Tuesday, August 5, 2014

I still have hope…

  It’s 3:00 am and I’m sitting at my desk, staring at the cursor as it mocks me with every blink. Even though there are 50 million thoughts tumbling around in my head, none of them want to find their way out and onto the screen. It’s like the worst case of constipation you’ve ever experienced in your entire life, but it’s of the brain variety and, last time I checked, ex lax don’t make a chewable for that.

  The last month hasn’t been that great for sharing anyway, since I haven’t left the domicile much to wander out into the big world and actually DO anything. I mean, I’m not sure how much funny can really be found in crouching in the corner of the couch, waiting for your body or mind to get its shit together enough that you can get back to making some kind of sense of your life.

  For the twentieth time in the last hour, I think about what my world was like before my body rebelled. I wonder, if I was still able to work like I used to, if I ever would have started writing. Would I still be sitting here, pouring out the things most normal folks keep quiet about if I wasn’t waging a war against myself?

  This year has seen so many changes already. Some have been good, some haven’t exactly left me where I thought I’d be. I’d love to be able to tell you it’s a case of older and wiser, but that would be a cliched lie. What I see instead, is a woman who has assumed a once bitten, twice shy posture and has pulled herself back inside her shell like the human equivalent of a hermit crab.

  I still write and share, but it feels like so much of the transparency of it has gone by the wayside. Things end up relayed from a safe third-person distance, or distilled through the twice removed filter, providing a cushion of emotional numbness. Instead of writing from the so-called gut, I’ve began looking for ways to strike a balance between being myself and not leaving too much exposed and vulnerable.

  And I don’t like it.

  I have always been a woman of extremes and searching for a middle ground goes so far against my nature, I might as well be trying to fly off the roof of the house. But things happen in life that change people.

  Friends will always move in and out of our lives, I understand that. But sometimes they can accidentally end up taking a non replaceable piece of you in the going. Perhaps they find that the crazy they found so appealing in writing or over the phone loses its charm when it’s seen up close and personal.

  Whatever the cause and effect was, since March I’ve been fumbling my way through our morning coffee here, hoping that stolen piece will turn back up on its own. Or better yet, a replacement will grow in to fill the void.

  So far, it hasn’t happened, but I’m still holding onto so much hope.

  I hope that tomorrow, I’ll wake up and the flood gates that have been holding back the words will break and the thoughts swirling like a tornado wearing a suit of forks will calm themselves enough that I can find the right ones to grasp at without any more bloodshed.

  I hope that tomorrow my body will cooperate and I’ll end up where something more exciting than hunting for the remote or a lost shoe can occur.

  I hope that things will once again make some kind of sense and the leaden cloud of anxiety that has shrouded my home will have lifted just enough that the smiles won’t be so tight, the laughter won’t be so forced, and the ease with which we used to talk will return.

  I hope I can find my way back to living my life on my terms, despite all the other bullshit in the Universe that says I shouldn’t.

  I hope that I’ll wake up tomorrow and find a way to stop being afraid of people again.

  I hope that the openness with which I’ve always shared my life with you, will return, because right now I feel like a fraud.

  I guess I just need to remind myself that life isn’t always going to be neat and orderly. Mine never has been and I’d probably be bored to tears or even more afraid of it than I already am, if it started now.

  The thing I’ve always loved about life is that it’s big, messy, beautiful, loud, colorful and meant to be experienced, not just watched. Lately, I’ve simply been watching and I miss the living part.

  But I still have hope.

32 comments:

  1. I hope for all of those things for you too, my friend. I love your beautiful and crazy words, your hilarious and positive outlook, and everything about you. xoxo

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  2. First of all, love to you. Always know that. Second, I can honestly tell you that one of the reasons I started reading your blog 2 years ago was that it felt so "true" to me. Even though I couldn't relate to your physical symptoms, I loved that you didn't try to "curate" your life for your blog. You didn't just post the happy, perfect, funny moments. You posted the less-than-pretty, real moments as well. And I appreciate that. It gave me a lot of courage to do the same with my blog. You're not a fraud, though I know what it's like to feel like one. But you're not a fraud. You're a human being going through a very human patch right now. You're beautiful and witty and have so many things to offer the world and this blog. Just keep trucking through!

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  3. For the love of all things Holy! My damn phone logged out and all my words were erased. Maybe they weren't what I really needed to say here. I'll just say this. The gates have opened if not just a little. I too hold onto hope. You're right. Crazy up close isn't pretty but that's OK.

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  4. I think a lot of us feel like a fraud sometimes. I'm glad I found your blog and I hope that today is better and less constipated.

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  5. Love you. You are extraordinary. xoxo

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  6. There are not enough words to describe how much I love you and care about you! I love your writing and the way in which you make us with chronic illnesses feel like we are a little better understood. We may not all have the same diseases, symptoms or things going on at the same time, but just the way you put it out there, puts a smile on my face or a tear in my eye. You relate to real life in a way that gets to me and I appreciate where you're coming from. Been there and done that too and it feels refreshing to know that we're not alone. I'm telling you that you are not a fraud and when you are getting to feeling a little better and not flaring – you will find your way back to putting the words together the way you want too! Don't stop believing in yourself because that would be tragic. I love you sister and you are the best <3

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  7. I wish I could give you a big hug, sweetie!
    Thank you. The feeling is completely mutual!

