You know what they say: A silent blog is a sign of a busy life! Well, that's sorta true in this case. What happened is that I was pounced upon by a very nasty flare, one that lasted somewhere around a week, give or take a couple of days. In the midst of that I've had doctor's appointments, medical tax stuff to hunt down and appropriate and relocate to our tax lady, a trip to Tucson for to see a cardiologist, a Celebirthsary/going away party dinner, and my second wedding anniversary. Even with all of that, I'm still pulling out of the flare, so thank goodness for that! In all honesty, I was worried that it wasn't just a flare, but rather my new mode of existence. That would have been horrible, because I was in such terrible pain that the painkillers would do nothing but blunt the edge of it a little bit, enough to keep me from going crazy and screaming while I hobble down the streets of downtown naked and slicked up with mayonnaise, which I'm allergic to.

Clearly, that didn't happen, or else the government is really good about redacting highly amusing incidents. I would say that I would remember if that happened, but that's not actually the case. Something else I've been up to in this interim (and before, if I'm being honest) is that I've been having some major troubles with sleep and sleepwalking. First the waves of overwhelming fatigue so I'm sleeping 18+ hours a day and exhausted down to the pores of my bones (y'all know what I'm talking about!), and then BAM! Insomnia. Sort of. For a day or two. But now I'm being hit with really bad sleepwalking, something akin to narcolepsy that pulls me into these dream trances when I'm tired, but when I am deep enough into the standing-sleep I go limp and collapse, usually forward, which jolts me out of sleep and usually I can catch myself on whatever counter or corner is nearby. Not always-- I hit my face on the metal shelving of the pantry last week, and my head on the bathroom mirror.

I also do scary stuff, like get into my pain medication thinking it's Benadryl or something else. I recently woke up with six 100 mg morphines in my hand, thinking in the dream that it was Benadryl I needed to take, but thankfully I was lucid enough upon snapping awake that I realized what was going on and put them back. I get food out and leave it.  I open windows and surf Facebook and all kinds of shit, and it TERRIFIES me. What if I buy stuff without waking up or remembering? I don't have any spending money! That could be bad.and screaming while I hobble down the streets of downtown naked and slicked up with mayonnaise, which I'm allergic to.

In a "dream sequence" that I vaguely remembered upon waking, I had--for some very legitimate reason, I swear--gone into the kitchen, pulled out my husband's new package of bratwurst, opened up the plastic covering, then left the whole thing sitting on the cutting board. If Corey hadn't checked the kitchen before going to bed they would have been out all night and spoiled! (He woke me when he came to bed with a forceful yet bewildered, "What's wrong with you, woman?!?") Two days ago I found a strawberry in the pot and pan cupboard. Fortunately, it had only been there for a day or less. I'm not sure when it got there, or why, but it was there all right… and it was delicious! :)

 So there you have it.What might I possibly do to myself during these… "episodes"? I'm scared to sleep, but the more I stay up and try not to, the worse it gets. I called my neurologists office, and when I explained the situation to his assistant A, she was freaked out and said that she'd talk to the doctor immediately, when he was done with what had him busy at that time. So she sent him a note, and now I've got a referral to some place here in town to do a sleep study. They want to see if I have narcolepsy, because these symptoms are awfully similar. In a perverse way, I was glad to hear the concern in A's voice and to see how seriously she took my phone call.  Corey has been annoyed by it, sometimes even amused, but he doesn't seem to think it's that much of a big deal. I had been minimizing it as not so bad, but I knew, I knew, that it is not something to ignore. It's a scary thing, and I could get seriously hurt one of these days. A recognized this a well, and obviously my doctor did too, because the call from A informing me about the referral came only 2 or 3 days after my initial phone call. For those of you who might be professional patients, you know that this time frame is practically unheard of when dealing with the medical system! The cogs move ever so slowly, but this was rapid fire. I'm grateful. The symptoms of this sleep-problem, however, wax and wane, so I'm really anxious about the test, hoping that I'll be malfunctioning during the test so they can see exactly what's going wrong instead of sending me home with a clean bill of health, as so often happens. (On paper, I'm really quite healthy! Oh EDS, you so stealthy!)

The extra-exhausting fatigue appears to be returning, as I slept the entire afternoon and evening away, after being awake for only 2, maybe 3 hours this afternoon. I've been up since 12:30 a.m., and Corey and I took a walk together, which was so nice! Work tires him out so much that he is in no mood to walk anymore, mostly because he's been on his feet and moving around all day. I don't blame him a bit. His feet hurt when he gets home, and I totally understand that. But we walked tonight, and it was very nice. So anyway, back to the fatigue. Yes, it's here, at least for today, but I doubt that it'll confine itself to only one day. I've been tired down to my bones for a long time, and now I just feel… heavy. Maybe the cycle of fatigue and sleepwalking is starting over again, and I just gotta hope that the timing is right for that sleep study to see what they need to see.

Other than this weird medical stuff going on, I'm doing okay mentally and emotionally. I am honestly excited for the challenge of growing up and into myself while so many diseases attempt to thwart my efforts. I mean, when I was relatively "healthy" (been sickly all of my life, and now that I know about the EDS a lot of my childhood makes so much sense to me now), it was pretty easy to express myself in my outward appearance and my activities. Now both of those have been compromised, and I must find new avenues with which to not only express my true self, but to have fun in life and to help other people who are hurting very badly. I tend to think of hurting people metaphorically, but maybe I'm supposed to help the literally hurting as well. I've gotten much encouragement on that subject. We shall see. Life will unfold at its own pace, and not before. I know it sounds all trite and cliched, but it really is all about taking life one day at a time. How can I know that I'll be alive in 3 months? There is no way. And if I try to think about the future and what I can or feel that I need to accomplish, or if I think a certain way about the past, it is then that I feel hideous and lazy and basically an awful specimen of humanity. I can't let myself think like that or send those messages to my psyche. It's twisted and tormented enough from all of the abuse I endured until I was old enough to move on by myself, and I don't need to make myself hurt even more. I would never say the terrible things that I think to a loved one, or even to a random stranger on the street (though I have a few nemeses that I totally would heap the verbal abuse on! *grin* The point is, if I can't say those things to other people, where do I get off abusing and harassing myself like that?

I practiced that "in the moment" stuff today. Day two of strictly couch time (though I did do dishes last night), and the temptation to lay into myself was strong. There was so much I could be doing, I have this many things on my checklist, god I'm lazy, I'm being a wuss so I need to suck it up and go achieve something, I'm not really that sick, etc. etc. So basically I made the decision to say "fuck that noise", and I continued watching my movies and taking my nap that turned into an 8 hour sleep. The urge to hate myself for not just pushing through feeling crappy is so strong, especially because it's not some cold or flu that I can nurse for a while and then return to the world perfectly refreshed, restored, and ready to rumble. Nope-- this'll be here for the rest of my life. So why coddle myself? And yet… there are times when I do push through and get stuff done, but it's because I WANT to, not because I've guilted or hated myself into it. Hating myself into doing something will generally lead to resentment, and that's just the first step onto the merry-go-round of Hell. 

What I've discovered is that, basically… I'm a grown adult and can do what I want! Whether that's spending the day on the couch with movies and tea and my cats or doing laundry and sweeping the house before answering mail, it all comes back to doing it of my free will and not letting myself lose my boundaries or letting them be breached--breached by my own self. How weird is that?! I'll tell ya, it's hard to find the balance that you need to be happy and productive while still being "lazy" because you need to be. And trying to find that balance is exactly the sort of thing that has led to a silent blog. Well, that and fingers too stiff and painful to type. That's a sticking point for sure.

