Something dark and hard but also viscous is rolling around inside me today. It started last night, on my walk. I started feeling dark and panicked and choked with grief and just… small and tender and tense. I keep bumping up against the hard edges of this thing no matter how I try to tiptoe around it. Depression? Anxiety? A combination of both? Could be PMS. Whatever it is, it makes me feel tacky and slightly soiled, completely exhausted, and way, way more pissed off than I am on a regular basis.

I'm angry, deeply angry, that I can't just get up and clean my house like I used to. Sure, it was hard back in the day (and now I know why), but it was doable. Now there are a hudred isolated little messes that I can't bring myself to corral. I'm too busy trying to drag my carcass through the day, make sure I take my meds, make sure I eat something, drink something, try not to vomit, futilely fight to stay awake… I'm weak as a kitten, and with less stamina. I hate being trapped in this body. Maybe that's it. Maybe that's the darkness I've run up against--I'm just finally fed up (again) with being trapped and shackled.

Yes, it happens to even the most cheerful and optimistic of us, "us" being those with otherwise invisible chronic illnesses. I don't have a remission to look forward to, just a further "managing" of symptoms that grow ever stronger and more varied as the months pass. I have to wonder, is this future I'm facing even worth all the effort I'm putting into it?

Perhaps I'm just over-exhausted. It was a busy, active weekend, as far as my energy levels are concerned. We spent hours in stores, looking at various things that we are shopping for, testing different mattresses and computer chairs… So exhausting, but also quite fun, because I was with Corey. But maybe my melancholy is simply a result of over-exerting myself during Corey's days off? That could very well be.

I spent some money yesterday, too, more than I usually do. I bought new components for a medic alert bracelet, a few other things… and I started feeling absolutely terrible and panicked later, sure that I'm a terrible person now because I bought frivolous things and I could have used the money to pay off medical bills… even though I took the thousand dollars I got from my late sister in law's life insurance and spent it exclusively on medical bills, and it seems that's all I spend money on these days… Like I'm no longer qualified to be a responsible adult who is good with money because I veered from absolutely necessary living-only expenses. Isn't that silly? I didn't use money appropriated for something else, and I can definitely make up for it in the next year. I guess I just don't feel like I could or should possibly… whatever. I don't even want to think about it anymore.

Whatever it is, I feel physically shitty (surprise surprise), I feel emotionally shitty, and I miss Bob with a fierce ache that won't be silenced. I contemplate getting up, doing the dishes, tidying the coffee table, even making an apple pie… and then I simply roll over and ignore my misguided ambitions. Perhaps later I'll dose up good with my meds, turn some energetic music on as loud as I can stand, and do the dishes and make that pie. Maybe a multi-berry apple pie? I dunno. I've been craving soda lately, too, mostly Coke. Gotta figure out how to get some of that here to the house, since I can't drive and I've got no vehicle… I wonder if I could simply order a 2 liter from a pizza place and get them to deliver just that to me? Hmmm… I'll have to make sure to hydrate alongside drinking soda, of course.

I'm sure my foul and exhausted mood will pass. I've got some exciting news that I'll write about then.

Note: I went and took a look at my "Quotes to keep me goin'" section, and it helped a remarkable lot. There's a reason I keep that page around… lol

So today is the day. I'm headed to the University to see the good ol' doctors and hopefully, hopefully get some answers, maybe move forward an iota in this journey. My friend drove me, and we've been having a grand old time. She's a pretty new friend, but we've bonded quickly and have a lot in common. I really enjoy spending time with her, and she doesn't mind driving me these long distances so it's a really good symbiotic relationship.

It has been so long since I've gotten out of the house and just had fun, but when I'm out on road trips with Cheryl we have fun! Granted, they're medical road trips, but who cares? We went and got pedicures last night after getting into town because I've needed one desperately for some time. The bottoms of my feet and my heels were dried, cracked, peeling and bleeding but I can't reach my feet to take care of them anymore. (I can't soak in the tub any longer either, because I can't get myself up and out; it's too painful and difficult.) I haven't been able to bend like that for some time, just because of the spine and ribcage and stuff, and I have more difficulty bending my knees now. I ask Corey to help me now and then, but he blows me off because he doesn't want to do it, like most of the things I ask him to do for me. Massages are the most frequent request, but he finds them boring and so it doesn't happen. I'm hoping that he can learn to grow and change with the situation and become more proactive, more helpful. When we talk sometimes he says that he doesn't know what to do to help with my pain or other troubles, but that's not the truth. He knows, because I tell him. I ask for things, I don't just assume that he knows what I need. He just… doesn't wanna do it.

