I am an artist. I always have been. But I am a timid artist. Showing my art to people is equivalent to peeling open my chest and baring my soul for all the world to see. That has always been the scary part of art to me. The vulnerability.
I tend to show my pieces to only a few of my very close friends. People with whom I know will not poke their grubby little fingers inside my chest and pick apart my soul. Those same people gush about my art and encourage me to sell my work. I want to but the timid part of me says, "No. what if....."
When it comes to my writing, I have shared my work with only two people; my husband, because I am safe with him and my son, because he will not only be brutally honest with me but is an artist himself.
I have met another artist who has taken a warm rag and begun washing the crust from my eyes so that I can open them and see my world for what it is. A tiny, dank, self imposed prison of timidness with strict rules that govern my days to give myself routine. I like routine. Routine gives me discipline and a sense of purpose. It also gives me some semblance of control over my fibromyalgia and CMP.
Not today! Today is a new day. I have begun reading a book that my new friend told me about - her name is Tanya, by the way. I am going to ask her if I may link her blog to mine so that you might get to know her too.
After reading part of the book that Tanya told me about, I can see how restrictive I am with myself. I had stopped writing for all of the wrong reasons - and I love to write. It is my happy place. I have been denying myself that which brings me joy because others might pick apart that most vulnerable part of me. But now I see, who cares what they think of my writing? If it brings me joy and maybe a few other people someday, does it really matter what my critics think? Now is the time to tune out my very worst critic too. That voice in my head that whispers, "You are not good enough. What do you know anyway?" I did just that this morning.
Today I dove headlong back into that deep ocean that is my imagination and I wrote. Then I wrote some more. I wrote so joyously for so long, I lost track of time and forgot that writing again or not, there is still a schedule to keep with my body. I wrote right through eating breakfast and lunch and taking my medicine and doing my stretching exercises. I'm all ready paying for that. I guess that I really do need a schedule in order to care for myself and my family but that schedule does not have to become a self imposed prison.
I have two friends now named Tanya. My close friend Tanya D. has been telling me to write and work on my art for a long time now. So has my friend Amalie. Now I have a new friend also named Tanya whom I believe God sent into my life just as he did Tanya D. and Amalie. I am listening. I am writing and I am rediscovering the pure joy that the act of putting pen to paper brings into my life. The 'scary mountain' that was once writing has shrunk dramatically, telling me that all I needed to do was take that first step. Put that first word on the page.
We were meant to use the gifts that we were born with. Sometimes we allow what others think or say about our gifts to stop us from developing them into something that has the power to bring us untold joy. I am guilty of that. I have decided to forgive myself and use those gifts. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a story to write.
Friday, May 24, 2013
Thursday, May 16, 2013
A Letter To My Daughter
My Sweet Kiradolly,
I wanted this to look pretty with big swirls and curly Q's in my own handwriting so that you would have it to read years from now when you are looking through your scrapbooks, reliving your old memories. I wasn't completely sure what I wanted to say. I just wanted to put pen to paper to tell you how special you are to me. But I had to choose to type this instead and post it here because not only are my hands not cooperating, neither is my printer.
I have been thinking about the hands in our lives and how important they are. Then I realized how weak mine have become over the years. They used to be much stronger than they are today. Over the past 18 years, they have been through more than I ever could have imagined they could have been.
My hands held you close to me when you took your first breaths. They stroked your hair the moment you first opened your eyes. They gave you your first nourishment and your first warmth as they wrapped you in your first soft blanket.
My hands have held you through bad dreams and fevers and snugly hugs. They held you up through your first wobbly steps and learning to ride a bike. My hand held yours on your first day of school. They held you close through heartbreak, tears and lots of laughter. They have been clamped in prayer so tightly that I thought they might break, through every illness and surgery.
Mine are not the only hand that have held you up through all of these years. You have been blessed by many hands that would never see you fall. Your Daddy's hands, Nan and Pap's hands, even the hands of your brother and sister. You are blessed to have so many hands surrounding you.
Today as you graduate, you are stepping out of childhood into adulthood and our hands will be there to help you cross that line. Then my hands will have to find their greatest strength - the strength to let go. To let you take those first steps toward your life. I think that must be the hardest thing these hands have ever had to do.
As I do that, I will propel you back into the hands that placed you in mine all of those years ago. Trust His hands. Take refuge in them. They will never let you fall. Depend on them to guide you to the life that He has waiting for you.
Our hands will still be here when you need them. They will always applaud you, always help you. They may not be as strong as they used to be but they will always be strong enough to love you.
We could not be more proud of you Kiradolly. Now go see what your hands are meant to do.
I love you more than there are stars in the sky my baby. Love, Mom
I wanted this to look pretty with big swirls and curly Q's in my own handwriting so that you would have it to read years from now when you are looking through your scrapbooks, reliving your old memories. I wasn't completely sure what I wanted to say. I just wanted to put pen to paper to tell you how special you are to me. But I had to choose to type this instead and post it here because not only are my hands not cooperating, neither is my printer.
I have been thinking about the hands in our lives and how important they are. Then I realized how weak mine have become over the years. They used to be much stronger than they are today. Over the past 18 years, they have been through more than I ever could have imagined they could have been.