Oh, quick side note: I have a mental health evaluation for disability on the 10th of this month, so I'm kinda nervous but mostly happy. This means that they didn't just reject me out of hand! Yippee! But I've also heard horror stories about how these things go, with obviously and legitimately disabled people being turned away without receiving the help they need. Most everyone has told me to lie, embellish how sick I am, because otherwise I won't get disability. I shudder to think that the system is so far gone that this is standard advice from experienced people. When I say that I won't and don't lie, they backpedal to "Well, just exaggerate then". That… isn't as repulsive, but I still don't feel comfortable doing it. I say that if I am exactly myself and they turn me away, then I will just appeal again and again and again until they are sick of me and give me the money to get me to go away ;) (Shawshank Redemption. Who says movies don't teach you anything?) I have strong speaking skills, and I know that I can be very descriptive and good with words when trying to communicate a point, so I'm counting on that to tip the balance in my favor. I'm told that I'm quite charismatic. Here's hoping it works! The inspector is a woman, and I have this mental image of an older blonde woman in a navy skirt suit, thin, wrinkled face, no trace of humor anywhere, lips pursed, very observant (hawk gaze) and totally crisp and pointed in conversation. I imagine her to be very intimidating. I wonder if my imagination will prove true? I'll have to let you know, of course :)

This video I watched this morning perfectly illustrates what I was talking about yesterday, about meeting myself and not defining my worth or capabilities by my appearance. It's definitely, definitely worth a watch.

I'm lying here, in a world of hurt, contemplating tomorrow.

I don't understand why my pain has just been getting worse and worse, but I'm hopeful (and fearful) that tomorrow will hold answers for me. Well, truthfully, no matter what the tests say I will have answers. Either I have MS or I don't. Either it's lupus or it's not. Either they see something wrong with me or they don't. Either we know what's killing me slowly or we know to look somewhere else, to some other solution.

C seems pleased at my efforts to be healthy and live a full life in spite of the pain and sickness. We took the snake for a walk tonight, and we walked all the way down the block to the canal, then followed that down to the main road before we retraced our steps. I'm proud of myself. I've made it a goal to take a walk every other night, and C is supportive of that. I love taking walks with him, and there's no point in walking during the heat of the day anyway, so I may as well wait for him to get home before I go out.

I worked several hours today and accomplished a great deal, more than E thought I would. She had to go out and run some errands so I finished the tasks she needed done that day and just kept going with filing and other projects that have been lying around for a while. I've got more phone calls and stuff to make tomorrow, but the good news is that the board approved an hour increase for me, so I can work up to 8 hours a week now! That is, if I can physically handle it, of course. But I really want to try to maintain 8 hours a week. Not only can I use the money, but it is also good for my peace of mind and my sense of industry.

As much as I'm involved in the HJ these days, it came as a funny realization to me today that I really don't feel the need to attend the sexual assault support group for myself anymore. At least, not right now. I'm in a good place, I've got good coping mechanisms and healthy tools in my toolbox, and I'm in a pretty steady place in my life. In addition, most of my energy is focused on the fight for my physical health these days, and my emotional health is not the main priority for healing any longer. I'm sure I'll still pop in from time to time, and there may be a time when I need to go back in a more long-term fashion, but... I guess I've moved to a new place in my healing journey, one where I can give support as well as receive it. I am getting support from places other than group now, and it's enough for me.

It's funny... I was musing today that I have gained a lot from my battle with chronic illness. I've grown a lot as a person, my perspective on life has been refined and tempered, and I am much more intentional in my relationships and my lifestyle. My support network has been finely crystallized into a distinct entity, whereas before I just had... friends. I've learned a lot about boundaries and humility and accepting care from others. I've learned a lot about letting others care for me as a friend, and how to care for others in a truly open way. I've learned even more about taking care of myself in all aspects, and I've learned how to listen to myself. (Mostly.)

So no matter what answers (or lack thereof) tomorrow brings, it's just another step in this rich, tumultuous journey that I'm on. I'm grateful for it... but sometimes I wish it hurt less. In so many ways.

There's some crazy stressful stuff potentially happening in my life right now... just as I was getting to a good place. Of course. But I suppose I'll take this as a "Challenge Accepted" and keep moving forward with life.

Friend M has been keeping me sane of late, helping me out a lot. (And affirming me! It's really nice!) It's difficult for me to move into a new friendship without feeling guilty about taking advantage of the other person. At least before there were concrete "things" that I could give back in a friendship, but now I feel like it's all just "I'm here for you, man!". LOL. But he says I'm good for him, healthy even, and I can say the same for him, so it's all good. We both have a fear of "leaning", of relying on others, because we've been burned so many times. This friendship could be an interesting experiment. I'm looking forward to seeing how it turns out. If I have my way, he'll stay a part of my inner circle for years to come. Honestly, I was surprised by the fact that he even became a part of my inner circle, because he was C's friend, or S's friend, first. I mean, he was just kind of... around. But as I began hanging out with other M, she incorporated him into our friendship, and so we then began building our own little friendship, and... I suppose that's just how these things go. It's been a while since I made a good guy friend, so I am a bit nervous. I love my husband, and  I want there to be no opportunity in my life for those "it just kind of happened" scenarios. Nope. C is first in my heart, and he will remain firmly entrenched there.

It's just that I have such a hard time building friendships with the opposite gender without sexualizing them in some way. It worked out well with C, because I was totally into him, but now that I'm not at SOULS and surrounded by really great guys who don't want any kind of relationship or anything like that, well... it's just... difficult. My guy friends up in Id were either married or way old, but they weren't part of my inner circle in any event. Of course, there is B, but we've been friends for like a decade, so he's just been there through everything. This is so new to meeeeeeeeee! Hope that M is up for the adventure. He's an only child (poor soul), so I've officially adopted him as a brother. No escape now. :) When I told C, he began laughing and plotting ways to tease M about it, as M predicted. I put a damper on that, though... I hope. Sorta. I know C will joke around with M about it, because that's just how they roll. Something about being beyond friend-zoned or something. I kept yelling at C, "But I'm married!" But I guess that has nothing to do with it. Guys. I dunno. Whatever.

So with the stress and the bad weather and subsequent high pain levels, I've been taking refuge in daydreams lately... Pinning quite a few things. It's kind of nice, actually. I'm enjoying myself. M has been driving me around the past few days, and we went Goodwill scouting one day, then checked out Burlington Coat Factory the next. It was really fun! I haven't really gotten out of the house with anyone besides C in a while, and having someone to window shop with just doesn't happen, not since J moved away. I miss her. :( But M doesn't mind my ADD-squirrel way of browsing, and while I was going nuts over lace dresses and super sparkle encrusted shoes, we carried on a deep and meaningful conversation. Also, he touches me. Not in a bad, creepy way, though I still feel my guard go up every time he does (the hackles just naturally rise when people touch me still), but it's just... strange. I realized that I do not touch or get touched very often, especially now that I'm not living with the S's, and I want to change that. Back when I was well enough to be massaging all of the time, I got more physical contact. Also, when S lived with us he'd approach me for random hugs. But M will just lay a hand on my arm or shoulder, and... it's really comforting. It reminds me of my bro back home, how he'll just walk up and hug me, or lay his head on my shoulder, or just randomly compliment and affirm you. He's a real sweetheart. I miss that kid.

I miss my family. I wish I could be there for them physically during this crazy stressful time. I wish that I could cook and clean for them, and play silly games and watch movies and scratch their backs and give them hugs and lounge on the bed with them and listen to stories and tell ridiculous jokes. But I can't. So I guess I'll have to love on the people around me in whatever capacity I can. I'm trying to do that-- to be more generous with myself. I'm a naturally selfish person. I want to curl inward and keep all my light and happiness and love for myself, while absorbing all of that from those around me as well. I'm incredibly self-centered. But I find that I also have this impulse to give... so it's a weird tug of war. And I want to give. I want to give more. People "look up at me" because I help run the agency, and I work with abused people, and I've totally been there, so I know what I'm doing, right? SO WRONG! I'm usually floundering, scared that I'm saying/doing the wrong thing...

Like with my friend D who won't accept help, though she is literally crying out for it all day long. I don't know how I can give to her, and it breaks my heart. She won't take the help. She won't take our hands. We could help pull her from the pit of darkness, ease the jagged shards of pain from her flesh and soothingly wash her wounds. I would do that for her. The people at group would do that for her. We want to do that for her. But she turns away, burrowing further into her dank iron cage of isolation, anxiety, and bitter saltwater memories. She won't stop drinking poison, though I would gladly take the bottle from her hands.

Ahhh, life. It's one turn of the maze after another. How could I ever have thought that there's a "right" way to do life, as in a set of blueprints? It is far to complex and organic and shifting for that.

