Wednesday, January 30
11:15 p.m.
So I had a crazy dream last night. I couldn’t tell if it was from taking Nyquil or just stress. In my dream, I was sitting at a table and my friends were there, and my mom, dad and siblings were there. The room was dark with short glass votives illuminating the old, rustic table, which was clear except for a wooden bowl filled with slices of fresh, warm baguettes. I looked around the room at my friends and family while they waited. I was hungry. And I knew I couldn’t eat the bread. I had celiac disease. Only, there was nothing else to eat. My hunger intensified, I became anxious. My mother looked at me with pity, her eyes asking me not to do it. Defiantly, I blinked three times that seemed to be the only movement at that table, and I reached for the bowl. No one tried to stop me. They all just watched. I grabbed a piece of sliced bread. It was warm in my hand, I could smell the yeast. I savored the first chewy bite. And the second. And the third. It was as wonderful as I had remembered. I hadn’t tasted real bread in over a year now. But it was as if I knew I was doing something bad, as if I were eating something that everyone knew had been poisoned. And I chose to do it anyway.
When I woke up I felt tense. I have been having issues with my celiac disease. I haven’t been cautious eating out. I would convince myself that eating out was safe, that cross contamination wasn’t going to happen, that I could still eat out, eat what I like and not worry about gluten so long as I ask if it’s in my food. And yet, in retrospect, I ate so many things that I shouldn’t have. I’m not 100% gluten free, my immune system is out of whack because it keeps fighting, attacking the gluten that slips into my system. And it compromises my overall health. We are not getting along, my immune system and me. My immune system is pissed that I keep letting gluten slip in, and it’s forced to go full metal jacket on my small intestine. I am getting bloated, I am getting stomach pains, gas, traces of dermatitis herpetiformis, which arrives on my skin usually after I shower.
The worst symptom for me, though, is depression and anxiety. And, when I was first diagnosed I wouldn’t go out to eat and I became obsessive about what I ate, and so I was totally gluten free for the first couple of months. And I felt great! Little by little, over time, I got more and more lax about my diet, my nerves settled, and eventually I let the gluten slip. Little by little, my mood started shifting back to sadness, lack of self esteem, homesickness and sometimes just utter gloominess. And it’s not from the dark rainy days.
I know I should join a support group, or find a naturopath like the one I had at Bastyr in Seattle - that was the best care I’ve ever had. My insurance doesn’t cover this. I am not doing as well with my diet as I should. And I feel very alone with this, except for when I call home and talk to my dad. So, I’m having a reality check.
Aside from my celiac emotional and physical crisis, I have been stumped over this novel thing. Again, I’ve been feeling very alone at a very propitious part of the journey - actually finishing the book! I should’ve been elated, ecstatic, overjoyed! But instead I’ve been feeling alienated, unprepared and unfulfilled. So, I tried to take matters in my own hands. I looked up a local editor who seems to be a possible portal to the publishing realm. Perhaps she can help me make my manuscript publish ready. Her company is called Inklings, and I think this might be the direction I so desperately need.
My goals have shifted. I was aimlessly sending query letters to agents I’d pluck from Google searches and getting my very own special collection of rejection letters. Not very encouraging, though it goes with the territory. I found this interesting site on famous rejections of many great writers. It’s hard not to want to throw in the towel. And just as I was getting ready to throw in the towel, I had a revelation. For once, don’t aim big, aim small. I looked up a couple of local, small indie publishers in Portland and decided I would try that route. I would hire an editor to get my manuscript ready to present to these potential publishers, and I would focus on getting 3,000 copies in print, I’d work hard to sell the books locally and online, and if the Gods are with me, if this is my kismet, then good reviews would follow, good sales would continue and maybe, just maybe a larger publishing house would buy the rights to my book, print a second edition and distribute my work nationally, eventually globally, with more good reviews coming in and a second book in the works. A realistic goal is key.
So, before I went to bed I began my letter to the editor of Inklings and I felt a little better about my prospects, or at least not so hopeless. And after I hit “send” to email it, I lit a Mediterranean Fig candle by Pacifica, turned down the lights, played my Tibetan healing CD, closed my eyes and actually let my mind wander off to total nothingness, no thoughts, no worries, no dreaming, just real meditation. And after about fifteen minutes, that was as long as the thoughtlessness would stand, my eyes fluttered open and I took a dose of Nyquil and went to bed.
