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© 2004-2008 Linda Escaip
"I may be grumpy but I like you."
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The Suns and Moons of the Grumpiest Girl in the Room.
I can literally kick my own butt.
As I Row 03-December-2007
I don't know where to begin. But I will say that begin looks pretty odd with an E on the end. Begine. That's how it looked the first time I typed it. I sometimes put an E on the ends of words that don't require it. Just one of those things, I guess. They probably have a prescription drug for that. The side effects include nausea, vertigo, lying uncontrollably, and sudden death. Sign me up. I once added an E to the word develop. Develope. It just looked right at the time. My teacher asked in front of the class if I thought this was Olde English, and just who the hell did I think I was? I thought I was Jesus, but that was beside the point. I still think it looks pretty good ending with an E. Every now and then I accidentally place an E at the end of my last name. One day the letter E just might rule the worlde. (Or end it.) You never know.
I still can't believe there's a drug for Restless Leg Syndrome. I'm unable to wrap my head around the fact that there's a clinical name for it as well. It's even officially known by its acronym: RLS. Here's an acronym: WTF? I've experienced what is called RLS for years but have ever so unimaginatively referred to it as "that creepy feeling in my legs." Creating drugs for this seems about as brilliant and responsible as concocting a drug for CWS, the acronym for a syndrome called Crying When Sad. Sometimes sadness will result in weeping. And sometimes anxiety will make your legs do the Hustle when you're not in the mood. It's not some mysterious affliction. It's anxiety.
I have had so many symptoms over the years, I'm like a Weeble now. (I wobble but I don't fall down.) I've grown into quite a hardy snowbitch. In my travels, it has become clear that the more attention I pay to any particular symptom, the more prominent it becomes. If I talk about it, worry about it, focus on it, check it a thousand times and entertain the frustration it causes, pretty quickly it becomes the bane of my existence. It is now something I have to get rid of before I lose my bloody mind. Due to all the focus, it's the main thing I see in the mirror, or feel on or inside my body. I'm so wrapped up in it by this point that it owns me. And when you get to this place, you feel entirely swallowed and devoid of control.
There is no great service in providing a name for various diseases and disorders and syndroms and conditions and whatnot. The name gives any of these more power. Then drugs are created to accompany the name. Nothing to heal, just to mask or manage. You go to the doctor with your symptoms and you walk away with a name and a prescription and a bucketful of possible side effects. And maybe you eventually need a medication or two to take care of some of those side effects. How the hell are you supposed to discern when and if you're feeling better?
Your doctor asks, "How are the legs doing?"
"Oh, much better. I can lie in bed without having them jerk about violently, which is nice. Such a relief. You know, I almost killed my husband once during an RLS episode."
"Good, good."
"Yeah. But I can't keep any saliva in my mouth. And my head keeps popping off."
Years ago, all I knew was that I felt awful. It wasn't until a healthcare provider said, "Aha! You have _____!" that the fun really began. I was armed with a name, by golly, so I took to the internet to scare the living holy crap out of myself. At first I felt relieved to finally know what was going on. But after reading story after story of wounded people whose lives fell into the abyss of disease and disappointment and frustration, I sank deeper. The symptoms intensified the more I read about this affliction and the people who suffered from it. Each time I went back to "informing myself," my world became a dark, hopeless place. I spoke the name often. This ____ is ruining my life. If I didn't have _____ I'd be happy. I could have done this or that if not for _____.
My mom kept telling me to stop saying the name because I was giving it power. She also told me to stop reading about it. It took me a while to get it, but I eventually complied. In the fall of last year, she told me I would be finished with that nameless disease by the end of 2006. She said she knew this without question. I somehow managed to attach myself to her words and that belief, because I have been living without that bullshit for a year. Behold the power of belief.
I have one remaining physical issue, which became more of a nuisance when the other dwindled to dust. That didn't surprise me. When the body has something to say, it won't simmer down until you've listened and you really get what's it telling you. My physical issues are brought on by emotions; things I haven't dealt with properly, things I've allowed to fester. The body speaks for the mind when you're not listening. It gets louder the more you turn away from the din of its expression. It says things like, "The thoughts you're habitually entertaining are detrimental, and here's some proof." And then you spend a good deal of your time trying to figure out how to rid yourself of the proof.
This final issue is a tough one for the reason that I am afraid to move forward with my life. This was the focus of my previous entry, where I wrote about being comfortable in my terribly uncomfortable place. Illness can serve many purposes. For some, it is the only way they can allow themselves any rest, and because of this it can be hard to let go. And although this may not be the reason the illness surfaced, it can become the reason it sticks around. In my case, I have become accustomed to living beneath my potential after all these years of aching and doing not much else. It is safe here. But it isn't what a want anymore, so I will be moving into the unknown without this ailment that hangs around like a noose. To be free in the unknown is far superior to being bound by safety. I can see that from here.
Honest expression is of tremendous importance to our well-being. Never keep a secret that eats away at you. Find a way to speak your mind and heart, through words, music, painting, screaming, etc. Don't keep it to yourself. Think new thoughts if the old ones are getting you down. Reevaluate your beliefs regularly and ask yourself if they are making you happy.
I took a few self-portraits with my new cell phone the other night. It has a pretty decent camera, but I don't like using flash, so it's grainy. As you'll see from the grumpiness of the first photo, I kept pressing the wrong button to snap the picture. But it eventually worked and caught me mid-furrow (and in the middle of talking out loud to an inanimate object). No makeup. But I did put on a scarf and some hoops to impress you.
And then I was happy because I Crazy-Glued my thumb to the right button.
Thanks for reading.
Linda
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