So anyway... expect more daydreams here. More memories. I've been thinking on happy memories lately, the good times I've had... and I want to write them down, so I don't lose them. I'm losing so much when it comes to memory lately that I'm almost afraid of losing who I am and where I've been. Not really, but it's a lurking shadow fear far off in the distance. Is this what people in the beginning stages of dementia face? Scary.

So I have a new brother. And I'm happy about that. And I'm trying to reach out to friends while still staying within my physical capacity. I'm having C over for tea on Friday :) It's going to be fun!

My friend that died was only 19. We grew up together in our small church, so even though I didn't get to know him well personally as we got older, his loss is a hard blow. He died of a single gunshot wound in the wee hours of Monday morning, and his parents are devastated.

I texted BJ yesterday, wondering when the funeral/memorial service would be. She told me what she knew, then mentioned that there was a grief counseling session for the youth of the church going on right then. Although I was grieving more for D than M at that point, I hopped in my car and beelined it over there. It was good, and I'm glad I went. We shared stories and memories of M for a good hour before loading ourselves in cars and visiting his parents to share our good memories. They were encouraged by the sharing, but I could see how torn up they were. It must be hard, to have memories of their son constantly surrounding them... even with D, I'm so far removed from the situation that my grieving comes in spurts. If I were back home with the S's, the agony of my heart would be unceasing.

The language that I'm hearing over and over again is, no surprise, that of the hope of seeing these two again. SDA's believe in the resurrection of the righteous at the second coming of Jesus, that death is but a "dreamless sleep" until then, and that the righteous will spend all eternity in heaven. I was raised hearing and reading and believing this version of things, but as I sat in that room with all the other teary-eyed young people and adults, I realized, much as I did when SOULS came last year, that I don't believe that anymore.

When C came home, I turned to him and said, "I think I'm an atheist." He replied, "...Congratulations?"

I should make it clear that C has never pressured me in any way to leave my beliefs or my church and adopt his viewpoint. He's listened to what I have to say, sat through my explanations of Bible passages and church doctrine, and even listened attentively as I read him Case for a Creator on the trip to and from the Renaissance Festival. He has not hesitated to share his side of things, of course, but his point of view is that I can believe whatever I want, but the important thing is that I believe it for myself and because I have thought it out myself. He doesn't want me to believe and follow something just because other people are influencing me to do so (which includes being afraid of disappointing people by adopting a different viewpoint). Have his beliefs influenced me? Absolutely yes, but that's because as I've begun to question and think for myself these past few years, my church's version of things made less and less sense. God made less and less sense. I began to cobble together my own philosophy, based on my observations of the world around me, and then when I was exposed to C's point of view, well... the two were very similar.

I'm not set in any particular belief system at this point. I'm still... in flux, I guess you could say. I'm not an atheist in reality, for I still believe in the existence of God, or a higher power, or whatever, but... although I believe in God, I don't believe in God. Do you see the distinction?

Honestly? I've found that I'm much happier, balanced, and accepting now that I've left Christianity. The whole "atheists are immoral heathens" thing is so not true. Atheists are some of the best people that I know. I know some really good Christians, too, but I think it has more to do with the person than the belief system. Don't get me wrong-- Christianity has a great philosophy, and if people would live life the way that Jesus espoused the world would be a heck of a lot better place. And that's what I'm trying to do-- live the life that Jesus advocated... except without the God part.

I've heard that without God you can't love other people, that there's no source of goodness without him.  Since I no longer believe that I'm an unworthy person who needs saving from myself, I'm free to see the goodness and love that I have inside of me. It comes from me, from a decision to love the people around me, and so many other people have made that decision independent of any kind of divine mandate or indwelling. Atheists, the supposedly heartless immorals, have done a damn lot of good in the world for no reason other than that they saw the suffering and neediness of their fellow human beings and wanted to relieve it.

I've also heard that being an atheist diminishes the sanctity of life, makes it just some happenstance thing that has no consequence or bearing. While I suppose that's true, in a way (for they don't believe that they are the metaphorical center of the universe as Christians do), I think it brings as great or greater a reverence for life as the belief of creation by a personal deity. Consider these two quotes:

“Every atom in your body came from a star that exploded. And, the atoms in your left hand probably came from a different star than your right hand. It really is the most poetic thing I know about physics: You are all stardust. You couldn’t be here if stars hadn’t exploded, because the elements - the carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, iron, all the things that matter for evolution and for life - weren’t created at the beginning of time. They were created in the nuclear furnaces of stars, and the only way for them to get into your body is if those stars were kind enough to explode. So, forget Jesus. The stars died so that you could be here today.” ― Lawrence M. Krauss

“We are going to die, and that makes us the lucky ones. Most people are never going to die because they are never going to be born. The potential people who could have been here in my place but who will in fact never see the light of day outnumber the sand grains of Arabia. Certainly those unborn ghosts include greater poets than Keats, scientists greater than Newton. We know this because the set of possible people allowed by our DNA so massively exceeds the set of actual people. In the teeth of these stupefying odds it is you and I, in our ordinariness, that are here.We privileged few, who won the lottery of birth against all odds, how dare we whine at our inevitable return to that prior state from which the vast majority have never stirred?” ― Richard Dawkins

The thing that really bothered me, the thing that really disturbed my previous lines of thinking, was a quote from Epicurus that I stumbled across that put a voice to the quailing doubts and angry questions I have about God. I began vacillating and questioning while I lived in ID, but there was too much at stake there for me to give full expression to most of my doubts. I broke out of one of the church's doctrines while there, and received a mighty backlash from it. That taught me not to rock the boat. But once I moved away, once the reputation of a wonderful family didn't rest upon my actions, I was free to pursue a path that made sense to me, one that resonated with both my being and my mind. I didn't come across this quote until that time, and it's probably a good thing, because if I had found it while I was still up north... I think all hell would have broken loose. It would have put me in quite the hard place emotionally and mentally, I can assure you.

"Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able? Then he is not omnipotent. Is he able, but not willing? Then he is malevolent. Is he both able and willing? Then whence cometh evil? Is he neither able nor willing? Then why call him God?"  - Epicurus [341–270 B.C.]

I guess I'll end with that. It sums it up pretty well for me.

I know that at the memorial on Friday (and whenever D's memorial is) I'll be hearing a lot about the Second Coming, and that's fine. To me, all this talk about seeing them again and Satan out there working hard, etc. simply sounds like people trying to make sense of the bad stuff that happens in the world, and clinging to a comforting thought because they cannot face the finality of loss. But I know that they really, really believe it, and it brings them comfort and hope, so... I'm not going to say a word. Not a peep from me.

To be brutally honest, though? I do miss having that comfort... the thought of seeing the ones I love again. I just don't want to truly say goodbye.

I guess I must be stressed without realizing it. My digestive tract is rebelling for no apparent reason, a sure-fire sign that I'm stressing. I guess I'll try to chill out... maybe take some of my own advice from the blog post I just wrote.

In other news, I just wrote a blog post. lol. For FighterZine, that is. Some friends in one of my fibro groups on Facebook challenged me today to write a response to The Spoon Theory, so I did. I entitled it, "The Flip Flop Theory".

So. Off to take my own advice and be kind to myself. That may or may not involve a nap and/or a hot shower. And some tea. Definitely some tea.

The past few days have proven interesting.

Sunday, I went ahead and super-medicated myself. I don't know how many painkillers I took that day, because I wasn't even counting. (It wasn't an inordinate amount, but I'm pretty sure it was more than normal. I think. Again, I don't know.) So while Saturday was a day full of pain and despair, I was pretty much walking on clouds the next day... or walking through a haze. Whatever you want to call it.

I'm still dealing with this bout of depression, and all I really wanted to do Sunday morning when I got up was sit around and mope. Fortunately for me, that didn't happen, as C needed some emergency help with her English class. She came over and we worked on it for many, many hours. After she left and I'd taken a short nap, I started the process of streamlining our possessions as preparation for the move. I think I got rid of fully 1/3 of my wardrobe that night, at least! I'm happy about that. I don't like it when I've accumulated so many things...

That morning, Mom called me about K. She had... news.