Cheryl and I have been talking about a very wide range of things on this trip and I've gotten to vent about the hurt and frustration I'm feeling in this season of life. It's not just one thing, of course, but a whole kaleidoscope of minor and major stings and slashes and bruises. I'm just trying to make things better. I hope it works. The best thing about our conversations that range all over is that not only are we so much alike but she understands from the chronic illness standpoint as well. Her disease came out of a long remission about 4 or 5 years ago, so she's feeling the sting of losing the normalcy and routine of the life that you lived and maybe loved. I'm going on 3 years and I still have a hard time making heads or tails of it. Yes, Friko, there is more to me than illness, but I just live those parts. I don't need to blog about them because they don't cause me pain, I don't need to sort through the feelings. A lot of who I used to be and what I used to do is gone, though, and I'm trying to figure out what fits in the gap. It hit me like a brick last week to realize how dependent I've been forced to become and that just galls. I was such an independent woman, a "doer", a travel across the country by myself, backpacking, hiking, counseling and administrating, housekeeping, job holding person who could drive herself to the store if she needed to. I can't do any of that anymore. I can hardly cook for myself these days, me who used to cook for our family on a daily basis. I'm a damn good cook, but it's too painful and exhausting for me to pull it off any longer.

So all of that is tumbling around in my mind like a rock polisher hard at work as I face this appointment. I have no idea what to expect, but I know what I'm hoping for. If they can actually definitively tell me what disease I have then logically there will be a course of treatment that will help me to at least stabilize, but hopefully to become functional again. That is what I am looking forward to. I resent my dependence and so does Corey. He's resorted to mechanical functioning and nothing I do can bring him out of his shell. He won't even say "I love you" unless I say it first; it's just a response. He doesn't kiss me, I have to go up and kiss him. It's like he doesn't want to interact with me anymore beyond a superficial basis-- I kiss him and tell him I love him when he goes to work, I kiss him and tell him I'm glad he's home when he comes home (all true, by the way). We'll fix ourselves something to eat, watch a few episodes of whatever show we're watching together, take a walk for half an hour or so, and then he retreats to his man cave to play computer games and I do whatever it is I need to do (sleep, read, slowly accomplish some chores) until it's time to go to bed. He doesn't cuddle with me in bed anymore, either. Lately there's been a teeny bit more of that, but it's because I cuddle him, wrapping an arm around him or entwining our feet like we used to do…

I don't know if it's the truth, but I feel like the health and happiness of our marriage is intrinsically tied to the state of my health. If I can get a good diagnosis and course of treatment, I can get somewhat better. Then Corey won't be as stressed or freaked or whatever he is, and he'll return some closeness, maybe? Hopefully? I'm reminded of a time we were talking about something or other and he said, partially in jest I hope/think, "I don't want to deal with cripples," or some such. I just kind of laughed, patted him on the shoulder and told him, "Sweetie… you're married to one."

I tend to get my hopes too far up in the sky and then bemusedly wander around, dripping with my own blood, when those hopes fracture and come crashing down on me to crush and transfix me. It's kind of a weakness. But is a diagnosis of what is clearly a destructive disease really that big of a dream? I mean… shouldn't it just be kind of a realistic thing to expect from life? And so I welcome you to the times and trials of the chronic illness patient.

(If you want to hear a neat song about high hopes, check out Sinatra's song about high, apple pie in the sky hopes. It's adorable.)

I really need to be drifting off to la-la-land here in a few minutes, as I've got to get up early. Why? Becauuuuuuuse.... tomorrow is The Appointment with The Neurologists. You know, the one where we go over test results and I maybe get some answers?

I feel all sorts of ways about this appointment. On one hand, I know that even if all of the tests come back normal and show us absolutely nothing in the way of what's wrong with me, that means that we can rule things out, and that in and of itself is progress. On the other hand, I am both hoping and afraid that some of the tests will show something and we'll begin to have a clue as to what ails me. I'm hoping to maybe start getting headway in treating the root cause of this ridiculous pain (and all of the other fun stuff that comes with it). I'm hoping that the doctors will be able to get me some pain management (i.e. pain meds) that are more effective than what I've got now. I'm hoping for answers, clues, hints even. Anything.

