Tokusatsu
I woke up in a cold sweat, shaking in my socks about this video shoot I committed to today. I've been trying my best to think practically about everything I consider taking on, and I just wasn't thinking that way about this. I don't know how I'm going to get through it; it's going to be long, it's going to be cold, it's going to require sitting and waiting. I don't handle any of that well on a daily basis, but particularly in light of the migraine that knocked me on my ass all day yesterday, I have a lot of trepidation. Too late now; can't pull out.
I'm all too used to having to pull out.
Three years ago, before I had to shut everything down and retire to convalesce in Texas, I spent the better part of a year in bed, only forcing myself up to shoot the occasional pinup, or to walk the six blocks to my gym at nine pm. The gym was my lifeline. I knew very few people in San Francisco, outside the circle of the law firm I managed, until I had to go on Disability. No one came to see me. I lived alone, so I had no one to care for me or buoy my spirits on a regular basis. I tried to go out here and there, but it didn't take long before agoraphobia set in and being in public gave me panic attacks. I never knew how I was going to feel, so I wasn't comfortable committing to anything. It was a year of abject loneliness, of dragging myself across the street to the Saint Francis ER, and of resenting everyone out in the world who evidently had a life.
The spectre of illness has been a constant haunt since I was born. One of my earliest memories finds me two years old, on a Saudia 747 flying back to Riyadh from one of our European "morale welfare" trips, being carried back and forth between our seats and the head because I had miserable intestinal issues. Just like yesterday.
I hate talking about it, because everyone has suggestions. They mean well, but they can't know what I've been through, and what I go through on a daily basis. I've tried it all. I've altered my diet and lifestyle so many times, I could write numerous books on the subject. I don't know many people who have the discipline I've had to cultivate when it comes to what I eat and don't eat, what I do and don't do. Some of it has worked, but it seems every time I think I have an issue licked, another pops up in its place. I hate talking about it, because I have an aversion to sympathy. What's the use in crying? You know it's there. It's always been there, it will likely always be there, so why burden anyone else with it? They can't control it any more than you can.
I have an aversion to sympathy because the Abusive One used to tell everyone who would listen that I was only acting for attention's sake. Because my mother-in-law accused my mother of poisoning me and keeping me ill, a la Munchausens-by-Proxy. I have an aversion to sympathy because I made it through the worst year of my illnesses virtually alone, and having people know is just uncomfortable. So I don't talk about it much. I don't write about it. I try my best to forget and be as practical as I can be.
But today, I'm angry. I've hit another wall. I've been crushed by the monster again, and I know it's going to take all the strength I can muster to get through this commitment today. I don't resent the commitment - if I didn't take on things like this, I'd go crazy. I've lost my momentum to illness so many times, it's routine. But I'm getting older. I'm hanging onto any momentum I've managed to build up again with every scrap of energy I have.
Still, I'm angry. I'm angry that I'm in limbo. That the Army won't reinstate my insurance, that the doctors won't give my case the time and attention it requires, that Kaiser denied me coverage, that I'm too sick to work regularly, but since I'm not sick enough to not work all the time, no one will certify me "Disabled". I'm angry that I've been a moderate all my life; that I've never wrecked myself with drug use or alcohol abuse the way so many of my friends and colleagues have, and I exist on a diet of rice, soft fruit and caffeine. I don't go out unless I'm getting paid or it's a very special occasion. I'm angry that one solution begets another problem, and that after years of being made more ill by medications, I'm still being prescribed to and not treated. My body rejects everything. Can't take hormonal birth control, so I try contraceptive jelly. Because it has sorbitol in it, it gives me excruciating GI issues. I try a diaphragm. The doctor gives me the wrong size, and it makes me bleed and gives me TSS. I get a smaller one and I have the same problems. I take Progesterone so I have some semblance of a "normal" hormonal profile, Days 15-28, but the hormonal shift gives me migraines on days 15 and 28, and it makes me sleepy for two weeks. I can't sit for fifteen minutes without developing screaming pain in my left side, and I still manage to drag myself off the sofa every day for my hour of exercise. I take calcium because I was told I was deficient, and I wind up in the ER with my first kidney stones. I take liquid B-12 and the sorbitol in that gives me GI issues. I go anywhere new, and I'm a germ magnet; if anything is going around, I get it early, long and hard.
And still, there are some people who have had the audacity to tell me they're jealous of what I've been able to accomplish for myself, and that it's "unfair" they don't have the same resume - that I'm doing, or have done, everything they've wanted to do themselves. (This is the same person who cyber-stalked me when Aaron and I met. She had reason; she was his girlfriend. We both respected that.) I wish them well. I hope they are able to accomplish more than they dreamed of. All I know is that you can't quit. You've got to find something you _can_ do. You must focus on the positive, and not expect anything or anyone to do anything for you. You must find a way to do it yourself, and it's a lot easier if you find a way to believe in something bigger than you, which is going to lend you a hand when you need it.
I'm tired of complaining. I needed to do it today, in order to get this mood off my shoulders and out of my system. I'm human, too. I was raised to believe I'm not, and that everyone else's problems are bigger and more important than my own. Perhaps they are. All I know is my own experience, and my experience has not been easy in this way. Thank God there are some easy things in my life. It seems I always get three times' return what I put in, in any case. I'll think about that, today.