While I don't mind sharing my own personal details here on this blog, I do recognize that it's not fully a personal blog any longer. There are people who read this on a fairly routine basis, which is all great and fine. I think that's awesome. When it comes to details about other people, though, I find myself hesitant to bare all, because it's not my news to talk about, you know?

So, we shall simply say that K went through a horrific experience unbeknownst to us all, but it finally came out in the open and she's getting the help she needs. Also, knowing about this experience and some of the consequences makes a whole lot of sense out of some things that didn't make much sense before.

My heart is breaking for her, though. I cried when Mom told me what had happened... and it just made me so much more grateful for the life that I have, the life that C and I are building together. We're breaking cycles and changing the future for our progeny. I'm proud of that.

Monday wasn't much of anything, just yoga class and grocery shopping. I did go a little crazy with the impulse buys at the store, though... I spent $60 more than I was intending to! Oops. I know I'll pay it off eventually, and I know that most people wouldn't consider that to be a great sum of money, but that's an entire week's worth of gas and food for me. That's more than I get in a single paycheck. So to me, it's a large sum of money. I don't regret it, but I am going to be more disciplined in the future. (Don't go shopping alone while you're hungry and depressed, unless you've got money to burn, a'ight?)

Today, I had a rheumatologist appointment, and I feel as though we've made a big step forward.

Yes, I got another med, but that's not the point. (The doctor totally supports my decision to get off of my meds in the future, but we both recognize that right now I just need to get this under control. Once it's manageable, then we can talk about dropping meds.) I also got another diagnosis to go with that new med. Or is it the other way around?

In any event, the doctor completely agreed with my suspicion that an autoimmune cause is at the root of the aggravation of my fibro, and she pointed out that I already have two autoimmune diseases under my belt right now. Fibro doesn't count, btw, but it is significant that many of the autoimmune diseases of the type that we're looking at tend to run concurrently with fibromyalgia.

Yours truly has Undifferentiated Connective Tissue Disease. Good news? Less than 20% of patients with UCTD progress to a "well-defined" connective tissue disease, such as lupus, rheumatoid arthritis, scleroderma, etc. Bad news? It's still a systemic autoimmune disease with no cure. Other good news? This changes... nothing. Except for adding a new med, and one that has little to no side effects at that.

So while I've got yet another Big Thing to process, it's helpful that I now have "real disease" label to slap on things, because FMS is still in the shady area for most people. You know, they consider it all curable if only you try hard enough... I keep getting that, "You'll be fine/you'll kick it/it'll get better because I/my auntie/my friend from church has/had fibro and they're all better now!" Hmph.

Also, I've decided to hold off on applying for disability after consulting with my rheumie. We're going to keep trying to get this under control, and if it comes to the point where it's just not manageable after all then I'll pursue disability. Apparently, going on disability at such a young age tends to encourage a "slump" or a worsening of effects. I guess it's a mental thing, like they kinda give up. She wants to avoid that for me if at all possible. I'm all for that. I just hope we can get this under control so I can have at least part of my life back.

And now, I'm off to a hot shower to try to relieve some of this pervasive pain. Ughhhhh. Acupuncture was gentle today, but I seem to be having a very difficult time with healing responses. My body just don't like being helped! :) (But, oh, the massage after every session is fabulous... Again, always very gentle and soothing, no pressure at all, but it feels so nice...)

Warning: This post may be considered by some to be a downer, because I'm going to talk very candidly about life with a chronic illness that can cause high levels of pain and frustration. Do not, however, assume that I am down, because I'm not! Though I may have my moments, my hours, my days, or even my string of days when I'm just burnt out and tired of this whole shebang, overall it's something I'm coming to terms with and try to view as an opportunity for growth.

So. That being said...

The last few days were hard. I mean, really hard. And by really hard, I mean really really really really ridiculously difficult. I thought that I was being accurate before when I said I was "destroyed"... but I didn't know the meaning of destroyed. (Hopefully I won't have to learn new depths of that word!)

First of all, I've had a lot going on these past few weeks-- first the colonoscopy, which pretty much devastated me, mucho wedding prep (and I still haven't sat down with my fear of getting married and begun to really process through it in any meaningful way); long, stressful travel hours; the few days with D, coming to grips with his impending death and saying goodbye; the shock and disappointment of much-anticipated guests not being able to come to the wedding; more long, stressful travel hours; dealing with an increase in symptoms and pain levels and trying to cope with that... and then I ran out of pain meds.

I'm so grateful that I asked for painkillers and that my doctor prescribed me something without hesitation. Let's put it this way-- this morning I took 3 ibuprofen and never felt a thing. NSAIDS barely even put a major dent in my menstrual cramps, let alone this kind of pain.

I ran out of painkillers on the day I traveled back home. I was already hurting quite a bit when I went to bed, but the next day it had just increased. Today was even worse, especially because it's not just pain but nausea and balance problems and sleep problems and total brain fog and gut pain upon eating (whenever I can even get around to eating)... It sucks. As I thought back on it while submerged in my hot bath earlier, I came to the conclusion that if I didn't have these pain meds that actually worked, I would so not be willing to live life the way that I have the past few days. I am not joking. I could not do that long-term. I would literally seriously consider suicide if I had to do those pain levels and all the other stuff for an extended period of time.

See, the thing is that it wasn't just one kind of pain; it's a pain that has layers. The bottom layer is a generalized ache, like the kind you get when you have a bad fever. Everything hurts, whether you're moving or laying still, and your skin is super tender and it hurts to even have clothes pressing against your skin. Your scalp hurts, and even your teeth hurt. To have water splash your skin is a violent, painful shock, no matter the temperature. The weird part was that I had no fever at all, despite my obsessive checking. The next layer of pain is muscle pain; the general ache that flares into a protesting groan when you move anything, or roll over, or lay in one position too long, or have any sort of pressure anywhere on your body. The top layer is joint pain; the sharp, throbbing whine of the hip sockets, the lower-pitched but just as insistent flames that consume the knees, the delicate ripples of spasming electricity that lace their way through wrists, fingers, and ankles... and then there's the booming resonance that blasts its way through mid-back, all the way through to the solar plexus on the other side and wrapping around the ribs, reaching both upward and down in an attempt to consume the entire torso... And did I mention the chills? Freezing, yet sweating at the same time. I couldn't get warm, but I could barely stand to be wrapped up.

I know that everyone's personal pain tolerance is at different levels. For someone else, this may be totally bearable. For me, however, it was totally incapacitating. I have two pain scales-- one for uncommon events, such as car crashes and broken limbs and such, and another for every-day pain. On my "every day" pain scale, I was at about a 5.5 - 6.5 on my traveling day, then it went up to 7 - 8 the next day, and today was a solid 9 most of the day. I can't say 10, because the pain I was in after the colonoscopy had me literally sobbing and helpless, but it was definitely up there, especially with the multi-facted nature of the discomfort. You can see now why I was hounding my doctor's office and the pharmacy today. I think that if I had no prospect of relief, I would have just sucked it up and tried to find methods to cope... but knowing that there is something that can scale the pain back, well... It nearly drove me insane. I was so frustrated. But now that I've got some of that in my system, I'm back down to a 4-ish. That I can deal with. Anything 5 or below, I can pretty much function normally. Once you get above that, it's hard for me to concentrate on daily life or make myself carry on.

So I basically just laid in bed the past two days, except to go grocery shopping and go to school (with errands in between my classes). Now, though, I'm starting to feel like a human again! I have emotions! I have a whole range of facial expressions! I'm still limping, but I can move faster than a gimpy snail!

It is frustrating to realize that I've gone downhill so far... I had a couple of people bring it up to me while I was up north, and I was forced to face the reality of how far I've fallen, so to speak. It was discouraging, to be quite honest. But really? I'm trying my absolute best to be as healthy as I can and to take the measures necessary to boost my health back up. What else can I do? If I never get any better, it won't be for lack of trying, that's for sure!

I've noticed a pattern. It's not like I've just had this gradual slide down a hill, it's more like a set of stairs. I'll level out for a while, then something will drop me down, then I'll level out, then I'll drop again...