But I also don't dare get my hopes up. (Despite my best efforts, I find myself hoping for things, but I keep telling myself to stop it!) I really hate it when my hope are crushed and I am devastated. I'm afraid that nothing conclusive will come of this, that I'll still be shrouded in mystery. I'm afraid that they will refuse to help me treat my pain. I'm afraid that I've got something terrible, something degenerative, something debilitating. I'm afraid that I'm only going to get worse. I'm afraid that there's nothing we can do to help me.

I mean, there are so many "what ifs". What if it's degenerative? What if the pain never goes away? What if I can't ever have kids? Hell... what if I'm dying? Some people might think that's being a bit dramatic, but considering how rapidly I've gone downhill, how bad it's gotten in such a short amount of time... it wouldn't surprise me as much as it might someone else. My mom even said this last trip that I looked like a chemotherapy patient-- pale, weak, dark circles all around my eyes from the pain and sleep problems... She also said that she fears this is the last time she's going to see me. I can't travel long distances anymore without great difficulty, and she doesn't have the money to come out my way, so... unless I get better, we won't be seeing each other for a long time.

Do you know how sobering and/or terrifying it is to have your mother look into your eyes and say, "I fear that this is the last time I'm going to see you"? Let me tell you, it's pretty damn scary. It made me take a hard look at myself through someone else's eyes and realize... yeah. I'm pretty sick. I've gotten good at denying how sick I am in my mind... maybe to justify myself to others, to avoid undue sympathy, to keep myself from plunging into a morass of despair? I'm like, "I'm fine yo! Um... Can you help me to the bathroom?" Hah.

Anyway, I need to rest. The less sleep I get, the harder this trip will be. C's dad is taking me, which is very nice of him. We'll be taking C's truck since it gets WAY better gas mileage than R's big old beast of a truck. (Funny... both of my dads are named R now. Go figure!) C will have to use R's truck, as my car is broken and in the shop. (We're going to have to get a new one. This has been about a year in coming, but it's still not a pleasant prospect. At least I hardly drive now, so all I need is a little beater to get me to work once or twice a week and to the store if I need it. No big. It just has to have proper hvac and be an automatic.)

I asked C to cuddle me tonight, and we talked over some of my fears. He told me it's okay to be nervous, and that I'm right in thinking about it as "no matter what happens, it'll be progress". Oh, guess what? I went to my grandparents this afternoon for a small Christmas (opening presents and watching a Christmas movie), and on the ride there Grampa and I were talking about stuff. C came up, as I was talking about how incredibly impressed I am with him as a person and how he's adapted to life with my illness and how well he takes care of me and loves on me. I mean, I knew he was a great guy before I married him, but he's really blown my expectations out of the water and shown himself to be a spectacular specimen of human being. Just an all around wonderful man and husband. Anyway, I was saying things like that and Grampa jumped in with the comment that he did have his doubts when we got married (C being a nonbeliever and all that), but C has really impressed him too and he thinks that my heart was really telling me the right thing when I decided to marry C. To hear that made my heart sing and burst with pride. I love that man. He's amazing. And he has the greatest mustache ever. Even Grampa is jealous! He said so himself during one of the 3 or 4 times he complimented C's mustache throughout the afternoon. Men and their facial hair, I swear...

I asked C to tell me some optimistic stuff about the future, to allay my nervousness and all. He looked at me, blankly amused (he's terrible at off the cuff stuff, especially optimistic or complimentary stuff), so I whispered a few prompts to him. "Tell me it's all going to be okay... and that no matter what happens you'll be here... and we're gonna be alright..." He then kinda stuttered out awkwardly, "I'll be here..." (long pause) "...for you." Then we both laughed because it was so awful. I'm grinning now even as I recount it. He's so funny.

Alright. To bed with me, while I still have a smile on my face. Hopefully I don't stew over the "what ifs" too much while drifting off to sleep. I'll try not to. But oh man.... so nervous!

 Yesterday was crap for both C and I. (I'll explain later.)

Today is D's birthday, or would be if he were still alive. I've already spent some time weeping loudly and rocking back in forth in grief, and it's only 9 a.m.

Tonight is the vigil.

