Tears

Should you find me prostrate on the ground, bawling my eyes out, you will have a set of choices. You can turn and walk the other way, forgetting that you even saw me. You can slow down, stare at me, maybe take a video to post online and then keep walking. You can stop and ask if I’m ok. Or perhaps your heart will speak to you, telling you to sit beside me, pat my arm, give me a hug and talk with me. I’m not sure which you’ll choose and I’m not going to tell you what you should do either.

I am my tears. My tears are me. Today I feel like today is a prostrate on the ground kind of a day. I’m fighting myself, fighting my personality, fighting my to-do list, fighting my pain, fighting the anxiety and depression I feel pressing on my mind & body. Today is a day where I am on the losing side of my battle. No, I’m not suicidal. I’m not planning to hurt myself, at least not physically.

Today, I feel hollow. I’m a Type 2 personality, all about the details and the need for things to flow and be comfortable. Today I’m fighting the need to control the details and wanting to be in charge to ensure that its done ‘right.’ I think my personality is a giant stop sign and a do not enter sign. Or maybe its just me. Halt, do NOT enter, this person is volatile and prone to bursting into tears.

I feel alone. I feel as if no one listens or even sees me. Perhaps you should call me the Invisible Woman, which goes with my invisible illnesses. I’m not sure anyone wants to really be my friend. I can’t figure out what about me is unlikeable. What about me repels others. I think I even repel my husband. I’m not a very good wife. I’m sick and always, always in pain. I find it hard to get out of bed. I’m behind on my laundry. Behind on the dishes. I don’t even know when the last time I deep cleaned any part of my house. I don’t have the energy to play with my kids. I let the tv babysit my kids, a lot. I do lots of binge watching on Netflix and on Cable.

I’m a check mark on a list. More than one list. Inactive Church Member list. Check. Visiting Teaching list. Check. Inactive Relief Society list. Check. Inactive Ward Family list. Check. Inactive Stake Family list. Check. Ward Family Needing Assistance list. Check. Ill Sister list. Check. Neighbor Who Doesn’t Leave Her House list. Check. Neighbor With a Lawn Needing Care list. Check. Cub Scout Mom list. Check.

I don’t fall on anyone’s friend I can’t live without list. The make room to get together list. Something exciting happened and I have to tell you list. Something scary happened and I have to tell you list. I’m not sure why, but I don’t fit on those kind of lists.

Watch the tears well up and trickle down my cheeks. This is the face of someone who isn’t needed. Not really. I am my tears and my tears are me. I am empty and alone. Today my illnesses rule my life.

Therapy in a Bottle…

I made this decision and I’m running with it. I’m a writer to my core and I find that when I let words spill across the page, whether it’s in one of my dozens of notebooks & journals, or I’m typing out each word painstakingly, I feel a sense of calm. Writing is truly my therapy in a metaphorical bottle.

2016. While not a complete disaster, it was the source of a whole shit load of stress and I’ll be the first to admit that I didn’t have any methods to help me deal. Thus the health issues I deal with on a daily basis took a sharp and very painful plunge. A plunge I’m working hard to find my way out of.

I know it won’t be easy, but honestly when is my life easy? I’ve found that I have days where my pain is almost unbearable and my thoughts grow dark. I hate my body most days. It’s straight up a traitor and has robbed me of my youth. Granted I’m not really young, but I’m not really old either, but my body behaves like I’m in my 70’s or older. 31 year olds should never feel that way!!! My body. My health. Fibromyalgia. It’s robbed me of being the mom & wife I’d always dreamed of being. I seriously feel betrayed.

Dark days be damned! I am trying to find ways to live my life to its fullest, even if its not how I planned or intended to. I have to or eventually I’ll fade away. Or worse yet, do something stupid. My internship turned part-time job usually keeps me busy and that helps, if I can get out of bed & get there it helps.

However, last weekend I took a nasty fall down my best friend’s stairs and messed up my ankle. Grrr. Just my luck. *Insert eyeball roll* When I landed on it, I heard and felt a horrific crack. I was certain that I had broken my ankle. Initial x-rays at the ER didn’t show anything, but I had a follow up a few days later with an orthopedic surgeon and a second set of x-rays since it wasn’t getting better. Those x-rays showed a spot on the bottom of my right fibula where there might be a small fracture.

