PREVAIL.
find me and see.
find me and see.
Tuesday, May 16, 2017
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
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
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.
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.
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.
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!
Thursday, July 26, 2012
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 workoutsofreakingincorrectlythetvkeepsyellingatyoutogetstarted 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!
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
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!
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
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'mdying 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
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
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.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
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.)
If it weren't for a good book and a tranquility in a glass, I would probably be in a wheelchair.
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 only certain other people in my life would realize how precious this time is in my life.*
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
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.
Monday, April 9, 2012
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. :(
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. :(
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Lying to Myself
I have these wonderful days when I lie to myself and pretend I'm normal. Fine, whatever makes me happy, right? Wrong. Because then I have days like today when I think, you know what-I'm not "normal". I'm not even AVERAGE.
I won't ever shake off this fatigue, this complete exhaustion that feels like I'm drowning and struggling to escape the hands of the person drowning me. I think "I would love to do that! What a great idea! Wouldn't that make whateverroominmyhouse look so nice? Wouldn't my kids love to see/use/have/do/create/playwith/sing/read/youfillintheblankhere________ that?" But no, I'm drowning. Drowning in water that isn't quite visible, and fighting against an unknown assailant. (Well, MS, but you get the picture.)
Ugh. I have SO MANY THINGS I WANT TO DO. WHY!?! And to the counselor that lovingly told me to start asking for help within "my church family". What church wants ME as a burden? I need help. My house needs help. My ideas need help. My kids' rooms need help. My unfinished projects started and stalled on "good days" need help. I hate this.
I won't ever shake off this fatigue, this complete exhaustion that feels like I'm drowning and struggling to escape the hands of the person drowning me. I think "I would love to do that! What a great idea! Wouldn't that make whateverroominmyhouse look so nice? Wouldn't my kids love to see/use/have/do/create/playwith/sing/read/youfillintheblankhere________ that?" But no, I'm drowning. Drowning in water that isn't quite visible, and fighting against an unknown assailant. (Well, MS, but you get the picture.)
Ugh. I have SO MANY THINGS I WANT TO DO. WHY!?! And to the counselor that lovingly told me to start asking for help within "my church family". What church wants ME as a burden? I need help. My house needs help. My ideas need help. My kids' rooms need help. My unfinished projects started and stalled on "good days" need help. I hate this.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Dumb@$$
What I want to call people who really don't understand that I am sick. I said on Facebook yesterday that I didn't care if my house was a mess, I was just glad to be getting out of bed!!! And I am. Or was. Until I once again got beat down mentally for having a messy house. Like I'm the sole reason for someone elses' happiness! (*tsk tsk*) Look, you should be thankful this house is still standing, I'm wearing pants, and my (your) kids have been fed and loved on.
And I'm not crazy. I have MS. I forget stuff. A lot. I get confused. A lot. Don't call me a retard because I kept pushing the wrong button on the vaccum thinking it was the "on" button. (I had been using it, plugged it into a different room; and because of how frustrated I was, I PUSHED THE WRONG BUTTON; and got angrier because I couldn't believe my NEW vaccum was already broke!)
*Sighs*
Another day ends in tears, and so completely enwrapped in failures. I hate this.
And I'm not crazy. I have MS. I forget stuff. A lot. I get confused. A lot. Don't call me a retard because I kept pushing the wrong button on the vaccum thinking it was the "on" button. (I had been using it, plugged it into a different room; and because of how frustrated I was, I PUSHED THE WRONG BUTTON; and got angrier because I couldn't believe my NEW vaccum was already broke!)
*Sighs*
Another day ends in tears, and so completely enwrapped in failures. I hate this.
Friday, February 10, 2012
SO excited...
I'm waiting for the man of the hour to show up and decided to do a quick blog introduction. VIDEO blog that is! How neat is that? I'm sitting here, patiently, waiting for it to finish loading onto YouTube so I can share it with you!
I suppose a quick catch-up is in order, I'm currently looking for a new doctor. Why? Because mine didn't hear anything I had to say the other day and refused to acknowledge the rapid progression I'm encountering.
