Dear Future Me,
Why am I writing you a letter, you ask? Well, first off because my therapist told me to. But to be fair I'm pretty sure it is a good idea. Or it probably would have been had i written it when she had originally told me to. You see, when I met with her earlier today I was in high spirits. I was feeling really good about things, a great direction towards the future, hope that I will get my ketamine treatments resumed quickly, and determination to achieve something meaningful and impactful in my life. I was ready to take on the world. Now I just wonder what the hell am I even fighting for? For more isolation? For more loneliness? For more pain? I don't have many friends, and of those I see none of them. My family visits rarely. My son rarely comes upstairs. Had to have a talk with him today about how he has been ignoring me and kind of treating me like a leper. That sucked. But I mean its good that he knows how I feel, I guess. But I sit here and I wonder at what point is telling your child things crossing a line between parenting, educating, having a healthy conversation about feelings and emotions, and then going over into the using your kid as an emotional crutch or as your emotional support? Now, yes, you can have your children be your emotional support, but there is still a line that you shouldn't cross. For example. The eldest of my sisters. Lets call her...Jane...Jane is married to Jill (also not her name), not that that really matters one way or the other, but just for posterity. Jane and I got into a fight a couple of years ago. Instead of handling things like an adult she told ALL of her children about our fight, including telling them some of the things that I said to her. Which, I'm not proud of everything I said. I mean, none of it was untrue, but definitely unkind. I had a razor tongue dipped in poison and I knew exactly where to strike to make it hurt. And I think its probably because of the honesty that it made it hurt that much more. But she said nothing of the things that she did to me to cause that to come out in me. I know, i know, I am in control of my own reactions to other peoples actions, they don't make me do anything. I get that. But I did not have the strength or control to handle it. The CRPS had started eating away at my mind and my sanity and I was losing all grip of reality. I was spiraling into a place so deep and dark that I only saw one possible escape. I turned to her in that moment of darkness, that moment that I needed someone more than I ever needed anyone else in this entire universe. I told her I was feeling suicidal, that I wanted it all to end, I was done with this life and this pain and everything this horrible horrible disease has brought to me. She picked a fight instead. I tried to do exactly what it was I told her I wanted to do. I am not proud of that, of my weakness of the moment, of my giving up. But, it happened and it landed me where I was at. But anyway, she decided to tell her children all the terrible horrible things that I said to her but keeping everything that she did to herself. Her children wont speak to me now. I have been there for their whole lives. I was my sisters best friend...or so I thought. But she made an absolutely terrible decision in using her children as emotional crutches. They shouldn't have been involved ever in it. But they did get involved and I lost them all. I feel like a part of me died with the death of that part of my family...and it probably did. But I guess no use crying over spilled milk, right? I can't go back and change what I said, I can't go back and change how I felt, and I can't go back and change what she did to me. But, I can change who I am becoming and I can change who I lean on. I can become more. I am more...I have to be. The fire changes us into something different...darker...maybe a little more mysterious...and definitely less understood. Maybe one day they will see that things aren't as much in black and white as their mother made it seem. The shades of gray in the entire situation color more than anything else. But I don't want to talk about it anymore...maybe another day I will get into it. I know there is joy out there...I'm just having a hard time feeling it right now. Everything just seems like its one step too far away for me to grasp. Maybe I'm just tired. of the fight. Love and Light - Remember you have got this. You made it through that, you have made it through today, and you will make it through tomorrow. Faith P.S.: Oh, future me? Past me is a depressive shit. Don't be like past me. Chin up.
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'Call Me Faith.'
For those of you who didn't catch it, that was a Moby Dick reference. "Call Me Ishmael.". In no way am I comparing myself to Charles Olsen, who may be one of the more renowned authors out there, but perhaps I am hoping that my life and experience can have an impact on on even a handful of people. I may make you laugh, I may make you cry, you may hate what I say, or even make you question your beliefs. The topics could change with the day, with my thoughts, with what is happening in the now, what has happened in the past, and everything in between. We will discuss CRPS (of course, my fellow warriors and friends!), Trauma, Depression and Anxiety, and all the joy in between. Normally I would imagine someone would start their beginning with an introduction to who they are, their marital status, kids or not, job, blah blah blah. Well this isn't going to be exactly like that, but you will get the picture regardless. May of 2023. 25 months after the initial injury. 14 months after the diagnosis of CRPS. It started like this every morning. I would wake up sometime between 5-530 am to the sound of my alarm, debate calling out sick from work and attempt to roll over and fall back asleep for the 100th time after another typically fitful night. I would promptly get slimed by one, or sometimes both, of my giant German Shepherds who at this point have decided that since my alarm has gone of then that must mean I am up for the day and am in need of a tongue bath. I shove them back with a grumble of displeasure, all thoughts of going back to sleep now completely gone with the knowledge that if I don't get up now that they will just come back for round 2. I rolled myself over slowly and carefully, trying not wake up my husband, who is still blissfully snoring, all while taking stock of my body and the level of pain that I am currently experiencing. I had to gauge how I would need to attempt to get out of the bed that morning. It wasn't really a good day, or a bad one. It was just another day in the life of a CRPS Warrior. Which means internal screaming, but nothing that I couldn't bury deep down so that no one could hear but