Category Archives: Stream of Consciousness

Purpose

There’s this woman.

 

Years ago, she had a random, odd fall. In her early twenties and now paralyzed, she ended up with back surgery. Then relearning how to walk, how to move her hands. Years away from her family.

Once she was strong enough to go about her day by day on her own, she had to deal with chronic pain.

She bemoaned this, wondering what she’d done wrong. She didn’t give up hope or faith, but she did wonder… What is the purpose of this? What did she have to learn from this? What good came of it?

 

More than ten years later, popping Advil every day to keep the pain at bay, this woman went suddenly blind.

She then had a stroke.

A rare and newly discovered blood disease had caused her body to create blood clots at random. Thusly causing a stroke.

If it were not for the blood thinning Advil she’d been taking for her chronic back pain, she would’ve died years before, leaving behind a husband, multiple children, and a life she never got to live.

 

There is a purpose for everything.

Not shrinking from the trials we’re presented with (not running, retreating, recoiling, hiding, without becoming bitter)…. it’s more important than surviving.

That’s what this gal has taught me.

 

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Simple Humanity

There’s this man, a sweet old man, yet he radiates youth.

Always smiling but nothing overt.

At times this smile has a sadness.

He carries a soft pink and beige, raggedy plushy with him.

Its in his hands every time I see him sitting across the room.

I love this.

 

There’s something like this inside every soul.

Why do we lose it so willingly?

 

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Worst Fear and Worst Enemy

 

“What’s your worst fear?” He asked.

“Myself.”

 

fight — don’t give in

 

I answered immediately.

I realized this later.

Didn’t skip a beat.

Didn’t have to think about it.

It wasn’t forced, it was honest.

 

I am my own worst enemy.

I knew this already, in the back of my mind. My subconscious always knew.

And, in the front of my mind, where I’m aware, now that I think about it…

I agree.

 

I tie myself in knots over emotion.

I don’t know what I feel, I don’t know how to get to what I feel when I do know what I feel, and I don’t know what to do with what I feel.

 

I read an article yesterday.

An Important Question to Ask if You Feel Suicidal

It’s a great article. Even if you’re not suicidal, even if you don’t even have depression — its a great eye opener. The stigma of depression, suicide, and anxiety is made up of untruths, half-truths, and ignorance. This gal goes all in, committing to be honest to her readers.

I’d like to do the same.

Lying has never served me.

I’ve always had the urge to be honest. Vulnerable. Ironically, vulnerability isn’t my thing. I war with myself, in case you haven’t noticed.

Anywho.

 

and just so ya know, fighting sometimes simply means surviving the day healthily

 

Depression isn’t my fault. It wasn’t my choice. I didn’t ask for depression, didn’t sign up, didn’t decide, ‘oh yeah, sure, no problem, I’ll work with this’.

Depression isn’t who I am.

It’s only part of who I am. Also — however I deal with depression, with all my struggles, that’s also who I am.

 

The gal in the above article put into words my exact thoughts.

If there was a lever I could pull, one where no one would get hurt, and I would die in a painless, instant way — some days, I would pull this lever.

Not today.

Today I’m doing pretty good.

Okay, that’s a lie.  But I’m not ready to pull that lever.

And pulling that lever — that’s not me. That’s the parasite living inside me, drugging me with this disgusting, confusing, and numbing paralytic.

Sure, I learn through dark and painful stories, but I’m stubborn and I always try, sometimes even to my determent. I’m optimistic and goofy as well as dark.

I fight depression. Giving into struggles isn’t my thing. Stubborn, and all that.

 

So I suppose I’m my worst fear because I don’t know how to define myself, how to reach myself, how to be all of myself.

But hey – at least I’m aware.

Awareness, Acceptance, Action

That’s a good start.

 

What’s your greatest fear? Worst enemy?

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I’m Creepy

I collect parts of my family.

It’s so weird.

 

It’s like I’m a serial killer that hasn’t gotten around to killing them yet but has the whole “keeps souvenirs” part down.

 

 

My sister loves pandas. I now love plush pandas, adorable paintings, things like that. Plus I like how bi-polar they are. Not to mention that they spend their days eating, sleeping, attacking each other, and you know, sleeping. I think they’re adorable now as I’ve been exposed to them due to my sister, whom I call Panda. I don’t know what it is but suddenly I see a panda plushy and think it’s the cutest thing in the world. (I don’t have a money tree in my basement for my unicorn to eat from though, so I can’t buy them all)

My mom loves cookie monster. Ever since I was a munchkin, she’s loved him. Now? I love him! Cookies? Sarcasm? Blue? Fuzzy? My favorite quote by the cookie monster is, “Today me will live in the moment unless its unpleasant in which case me will eat a cookie”. Chocolate chip cookies….. *heaven* Double chocolate chip cookies too, man.

Papa loves Snoopy. I now love snoopy. Epically. He’s a writer, he loves naps, and he’s a sarcastic dog. Can you get any better???

 

 

 

Don’t get me wrong. I am still extremely picky, with everything. Including pandas, cookie monster quotes, and snoopy comics. Not to mention I simply added these random pieces of my family to a… you know… me. And me already came with quite a few likes already. I have like fifteen plushies and I love them all, none being a panda, for example.

