Remember how I mentioned that it's Invisible Illness Awareness Week? Yep, that's still going. And I did a thing, because other bloggers are doing things, but I really didn't want to type it up on both blogs of mine, so I did the thing on the more pertinent blog and now I'm linking it here.

There's been a little quiz/survey/questionnaire thing going around entitled, "30 things you may not know about my invisible illness", and I went ahead and filled that out over on Honeybee Chickadee. If you'd like, pop over and give mine a read. Hopefully it can shed some light and insight into what life with an invisible illness (or three) is like!

Well, I got the call last week (I think it was?) about the blood tests that the new rheum had run. As he said, he is more than willing to look into the autoimmune side of things, though he seems to feel that my troubles are caused solely by fibromyalgia. I do not accept this. It's pretty plain that I do not accept this, and several of my other doctors agree with me. 

Good grief, I wish there were a way to get them all under one roof so they could put their heads together and share all of the opinions and knowledge about my body and its workings or lack thereof… I get so tired trying to coordinate all the appointments and rides and tests and information sharing. It's hard enough for me to just make it through the day without trying to overdose on something, anything to make the pain go away just a little bit. How am I supposed to expend all this energy trying to figure out how to get my doctors to figure out how to get me better when I'm losing energy by the week, the day, the hour? I don't have much left in me for this, and it's a bitter irony that the increasingly sick person must put forth increasingly greater amounts of effort to receive care the sicker they get. I need a caretaker, for reals. Or at least a secretary. I could wish that C took more of an interest in my health affairs… doing research, knowing my meds and what they're for and how often to take them… or even just their names? It's all left up to me and it doesn't seem fair because he's relatively healthy and I'm not and I just really don't have it in me anymore, guys. I mean, this post alone… it's taken me days to scrape together the mental energy to even type this up. I feel very alone with my sickness very often, but I don't feel that it's fair to complain or even ask more of C, because I am already such a burden. He is such a support for me, so taking care of my own medical stuff is the least I can do, right? Plus there is the whole "hanging on to the last vestiges of my independence as a human being and/or adult" thing. Did you know that, not only do I not drive unless I absolutely have to (it takes a ton of energy, it's usually painful, and I could have a twitching attack/go faint at any time and I don't feel that it's very safe for me to be driving), but it is difficult for me to get the walker in and out of my car by myself? Didn't used to be that hard. Now that I need it more than ever for getting around, it is more difficult for me to access it by myself. This seems to be an increasingly familiar theme in my life, and I absolutely hate it.

Aaaaaanyway, this wasn't supposed to be a rant about my feels regarding my sickness, it was supposed to expound upon my theory that I'm pursuing. Right, so, here's the theory.

The blood tests showed no lupus activity, which is good, but that also means that another potential answer has been crossed off the list. MS and lupus, both of which seemed good fits as explanations for my symptoms, are out. So what is making me so sick, aggravating the fibromyalgia symptoms? There's got to be something. I just keep worsening, and every time I do I'm sure there's no further rock bottom to hit… but I'm always wrong. My mother is understandably quite concerned. While I was back home visiting for Christmas ("back home", as though I've ever actually lived there LOL. But home is where the heart is, and my heart is with my family, so I guess it works.), she told me that she was afraid this was the last time she was going to see me. Not that I'm going to drop dead within the year, mind you, but my physical health has deteriorated so far that traveling is very difficult for me, even just road trips to the big city to see my doctors. It takes a heavy toll, and traveling across the country with all the planes and the sitting and the walking through terminals and… it's all just really hard. Really, really hard. So unless something changes, I probably won't be able to go out there to visit again, and she doesn't have the funds to come out here. Sucks, but that's reality.

She was very taken aback by my physical appearance as well. Several times she made the comment that I looked like a cancer patient. I was pale, weak, dark circles all around my eyes (not just underneath), my face is puffy… I just don't look healthy, despite what people and doctors say. I don't. I may "look good" in that I'm not gaunt faced and jaundiced, but I don't look healthy. I just don't look like I'm dying. On the phone with Mom last week, she told me that yes, I do look sick, and she's right. She is also worried that I have cancer. I know, I know… it sounds like we've been spending too much time with the WebMD symptom checker, right? Well, honestly… (and this is hard for me to admit) cancer is something I've been worried about too. I mean, I saw David wither away, and that was devastating. The Chemo Princess passed away just last week, but she didn't look like he did… at least, not in any of the pictures that I saw. I've had MRIs and CAT scans within the past 6 months, and none of those showed any tumors or anything, but as my symptoms keep evolving it has been concerning me more and more. Burning bones? Really? I mean, what the heck is responsible for that? Because it's not just a minor annoyance but a genuinely distressing, excruciating experience that genuinely concerns me. Stuff like that shouldn't be happening to your body. I may have fibro, but not everything that I experience can or should be chalked up to that. I believe the body will give you warning signs that you can interpret if you are paying attention, and I really believe that my body is throwing up neon signs, asking to be evaluated and considered beyond the scope of "just fibromyalgia".

So I started doing a little research, and I came across this little gem of a website explaining Cushing syndrome. I was curious about how my symptoms may be related to my adrenal insufficiency, since we've got the thyroid probs under control, and when I read about adrenal tumors and Cushing syndrome (not Cushing's Disease itself, mind you; that's something different.) I felt some puzzle pieces potentially fall into place. You see, at first it seemed silly for me to even consider Cushing's, because I have adrenal insufficiency and don't make enough cortisol (which is why I supplement, every day, for the rest of my life) and Cushing's is when there is an excess of cortisol or other adrenal hormones in the system. Doing this research, though, brought me to realize that my endocrinologist has gotten my thyroid levels good and under control but she is doing nothing to monitor my adrenal insufficiency… which could be fatal, given the right circumstances. That's not acceptable, and I mean to remedy the situation. I'm trying to get an earlier appointment than the one I have in 1.5 months so I can discuss this with her. I'm dreading the thought of possibly having to find yet another doctor in the big city, but I will if this doctor doesn't take me seriously and start keeping tabs on my adrenal levels. I'm taking the same amount of cortisol supplement that I have for years, but is that the level my body needs to be functioning optimally? I don't know. I haven't been tested. The only relevant test was where the insufficiency was confirmed.