My hands held you close to me when you took your first breaths. They stroked your hair the moment you first opened your eyes. They gave you your first nourishment and your first warmth as they wrapped you in your first soft blanket.
My hands have held you through bad dreams and fevers and snugly hugs. They held you up through your first wobbly steps and learning to ride a bike. My hand held yours on your first day of school. They held you close through heartbreak, tears and lots of laughter. They have been clamped in prayer so tightly that I thought they might break, through every illness and surgery.
Mine are not the only hand that have held you up through all of these years. You have been blessed by many hands that would never see you fall. Your Daddy's hands, Nan and Pap's hands, even the hands of your brother and sister. You are blessed to have so many hands surrounding you.
Today as you graduate, you are stepping out of childhood into adulthood and our hands will be there to help you cross that line. Then my hands will have to find their greatest strength - the strength to let go. To let you take those first steps toward your life. I think that must be the hardest thing these hands have ever had to do.
As I do that, I will propel you back into the hands that placed you in mine all of those years ago. Trust His hands. Take refuge in them. They will never let you fall. Depend on them to guide you to the life that He has waiting for you.
Our hands will still be here when you need them. They will always applaud you, always help you. They may not be as strong as they used to be but they will always be strong enough to love you.
We could not be more proud of you Kiradolly. Now go see what your hands are meant to do.
I love you more than there are stars in the sky my baby. Love, Mom
Friday, May 10, 2013
Craving the rose
Anne Bronte wrote; But he who dares not grasp the thorn should never crave the rose.
I have grasped many a thorn in my life. The one rose that I really want, I have not grasped because I have allowed the opinion of others and the 'what ifs' to become too thorny.
I sat down with my husband last night and listed all of the reasons that I have not picked up my writing. The very same reasons that I listed in my last post. He sat quietly listening and when I was finished, he sat there for a few minutes not saying anything. Now, I'm not sure what he was thinking in those moments but it seemed as though he was trying to choose his words carefully. I just stayed quiet because my husband is not much of a conversationalist to begin with. If he has something to say, I listen simply because he doesn't speak unless it's something he wants to be heard. Otherwise, I mostly carry on conversations with myself while he claims that he's 'just listening' while I know he's off in his own head thinking of the next job he needs to get done. Occasionally he'll nod or grunt so I'll think he's listening to me. Last night, he was listening.
When he did finally speak, the first thing he said was 'Don't get mad.' Not a good start. I told him that he could say what ever he wanted to and I would sit there quietly and listen without getting my feelings hurt. 'Good' he says, 'Sounds like a bunch of excuses to me.' Well that surprised me.
He told me that if I allow what his Mother thinks to stop me from writing then I must have changed because he- "has seen time and again, when you decide to do something, you do it and you don't care who likes it. You just get it done." Then he said something that I did not know and made me tear up. He said, "I have always admired that about you."
He said that what ever happens once I have a manuscript or two out there, we would deal with it. Just write.
My new friend, Tanya, (now I have two friends named Tanya, both good ladies!) sent me a message this morning and in that message she said, 'Just write!'
I had read a blog post in which the author had to give herself permission to take a nap. (I want to say it was Tanya's blog but I have read so many lately and I'm dealing with fibro fog, I don't want to get that wrong.) I realized, I was waiting for someone to give me permission to use a God given talent. I was so concerned with what the repercussions would be that I put down something that I love and walked away. Not only was I waiting for my husband to say 'ignore my mother' I was waiting for ME to give myself permission to be myself! Good Lord I am a clueless dork sometimes!
I have given myself permission. I am dusting off the manuscripts and trying to decide which one to start with. I have spent the afternoon kicking around story lines and kicking some out. I am finally excited instead of nervous.
My husband is right, I have made the decision and now I will plow ahead until I am holding my book in my hands. I am off to grasp the thorns!
I have grasped many a thorn in my life. The one rose that I really want, I have not grasped because I have allowed the opinion of others and the 'what ifs' to become too thorny.
I sat down with my husband last night and listed all of the reasons that I have not picked up my writing. The very same reasons that I listed in my last post. He sat quietly listening and when I was finished, he sat there for a few minutes not saying anything. Now, I'm not sure what he was thinking in those moments but it seemed as though he was trying to choose his words carefully. I just stayed quiet because my husband is not much of a conversationalist to begin with. If he has something to say, I listen simply because he doesn't speak unless it's something he wants to be heard. Otherwise, I mostly carry on conversations with myself while he claims that he's 'just listening' while I know he's off in his own head thinking of the next job he needs to get done. Occasionally he'll nod or grunt so I'll think he's listening to me. Last night, he was listening.
When he did finally speak, the first thing he said was 'Don't get mad.' Not a good start. I told him that he could say what ever he wanted to and I would sit there quietly and listen without getting my feelings hurt. 'Good' he says, 'Sounds like a bunch of excuses to me.' Well that surprised me.
He told me that if I allow what his Mother thinks to stop me from writing then I must have changed because he- "has seen time and again, when you decide to do something, you do it and you don't care who likes it. You just get it done." Then he said something that I did not know and made me tear up. He said, "I have always admired that about you."
