All Dogs Go To Heaven

Its a heartbreaking feeling, finding out that your best friend has cancer. It's as if the world is collapsing around you, everything stops and spins a thousand miles an hour at the same time. It becomes hard to breathe as you think back on all the times that seemed so insignificant. The little things such as eating dinner together, watching movies, or just laying in bed now mean the world and you would do anything to be able to have those moments back.

 Today was a very different kind of day. He had always hated car rides, today he slept on my lap the whole way home. 

He hadn't been eating, and his vision was almost nonexistent at this point. Every time anyone tried to give him his eye drops he growled, to the point he had to be muzzled. He wouldn't move, he never knew where he was going. I hated seeing him like that, held down and in pain. It made me angry that he was so upset and no one else knew how to calm him down, they thought it was best I didn't touch him. They named him dangerous. But not with me. I made sure I was home anytime he needed his medications from that day on. 

It wasn't until he heard me voice that he would lift his head. He knew it was me, he could smell me, he knew the sound of my voice, the way I talked to him, as if he was human, and the nickname only I called him.

Bear

 That's when we started our routine. Grab the bottles from the counter, lead him to the corner he loves to lay in, he sets his head in my left hand and I tilt it upwards, 4 drops in each eye. No growling, no flinching, no muzzle required. He lays his head on my lap now, and I sit and stroke his head until he falls back asleep to the sound of my muttering that it will all be okay. 

Today was a different kind of day.

She was late. Almost 3 hours late and I have never been so grateful. I sat with him, his head in my lap as it often was. Family scattered about the living room. Mom was already crying, my step-dad and brother were silent, my friend on her phone. The knock came at the door,  neither Bear nor I moved. Mom opened the door and the lady got set up, laying down towels and medical supplies I refused to look at. Bear could smell her, he never liked the vet, I felt him move closer to me and a small growl escaped his throat. She didn't seem to mind, she tried to comfort him and his growls got louder. They moved him onto the towels and into the middle of the living room. I laid his head back in my lap and his growls softened to low rumbles and I ran my hands through the fur on his neck. 

It's going to be okay, it's going to be okay, shhh

At first I was calm. I knew he could feel my emotions and it would make him upset if I was. "This it when I usually take over" she said as she administered the sedative. I moved to the couch, that's when I could feel the lump in my throat. My body got warm and the anxiety arose within me. I couldn't swallow, couldn't breathe. Every one else was tuned out except for me and him, I can vaguely remember someone holding my hand. Then something surprised the vet, Bear was moving, growling again. He was trying to get up, trying to move away from her. After another two doses of the sedative she turned to me, "I think you need to come back..."  And so I did. He stilled when he felt my hands  and then I knew it would be okay because we both knew it was time. 

I held him as he left me. 

Today was a different kind of day. I sat in my car, home from the monotonous activities of the day. I didn't want to walk into that house. He was gone. He wouldn't be there to greet me at the door, he wouldn't be there to follow at my heels while I busy myself in the kitchen cooking. He wouldn't be there to eat dinner with me, he wouldn't be there to watch a movie with me as we fell asleep. Anxiety began to build again. He wouldn't be there to help me calm down this time. But he also wouldn't be there to lay lifelessly on the floor in fear of hitting walls. He wouldn't be there to flitch every time someone turned on a light because of his sensitive eyes. He wouldn't be there to ignore the food in his bowl. He wouldn't be there for the cancer to spread even more. He wouldn't be in pain. I took a deep breath and walked into the house. 

No longer here but always with me

Week 6: Memoir: To Eat or Not to Eat

To Eat or Not to Eat

I'm not going to lie to you.  Having an eating disorder during high school felt really nice until I passed
out at cheer practice and my parents wouldn't let me get up from the kitchen table until I ate way
too many chicken wings. You may now be thinking, "how could not eating and being sick be 'nice'?"  
Okay, well maybe having a disorder wasn't "nice" per say, but the things that came along with it
WERE nice. The feeling of being empty, like when you wake up and your stomach is what they
call "morning skinny" but it lasts all day long. Or when you stand up too fast and you get a little
dizzy, I had that all day long and THAT was nice.  Because I knew I was doing something right.
Not eating. Honestly, even fainting made me a little bit happy. Just not the part where people found
out, because the one thing I had control over in my life was now infiltrated by people that cared about
making sure I was okay and as great as that should have sounded to me, it made everything hard.  

