Pathological Truth – Chapter 1 continued

The sweat was slick on her back, so the cold was welcomed and embraced her like a close friend. Even the trees seemed to be frolicking in celebration as she passed, as if they were cheering her on, “You are getting there, Lynn. Keep going and you will become free.” Spring would be coming soon and with it the rebirth of nature all around her. That was enough hope to grasp onto with white knuckles even with the fear toying and needling at her from all angles of her mind. 

However, her mind was too deep in the trenches of the past to consider the future. The anger gripped stronger, and it held on like an anaconda to its kill. It enveloped her slowly, squeezing and sending blood to flush and consume her face. The constricting force of it shattered the protective bubble she surrounded herself with. How did she not see this coming? It was right in front her the whole time and she was the last one to see it. Love is blind became the understatement of the decade. And yet, despair sunk in right on its heels as her children’s faces flashed in front of her mind’s eye. Not only did she need to save herself, she needed to save her kids from the daily betrayal.

And the only way to figure out the future is to face the past. It’s time.

Pathological Truth – Chapter 1

The chill in the night air did little to clear her mind. Even after walking several miles with the sharp whip of the wind and penance biting into her doubts, validation was hard to find. Wrapping her arms tighter around herself, she reflected, “How do you leave a life you thought you loved?” The rosy image of it all deteriorated away from the outside edges in like a well-used recipe card that no one really liked eating, but you made it over and over out of tradition. With each step came a gut punch of clarity unveiling the sad reality of the man she called her husband. 

Seeing the counselor was the tipping point a year ago. Like a full-size mirror in front of her reflecting every thought that had been stifled by utter denial. Those sessions became a path to the literal fork in the road with a choice to continue to live a shell of a life in her marriage or the other leading to disturbing realizations that would change everything. 

The bull struck hard and deep, goring her straight into her heart.

Thinking back, she knew the red flags in the beginning. They were young, and she was certain that maturity would take care of things. Either that or she would teach him how to be more responsible. After all, putting oneself through college while working full-time was not the norm. It was easy to chalk it up to having to grow up much sooner than others. I could teach him. How naïve. 

It rolled in her thoughts like a movie of someone else’s life. It was in their Catholic pre-marital class where both of them were asked to individually write down the dollar amount that they would feel comfortable spending without consulting each other and fold up the paper so neither could see the other’s answer yet. They were living check-to-check, and she was making a lot of sacrifices in order to plan for their wedding. There were no manicures or highlights or vacations to be had because those things were luxuries out of reach. Those things didn’t happen until they were planned out, scraped and saved for, yet they never happened. It was 1994 and they were 27 and 26 years old, respectively. Paying rent, a car payment, insurance, gas and food took up most of each check with barely any to spare. She wrote down $40. He wrote down $300. The shock should’ve been enough to cause her great pause. It did, but she brushed it away. 

She walked faster in a trance-like state, ignoring the rain drops that began to hit her red, heated face. His excessive, impulsive spending on new expensive clothes found shoved in hiding places around the house and garage over the years was another red flag. New clothes stuffed in bags, never worn with tags still on, her first thought in finding them was, “He’ll grow up and realize he can’t live this way, and I can help him.” She shuddered at how glaring the red flags were shoved in her face in hindsight. The brittle leaves kicked up and startled her from her deep thoughts, but she did not break stride. There was too much to get through in her head.

The years of excuses to herself and others about his choices became the matador cape she wrapped herself in for comfort. Like a shield protecting her from evil and yet inviting the large beast to attack. The bull struck hard and deep, goring her straight into her heart, ripping it open and releasing all the things she knew to be true.

She married her best friend – he was charming, goofy, made her laugh, and he was a sociopath and pathological liar. He is past tense, because he is dead.

A Story is Stirring

Wow, it’s been a while since I’ve written on my blog. I am noticing a pattern here, though. I tend to blog when I am going through a big change in life. I adore change, actually. It inspires me, so no surprise.

I am officially unemployed for a week, having just ended my job of more than five years. That is a story in itself for another day, because I need a break from thinking about that. I am moving on to a new job starting in a week, so this week is all for me. I want to write.

And so I will. I am toying with a story that needs to be told. It will be a mixture of non-fiction told in a fictional way. There are reasons for it. Part of which is because I have blocked out some of the memories that will drive the story, so I don’t know what will come of it.

I’m interested to see how and where it goes and if it resonates or interests anyone.

And so I will begin with Chapter 1. I hope you will join me and give me the gift of feedback.