So what makes me think that this could be part of my problem? A few of the symptoms fit what I'm struggling with: 

• Purple marks (1/2 inch or more wide), called striae, on the skin of the abdomen, thighs, and breasts
• Acne or skin infections
• Upper body obesity (above the waist) and thin arms and legs
• Round, red, full face (moon face)
• Thin skin with easy bruising
• Backache, which occurs with routine activities
• Bone pain or tenderness
• Mental changes, such as depression, anxiety, or changes in behavior
• Fatigue
• Headache
• Increased thirst and urination

Possible complications include:

• High blood pressure
• Kidney stones
• Serious infections

I've marked in red all of the symptoms that apply to me. Some are new, such as the striae, the upper body weight gain, the fullness/puffiness of my face, the increasing bone pain and tenderness, and my blood pressure that has been steadily rising over the past year.

One cause of Cushing syndrome can be a tumor on one of the adrenal glands. "Cushing syndrome is caused by constant, high levels of the steroid hormone cortisol. A tumor on one of the adrenal glands causes about 15% of all cases of Cushing syndrome. Adrenal tumors release cortisol. In adults, adrenal tumors are less likely to be the cause of high cortisol levels. Pituitary tumors (Cushing's disease) are more often seen in adults. Adrenal tumors are found in women more often than in men."

Cushing's disease is when the pituitary gland makes too much of the hormone ACTH. ACTH then signals the adrenal glands to produce cortisol. A tumor of the pituitary gland may cause this condition, tumor of the adrenal gland, or tumors elsewhere in the body that produce cortisol or ACTH (such as the pancreas, lung, and thyroid). I know I don't have Cushing's disease, because I don't make enough cortisol and the disease is too much. It's like the difference between hyperthyroidism and hypothyroidism. I'm hypo on the thyroid and the cortisol. If, however, there's a foreign something somewhere in my body that's giving me excess amounts (because remember, I'm also taking cortisol supplements on the daily), then that could possibly explain some of what I'm going through, if not all.

So, this illness… brought to you by the letter C. C for cancer, C for Cushing's, C for CFS. I intend to pursue this matter, along with a few other options such as myalgic encephalitis (CFS) or an infection of the Vagus nerve. Lyme disease might not even be too much of a stretch. We'll see. One way or another, we'll see…

I lie here in the semi-darkness; the room is lit with a weird half glow from the gibbous moon somewhere outside. The darkness is translucent and diaphanous about me, tinged with heady blues and soft blacks and the minute, luminous influence of starlight.

I am alive, vibrant, and humming despite my inevitable fatigue. My body yawns and curls in on itself; my spirit swings wildly in the breeze of my thoughts and flutters on the edge of an abyss. It reaches out with impossible hands to gather the moonlight to myself, to pluck the stars from the sky one by one and place them on my tongue to feel them melt into inexplicable froth and disappear.

The ever present question looms large in the darkness of my supposed rest: what is wrong? Another disease stricken off the list, and I suppose I ought to be grateful for each horrible fate that no longer awaits, each drooling and writhing hydra gnashing its teeth I somehow manage to escape. And yet… I find myself disappointed. Each awful reality would make so much sense, it would fit so well, and yet it all remains enigmatic and foggy… a foe that strikes at me from the mist, and I am helpless to identify it, to strike back, or indeed do more than clumsily dodge blows as best I can and try to staunch the bleeding.

It's not lupus. Well what the hell is it?! It's not multiple sclerosis. It's not this. It's not that. Do I just have the worst case of fibromyalgia in the whole freaking world?! Did I just hit the terrible luck jackpot and I have to live this way the rest of my life? Continually worsening… medications ineffective… barely scraping by financially because everything extra goes towards medical bills and the trips it takes to get me to doctors who might actually be able to do something… Maybe I should just do what a good soldier does and fall on my sword. But no… I've contemplated that so much lately, down to the minutae of planning and taking into account all the loose ends to be tied up upon my demise… and the thing that gets me every time is the mental image of C finding my body. I can't bear the look on his face or the tears. I just can't do it. So I curl up into a ball and whimper while the mist swirls and eddies around me, while the unknown, unnamed, faceless enemy (enemies??) stalks and jeers and jabs and demoralizes.

I want to get better. I want to be better so bad it hurts. (Maybe that's my problem. Hah!) I have so much potential… so much locked away inside because I don't have the energy or strength to pull it from myself and lay it out in the sun. I need an assistant, a minion, a crone… Someone to hobble hunchbackedly to and fro at my beck and call. Someone to take over the menial tasks of living so that I can focus all my precious remaining energy on creative, ennobling endeavors.

I sit here bare skinned, swathed only in quilts and blankets, and even in the dark I cannot bear the sight of myself. It is not that my form is displeasing, per se… but it's because I can see what is inside me and it kills me that I can't be everything that I want to be. On the inside, I am wind chimes and church bells and Tibetan prayer bowls and bagpipes and a hand drum. I am brightly colored beads flashing in the sun, multi-hued fish swishing secretly through cool ponds and rivers, and the whisper of leaves as the weather changes. I am the smell of rain on the way, the eye boggling pleasure of a riotous tie dye pattern, the satin caress of age-smoothed wood, and the soul satisfying release of the perfect cup of tea or coffee. I am so many bright, beautiful, eclectic, warm and neutral, shining, earthy, wildfire things inside… and I can't get them out. I can't be who I really am and who I really could and should be because of this poor broken body that I can't help but hate sometimes. Most of the time I regard it with a fond kind of pity as you would with an injured kitten, maybe with a bad leg. Other times, though, the frustration boils up in me like a scalding magma that feels so good to indulge yet at the same time fills me with a deep and ineffable despair and sadness… because I am not sure that this body, this prison, will ever change. Kitten's legs can heal. My beautiful soul-skeleton is closed in by swaths of pale, chubby flesh shot through with purple stretch marks that were never there before. Sometimes they are beautiful tattoos that tell the story of my Amazonian endurance, and other times they are the ragged cracks through which despair and disgust ooze from my very core as lava from the earth's crust.