You might think that my parents should have been able to tell that I was sick considering most
high school sophomores live with their parents.  Some may think "they should have noticed when
she wasn't eating" because "there should have been some signs." But you see, when you're
overweight there is no proof that you're sick because anorexic girls are not fat... right?  So when
all I would eat for dinner was lettuce and a tablespoon of balsamic vinegar my mom would say
"honey you're going to get a headache if you don't eat more than that" and then a few days later
say "wow you're starting to look skinnier" and never put two and two together because everyone
knows that anorexic girls are not fat girls.  I knew all the tricks too. Take the piece of chicken and
make it obvious you've taken a few bites, then cut the rest into really small pieces so it looks
like its been eaten then say "wow I can't believe I got so full so fast mom why does this always
happen when the food is sooo good!?!?!" Oh, and my personal favorite was to make my lunch
for school the night before so nobody would know that the lunch bag I put into my backpack
the next day was actually empty.  

Passing out at cheer practice was not the end of the pain and struggles but it was definitely the
beginning of a new journey that would completely change me as a woman.  I don't need to
bore you with the details of why I decided to stop eating in the first place, but when you hate who
you are as much as I did at 15 it is easy to not eat because eating only made me hate myself more
and that feeling was worse than hunger.

The doctors started out by telling my parents to let me eat anything and everything I wanted.
 If I had told my parents I wanted a pizza at 3am they would have done everything in their power
to get their hands on a pizza for me because they were so terrified.  I did not actually make them do
that. But I did scare the hell out of them because of what I had become right before their eyes.
So it started off with me eating a little bit more than before because my mindset was that since I
was so skinny now, eating when I had to because I was in front of them was not too bad.  The rest
of the time I spent at school or with friends I didn't actually have to eat. My parents didn't know that
I would give my lunch to my friends. Most high school students don't turn down free snacks.
Breakfast was always easy. Just eat a handful of grapes and a dry piece of toast and your parents
will be too busy getting the younger kids ready for school and themselves ready for work to notice.
 Dinner was not as simple but I would eat what I had to and then do sit ups alone in my room for the
rest of the night. Netflix and sit-ups I guess I could have called it. But I think by now you know I
don't stay unhealthy like this forever. I am one of the lucky ones.

I was introduced to veganism while I was looking up youtube videos on "lunches to bring to work
for weight loss."  One of the main ideas of veganism is that you can eat in abundance and it would
never leave you feeling gross and heavy and boy oh boy was that appealing to me.  It only took a
few days for me to notice that it felt a lot better to eat steamed veggies and rice while my family was
eating something "unhealthy" around me than it did to not eat at all.  Ordering a smoothie when my
friends ordered milkshakes left me feeling a lot more in charge of my life than not ordering with them
at all ever did, and yeah yeah it was all superficial and in my head... but it worked.  

Veganism helped my body come to the weight it needs to be in order to properly function.  My
body gives me signals in ways it never did before. As long as I fill it with things that benefit it, it works
with me and never ever against me.  Veganism might not be for everyone and that's okay but man,
did it save my life and lead me to passions I had never even imagined I would have. Being vegan
has allowed me to help other people become healthier, and helping others IS one of my passions.
 Everything really did come full circle.

I now live a life free of counting calories and weighing myself before and after anything enters my mouth.
 Recovering from an eating disorder is NOT just a physical recovery, but a mental recovery too.
I had to get rid of the addiction and obsession I had with feeling in control.  I had to relearn that food
is not the problem, filling myself with junk is. And I had to learn a new way of feeling like I am in
control of my life and who I am. I know now that I am not and never was just a number on a scale.  