I woke up with trouble walking in addition to the usual high pain levels. Yesterday when I practiced my song, my wrist and arm was spasming and cramping for the next 5 hours. Mer.

But I'm determined that today will be a... well.. a good day? An important day, if nothing else. I can still move around, albeit slowly, and I did most of the prep for the vigil yesterday. Yeah. It'll be ok. I'm nervous, but that's always the case when I get up front for stuff. I get nervous before hand. It's my fear of failure.

Oh, and I made the front page of the local paper yesterday with an article about the abuse that I survived as a child. Part of the publicity campaign for the vigil, and because I'm one of the speakers. When I read it, it's like I'm reading about someone else, and it horrifies me that someone should have to live through that. When I think about my own experience I minimize, minimize, minimize. But seeing it in black and white, in someone else's words? Yeah. It makes it real, and then I'm like, "Shit. I'm amazing!" LOL

So. On with the day. I'll report back... eventually. Work laptop died yesterday (told you it was crap) so I'm using C's comp again, and it's kind of a pain to boot this thing up and then sit in one position in the computer chair. I don't care so much for it.

Dear Dr. L,

I feel as though there are some things that need to be clarified that have been impairing the
effectiveness of our doctor-patient relationship. I am open to the fact that I may have misunderstood
things, and that you may have been working with thoughts and motivations completely unrealized by me. If that is the case, I apologize. However, I do not feel that maintaining my business with this
practice is in my best interest as a patient. In the past year that I have been a patient of yours,
my overall health and subsequent quality of life has decreased to such a point as to be laughable, if
one were not too busy crying and pitying me. Despite seeing me regularly through this time, the
records of my visits routinely note that "the patient has no difficulty performing daily activities",
despite my consistent and frequent protestations to the contrary.

My husband brought up a very poignant illustration of just how far my health has deteriorated. This
time last year I could almost hike to the top of Telegraph Pass, he said. Now, I'd be lucky to make
it out of the desert parking lot and up to the trail before having to turn back from pain, fatigue,
and general weakness. I have continually emphasized how regular, normal activities are becoming harder and harder for me to perform to the point that I am at the point of almost total debilitation, yet I do not feel that I am being taken seriously. Perhaps the blame lies with me in not being clear enough
about the severity, frequency, and variety of my symptoms, but the sense I get is that I'm being
dismissed. It's like if I come in and say, "Oh, my sickness is at a level 7. It's debilitating, it's
ruining my life," you take it as my sickness is really only at a level 4 and I'm not really that
impaired. I even brought in that "FMS Rating Scale" in an attempt to get you to understand the
severity of my pain and other symptoms.

The short period of time that I was using prescription pain killers in excess was a desperate attempt
to to control and somehow manage this pain; to get back to a somewhat normal standard of living. I
have, I thought, been very clear about the profuse, intense, and increasing amount of symptoms that I
have to deal with, and the disability that has come as a result. I feel that not only is my sickness
not being taken seriously enough, but I feel that the measures I am taking to cope are being
dismissed as exaggerative, such as the need for further pain control or for mobility assistance
devices like my walker. I am not sure how you were unaware of my having it until now, as I've brought it to several appointments with me, and I have had it since last December. I bought it for the plane trip back to W to visit my folks. I knew that I did not have the physical endurance to both walk
through the terminals and carry my bags without becoming so ill as to be rendered immobile. The cold of a W winter, and the fact that I was not yet on pain killers, forced me to use it for mobility's
sake while I was there, as I could not walk normally due to pain. (This was back when the pain was
localized mostly in my lower half.) When I got back home, I didn't use it for a while, feeling that I
did not need it for basic mobility. After a time, I began using it when I knew that I would be
standing or walking for a long period of time, and the pain from that would make moving very
difficult. It was also handy for the fatigue that accompanied long periods of walking or standing. As
time went on, my pain increased and my endurance decreased, and I began to use the walker more and more. My husband got me the walking stick that I think you remember so that I would not have to cart the walker around and endure the stigma of a young woman with a walker (no matter now neatly
decorated), but that way I still had something to help with mobility issues due to pain and fatigue.