So I lie here in the half-moonlight, and I wait. I wait for sleep to overcome me, as inevitably it will. I wait for tomorrow to begin. I wait… I just… wait.

I got a notification last night  that I had received a comment on an older post of mine. I LOVE getting comments (kind of feels like when you get a letter in the mail, you know?), and this one stirred me pretty particularly. Cherryblossoms wrote to me on the post "God won't protect you… or will he?" from May of 2012. This is what she said:

"Hi cassandra, i see ur blog was written a while ago and i just gotta say it REALLY spoke to me. I have not faced abuse but emotionally i resonate with all your struggle in trusting God. I've had a chronic illness for a while and last year was really...really hard. Suicidal at times. And in retrospect i can certainly see where God provided for me but like....exactly like u said, i didnt feel protected. and then i thought well...was i promised to be protected? and if i'm not how am I supposed to trust someone who doesnt seem to bother to protect me, if He could? I mean i sure wouldnt trust another person who did that to me, stand by and do nothing when maybe they couldve done something. And if it was all to teach me a lesson....well okay...did my suffering have to be that overwhelmingly painful just for me to learn something? like really? and im still not sure about what i learned. i have vague ideas. mostly i just think i learned how to be real pissed off all the time. and like u i sit here and think, im such a bad christian! i feel the same. how do i tell people jesus loves them when i still feel hurt for feeling abandoned? Anyway, i wanna know if , since time has passed since this post...if u've found wisdom or solace or anything u can offer me. hopefully u see this comment lol. anyway, take care u sound like a lovely woman nonetheless < 3"

I, of course, had to reply…

"Life with a chronic illness (or more than one) is hard. Period. And I think that some emotions are universal, regardless of abused/not abused, etc. Have you ever seen The Princess Bride? One of my favorite lines from that movie has always been when Wesley, under the guise of the Dread Pirate Roberts, tells Buttercup, "Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something."

I can't say that I've come up with any answers… or wisdom… or solace. In fact, I don't even consider myself to be a Christian any longer. I just couldn't reconcile my experience with the facts presented in the Bible. I may come back to it someday, I can't really say… but at this point, I'm more of a quasi-Bhuddist/skeptic/deist/agnostic. Still figuring it all out. What I HAVE decided is that God wasn't responsible for my pain, I don't think. My abusers made the choice to be world class jerks, and the responsibility of my pain lies with them. Could God have stopped it? Maybe. Did he? Not that I'm aware of. But, basically, I've learned to live my life from the inner strength that I possess within myself, and the strength and hope offered to me by the people I've surrounded myself with. 

Now that I'm an adult, I can choose who I let into my life for the most part. I had no choice as a child or young adult whether to let those painful, toxic people into my life. So I surround myself with people that will feed my soul, and I stand amazed at the fact that they seem to feel the same way about me. I am learning to own my own strength, light, and love, rather than dissembling and deferring with "humility" and giving God all the credit. You say that your last year was really hard, and you were suicidal at times. (If you read some of my more recent posts, you'll see that I've been there at times lately as well.) But… you're still here. You chose to fight, to hang on, to believe in hope (maybe), and it's that strength within you that will carry you. Find hope where you can and where it suits you best. If that's in church and a belief in God, then more power to you. I have found, though, for myself… I have found that I lead a happier, more peaceful, more fulfilled and strong and hopeful life as a non-believer than I ever did as a Christian. I know that's blasphemous to some people, but it's the truth. It's safe to say that I'm a better, more authentic person now than I have ever been before in my life.

I have no idea if that addresses any of the questions floating around in your heart, but it's all I've got to offer. Thank you for the comment-- it really brightened an otherwise crappy evening (feeling VERY poorly, physically), and I hope to see you around. Oh, and thank you for the compliment :) I hope you see this!"

I've held back from outright stating some of this stuff, because honestly… I'm afraid to catch flak for my new beliefs (or lack of them, I should say). Since I spent so many years immersed in an intensely Christian culture, an overwhelming majority of my relationships and friendships are with people who are staunch Adventists and who feel that everyone should be an Adventist. If you're not, you're lost. And I really, really don't want to deal with the stigma or evangelistic efforts that would come with such an admission. I mean, if we're being honest here, it's not a state secret. It's pretty plain from my Facebook page that I've changed my stance on a lot of things, without my ever having to say anything. But I want to be seen as me, as a person, as Cassandra… not as my beliefs. Not as my religious affiliation. 

Did I tell you that when I "came out" to E about my lack of Christianity, she seriously considered asking me to resign? Why? Because our organization is faith-based, and we, the leaders, must set the example. I personally think that the organization is stronger for having a diversity of beliefs and religious convictions, as the population that we are trying to reach doesn't all fit into the standard Protestant mold. It's unfair to expect them to, and I think it's unfair to require the staff to all have the same beliefs and life choices. I mean, I totally respect other's beliefs. I have no problems with you if you're Christian, Pagan, Muslim, Greek Orthodox, whatever. It doesn't matter to me. As long as you're a good person (wherever the catalyst for that comes from) and you treat others with fairness and respect, we're good. I could wish that the same attitude were applied to me. I don't want to be discriminated against for my lack of Christianity.