He said that what ever happens once I have a manuscript or two out there, we would deal with it. Just write.
My new friend, Tanya, (now I have two friends named Tanya, both good ladies!) sent me a message this morning and in that message she said, 'Just write!'
I had read a blog post in which the author had to give herself permission to take a nap. (I want to say it was Tanya's blog but I have read so many lately and I'm dealing with fibro fog, I don't want to get that wrong.) I realized, I was waiting for someone to give me permission to use a God given talent. I was so concerned with what the repercussions would be that I put down something that I love and walked away. Not only was I waiting for my husband to say 'ignore my mother' I was waiting for ME to give myself permission to be myself! Good Lord I am a clueless dork sometimes!
I have given myself permission. I am dusting off the manuscripts and trying to decide which one to start with. I have spent the afternoon kicking around story lines and kicking some out. I am finally excited instead of nervous.
My husband is right, I have made the decision and now I will plow ahead until I am holding my book in my hands. I am off to grasp the thorns!
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Hermit, yes. Antisocial, no
I have not posted in a month. I have no excuse really. I think about it but then I bury myself in research or house work and do not log in long enough to do what I am supposed to do , which is to maintain this blog. I apologize to my readers, if there are any left. I will now be held accountable for posting at least a couple of times a week. My husband has agreed to nag, ahem, remind me to keep writing. I think he is looking forward to it.
I have become a hermit by choice. My autoimmune diseases make getting out very often unpleasant. I do walk with my daughter and I enjoy it. I run errands when I absolutely have no other choice but other than that, I choose to stay at home.
Over the past several years, I have gotten to know myself very well and I like me. What I did not like, I changed and what I did like, I nurtured. That statement, by no means, is to be taken as 'she thinks she's perfect.' Not at all. But I have learned to recognize my faults and since I spend so much time alone with me, I have the time to work on those things.
Now I am going to start working on the things that I have been afraid of. I am an artist at heart and as a means of earning part of our income. Part of my creative side includes writing. I have many stories collecting dust on the shelf. Do you know why I haven't done anything with them? Fear. Plain and simple.
A good chunk of my existence was a horror story come to life so I am drawn to the mystery/horror genre. I'm good at it. I'm not even going to apologize for that last sentence and feign modesty. I am good at it.
I have allowed three people to proof read two of my manuscripts, all three had nightmares - which made me proud as punch! I do not write to frighten people. I write to conquer the fear at the end of the story. I enjoy writing if no one knows that I am doing it. Then I am just writing a story for pure enjoyment and to get it out of my head. When other people find out I am writing, it becomes a whole other animal and I don't like that beast!
My husband loves that I write. Not because he reads so much but because he sees dollar signs. That puts pressure on me to produce and takes the enjoyment right out of the process. He can't help it, I think. He has seen my work and he gets these big ideas - she's gonna sell a million books! They will turn it into a movie! - Pshh! I have explained to him that less than 1% of manuscripts go that distance. He is still hopeful. It's nice that he has confidence in me but again, sucks the fun right out of it.
Problem #2. My Mother in-law. This is a woman who has never read a word that I have written but because of the genre, she loves to tell me how writing 'those things' goes against my being a Christian and could invite spiritual things into my home that do not belong here. (If I roll my eyes any harder, they may roll out of my head!) Point is, it causes me to feel as though I should write under an alias so she won't know what I'm doing, rather than write under my own name, which I happen to be proud of. It's a conundrum. She's a busy body and IF I am published under my own name, I'll never hear the end of it.
Problem #3 - Fear of success. I let a new friend know earlier today that I have this problem. I thought it might be a fear of failure. But no. I can handle that. If I am successful, that has the potential to open a can of worms too. I'm not talking fame and fortune. I'm talking about people that I dislike suddenly wanting to be my best friend. If I am a success, that will happen. Count on it.
Problem #4 - Getting over problems 1 - 3 and doing what I love for me. That is what I am working on now. It's a process. Over coming fear is a hill to climb but I am ready to climb it.
Because I am a self imposed hermit, some people believe that I am antisocial. Not true. I am very social. Online. I do not think that I have to be in your presence to let you know that you are someone that I care for and am interested in. When I have the rare day that straying too far from home isn't going to cause major discomfort, I'm happy to go visit my friends. Otherwise, I do most of my socializing online. Like now, for instance. I am talking to you. No, we are not face to face but I am talking to you and I want you to know that I care about you. Who ever you are, where ever you are, you are an important person. Not because you are reading this blog but because you are a human being who deserves good things. It's just that simple.
Many of my friends are in the same boat that I am in with different life altering ailments. Some of my friends have fibro, others MS, others are diabetic or have epilepsy and we have all learned that spending time with ourselves isn't such a bad thing after all. And that is the beauty of the internet and writing. Without these two things, most of us would never have met and we could be desperately alone right now. I believe everything happens for a reason. Now I have good friends who, like me, are not going to let their illnesses beat them. I keep seeing how blessed I am. :)
So, back to problems 1 - 3, it's time for me to figure this out. Suggestions would be appreciated.