But C and I have talked about how to try to get me boosted back up, and he instituted the "one thing a day" rule the other day. For now, I am allowed to do one "thing" a day. Whether it's cleaning the kitchen or unpacking my suitcases or running errands, I must choose. I only get one. (I really only have the spoons for one.) As I get better, I can add things one at a time, but for now I get one. This is where the "Fiance" part of the title comes in. He is so good to me... not just in dealing with the baggage that I have from my past, but in dealing with this sickness. He helps me to see things logically and smoothly, rather than getting worked up (or worn down) by emotions. He also takes care of me in the physical sense, working with my food allergies, making sure I've taken my meds on time (because I sometimes forget), being considerate of my limitations... just generally being awesome and not minding all my setbacks. He is the one that bought me the Bling Chariot, after all, which is one of the best investments I've seen in a while. I use that thing all the time (sad to say).

That brings me to the Fears section. Sometimes I feel like I'm never gonna get any better, like I'm just going to keep taking those stairs downward until I'm a quivering heap under the bedclothes. Then I work myself back into encouragement through various means, but... the fear is still there, in the back of my head. Today before class I was chatting with a lady whose sister has fibro. It manifested when she was 20 as a result of a back injury sustained at work, and 15 years of fighting later, she's basically bedridden, in extreme pain. Again, it's not for lack of trying that she ended up this way... and that scares me. Because, really, it's like no matter how hard I try I'm just not gaining any headway against this monster that's taken over my life. It's so dumb! I'm so sick of being sick! I don't want to be a frail wreck, but if I step back and take a look at the reality of my situation... I am kinda frail. I am physically weak in many ways. I don't say this to admit defeat, but for the sake of a reality check. While it's important to be positive and to set good intentions and all that, it doesn't help anyone to live in denial and refuse to see the truth of the matter.

So, okay. Yeah. I am sick. Very sick, in fact. And it doesn't seem like my efforts are preventing the downward slippage much, if at all.

But C and I talked about what would happen if I did end up bedridden like my friend's sister. What would happen if I just kept spiraling downward?

Well... if it happens, it happens. Obviously, there isn't much we can do about it, so why worry?

That was C's response. I mean, I'm doing all I can, sooooo... if it happens, then it happens.

He doesn't believe in worrying about things you have no control over.

And you know what? I'm coming around to his point of view.

As things stand now, I'm a sick girl. Pretty darn sick, in fact. But, but, but, I am also a fighter, and I'm going to do my damndest to get better again. If it doesn't happen, then I'll have to deal with that. But again, it sure won't be for lack of trying! I really can't predict the future... but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I have a heck of a lot of wonderful people in my corner, cheering me on and praying me forward, and I also have a pretty amazing guy holding my hand and wiping my brow (and tears!) as I fight this battle for my future and my sanity.

As I said, while this can be seen as a downer, I see it as... I dunno. Something else. Reality, maybe? Dashed with a little spicy optimism? I believe in God, and I believe in miracles. I don't know if he'll give me one, but I do think that there are a lot of things we can consider miracles, if we just look at them in the right light. This healthy relationship, for one... that, to me, is a miracle. My amazingly supportive friends and family. A painkiller that helps me feel like a real person again. A job that I love and a boss that totally understands my health struggles and works with me. A dad willing to foot my medical bills so I can figure all this out and move forward. (And he's also the one paying for my prescriptions, which includes the miracle pain killer. You're my savior, if indirectly, R!)

My life is filled with good things. Sure, it's filled with challenges, but whose life isn't? Maybe mine are just different from someone else's.

I choose to view this framed in positivity, even if I do get frustrated sometimes, or worn down and worn out from the pain. Yeah, I do want to give up more frequently than I'd like to admit. But really? I know it's all gonna be okay, one way or another. Really, it will.

(Now please, remind me of this mindset the next time I'm flipping out, yeah?)

I am super fogged out today.

But on the bright side, I got out and took a walk!

When I awoke this "morning", C said, "You're not usually in bed this late."

He's right. I've just been so tired the last few days. All I want to do is sleep. And while walking is all good and well, now I'm stiffer and achier than I was when I got up. My legs are starting to throb.

But I am trying to take good care of myself. I'm eating regularly again, though I've switched to doing smaller amounts more frequently. That seems to be working well for now. I'll eat a light snack-type meal every three or four hours during my waking hours, and I have been including a yogurt every day to good effect. That, combined with the probiotic I'm taking every night seems to be helping my guts. Granted, I still get pain and such now and then, and I'm still passing a lot of mucous and some blood now and then, but it's nowhere near as bad as it has been for so long.

Though I have no appetite to speak of, I can tell when it's time for me to eat because my nausea peaks. That's my new "hunger" signal. It's funny, because when you're nauseous the last thing you want to do is eat, but I know that if I don't get food into my system within the next 15 minutes or so after the nausea picks up, I'll get really sick.

So, I guess I'm working out the little kinks and quirks of my body, little by little...

It is frustrating, though, to feel like you're doing your best and still coming up short.

I told C this morning that I almost wish I had cancer or something. I mean, not that I want a life-threatening illness-- no way! But I wish that I had something definable to fight against, you know? It's hard to be brave and inspired when your "enemy" is so vague... It's like, I never know if I'm fighting effectively or what. Like, is it my fault that I'm super fatigued and out of it today? Is it my fault that I'm all achy and stiff? Is it my fault? Or am I really doing everything that I can and this is regardless of all my efforts? Would it be so much worse if I weren't fighting?

And, of course, the Should Monster is taking this breach in my certainty very seriously. "You should be able to push through this and function at a normal level. You should be able to control your health problems. You should be able to push this aside and work like a normal person. You're just lazy. It's not that bad. You're just a weak wimp who is looking for any excuse to shirk her share of duties."

No! None of that is true. I am not lazy, and I function at a remarkably high level for all the crap that I have to deal with, thankyouverymuch. Just because I don't have a single, specific foe to fight doesn't make me a worthless warrior.

I am a damn good fighter. And I'm doing the best that I can.

What more can anyone ask, even myself?

I've been doing some thinking today.

Clearly. (Today is a prolific post day, it seems.)

Today was a tough fibro day, especially pain and mobility-wise. It got me to thinking about my long-term strategies for living with my new reality. I had spent the last few weeks being miserable with my new meds, yet hoping that they would magically cancel out the fibro symptoms. Alas, I have come across statistics in several places that indicate the meds will only help about 50% of fibro peeps with about a 40% diminishing of symptoms.

Basically? It's here to stay. Like my food allergies. Like my hypothyroid. Like my trashed adrenals.

This is my new life. Welcome to it.

But I've also been thinking... I don't want it to be a dismal thing.

I mean, sure... I could focus on the pain, on the limitations, on what's been taken away from me... and I may, from time to time. I won't lie. Sometimes I want to just sit down and cry.

However.

I have a friend who is going through cancer treatments. It started off as breast cancer, metastasized to her liver and brain, and recently showed up on her brain again. She has become The Chemo Princess, and wears a tiara and carries a magic wand with her to every treatment and doctor's appointment. She lets her personality and her joy for life just shine through, and she totally rocks that cancer. (If that makes sense.)

And someone posted this video on her wall, which I watched and came away totally inspired. Like, seriously... it speaks to me in a very deep way. This is my "Fight!" theme song for when I am tempted to curl up in a ball and whimper my way into the night.

I don't have cancer. My illnesses are chronic, but they are not life threatening.

But still, it got me thinking... about how I, too, want to live my life with the joy that I see in those ladies who are fighting for their lives.

In a way, I am fighting for my life, too. Not in the sense that I will die, but in the sense that my dreams, my every day life, my previous way of living... it's all at risk. It's all up in the air.

Will I continue to pursue my dreams, or will I run up against a brick wall and think, "I can't"?

Seriously... I've been wondering lately if I can do this massage thing. It would be so easy to think, "I can't", and give up. But no, I know that I can!

Granted, I have to make adjustments. That's a given. There are things that will be new, scary, uncertain... and there will be things that will be infinitely more difficult than they once were. There are also things that will get easier with time and practice.