That worked well, until recently the pain in my hands became so great that using the stick is out of
the question, and I have come to rely solely on the walker as my means of mobility aid. I explained
to you at the last appointment that I use the walker to help with balance, to help me walk when pain
affects my mobility, and to provide a resting place when fatigue/nausea/lightheadedness overwhelm me, which is frequently. My endurance is at the lowest it's been, and a simple grocery shopping trip of half an hour requires several rests, sometimes ending in my husband or a friend wheeling me around on the walker like it's a wheelchair because I am too sick or in too much pain to walk myself. That happens more often than I'd care for it to... as in, it happens on a regular basis.

Another concern of mine, beyond not being heard and/or dismissed is what would appear to me to be
false reports in my records. In the "Rheumatologic Exam" section of each appointment, results for
various examinations are listed as though the exams were performed at every appointment when this has not been the case. I recall only 3 appointments at most in the entire year that I have been seeing
you that I have been touched or manipulated in some way for an exam; certainly not at every single
appointment. It troubles me that at every appointment my joint and flexor tendon examinations have
results reading "Normal exam", yet I was never examined. The trigger point examination notes diffuse trigger points throughout, but I am not re-examined for this (though it's true). Also, I noticed on my chart that I have an assessment of "fatigue with polyarthritis". Why has polyarthritis never been mentioned to me, and why are we not addressing it if it has been determined that this is an illness I'm dealing with? You have seen my health declining rapidly over the past year, yet it would appear that an apparent lead to managing my symptoms is being ignored. I need an explanation on this. Even my general practitioner, whom I saw recently, is alarmed that no further diagnostic action is being taken given the decline of my health and the elevated titers that sent me to your office in the first place.

I do feel a little more as though you appreciate what I'm telling you with the hand x-ray and
ultrasound that was ordered, but this seems to me to be the first decisive action towards further
exploration of my condition in a long while. I understand that the diagnostic process takes time,
especially with the types of diseases that often mimic one another, but surely there must be a more
aggressive manner to pursue diagnoses? I feel that the symptoms that I bring up are casually
acknowledged and then dismissed. You sprang into action when I mentioned hand pain, but what about the insane spinal pain that I've been telling you about for several visits? It concerns me, but it is
not even mentioned in the notes. The fact that I have recurrent fevers and sores of the scalp, mouth,
and nose seem to be of little to no consequence to you. That you note that I "insist" that certain
symptoms are related to autoimmune diseases makes me feel like I'm seen as some patient who decided she had something she found off of WebMD, not to be taken seriously. My general practitioner affirmed my inherent understanding of my body and the autoimmune connection right away, and while she corrected me on some points I still felt heard, understood, and that she was taking action on my behalf and had my well-being in mind, which I am hard-pressed to say about the care I have been receiving here.

My husband made an extremely valuable point, though, which is that when you see me, I am at my
"best". I'm out and about, I'm dressed, I've got my makeup on, and I'm running on adrenaline to make
it through being out of the house. You see me when I'm "okay". I'm sitting up, smiling, talking,
cracking jokes... it seems that I'm doing okay. But you don't see the aftermath. You don't get to see
that I barely make the drive back home and then crash on the couch for the rest of the day. You don't
get to see the pain spike because I used my energy reserves for the day at that one appointment, or
the fever that comes with overexertion (or for no reason at all!), or the nausea and dizziness that
keep me prone even if I weren't so bone-tired and wracked with pain. You don't see any of that. You
see a relatively happy, healthy looking girl who wanders in with a walker. So I see why you might not
be taking me as seriously as you ought to.

If we do end up working together again in the future, I want you to take me seriously when I tell you
that I am seriously impaired and that I live with devastating pain on a daily basis that is not
adequately controlled by pain medication or the alternate coping methods I employ. I need you to
understand that I am worsening over time, not getting better, that I am alarmed by the rapidity and
severity of my symptom development, I worry that I will be completely disabled in the near future and that my life has literally been ruined by whatever is going on with me. I want you to understand that while it's easy for you to listen to my litany of problems and then wave me out the door, I have to
live with every single one of them, every moment of every day. Nothing we have tried so far has made any of it go away. I want you to realize, truly realize, that I am becoming increasingly desperate
and unsatisfied with my quality of life, and that depression is becoming a major problem for me. This
is why I am seeking help elsewhere.

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.

I have something that's heavy on my heart that I want to process through.

Part of me is holding back, since I know that some people actually read this, and, well... maybe it's not something that I'm entirely sure that I want to share with them... just yet. Maybe. It involves a lot of vulnerability and risk on my end, and that's just darn uncomfortable.