How rapid is it? I forgot how to fill out a check. Laugh, you know you want to. I also have left eggs on the stove, walked away, and totally forgot I was cooking. Even when I could smell the horrific odor of burnt eggs... I still didn't realize. I didn't put two plus two together and now I have a destroyed frying pan. I also locked myself out of the car. Or so I thought... until 20 minutes after crying on the porch I walked inside and happened to find them in a drawer. Nice. I don't even remember (STILL!) taking them inside with me. Also, it's really unlike me to lock my car... so I don't know. Ahhh, the joys of every day being a humorous adventure.
Grams, I want you to know I am so proud of everything you'd done for yourself here. I love you, I miss you, and yes, I still wear those silly pads just in case... just like you did. I'm glad we had one inside giggle before you left; I wish I could see those lights. I love you.
I suppose a quick catch-up is in order, I'm currently looking for a new doctor. Why? Because mine didn't hear anything I had to say the other day and refused to acknowledge the rapid progression I'm encountering.
How rapid is it? I forgot how to fill out a check. Laugh, you know you want to. I also have left eggs on the stove, walked away, and totally forgot I was cooking. Even when I could smell the horrific odor of burnt eggs... I still didn't realize. I didn't put two plus two together and now I have a destroyed frying pan. I also locked myself out of the car. Or so I thought... until 20 minutes after crying on the porch I walked inside and happened to find them in a drawer. Nice. I don't even remember (STILL!) taking them inside with me. Also, it's really unlike me to lock my car... so I don't know. Ahhh, the joys of every day being a humorous adventure.
Grams, I want you to know I am so proud of everything you'd done for yourself here. I love you, I miss you, and yes, I still wear those silly pads just in case... just like you did. I'm glad we had one inside giggle before you left; I wish I could see those lights. I love you.
Monday, January 16, 2012
I have one song on repeat right now that is capturing the essence of every thought that is not going through my head. I came to a very scary realization while trying to (not) sleep last night that I no longer think as I did when I was 19. No, no, no; I obviously have grown up and patterned myself after different behaviors, what I am referring to is what had been a rapid thought process. Mathematical and calculatory in nature, thousands upon thousands of words/songs/pictures/numbers in any given second.
Gone.
I have to try to think. Actually put the effort forth to "think". Obviously I would be a vegetable if one wasn't to make the inferrence that my body is going off of some automatic systems... but maybe it's like breathing. Maybe I'm just living as I breathe. In and out. And in. And out.
Is that enough? Is it truly enough?! Where did all the beautiful words, lyrics, complete compositions and logistics go? Why am I left in this shell of a person that I once was?
Ah. And the true question emerges! What happened?! Clearly the small answer is M.S. The larger answer has yet to be answered. What steps and movements were made in this game of life that I am living to get to where I am at today... and why am I living only off of emotions and very sporadic thinking? I used to have suchbrilliant genius ridiculous hilarious imaginative captivating beautiful thoughts. I really did. I actually recorded entire speechs and have written essays that were of no significance but for the MOMENT. What happened to all of that?
I live in this diseased mind that has become my alternate reality.
Gone.
I have to try to think. Actually put the effort forth to "think". Obviously I would be a vegetable if one wasn't to make the inferrence that my body is going off of some automatic systems... but maybe it's like breathing. Maybe I'm just living as I breathe. In and out. And in. And out.
Is that enough? Is it truly enough?! Where did all the beautiful words, lyrics, complete compositions and logistics go? Why am I left in this shell of a person that I once was?
Ah. And the true question emerges! What happened?! Clearly the small answer is M.S. The larger answer has yet to be answered. What steps and movements were made in this game of life that I am living to get to where I am at today... and why am I living only off of emotions and very sporadic thinking? I used to have such
I live in this diseased mind that has become my alternate reality.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Argh! Someone SHUT UP the voices in my head!!!
It's been a week. (or a month, year, maybe 25 years, but who's counting???) I can't stop thinking. I cannot stop stressing, which is causing some wicked migraines, horribly blurry vision, and my hands feel like someone peeled the skin off of them... so what do I do? I take two excedrin pm. I think I might get tired enough to sleep well for the night. Do you think it worked????