I am how I treat people,

I am how I treat myself,

I am the loyalty I give to the people I care about,

I am my intuition for knowing when something is wrong,

I am the words I say when someone needs to hear them.

I am not and never again will be just a number.  

Every night it's fireworks

Graduating from high school is the most satisfying but scariest thing you have to do because it’s the being for trying to figure out who you are and what do you want to do with your life. For me, trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life was something I wanted to put off for as long as possible. But there is nothing like a tragedy to speed the process up. Three years after I graduated from high school, I get a call from my homeboy Ron. He wanted to go to the Centerline fireworks. That night I pick up Ron and about six more friends and we headed to the festivities. 

After the fireworks ended, we made our way back to my tuck. We talked about what was next or if we should call it a night until we were approached by a group of guys. That's when things turn for the worst. The situation escalated quickly and then a fight pursued. I tried to play peacemaker but to no prevail. In the midst of me trying to break up the fight, one of the guys points a gun at me. In the blink of a moment, I had to make a decision, do I run across the street a busy ten-mile road or do I wait to see what happens? I ran across the street and heard 4-gunshots, which caused everyone to scatter. I ran to my truck and drove to the were the fight was to pick up my friends. When I finally located them, I got out to see if everyone was alright. When I walked over to the group, I found one of my friends got shot in the back.

This left a lasting impression on me, even though my friend made it out okay, I felt that I needed to start planning for my future. After that situation, I stop hanging out as much because I didn’t want my fate to be left in someone else’s hands. I could have been shot and I didn’t even have anything to do with the fight. A week after the fight I enrolled in Macomb community college, to start working on my education and shift my focus else were. This single event changed the course of my life.

Week Six: Memoir Analysis

I loved both memoirs. Both were real and relate able to me. But only one pulled me in like a story and didn't let me go until I had finished the last line.

Difficult Girl; Growing Up, With Help by Lena Dunham, spoke volumes to me. Not just for the story she was telling, but for how she told it as well. I appreciated the well developed thought process, the introduction each character in her tale was given, because it was their characters as much as their actions that had an impact on her life. She protected their privacy, but at the same time, she helped me see them as she did. And that helped me connect to her story on a much deeper level.

The progression of her story was also a tool she used effectively. She didn't tell every memory, just the ones that added to her story and message. But the ones she did tell were detailed in such a way as to justify why they were being included. There was not doubt that the moments that she illustrated for her readers were foundational not just to the theme of her memoir but also to the timeline of her life and her own self image.

One might owner if her story rings true simply because if the depth of her memories and the distinct air of self awareness that colors the moments she chooses to share with us even at an early age. But that same self awareness does not seem the kind developed later in life when one is trying to make sense of their story in light of the world and their place in it.

"And so my third session is with Lisa. Lisa’s office is down the block from our apartment, and my mother, sensing some trepidation, pulls me aside and says to think of it like a playdate. If I like playing with her, I can go back. If not, we’ll find someone else for me to play with. I nod, but I’m well aware that most playdates don’t revolve around someone trying to figure out whether you’re crazy or not."

Far from immature, her self awareness does have a true childlike quality to it. Which helps the reader believe that her recollections are in fact factual. Thinking back on my own childhood, I do remember wondering if I was loved, if my personality didn't fit somehow with what I should have been, and having fears that seemed to be too big for me. I can recall the looks on my parent's faces when I disappointed them, and on teacher's faces when I surprised them in good and bad ways. I remember the way adults treated me, and how it varied from person to person. And I remember wondering why.

Knowing these things about myself, and understanding my own capacity for childhood retrospection, the depth of her memories does not surprise me, nor does it take away from the credibility of what she writes.

I could see myself in this story in a way that was shocking. As a child who struggled with mental illness, and that of certain close family members, it became my normal. I think this is something that Dunham illustrates very well in her own story and shows how one functions with these dynamics being present in their family. It would be more unbelievable if she had concentrated more on the fact that she always felt like an outcast and never had any normal memories/experiences. I appreciate that she did not do this. She doesn't appear to be psychoanalyzing her childhood, merely telling the truth of her tale as best as she can.