I love ya'll! Have a great night!
I have become a hermit by choice. My autoimmune diseases make getting out very often unpleasant. I do walk with my daughter and I enjoy it. I run errands when I absolutely have no other choice but other than that, I choose to stay at home.
Over the past several years, I have gotten to know myself very well and I like me. What I did not like, I changed and what I did like, I nurtured. That statement, by no means, is to be taken as 'she thinks she's perfect.' Not at all. But I have learned to recognize my faults and since I spend so much time alone with me, I have the time to work on those things.
Now I am going to start working on the things that I have been afraid of. I am an artist at heart and as a means of earning part of our income. Part of my creative side includes writing. I have many stories collecting dust on the shelf. Do you know why I haven't done anything with them? Fear. Plain and simple.
A good chunk of my existence was a horror story come to life so I am drawn to the mystery/horror genre. I'm good at it. I'm not even going to apologize for that last sentence and feign modesty. I am good at it.
I have allowed three people to proof read two of my manuscripts, all three had nightmares - which made me proud as punch! I do not write to frighten people. I write to conquer the fear at the end of the story. I enjoy writing if no one knows that I am doing it. Then I am just writing a story for pure enjoyment and to get it out of my head. When other people find out I am writing, it becomes a whole other animal and I don't like that beast!
My husband loves that I write. Not because he reads so much but because he sees dollar signs. That puts pressure on me to produce and takes the enjoyment right out of the process. He can't help it, I think. He has seen my work and he gets these big ideas - she's gonna sell a million books! They will turn it into a movie! - Pshh! I have explained to him that less than 1% of manuscripts go that distance. He is still hopeful. It's nice that he has confidence in me but again, sucks the fun right out of it.
Problem #2. My Mother in-law. This is a woman who has never read a word that I have written but because of the genre, she loves to tell me how writing 'those things' goes against my being a Christian and could invite spiritual things into my home that do not belong here. (If I roll my eyes any harder, they may roll out of my head!) Point is, it causes me to feel as though I should write under an alias so she won't know what I'm doing, rather than write under my own name, which I happen to be proud of. It's a conundrum. She's a busy body and IF I am published under my own name, I'll never hear the end of it.
Problem #3 - Fear of success. I let a new friend know earlier today that I have this problem. I thought it might be a fear of failure. But no. I can handle that. If I am successful, that has the potential to open a can of worms too. I'm not talking fame and fortune. I'm talking about people that I dislike suddenly wanting to be my best friend. If I am a success, that will happen. Count on it.
Problem #4 - Getting over problems 1 - 3 and doing what I love for me. That is what I am working on now. It's a process. Over coming fear is a hill to climb but I am ready to climb it.
Because I am a self imposed hermit, some people believe that I am antisocial. Not true. I am very social. Online. I do not think that I have to be in your presence to let you know that you are someone that I care for and am interested in. When I have the rare day that straying too far from home isn't going to cause major discomfort, I'm happy to go visit my friends. Otherwise, I do most of my socializing online. Like now, for instance. I am talking to you. No, we are not face to face but I am talking to you and I want you to know that I care about you. Who ever you are, where ever you are, you are an important person. Not because you are reading this blog but because you are a human being who deserves good things. It's just that simple.
Many of my friends are in the same boat that I am in with different life altering ailments. Some of my friends have fibro, others MS, others are diabetic or have epilepsy and we have all learned that spending time with ourselves isn't such a bad thing after all. And that is the beauty of the internet and writing. Without these two things, most of us would never have met and we could be desperately alone right now. I believe everything happens for a reason. Now I have good friends who, like me, are not going to let their illnesses beat them. I keep seeing how blessed I am. :)
So, back to problems 1 - 3, it's time for me to figure this out. Suggestions would be appreciated.
I love ya'll! Have a great night!
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Learning To Duck
This past month I was thrown another curve ball. You'd think I'd learn to duck once in a while. This one came from left field and I didn't see it coming. I didn't even expect it. So it knocked me down and I decided to stay there for a while. By myself. I didn't want my friends around. Obviously I can't escape my husband but I haven't said anything to our children and I don't intend to.
Sometimes, when you get knocked off your feet, it feels good to just lay there for a while looking up at the sky and saying 'Enough. I'm done.' That is exactly what I have been doing. Just hanging around in the dirt, wanting to be left alone while I feel sorry for myself.
A few weeks ago, my doctor told me that my cmp has progressed faster than he thought it would. There is nothing that can be done about it. There is no treatment because myofascia has it's own nervous system and it is not fully understood but what is understood is that when the damage is severe enough, it not only does not heal but when you add fibro to it - with fibro doing it's daily damage - the myofascia damage spreads. It is spreading faster than we thought it would and he said something to me that turned out to be a fast curve from left field. 'You may as well get used to the idea that you are disabled and it will only progress as you get older.' BAM! He said I am disabled.
Other people have said that word to me before and I politely ignored them because I AM NOT DAMNIT! But when my doctor, who has been a great doctor to me, said that word and used it in a way that he was trying to convey to me that it is time to accept the inevitable, well, I like looking up at the sky for now.