I'll give you a minute.
Hint, I took them at 10. My posting time should read, what, 11:48?
The bad part?!?! I should have drank a glass of wine. NOW I can't have a glass of wine to relax, because I'll probably die. My luck.
Side note, I really need someone to fix my dishwasher. I can't wash dishes by hand and the glove thing isn't working like I thought it would. It's very depressing to walk into an otherwise clean kitchen and see a sink full of dishes... and not be able to do anything about it. Actually, it's worse than depressing-it's DEFEATING. Which causes me to become more stressed, depressed, and defeated... which forces me to reevaluate myself and hahaha-the cycle starts all over. Round and round we go, I WANT OFF OF this ride!!!! I hate fuse box shorts, and I hate that I'm progressing so rapidly and can't stop it.
I will have a garden in heaven. I will not have dirty dishes. And I will feel amazing, like I've actually slept... ahhh, but the best part? No more doubts. No more self-hatred. Just working, perfect hands, and a working, perfect mind that can do everything I've always wanted to do.
Hmmmm. Nothing hurts worse than the realization that you've set out to do so much in your life, but will never fully succeed, or amount to much of anything. Ouch.
I'll give you a minute.
Hint, I took them at 10. My posting time should read, what, 11:48?
The bad part?!?! I should have drank a glass of wine. NOW I can't have a glass of wine to relax, because I'll probably die. My luck.
Side note, I really need someone to fix my dishwasher. I can't wash dishes by hand and the glove thing isn't working like I thought it would. It's very depressing to walk into an otherwise clean kitchen and see a sink full of dishes... and not be able to do anything about it. Actually, it's worse than depressing-it's DEFEATING. Which causes me to become more stressed, depressed, and defeated... which forces me to reevaluate myself and hahaha-the cycle starts all over. Round and round we go, I WANT OFF OF this ride!!!! I hate fuse box shorts, and I hate that I'm progressing so rapidly and can't stop it.
I will have a garden in heaven. I will not have dirty dishes. And I will feel amazing, like I've actually slept... ahhh, but the best part? No more doubts. No more self-hatred. Just working, perfect hands, and a working, perfect mind that can do everything I've always wanted to do.
Hmmmm. Nothing hurts worse than the realization that you've set out to do so much in your life, but will never fully succeed, or amount to much of anything. Ouch.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
feel like giving up
So the story goes: I'm clinging to the remnants of me. The sheet of fabric is torn, ragged, and very worn. My fingernails are scratching, and pulling... tearing through the threadbare fabric, just to hold on-ever aware of the very empty nothingness beneathe my feet--when it happens. The fabric tears and I'm falling. Farther, and farther still; into a deep, black, vastness of space. Empty. I know I'm screaming, but there is no sound. I look into my hand and I see the shred of the garment that was me, and weep...
MS robs you of your dignity and strength. And then someone steps up to remind you that you aren't a real woman because you can't keep up.
So I keep on falling, and fading into the blackness. Succumb to the feeling of terror that is complete solitude. I have nothing left of me to hold on to; I just exist.
MS robs you of your dignity and strength. And then someone steps up to remind you that you aren't a real woman because you can't keep up.
So I keep on falling, and fading into the blackness. Succumb to the feeling of terror that is complete solitude. I have nothing left of me to hold on to; I just exist.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
I hate this disease.
I'm wallowing in the muck and the mire that is MS today. My best friend, (Grandma!) is dying. I'm crying, and miserable that she will no longer be the first person I call. She knew everything before my mother. My pregnancies. My miscarriages. My idiot husband(s!). She prayed any time I screwed up, and her prayers were so strong and firm that I believed God was listening to her. My best friend will be leaving this planet to go on to another life, and I am feeling very alone.