But on the other hand... this is my blog, for goodness sake! I can write about whatever I darn well please! This is my space to figure things out, and I don't write for anyone. I write for me. If someone happens to read it, that's incidental.

So I guess I'm just going to hash out what I need to, regardless of the consequences. Come what may. Here goes. *deep breath*

I know it may seem like I'm going crazy these days, going "off the deep end" with my lifestyle in a way. You know, leaving church and questioning God and trying out alcohol and getting my sexy on and all that jazz. Wearing makeup. Eating dairy, and-- Lord forbid-- doing it on a regular basis! (lol) Piercing my ears. Listening to rock and roll. Watching movies. Talking about sex and masturbation openly and freely with friends.

Some who know me may think that I've changed. I disagree. I think that I'm finally allowing myself to be who I've been all along... and I'm not making these decisions on spontaneous whims, either. (Well, most of them. Some are whims, yes, but that's just a part of life.) I pride myself on the fact that I'm making conscious, informed choices based on what I believe to not only be right, but what I believe will enhance my sense of self and be good for me in the long run, as well as those around me (if that applies at all). Remember, my word for this year is "authenticity". I want to be truly who I am, not some faker with a mask on. Too long, too long... I tried being someone else for too long.

And that's part of the problem that I have with "organized religion" or "mainstream Christianity" or whatever you want to call it. I totally believe that the Bible was inspired by God. I do. But after really deeply searching, questioning, and studying the issue, I have come to the conclusion that it is also a very human book influenced by cultural dictates and expectations of the time, and the author's own personal knowledge, understanding, and personality. In short, God may have inspired the original thought, but it had to pass through a lot of filters before it got down on paper... and I'm okay with that. I realized that I used to believe that God just kind of opened his mouth and the King James Bible fell out of it into our laps. Not the case at all!

Anyway, what I encountered in my bouts of intense Christianity is this-- people and churches hold the Bible up as this standard (which is good, don't get me wrong), but it becomes an inviolable pattern for what a person should be. You must be this way to be spiritual. You must do this to be a Christian. If you don't fit the mold, then you must alter yourself to fit it.

It makes me think of the fashion industry. They hold up this standard of beauty that's totally unrealistic, and then the average woman must pinch, poke, tuck, cut, sew, sweat, paint, pluck, and perform all kinds of contortions to fit herself into this preconceived concept of beauty... instead of acknowledging, owning, and celebrating the innate and inherent beauty that she already possesses. People are all beautiful in different ways, and what appeals to one person doesn't necessarily appeal to another. That's just the way it works.

And I feel it's the same with souls, or personalities, or whatever you want to call it. This standard, this mold, is held up as being The Only Way, and it is left up to you to essentially mutilate yourself to fit into that mold. I hate that. My relationship with God is not one-size-fits-all, and neither is my personality. I'm not like other people in many, many ways.

It's taken a long time before I've become okay with that. My mom was instrumental in the dawning of this realization. I was bemoaning the fact that I wasn't as good of a person as I wanted to be, etc, and she pointed out to me that God created me with the personality that I have. Who I am is part nurture, of course, but part of it is nature, and that came from God. (God, and my genes... That's a subject for later. I don't think God has a chemistry lab full of personality components up in the sky somewhere, nor do I think he has buttons and levers in our heads to "direct our steps", but I think he works through circumstances and events and makes the best of the choices that we make through our free will.)

So I'm becoming more in tune with who I am, really... trying to be an authentic person, and striving to become a better and better person through that-- a healthy, balanced person who can give back to the world around her in a positive way. Not out of guilt, not because I "have to" in order to be accepted by people or by God, not because people are watching me and I want to impress them with how good I am (I went through that pissing contest with Brother G during our "courtship". Ugh. I was SO depressed!).

And that brings me to the heavy stuff.

C and I have been having some interesting conversations about sex lately... you know, since I'm thinking about it and talking about it all the time. Anyway, it's been challenging for me in some really weird ways, as I've had to confront and think through a lot of the issues with sex I've been carrying around for so long. Firstly, my experience with and understanding of sexuality was warped from the get-go, because my introduction was being molested by a father figure. After that started, I began frequenting AOL chat rooms and experimenting with online sex, although I didn't know about masturbation, so I was kind of out of the loop on that one. It was a thrill, but it was really scary and creepy so I quit that.

