Fitness Wasn’t Everything

I had someone tell me once, “Fitness isn’t all there is to the world.” And, although, I knew that, I didn’t comprehend what that looked like or how does one practice that kind of lifestyle, until life told me to take a seat with a cast on.  It was during this time I learned fitness wasn’t everything in life.  Fitness no longer always became the focus for which I identified with.  That changed my perspective on everything else, and it also made room for everything else I had to deal with.

I believe fitness has helped me to manage my bipolar for over a decade.  The first time I was diagnosed I didn’t want to believe it.  I think it’s not uncommon to say that before I was diagnosed, life was better.  But, that isn’t necessarily true.  I want it to be.  However, I understand that the notion of my life being better in the past is most likely stemming from not having the diagnosis in the first place since I can’t unknow what I know.  Nevertheless, the moment when fitness became unavailable for me, it was easier to see how difficult it became to stabilize my mood swings and irritability in general.

I used fitness as a crutch for many things like anger, depression and the void.  There were times I genuinely enjoyed gym-hopping because I naturally thought it was healthier than barhopping.  But, those hourly long sessions five or six times a week at the gym were where I chose to avoid certain life reflections.  So, rather than cut myself with a blade or fracture my hand on a solid wall, I would train to injury repeatedly.  I was using a different method to continue to hurt myself.

When I couldn’t train for a period, I had to learn to sit with my passions.  I had to observe my pain and find times for when I could adjust in healthier ways.  I had to find new ways to regulate my recurring moods, triggers and symptoms.  This was one of the most difficult things I had to do, despite allowing myself to feel what I feel when they arise.  It took a long time for me to realize that not every feeling will remain and not every thought was something I had to believe in.  I also didn’t realize in the way I trained my mind and body reflected my pain, avoidance, passion, anger, sadness and loneliness.

I’ve been a queen of silent pain, abuse and trauma.  I’ve been cold and brutal many times, not only to myself, but to others as well.  Once I started to transition from a masculine approach to more of a feminine one, I learned how to become softer and not have a meltdown.  With changing my mindset, from being open to change and flow while being less critical, clarity came along with ease and it reflected in my training styles as a form of better awareness, in and out my fitness, and life itself.



It’s a measured death
An unhurried song
A slow and slower mood
It smells of burnt skin
Of burnt wood

The chord of my guitar
Lie on my forearm
Like charms
And I’m almost there
And the sound is constant

How I suck your breath
Draining your life
I’m almost there
Putting you to sleep
Like how you did me


There Are Good Days and Bad Days


I’m floating in and out of sadness. Every once in a while it catches up to me like a bad childhood memory. I try to face it at times. I also try and run away. But mostly I remain on auto-pilot. I envision myself just like the cat that has a balloon wrapped around the midline of its body — floating into the same sky I did mere months ago. I’m physically, mentally and spiritually exhausted. I’m spent in ways I didn’t know I could be.

I go a few steps forward and everything seems okay in the world again. I enjoy daylight and saying yes to people who ask for small favors. I try and walk unassisted for blocks even though the pain is massive and my limp is unattractive. And on the good days, I take to doing light cleaning in the house where my lower back flares and tries to fight me to the point of my giving up. I won’t give in. I love telling my body what to do with my mind.

After seeing my surgeon and the physician’s assistant, they both came to the conclusion that my ongoing pain has been due to the aggression of PT. They gave me an aircast brace for stability purposes and to hopefully decrease the pain. Then they told me if in 4 weeks there’s still pain we’ll take some x-rays. And I’m just wondering how long man? How long? I know I heard the doctors say it can take up to a year in order for your body to feel back to normal. But I was working hard day in and day out in hopes I wouldn’t be in that statistic.

I’ve been sucking it up. I’ve adjusted overnight. So, can I get a little something back that isn’t comfort food or Netflix or reading or writing or short evening walks to try and improve my gait? Where is my additional luck? Has it gone in hiding? And, yes, this is my bitching because on bad days this is how I feel: I’ve been devoted to myself since day one of this accident. I’ve done everything I was supposed to and continue to do now. My darker days I owe to my menstrual cycle and I hover over negatives as if it’s about to go out of style.

Wish me well.

I feel


To Live A Long Way


I came around again.

This isn’t the whole story.  I’ve come to mull over this horrible year and I have to admit – yes I’ve come a long way. The past months I’ve shown myself how brave I can be in the face of torment – falling off a longboard and feeling my ankle shift out of place and hearing something pop. I lived this so many times in my head; flip flop between regret and living life. I was brave as I told my friends in a calm state of mind and voice to call the ambulance as I couldn’t get up.

I came a long way.

I’ve been having to survive, nearly homeless if I didn’t have people in my life who would open their doors to me. My income vanished in a blink of an eye and my roommates were battling between being loyal to me as I have them or being loyal to their money. I had to use a manipulation tactic to see where the psychological factor would lead and somewhat hope they wouldn’t call my bluff or speak about interest later.

And then the biggest turning point wasn’t the quarter-size cyst under my arm giving me hell or the gallstones giving me brutal pain through my workouts a couple of months ago. It was the moment I’ve been waiting for since the age of 9; my mother once again – dying. This time it was true. This time it happened. There was no lie, no prank, no do-over. All the things that shaped my life, that made me cynical, that made me envy happy mother-daughter relationships, become accustomed to tough love, detachment and desensitization have all made me who I am today because of this inevitable day.

I came a long way.

It only took a month and fifteen days. It only took me having to deal with the courage to face my mother’s wake and burial. It only took numerous hops up and down funeral, church and house steps. It took my anger for my brother having the audacity to not show up at the funeral knowing he was the favorite and had all of my mother’s love. It took not being spoiled at my friend’s house where I was safe and sound – to get out my comfort zone and back into the mobile world I’ve been so frightened of.

I had zero choice but to deal with the outside world more than what I cared to without crutches and a side of wheelchair. There was no looking back, no time to be scared, no time to waste. I was dealing with death and countless complicated emotions. Suddenly, my prayers became deeper. There was only time to woman up and act the way an adult should – courageously courageous without a shadow of doubt.

I came a long way.

I deal with sadness in the form of anger because sadness is weakness to me. But this all trickled on as I was happy my mother was no longer suffering on earth with her incurable disease. I felt a big weight lifted and suddenly nothing else mattered in this world. A final came. A final of everything. So I finally painted my nails a color that would brighten the rest of the days of the week. I bought a shimmer nude lipstick for my neutral and/or depressed days and bought a dark berry one for days when I feel vibrant or stirred with sexual desire.

I no longer felt the fear of going outside. I didn’t rely on a hoodie to conceal myself or my hair or my beauty. I didn’t only feel like coming outside during moonlight hours to catch a moon tan. I wanted the sun on my face for once – the thought seemed to comfort me.

I guess because I wanted to look at the sky because I picture my mother high in another plane of existence. I want her to know that I live like she did – strong! Life is too short to be weak. Life is too short to stand still. This world is bitter, cruel and dark with glimpses of beauty – and when this world hits you, you have to punch it back with greater force because you have to brave on even when you’re not sure what it all means.