Because I can't stop crying, my immune system is taking a huge whallop. To make matters worse, my (awesome, non-idiot) husband brought home a coffee for me from the gas station. (No, not Starbucks, but wow so sweet.) I drank it and got food poisoning. I've been so miserable sick. Fever, puking, shaking, very bad migraine with partial blindeness (woo-hoo!), and my left arm is losing the ability to function. As is the ring and pinky fingers on my right hand... ugh. And I STILL can't stop crying. Every time I think about how she will no longer be there when I call... :( I'd call and tell her that, but she's so gone.
My husband said: "I know you already know this. But you WILL get better. It just might be a while." Yes, I hope I will get over this fast. It will be a long time of mourning, and I probably will always weep when I think about what I've lost... but I had better not suffer through this exacerbation for very long. (That's right, threatening a non-existent enemy... that is my own body, hahaha. Maybe I've lost it, too. :P)
Because I can't stop crying, my immune system is taking a huge whallop. To make matters worse, my (awesome, non-idiot) husband brought home a coffee for me from the gas station. (No, not Starbucks, but wow so sweet.) I drank it and got food poisoning. I've been so miserable sick. Fever, puking, shaking, very bad migraine with partial blindeness (woo-hoo!), and my left arm is losing the ability to function. As is the ring and pinky fingers on my right hand... ugh. And I STILL can't stop crying. Every time I think about how she will no longer be there when I call... :( I'd call and tell her that, but she's so gone.
My husband said: "I know you already know this. But you WILL get better. It just might be a while." Yes, I hope I will get over this fast. It will be a long time of mourning, and I probably will always weep when I think about what I've lost... but I had better not suffer through this exacerbation for very long. (That's right, threatening a non-existent enemy... that is my own body, hahaha. Maybe I've lost it, too. :P)
Friday, November 11, 2011
Someone get that trucks' license plate!
I've been hiding because of how tired I am. I wasn't exhausted, and actually had been at a level of activity that was at least 80% normal.
Now I am dealing with so much stress my body feels like I've been run over, Thor's hammer landed on me during it's fall, and I've been hit with a sleep spell all at the same. Save me, please.
I can't even get my thought process to slow down enough to acknowledge how dang tired I am, and then something else or someone else makes me incredibly angry and frustrated and I fall through the floors all over again.
In the mean time, I hate fake people. I hate liars. I hate people who have no integrity. I hate that I'm so sweet and just let people get away with.... well, lets just say I hate that I keep waking up at night after a dream of screaming my head off, beating the crap out of, certain people in my life. I have words for all of you; most of which entail something like: "You are a worthless, hypocritical piece of garbage." I hope karma kicks in soon, these people all should be pumping porta-pottys. I'll be ready with my camera and the one finger wave.
And I'm not going to say I'm perfect, but I certainly have never been fake. Or a liar. Or made promises I don't keep. (over and over and over and over and over again) Or bullied anyone.
Now I am dealing with so much stress my body feels like I've been run over, Thor's hammer landed on me during it's fall, and I've been hit with a sleep spell all at the same. Save me, please.
I can't even get my thought process to slow down enough to acknowledge how dang tired I am, and then something else or someone else makes me incredibly angry and frustrated and I fall through the floors all over again.
In the mean time, I hate fake people. I hate liars. I hate people who have no integrity. I hate that I'm so sweet and just let people get away with.... well, lets just say I hate that I keep waking up at night after a dream of screaming my head off, beating the crap out of, certain people in my life. I have words for all of you; most of which entail something like: "You are a worthless, hypocritical piece of garbage." I hope karma kicks in soon, these people all should be pumping porta-pottys. I'll be ready with my camera and the one finger wave.
And I'm not going to say I'm perfect, but I certainly have never been fake. Or a liar. Or made promises I don't keep. (over and over and over and over and over again) Or bullied anyone.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
A wormy issue.
I recently checked my email to discover an email from some random MS research group detailing results of an unofficial study involving the most disgusting, nasty, horrific, raunchy, itchy, handwashing-OCD-as-a-side-effect unbelievable procedure. It was (is) literally the most repelled I have ever been, and I've seen and heard some appalling things in my young life. (That is at least 1/3 over, by the way; but another story for another day!) Be prepared for what I am about to reveal to you! Maybe locate your nearest bottle of sanitizer, a nail brush, and probably a new pair of panties. Trust me. Go now, I'll wait!