And, honestly… I'm afraid. I'm afraid to lose friends. I'm afraid of being judged, of being attacked, of being the target of some campaign to change how I feel and think and believe. I have my reasons for my choices, and it feels so very invalidating for someone to assume that they know better and that if I only listened to them I would see that I am being a fool and need to come around to their point of view. I also hate the pity that is reserved for "the lost". Please, please, please… just treat me like a human being, yeah? My bestie J is a marvelous example of how the relationship between believers and non-believers should be. She sees me as a person, not an evangelistic target. We discuss religion and God and exchange thoughts, theories, viewpoints, etc., but at the end of the day we both respect each other's choices as valid and reasonable and know that the other has perfectly legitimate thoughts and feelings that went into those choices. My other friend H is a good example of this as well. It is kind of sad, though, that I find myself so appreciative of interactions that bear the mark of basic respect. I wish it were a more common thing, and that I didn't find myself living in fear of the Christian community, or the conservative SDA community, to be more specific.

There are some days when it's hard to be totally cheerful. I mean, there are some days where I'm just a little melancholy. It could be any number of things; perhaps I'm not feeling particularly well one day, or maybe I heard/read/saw something that triggered a sense of loss, or maybe it's that the moon is in the house of Mercury in retrograde or whatever. The fact remains that sometimes that melancholy is just… there. Today is kinda one of those days.

I've not been feeling really well since I had those three days of hell without my pain meds. Did I mention how god-awful sick I was? I really don't think you can comprehend it unless you've experienced it. I couldn't, and I feel uber sick all the time. It was that bad. Like, I never want to experience that again upon pain of death bad. The only thing that kept me going was having a "deadline" to look forward to as to when I could refill my meds. If I had to do that indefinitely… nope. Just nope. I'm not even going there in my thoughts.

Anyway, December was a hard month for me. There was the travel, cold, and stress that came with visiting my family. That was already difficult for me, and then there were two trips to the big city for doctor stuff which was also hard on me. Then at the end of the month came my three days of hell, preceded by a sinus infection which I still haven't managed to fully kill. (Here's hoping the antibiotics work!) It was just rough, physically, and I'm not recuperated yet. I'm exhausted and most of the time I don't know "why". Is there a reason, or is this just my new level of normal? It's hard to tell.

Okay, so I'm feeling crappy and tired and I've got this sinus headache that won't go away and I'm nauseous all the time and my stomach hurts badly whenever I eat something ever since the three days and I'm not really digesting things right right now, and I'm more achy and tender than usual, and… I just generally feel run down. Imagine that you've had a really bad case of influenza and a stomach virus for the past year and a half straight, with periods of getting other sicknesses on top of that. Congrats. You're in my life.

Sorry. I'm sorry. I don't mean to be a downer. I just see everyone around me with their resolutions for the new year, and they're exercising and eating food and getting healthy, and I'm… getting worse. Still. Guys, it kinda makes me want to cry.

I know my life is amazing. I know it. My husband is the most awesome of awesome things to ever be awesome, truly. I have fantastic friends. I have good health care. I have a family that loves and supports me, even if they don't all understand what I'm going through. Our bills are paid. We have the disposable income to be able to go to the movies once in a while, which we did yesterday. We have the money to support pets, and I love my kitties. Life is good, y'all. It's just hard to enjoy it sometimes when you feel so crappy and you're so uncertain about yourself and the future. I know my future with my husband is steady. (Did I mention that we're almost to our first wedding anniversary? I'm so stoked.) But my future with myself is still so up in the air and I hate that. I want to know, dammit! What is wrong with my body? What is the malfunction, and what can we do to correct it? I just want to know!

Did I mention that I had to step back from the HJ? I asked for a year's leave of absence to get better. I believe it. I feel it. This is my year. It's gotta be. I can't afford to get any sicker. What will I have left? I will still be running the teen girl's support group. That much I can and want to do. But the HJ, helping people, that's my heart and soul, man. To have to give that up is killing me. The HJ is exploding. We're getting big, we're getting funded, we're getting really professional and helping a ton of people. Positions are opening up that I am perfect for, and I want to jump in there and do it so much… but I have to sit on the sidelines and watch E scramble to find people that are half as reliable and trustworthy as I am. I have to watch her get let down time and time again because people are flakes, and I can't step in to pick up the slack. I am so helpless. I hate it. I absolutely hate it. It eats at me.

It's like I finally found my passion and my purpose in life, and now I'm forbidden to live it out. It's like being a dancer and succumbing to a slow paralysis. I just… I grieve for my losses, as surely as I grieve the loss of a loved one. Who died, you ask? The Cassandra that was, the Cassandra that could be and could have been… she's slowly but surely faded away into nothing but a faded memory, the echo of half-remembered song lyrics and the wisp of a scent long passed.

I watched What To Expect When You're Expecting again today. It's a cute movie, and I like it. However, it brings things up for me, as so many things do these days. I took a pregnancy test at the doctor's the other day so I could get a renewed prescription for birth control, and the nurse that took my urine sample asked me if I had kids and if I wanted kids in the future. I just smiled and said yes, but my heart started crying because not only did I have babies and I lost them, I don't know if I'll ever be able to create a family in that way and it kills me. I want to be a mom. Oh, I want to be a mom. (This coming from the girl who swore she'd never marry and have a family! But that was just protection to keep myself from getting hurt again.) First of all, I am unsure if I can even carry a child to term even if I were healthy. Secondly, there is no way that I could see a pregnancy through to the end at this point, or even care for the child afterward. As bad as I am right now while on meds, I would have to stop taking all of my medicines while pregnant for fear of damaging the fetus. That's not a viable option at this point. C and I have actually discussed this situation and what we would do if the birth control fails and I find myself pregnant. Both of us agree that we really would have no option but to terminate the pregnancy. Even thinking about that just destroys me, because I want to be a mom… Voluntarily giving up the life growing within me seems so counterintuitive. But it is what I would have to do. I hope and pray that I do not get pregnant until we resolve my health issues. I seriously, seriously do. Fortunately or unfortunately as the case may be, the women of my family are super fertile. (Did you know that I am the result of a drunken one night stand in a meadow? Parties, liquor, and ex-boyfriends just don't make a good mixture apparently. But hey, I'm not complaining. I'm rather glad to be here, actually!)

