L.J. LaBree

Two weekends ago was supposed to have been fun.

My day should have started early before the sun came up, car packed, and me sipping on a hot matcha latte as I drove the two hours to Portland, where I was supposed to meet my parents and let them spoil me with birthday gifts and chocolate cake.

What did I do instead? I caught Covid-19.

Again.

Imagine my anger, fear, and frustration when I woke up feeling as though my bones were carved from ice harvested from the pits of Antartica, tears spilling without rhyme or reason – including the inability to shut them off, and my head feeling as though I had shoved it inside a volcano.

A quick text to my mother, and I was back in bed with the heated blanket plugged in and turned on the highest number the silver-grey dial could go.

I spent the following 12 hours waking up intermittently, shoving my head into a toilet and emptying what little contents were in my stomach, fitful hallucenogenic dreams, and sipping microscopic amounts of water.

I didn’t even have to wait 15 minutes for the Covid test to work. The moment the snot-solution reached the T section, the whole line turned a bright fire-engine red. There was no mistaking or misreading anything.

I had Covid.

I spent the rest of the week in bed, self quarantining from everyone. There were some days where I could barely even stand.

I’m better now, thank the heavens. Though, I can barely taste any flavors in my food, and I’m constantly smelling god-awful scents that aren’t even anywhere around me, also known as Phantosmia.

Thought of the Day

Let There be Spring…

February 28, 2024February 28, 2024 L.J. LaBree

Hey everyone!

I cannot even begin to tell you all how excited I am!

Why? You may ask?

It’s because I saw one of the first signs of spring today: a Robin.

This morning was bright with barely a cloud in the sky. The air was still brisk enough to see my breath, so I kept the windows up and the heat on.

While I was waiting in line for the traffic light to turn green, I happened to turn to look at the Charles River through the filter of trees. The water was calm and glistened like bits of Herkimer diamonds 💎. A flock of geese was grazing in the narrow park next to the river, occasionally checking each other out and nipping at the little white curly dog who was brave enough to sniff one of their tail feathers.

I smiled at the dog and bird sizing each other up when I saw something else move on the ground. Something low and almost blended in perfectly with the dead leaves left over from fall.

At first I thought it was a rat. I’ve seen a few since moving down to the area back in October 2020, so I wasn’t surprised.

Until I saw it flap its wings and caught sight of its terra-cotta colored belly.

I had to blink a couple times and actually register what I was looking at. My smile couldn’t have gotten any wider when my brain finally confirmed I was indeed staring at a Robin.

I’ve always loved seeing a Robin as the first sign of spring. There is one that lives around my parents house that has the most interesting anomaly – its usually brown feathers had dapples of pure white on them. Sometimes I would try to talk to it and coax it closer so I could feed it. But the grackles always got in the way and acted so greedy!

I would always be leery of warm weather during the traditional winter months. Even more so with the past few years.

But seeing a Robin? That to me was always a sure thing.

Only once in my life did I ever see a flock of Robins during a cold snap, when the temperature dropped so low the group had to take shelter in the city trees and pick up whatever scraps of food they could find from generously filled feeders, like the ones my father built and kept overflowing religiously.

That little Robin I saw today was proof enough for me that spring was finally on her way, ready to wake up from a cold slumber.

I am so ready to see the cold months go and welcome spring!

Thought of the Day

Thanks for the Lessons, 2023…

December 31, 2023 L.J. LaBree

Whoo boy, what a year.

I don’t know about you, but 2023 was one crazy year for me. Of course, it wasn’t as crazy as 2020 per se, but it sure came close.

Although it may seem strange, I want to thank 2023.

“Why?” Some may ask. What did 2023 teach me that I could possibly be thankful for?

Several things, actually.

2023 taught me that sometimes things don’t work out the way they’re supposed to. Sometimes you have to move, again, in order to finally understand the lesson in understanding what our environments are trying to teach us.

Sometimes you have to say goodbye to people in your life in order to understand how important they were for you. Some of them will stay in your lives as Best friends who now live Away. And some of them you’ll give a middle-finger salute and wish for the door knob to hit them on the rear end on their way out. (There was a certain person I briefly interacted with in my personal life who I no longer talk to. Basically this person showed me a picture of a dead animal with blood pouring out of it and proudly saying they killed it after their dog tried to go after it several times. It was an animal who is not known to be agressive toward humans until it feels threatened. Needless to say I was not a happy person when they showed me the picture.)

Sometimes, in order to understand the financial deficiencies wheel I often find myself in, I have to swallow my own superficial pride and make the changes to prevent those who wish me to stay within said wheel from getting the upper hand. Again.

I’m getting off this Chaos Bus, and no one’s gonna stop me.

And sometimes, you have to learn when to give yourself a break. No one’s perfect. We’re all human, so why hold such high expectations that no one could ever hope to accomplish? Don’t get me wrong, it’s good to have high expectations for yourself, but never forget that humans need rest and nourishment too. For the mind, body, and soul. Life has shown us it thrives best on balance. So why do we believe different for ourselves?