*takes a swig of her mouthwash*
What, you ask, could have caused me to dive into my bathroom to scrub under my nails like a psychiatric patient with bleeding hands? Worms. Parasitic worms. Used as a treatment of sorts for Multiple Sclerosis. I'm squirming in my seat just thinking about it! People are swallowing "harmless" pills containing the eggs of what will be a parasitic intestinal infection of worms. The worst that could happen? I don't know, repelling your partner while having sex in the middle of night comes to mind. (Take a moment, let that visual settle. A lot of jokes to be made here, inappropriate, but you have to see the WHOLE picture and THEN gag.) Let's not forget the need to constantly have your hands down the BACK of your pants, and, of course; your hand will be unshakeable as the smell is unwashable. {{Lord, thank you for the pill that kills those, by the way.}}
The idea behind this treatment is that people in 3rd world countries are consistently fighting other infections off, which depresses the signals to the immune system to attack the myelin in the brain and spine. While the idea behind the treatment is genuinely a probable solution, there has to be another, more hygenic way to approach the concept! I offer the opinion that perhaps these people are too busy trying to survive to focus on their numb hands or temporary blindness for the day. Just a thought. I know when I was busy trying to feed my family I wasn't so focused on the fact that my left side was immobile and unusable, and I live such a blessed life that I couldn't imagine the day-by-day stress. In fact, I would be willing to hedge a bet that alot of the people with MS die very young in life due to infections that their bodies COULDN'T fight off.
I should also mention that while this "study" appeared to provide results for a length of time (fewer lesions, less exacerbations, etc.); in the end some couldn't tolerate the "side effects" of having worms. I suddenly imagine dozens of people, hugging their knees and using the carpet to scratch their tookus! (a la Dog!) You, too!? No, THANK YOU!
So, to summarize: worm eggs swallowed, grow intoanal havoc inducing adult worms that supposedly distract an already wound up immune system. And we're using a third world populations' lack of medical care as appropriate basis for a hypothisis to bring on a more sophisticated, privileged group of test subjects. They had better be paid a butt load of cash as reimbursement. Yes, pun definitely intended!
*takes a swig of her mouthwash*
What, you ask, could have caused me to dive into my bathroom to scrub under my nails like a psychiatric patient with bleeding hands? Worms. Parasitic worms. Used as a treatment of sorts for Multiple Sclerosis. I'm squirming in my seat just thinking about it! People are swallowing "harmless" pills containing the eggs of what will be a parasitic intestinal infection of worms. The worst that could happen? I don't know, repelling your partner while having sex in the middle of night comes to mind. (Take a moment, let that visual settle. A lot of jokes to be made here, inappropriate, but you have to see the WHOLE picture and THEN gag.) Let's not forget the need to constantly have your hands down the BACK of your pants, and, of course; your hand will be unshakeable as the smell is unwashable. {{Lord, thank you for the pill that kills those, by the way.}}
The idea behind this treatment is that people in 3rd world countries are consistently fighting other infections off, which depresses the signals to the immune system to attack the myelin in the brain and spine. While the idea behind the treatment is genuinely a probable solution, there has to be another, more hygenic way to approach the concept! I offer the opinion that perhaps these people are too busy trying to survive to focus on their numb hands or temporary blindness for the day. Just a thought. I know when I was busy trying to feed my family I wasn't so focused on the fact that my left side was immobile and unusable, and I live such a blessed life that I couldn't imagine the day-by-day stress. In fact, I would be willing to hedge a bet that alot of the people with MS die very young in life due to infections that their bodies COULDN'T fight off.
I should also mention that while this "study" appeared to provide results for a length of time (fewer lesions, less exacerbations, etc.); in the end some couldn't tolerate the "side effects" of having worms. I suddenly imagine dozens of people, hugging their knees and using the carpet to scratch their tookus! (a la Dog!) You, too!? No, THANK YOU!
So, to summarize: worm eggs swallowed, grow into
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Life at it's finest.
I do.