So, here I am. A happy little mix of weird feelings and positivity and optimism and fatalism and bleak uncertainty and maybe a few bad jokes just for good measure.

Oh, guess what? The last doc to prescribe my pain meds changed the frequency, so now I can take one every four hours instead of making myself wait six hours. It's actually quite an improvement, and although the meds aren't as effective as I'd like them to be (I'm never not in some level of pain, but it's the difference between bearable and unbearable.), it's making a big difference in the level and duration of the spikes of really intense pain. I'm quite happy about that! I still don't like that I'm so reliant upon opiate pain killers for even basic functioning, but I'll shoot a rubber band in the eye of anyone who suggests that I can go without them. The three days proved the folly of that hypothesis quite clearly. I can't wait until I no longer have to slowly destroy my organs to maintain my sanity. This is my year, guys. It's coming. I'm gonna get better. Just you wait and see! Until then… naps. Lots and lots of naps.

(Oh, quick funny story! At M's bday party last night a girl that I'd just met or maybe had met in the past said to me in passing, "You're looking really healthy these days!" I smiled and thanked her politely, of course, but inside I was both incredulous and laughing bitterly and hysterically. It's funny how well I do look, though, to be honest. I mean, I've gained weight but I'm still quite attractive, and there's really no outward indication of my health struggles except for the walker that I use when I'm out and about. I am both grateful and resentful of that. Hard to explain. But I've learned to simply accept the compliments with good graces. No one likes to have their compliments rebutted, no matter the reason.)

I'm just kind of thinking about life today... You know, 42. The meaning of life, the universe, and everything. Well, my life, anyway...

Don't get me wrong. I like my life. Love it, in fact. I've got a little house of my own, I've got a solid relationship with a wonderful man (though lord knows it took years for that to be able to happen!), my husband has a steady job that pays our bills (mostly... if I could keep out of the danged emergency room, that would help), I have health insurance, the medicines that I need to keep me alive (wish I were exaggerating on that one), I have a job that I love with an understanding boss, and we have food in the cupboards.

That being said, there's also a lot that sucks. I mean, it's hard. Really hard. Every day is a battle, and a fierce one. I'm very grateful for my antidepressant. Even just the low dose that I'm on has helped to smooth out my peaks and valleys so much... it's a relief. That was a hard, draining battle to be fighting all the time, and it was making my health struggles worse. Still, I must fend off the grasping tendrils of depression almost every single day. There are days when I wake up bright, cheery, and not an emotional cloud in sight, but... those are the invisible pink unicorns, pretty much. The purple elephants. Oh, sure, I don't spiral downward into the black gaping maw of that horrible pit that I grew to hate and yet know so well. Well, not often... but I still have those voices in my head that scream and holler at me my worthlessness, my failings, the futility of my fight or of pressing hard after anything good in my life... because really, I do have to chase the good things in my life. Nothing has fallen into my lap. I've worked damned hard for the good things I've got, and I refuse to let myself botch them up.

I've had a lot taken from me. My childhood, for one. Abuse, molestation, more abuse, dysfunctional family dynamics, playing the mother to everyone including my mother, more abuse... My family. Sibling bonds torn apart, taken from my mother on more than on occasion, divorces and betrayals... My sexual purity. I can't even be sure I was a virgin when C and I went on our special camping trip. I have no way of knowing, really, because so many of those years are lost to the blackness of my mind, willfully blocked to save my sanity. My mind. Poisoned genes passed down to me through generations of mental illness, a past that guarantees PTSD and depression, and I am helpless to resist the black tide that has washed over me for so long.

And just when I thought I had it all beat... just when I had climbed out of the fighting pit that I was thrown into at birth... I get sick. Real sick. Fuck my life. Now my livelihood is taken from me. Parts of my identity. Dreams. Plans. Hopes. Aspirations. Gone. All gone, in the span of a year. In place of my bright future, I am left holding ashes. The family that I thought I would have... gone. Two miscarriages and a diagnosis later, I am left wondering if I will ever hold the living embodiment of our union? I wanted to travel, to work for the forest service or a national park, to live in Alaska and hike Denali, to hike Mt. Whitney, to travel the floor of the Grand Canyon from rim to rim, to fly to distant lands and eat the local foods... I can't even eat out at restaurants. The past few days, I haven't been able to stand for longer than 5 minutes because of pain and fatigue. I want to see my friends, to go to movies and go out to eat and hang out at houses and go to the store or even just window shop, but I can't. Those basic, simple pleasures of life are denied me, and I weep.

I weep for the unfairness of it all. Haven't I suffered enough? Haven't I been through enough? When will it end? I was going to be a massage therapist, a mighty advocate, an outdoorsy photographer. I was going to be a survivalist, living off of the land and cutting my own wood. I was going to bear and raise children. I was going to visit every single state in the US, and other countries besides. I was going to go to Italy, France, Scotland, Ireland, England, Japan... And now? Now I lie on the couch, watching the clock and anxiously awaiting the time for my next pain pill.

So how, I ask you... how the hell am I still happy when I see my husband walk through the door at night? How am I still happy when I go to work and spend my hours tidying, filing, typing, creating, listening? How am I still happy when I create some especially tasty dish to savor, or even when I have a good cup of tea or a particularly perfect bowl of oatmeal? How am I still smiling when I see the pictures of my tall, beautiful sisters clad in pink and white and covered in flowers?