And my morning prayer ends with thanks for the functionality I _do_ have, and a petition for healing for all the people out there who are incapacitated, debilitated, and otherwise hurting today. Heal us all.
Amen.
I'm all too used to having to pull out.
Three years ago, before I had to shut everything down and retire to convalesce in Texas, I spent the better part of a year in bed, only forcing myself up to shoot the occasional pinup, or to walk the six blocks to my gym at nine pm. The gym was my lifeline. I knew very few people in San Francisco, outside the circle of the law firm I managed, until I had to go on Disability. No one came to see me. I lived alone, so I had no one to care for me or buoy my spirits on a regular basis. I tried to go out here and there, but it didn't take long before agoraphobia set in and being in public gave me panic attacks. I never knew how I was going to feel, so I wasn't comfortable committing to anything. It was a year of abject loneliness, of dragging myself across the street to the Saint Francis ER, and of resenting everyone out in the world who evidently had a life.
The spectre of illness has been a constant haunt since I was born. One of my earliest memories finds me two years old, on a Saudia 747 flying back to Riyadh from one of our European "morale welfare" trips, being carried back and forth between our seats and the head because I had miserable intestinal issues. Just like yesterday.
I hate talking about it, because everyone has suggestions. They mean well, but they can't know what I've been through, and what I go through on a daily basis. I've tried it all. I've altered my diet and lifestyle so many times, I could write numerous books on the subject. I don't know many people who have the discipline I've had to cultivate when it comes to what I eat and don't eat, what I do and don't do. Some of it has worked, but it seems every time I think I have an issue licked, another pops up in its place. I hate talking about it, because I have an aversion to sympathy. What's the use in crying? You know it's there. It's always been there, it will likely always be there, so why burden anyone else with it? They can't control it any more than you can.
I have an aversion to sympathy because the Abusive One used to tell everyone who would listen that I was only acting for attention's sake. Because my mother-in-law accused my mother of poisoning me and keeping me ill, a la Munchausens-by-Proxy. I have an aversion to sympathy because I made it through the worst year of my illnesses virtually alone, and having people know is just uncomfortable. So I don't talk about it much. I don't write about it. I try my best to forget and be as practical as I can be.
But today, I'm angry. I've hit another wall. I've been crushed by the monster again, and I know it's going to take all the strength I can muster to get through this commitment today. I don't resent the commitment - if I didn't take on things like this, I'd go crazy. I've lost my momentum to illness so many times, it's routine. But I'm getting older. I'm hanging onto any momentum I've managed to build up again with every scrap of energy I have.
Still, I'm angry. I'm angry that I'm in limbo. That the Army won't reinstate my insurance, that the doctors won't give my case the time and attention it requires, that Kaiser denied me coverage, that I'm too sick to work regularly, but since I'm not sick enough to not work all the time, no one will certify me "Disabled". I'm angry that I've been a moderate all my life; that I've never wrecked myself with drug use or alcohol abuse the way so many of my friends and colleagues have, and I exist on a diet of rice, soft fruit and caffeine. I don't go out unless I'm getting paid or it's a very special occasion. I'm angry that one solution begets another problem, and that after years of being made more ill by medications, I'm still being prescribed to and not treated. My body rejects everything. Can't take hormonal birth control, so I try contraceptive jelly. Because it has sorbitol in it, it gives me excruciating GI issues. I try a diaphragm. The doctor gives me the wrong size, and it makes me bleed and gives me TSS. I get a smaller one and I have the same problems. I take Progesterone so I have some semblance of a "normal" hormonal profile, Days 15-28, but the hormonal shift gives me migraines on days 15 and 28, and it makes me sleepy for two weeks. I can't sit for fifteen minutes without developing screaming pain in my left side, and I still manage to drag myself off the sofa every day for my hour of exercise. I take calcium because I was told I was deficient, and I wind up in the ER with my first kidney stones. I take liquid B-12 and the sorbitol in that gives me GI issues. I go anywhere new, and I'm a germ magnet; if anything is going around, I get it early, long and hard.
And still, there are some people who have had the audacity to tell me they're jealous of what I've been able to accomplish for myself, and that it's "unfair" they don't have the same resume - that I'm doing, or have done, everything they've wanted to do themselves. (This is the same person who cyber-stalked me when Aaron and I met. She had reason; she was his girlfriend. We both respected that.) I wish them well. I hope they are able to accomplish more than they dreamed of. All I know is that you can't quit. You've got to find something you _can_ do. You must focus on the positive, and not expect anything or anyone to do anything for you. You must find a way to do it yourself, and it's a lot easier if you find a way to believe in something bigger than you, which is going to lend you a hand when you need it.
I'm tired of complaining. I needed to do it today, in order to get this mood off my shoulders and out of my system. I'm human, too. I was raised to believe I'm not, and that everyone else's problems are bigger and more important than my own. Perhaps they are. All I know is my own experience, and my experience has not been easy in this way. Thank God there are some easy things in my life. It seems I always get three times' return what I put in, in any case. I'll think about that, today.
And my morning prayer ends with thanks for the functionality I _do_ have, and a petition for healing for all the people out there who are incapacitated, debilitated, and otherwise hurting today. Heal us all.
Amen.