I miss those days. To steal what I told my husband yesterday, I hate this. I hate, hate, hate this. I can't plan and it's killing me by slaughtering my spirit one little nuance at a time. He apologized and held my hand, and for that whole moment I felt a little better. I am alone in this, but it's very nice to have someone else behind the wheel of a car at least. <3
For today, I am going to ignore the mess we made this weekend before the kids all left, and I will make the cookies that he asked me to bake for Lodge tonight. I will play Scrabble and cry because I'm doing a much better job at remembering what letters/words I was going to use. I will
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Hi, hello, where are my hands?
Did you know it was possible to induce a stupor relatively similar to THC without even ingesting anything other than O2? I didn't, either. Until last night! ENTER COMPLETE EXHAUSTION. I'm trying to pick up my house when suddenly in walks two bright yellow spots. And their friend, Mr. Red. Well, hi! Who are you, again? Thanking God my kids are already safely showered and tucked into their beds, (Hallelujah!) I realize the need to sit down.
Or is it stand up?
Or move around?
Or eat?!
Drink water?!!
Something in this cabinet has to take this edge off!!! *rifles through medicine cabinet*
I can feel my heart beat. No really, there it is. In my left ear. And the outer quadrant of my left thigh. Hehe. What a strange sensation... no wait, it's not my heart beat, it's ice! And it's moving down my leg? Ugh.
I find the Q-tips and begin the prodding of my ear, while somehow navigating myself around the house to ensure there really isn't some sort of noxious gas leak.
Nope, juuuuust me. Me and this damn disease.
Hmmmm. Cheyenne wakes up. And walks around the entire house before stopping in the living room with a very blank look in her eyes. "Cheyenne honey, what are you doing?" -me, "Going potty." -her; "NO NO NO NO go to YOUR bathroom, sit on a TOILET honey!" -me, "I am, mommy!" -her...
Somehow she wound up in the correct position on the correct porcelain throne to relieve herself before getting back in her bed, but this story made me laugh for far too long. But back to the events of last night:
I force feed myself lots of pretzels, which tasted far too salty. A chicken flat bread from Schwans. Far too bland. Chocolate chips. Why are they burning my throat?!!?!
I turn on some DVR episodes of Friends only to realize I really am not one of those people that finds this show funnier when out of her own mind, it's even more inane than Chandler's jokes. (haha.)
Try reading, nope-no concentration ability at. all. And those big spots don't help. Hands, wait a minute, I CAN'T FEEL MY HANDS! *enter panic*
I retrace my events as a hero enters to save the day *dadadaDA!* Woody laughs and says IMMEDIATELY "What did you take!? You look GONE!" Well, yes, I was, thank you very much, but all I had this entire evening was two excedrin and a coffee. Hours ago. I follow him around the house rattling off whatever has happened to me that evening, and tell him "I can't feel my hands", making us both giggle; before retiring to bed for humming myself to sleep.
My only explanation is that I must have been sleep walking somehow. Too much activity. I now have a spot on my thigh that feels like I froze an ice pack to it, a very sore back, and this evil need to cry but I refuse to let in. At least I have this entertaining story to share with my future self... or, sorry, past self; should we ever invent a time machine. My future self won't remember but should have the ability to locate this particular thread.
Or is it stand up?
Or move around?
Or eat?!
Drink water?!!
Something in this cabinet has to take this edge off!!! *rifles through medicine cabinet*
I can feel my heart beat. No really, there it is. In my left ear. And the outer quadrant of my left thigh. Hehe. What a strange sensation... no wait, it's not my heart beat, it's ice! And it's moving down my leg? Ugh.
I find the Q-tips and begin the prodding of my ear, while somehow navigating myself around the house to ensure there really isn't some sort of noxious gas leak.
Nope, juuuuust me. Me and this damn disease.
Hmmmm. Cheyenne wakes up. And walks around the entire house before stopping in the living room with a very blank look in her eyes. "Cheyenne honey, what are you doing?" -me, "Going potty." -her; "NO NO NO NO go to YOUR bathroom, sit on a TOILET honey!" -me, "I am, mommy!" -her...
