for any blockages. He’ll probably lose some teeth. Best case scenario? There’s a pea or toy wedged in his nose.

Poor little guy weighed in at 23.4 pounds—they want him closer to 20. He’s a pug, yes, but he’s my portly pug. The silly, stubborn, loud little jerk who somehow managed to fill the gaping hole Gus left behind. God forbid something happens to him today. I don’t know what I’d do.

Yesterday I was already in a tailspin. One of those days where I sat at the bottom of the shower until the water ran cold, not wanting to go to work, just feeling overwhelmed. I ended up going to the doctor, and they upped my antidepressant—I’ve been on the lowest dose for almost four years. It feels overdue, and also right on schedule.

And of course, life keeps piling on. My stepsister and her husband got some tough news about Heather, Kevin’s sister. When I reached out just to say I loved them, she put it so perfectly: “a real kick in the dick.” Exactly. That’s what this life has been handing out lately. My other girlfriend, Megan, always called it a shit sandwich. Either way, the taste lingers. And I can’t stop thinking about Crissy and Kevin—how much they already carry. The grief of losing Wes is still stitched into everything, and now this with Heather, who might just be both of their favorite person in the world. It feels cruel and unfair, piling more pain onto people who’ve already had their share. While Suleika Jaouad was my inspiration to start journaling, Heather and Kevin were my inspiration to put it in a blog. Man, if I could write like them.

Even my dad’s doctor finally got back to my questions on MyChart, and the answers were… disappointing. Not really answers at all. Half of it isn’t his fault—it’s just the limits of what medicine can tell us right now—and the other half, I’m realizing, will probably fall more to the social worker when we can finally get in. Until then, we’re just floating in the unknown. And I hate it.

I know part of what’s making me spiral is control—or the lack of it. I like having my hands on the wheel, and lately everything feels unhinged. That’s why I’m so out of sorts. Despair more than depression. Overwhelm more than sadness.

And yet, life doesn’t stop. In a couple weeks, I’m heading to Austin for Natalie’s birthday. Of course, in true Natalie fashion, she’s basically treating me to the trip (which feels terrible because it’s her birthday). But maybe it’s exactly what I need. She just went through a breakup, and the timing for both of us couldn’t be better. She’s funny, generous, one of my best travel buddies and best friends. Texas wouldn’t have been my first choice, but she swears I’ll love Austin. “It’s super liberal,” she says—hilarious, considering she’s on the opposite end of the political spectrum from me (thank God, not a Trumper). I’m excited to recharge with her. To laugh. To have heart-to-hearts. To relax.

Meanwhile, I’m racing to work, already late. I might have to log in from the car because I’m 20 minutes out and in 10 minutes I’m supposed to be logging on to an ICE-prep Q&A for some of my team. Imagine that—getting us ready in case of an immigration raid. That’s the world we’re in right now.

Once I get to work, I usually leave everything at the door, and in a way that’s a good thing. But it’s also why I’m burning out. My whole job is dealing with people and their emotions, their issues, their drama. Some days it feels like I’m less of an HR generalist and more of a kindergarten teacher. Adults can be children in better shoes.

I’m at our Hillside location today, which always feels more stressful, less personal than Melrose Park. MP is family. Here, it’s just… work.

Anyway. That’s where I’m at this morning. Anxious. Exhausted. Hopeful. Nervous. A little bit of everything. Please—send good vibes for Frank today. He’s my chubby little guy.

I can’t believe this is the 26th entry. Twenty-six times I’ve come here to put the chaos down in words. It doesn’t fix everything, but it makes me feel lighter. Here’s to keeping at it—one messy, fucked-up, trying to be honest entry at a time