And now, I want to share with you my Resolutions for 2024.

I wish for more kindness in the world. More kindness amongst eachother, and more toward ourselves.
There’s a project I want to complete this coming year and I hope and pray I’m able to complete it. No, I won’t tell you what said project is until after it’s done. I can say with utter confidence several people I know who, if they find out before the completion, will try to persuade me not to do it and tell me that there’s no way in Hell I would ever even accomplish 10% of this project, so why even try. Here’s my thought for those people (you know who you are): Don’t even try to stop me. I’m more stubborn than you and I have enough spite and pettinous in me to prove you wrong.
I aim to be healthy this coming year. It may appear to be that I say this every year (and It’s true! I most likely do!) But I aim to make more progress on my health this year. And I don’t only mean my bodily health. I mean my mental and spiritual health too. My mental health has taken a toll these past few years, and to be honest, so has my spiritual health. I haven’t meditated in so long, I’m not sure if I’ve forgotten how to or not.

It’s going to be tough to fulfill these resolutions. I’m not doubting that in any way. But Grandpa and Nana always said, “where there is a strong will, there will always be success.” Granted, they probably changed that up from George Herbert’s “Where there is a will, there is a way,” but I kinda like their version better. They always believed that anybody had the ability to have a strong will. For them, it was a muscle that needed to be trained and strengthened, like the ones within our bodies – just like the mind. We gain the benefits we put in.

I have a feeling in my gut 2024 is going to be a good year. I pray it will be a good year. Sure, it’ll have some down points too. Every year does. But the winds have changed direction. The air feels different. Something is coming, something big. I believe with every fiber in my being that it’s going to be beneficial.

Happy New Year everyone! See you on the other side of Midnight!

Thought of the Day

Finally I can Take a Breath…

August 14, 2023 L.J. LaBree

Hey Everyone!

Life must have decided to kick things up a notch since I last wrote in May.

To summarize:

I was deep in the thralls of apartment hunting – my roommate and I decided that although we enjoyed each other’s company, our desires for the future wouldn’t allow for us to stay under the same roof. So, at the end of our lease, Jazz moved back home to Maine, and I moved into a cozy au pair-esque apartment in Waltham just big enough for myself and Spooky. It wasn’t easy to find this apartment, that’s for sure!

I must have looked at over 15 different apartments, and unfortunately over half of them were barely a step above the exaggerated dives you often see in movies – cracks in the walls, water-damaged wood floors that creak if you look at them wrong, and porcelain tubs with gobs of tape covering the holes where the faucets used to sit.

That wasn’t the worst part though. What took the rest of the cake was the landlords who wanted not only the security deposit and first month, they wanted the last month and for me to cover the realtor’s fee as well… along with an extra $100 a month for “pet fee” and an extra $100 for a ‘potential’ parking spot (meaning you might get one, you might not – it was all first come, first serve). After everything was said and done, the price would have been well over $1,900 a month – something very much out of my budget.

“Why not just get another roommate, Leah?” you might be asking? A couple reasons why that wasn’t in the cards this time around:

With the 7 other roommates I had in my first apartment in Medford, and the one who lived with me and Jazz in Cambridge who hated my guts because I didn’t let him control every minute of my life (including when I could use the bathroom – there were two in the apartment…), I had my fill of roommates. I needed to find a place where I could live and be unapologetically me. Don’t get me wrong – Jazz was a great roommate! One of the best I’ve ever had! But he was also a rare good roommate. those are becoming harder and harder to find, especially with my luck.
Building off the ‘finding a good roommate’ bit, I knew it would be increasingly harder to find someone who not only liked cats, but someone who Spooky would like and want to be around. She doesn’t usually like new people and will hide under my bed or wherever she thinks is safest. She especially didn’t like third roommate who often tried to rush at her and grab her when trying to pet her. He didn’t understand when I told him he needed to let her come to him first – let it be on her terms.

It took some time, but I finally did find a place that was well-kept, decent pay, and allowed pets for no extra fee. I even have my own parking spot! There aren’t any washers or dryers on the premises, so I need to go to a laundromat. But that’s okay – just one small compromise for the chance to have a space to myself and Spooky.

I’ve had a chance to slow down and take a few deep breaths. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to do that – there’s been this perpetual feeling of impending doom and waiting for the other shoe to drop for a while now. It isn’t an easy feeling to get out of, especially when you’ve spent years just trying to survive and see the next sunrise.

I’m praying that this will be the last time I move for a while. It’s hard – and expensive – to move around every year! Constantly packing and unpacking really did a number on my anxiety.

I know it isn’t much, but all I’m asking for at this point is to stop and break the cycle of moving every year. I just want to live in a place where I can feel at peace and be with my cat. I want the chance to take more breaths and not feel like I have to bug-out at a moment’s notice.