I don't know why I didn't become promiscuous. I think there is something innately in me that leans toward modesty, and I'm grateful for that. I'm too... faithful, I guess. I want to attach to one person at a time. I simply can't have sex with someone I am not in a committed, serious relationship with. (Not that I've ever slept with anyone besides C, but that doesn't really matter.) Heck, I never even dated someone that I was not friends with first. That's just me. And I think that kept me from sleeping around, because I totally could have swung that way. I so much crave approval and acceptance, I'm mildly surprised that I didn't go that route. But, despite the warpage I received, I've always been pretty naive about sex. (C is "educating" me about some things, and my mind is continually being blown about all the stuff I never knew about. Wowza. Some of it's good, some of it's weird, and some of it's downright creepy and we laugh at it.)

Our recent conversations have been a catalyst for much thought, it's true... and they've brought up an issue that's also been brought up repeatedly in the past. I have done some deep thinking and soul-searching on it, and I came to a rather startling conclusion the other day that has me reeling.

I kind of feel the same way that I did when I got my fibromyalgia diagnosis. It's like, "Oh, that's the name to describe what I've been going through! Okay! So now I have an identifier. Um... what do I do with this? How do I balance this in my life, and how do I deal with this new word that is a part of my life, and all the attendant emotions/repercussions?"

After doing some deep thinking and soul searching, and finally being in a place where I feel okay to be honest with myself, I realized a hard truth.

I'm bisexual.

I'm marrying a man in 8 weeks, but I'm attracted to women as well. I have been for as long as I can remember.

I've denied it for a super long time, especially after entering the world of conservative Adventism. Homosexuality in any form is wrong, and the people must be changed! (Again, back to the mutilation of personhood for the sake of the standard/mold.) I still haven't figured out why God hates gay people so much... but I'm sure it's an issue that I'll be dealing with if I want to keep any kind of relationship with him, which I totally do.

Funny thing is, I've never been able to bring myself to condemn homosexuality, and I never could figure out why, exactly. You know Christians rant and rave about the homos and how God's going to punish them and it's a crime against nature, yada yada yada... I never could get into that. I always felt sympathetic, like, "Dude, it's their choice, their life, and they're not messing with you, so leave them alone! What's your deal?" Like, really? Who am I to tell someone who they can and cannot love?

And now I realize that it's because I identify with them.

It's really, really weird to be able to say that, to put into words an aspect of my life that's been repressed for the entirety of it... to own something so potentially divisive and, well... explosive, for lack of a better term.

I don't really feel the need to tell anyone about it, really, because I am marrying a man in a few weeks, after all. If I were single and went out and got a girlfriend, then yeah. I'd have to explain something to friends and family. As it is, though, I've never really acted on my inclinations. I know they can be ignored, even if they're forever lurking.

The neat thing is that C is totally supportive of me. I am not going to go cheat on him with a woman, just as I would never cheat on him with a man. We're still in a committed, monogamous relationship and this doesn't change that. Sure, if I had owned this sooner I may have ended up with a woman instead of a man, but I love C with my entire being. This changes nothing, except that being able to be honest with him about this and receiving his unconditional love and support has deepened and strengthened our relationship.

I'm feeling very insecure and vulnerable since I "came out" to C the other day, because I'm still not sure where-- or even if-- this fits into my life at all, except that I now have permission to freely check out chicks much as I would check out guys. "Oooh, he's cute!" "Wow, she's hot!" lol

It's just... weird. Owning this, acknowledging this... I feel free, but at the same time terrified. What if I lose friends over this? I keep having dreams that I end up in these helpless situations and SOULS people are trying to kill me. No joke. It's been a recurring theme these past few days. I guess it's that I still care about all my former classmates and the SOULS people... and I kind of miss being part of such a tight-knit culture. But I really (and I mean really) don't fit into that culture any more... and I'm also scared of being judged, rejected, scathingly rebuked, and all that jazz. The friends I have in real life right now? They would be totally fine with it. As a matter of fact, I told S this morning, and he just looked at me like, "So?" LOL. It's just not a big deal, because we all have that mindset of, "You believe what you believe, you live the way you want to live, and as long as you're not hurting anyone we're cool. If you are doing something stupid, we'll tell you, and don't screw anyone over or you'll get your a** kicked... and then we'll be cool again if you've learned your lesson."