I don't know. I really don't. By all rights, and if I didn't have love to anchor me here, I would have killed myself by now. I am tempted to believe that the heart can only take so much suffering and pain before it breaks and all hope is lost, but... it seems that my heart has the capacity to absorb more suffering than I ever would have imagined. Maybe it's love that pours in to regenerate and heal the broken, bleeding parts of the heart so that it can go on? I know that my heart didn't start scabbing over until I went up north and found... love. Pure love, in the arms of a sister/mentor/friend, and in the warm circle of an honest, human, humble family. Things I had never experienced before. No, not even with C. We loved each other, true enough, and passionately. I would gladly have spent my whole life by his side, even then. But I was broken, so broken... even he, my life vest, couldn't reach the broken parts of me that needed healing. It had to be someone else, years later, when I was ready to face the truth of my brokenness.

Maybe that's why I can still smile. Because I've faced down my brokenness and I know that I cannot be conquered. All of the loss, all of the suffering, all of the agony... and I'm still here. Weeping, smiling, laid out on the couch like a corpse at a wake, but I'm here.

I guess you can cry and smile at the same time.

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.

Blech.

"Jane Doe Nobody, Humble Servant of the Lord"? Really?

Does God really want us to erase our identities in order to be a good Christian?

If so... I'm out, yo.

That kind of "faith" puts a bad taste in my mouth.

Also, church down the street has a new sign:

"Church was never meant to be safe or predictable. God isn't either of those things."

A mini sermon on how God isn't safe?

Yeah, I could have told you that when I was being molested and he (apparently) didn't lift a finger to help me.

Can you tell I'm bitter?

My counselor asked me last week, "So what I'm hearing, and correct me if I'm wrong, is that you're angry with God?"

"Heck yes! I'm super pissed at him!"

Yep. Sure am. That's a major obstacle to wanting to figure out this whole religion-God thing...

Okay, okay. I acknowledge that there are a couple of options, here. Perhaps I had false expectations which led to my disappointment. But really, you shouldn't go around telling kids in Sabbath school that Jesus will help them if they only pray unless it's actually true.

Maybe that's part of the reason why "the youth" are leaving the church in droves (if the reports are to be believed). Because they were told that God can do anything, and Jesus loves you, and he cares about you so much that if you lose a sewing needle or need to open a bottle of glue then you kneel down and pray and Jesus will help you. So they test it out. Bad things happen. It's life. It's inevitable. Something goes wrong, and they pray, and... nothing happens. So they pray again. And nothing happens. And your step-father keeps paying you nasty little visits in the night, and beating you, and spending your family's food money on drugs and piddly pursuits, and still nothing happens. Oh, sure, every now and then you find the thing you were looking for (right in front of your eyes the whole time!), but the major issues still go unresolved.

And so you figure that either you're not worth helping, or it was a lie.

I thought the first one for so long... and now I'm swinging 'round to the second one.

I'm not going to lie-- I'm hurt. I feel betrayed. I feel let down. I feel... yeah. I feel like I just wasn't good enough for God to step in and do something. I feel like he should have done something, like they always told me he would, and then he didn't. Like he just doesn't care enough?

Elijah's words ring too true in my head... Maybe God was asleep? Maybe he was on the toilet? Maybe he was otherwise preoccupied? Because why else wouldn't he have heard me? "Before they call, I will answer, and while they are yet speaking I will hear."

Um, what?

I call bullshit.

Sorry, God.

So I'm just thinking that maybe the way that I've been going about it is wrong, you know? Like maybe all that crazy evangelical Christian stuff isn't where it's at for me? I don't know how obvious it is here, but I've stopped identifying with SDA's. I don't consider myself one anymore. I mean, it's still a part of my DNA, practically, but... I just can't do that anymore. There's too much grief. Too much anger. Too much fitting myself into a mold that I just don't fit into, too much "shoulding".

It's funny, because I remember C asking me a year or so ago, "Do you think you'd ever leave the church?"

My reply was a cavalier, "No! Of course not! I mean, I don't foresee that happening at this point. I guess it could happen, but I seriously, seriously doubt it..."

Maybe she saw something that I couldn't see, even then?

So I'm trying to find my own path. Yeah, I know, I heard the message at GYC, and in Sabbath school, and over and over and over again, that the whole "more than one way to God" thing is postmodernism and it's infecting the church and the way the youth think and yada yada yada.

But what do you do if THE path makes you feel like a horrible person? What do you do if THE path fosters and inflames the anger and the issues you already have with God? What do you do then?

Suck it up? Accept it as "your cross to bear"? Yeah, probably.

But I'm not gonna do that anymore. At least not right now.

You know what's weird? I feel like a more authentic, more fully-alive, more "better" person since I quit church. I was waiting to burst into flame or something, to become this horrible person... but it didn't happen. You know, because all those testimonies start out with, "I was living a life without God and it was awful and then I found Jesus and now I'm happy!"

Why is my testimony reversed??

This sucks. I'm going to hell.

But I guess I'll be whistling on my way there.

When it comes to planning a wedding, sometimes you have to say, "Forget what we're supposed to do, what do I want? Forget what everyone else has done, no matter how odd or awesome, what do I want to do?" I had to do that with my dress.

I'd been poring over the frothy lace and chiffon creations, trying to find the one that I loved and wanted to have my picture taken in and remember with fondness as the dress that I wore on one of my favorite days of my life, and... basically, trying to find "the one".

And I found one, several actually, that I liked and would look great in... yet I kept coming back around to the search, like I just hadn't found "it" yet.