That is not to say that the other memoir was bad, or untrue. But it was not personal to me. It was an every person story. It did not present me with a new way to examine my interactions. It simply added the same truth to an already worn out conversation that we have all heard many times. If their had been more detail, if the author had expanded on her cousin's character or some of the experiences they had shared during their time together I probably would have connected with the story more. But there just wasn't enough there.

Week 6 Differing Memoirs

Drawing in a reader to a story is not as simple as it sounds, especially for a memoir.  Most true stories are ordinary and boring and must be told in a way that captivates a reader and feels relatable to them.  I can easily see myself in the "Cousins" blog post.  I've been in a similar situation many times, where I can't stand to be around some of my family.  There have been times when I almost left, and if I had, I wouldn't have come back.  I found it a bit more difficult to relate to "Difficult Girl" because I've never had any condition like hers.  But I can relate to her feeling alone.  I think we all can.

To me, it felt like "Cousins" was under told and "Difficult Girl" was over told.  The former could've used more concrete details to help the reader visualize while the latter could've skipped over some unimportant details to shorten it up and keep the reader's attention.

Both of these stories seem very honest to me.  I never questioned their authenticity for a second.  They are real and can be shared and learned from.

Week 6: Analyzing Memoirs

1.) Both of these memoirs were really interesting to read. Even though the memoir titled Cousins was on the shorter side, it still caught my attention and kept me interested throughout the couple paragraphs. Lena Dunham's memoir was longer, but it also kept my attention throughout the whole piece. I didn't see myself in the first memoir. I have had people in my life who I stopped talking to after a big fight, but I never saw them again and made up just by looking at them. I am the kind of person who has to talk things through. I did see myself a little bit in Lena's writing because I can be really obsessive with things the same way that she was about getting sick and dying. I'm not obsessive about the same things as her- I'm more obsessive about school or things going on in my life, but I can still relate to those feelings of worry taking over your entire life.

2.) I do not think either author over tells their stories- it is their story, who are we to tell them how to write it? Lena's memoir is clearly longer than the community blog post memoir, but I don't think she over tells her story. The Cousins blog post shows the situation though the descriptions and metaphors. Lena's memoir is more so told than shown because she includes a lot of dialogue and specific explanation of what happened. Cousins has a ton of description and visualization. It says things like, "It was like watching someone take off on a sail boat going out into the Atlantic, not knowing if you would ever see them again." This really helps the reader visualize the situation and better understand how the narrator was feeling in that moment. Lena's memoir is a little less descriptive because she offers more dialogue. You see how conversations went and the way that Lena talked and thought, but you don't get much visualization. I think a few more details in the Cousins post would be helpful because I am curious about what really happened between the two. What was the fight really about?

3.) I do get a sense of truth-telling in these two stories. Both authors seem credible and do not seem to be exaggerating the details of the situation. As I was reading, I didn't find myself feeling skeptical about what was being explained. Lena includes names of people and facts in her memoir, which makes it even more believable. Even though the blog post memoir isn't as specific as far as what happened between the two people, it didn't seem dishonest or unbelievable to me as the reader.

Week Six: Description Over Everything

The personal story,Growing up, with help, by Lena Dunham opens with a thematic statement: “I am eight, and I am afraid of everything”. 

This initially drew me in because I can remember displaying hypochondriac tendencies from a young age.  

The first time was when I took a bath on my own. I sat in the tub for (what felt like) hours. I played with a Barney playhouse bath toy and had foam in the shape of a cone on my tiny head. As I sat a plastic starfish on top of Barney’s castle, I noticed something peculiar about my hands. They were prune; prune meant old and old meant death. I screeched with all the power from my petite lungs, “MOM!”. There was no answer. “I am dying.” I thought, “I am dying, and I am so young, and… I have to get out of this tub!” I placed my Princess Ariel towel on the iced, linoleum bathroom tile. I laid naked on the towel and stared at the ceiling. I wallowed at my shrunken raisin hands, thought about Heaven, and my pet Goldfish. (I’m dying. I’m dying. I’m dying.) My little heart fluttered. The bath water was frozen in the tub. I was so young, so naïve, but I knew I was dying. As I closed my eyes, my mother busted through the door like a fireman. I showed her my pathetic pruned hands. “That is normal,” she said, “hands and feet can get prune if you stay in the bath too long.” I bawled in her arms; she was confused and distraught. 

