The Image of a Boy

Oh, how I wish I would have known you. How many hurts I could have walked through with you-for you. Tears I would have mopped. Burdens I would have born. Alas; I fear the pain is what paved the way to me.The agony, the defeat...the loss.I wish now I could go back to this boy and hold his face- to assure him the road leads home. Even now, I want desperately to reach through the eyes that still hold this boys' pain. I'm here! Let me in! Do life with me, holding my hand. I will bear your burdens- you need only appear. I come broken as well, but together we will

PREVAIL.
find me and see. 

Death Sentence

I read something yesterday that shook me to my core. What's left of it, anyway. Essentially, a diagnosis with Multiple Sclerosis equated to a death sentence in slow motion. Think about that... a death sentence, not by lethal injection, or even by one of those old fashioned western shootings where they all circle around you and fire. A death sentence in slow motion. 

A death sentence in slow motion.

Don't ask me to recall where I read this, I of course do not remember. I do remember it was spoken (and then written) by a younger woman over her mother's lifetime with MS. So I think. And think. And think. And even when I'm trying NOT to think, busy with real life situations, it pops into my head. "A death sentence in slow motion." What's not to love, right?

Immediately I find myself walking through different responses, the first being a wallowing in self-pity. "Ah, woe is me! I will suffer more and more and my life will be a waste of time and space!" Secondly, I face denial. The kind of denial that gets a little offended. Okay, a lot offended. "How dare she equate my life with being nothing more than a slow death?! I am NOT my disease!" Then comes the realization that she is clearly hurting and my final response is this: "she doesn't understand why God would rob her of her mother throughout her childhood, why her mother would suffer." Obviously, there is some bitterness and pain in the statement of that poor young lady. 

Small factoid: we are all dying. In slow motion. Some of us move a little faster than others, but hey, you make the decisions in your life if that's how you want to go-it's a shame, but fine. But we are all dying. 

We are ALL dying.

 

(yes, even you.) I'm not special here, I'm just different. Plus, there is no guarantee that MS will be the cause of my certain death. We could be blown to smithereens, I could get food poisoning, I could be the victim of a robbery gone bad, wrong place/wrong time, etc. I will die, but most certainly not in slow motion! Death itself is instantaneous!

 

...there are days I crave normalcy

My life is lived in slow motion. I will be the first to admit that there are days I crave normalcy, health, and for this blasted headache to disappear. But, life has to be lived in slow motion or I get left behind. Lost, even. I'm not going to lie, I love being lost in the wild of this life. (please don't ever consider setting your clocks by my untimely arrival, haha!) I enjoy the slow motion! How else do you smell the roses, savor the memories, or watch your children grow up? Slow motion is anything BUT a curse! It's a blessing from God, a reminder to STOP and LOOK. I know I need that reminder, so when I slam into a wall for the fiftieth time; I laugh and say thanks.

 

Saw a picture today of a person with their hands up praising God in the middle of a hallway filled with doors. Praise God in the hallway until he opens a door! I'm leaving with that thought... and you know what? I have been suffered severely the past two weeks. I've downed loads of painkillers (my liver and kidneys are killing me!) and had some shots in the ER. I've used all of my ice packs, tried anxiety meds, and taken loads of Magnesium. My blinds are shut, I am a pain wimp so of course I vomit, and I gave up even trying to eat/cook. I also have new lumps in my throat, and I have choked at least a half dozen times. (a little more worrysome considering I had a tumor removed that was the size of a small grapefruit almost five years ago!)

BUT: do you know who is IN CONTROL? Not me! Not my broken body! But the Lord in heaven! Turn on some Jeremy Camp "I Still Believe" next time you have a horrible, no good day. (Kids' book. Yup.) And don't forget to dance and praise-at least mentally. Because you still HAVE ONE MORE DAY to influence the world and bring a message of HOPE and LOVE.

 

ONE MORE DAY to influence the world and bring a message of HOPE and LOVE.

 

Let me speak love over you; and over me because I truly need it right now: have peace that this body you bear will not be carried in vain. That your weakness in physical nature will bring strength in ways others could not know. That you would lean on the One that suffered, bled, and died so that you could have a NEW body, untouched by pain. That you would feel companionship when you're abandoned, hope when there is none, and love when you have none. Lastly, breathe deeply; you're still here and that alone is a gift from Him!

 

I do, I don't do "I do".

No, we aren't talking about my particular issue with marriage and how difficult a time my current hubby had convincing me to take that plunge. Haha, we are talking about my sister's! I wish her the best of luck, she really is marrying a genuinely good guy. I was lucky enough to be present for the proposal, and I was crying almost as much as she was!

Still am, actually. Why? Because I weigh all of 185 and need to make it down to 160 before her impending nuptials this coming summer. Spring? Fall...? She hasn't decided. (That's right, SHE. Because she has been dying to plan a wedding since she was born!)

The problem with losing weight as a person with M.S. lies mostly with the nasty symptom of fatigue. Do you know how exhausting it is to try to walk just one mile? I feel like I'm pulling a semi truck behind me. But, I actually don't eat very much, and my food diary would prove that! I ingest maybe 1200 calories a day. (yes, I admit it-mostly carbs...) I need exercise.

So what's a girl with M.S. and the evil sleepy fog monster to do? Kinect? No. Bought 3 workout "games" and brought it home, got out the yoga mat, went to town...... and wound up in a cussing argument with an inanimate object. How is it after 30 minutes of doing the workout sofreakingincorrectlythetvkeepsyellingatyoutogetstarted perfectly, and you're sweating and breathing somewhat heavier, you've only lost 40 calories? Boo! Waste of money! (Not to mention a very bad idea for someone that swears when angry. And gets angry because it's not a person, a child, or a cute fuzzy animal...)  