me. Sounded about right to me. I grabbed on to my walker that was placed next to my bed, using it to brace me as I stood up. The pain intensified to a level that almost took me to my knees. I gasped and panted quietly for a moment, and not for the first time feeling just the tiniest bit of bitterness go towards my husband, who was still oblivious to existence. I wondered again why I tried so hard to stay quiet in my agony. Its not like he had a job and like he wasn't perfectly capable of just going back to sleep again. I steadied myself and and made my way to the bathroom, navigating the now treacherous ground between my bedroom and master bath due to the, you guessed it, giant mongrels who have now decided to play dead on the floor between me and my destination (despite knowing that I have to go through this with them. Every. Single. Morning.) It was like my own personal obstacle course exercise that I did NOT want nor choose to have, especially without at least some coffee coursing through me. So, all of this, just to get to the bathroom. While in the bathroom I realized something was amiss. It was like my Mommy Spidey Senses were tingling! I immediately tuned in to sound of my son sneaking down the stairs, likely to steal something that was probably unhealthy, full of sugar, or in such large quantity that sometimes I wondered how he didn't make himself sick. Because that is what he did. Stole food in the dead of night or butt crack of dawn. All when he thinks no one will catch him. (Small side note introduction to my son, who I love with EVERY fiber of my being. He is diagnosed ADHD, ODD, and Autistic. He is high functioning, so a lot of the time its difficult for people to see. They just think he is a pain in the ass. Which, to be fair, he sure can be. But he is a kid, that is his right to be a pain in my ass. Its my job to teach that out of him. But, truly, he is an incredible human that I am so very proud of and I am so thankful for for so many reasons) At this point in time he is 10 years old and my husband and I were fighting this glorious new issue. I took a slow breath in, steadying myself for the day and not wanting to leave the bathroom. Honestly, even questioning my ability to get off of the toilet of my own volition. I let out a deep sigh, realizing that the last remaining hopes of a normal day were smashed to pieces with that sound. And ooooh boy could I have not been more correct if I tried, in so many ways. Fast forward beyond my thieving little trash panda of a child. I had a doctors appointment that day with my primary care physician. We talked about how I was doing and how my evaluation at the Rehabilitation Facility went. As a little flash of a back story, my CRPS began from a work injury, so I am still going through workers comp for all kinds of things. This was an evaluation to see if I was strong enough to do their program (Which I was not). They did their check on my capillary refill (its garbage, in case you were wondering.) They actually muttered "shit, shit shit" under breathe as they touched my feet, trying to find my pulse. Comforting, huh? Yeah, I thought so too. Now keep in mind, I have had this same doctor for most my sons life. They have seen me through so much garbage! From a back injury, fractured wrist, twisted pelvis (which ironically didn't cause CRPS. Although now thinking back on it, those could be why mine spread so aggressively. Hmmm...that's a thought for another time.) They were right there with us during my son and his ADHD, ODD, and autism diagnosis. Then back to me with my tendon rupture in my ankle (DING DING DING!! This is was started my hell), the CRPS diagnosis, depression, anxiety... To say that they know me would be a massive understatement. (And we have built a relationship where the professionalism is not necessary nor wanted, so the cursing goes both ways at times haha) They go on to tell me that I need to stop 'wearing my mask' in front of medical professionals. Now I don't mean a medical mask like the ones that we have all grown to love so much (sarcasm). But the mask of our every day. The mask that we put on to hide who we are in some way another. Whether to protect our sensitive spots, our self perceived weaknesses, or for whatever the reason may be. We all do it. Well, apparently I wear mine so well that the Independent Medical Examiners that I had seen didn't think that I am feeling the pain that I was describing. My PCP only knew that I was because they know me so well. Fair. Point 1 for the Doc. Ugh. Now I have to show feelings. Gross. Anyway, are you still with me? If you are then God, the flying spaghetti monster, or whatever you believe, bless your soul. You are a patient individual who has a very strange interest in my life for no good reason. Seems reasonable. I do realize that no one in their right mind would keep reading. So, if you are still with me then you must be my people. Fast forward again to that evening. I had myself all situated in my computer chair, legs elevated, and my heated blanket on my lap. I had just started working on the set up of a blog that i never really got into when my child walked in, home from school......And then my life happened... Now when he gets home every day its like my husband and I are prepared for war, but always hoping for rainbows and peace. We never know what we are going to get with him. He started out as "Kid next door". He was friendly and happy, ate his snack, told us about his day. Then my husband pointed out he couldn't have one of his electronics that he wanted to use until his laundry was put away. The kid next door immediately departed. Now he was Dante, the Breaker of Dreams, the Eater of Souls. Great. Here we go. Full blown melt down, things thrown, damage done to my house, dogs trying to use me as their panic shield (big babies). Just awesome. We get him calmed down and he goes to his room to put away his laundry. Comes back a minute later to show me a "new way" to fold his shirts. ... His shirts get hung up, not folded ... We reminded him of this and he loses it. Again.... Even worse than the last time. Now at this point my child is upstairs with his dad after his second episode, and I am downstairs. I am fighting being brought to the edge of a full scale panic attack while listening to their fighting Glorious. So that was it. That was just an 'ordinary day' from almost two years ago...Just wait until I tell you about a day that ISN'T ordinary. Can't wait can you? These will be the stories of my New Beginning. I hope it helps you on your way through yours. You aren't alone. Love and Light, Faith *Faith is not my real name. Names and locations will be changed for the privacy and protection of who I may speak of. |
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