I am able to see myself within Dunham’s short memoir due to the behaviors I displayed as a child. She utilizes descriptive details that help me recognize some of the emotions I had as a child. My absolute favorite lines from her piece are: My fourth-grade teacher, Kathy, is my best friend at school. She’s a plump, pretty woman with hair like yellow pipe cleaners. Her clothes resemble the sheets at my grandma’s house, floral but threadbare, and with mismatched buttons. 

Her writing reminds me of the way I described one of my teachers in a past paper, First Day of Freshman Year: 

Out of all the classes I had at school, algebra with Mrs. Dickinson was the absolute worst.  Mrs. Dickinson was an elderly woman in her mid-sixties.  She had wrinkles along her face, and wore a dark, black sweater dress with tall, furry boots.  I could distinctly see a wart on the tip of her chin, and her lips were painted an indigo purple.  She lectured about math as if it was her ex-husband; something that used to bring her joy and happiness, but now, only anger.  “I hate freshman,” her uncanny voice crowed, “each and every one of you will behave in my classroom…or else.”  I wanted to ask her what “or else” meant, but she was standing too close to me, and her breath smelt of tuna fish.  

I adore how descriptive Dunham's writing is because I tend to write with avid description. Dunham definitely writes for her readers to visualize. Truly, after reading this specific piece of her writing I do not feel that I need more background information to understand the struggles she experienced. Dunham states: What happens over the next few months is like the plot of a children’s movie, the kind where a dog finds its owner in spite of insurmountable odds and prohibitive geography. She utilizes vivid literary devices to introduce the reader into the next stage of her life.  Dunham is an extreme truth-teller throughout her story. Her details express her raw, personal emotions and I do not believe that someone non-O.C.D. could have wrote what she did. 

Observation on Memoirs

In a way I can see myself in both of these memoirs because they both relate certain interactions that almost everyone has experienced.  In the "Growing Up in Therapy" I relate to her feeling of wanting, "to feel better", because in reality everyone wants to just feel normal and like they fit in (Dunham).  I have struggled with mental road block as she has and I understand her feelings about therapy because I have been there myself.  In "Cousins" I can also relate to the experience the writer shared about the dinner she had, "It was one of those somewhat awkward dinners. Seeing someone that you haven't seen in so long, but feeling compelled to pull a conversation out of thin air as if not a day had gone by.", which I know most have felt for themselves as well (Cousins).  In this post I find that the author relates their experience with a kind of similar emotion that helps to draw the reader in.

However, they both approach their writer in different ways, Dunham writes like she is showing you and Cousins writes like they are telling you.  Dunham chooses to show her experience through her own eyes and thoughts, which she uses to help visualize the situation from her point of view. While Cousins writes as though she is telling you her experience by describing what happened and giving anecdotes for her story.  Both of these give detail, but I would have liked more detail in Cousins as I related better to the immersive detail of Dunham's story.

Even though each writing has its own style the sense of truth and honestly is felt though both of these stories.  In each they work had to help relate the reader to their situation, which helps to invoke a trust in the telling of the story.

Two Memoirs

1).
For both of these stories I felt greatly invested in, captured in it from moment to moment, but I could see myself in the Cousins post. I say this because of the description of the feeling of longing for their cousin again. I related to the emotion in this piece and found lines such as, "Everyone hesitated to say goodbye, grasping at each word, trying to make the last little bit of conversation extend onward." very interesting to ruminate on. 
Lena Dunham's memoir was incredibly interesting to read and kept me invested to eagerly see what the next event would be. This memoir, though, was not a piece that I could see myself in. The experiences she goes through or references are quite extraordinary and unfamiliar to me. This causes me to have a more distant attitude towards it while I'm reading even though the content was entertaining. 