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  8. You are an amazing person, Kate. Thank you!
    It dawned on me this morning that the way I write has changed SO MUCH since March. And I have started curating. That was the part that really bothered me.
    So thank you for the love and I hope you know how much I love ya back! And thank you for the beautiful words and support. And THANK YOU for just being a friend. *hugs*
    PS You are nowhere NEAR a fraud!

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  9. Depression lies.

    And that, my dearest friend, is what this sounds like. I know that you've pointed it out to me many times.

    From the time that your chaos came into my life, your friendship has meant the world to me – even during the times that we "took breaks" from each other. My focus is so off right now I can't find any other words to share with you. Just know that will drop just about anything to be there if you need me.

    Hugs!

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  10. LOL! I HATE it when that happens!
    Personally, I prefer people a little to the left of normal. It tends to keep life more interesting. Plus, they don't seem to mind as much putting up with my glitchy days.
    I've never made any bones about the fact that I can be a handful. It just seems that some people think I'm exaggerating about it, so when you meet face-to-face and they don't like the you you thought they knew you were, it's kinda like a double gut punch.
    On the upside, there are more people that don't mind the us we are, warts and all. I just have to remind myself of that. *grin*

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  11. Thank you so much Michelle!
    I'm just gonna keep my fingers crossed that showing a few warts today was the chink in the damn needed. If not, I'll just try again the next day. *hugs*

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  12. I love you right back, my dear friend, and think you are an extraordinarily AMAZING woman!
    Thank you for just being you. *hugs*

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  13. All I can say Kelly is THANK YOU!
    You made me cry, Mamma. But in a totally GOOD way! I love ya right back.

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  14. Sweetie, this means the world to me. I feel like the Grinch, cause I think my heart just swelled 3 sizes.
    I love you more than you'll ever know, my dear! Just…thank you!

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  15. Feeling every word of this ❤️

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  16. Anxiety sucks (pardon my language). I hope you feel better soon. Like, right now. And if you don't, I'll still like you.

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  17. I knew just what I wanted to say here. Then reading every comment I sit here BLANK. Oye. Yes it is depression and all of us with some chronic something seems to have it. Constipated mind, spot on! Now I have a name for it LOL! I invite you to my lonely site I just started jistsayin.blogspot.com
    Bring on your humor girl. It will get you through. I'll be here readin. Hugs!

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  18. you must take your heart and hold it in your hands for a bit and look at it closely because if you could see what we see you would know that everything is going to be fine. your heart is bigger and stronger than any of the things you're going through right now. i will also tell you where that the chunk you're missing its right in front of you. we all have given you a little piece of ourselves to fill in the empty bits. xxxx

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  19. I have all those same hopes for you and more! You are a brilliantly gifted writer and I am so glad that I found you and your words out in this giant cyberspace world! Keep truckin' and keep writing. Even when the words are escaping you, you find a way to communicate your feelings!

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  20. <3 you Chris.

    (In the interest of transparency, the first time I wrote that, I wrote: "<3 you Christ.")

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  21. I'm right there with you. Depression has set in. And the words no longer flow. Hope. It's what we can hold onto.

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  22. That truly is the worst type of writers block that there is and it is exactly like being constipated!! There are ao many ideas they are all fighting at the door like some lame old Three Stooges skit to get out all at once or not at all!

    I hope and pray that all your hopes come true soon!

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  23. I'm sending lots of love and hugs your way, sweetie!

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  24. You're wonderful! I just wanted you to know that. *hugs*

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  25. Thanks Nancy!
    Just…thanks! *hugs*

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  26. I love you Bev, for so many reasons. This is just one more.

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  27. Thanks sweetie. And I am SO GLAD I found you and your work as well! (We can thank Sara at est. 1975 for that one.) *hugs*

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  28. LOL! I heart you right back Sarah! Thanks for just being you.

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  29. I'll hope some for you too, Crystal.
    I seriously think not being able to put thoughts to paper is one of the WORST things a writer can trip and fall into. It's like quicksand of the nastiest kind!
    Hopefully, we'll both find the branch to grab on to and drag ourselves out. *hugs*

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  30. Thanks Angela!
    I'm hoping that writing all of this out helped remove whatever clog has been backing up the pipes.
    Stupid Stooges!

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  31. Hang onto the hope. Remember, we aren't here just because you are funny or snarky. We are here because you are you. We hold that hope along with you that you will feel better tomorrow. I know I've been in that pit, that point of just wishing things would be even somewhat normal again, wishing I could get out of the bed/ off the couch. Sometimes, I think just voicing those feelings helps a lot, so a give you mad props for just doing that. Things will get better.

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  32. Thanks Julie and I hope you know how much I love ya!
    You're right though, just getting it all out and having so many amazing people step up to say, "You're not alone!" helped more than anything else in the world!
    *big hugs* to you sister!

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