At first, I felt sorry for myself. I know there are a lot of things that I could do a year ago but no longer have the strength to do but I am determined to regain that strength if I have to spend two hours a day in the gym. I am only 40 years old for crying out loud!
Then I got angry and started looking for someone to blame. I took a hell of a lot of beatings as a child and that is what damaged my myofascia in the first place. The Fibro was passed down the line from my Grandmother to my Mother to me and I pray often that I did not pass it to my daughters.
It wasn't long before I realized that I can't change the past and this is just something I have to face now, so I decided to face it alone. I didn't want my friends pitying me or telling me it would all be ok because I hate pity and it is not going to be ok. I am not ok with it at all.
I am now at a place of tenuous acceptance. I accept that I have these two autoimmune diseases. I accept that there is no conventional cure. I do not accept that there is nothing I can do about it and I do not accept that I am disabled. There are still plenty of things that I can do and I will do whatever it takes to regain some of what I have lost.
First I need to get my happy back. I need to start doing the things that I love again, so tomorrow I'm going to do just that. Mostly though, I have to get rid of this anger. I am still angry that my Mothers' poor choices in husbands has had life long effects for me. It can't be changed, I know, but it still makes me angry and that makes me hard to be around right now. I don't like how I have been feeling. It's toxic and it has to stop. Enough is enough.
I guess sometimes, your past really does come back to bite you. You just have to learn to let it go and that is the hard part. I think it's time to open the door and let the people I love back in instead of pushing them away. Maybe we are not meant to deal with the really hard stuff all alone.
Tomorrow, I'm closing the door to the anger and self pity and opening it to happiness and forgiveness. Maybe that is how we learn to duck those curve balls. Through the joy of those that God has placed in our lives. The sky is pretty but the ground is too hard to stay down for too long.
Sometimes, when you get knocked off your feet, it feels good to just lay there for a while looking up at the sky and saying 'Enough. I'm done.' That is exactly what I have been doing. Just hanging around in the dirt, wanting to be left alone while I feel sorry for myself.
A few weeks ago, my doctor told me that my cmp has progressed faster than he thought it would. There is nothing that can be done about it. There is no treatment because myofascia has it's own nervous system and it is not fully understood but what is understood is that when the damage is severe enough, it not only does not heal but when you add fibro to it - with fibro doing it's daily damage - the myofascia damage spreads. It is spreading faster than we thought it would and he said something to me that turned out to be a fast curve from left field. 'You may as well get used to the idea that you are disabled and it will only progress as you get older.' BAM! He said I am disabled.
Other people have said that word to me before and I politely ignored them because I AM NOT DAMNIT! But when my doctor, who has been a great doctor to me, said that word and used it in a way that he was trying to convey to me that it is time to accept the inevitable, well, I like looking up at the sky for now.
At first, I felt sorry for myself. I know there are a lot of things that I could do a year ago but no longer have the strength to do but I am determined to regain that strength if I have to spend two hours a day in the gym. I am only 40 years old for crying out loud!
Then I got angry and started looking for someone to blame. I took a hell of a lot of beatings as a child and that is what damaged my myofascia in the first place. The Fibro was passed down the line from my Grandmother to my Mother to me and I pray often that I did not pass it to my daughters.
It wasn't long before I realized that I can't change the past and this is just something I have to face now, so I decided to face it alone. I didn't want my friends pitying me or telling me it would all be ok because I hate pity and it is not going to be ok. I am not ok with it at all.
I am now at a place of tenuous acceptance. I accept that I have these two autoimmune diseases. I accept that there is no conventional cure. I do not accept that there is nothing I can do about it and I do not accept that I am disabled. There are still plenty of things that I can do and I will do whatever it takes to regain some of what I have lost.
First I need to get my happy back. I need to start doing the things that I love again, so tomorrow I'm going to do just that. Mostly though, I have to get rid of this anger. I am still angry that my Mothers' poor choices in husbands has had life long effects for me. It can't be changed, I know, but it still makes me angry and that makes me hard to be around right now. I don't like how I have been feeling. It's toxic and it has to stop. Enough is enough.
I guess sometimes, your past really does come back to bite you. You just have to learn to let it go and that is the hard part. I think it's time to open the door and let the people I love back in instead of pushing them away. Maybe we are not meant to deal with the really hard stuff all alone.
Tomorrow, I'm closing the door to the anger and self pity and opening it to happiness and forgiveness. Maybe that is how we learn to duck those curve balls. Through the joy of those that God has placed in our lives. The sky is pretty but the ground is too hard to stay down for too long.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
The Fibro Fairy and I Don't Get Along
I have been asked many times what it is like to have fibromyalgia. I have lots of analogies to help people understand in a nutshell but it's different for everyone. I think you first have to understand the very basics about the disease.
Fibromyalgia is an autoimmune disease that lives in your spinal fluid. Living there gives it access to you entire nerve network as well as your muscles and your immune system. It's also a bully. It never shows up alone. It always brings a friend. For some it's IBS. For others it's migraine or another autoimmune disease. It actually has around 90 different friends it can team up with to kick your butt on a daily basis. With me, it brought cmp - chronic myofascial pain. CMP is a tough opponent all by itself and in my case I think I was diagnosed backward. CMP is not an immune response initially. CMP comes from repeated physical trauma. Fibromyalgia is hereditary, passed from Mother to child. Usually Mother to daughter.