I remember back when a friend of mine came out on her blog, while I was living up north. I showed it to C (my adopted mom, not my future husband) and we talked about it a little bit. She then proceeded to ask me if I was gay, and of course I answered no! The ulterior motive was to make sure that I wasn't going to go around corrupting her daughters, which I totally understand. But, you see, I'm not gay. I like guys very much! I'm marrying one, for crying out loud! But I also like girls.

I've never acted on it much... just a few incidents here and there. That's not to say that I didn't want to, but I'd been conditioned to believe that it was okay for other people, but it was bad for me. Dirty. You don't do that if you're a good person, you know? And SOULS definitely reinforced that. But yeah, I've wanted to date several girls in my life. And I've had crushes on girls right along with guys. I tend to like guys more often and with more intensity than girls, but it's still there.

So... yeah. My big secret, blown.

I really hope no one hates me after this. J, are you reading this? Can we still be besties? Are you still standing up with me at my wedding?

I'm literally in tears over the prospect of losing valuable relationships over this, because so many people I know and love are the conservative Christians who condemn this kind of thing on principle... and I really, really don't want anyone to be uncomfortable around me. I mean, I'm sleeping over at my sis J's house in a week, and I don't want her to think that I'm secretly hitting on her or anything. I mean, it's like any other sexual attraction-- just cause you're heterosexual doesn't mean you want to sleep with every guy you see, or even flirt with them. You're not attracted to every guy, you don't want a relationship with every guy... and it's the same thing. I'm not attracted to every girl, and I really haven't changed at all. The only thing is that I'm recognizing and owning a trait that was already there, that has been there most of my life. I'm still the same person, I'm still faithful to my fiance, and I'm still madly in love with him. My platonic relationships are still platonic, my friendships with girls are still just friendships (just as with my guy friends), and my family is still my family.

Again, it's like my fibro diagnosis. Nothing has changed, yet everything has changed. The way I see myself has changed, and I'm trying to work through that. It's tough. I'm scared, vulnerable, and very insecure. But having that warm safety net of C's devotion and affection has meant more than I can say. He loves me-- all of me-- including this facet. Oh man, do you know what it is like to experience a love like that? To be totally known and totally accepted? It's... bliss, man. It's the best thing that's ever happened to me.

I don't know how to wrap this up, frankly. I was afraid that I'd get all this out and then delete it, but... I think I need to take that step and post it. For myself. Because if I delete it, then I'm negating the sentences where I say "I'm okay with myself." I'm giving into a shame that has no source, out of fear of rejection that may or may not happen... I'm letting "what ifs" control me, and I don't wanna live that way anymore. This isn't about my sexuality so much as it is taking control of my own life and not letting fear control me anymore.

And with that.... *deep breath* I'm clicking the Publish button.

Note: An interesting link that explains bisexuality in a very rational way, for those so inclined to further understand what it's all about. The "Tips" section I find especially helpful in explaining the thought process surrounding it. Oh, yes, and then there's this one- 8 Tips on How to Accept a Close Friend's Sexual Orientation. Just some fun food for thought, and a different perspective/thought process for some people.

Well, today I go work with E after class... and I'm nervous. It's the "confrontation day". (Maybe I should call it "C Day" instead of "D Day"?)

I really have no idea how this is going to turn out. None at all. I don't know whether she'll welcome my "advice" or "insight" or whatever you want to call it...

...but I do know, as I told Mom the other day, I'm just not comfortable leading group without training. And I'm not comfortable with the fact that she's presenting HJ as an organization with "trained peer support specialists". Um, no. Kids just like me.

But in an environment like this one, I'm finding that "kids just like me" scenario to be detrimental to what I'm trying to do here. They like me, sure, but they don't really respect me, I think... and I can't earn it by efficiency and structure. At least, not yet.

And maybe the hiatus will help them realize what they've got, you know? Like, you don't miss it until it's gone? But it's not gone... just taking a time out.

*sigh* I don't know. Whether HJ takes a hiatus or not, I feel like I need to. Sorry, E. Maybe you will perceive it as selfish.

I've done enough of those "selfish" things over the past couple of years to not be so much fazed by it anymore.

I'm sorry if you hate me for this.

Ugh, anxiety... nibbling away at my guts...