And then I realized... I don't think there is an "it". I don't think that I will find "the one". Because, really, I could wear any one of those dresses and look gorgeous. I know it. I'd be stunning. But I can't choose them all. Choosing one inescapably means saying "no" to other options, and I had to realize that and come to terms with it. (Also, had to come to that conclusion with choosing a mate. I don't believe in "the one" when it comes to spouses, either. You will inevitably come across people in the future that you could have had a great relationship with, but you chose your spouse, and so you close the door to all others. I think that idea of "one true love" is super damaging, because if you "fall out of love" then it means that they weren't "the one" and now you must continue your quest to find "the one" and leave the one that you chose behind. It's all rather silly, and very, very painful.)

I had to sit down and think, "Okay... I have to choose one dress. What do I want? What do I gravitate towards?" Forget the lace, forget the chiffon, forget the tulle, forget what the bride is supposed to wear. They're pretty, to be sure, and I hope to someday have an occasion to wear a lacy, frothy dress and feel beautiful. But on this day, where I so much want it to be a true expression of who the bride and groom really are, what do I want?

And I realized that I want the forest green renaissance dress. I just hadn't thought it was allowed. I wanted all these other weddings that I'd seen, with the cute vintage dresses and the "we really don't care and just kind of threw it together because we're getting married and that's all that's important". I resonate with that, because it speaks to a truth within me that it is the fact that you're getting married that's important...

Yet I began to err in the same manner as when I was ingesting all that Wedding Industry materialism stuff.

I formed my thoughts around their thoughts. Only a little, but enough to make a difference.

And then when I began to take a step back and say, "What do I want?", I realized... I do want a party. I do want the pretty tables with the pretty plates with the nice centerpieces and the tasty looking cake. I do want a lot of the "weddingy" things, and that's fine.

It also, of course, is about what C wants. And he is more traditional than I am. He's not horrified by the idea of my wearing a dark green dress, but it's pretty much the major concession to weirdness that he's prepared to make. (Keeping in mind, of course, that our definition of "weird" might be a little subjective... since our roomie will definitely be attending in a kilt, and we're both happy about that.) He is steadfastly opposed to my carrying a bouquet that is comprised of anything but real flowers. (So... no pickle bouquet. As I've mentioned.) He did, however, say that I could put the pickle bouquet in a jar on the cake table, so I just might get it yet! And yet I still have to wear shoes when I walk down the aisle.

Anyway, the idea is just that... it's our wedding. What do we want? What do I want? What does he want? We have the authority to make it anything we want, and not be bound by traditions and "supposed to's" that do not apply to us.

I have to keep that in mind as I begin working on the ceremony itself.

What an odd sort of week. Good, to be sure... but odd.

I had my second counseling appointment today. It went well, and already she says she can see positive things happening.

We talked a lot about “breaking the cycle” that I go through with depression and stress. Apparently, I’ve already identified my own cycle (true), and I was able to describe how I broke out of it.

Having a sounding board is so helpful to me. She picks up on what I say, reflects it back, and I have to stop and think, “Oh, yeah. I said that, huh?”

Also, HUGE validation from H (the counselor)! We were talking about guilt and self-talk and expectations and all that. As she summarized my life currently, she said, “You have a lot on your plate. You’re very busy.”

I cannot tell you how validating, how good it felt to hear her say that. Weird, I know. But I guess it’s that constant background tape of “Well, you’re not really that busy. You’re not doing that much. Other people do this much and more. You could be doing more. You should be doing more. You’re really not that busy. Don’t get too impressed with yourself-- this is nothing.” To hear someone else say, “Wow, you are really busy,” kind of gives me permission to step back and say, “You know what? Yes. Yes, I am. And I am not going to be ashamed or guilty of the fact that I think my plate is full.” (That’s a tendency of mine, of course. Boundary setting related, I think. Who am I to say that my plate is full? Um, hello, only the one who has to live with all these crazy decisions!! lol)

If my friend told me, “I’m going to school full time, working part time, doing odd jobs on the side, volunteering, and planning a wedding,” I would tell her, “Dude. You’re doing a ton. You’re my hero. Seriously, though, knock it off. You’re going to kill yourself.” (Much like how I feel when I talk to a certain Miss KW... lol) Yeah. My tendency is to over-fill my plate, which leads to collapse, then horrible, horrible guilt for now doing nothing and for collapsing in the first place. To compensate for the horrible guilt (or maybe to appease it and give it what it wants so it’ll stop gnawing at me?), I then load my plate over-full again, which leads to collapse, and then... Gah. Somebody shoot me.

So it was... there were.. lessons. I guess.

Those few weeks of bliss, of balance, have given me hope that I can actually live like that. And I got away from it. I don’t feel like a failure, because all I did was drift back to my normal, comfortable, familiar ways of dealing with life and myself. These new behaviors will take time and practice to learn, and that’s okay and totally normal. I need to be realistic and kind about this.

So! Here’s my toolbox, my Control Panel for adjusting the knobs and buttons of my inner brain workings. First of all, I need to learn how to relax. I need to intentionally set time aside for reward and rejuvenation. (Especially with the adrenal burnout. I’m getting that message loud and clear from my science class, as we’re going over the endocrine system right now. The way to heal adrenal fatigue is lots and lots of rest, and that’s the opposite of what I do with myself!!)

Here is how I am going to be intentional with myself and my thoughts for this coming week (and the weeks beyond, but let’s just take it one step at a time, shall we?).

• Self-validation for work/accomplishment

Part of what I was doing for myself those good weeks was taking time to praise myself and acknowledge what I’d done throughout the day. Rather than impatiently demanding more from myself, I stepped back, looked at the day, and said, “Hey, you’ve really done a lot today C. And you’ve done it well. Good job! So, what fun thing would you like to do as a reward?” That was great! But, well... life crowded it out. It wasn’t a priority. And it needs to be..

• Control-- I have the choice.