Somehow she wound up in the correct position on the correct porcelain throne to relieve herself before getting back in her bed, but this story made me laugh for far too long. But back to the events of last night:
I force feed myself lots of pretzels, which tasted far too salty. A chicken flat bread from Schwans. Far too bland. Chocolate chips. Why are they burning my throat?!!?!
I turn on some DVR episodes of Friends only to realize I really am not one of those people that finds this show funnier when out of her own mind, it's even more inane than Chandler's jokes. (haha.)
Try reading, nope-no concentration ability at. all. And those big spots don't help. Hands, wait a minute, I CAN'T FEEL MY HANDS! *enter panic*
I retrace my events as a hero enters to save the day *dadadaDA!* Woody laughs and says IMMEDIATELY "What did you take!? You look GONE!" Well, yes, I was, thank you very much, but all I had this entire evening was two excedrin and a coffee. Hours ago. I follow him around the house rattling off whatever has happened to me that evening, and tell him "I can't feel my hands", making us both giggle; before retiring to bed for humming myself to sleep.
My only explanation is that I must have been sleep walking somehow. Too much activity. I now have a spot on my thigh that feels like I froze an ice pack to it, a very sore back, and this evil need to cry but I refuse to let in. At least I have this entertaining story to share with my future self... or, sorry, past self; should we ever invent a time machine. My future self won't remember but should have the ability to locate this particular thread.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
And the nightmare broadens...
I'm going to write a novel. A brilliant, juxtapose of what is real versus what is not. It will afflict the mind in a similar fashion to that of a white hot iron rod emblazoned on the ass. I'm considering splitting the book into two characters, the character that is really living the daily monotony known as hell-on-earth; and the character her "loving" in-law family claims her to be. Will be astronomical differences, and hilarity is sure to ensue. Be prepared to laugh, cry, laugh until you cry, and cry out in outrage at the travesty unfolding before your eyes!
As vexing as it is, my life has been split into two since I moved to the lovely state of Texas. Perhaps another sign that I really didn't belong here, but I have grown somewhat fond of this bizarre locale. I'm not entirely sure what to make of the recent accusations, and the harsh words that have been built up for at least the past few months. Other than to be completely horrified, I'm at a standstill. Grief, heartache, anguish. Essentially all of the synonyms for pain.
Hmm. Now for the back cover description, what will either repel or further draw in...
As vexing as it is, my life has been split into two since I moved to the lovely state of Texas. Perhaps another sign that I really didn't belong here, but I have grown somewhat fond of this bizarre locale. I'm not entirely sure what to make of the recent accusations, and the harsh words that have been built up for at least the past few months. Other than to be completely horrified, I'm at a standstill. Grief, heartache, anguish. Essentially all of the synonyms for pain.
Hmm. Now for the back cover description, what will either repel or further draw in...
Cecilia Barnes is a young woman who lost her way-while using a G.P.S.
She's saved by a tall, dark, and handsome man on the side of the road and
quickly finds herself married to her savior. She settles in to what should be a dream life,
but she soon learns that Adams' family is far from sane.
Forced to bear a smile while enduring the drama that unfolds around her,
she barricades herself against the onslaught and forges her own sanity.
Or has she?
Adam's family has convinced one another that she is not who she says she is,
and time and again she is confronted with bizarre stories. Her name is Susan,
she's been to bankruptcy court multiple times, she's a hearing aid thief, and she's a pill popper.
It isn't long before Cecilia begins to wonder who she really is, and questions
both her's and "Susan's" entire life.
and time and again she is confronted with bizarre stories. Her name is Susan,
she's been to bankruptcy court multiple times, she's a hearing aid thief, and she's a pill popper.
It isn't long before Cecilia begins to wonder who she really is, and questions
both her's and "Susan's" entire life.
Intriguing? In need of an editorial hand, but it sounds promising to me. I'm fairly disgusted of the nature of some of the claims being hurtled toward me, but I do believe in Justice and Karma. And I'm holding tightly to the childish rant "I am rubber, you are glue, what you say bounces off of me and sticks to you!"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