 

 

Anywho, it struck me as real strange, how I collect parts of my family. Next thing you know I’ll be hiding the odd leg or finger in my freezer.

It’s like I absorb parts of them.

Creepy, right?

 

Have you guys ever done this?

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During Therapy

“I know of people who are bedridden. I’m not saying I’m not grateful.” I smirk at her. “You know I’m a lot more grateful now, than I ever was. I see the greatness in my life, the potential, options, beauty, goodness.”

I look down, play with the black tassel of the zipper on my bag. “I fight it. I don’t think I’ve accepted it, how it affects me, controls me, every day.”

My therapist smiles softly. “How do you fight against it?”

“Struggle to be awake, to focus, to get rid of a chronic illness, one of many. It’s like I’m filled with lead in a world of people filled with helium. And I’m sitting here berating myself as if I’m only being lazy.”

“And how would you be if it didn’t affect you?”

I shrug. “Without ME? I’d have energy. Suddenly not be affected by it at all. Be able to focus and be part of my life. I actually like life now. I want to be here for it. Instead I’m sleeping it away.”

“What do you think you’d have to do in order to stop allowing ME to affect you?”, my therapist asks.

My laugh is short and without humor. “Be God.”

 

She laughs and smiles. “You’ve got it.”

“There are only two things you need to know about God.” She holds up a finger. “One, there is a God.” A second finger. “Two, you aren’t God.”

 

“You’re experiencing a lull, yes. But it’s normal.” She responds to my concern. “Life does this. Humans do this. It’s like going to college. At first, you’re excited, you’ve got your eye on the prize – your degree, your desired job. Freshman year is a breeze. But then it gets hard. The homework. The papers get harder. The professors, the lack of sleep.” She looks at me, kind, clever, and all-knowing as ever. “You’re somewhere in your sophomore/junior year. Keeping going.”

“Right,” I agree, nodding my head as I think it through, “life is always going to be hard.”

I brighten a bit, a troubling issue illuminated. “You’re right. I’m doing everything I need to be. I’m taking care of my responsibilities and striving to do better at being kind to myself, accepting myself for who I am. I’m finding ways to enjoy my life. I eat some froyo and deal with the minor migraine later that night. Then the next day I go back to eating the way my SIBO having self can deal with, without regretting or getting down on myself for indulging. I’m still trying and in many ways succeeding.”

I smile to myself. Take a deep breath in, let it out.

“My depression and anxiety are just taking me through a detour. I’m still on the right path.”

 

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Before Therapy

I’m about to go to my therapy appointment.

Feeling a bit… shall we say… internal, today.

Self-analyzing, philosophical. Quiet.

I’m also truly there again.

Not completely, it’s only a minor slope. But it’s a definite downward lull.

 

Dead.

Void.

Don’t care.

But then again, I do.

Why else would I feel on edge?

 

Depression and anxiety feed off of one another, trapping me between a rock and a hard place. An immovable object against an unstoppable force.

 

I’m find joy in multiple things today.

I do.

I feel joy in the lesson I’m about to prepare.

Joy in the donut I’m going to eat after I get back from therapy.

Joy in the book I have to read.

The dog staring up at me with big brown, curious, loving eyes.

My family.

Joy itself.

Life itself.

The options, choices to be made.

The possibility that I could work on my writing today.

 

Even though I probably won’t.

I don’t have any energy. It’s not just physical. Emotional energy. I’m out of it. I’m not certain if its depression, anxiety, or ME/CFS. Perhaps all of them at once. But I’m drained of the ability to move, motivation, energy in general. The strength to lift my limbs. The world is a murky pool of molasses, my body a thick, awkward figure of solid iron and cotton balls.

Not of desire. I’m not robbed of that. I want to create. To work on my writing. To piece together my lesson. I feel inspired.

 

What’s the point of all this blogging stuff going on here?

Is this post relevant?

Is it pointless?

Am I complaining, yammering, going on and on about myself?

Or am I connecting?

I’m not entirely certain.

 

I have these moments.

Where I’m outside of myself.

Wondering, what am I doing?

 

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Weird Dream

I had the strangest dream the other morning.

 

I was asleep in a house with my entire family. They were in the living room together. I was down the hall in my room, half asleep. This was our home, had all our stuff in it, and only our family lived there.

Lebron James walks out of the room next to mine and goes into the living room, dripping annoyance as he says, “If Daphne doesn’t wake up soon, we’re not going to be able to watch the movies.”

 

Weirdest dream ever.

Seriously.

I dream about people eviscerating other people; creatures chasing vulnerable people and attacking with sledge hammers and foot long, thick fangs; falling in love with (very attractive, human looking) aliens; the world ending with just me and my dog left; falling, hitting the ground, and flying.

I wake up and think woohoo! Great story ideas, hurry up and write this down.

But that?

Definitely my oddest dream thus far.

I don’t even watch basketball.

I don’t know anything about Lebron James except that he plays the game!

 

Since I started taking medication for depression and anxiety I’ve been dreaming. A lot. I didn’t used to dream except now and again. They started out really uncomfortable bad dreams, but now they’re great for my creative writing self!

 

Had any strange dreams lately?

 

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