The Crooked Pine

Last year was a category 5 hurricane. It hit our family right out of the New Year’s gate. I love a good storm, but this sucked the air out of the room and left us knocked down the side of a cliff without the emotional equipment in-hand to claw our way back up. My husband was with my son in San Antonio for his second Combine invitation, and I was home due to our split-forces approach. It was day one when I received the call that our daughter (my step-daughter) was diagnosed with Leukemia.

She was in the hospital twice before that having every other test under the sun to rule things out. It was the bone biopsy that confirmed it and rattled us to the core.

Within hours, my husband flew out of TX to Chicago like a bat out of hell, and I flew out of FL to TX. Hurricanes will do that. If we learned anything after Irma, it’s to go with the flow.

I can’t really get into even a minute bit about the way this year went. It’s still too raw and words simply cannot convey that experience. Imagine going to hell and having to your legs cut off and out from under you day after day along with a gut punch that leaves you in tears. Then triple it. The hopeful news was in October when she was declared cancer-free. Now we cautiously celebrate each day and each day only as it comes. Parents do not get the luxury of feeling like we are out of the haunted woods.

We made it through the year as our amazingly strong daughter has, although scarred and scraped to the core. Not unlike some of the 100 foot pine trees in our yard that made it through Irma. Some fell over. Some broke. Some still stand at an angle that mock gravity and reason. Their roots clearly are strong. And perhaps the pines hold each other up below the surface. I’d like to think that.

There is so much we can learn from nature. I find myself connecting with that crooked pine and even though it appears weakened, I know it’s stronger than the others that stand upright beside it. And all I see is the unity of the trees in their purpose of life. They uphold each other. Simple. True. Beautiful.

 

60% of Myself

I miss the days when I had the energy to go from one thing to the next. My weekends were filled with projects and plans. I did things. I felt inspired.

It’s Labor Day weekend – the perfect project weekend. And my body does not want to cooperate. Stiff. Sore. Tired. I made an attempt to get out and find some inspiration and be productive. I went to my favorite craft store, too. I walked around and enjoyed all the ideas of things I could do. I left without a project.

It was a sobering moment as I got into my car and took stock of how I was feeling physically. Stiff. Sore. Tired. Really like I am 60% of the person I was before. Ask my husband. He would tell you how I never used to sit still. I didn’t for long. I had things to do, and I enjoyed them. I had a hunger that I miss dearly. That hunger to learn and do and go.

I look fine. Save for the glasses I tend to wear now and the comfier clothes I prefer. Fibro and Sjogren’s will do that. They have double teamed me like invisible slugs. Slowly, they suck the life out of me. Slugs I can’t see. I can’t pull them off. I can’t make them go away.

Today, I mourned my 100% me. I know I’m not inspiring to be around. I’m not exciting. I’m not full of energy. I get to mourn that. It’s a helpless feeling. I can’t pretend I feel okay. Sometimes I can – when I have to dig deep, I do. I worry that this will be my faltering with my son. He’s 17. He’s a homebody. He seems uninspired. Like he’s not doing all he can do and being all he can be. He says he’s tired.

Boy, do I get that.

It makes me want to apologize to everyone, especially my husband and son. Sorry I’m 60% of the person I was. I didn’t ask for this. I don’t want it. It could be much worse. But it feels pretty crappy, as it is. I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to do but surrender at times. Most times. It’s easier and doesn’t make my body hurt more.

Does anyone get this?

 

 

 

Fibro Takes a Vacation

Wow, it’s been awhile since I posted. Well, it is what it is. Not something I’ll dwell over. I’ve had the usual lot on my mind like work stress and my Fibro apparition. Well overdue for time off, I was definitely in dire need of vacation and a physical/mental reset. We are just home from our annual vacation in the Northwoods – a little more than a week off of work. And you know what?

Not only was it very relaxing and productive getting our WI house ready for the next remodel phase, it became a medication break I didn’t expect.

My medication routine is not extreme, by any means. I take a muscle relaxer nightly and when I have Fibro pain, I take a pain pill three times a day (aka Bitch Mint), only when needed which tends to be 5 -7 days out of a month. Not bad. Recently, I had to establish with a new physician and learned that the pain pill I take has some long-term potential effects on the liver, among other things. I think that stuck in my subliminal crawl enough that I didn’t even think about grabbing a pill if I was feeling achy while in God’s Country. I worked through it and, basically, dealt with it. It wasn’t horrible, but I’m pretty certain that being on vacation really helped in that process.

