Now that I've been sick for almost three years, I sometimes wonder if I'll ever be whole again. But I know I'm on the right path and just need to be reminded of more Success Stories. Otherwise I just get too overwhelmed by all the suffering I see around me.
I have to believe recovery is possible, not just for me, but for all my fallen comrades.
Been reading a lot about the inequality in Hollywood, not just about the lack of jobs for female directors/writers but also how warped it is that actresses aren't allowed to age. Kind of sad that by the time a woman turns 29 in Hollywood she's deemed TOO OLD to play the wife or girlfriend to Leonardo DiCaprio or George Clooney or all the other old farts whom we are expected to believe can still kick ass and get barely-legal ass well into their 60s and 70s.
Talk about male fantasy. Sadly, it's porn mentality that rules Hollywood, and I call it porn mentality, because women exist as beautiful blank slates, who are just here for men's gaze, sexual gratification, and entertainment. And the men in power, who make these films, see nothing wrong with that. They don't even question that maybe, just maybe, WOMEN AREN'T HERE FOR MEN'S ENTERTAINMENT. We have our stories to tell too!
As of now we have no confirmation that Percocet or any other drug played a part in Prince's early death. But I would not be surprised to learn they did. How else does an otherwise 'healthy middle-aged man' just die? Nor would I be surprised to learn that Prince lived with pain for years and pushed himself to perform, giving off the appearance he was healthy and vital. That's what people with chronic pain do -- PRETEND to be healthy. After all, THE SHOW MUST GO ON!!!
Chronic pain is a problem nobody wants to discuss. How do we live with constant pain? How do we work with constant pain? How do we live up to other expectations when the pain will not go away? Why is pain aging an entire generation before its time and stealing its future?
Third day in a row I woke up without feeling like somebody poured concrete around my hips while I was sleeping. Makes it much easier to get out of bed in the morning when I can actually move.
Now, if I could just get rid of these daily headaches, the muscle fatigue I get after any exertion, and the ever-present joint pain I think I'd feel like I could conquer the world. Of course, I'd settle for just taking it slow. Is it too much to ask to be able to write a couple hours a day, and maybe even exercise a couple times a week? Also would be nice if just doing a load of laundry didn't exhaust me for days.
I'm still having way more bad days than good (and sometimes I'm only 'functioning' between 10 am and 3 pm) but I celebrate progress, no matter how small or big.
I wrote about my own struggles with trying to stay a creative person while mothering small children many years ago in an essay called OUT OF THE WOODS: HOW I FOUND MY MUSE AT WALDEN POND.
I wrote: "Once upon a time, I imagined myself staying at home with my babies and writing in my spare time. However, I quickly discovered that motherhood is not conducive to the solitary life of a writer. Babies and small children pretty much eradicate any possibility of solitude. They have the tendency to interrupt the creative process that, like children, needs constant nourishment."
Like many creative moms, I had to stop trying to get things back to the way they were and learn to embrace my new life. I had to find inspiration despite being exhausted and cut off from my inner muse. I learned my children were my inspiration -- a mirror into my very soul. They gave me an authentic voice, and an emotional depth and clarity I didn't possess before motherhood.
It makes no evolutionary sense that we, as women, would rather be sickly thin than pleasantly plump and healthy. And yet, I'm as guilty as anyone else. I prefer being thin to being out-of-shape. However, after three years of chronic illness, I am less worried about numbers on a scale, and more worried about how the extra weight adds to inflammation and pain, as is generally proof that I'm not feeding my body well, or as well as I should.
My metabolism, like many middle-aged women sucks. I learned a long time ago, I have to move/exercise in order to maintain my healthy weight...so not being able to exercise for three years has not helped things. I am not one of those chronically sick gals who loses weight. But even if I was, it is not a consolation prize I desire. I'd rather be able to eat well, exercise, and get out of the house and enjoy a full vibrant life instead of being in constant pain.
As women we punish ourselves so much over our weight and agonize over being thin/fat...but in the end you have to wonder, WHY it matters so much? And why would so many of us rather feel pretty than be healthy?
Walking Dead season finale cliffhanger...the moment you realize you are now rooting for the psychopath with the leather jacket and a baseball bat named Lucille because you no longer care who lives or dies from Rick's self-righteous group.
Seriously...a Moldavian Massacre cliffhanger is so 1980s....if you promise us a shocking finale, you have to deliver on that promise. Instead you give us 90 minutes of the most boring episode ever only to leave us with a who-is-it mystery to ponder for next seven months?
Yes, Negan is awesome. But you can't build an entire season around his arrival. You have to develop plot points and character arcs that make sense and are deep and resonant with the audience. And btw, I'm so done with the idea that every person in the apocalypse is a murderous psychopath. Negan would be more shocking if we hadn't met various versions of him already.
33...that's how many pages I completed on the new script I'm writing. And it only took me 9 days. Not bad considering I had a migraine for 5 of those days, 2 of which were so debilitating I could barely get out of bed. And I also had an endoscopic procedure thrown in for good measure. It's been a "typical" week for a Lymie.
33...maybe not a lot to writers who are prolific and grinding out pages daily, but I have barely written anything (other than an essay here and there)since November 2013 when I took part in NaNoWriMo. My brain, thanks to Lyme Disease, has been MIA. So progress, no matter how big or small, is CELEBRATED.
As a writer, the loss of creative and cognitive ability has at times been more devastating than all the bone-crushing pain and soul-crushing fatigue I've experienced for three long years now.