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. 

Childish Background Music

I cannot remember the exact moment that music floated into my life, which seems strange to me. Since music has so infused with my life that I cannot think of a memory without conjuring a song with the memory. I remember receiving my first portable radio and I would take that thing everywhere. It was my prized possession. My Step-Dad, Denny, gave it to me. It was his and he didn't use it anymore. (From now on, I will just refer to Denny as my Dad. I am sure at some point I will discuss my abandonment issues and my realization that what I wished for was right in front of my face the whole time. Just know that Denny is the perfect representation of what a Father should be and we will leave it at that.)

Anyway, can you see a young child walking around the backyard of her home singing Foreigner's "Cold As Ice."https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mjwV5w0IrcA

I had two 8-track tapes, Foreigner and Barbara Mandrell, I listened, sang along and pretended that I was the artist. This is one of my first musical memories. I love that portable 8-track play. 

Henry's Laughing (Love Letter to Henry)

Henry seems to make sure that you cannot concentrate watching Star Trek when he is in the room. He is watching "Bat Dad" on the  phone. Every thee seconds he laughs and looks in my direction.Not an adorable laugh but an ear splitting banshee type cackle. I know his laugh is coming but I jump every time.  Then he looks over to me and I have to pretend to laugh too.  Bad Dad has taught my son to talk in an ear splitting deep riotous voice.   Thanks for that Bat Dad.
 There are so many times that Henry ignores us. I want him to know that I care what he thinks and I want to share his interests. It could be worse. He could like Walker Texas Ranger or wrestling.
 Henry was tested when he was three by a Early Intervention by the Autism Specialist. She observed Henry for a few hours while he was in his preschool class at The Family Development Center. She told me that Henry was not autistic because he was socially inclined. I said, "Yes, but he has
 self-soothing quircks similar to children with autism. I feel like he may have a duel diagnosis. I would bet my shoes on it.

He has a lazy eye which means Henry's eye sight is different from other people. I wish that he would not hold the IPAD screen so close to his face. I wonder what he sees?  I often wish we could trade places with Henry, so we could have complete understanding.  It would absorb  every thought that he had so I would be able to hold conversations with him.
The first time Henry reveled that he could take care of himself, I thought I would cry.

Money, Money, Money...

I feel the pull of the tides, the rush of poetry's song
something new, something irresistible 
like a musical rapture.
I drink it down like wine.
 It's just a little fantasy I have learned to pretend is not there.




Work and Family and Fantasy

 Henry dances his way outside and,
 Desmond takes the remote with little dinosaur hands.
 We are watching Gumball again. Henry recites the whole thing.
My parenting skills are shot since the new job, consumes.
Is it too much to ask, I just want to be a philanthropist.
Spreading the word to the masses,  breaking away from the time clock.
Yes, I would like to show my boys that we can live in a world, that is cruelty free. Free of labels and preconceptions, just free.
All, I need is some dough, but I am stuck working for to little pay and not enough support. Don't tell me that you will fire me if I do not drastically improve. Threats do not work on me, I think of them as a dare. I'm very competitive, I have to reign it in sometimes.  You don't want me for an enemy. I can fight back. I will change the world with one thought, on this couch in the dark and writing these word. The whole world is going to listen to me. There are special people in this world and I am the champion.
That is the crux of the matter. It's not an easy thing to get out of the trap. God, I worry about that struggling until the very end. Never going farther then this job.



Our car was repossessed yesterday. 

Endometriosis

 Oh, this misery of a Mother.

This woman of the sun who quietly shrivels in on herself to feel the suffering of her people.

The sun is a red bloom aflame, preparing the body for forced fatigue.

Daughters of She suffer the isolation of what pain can bring. 

She stands in a glory of green palm fronds delicately twisting under the weight of air.

Still she rises like a woman in flight.

Feeling the warmth of wind and attenuating through shear will of freedom.

    

When Insomnia Comes to Visit

 Work Problems

I promised myself that I would start this new year with all of my documentation up-to-date. Learning a brand new job after you finally catch on to the last one.
I started this new job in November. There were in fact quite a few changed during this year. My family moved from Lubbock, Texas to Birmingham, Alabama. We lived in an across-the-tracks motel for two weeks. After the unwanted experience with the "not sure what it was, but it was something" young woman intruding into our motel room, we knew it was just not a place for our children to be living. Thankfully, my Father-in-Law let us stay with them two more weeks.
 Now here we are in a much better apartment and I am watching a Christmas Hallmark Movie. I would rather be asleep. I have been working on these reports since 9 PM and it is 5:30 AM now. I can almost see that light at the end of the tunnel, but I may not be able to make it tomorrow when you should stay up all night ringing in the new year. That will be when I crash and sleep so hard I snore.
I rarely have insomnia but when I do there is no willing myself to sleep. I just have to get up so that I do not wake Noah up by tossing-and-turning. Anyway, this is just a short little post to discuss insomnia. Tell me about your sleepless nights.   What do you find yourself doing late at night when you cannot sleep and are all alone?

Once a Year

Apparently, I only like to post once a year. I don't know if this problem is due to the fact that I chronically forget my password or that I am not a diligent writer on the computer. I write in my journal every day. For a few years, I wasn't writing at all. I like to think that I was just living.
I had just had my first child and I was navigating a mind field of activities for Henry. He had to be seen at the heart specialist, hearing specialist, and every other specialists who lived either forty miles away or three hours away. Henry had visits from his speech, physical and occupational therapists twice a week. Needless, to say we were very busy.  We are still busy, as we still have most of these responsibilities and/or these blessings.

Anyway, this post is not about my child and now children. It's about my issues. I am struggling with imposter syndrome. It was worse in the past but I still struggle with feelings of inadequacy. Self-esteem issues are so hard to live with on a daily bases.
 I have chosen to just always be honest with myself, because in the end I am the only person that matters. In this matter at least. I feel that if I am honest with myself then I am not worrying what others think about me, mostly.

It's been to long

I must begin again. It has been to long and there is so much to say. I am reminded of that moment where you feel the wave of poetry coming towards you. It has been to long. I forgot what the need to write feels like. It's like you have found an oasis when you have been stranded in the desert to long.

This is the time to celebrate change. I do not want to think negatively.  Sometimes I do and that's okay. I cannot control the anxious feeling I have, this is a great drawback of my life. This feeling stops me from writing. I push it out of my mind. After denying that I feel the call of poetry, I have stopped randomly feeling the call of poetry. I just have to use the force and call poetry  by name and poetry will come. Sometimes it happens in the form of prose. That's fine as well; I have loved prose also. Didn't Sandra Cisneros write the best prose?

 

The problem: I have is fear of rejection. I took a poetry writing class during my first divorce and the criticism was heartbreaking. My writing was critiqued as a failure although I passed the class. I tried to overcome the writing insecurities. It may take me a few more attempts but I will begin to write.
Watch out world, It's going to be a bumpy ride.