Now, don't go thinking my husband beats me. He doesn't. My childhood was a slow walk through a special part of hell and I was badly injured while working in a nursing home in my early 20's. CMP and Fibro work hand in hand to knock me down daily. They didn't realize how stubborn I am. I keep getting back up.
This past winter the getting up has been harder. Pain with fibro varies from being stabbed all over with an ice pick to intense muscle spasms that stop you in your tracks to feeling like someone poured a layer of gasoline in the space between your muscles and skin, all over your entire body and then lit it on fire.
The longer it goes uncontrolled, the more hyper-sensitive to pain you become. The other day, I very lightly stubbed my pinkie toe. It should not have hurt at all but it dropped me. Pain shot straight up my leg, into my stomach making me nauseous and I just sat on the floor clenching my teeth until it passed. It really made me mad because that just should not have hurt at all! I often think it's stupid to hurt this badly. I bruise easily, which irritates my husband because he knows that each bruise was agony initially and I didn't tell him about it and let him hug me like a child. It's a really irritating disease.
Those of us with chronic pain have become experts in medications and nutrition. It becomes a quest to find ways to drastically minimize the effects so we can live semi-normal lives. I have become a clean eating proponent because I know how much it helps me. I refuse the new medications because they are dangerous. I go old school. But sometimes, like tonight, it doesn't matter what medications you have in your arsenal or how well you are eating or exercising, sometimes your the windshield. Tonight I'm the bug. No sleep for me. The pain is too great. Sleep is a battle with fibro anyway. I can not fall asleep without help. No sleep means no R.E.M. No R.E.M. sleep means no healing from today's assault on my body which means tomorrows assault will have a cumulative effect and the pain will be worse and then I will hurt too much to sleep tomorrow night and the cycle will continue until I finally just pass out from exhaustion. Then the worst part of it will ensue....fibrofog. I HATE fibrofog. That is when you can not remember what you were supposed to be doing, where you put your coffee cup (knowing you just set it down), feeling like you are sleep walking through your day. My family often tells me that I will tell them the same thing two or three times a day during fibrofog. Well, that's because something important popped into my head that you needed to know and I honestly don't remember telling you the last two times. And hey, if I'm saying the same thing over and over and can't remember doing it, at least you know I'm not lying to you! :)
Fibrofog and fibromyalgia mess with your short term memory. You transfer short term memories to long term memories during R.E.M. sleep. Without sleep and then add fibrofog, you lose those short term memories. I can only remember major events from my childhood and I have lost much of my children's childhoods. That is why we take so many pictures so I can trigger those memories and they won't be forever lost to me.
I am extremely fortunate in that I have a husband and children who understand what is happening to me and help without offending me. They don't treat me as an invalid. We handle it with humor and they gently guide me to help me remember things like where did I put my list of things to do today? I am a list maker. I sit down at night while my mind is clear and write down all that I need to do the next day. My big challenge is not losing that list!
Fibrofog comes and goes. It's awful during a flare, which I am currently going through. But while I may not be able to get out of bed because of pain in the morning, I know that it will subside and life will keep moving. Most of all, I know that no matter how bad the flare ups get, I am one blessed woman because I have a family who understands and loves me. My son said 'God Mom. It must suck to be you." Ummm not so much. Some things suck and I would like to punch the fibro fairy in the throat but other than that, I'm good. I consider myself to be one of the lucky ones.
Too many people with this disease are not understood even in their own households. They are left feeling desperately alone. It's an awful thing to hear about. Like I said, I am blessed. I might be in a daily battle and I might get knocked down. But by God's good grace, a loving family and the extra large dose of stubbornness that I was born with, I'll get through this and I will enjoy my life in the process.
There is a whole lot more to fibro and cmp but now you have a solid view of what daily life is like. So if you know someone with fibromyalgia or any autoimmune disease, cut them some slack. They didn't ask for this and they are doing combat every single day just to stay on their feet. They are not their disease. In fact, they are probably the strongest people you will ever meet. I know. A lot of them are my friends and I am awed by them.
If you want to know more, there is plenty on the web and I will be talking about it from time to time as it aggravates the tar out of me. But if you have questions, feel free to ask. I do not mind a bit. In the meantime, I hope you are all sound asleep! :)
Fibromyalgia is an autoimmune disease that lives in your spinal fluid. Living there gives it access to you entire nerve network as well as your muscles and your immune system. It's also a bully. It never shows up alone. It always brings a friend. For some it's IBS. For others it's migraine or another autoimmune disease. It actually has around 90 different friends it can team up with to kick your butt on a daily basis. With me, it brought cmp - chronic myofascial pain. CMP is a tough opponent all by itself and in my case I think I was diagnosed backward. CMP is not an immune response initially. CMP comes from repeated physical trauma. Fibromyalgia is hereditary, passed from Mother to child. Usually Mother to daughter.