Most of my life, I have felt and/or actually been powerless. Life, my circumstances, Providence, etc. It all ran me. I didn’t really choose, I waited around to see what I should do, what I was supposed to do, “what is God/my parents/my godly friends/Ellen White telling me to do?”, etc. Part of what’s been so liberating for me is taking back my freedom to choose, and the responsibility that comes with it. This last week, when I was getting all wound up and stressed about the upcoming trip to Yosemite and the preparations necessary and my homework and work and what have you, I texted BJ and told her that I may not go. She wasn’t enthusiastic about the idea, but just knowing that I could choose whether to go or not and it would all be okay regardless (even if she was disappointed, she’s a big girl and can take responsibility for her own feelings-- I do not have to do that for her!) was the relief I needed to be able to handle what was left to be done. And that’s what got me through the weekend during the most trying times; knowing that I had chosen to be there. This really goes along with, and is a part of, setting boundaries. (Which we all know is something that I’ve been working on.)

• Prioritize-- let it go.

This is something that started percolating in my head with the last counselor. Making lists of all that needs to be done, breaking it up into realistic segments, and learning not to freak out if something doesn’t get done that day. No problem. Just move it to tomorrow. It’s okay. I need to do this with my life, both big picture and nitty gritty. This actually... may change a few things right now. We discussed how when I try to deal with the past abuse, I basically morph into this person that can’t function at all, and I hate it. But my personality is that “get it over and done with” type, and I know that I “have issues” (as we’ve come to call it lol), and I want to get those straightened out! Especially with my health and all... I mean, I know they’re related. As I heal emotionally, I heal physically. Which is why it’s such a novel concept for me to look at my life, evaluate it, realize that I have a full plate (yay!), and... decide to maybe put intensive healing on the back burner for a while. It’s like, now that I’ve added in wedding planning, I have to take something else out to keep the equilibrium.

It feels weird, though... like I’m giving up? But I know I’m not. I think part of taking care of yourself is recognizing when you need to step back for a while. Even the book on abuse I’m reading now says that. I just totally didn’t think it would apply to me! (I distinctly remember thinking, “Oh, yeah. Right. Like I’ll ever do that...”)

• Identify overwhelming triggers

Goes with the above. Take stock, focus, and re-work things so they aren’t overwhelming.

• Logical, patient self-talk (vs. impatient, illogical)

I’m seeing that I’m basically learning to take care of the child within me, the one that was never nurtured. I need to treat myself as I would a child-- kindness, patience, acknowledgement of achievements (no matter how small!), appropriate expectations, fun :D, encouraging development of personality, etc. Logical, patient self-talk will have much to do with this. Especially the patient part. I must be patient with myself. This will definitely be a new one.

I bet the impatience comes from having to grow up so fast. I needed to have arrived already, all the time. I never got the chance to learn at an appropriate pace. I had to be a mother, a daughter, a sister, a housekeeper, a babysitter, a lover (?!), a good student, a kid, a confidante, a friend, a keeper of family secrets... all at the same time. All way too young. Seven? Eight? Nine? Poor kid. Poor little me. I will never, ever do that to my children.

• Meditation

Yeah, I know it’s weird. But this has come up so many times the last week or two, it’s thoroughly ridiculous. From all different sources. It’s like, “God, are you trying to tell me something?” And I know the SDA’s reading this are thoroughly alarmed. A trap of the devil! Runnnnnnn!

Erm, yes. I suppose. I’m kind of over the whole “ruse of Satan” thing, though, because it was applied to pretty much everything for so long that it’s lost its effectiveness. (Cheese! It’s of the devil! lol) I mean, if he’s gonna get me, he’s gonna get me. That’s deception, right? That’s what always puzzled me... “The devil is trying to deceive you! Beware! Be alert!” Yeah, but, if it’s a deception... then you can’t see it. Thus the very nature of the thing. So what’s the point in being all worked up all the time over everything? My philosophy is that you do the best you can and trust (hope?) that God is really what he claims.

I think I’ve become firmly entrenched in my wariness/general dislike for organized religion. Hmm. Who woulda thought I’d end up here? The happy Bible worker? (Puh-leeze!)

So! Back to meditation. Um, I don’t know. It’s like when I went back to eating meat. I’m half afraid that I’m wrong and I’ll get zapped or thrown into Hades or possessed by demons or something. On the other hand... really?! I read a study earlier today about how regular meditation has been objectively and consistently proven to markedly decrease anxiety, depression, stress, and perfectionism. (The answer that leaps to mind is that the devil is oppressing people with these problems and then when they do what he wants--meditation-- he relieves the affliction to hook them. Right? Right? Do I get a gold star?) Data. Hard data. What am I supposed to do with that? And those are the very things that I’m trying to learn to cope with.

The other day on a walk, I was talking to God and asking him why it was that the very things that are hallmarks of Christianity are the things that I’m finding great freedom and joy in bucking? Relinquishing control/surrendering my life. Well, actually, now that I’m taking control of my own life, my mental and emotional distress have eased considerably. (Yeah, it almost seems like my spontaneous depression has abated entirely! Coincidence??) Constantly striving for perfection of character. You know, accepting myself as I am, accepting that I am good enough, flaws and all... that’s really been a huge doorway for me. Hard, but huge. And contrary to what I’d been fed. Today, I was able to tell myself that I loved me, and that I was going to take care of me to the best of my ability. You never would have heard those words from me when I was going to church. Self-denial. Hmm. I feel giddy even saying this, but deciding to put myself first and take care of myself first and do what I need to do for me to be okay in whatever situation I’m in... has been so... I dunno. Healthy. Joyful. Balancing. Freeing. Empowering. I will be damned before I go back to the way I was living at SOULS.

I dunno. It’s just so hard for me to reconcile all this with what I’ve been taught. I mean, what do you do when your experience flies in the face of your church’s teachings? Of course, that would automatically mean that you’re wrong, I suppose, but... I just can’t accept that.

So anyway (not to digress at all), all those little things that I was doing during my weeks of bliss are good, healthy behaviors that I need to practice and replace my old ways with.

Easier said than done. :)

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?