I don't know. I found a neat article for beginning runners, just 20 minutesX5 times weekly. Sounds easy enough. As much as I hate the heat of the outdoors, maybe I can convince the hubby to join me?  Or maybe get a jogging stroller? Hmm. Hmmmmmm. I would love to run and not die. Really. Maybe following this training would help?

For now, I will be resorting to crash jumping jacks in my bathroom. The small scale earthquake you just experienced was just me... no need to call the local news station!

Hatefulicious.

Yes, I created a word. I'm feeling fairly hateful, but, I would much rather ignore the negative energy that seems to surround the emotion known as hatred. And, thus; the word hatefulicious evolved. I'm an icious. Everything I do is icious. Delicious. Vivacious. Auspicious. Capricious. Even fairly Suspicious, but we'll shove that random tic back to the bottom of Pandora's Box. I am going to go out on a limb and say that the prettifying of the word doesn't actually do anything to the emotion. *sighs*

It isn't a pity party day, I'm not feeling sorry for myself, or at least, I don't think I am. But I've randomly burst into tears a few times in the past three or four days. I'm not depressed, I'm actually "fine" so I don't understand, nor do I wish to stop what I'm doing to focus on the feeling and contemplate why I'm dying inside crying.

I do hate it here. In this box. In this prison sentence of a life. In the heat. Where I really don't want to leave my house after 6 am in June. Because it's suffocating and so life-stealing. Someone drop the lock! (WoW joke. Ugh. Add another sigh, years later I still reference the evils of that game.)

I keep having nightmares that I'm running, and running, and going higher, and higher in a building... through trap doors, and attics, and more attics on top of attics, and hallways. I'm running from someone or a bunch of someones. The more recent dreams involve people I know, strong people, dying while I'm on the run. I always stop at some point and try to have a real life moment, an "escape" moment, but always, always; I have to drop real life and start running to survive. I don't know what it means. What my subconcious is trying to tell me I'm missing in my waking hours, but I would definitely say I spend most of my time running. And hiding. And distracting. And trying not to feel. Because feeling is admitting there is a serious problem, I am not normal, I am alone, and I'm hurting. Stopping to live and feel is hard, and

I don't know how to breach the stoicism

 I've developed; so why try?

This is hard. Being sick is fine, I can handle the sick part. I can handle the pain most days, I just block it. The vision I ignore, I've always had vision problems. The migraines are my normal, I don't remember not having them. It's the fatigue and the depression. It's the loneliness and the awkwardness I feel around people because I am uncomfortable and nervousness makes me talk funny, walk funny, and even act funny. At home my family has to take me as I am, and I'd have friends. I'd have someone that I could just go with once and awhile. I wouldn't be stuck. Imprisoned.

Knowing there is a whole world out there I can't be a part of? Lifeless.

I keep seeing ads for our church. Their tag line is: "Come to Life!"

It's mocking me.

Off to continue this ritual facade that has become such a complete part of me. I would have made a great actress. I'm even starting to fool myself.

Marred.

This has got to be the  l o n g e s t  I have spent on the edge of a nervous breakdown. Give or take a few memories that have haphazardly been erased by time, and we have a winner! *ding ding ding* Really isn't as pleasant as all that, but I'm trying desperately to diguise my trepiditions with bravado. Really. Trying.


The emotions will not be the first to be bottled up and corked, but they certainly hold the most pressure and are as resistant to dormancy as a child's volcano expiriment. (In fact, I have a suspicion that if it weren't for all of these bad memories, and their need to be buried deep within the bowels of my mind, I wouldn't have short-term memory problems.)

Days like this one are the reasons why God allowed for wine and the written word.

If it weren't for a good book and a tranquility in a glass, I would probably be in a wheelchair.

*If only certain other people in my life would realize how precious this time is in my life.*

Set the world on fire...

If you didn't already know me...

Hi, my name is Jessica. I slur when I talk. I get off on topics that are ridiculous because I can't get my mind to work properly and calm the f down. I am concentrating so hard on every single thing I do as I'm doing it that when you walk up behind me and surprise me, I'm going to bite your stupid head off! Oh, sorry. I'm just trying not to feel the pain in my hands/ass/back/feet/head/eyes and/or plummet to an embarassing death  fall and break a leg.

I'm not doing well right now. Every day is worse. Last night I mustered enough to go out for an hour and eat, but by the time I drove home I was varying 30-70mph and swerving all over the road. I'm so tired. I hate it here. I want my mom. My grandma. Someone to live with to help me so I don't feel so useless.

Time has come. Shoes and ships and sealing wax and all of that. My mind is breaking my body, though my body wills it not to.

A Long Drive

I hate seeing all of these Homegoods commercials. Really, genuinely, hate. I see them and think: "A trip to Marshall's or TJMaxx does sound like a good idea!" And then duuuuuuuuuh moment:

I can't go to Marshall's or TJMaxx, or anywhere out of town. Why? I don't know when I'm going to be tired, I get so tired while driving, and I'd be dead on my feet the entire time I was there after driving to get there.

I just want to be normal. And I wish my mom was here, she could drive me so I didn't have to. So. Now you know why I don't go anywhere, save the grocery store. I have to save all of my energy for the grocery store. :(