Now, don't go thinking my husband beats me. He doesn't. My childhood was a slow walk through a special part of hell and I was badly injured while working in a nursing home in my early 20's. CMP and Fibro work hand in hand to knock me down daily. They didn't realize how stubborn I am. I keep getting back up.
This past winter the getting up has been harder. Pain with fibro varies from being stabbed all over with an ice pick to intense muscle spasms that stop you in your tracks to feeling like someone poured a layer of gasoline in the space between your muscles and skin, all over your entire body and then lit it on fire.
The longer it goes uncontrolled, the more hyper-sensitive to pain you become. The other day, I very lightly stubbed my pinkie toe. It should not have hurt at all but it dropped me. Pain shot straight up my leg, into my stomach making me nauseous and I just sat on the floor clenching my teeth until it passed. It really made me mad because that just should not have hurt at all! I often think it's stupid to hurt this badly. I bruise easily, which irritates my husband because he knows that each bruise was agony initially and I didn't tell him about it and let him hug me like a child. It's a really irritating disease.
Those of us with chronic pain have become experts in medications and nutrition. It becomes a quest to find ways to drastically minimize the effects so we can live semi-normal lives. I have become a clean eating proponent because I know how much it helps me. I refuse the new medications because they are dangerous. I go old school. But sometimes, like tonight, it doesn't matter what medications you have in your arsenal or how well you are eating or exercising, sometimes your the windshield. Tonight I'm the bug. No sleep for me. The pain is too great. Sleep is a battle with fibro anyway. I can not fall asleep without help. No sleep means no R.E.M. No R.E.M. sleep means no healing from today's assault on my body which means tomorrows assault will have a cumulative effect and the pain will be worse and then I will hurt too much to sleep tomorrow night and the cycle will continue until I finally just pass out from exhaustion. Then the worst part of it will ensue....fibrofog. I HATE fibrofog. That is when you can not remember what you were supposed to be doing, where you put your coffee cup (knowing you just set it down), feeling like you are sleep walking through your day. My family often tells me that I will tell them the same thing two or three times a day during fibrofog. Well, that's because something important popped into my head that you needed to know and I honestly don't remember telling you the last two times. And hey, if I'm saying the same thing over and over and can't remember doing it, at least you know I'm not lying to you! :)
Fibrofog and fibromyalgia mess with your short term memory. You transfer short term memories to long term memories during R.E.M. sleep. Without sleep and then add fibrofog, you lose those short term memories. I can only remember major events from my childhood and I have lost much of my children's childhoods. That is why we take so many pictures so I can trigger those memories and they won't be forever lost to me.
I am extremely fortunate in that I have a husband and children who understand what is happening to me and help without offending me. They don't treat me as an invalid. We handle it with humor and they gently guide me to help me remember things like where did I put my list of things to do today? I am a list maker. I sit down at night while my mind is clear and write down all that I need to do the next day. My big challenge is not losing that list!
Fibrofog comes and goes. It's awful during a flare, which I am currently going through. But while I may not be able to get out of bed because of pain in the morning, I know that it will subside and life will keep moving. Most of all, I know that no matter how bad the flare ups get, I am one blessed woman because I have a family who understands and loves me. My son said 'God Mom. It must suck to be you." Ummm not so much. Some things suck and I would like to punch the fibro fairy in the throat but other than that, I'm good. I consider myself to be one of the lucky ones.
Too many people with this disease are not understood even in their own households. They are left feeling desperately alone. It's an awful thing to hear about. Like I said, I am blessed. I might be in a daily battle and I might get knocked down. But by God's good grace, a loving family and the extra large dose of stubbornness that I was born with, I'll get through this and I will enjoy my life in the process.
There is a whole lot more to fibro and cmp but now you have a solid view of what daily life is like. So if you know someone with fibromyalgia or any autoimmune disease, cut them some slack. They didn't ask for this and they are doing combat every single day just to stay on their feet. They are not their disease. In fact, they are probably the strongest people you will ever meet. I know. A lot of them are my friends and I am awed by them.
If you want to know more, there is plenty on the web and I will be talking about it from time to time as it aggravates the tar out of me. But if you have questions, feel free to ask. I do not mind a bit. In the meantime, I hope you are all sound asleep! :)
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
The Moral Compass
I am grateful for my family. I am grateful that I have been blessed to be a Mother and raise the amazing people that my children have become. Yesterday I realized that my job is far from finished. Two of my children may be considered legal adults but they are still children. They are still naïve and have difficulty in trying to see the bigger picture rather than only focusing on what is right in front of them.
Yesterday I had to open my oldest daughter's eyes a bit wider and she didn't like it. At all. But in the end, she understood and I'm hoping she will take that lesson into the future and draw on it when it happens again. It will happen again.
It got me thinking; most of the population sees the world the way my daughter does. 'Sure bad things happen. But it isn't my fault and I can't stop it and as long as it doesn't happen in my little world, I'll be sad for the people for a whole minute and move on. That's just the way the world is.'
WRONG! When did I fail to teach her this stuff? Fail on my part! It irritated the crap out of me!
It started with her telling me how sad and unexpected Shain Gandee's death is. The star of some show called Buckwild - I actually had to Google it and read about the show and the players to understand what she was talking about. Basically, yet another reality show star gone wrong.