But, I mean... I want to live my life with joy and intention. Rather than let this stymie me and stunt me, leaving me a crippled shadow of what I might have been, I want this to be a wake up call to be intentional, to be grateful, and to take advantage of every "good" moment that I have. I want it to teach me to rely on others when I have to, and to be relied on in turn in whatever ways I can.

I know I'll have bad days. Like today. Limping through Wal-mart at half the speed of everyone else... I didn't feel much like smiling. But there were things that did bring a smile to my face. Joy doesn't translate into bliss, I know that. I won't always be in a happy mood. I know that. But I can live a life of joy.

I want to be an inspiration like those ladies are. I want people to spend time around me and come away thinking, "Yeah! I can do _____! It's totally possible! Man, I love life! It's hard sometimes, but I sure do love life." 'Cause that's what I think when I see those ladies and interact with my friend.

I wish I could adequately describe how it feels to have optimism take root inside after feeling little but shock, denial, and disappointment about my new diagnosis until now.

I can still live a good life. It is going to look different than anything I'd ever planned for myself, but I can still live a good life.

I don't believe that God planned this for me. "Plan" denotes that he would intentionally inflict me with these diseases, and I just can't believe that. Allow? Clearly. Prevent? Obviously not. But plan? Don't think so. I would say, rather, that this is being woven into the tapestry of my life. And I can accept that.

I'm planning to buy a rolling, folding walker for my trip back home this Christmas. It'll help me with all the walking I have to do (after hours of sitting--ouch!), and I can use it to help carry my backpack, maybe even as a place to rest if I get one with a seat. I'm going to run the idea past C after Nerd Night wraps up, but I think it would be helpful, even for days like today. I tried using the shopping cart as a walker of sorts, but the metal and plastic digs into my hands/arms and hurts just as badly as walking, maybe more. He didn't like the idea of my borrowing one of the electric scooters they provide, but he can't put his finger on a reason why. He just didn't want to be seen with someone in one of those. (Ouch, a little...) I hope he'll be okay with a walker.

So. Changes. I need to take care of myself better. I need to start eating proper meals, nausea or not. I need to get mild exercise, pain and fatigue or not. I'm trying to branch out and find a support network on the internet of other "fibromites".

I am challenged. I am encouraged. And I am hopeful.

'Cause, I mean... what doesn't kill you makes you stronger! :)

Note: Despite the optimistic overtones of this post, I did shed some tears while having the "I think I need to buy a walker" conversation with C. He casually said, "Well, if you think you need it, go for it." I don't know what I was expecting, but somehow that brought up second-guessing thoughts. "Do I really need it? I mean, can't I just suck it up, and... No! You need to take care of yourself!" 

I believe I'm making the right choice, though it's hard. I did cry, mostly because I never thought that I'd be in a place where I'd even consider buying a walker, much less at 24. I feel a little like a faker, like I couldn't possibly really need something like that because only people who actually have it badly need stuff like that, and it could always be worse, so I will never qualify.

Okay, seriously? I would have been happy to have a walker today. I would have. And yes, that makes me sad. I suppose I'm just grieving... grieving for the life that might have been and has been-- the healthy (hah!), active girl who goes backpacking with her friends... vs. the girl who now needs a walker. I'm afraid to be an embarrassment to C, and even more afraid of being a burden.

I know it's not for every day. But it's still a shock. Sobering. This is real. This is here. This medicine has not cured you. This is a part of your life.

I know not every day will be like today, but it can feel that way when you're hurting. But I know it won't be.

So I'm going to buy that walker, I'm going to wrap it up in neon duct tape (so it will look cool, of course! 'Cause really? If I'm gonna do this, I'm gonna do it right!), and I'm going to smile. I'm going to be grateful for a fiance that stands by me through good days and bad, and who is willing to buy his woman a walker if she needs it... even if she is only 24.

My first day of college was yesterday. I've never been an official college student before. It's... about the same as high school, really... except that I can go to the bathroom without having to ask permission first. That, and there are no bells. Just the sound of minutes quietly slipping by as a permanent backdrop to any and all activity.

I got 100% on my math homework. I'm proud of myself.

Today was a long day, tomorrow looks to be longer. Internet class in the a.m., class at noon, work after class, homework after work, class in the evening, and then sweet, sweet sleep.

I missed my evening class last night (the first night, too!), because I got a phone call that the location had changed. However, when I showed up... there was no one else there. I waited for 20 minutes, and still no one showed. Calling the department today, I found out that I was in the right location, but at the wrong part of the building. Apparently there are two Suites 101? Well, I won't miss class tomorrow, that's for sure. And, hopefully, the teacher will get a kick out of my reason for missing class...

C has been insisting that I set boundaries with work and that I pace myself... and find activities that I enjoy, to unwind. Apparently, I have a hard time doing anything that isn't "accomplishing". He says the closest he can get me to sitting down and doing nothing is reading a book, except that I'm always reading "learning" books and studying.

I'll try. I've been overwhelmed a lot this week already. There's been a great deal of emotional turmoil for me, which I can't write about at present.

Now I need to do dishes and braid S's hair before I hit the hay.

Many, many things crowding for the forefront of my cognitive attentions...

Where to start?

I was talking to Mom this morning. R came home, but he was terrified that they would all hate him and Mom would say it was over. That's not the case, and Mom and R have their first marriage counseling session tonight (actually, they're probably launching into it as I write).

I love Bebo Norman. Pandora's on in the background, and a Bebo song came on, and I just (again) realized how much I love and appreciate his music.

Okay, back to our regularly scheduled programming...

Mom and I were also talking about how group went last night (I'll get to that one-- it's super important!!) and I was sharing with her my new views on God. She was gratified to learn that I haven't *completely* gone off the deep end. ;)

How do I describe where I'm at? Well, while I was reading those books on the origins of the Bible and its trustworthiness and whatnot, I realized how incredibly humanity is mixed up with that book. I'm not sure why, but I always just considered the Bible to be a book that God essentially dropped out of heaven, and people didn't have any influence on it at all. Transcribed, rather than inspired, I guess you could say... but the thing is that people did have an influence on it. The authors had agendas and biases and mindsets and backgrounds and all sorts of things. An interesting realization, that was... and I guess it's impacted my whole view of things.

I believe that Jesus existed, and I believe that he was God incarnate. As far as his utter perfection... well... I dunno. I mean, I'm sure he made mistakes, but that's a totally different thing. I think we tend to confuse sinlessness and perfection, and I'm sure that Jesus made the odd mistake throughout his life, especially as a child. But, yes, I believe that Jesus saves. From what, I'm not exactly sure... but apparently I have no access to God except by Jesus, because I just suck that bad at being good... but I want access to God, and I'm sick of hustling for acceptance, so I have to go that route, don't I? Grace sounds mighty fine when you're exhausted from being a Christian. (One thing I don't get, though... I mean, if Jesus was sinless and perfect and all that, why can't I be perfect? Why do I need Jesus? Cause if he was able to tap into God's power and be all perfect, why can't I do that? I know, I know, I've already messed up my chances, but it wasn't my fault that I was born into a family that didn't know how to guide me in God's way like Mary and Joseph did. God handpicked that family, gave Jesus every advantage... which I didn't have, necessarily. So what's to prevent me from being good enough, like Jesus was? Was it just that he was God and I'm not? But if Jesus had something over us that we can't have, then that's not the fair exchange that it's been made out to be, and that whole "you can stop sinning and live a holy life" thing is out the window. That's been rolling around in my head for months, if not longer.)

Okayyyy... anyways...

I believe in a creator god. I'm pretty sure it's Y--W-H, but not one hundred percent positive. I just know he's out there. And I guess I'm more of a deist, now. I used to wait for God to get involved in the nitty gritty ("God, save me from abuse! Why didn't you?" "God, help me to get a good parking space!" "God, please, help me sell these books..."), but he just doesn't a lot of times, and I've had to come to grips with that. I think it's the people around us that are charged with the act of "doing", of getting involved in the nitty gritty and doing what I've always expected God to do. We learn what is right and wrong, what God would have us to do, and then we live it out, and it's the people making choices for themselves that make up the answers to prayers or the curses that dog our footsteps.