At night it was a lot cooler than back in FL. That alone makes me hunker down and sleep more deeply. But not one night did I even bat an eye about taking my muscle relaxer – I didn’t even think about it. I slept so deeply and dreamed so vividly, it was a true pleasure.

My Fibro ghost did not haunt me in WI. The Sleepy Gnomes were not the tiny footsteps and rattling I heard at night. That was only the mice that still occupy our roof rafters. Turns out my Fibro took a vacation, too. Only a faint trace of stiffness here and there, as a gentle reminder.

You know what? I’ll take it. Hands down.

 

I got back in the gym yesterday. The first time in a couple years. I’ve worked out since then. Mostly, walking, small weights, yoga, or stretching. Nothing’s like a nice workout on a set of machines, though. I was fairly certain I was going to wake up sore and dovetailing into a flare up, but I actually felt good this morning. Hallelujah!

I took it easy my first day back at it. Three sets of 12 reps. Started with legs. I’m just looking for strength and tone. Nothing more. I’m on a 7-day trial at the gym. Which is funny since I am restricted to going during “staff hours” which there are none on Sundays, so that means is really only six days of use.

It’s a start. And I did not have a flare up as a result. It may seem like a small win to some, but that is a big win for me.

My gut tells me it’s all about balance. Don’t do too much and don’t do too little.

Until tomorrow.

3 Bitch Mint Day

I have a high stress job. It’s entirely possible that I think it’s high stress because I feel like I can’t handle things like I used to PFD (Pre-Fibromyalgia Diagnosis). I’ve told my husband time and again that I already gave the best years of my career and now I’d really like to drive a school bus. That’s my go-to dream job that has simple purpose and less stress.

I duck under corporate ladders. Done climbing. Give me the giant steering wheel any day.

Today, in particular, it was very difficult to focus and get on top of things. “Fibro Fog,” they say. Chalk up reason number 54 why I no longer compare to PFD me.

My work To Do list is a mile long, I need to present a webinar tomorrow and I need to travel at the end of the week for an all-day meeting I have not prepped enough for with a client that is high-maintenance. When I return home late on Friday night, I’ll need the weekend to recover physically. And then on Monday I need to travel again. Anticipating all of this today nearly threw me over the edge.

It’s a three Bitch Mint kind of day.

The type of day where I have my three servings of my pain killers, so I can forget about how much my body hurts, largely because of the stress I’m under. I lose my ability to be patient with people. This is especially challenging when it’s a problematic client, and I can’t find my finesse or words to address the verbal crap that was flung at me with grace and diffuse a situation like PFD me used to.

This is really pissing me off.

What time did I take my last pill?

 

I Felt the World Shift

I was officially diagnosed with Fibromyalgia a year and a half ago and since then I’ve been learning to watch for signs of flare ups and, as a result, accept what has mostly been unpredictable. I have figured out a pattern that occurs when I travel for work. My work trips are almost always whirlwind 2-3 day stints of travel, meetings, travel home at midnight. That’s by design. Home is my haven. Don’t get me wrong, I love to travel and explore new places, but I rarely am able to combine that with work. Too much energy is depleted with work to be able to enjoy an add on trip.

Most of my physical flares came on quietly. I either woke up in a bad way or went to bed in a bad way. Either way, I couldn’t pinpoint when it hit. It just did. Until about a week ago. My husband and I decided to go out to eat instead of make dinner. We tried three different restaurants that all had either a cover fee for the live music, a menu we didn’t care for or a wait that would have brought us to the point of hangry. After a few laughs and chalking it up to an adventure, we opted for a quicker option down the road. Pei Wei. A good, quick dinner, which fit the bill for the night. On our way home, I felt a wave of exhaustion hit. More like a Tsunami. As I sit in the passenger seat, I felt my body deplete.

That’s when my world shifted and I was fully aware of how quickly I went from laughing and enjoyment to exhausted. I was speechless in my own mind.

Buy the Good Wine

Change is in the air. Actually, it happened today at my job. Two more of the original partners of the company are leaving to seek new opportunities. One surprised me, one did not.

I’m not adverse to change. I quite like it actually. There is something exciting when change happens. Yes, there are unknowns, but that’s life, right?

Maybe the news mattered less because I booked my trip to go see my family in a couple months. I mean, that’s what really matters at the end of the day. Being with my family grounds me and fills up my heart in ways only they could. As I age, I realize how precious each day is and how precious time is with those you love.

I think I will take the trip, buy the good wine, and eat deliciously. Live in the moment and make the memories.