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My X-Ray on Wednesday Afternoon

I’m scheduled with another follow up this Tuesday (a week later) and another x-ray. He says if there is a fracture there that we weren’t able to see in the last set, then it will show up in this one.

Oddly enough I’m hoping we see one. I want validation for the amount of pain I’m in and for the misery I’m experiencing using crutches for almost two weeks. If there isn’t a break, we may have to wait a month or two before they will want to do an MRI to check for torn or detached ligaments. I’m hoping we won’t have to wait that long. I’ve been there and done that. Doing that left a horrible mess in my left ankle and only after three ankle surgeries have I been able to find less pain.

Anyway, I need to get things figured out. I need to get back to work and finish my projects.

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My ankle Wednesday night @ 11:21 PM

Plus, I worry they will decide that I’m not worth keeping me employed and will fire me. Not something I want to put on my resume, especially as its a job in my career field and will look good on my resume. The crappy thing is, my office is on the third floor with a set of split level stairs and no elevators. At home, we have the same kind of stairs and I have to crawl up the stairs and slide down on my butt. I can’t (and really won’t) do that at work, making it very difficult for me to get up and down the stairs. I hope they will continue to understand. I did tell them to let me know what I can do from home, because I am happy to work from home.

Sorry, I’ve probably bored you al to tears. Granted this is still mostly for me, but should you stumble across my blog, I’d love for you to stay and get to know me. To join me on my

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My ankle as of Friday @ 12:42 AM

Fibro Journey. Like I said this blog is my therapy and I always feel a measure lighter after I blog. I’m finally releasing what I’ve kept bottled up for years. It truly is good for my psyche.

I hope you find a measure of peace too. I hope if you find yourself in a similar situation or you are fighting Fibromyalgia or any bad health situation, I hope you will find an ally in me. I’m here should you need a friend.

Sending out prayers, love and good vibes.

It’s About the Horses

Have you ever been so tired that you quit functioning properly? Your thoughts and what words actually exit your mouth are not even remotely the same. You stammer out a similar phrase, which still doesn’t make sense. You grow more frustrated, unable to complete your thoughts. And all your spouse can do is laugh. Not at you, not really, more with you because if you were more awake, you would be laughing too. Except you wouldn’t have said it IF you were more awake.

I’ve been married 11 years to the love of my life and my high school sweetheart, who has also been a soldier for the last 15 years. We spent the first year apart, as he deployed to Iraq 4 months prior to our wedding. He was stateside for pre-deployment training and was lucky enough to score 4 days of leave prior to heading overseas. We got married, spent three days together in newly wedded bliss and then I had to take him back to the airport.

In the years following his return home from deployment, we’ve dealt with some interesting situations mostly due to his PTSD. We’ve been lucky that his isn’t bad and mostly he talks in his sleep. I’ve learned to predict when he has the most sleep issues, always after a long weekend of working 12 to 18 hour shifts for three or four days in a row.

In the beginning it stressed me out. I worried about him streaking, and I do mean streaking out of the house. Trying to explain why my husband was running around the neighborhood in his birthday suit. Once he tried to climb into the ‘gun turret’ in our car, while I was driving us home. I had to talk him down, explaining that he was home not attempting to make ‘SP time.’

Anymore though, I mostly deal with him startling awake when he’s super tired or when the crazy talk starts, that almost always has nothing to do with anything we are talking about. And I, his uber supportive wife, sit beside him in bed, laughing hysterically at what comes out of his mouth.

Tonight: It’s About the Horses.

A Writer Is Born

I’ve wanted to be a writer for as long as I can remember. An amazing teacher in third grade helped me tap into my ability and my love of the written word. I already sought solace in reading. By the time I started third grade I had already attended 7 different schools. 7. I’ve never quite forgiven my parents for the trauma all that moving caused me. They deny it, but honestly they aren’t me and so they can’t even imagine what I felt. I was traumatized. I didn’t know how to make friends, at least not for long term, because as soon as it seemed like I was adapting and making friends, we were gone again. So, reading was the place I could go, find adventures and make friends that couldn’t leave me. Third grade brought many, many writing assignments and so something I remembered dreading before that, suddenly became a new escape. In my stories anything was possible. I could be anyone I wanted and go wherever I wanted. Oh, the worlds I could create.