2). 
These writers don't over tell their stories in my opinion. as I feel these stories, especially Lena Dunham's memoirs, required a certain amount of information to be told in order to produce the greatest impact from the end the reach. Cousins on the other hand did not need as much information to come to an end in the way that it did. This story tells rather than shows, and in a very specific way for that matter. The author explains their feelings for the audience to react to in a powerful way. 
Lena Dunham's memoirs is showing, and requires stories of her many therapists before she found the one that produced the greatest results. 

3). 
Lena Dunham's memoir is a true story to me, considering the emotion and extent of detail in the retelling of it all. The way that Dunham explains her experiences make it easy to feel as though you are there. I get no indication of it being fabricated, although there may be some exaggeration in reactions, but the events convince me that it is the truth. 
The Cousins memoir is also a story that has no indications that make it a false story. Similar to Lena Dunham's memoir, Cousins includes raw emotion that leads the reader to connect with it and convince them of it's validity. 

Analyzing Whether Honesty Really Is The Best Policy...

I saw myself in both of these stories. I felt a connection and an understanding to what both writers wrote and how they chose to put their thoughts on paper. Both memoirs were extremely relatable and kept me drawn in to their story. The memoir "Cousins" was relatable in ways different than "Growing up in therapy". The memoir "Cousins" reminded me of a friendship I had with someone and it made me reflect on other experiences I had with loss. No one wants the last conversation they have with someone they care about to be a negative one.

 In "Growing up in therapy", I saw so many parts of myself in that particular story. One thing in particular, feeling that therapy only seemed to make me feel worse than I did when I went in. Depending on the writer and what they are comfortable with, I don't think either writer over shared. I saw more personal and authentic information released in "Growing up in therapy". Everything about that piece was unapologetic.

I always feel if a writer is comfortable over sharing there is never a problem with it. In "Cousins" the writer exposed a lot of personal information, but wasn't as detailed as "Growing up in therapy". I saw two versions of a speaker being personal with their readers. In "Cousins", the speaker mentioned names of places like Michigan and minor details of experiences that were going on throughout the story.

In "Growing up in Therapy" the speaker was more obvious with the details that were exposed. She name dropped and went a lot more deeper into personal experiences, her audience was able to know exactly who and what she was writing about. I saw honesty and truth in both stories, both writers just had two separate ways on how they exposed their own personal information. One version was more raw, descriptive, and detailed, while the other version was more intimate, relatable, and universal in how the story was being told. 

WEEK 6: Analyzing Memoirs

1). A good memoir draws in a reader, so he or she can discover something new. Can you "see" yourself in either of these stories? If so, what?; If not, why?

I definitely see myself in both of these stories!  I can see myself in the story "Cousins" in the way that the author says that although nothing was said, they just "knew."  I feel like I have a lot of these moments in life and although if nothing is said you really don't "know" but sometimes that feeling comes just because it was the right time for it to happen.  And I see myself in the story "Growing Up in Therapy" in the way that I TOO (like literally everyone else) have those random, quirky, uncomfortable thoughts that NOBODY talked about because they're exactly that...random.... quirky.... and uncomfortable.  While we do not have all of the same experiences, of course, it is always calming to learn about other people's personal lives in a world filled with never letting anyone see you on a bad day.  

2). Do these writers over tell their stories? Do they tell or show? Address the description and visualization? Do you need more details?

I don't think either writers over tell their story but I think this might be different person to person because Lena Dunham's story was very deep and personal and while it was intriguing to read for me, it might be too much for someone else.  I think both writers both tell and show their stories because I was able to visualize everything that was going on as I was reading them.

3). Do you get a sense of truth-telling in these two stories? 

I definitely get a sense of truth-telling in the story Cousins, however, although fun to read and seemingly honest, I find it hard to really trust that everything in Lena Dunham's story is definitely true because I know that kind of person Lena Dunham is so I always second guess the things she says and does.  If I did not have any prior knowledge of Lena Dunham, I am sure I would feel like this story is very truthful as well.