My daughter thought it was so very sad that this boy had died and she talked about how it was so unexpected and awful. She did not expect my reaction.
Yes it is sad. Yes it is awful. But unexpected? Nope. Should have seen it coming. And guess what? Everyone who watched that show is partially responsible for what happened to him.
We used to prize wisdom, goodness and wholesomeness. We used to promote family values and having a strong sense of right from wrong. Not anymore.
Now we tell 20 somethings that they are invincible and that if they will get sloppy drunk, use drugs, party like idiots, get D.U.I.'s, cop assault charges, have sex with random people, get pregnant and not know who the daddy is - and allow America to watch you do these things on T.V., we will not only pay you big money for it, you will be rich and famous!
Look at the cast of Jersey Shore. Look at Honey Booboo's family. Read the news reports on these idiots. And yes, if you are watching these shows to get a laugh, you are directly responsible for it when they get so drunk that they don't realize the cab of their truck is filling with carbon monoxide and they die. When they overdose, when they act like they have no common decency whatsoever, it is your fault for watching and sending the message that it is perfectly all right to destroy yourself because as long as we are entertained, you get paid.
If there was no big payday for you to act that way, you most likely would not take it to extremes to entertain the masses. Even if you acted that way on your own, you might have the hope of coming to your senses one day and growing up. Sadly, a lot of these kids never get to grow up because they kill themselves trying to top the last idiotic thing they did so the next episode will get good ratings.
Their poor Mothers. To lose a child that way is unthinkable to me. To know it was encouraged by thousands of people must tear away a part of your soul as a parent.
Once I explained it to my daughter and she got over being mad at me, she actually thought about what I said and told me that I was right. She just never would have thought of things that way.
Let me tell you something: Everything you do affects someone else in some way. Whether it is a T.V. show or smiling at a stranger in the grocery store. Try to affect someone else in a positive manner. Do unto others what you would have them do unto you. If you want someone to root on your childs' destruction, go on and watch those types of shows.
This world is what people want it to be. Nothing is going to change until we change it. Turning the channel will eventually stop the death of another Mother's child. Lesson learned.
Ya'll have a good night and if you are a parent, hold your children tight. We only have them for a little while.
Yesterday I had to open my oldest daughter's eyes a bit wider and she didn't like it. At all. But in the end, she understood and I'm hoping she will take that lesson into the future and draw on it when it happens again. It will happen again.
It got me thinking; most of the population sees the world the way my daughter does. 'Sure bad things happen. But it isn't my fault and I can't stop it and as long as it doesn't happen in my little world, I'll be sad for the people for a whole minute and move on. That's just the way the world is.'
WRONG! When did I fail to teach her this stuff? Fail on my part! It irritated the crap out of me!
It started with her telling me how sad and unexpected Shain Gandee's death is. The star of some show called Buckwild - I actually had to Google it and read about the show and the players to understand what she was talking about. Basically, yet another reality show star gone wrong.
My daughter thought it was so very sad that this boy had died and she talked about how it was so unexpected and awful. She did not expect my reaction.
Yes it is sad. Yes it is awful. But unexpected? Nope. Should have seen it coming. And guess what? Everyone who watched that show is partially responsible for what happened to him.
We used to prize wisdom, goodness and wholesomeness. We used to promote family values and having a strong sense of right from wrong. Not anymore.
Now we tell 20 somethings that they are invincible and that if they will get sloppy drunk, use drugs, party like idiots, get D.U.I.'s, cop assault charges, have sex with random people, get pregnant and not know who the daddy is - and allow America to watch you do these things on T.V., we will not only pay you big money for it, you will be rich and famous!
Look at the cast of Jersey Shore. Look at Honey Booboo's family. Read the news reports on these idiots. And yes, if you are watching these shows to get a laugh, you are directly responsible for it when they get so drunk that they don't realize the cab of their truck is filling with carbon monoxide and they die. When they overdose, when they act like they have no common decency whatsoever, it is your fault for watching and sending the message that it is perfectly all right to destroy yourself because as long as we are entertained, you get paid.
If there was no big payday for you to act that way, you most likely would not take it to extremes to entertain the masses. Even if you acted that way on your own, you might have the hope of coming to your senses one day and growing up. Sadly, a lot of these kids never get to grow up because they kill themselves trying to top the last idiotic thing they did so the next episode will get good ratings.
Their poor Mothers. To lose a child that way is unthinkable to me. To know it was encouraged by thousands of people must tear away a part of your soul as a parent.
Once I explained it to my daughter and she got over being mad at me, she actually thought about what I said and told me that I was right. She just never would have thought of things that way.
Let me tell you something: Everything you do affects someone else in some way. Whether it is a T.V. show or smiling at a stranger in the grocery store. Try to affect someone else in a positive manner. Do unto others what you would have them do unto you. If you want someone to root on your childs' destruction, go on and watch those types of shows.
This world is what people want it to be. Nothing is going to change until we change it. Turning the channel will eventually stop the death of another Mother's child. Lesson learned.
Ya'll have a good night and if you are a parent, hold your children tight. We only have them for a little while.
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