My writing continued to develop and I improved. I entered contests, winning awards, attending writer’s conferences, sucking in all the information I could to be better. I dreamed of becoming famous and writing a Bestselling Novel. I definitely improved over the years, but then I began to be self-concious of my writing and shared it less & less. Of course, it doesn’t help that when I would share my writing would be torn apart without being constructive. Warning: Don’t say anything that isn’t constructive criticism to a writer. If you can’t do that, you have no business judging someone’s work.

I’m still dreaming of being a famous writer. I’ve become more cautious with my writing. If you are lucky enough to be given the chance to read my works of fiction, you’d be numbered among a small few that I’m willing to share with. I still love to write. I’ve been suffering from Writer’s Block, maybe this blog will help me find my way around.

If you’re here reading this, you are numbered with those I trust with my writing and my secrets. Be kind.

A Writer is born.

I Broke Today

I broke today. I let down my wall. I let in the person who understands me the most. I cried. A lot. I admitted that sometimes I feel defeated. Sometimes I think my family would be better off without me. I’m failing my children every day. I’m Broken All the Time. Sometimes I find relief from the pain, but most of the time I am barely hanging on. I lie. A lot. I lie about how much it hurts. I lie and say I’m feeling great. I lie about needing and wanting help. I lie to keep him from worrying about me. Maybe I’m not fooling him, but today I told him.

I told him the truth and cried. I think there was a measure of healing that occurred, but I think its going to be a process. A very long one. I’ll never be healthy. I’ll never get back the years I’ve lost due to my pain and suffering.

I hate how this disease has robbed me of so much. How I can’t be me. I’m a young woman trapped in a body that’s falling apart. It feels like a prison.

I’m trying to not let it break my soul. I’m trying to stand tall. I’m trying to be a good mother to my kids. I’m trying to be a good wife. Some days I’ll succeed and others I’ll fail, but I’m going to keep trying.

Today he held me. Held me so close. He told me that he needed me and that they aren’t better off. I laid bare my emotional pain and he loved me still. He loved me in spite of it all.

Today I Will Keep Fighting. For I Am Not Alone.

I Won’t Let Fibro Kick My Ass!!!

Titles, Names, Roles and My Story

Writer. Actress. Movie Buff. Singer. Introvert. Home Business Owner. Book Obsessed. Crafter. Paper-crafter. Archaeologist. Student. Daughter. Sister. Wife. Mother. Best Friend. A million titles, names and roles that I fill everyday. Yet, there is another list, one that I often keep to myself. It’s a list of names, of roles that I wish I could rip up and erase from my life. Unfortunately, that’s not how life works, is it?

If you can’t rid yourself of them, then what options do you have? Granted I could attempt to deny them and their side effects, but that’s just asking for trouble. Denying reality doesn’t do anything besides hurt you further.

So, today I’m going to be Brave. Today I’m going to be honest with the world, with myself. I’m going to embrace myself. My titles, my names, my roles, every little thing that makes me, well me. It won’t be easy. It definitely won’t be easy. But I’m going to try.

If you’re here with me for the long haul, I welcome you with my arms wide open. If you decide this story isn’t for you, I get it too. I’ve blogged about my family. I’ve blogged about my crafting business. I’ve blogged because college required it of me. I’ve blogged to share recipes. I’ve blogged to practice my fiction writing. I’ve blogged to share. All great. All enjoyable.

Today…today I’m blogging for me. I’ve spent far to long bottling myself up. Avoiding saying what I really feel because I’m afraid that I’ll say something I can’t take back. Afraid of really dealing with how my diagnosis has changed my world. Changed my life, my family. How it changed me.

I’m not sure where to start. Honestly I feel a bit overwhelmed. I’ve always wanted to be a writer, but in the more recent past I’ve felt like my writing is lacking. A mind full of doubt. I’m not even sure I’m any good at this. But this is self therapy and it’s free. Like I said if you decide to quit reading this blog, it’s really ok. I’m writing for me anyway.

Welcome to my story.