Timeline Jump?

Intro to me

I’m not entirely sure, but I may have jumped timelines.

You see, I had surgery in October of 2024. After 8 years of infertility, I finally decided that I wanted to answer the “why?” The story of my infertility is long and nuanced, and perhaps I’ll write about that more in-depth. It coincided with a long therapeutic journey that involved me processing my childhood and identity in-depth. So I went to my Gyno, and we started with an abdominal/ pelvic CT scan to get a visual look at my anatomy. The imaging results were concerning to my practitioners. Immediately, they wanted to do an MRI to rule out cancer because the CT showed a huge mass.

I had an ovarian cyst surgically removed in 2013, and so I automatically believed it was the same situation. Again, that is a longer story that involves having a conversation about medical competency and trusting your providers.

My work as a registered nurse has given me a unique perspective on life, death, and health. It allows me to stay calm in situations that feel life-or-death. The cyst was not cancerous, and I was scheduled to have it surgically removed. Leading up to the surgery, I began to have visions of myself dying. Visions that I have had before. I see myself dying in childbirth. I hear the doctors and my family surrounding me and calling my name as everything goes black. I see a reality where my husband is a single parent. In that vision, I attempt to break through an invisible barrier to reach my child and my spouse to wrap myself around them, but I can’t. So the surgery was stirring up those sorts of visions.

Through my work in therapy surrounding purpose in life, I was reaching a point where I wanted to turn my life upside down. I wanted to clear my life entirely and start anew. I wanted the opportunity to discover a new version of myself. So when my husband asked if I wanted to move to another state, I said, “Why not?”

I have a hard time making big decisions. Life felt very unstable for me during my most vulnerable years of development, and so I crave stability and avoid risk to my detriment. So, sometimes I just close my eyes and jump because I know I can talk myself out of every possibility in life. And because life has been unpredictable and terrifying, I’ve developed a part that says, “No matter how bad things get, there is always death.” And what can I say? The truth is that brings me comfort. So we made plans to move from Maryland to Minnesota.

When I say, I close my eyes and jump, I tend to go in blind. I will shut my brain off to what is occurring until I have to face it. So that’s what I did. I had major surgery in October and packed my home up in November and sold my home in MD and bought a home in MN in December.

I was terrified but also feeling like I had nothing to lose.

At some point, I hope to put into words just how destabilizing my experience as a Black/Biracial woman moving from MD to the suburbs of MN was. For now, I will say that I quickly fell into a very dark headspace. But everything is usable. All the pain is usable.

I arrived two days before Christmas. The cold felt like razors on my skin, the coldness in the air, and the coldness of some people. I felt like Alice in Wonderland, only this was Polarland. I descended into the depths of depression. I took the slow climb down the dark spiral staircase. I held only a candle for light. I found myself trying to numb away all feelings as much as possible. But I’m a lover of moody atmosphere, and I have spent years in depression’s dungeons. We are old friends at this point. He’s romanced me into enjoying his company. So my husky and I AND depression would take our daily walks together. By the end of January, I wasn’t afraid to take my dog out onto frozen lakes. The fog rolling off the lakes made me feel like I was in a Stephen King novel. I sank into my sadness. I watched scary movies. I felt the presence of ghosts around me. I danced in liminal spaces with the darkness brewing in me.

Foggy Lake in MN

And, I examined my will to live.

I have love in my life. I have beings both physical and spiritual that pour love into me. They didn’t stop pouring that love even while I was lying on depression’s cold, dark floor. They guided me back to hope. I knew I needed a community. I needed others to be witnesses to my existence and pain. And that is the journey I plan to document. I have always struggled to connect with others and feel truly welcome in community, but this is my attempt to learn what that looks like. And there are days when I am still not sure if I ever woke up from my surgery. My life is completely different. I still feel like Alice. I love getting lost in a good novel. And this is my story. The story of a 36-year-old Queer, Black/Biracial woman living in the strangest world.

Cuddles with Meeps and LunaButt