Ex-boyfriend

Our eyes met today.
I quickly looked away.
I didn't want you to see inside of me.
It still hurts
forever,
maybe.

There is more to the poem, but I cannot remember it.
Bryan (Starter Husband) took the poem and made it into a song.
I loved him for that.
I wrote these lines in 92 after my second boyfriend and I broke-up for good.

As, I was driving away from the Monroe house after midnight
The moon was full and I was driving the pinto.
I felt something that I will never be able to describe. I have tried so many times.

I thought of my own lines of poetry as I drove away that night.
My heart was lifted.
I felt free.
I held onto that relationship way to long.
I understand why I did it.
Dat and I had a very special love.
He helped me to become a better person.
I don't regret any of our relationship.
I am stronger.

The Lines

I will travel where the world begins.
Have we all not lived through the eyes of the inventor?
Are we not all inventors?
Investors
Creators
Killers
We are what we are.
I can hear them talking of the present.
Yet, I am still stuck in the past.
Drifting on that plane of consciousness between the whisper of the line that meets the two.

The Weight of Air

I don't have any energy. It is hard to find the energy for anything really. I hate who I've become. I feel like half a woman. I wonder if they will ever find a cure or the cause of fibromyalgia. I also have osteoarthritis and disc degenerative disease. I am in chronic pain every single second of every single day. I used to be so active. I worked, had friends that I would  socialize with face-to-face.  I attended events in public. Now, I work and that takes so much of my energy. What little energy I have left I give to my boys. I try to do things with them to give them the good fuzzy feeling memories. I am fearful it's not enough. Letting my children down is my biggest fear and the thing that makes me the most angry as I suffer with Fibromyalgia.

Fibromyalgia is a divisive condition. Those who do not suffer from chronic pain do not understand what it is like. An individual with Fibromyalgia can hear from any number of people, that it is not a real illness. I am here to say, that it is very real. The pain that I am in is very real. I honestly do not understand how people can think that a person would make up having pain every single minute of every single day. It is debilitating and we are not trying to garner attention from the illness. If you asked anyone who suffers from Fibromyalgia they would wish it away. It takes over our lives and we mourn for the people we were. That person is gone forever. There is no cure for fibromyalgia and I will have it the rest of my life.

 I believe that Fibromyalgia is a brain disorder which effects the central nervous system. The chronic pain is related to neuroplasticity due to a maladaptive reorganization of the nervous system.  I have no scientific evidence to back this up, but it makes sense to me. Honestly, every day I try to figure out how it happened and how I can find relief.

As I said before, I feel pain constantly. I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia in 2009. Henry was 4 and Desmond was 25 months. They needed their Mommy and I was struggling just to make it though the day.  I felt so scared, helpless and guilty.
 The pain felt like a burning coal had been shoved into my lower back. The coal was sitting on my sciatic nerve causing the nerve to radiate down my legs and through my feet. On top of this pain my pressure points began to ache regularly. I developed skin sensitivity and had a hard time handling physical touch. The pain was exhausting and I would end up in bed for days. At times, I could hardly walk. It hurt so intensely that even the air around me felt heavy.
I would have these periods were I could not think coherently and I  struggled with my vocabulary. No matter what I do, I just could not find the my words. This symptom scared me the most.  I define myself by my communication skills. I am a verbal processor and I could no longer articulate my thoughts. It was frightening.

I had a traumatic injury to my neck when I rolled my moldy brown Pontiac three times. I was 18. Amy was 17 and Skylar was 4. We were so lucky.
I fractured my tailbone at Church camp when I was a Freshman in High School. I was 23 when an individual with polymyalgia rheumatica.  It's also called: stiff person syndrome. I was helping him into the van. He lost his footing and fell backwards onto me. I slamed my lower back on the concrete and he fell on top of me. It felt like a dinning room table had fallen on me. I herniated my L5-S1.
Many years later, I am paying the price.
I hate when I feel sorry for myself like I am now.  I just cannot help wondering why me? I don't think I deserve to live with chronic pain.
I don't think I can take this struggle. I had a hard enough time finding strength inside myself before I became ill. Will my quality of life ever improve?

Bracelet for Henry

This Writer Needs Pencils

I wish I had a pencil for my hair. My hair is a tangled dry mess. I keep my hair this length because I like braiding it. I don't do it very often. I usually twist it up into a bun. I want to pay more attention to my beauty regime, but I don't. I honestly think this is a problem. If you want to be noticed, you should always look your best. How am I ever going to be taken seriously, if I cannot be bothered to present myself as a well groomed individual. In today's social climate image is everything.  

Original Thoughts

All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
William Shakespeare

  Mr.. Homer was a passionate teacher who made us feel as if you were valued and could accomplish anything if you set your mind to it.  We learned more then I would have cared to learn about World History and Economics. He really made learning interesting. I was a sentimental child. I struggled with controlling my emotions. I didn't relate well to other children. Learning was difficult for me. Mr. Homer taught me that I was more then my disabilities. He encouraged me to make a difference in my community.  His belief in my abilities gave me confidence.  I am a better person for being a student of Mr. Homer. 
 One day we were sitting in Mr. Homer's Texas History class. He was discussing the social dynamics between the government and the native American's. I could not understand how our government used militias  to forcibly remove these people  Mr. Homer asked me to read a section of the historical event. As I began to read, I started to cry.  I could visualize their struggle. In my mind's eye I could see those women and children struggling through the winter without food.  I was a very dramatic child. I didn’t want to be. I was naturally shy and I would try to disappear in background. I felt awkward. I hated drawing attention to myself and yet I did all of the time. My emotions would run away from me and I would become visible due to the emotions.

So, one day I am day dreaming in Mr. Homer's class. I think of the concept of being watched and I felt like I was acting on stage. I remember thinking this is deep. I really have written something special. Then Mr. Homer tells me that Shakespeare had written lines about this same concept. I read his words.

I mean talk about saying it better then a junior in high school. I could never close to this lyrical greatness. When I read my thoughts out loud.  Mr. Homer shared that you may have the same idea as another writer but you have your own perspective. Everyone is unique.