23 September 2015
Lights at the end of the tunnels
A lot has transpired since I last blogged.
I got aseptic meningitis in August, spent 4 days in the hospital with that, bought a house in under a month start to finish, and have been off work since then still battling the meningitis and the back pain from the disc issues. I passed a trial installation of a Spinal Cord Stimulator Implant, aka Borg Technology, that interrupts the pain signals between the injury site and the brain. As a result, I’m scheduled for permanent installation on 6 October.
A friend has labeled me the Cyborg Laurel as a result. I think I love him.
Currently, my FMLA allows me off work until 2 November from all of this, but I am totally without paid leave since the August illness. I’ve applied for Shared Leave but have no idea if it will be approved. I’ve had to mostly quit my freelance writing, because the meningitis has fried the nerves in my fingers. Writing by hand and typing is mostly erasing or, in the case of typing, back spacing and retyping. I also fall asleep a lot, as my endurance is nil.
Naturally, I took on more work with the SCA as RUSH (Royal University of Scir-Hafoc) Regent for Nebraska and Kansas. This position helps facilitate events and classes for arts, sciences, SCA culture, history, martial activities, etc. in a non-competitive atmosphere. In other words, lots more responsibility, travel, paperwork and so forth.
I am still in the process of moving out of the apartment and in to the new house. Thankfully, another friend has loaned me her godson and his friend. They are working for cheap, hauling heavy stuff and mowing the lawn at the house. I just have to pack things in boxes. This means hauling boxes up the stairs to the apartment and actually doing the work.
In short, I’m worn out. This does nothing to help heal the meningitis, which requires rest. I am my own worst enemy as usual.
I have developed a closer friendship with a dear friend of decades and I believe that may be all that is saving me right now.
That, and the fact that “the boys” – the godson and his friend – have moved the heavy furniture to the new house so I can at least live here without having to deal with steps on bad pain days.
Hooray for strong young men, dear friends and lights at the ends of tunnels.
Intellectually Promiscuous has been conspicuously absent for the better part of a year. Partially, it’s because things were going well. I had a job I liked, I moved to a town I liked better, and a relationship that was going well. My health was decent and things were going pretty well.
Things started happening right before I moved to Lawrence. I had to put Chani, Dog of the Desert, to her final rest. Devastating doesn’t begin to cover it. That was January 2014. I still tear up talking about it. During the period after that, my relationship with a dear friend I’ll call Bob (really NOT his real name) started…..
Naturally, every piece of shit in the world hit the fan……My world crashed around me…..as my world closed in around me in a bubble of hell – physical, mental and emotional pain beyond telling all at once and all beyond my control – I once again had no voice. The PTSD kicked in hard, I was in full blown panic mode almost all the time, and the depression turned the world into tear streaked black 24/7……….
After weeks of sharing my misery with my Facebook friends and being generally miserable, not getting any meaningful answers from Bob to try and put some meaning to this mess, and attending therapy every week, it occurred to me that I have a blog. A website. I can journal this mess. I can write about it, collect the articles or sayings or pictures HERE, on iamintellectuallypromiscuous.com rather than inflict it on people who might still care about me. If people WANT to read about it they can come here. Otherwise, they can be angst-free from me. Call it a public service…..
So, for today, with eyes still swollen shut from crying , I write this and hope for a change. I’ve sent a final missive to Bob, asking for private conversation – in writing or whatever – to answer those questions and tie up those loose ends. I explained the reasons why I don’t think every word between us needs to be shared with Mrs. Bob in their “new openness” and asked him to help me find the path I need to move on with my life. I pray the goddess lets him answer and even more to be supportive. I pray there are still positive feelings there.
In the meantime, I’m planning ahead. I’ve booked events ahead – even bought tickets to Toronto for the Scribes Symposium at the end of June. I bought my own pavilion for SCA camping events, although attending such events where I will see him and her terrifies me beyond the meaning of the word terror. I will have to find a way past that sooner or later. I have reached out to people, in spite of fear and grief, and let them know I am hurting and want to visit, to find safe havens.
I am trying to focus on projects instead of pain, since it seems at this point it is mostly picking at scabs to keep things raw and bleeding. I am not sure of anything or anyone, least of all myself…..Right now, as I write this, I feel again like I am out of happily ever afters. I feel forever unlovable and unwantable, although I don’t know if that is true. I feel as though I will be shunned and shamed if I show up anywhere….Today, I feel broken beyond repair. Even beyond the wabi-sabi concept.