Thought of the Day

Even Though Covid’s “Over”, the Mental Toil is Not…

May 12, 2023 L.J. LaBree

For the past three years, I have seen more change than I ever expected to see in such a short timeframe – several new jobs, new apartment every year, new roommates, etc.

Were it any other set span of 3 years, you could expect one job change, one move, and maybe two roommate changes.

But when Covid hit, all the “normal” rules went right out the window.

Suddenly, changing jobs every 6 months felt commonplace. Hiding from roommates who either wanted to kill you because they were tweaking, or almost burnt the house down with a stove fire because they didn’t realize that gas + water + fire was NOT a safe combination (nor was keeping their door closed while the flames hit the ceiling) became an every-Tuesday thing. And mentally prepping for a new move less than every year was to be expected.

Just recently, the WHO chief has declared COVID-19 as a global health emergency over. In other words, no more need to stand 6 feet from others, no need to wear masks within buildings (unless you want to, of course) and no requirements to have the Covid vaccine (again, this “requirement” now resides with the company, should they choose to enforce it.) While this is great news in its own right, I don’t think we should be pulling out the sparklers just yet.

This summer, I find myself in the throes of moving once again. Heavens only knows where I’ll be moving to, but this time I’m going to aim for only having a single black cat as my ‘roommate’. At least I know for certain she won’t be trying to kill me. Though, there have been several occasions where she would sit on my chest and push a paw against my windpipe at 3 in the morning. That is NEVER a wake-up call I want to implement as routine.

To tell you the truth, I’m scared of what’s coming. I feel helpless because I haven’t had time to prepare for yet another move, nor do I feel confident in finding a new place that will give myself and Spooky a sense of safety and security. It seems to be the case that all the landlords I’m trying to reach out to want me moving in as soon as possible, as opposed to an overlapping month before my current lease runs out.

I’m exhausted. I’m finding I can’t sleep as well as I used to at night, leaving me with only 4-5 hours at most to perform to expectations at my job the following day, if I’m lucky. Not only that, I’m feeling strong bouts of anxiety and depressive symptoms. Before you ask or suggest, I’m already in the market for a therapist. I’ve also been reading a few self-help books to keep me afloat. It isn’t the cure-all I would like, but I’m willing to take it if it means I get to keep some form of ‘normalcy’.

As May is Mental Health Awareness Month, I want to bring my worries and anxieties into the light. Mental health is not something to play around with. It is serious, a huge factor in our lives, and we need to take care of it just as much as we need to take care of our physical selves.

I’ve heard a lot of people put flak on the older generations, who will often say something along the lines of “getting emotional is a sign of weakness”, or “who wants to talk about their feelings? Back in my day, we just picked ourselves up, dusted ourselves off, and got back to work.”

I know a lot of people in my generation would easily tell the older people to stop being so toxic and that it’s okay to cry. But I think we’re missing the point. Back then, when my parents were our age, if you showed even a tiny bit of vulnerability, there was a high chance that someone else would take advantage of you. On top of that, because mental health really wasn’t a thing back then, those who showed enough of a neurological divergency were immediately sent to asylums and “made better” or often forgotten about.

It is so engrained into their DNA to not talk about their mental health, that even when I talk about seeing a therapist with my mother, who is one of the most open-minded people I know, she will immediately clam up about it and will try to offer other “tricks” instead, like eating cleaner or doing yoga or going outside for a little while and breathe in the fresh air. Granted, these are all great suggestions to help with the symptoms, but in the end they are just band-aids covering the continuing symptoms of what lies deeper within.

It isn’t her fault for feeling apprehensive about her child going to see professional of the mind. I have a feeling a lot of parents feel like she possibly does – as if she has somehow failed her child. No parent wants to have a sick child and not be able to do anything about it.

Thinking about this brings me to another thought – why is it that we as a society have no problem bringing our children to doctors of the body and not feel as though we are failing, but when the prospect of bringing our children to therapists, we are automatically failures as parents and need to feel ashamed? If you’re sick, you go to the doctor to heal the body. Why can’t we do the same for when the mind is sick? Why is there so much stigma around one, but not the other?

Thankfully, as time moves forward, it does appear this frame of mind is forming. More and more people are becoming comfortable talking about their mental health, especially at all stages. More and more medications are being made and clinically tried, each with the hope of helping people live more functional lives.

I hope it doesn’t end there, though. I remember seeing a long time ago on 60 Minutes a segment about scans done on the brain. It was fascinating to hear the doctors and scientists discover that our brains actually look different between a depressed brain, and a healthy brain. One day, I would love to have a scan done of my brain and actually see what chemical imbalances there may be going on in there. But I suspect this won’t be readily available to everyone and affordable for a while.

I suppose, for now, I just do a combo of what my mother suggested and what I want: going for more walks, eating healthier, getting exercise, and going to a trained therapist. While the Pandemic may be deemed “over”, there’s still a long way to go for mentally healing from all the anxieties and depression.