G made a choice. A bad choice. He became a bad person,  by his choices. And I have to live with those choices, because I was in his sphere of influence. I have the choice to become a good or bad person, and the choices I make will impact those in my sphere of influence. When I make good choices and give out positive energy (as new agey as that sounds, it's for lack of a better term), that's God working in the world to me.

I guess God just isn't that personal to me right now. I don't buy into that whole "romantic- God is crazy about you" hype anymore. I tried it. I'm sure he likes us, even loves us (enter Jesus-- he must think we're worth salvaging, yeah?)... but I don't see where he's really into a marriage-y type interaction like some people try to make it.

I also think that many of the things we ascribe to being God working are, in fact, the workings of people's choices and decisions. (According to my previous theory, though, that is God working, but not in the "reach down from heaven and bonk someone on the forehead" type of working, you know what I mean?)

I told Mom that, unbelievably, I've almost come to a place of acceptance. What happened to me happened, and I can't change that. I do believe that lessons and good things can come from everything, and while I would avoid what happened to me in a heartbeat, I know that I can use it to keep it from happening to others. Truly, it's total BS that it happens at all, regardless of who it's to, and this world is full of sick, sick people and it really REALLY ticks me off. Gets my ire up. (I wonder if they call it "ire" because Irish have a reputation for hot tempers?) So for now I'm off of the "God, why me?!" question, and more on to the "What can I learn and how can I help other people with this experience?" question. I know. I never thought I'd be here, either.

Anyway, moving on from the religion topic...

I've realized that I've made some mistakes with my group of girls. It's not my fault, per se, because what I really need is training, but there's been no opportunity to train and then get the group going-- I just had to jump into it. As a result, I've had no idea what to do when girls get into crisis mode or get emotional... so I've just avoided that as much as possible, which is not what they need.

I've been too lax on some things, like cussing, and there's been a gradual slide towards chaos and disrespect as we've gone on. Also, I've been too intellectual and reading-focused, but we need to be doing more healing exercises that will help the girls confront their issues and heal. Not everyone learns from reading like I do. We really need practical application, and less reading.

So, lessons learned, curriculum being totally revamped from the ground up, and I'm doing research on the side to learn how to be a better peer support facilitator.

Last night, we did roleplay and confronted our abusers. E came into the class to help me explain some of the changes that will be going down, and she led this exercise.

There were many, many tears, and a few of the girls didn't feel like they were ready, but I don't blame them. It was tough. E took the role of abuser, and she goaded us on with aggravating questions and statements like, "Why did you tell? I thought you liked it? You acted like you did. You know you wanted it. Why else would you have let me do it?" etc.

It was my turn, and my emotions were definitely running high after seeing the other girls go through it... G's face kept floating to the surface of my mind, and memories... gracious, the memories...

I got so angry. I don't even remember what "he" said, but I basically screamed at him, asking what was wrong with him, etc. The girls on my side of the table fled to the other side, and they all hunkered like they were in a foxhole. It didn't matter, because I wasn't supposed to look at anyone but E. She asked, I answered, and oh, I cried.

I trusted him, you know. He was supposed to take care of us, the only dad I'd ever known... I suppose I was hoping he'd be like Grampa. But please, nothing like G1! No, he wasn't that sadistic, I suppose... he never put me in a hot oven, or stuffed wadded up socks into my mouth, or tried to force me to drink his piss, or laughed while he held me in a bathtub of water filled with floating ice cubes... but he threw shoes at me. He starved me. He beat me. He humped me. He touched my sacred, private parts, and he touched me with his filthy, naked penis. He spilled his semen on the blanket next to me, and I had to sleep in it. He gave me Nyquil to knock me out, and heaven only knows what happened after that. He took my underwear off and molested me in the same bed as my sister, as my siblings... more than once. He did things that I can't even remember, that I don't want to remember, that I won't let myself remember.

And still, I wanted him to be my daddy. Still.

How was I to know what a father is truly like?

Hell, I still don't know what a father is truly like.

So I confronted him last night.

I told him that I hope he gets Bubba for a roommate, and that I hope Bubba likes him just as much as he liked me. I hope he gets the same treatment, and worse. I hope that he gets popsicled like Dahmer, and I hope that he survives so they can do it again. I told him that I would say he doesn't deserve to live, but he doesn't deserve to die, either. He deserves a long, slow torture so that he can know what my life has been like since he gouged holes through my very soul and filled them with decaying garbage.

She asked if I forgave him, and I quickly replied, "Hell, no!"

Do I forgive myself? Softer, this time... "Hell, no."

Why? Because I trusted him. I feel responsible for my family, and I let the abuser infiltrate us for how many years without saying a word? It's not my fault, but I still feel responsible.

And the last, the very last thing I said to him was this:

"You can't ruin my life. You don't have that power."

I also wanted to add, "F--- you."
I abstained for the sake of the girls, though.

But it's true. He doesn't have that power. He's too weak, he's always been too weak. He can't control me, and I won't give him that. He deserves nothing, least of all my submission. If I fall to ruins, he's won, you see. It is only by releasing him that I can truly have my vengeance.

As I said my last statement, I couldn't help but smile a little through my tears and rage, because I know it to be true.

He has no power over me.

He hurt me, but I have survived, and will continue to survive. He loses. :)

Seriously, though, I wish I could bottle this rage and primordial fury. I'd sell it as an energy drink. It really charges you up.

I've been thinking about my life lately.

Questioning, more like.

I just finished up the book "The Dirty Life: On Farming, Food, and Love", which was exceptional. I found myself, however, incredibly baffled and bemused as to why the author, someone so like me, would choose to settle down with someone so infuriatingly crazy as this Mark fellow.

To be fair, she does have misgivings--many, many misgivings. But she ultimately decides that the man she loves and the life he offers her is worth the sacrifice of giving up a part of herself and the goals and ideas she once held.

Here's a few interesting excerpts:

"Mark joked that I was going to Hawaii for my solo honeymoon, but it was a hollow joke. I think we both knew there was a real possibility that I wasn't coming back. I imagined my friends would sigh, say it was just like me, that they'd expected it all along; my parents would roll their eyes and forgive me for putting them through all that drama, and debate the proper thing to do with the wedding gifts.

At the center of my attachment to travel had always been the belief that indeed there is such a thing as escape. You can change everything with one slim ticket. The last time I'd been in the Maui airport, I'd been a girl, twenty years old, and as I walked toward my luggage, I wondered if I would find my free, young self waiting for me there among the airport greeters with their leis, or if I'd murdered her by getting married to a farmer and a farm. I supposed I would find out. Travel tends to grant clarity. Remove all that distracting context and you find yourself staring at cold hunks of truth."

"Watching that guy's collard flutter into his basket was the moment I got married, in my heart. There is no such thing as escape after all, only an exchange of one set of difficulties for another. It wasn't Mark or the farm or the marriage that I was trying to shake loose from but my own imperfect self, and even if I kept moving, she would dog me all the way around the world, forever."

As I said, she is so much like me. And this, too, seems to be the conclusion that I am evolving towards.

"It's never the way you think it'll be, Mark used to tell me. Not as perfect as you hope or as scary as you fear."

I've been having those panicky second thoughts lately.

You see, the euphoric feelings have dimmed, and I am left with the mundane, the every day... the more or less steady, predictable rhythm of responsibilities and the flow of those around me.

I have a hard time with mundane.

There's been quite a bit of drama in the HJ lately, a large portion of it traceable to an individual who, apparently, can't quite thrive without drama of some sort... even if she has to create it.

Now, I'm not one to create drama, but it's easy to sniff disdainfully at someone's handicap until you realize it's your own.

I've come to realize that I'm rather at a loss when not desperately pressed in circumstance. Or, at the very least, depressed. The sheer euphoria of positive feelings, of resolution, so close on the heels of misery, pain, and strain is addicting, to say the least. It's like picking a fight just to make up.

At first I thought this was an inherent flaw, but I realize now that it is a logical outflow of my upbringing. The domestic violence cycle, or even just the dysfunction cycle, goes like this:

The abuse is awful, to be sure, but the reconciliation and the honeymoon phase stand in such sharp relief that it's... well, it's like a drug. And it's hope. Hope that things will get better, that the bad won't come again. I go through this same up and down dance with my depression.

