In celebration of the end of my every day, every damn day posting, and in honor of my blog’s 3rd birthday, tonight I did a Live Video in which I discussed my feelings about this whole project, my gratitude for those who have supported it/me, and what may happen next. Here it is, below (21 minutes). Sorry it looks like it’s above. It’s not. That’s just a screenshot so this post can have a thumbnail.
Okay, I really am done for now.
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Stop buying your own bullshit.
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This afternoon I saw my upper cervical care doctor, and we talked about the healing process. Thinking about the sinus infection I’ve been fighting for the last three weeks, I said, “I could use a little pep talk.”
“How long have you been coming here?” he said.
“Two months,” I replied.
“Okay,” he said. “Hang in there. There’s a reason you’re not on a two-month plan. [I’m on a twelve-month plan.]”
Then he showed me a “road to recovery” graph drawn by one of the people who developed upper cervical care (I think). “The top, mostly horizontal line is normal health,” he said. Then he pointed to a line that dipped significantly downward and said, “This was your health before coming here. Things would improve now and then, but overall they were headed south.”
Into the valley of the shadow of death, I thought.
Next he pointed to the bottom of the valley, where the declining line began to slowly climb upwards back to normal (as indicated by the–eekk–“exceptional chronic case” line below). “At two months we’ve got you going in the right direction,” he said, “but you’re still down here. Your posture’s changed because we’ve forced it to. [Get a linebacker to twist your neck around* and see if your body doesn’t respond.] You’re seeing improvements, but it usually takes three to four months for your nervous system to begin working and integrating with your immune system. THAT’S when we typically see the most dramatic results, and that’s when YOU should notice a difference in your sinuses and things like that.”
Fingers crossed.
*To be fair to my doctor, this isn’t exactly what happens. For an in-depth and less dramatic description of what DOES happen, read here.
So I’ve thinking about this graph this evening, about being in the valley of the shadow of death. Not just in health terms, but also in symbolic terms. What I mean is that there are so many times in our lives when things are going down, down, down, getting darker and darker and darker. Like we would if we were playing a game of limbo, we think, How low can I go? But then by some grace we reach–to borrow a phrase I used yesterday–a turning point. One day we see a therapist, get a new doctor, pick up a book, start a class, or hell, get married or divorced. Regardless, we think, Okay, I may not be out of the woods yet, but at least I’m not going any deeper into them.
Having struggled with sinus issues for decades, I can’t tell you how much I HOPE that one day they will be a thing of the past. Or at least be less frequent, more manageable. Technically, I guess they are. Despite the fact that they’ve reared their ugly heads (in my head) lately, they’re not as bad as they used to be. Still, my point is that for all my hoping, I also find the notion that they COULD be significantly better a little hard to believe. Just because that hasn’t been my experience. Ugh. It’s the damndest thing. We WANT better health, better relationships, better finances, and yet it’s difficult to truly envision them for ourselves because we naturally project that our future will be not all too dissimilar from our past. This is why we NEED others who are NOT where we are but are rather where we want to be to keep reminding us that other realities are possible, that–I promise–your viewpoint will change when you’re not in the valley.
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Life is never just so. Honestly, it’s a big damn mess most of the time.
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Today I feel uncomfortable in my skin. I have a dry patch on my elbow, and my knee is itching for no apparent reason. A couple other areas are red, slightly inflamed. Part of me thinks, maybe I could try a new diet, become a vegan or something like that. Another part of me, a bigger part of me, thinks, Fuck it. I’m tired of not having answers about my physical body and tired of waiting. Tomorrow I’m going out-of-town to dance and celebrate the one-year anniversary of the blog with my friend Bonnie, and tonight I freaked out thinking I needed to buy a new outfit, at least some shoes and a t-shirt. Finally I decided, Fuck that too.
So now I’m doing laundry. With any luck, tonight’s blog will be short and simple, and I’ll be able to get some rest.
Yesterday I picked up a printed copy of “year one” of the blog from a local printing shop. I used a website to get all the posts arranged in chronological order, so it’s quite literally a day-by-day account of my life for this last year, the majority of my actions and emotions down on 350 front-and-back pages. At some point, I’d like to re-read all the posts word-for-word, but I did flip through them casually yesterday, scanning the pictures, catching a few sentences here and there. It was the weirdest thing, to see my life on paper and have a concrete record of my thoughts. So many memories and feelings came rushing back. Good days and bad–I was there for every frickin’ one.
I was there when I found a possum in my pillow.
Whenever I write for this project, my goal is to somehow, someway, end on a high note, to say something encouraging to myself and others. I don’t mind saying this is a hell of a lot easier on some days than others. Some days, like today, I’d really just prefer to crawl in bed and pass out, escape. But after looking back at several posts yesterday, I’m grateful for all the long hours I’ve put into this project. I’m over-the-moon if other people get anything out of it, and I also now see it largely as a love letter to myself. Y’all, it’s one thing to read encouraging words that came from someone else, and it’s quite another to read the encouraging words that came from your own heart and soul. There’s nothing like it.
If you want to cry, you should give it a whirl.
Honestly, since making it to the one-year mark, I’ve thought about throwing in the towel. Just like I’m tired of not feeling well, I’m also tired of working so hard and pouring my guts out. I go back and forth on my decision to keep going. Some days I’m gung-ho; other days, ho-hum. On ho-hum days, days like today, it’s hard to sit down at the keyboard. I think, Come on, here we go again. Earlier tonight Bonnie asked what I was going to write about today, and I said, “I truly have no idea.” Even when I started tonight’s blog, all I could think about was how frustrated I feel, and–believe it or not–a large part of me wishes I could talk about something else. I’d much prefer to sit down every night and “fake it,” be funny, or tell everyone (as my dad says), “If I were any better, I’d be twins.” But then again, that wouldn’t be completely true, nor would it be true to the project.
One other cool thing about having a written record of the last year is that–because it included good days and bad–I’m able to look back now and see that I somehow made it. There were a lot of high points, and even on the worst days, days when I felt uncomfortable in my skin or didn’t have a new outfit, I survived. More often than not, I was surrounded by friends or family, and–most importantly–I was always there. That’s probably one of the biggest takeaways from this last year, learning to support myself more, realizing that even in the midst of suffering there’s a part of me that’s unshakable and always up to the challenge, this still, small voice that says, “Go easy on yourself. Get some rest, baby. Things will look different in the morning.”
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Sure, we forget it plenty of times, but on the inside we’re all shining. This is what gives me hope, knowing that we are all radiant.
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