Speak Up & Stop Listening

Mem(e)oir Material, Posts

IMG_0690Today I had probably the most empowering and emotionally gratifying moment of my life and I’m pretty sure no one noticed. That’s actually the emotionally gratifying part, strangely. That I was able to actually see that the moments that hold the most weight and take up the most space in your heart should be shared with others but they don’t mean anything if they don’t primarily occur within your own self. More importantly, I was able to see those moments finally happen in me.

When I saw a glimpse of my old self today for the first time in about 7 years I regained the little bit of hope that I’d lost believing I’d ever see me again. That me is the one who has driven me to literally hundreds of late night ‘google research’ sessions – 6 different doctors, 3 false diagnoses, 2 surgical procedures (that it turns out I may not have actually needed) and about 5,000 eye rolls from people who thought I was crazy, lazy or just a big baby ☺️👼

It turns out there was one thing standing between me and the answer and that, my friends, was everybody else – whose judgements slowly started to make me doubt

a) things would ever change and

b) that I wasn’t just a whiny person who was just too tired and weak to be the person I ever was before

So – I stopped talking. I started to listen to me – that’s exactly who eventually ended up finding the answer anyways (minus the co-pay, to boot). One central constantly growing and multiplying cause of about 16 different chronically relentless symptoms that vary from mild to debilitating and have prevented me from healing, growing and beginning the second life I so deserve.

So, it turns out that ‘google research’ paid off – it’s provided me with a specific way to get back to me and if it means giving up my wine & cheese (& gluten) for the next 6 months to a year then it means that it’s a challenge I am able to accept and overcome. Because every other challenge I’ve ever overcome has been assigned to me in some way – this one I asked for. It’d just be lame to give up now. After all, throughout this whole personal inventory via psychology.com, wikipedia and WebMD, I’ve learned things that have finally given me enough insight to finish my story. Because the only thing that was missing all along was my voice – “And I’ve been quiet for too long” 🗣🗣54570a26-7b5f-498d-bfc9-ca382b0abc9d-1

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You Are So Brave & Quiet, I Forget You Are Suffering

Mem(e)ories, Posts

Dearest Andrew,

Nine years ago you saved my life. Unfortunately it also happens to be last time I saw you, too. To top it all off, until a year or so ago I couldn’t remember much of our seven years spent together, (or unfortunately the seven years that followed 🍷😵💊). But it’s all good – I remember now and I survived it. I’ve survived a lot, actually. And you know how? Every time it would become almost too much I would think of the strongest person I know – that’s you. I would think of what you had to endure and I endure. I think that’s what I want you to know most….that your life meant more than you ever thought possible and your fight saves me everyday – which is ironic because towards the end you mostly believed that you were so much less important and that you were weak. When you died, I was relieved for you because you couldn’t catch a break here on earth and I quickly learned to cling to every single moment before it ever becomes a memory. In other words, I understand why you had to go and I am so so happy you were here. I’ll keep trying to make you proud.

Love you with all my heart,

Melissa

“Every remembered trauma also includes survival” – Judy Davis

Mem(e)ories

 

It does always seem that God makes sure you’re strong enough- one way or another – when you’re up, once again, to help bear the weight of the world 🏋️‍♀️🌏☝️

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Perpetually Traumatized on the Daily, thank you. (PTSD and Chronic Illness)

Posts

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I wish my little spiral notebook stored emotions because I’m really trying to muster up that anger and that disappointment that I felt this afternoon when I was dismissed by my primary care doctor who spoke to me like I was a little fucking whiny ass bitch with a toothache, looking for Tylenol 3. Been there done that whole routine. I don’t have the energy for the gym, much less a drug addiction.

Physically I feel like I am forty years older and the kicker is I got my Brain MRI results and it looks like my memory may be as well. It was a small victory for me, honestly. Just kind of hoping for that white matter for so you can show everyone else you’re not crazy. I mean…I may be getting there so that’s not like a definite. Anyways, as we were waiting for them to fax over the results, my doctor – who’s this short, very serious squirrelly little thing – he tilted his tiny head and looked up at me over his glasses and had the audacity to ask, Do you think this could all be depression or anxiety related?”. You see, when you have a diagnosis such as PTSD on your medical resume, you have to accept that every single doctor that you see and trust enough to share with is going to look at a person like me very differently than say, a 37 year old stay at home mom that always brings the snacks to fucking lacrosse practice. They’re going to spend a little more time with them and actually hear their symptoms. Like such severe light sensitivity and brain fog that it’s impaired their ability to drive a car. We, those who share similar diagnosis codes, are treated differently. I can’t really describe it but if you’re asking me to, you’re probably a 37 year old soccer mom who wears pearls and in that case I’d say count your lucky fucking stars, bitch.

I did go through an incredibly traumatic experience that altered me and the course of my life and I would never have done it any other way because I now see it as a gift and not a curse. Not only that…I have very rarely let it show. I’m always smiling, always polite and the answers always ‘yes’. I still have dreams, still see him daily. Still deal with it. But prior to falling ill in December I was at the best place I’ve been in a very very long time. And actually, I remain positive and proactive, which is something I’m super proud of. 

SO, UM, YEAH I DONT THINK I HAVE CHRONIC JOINT PAIN AND SHORT TERM MEMORY LOSS BECAUSE IM BOO-HOOING OVER A ‘BAD BREAK UP’ OR BECAUSE I NEED XANAX FOR LIKE, THIS SUPER HIGH PAYING JOB INTERVIEW.

From here on out I am going to do my best to drill something into my head that has really been helpful: I am the only one who knows my truth because I’m living in it. No one else will know more about you than you. Especially not some dull, uninspired family physician who’s probably popping Adderall for a non-existent deadline.