The kicker is that, should the hoped for peace come to pass... you've now become so accustomed to the cycle that you don't know how to live with that peace. At least, I don't. I'm always waiting for the axe to fall, craving it, even. (Could possibly be a part of PTSD, as well...)

And C is so steady, so... steady. I don't know how to handle it. The life he offers me... so... steady. It's obsessively, compulsively compelling at times, yet uneasily repellent at other times. I'm the one that goes up and down, back and forth. He hasn't wavered in his intentions at all.

(P.S.- That cycle totally describes the home front, with R and the kids and Mom... sigh. I was party to that just last Christmas.)

But when I'm wavering, I remember that he is good for me and I am good for him. I have a freedom with him that I have not had with any other relationship. He lifts me up, I lift him up. And, importantly for me, he puts up with all my crazy, and holds me through it. I've been revealing more and more facets of who I truly am to him of late, and he's still implacably by my side. Go figure.

Am I really just frightened of having someone who won't walk away, or give in to drama?

You know, I'd really like to learn how to live in the mundane and be at peace with it. I find myself in an arena of choice... is it worth it, this man that I love and the steady, stable life that he's offering me?

Roommate S and I went job-hunting today.

I've had this strange change of heart lately, and I'm not sure whether it's because I've been praying or not, but...

I feel more prepared to take this step, less overwhelmed. Like, up to the challenge, or something.

If there's one thing that I thank D for, it's for helping me to view challenges as a good thing, as something to be embraced. He didn't do that intentionally, I don't think, but in his reservations and hesitations I found a challenge, an opportunity to prove myself to be something better than that which was thought of me. You think I can't tramp through the forests and eat fish? Well, watch this! You think I can't hike? Watch me!


And I feel like that now. The difference is that it's a challenge to myself. I've been paralyzed by my fear for so long, telling myself that I can't do it, that I'm doomed to failure (and proving myself right), yet now I'm feeling somehow stronger. Like I want to try, at least try.

I do have concerns, hesitations... but not the paralyzing fear.

For one, I'm concerned that I won't be able to physically handle it. I know how sensitive my body is to stress, and though I don't typically like to admit it, I am physically compromised by my thyroid and adrenal problems. I simply cannot run full throttle for as long as others can, except by sheer effort of the will, and it takes more out of me than it does for others. This is a handicap, to be true, and it's something I need to be aware of... but I don't want to make it my excuse, you know?

The affirmation I drew out of the Magic Box this Weds said this: "Sometimes it's the things you can't do that bring out the brilliance in what you can!"

Think about it. Who are the people we admire most? Those who persevere against incredible odds. I can be a legend, in my own right ;)

I'm also concerned that I won't get to see C hardly at all once I start work and school and all that. The only reason I get to see him now is because I stay up late, but once I'm working, that'll have to stop. We'll end up like ships in the night, I'm afraid...

And, worst of all, I'm afraid that I'll be amazing and this'll work great, and then I'll be left to silently curse myself for waiting so long to move forward... and then I'll have to be a grownup. Where's the fun in that? I mean, providing for yourself is so overrated... (If only my sarcasm could be transmitted electronically.)

This is it, guys. I'm afraid of a prosperous, fulfilling life. I've been eking out an existence for so long, I'm scared of doing anything else. As ambitious as my heart is, the fear of failure is always greater and more compelling. I'm afraid to be happy, to be satisfied and content with where I am and where life, and God, have brought me.

I want to be the one that did something hard, something difficult, something challenging... not so that I can show it to others and be like, "See? I did it. You should be able to, too. What's wrong with you that you can't? If you really wanted to, you could." No, I want to do something challenging so that I can say to myself, "See? You really can do so much more than you believe. You're amazing. You're capable. And you don't have to be afraid."

I was very anxious about group tonight...

Well, maybe not very anxious... but anxious, nonetheless.

I mean... I'm not trained in this, y'all. I don't really know what I'm doing. And J, my new helper, actually kinda does this stuff for a living. So hello intimidation, however unwarranted.

C encouraged me before I left, and I know he was right... especially since the night proved him right.

Was talking to E earlier today, discussing projected work specs and schedules. I'm excited, yet mostly apprehensive, just from the sheer level of responsibility that I'm being imbued with. My fear of failure is so extreme that I'd rather just not have any influence or responsibility to speak of... that way I cannot let anyone down. Ever. Also, I'm afraid of overloading myself yet again.

I feel like I can't handle as much as the average person, that I melt down or burn out more quickly, become overloaded more easily... and while that is distressing and disheartening, I know how awful I feel when I'm overwhelmed, and I don't want to go there.

Yet... I realized after group tonight... as apprehensive or anxious or distressed I may feel the rest of the week, while group is in session and while I'm ferrying girls around, listening to the deep torments of their lives... I feel like I was born for this. I was made for this. It fits. It's right. And I enjoy it. The fear is just a spice that keeps me humble and cautious.

And I'm happy, so happy, that I'm staying. These relationships are so precious... the trust these girls have given me so willingly is astonishing, for these are girls who have had their basic trust of humanity trashed, trampled, and completely twisted. I would hate to be just another person that they shouldn't have trusted, just another person that hurt them by abandoning them after getting to know them.

I really need money, but... I really love my job. Even if I'm not getting paid for it.

(Can I still call it a job if I'm not getting paid? lol)

I'd much rather face the panic that comes with being below the poverty level than leaving this job for another one with an actual paycheck. Besides... the grants are coming in, and the paychecks will be coming in a few months from now. I can hold on that long. (I hope?)

There is a pulsating sadness within me, a great, walloping heaviness that I can't define...

I feel so inexorably lonely... so adrift upon the sea of my own consciousness...

I almost cried when C left for work, but kept myself.

I'd be tempted to crawl under the covers and take the beating that this inexplicable dejection brings...

...but last night at the boy's group, we talked about feelings, and how we can choose not to dwell on the negative, but choose the positive. One of the boys likened it to having a big plate of food, half of it negative and half of it positive. If you eat all the negative stuff and leave the positive on the plate, how do you think you're going to feel? Sick! But if you eat the positive stuff and leave the negative stuff on the plate, you'll feel a whole lot better. The negative stuff is still there, but you're not feeding on it.

It is tempting to feed upon sadness, I'll admit.

However, today, I say, "Screw you, feelings. I am going to continue with my day as planned, even if I do feel down."

Feelings aren't right or wrong, they just are. I just am sad. And that's okay. But I'm not going to indulge it, not today. (Perhaps another day when I'm not quite as strong?)

So I'm going to put on my big girl panties, brush my teeth, and get on with the business of moving in and cleaning.

If I carry this throbbing melancholy with me all day, well, then, so be it. (It can't be as bad as the headaches.)

Something I love about coming back to ID is that I come away so inspired. Whether it be the lacy skirting green of new growth on the pines or the searing, scintillating blast of icy winter across the land, I pretty much enjoy it all. From food to relationships to music, I've been inspired, and I can't wait to carry it all home with me. I feel like I'm walking out of a department store at Christmas time, my arms loaded with wrapped packages.

The past few days have added significantly to my store of pleasant ID memories. J and I have had quite the Mountain Woman Adventure together, as we fondly call it. It started on Wednesday, when we:

Then, the very next day, we:

It was a 21.5 mile round-trip hike, and my pack was the lightest at 30 lbs. precisely, so we were definitely tired by the next day. It was a huge blessing to have such nice weather and a wonderful camping spot. We also met a hippie. And his dog.

Happy to be heading home, that's for sure!

Note:
-We saw no rattlesnakes, or bears, or wolves, or boogeymen.
-I forgot to take my meds before we headed out, so I did that first 12.2 miles without any support to my adrenal glands. Go me!
-B's map is wonky. Don't trust it. Trail 607=thecakeisalie.
-Talked to C today for a while, and a.) he says that he would like to play racquetball with me if we can find a place to play (Yipee!!), b.) he's definitely being vague (purposefully so?) about his "running around" and the nature of the errands that he's running. I'm not pressing it, but I'm suspicious that a proposal is imminent.
-Hung out with H most of Wednesday, and we've got a lot of wedding plans in place. I'm ready for said imminent proposal :)