Wednesday, November 6, 2013


I miss everything. I'm stuck.....  somewhere between last spring and my future.

As much as I know we as sentient beings should live in the present, right now is a series of days, weeks, and months that I'd love to trade in for other months (preferably warm and sunny ones).

Why? Because I haven't been feeling well for the past month or so.... not well at all. And so I'm unable to enjoy or utilize the days—instead, I'm a prisoner trapped inside this faltering body, with a growing To-Do list and none of my belongings.

Yes, I miss last spring. I miss the unbridled adventure of driving my little furry family in our mobile house anywhere my heart desired. The beautiful, promising open road. The first bloom of flowers, the green explosion of life.

I miss......  feeling like things are happening—like life is happening. Being productive, getting somewhere. monster of a cat, Tiggy, who had more passion for life than my other two cats combined.

             ...driving twelve hours out of my route to see the man I loved (and still love) more than words could ever describe. Spending a handful of days staring down each other's souls in the best and worst ways. Hearing him tell me he desired her, not me. Saying goodbye. Detaching myself from him so he could be with her.

I lost a part of myself in losing him. I'm still trying to patch that hole, but it broadcasts itself like a flickering light on my dashboard warning me my oil keeps leaking...  leaking........ and leaking. The light flashes Every. Day. And every mechanic I see tells me the patch to seal the hole is out of stock.

That's what and whom I miss. I cry about them more than I should probably admit.

What I don't miss? California. I don't dream about it. My dreams entirely bypass those ten years and find their way back to elementary and high school years in Dallas, college in Austin, and trips to Syria—places for where my heart calls. I simply don't miss my years in California.

And to be sure, I'm unmistakably glad I made the decision to move to Tennessee. But, still, I'm stuck between last spring and what will become a beautiful life here in Tennessee. 

Bear with me as I elaborate; I know this post is long and somewhat rambly.

See, I'm stuck because, after multiple exhaustive attempts on both fronts, I haven't got my health and I haven't got my stuff. So I'm sitting here in mostly empty rooms, experiencing not only a physical and emotional relapse but a set of new symptoms on top of it—the newest development being my hips, legs and ankles refusing to stabilize the weight of my body. 

What slowly evolved in the lower half of my body over the last twelve months has reached Code Red level. I've gone from having some trouble standing to not being able to stand at all anymore. I feel like I should be awarded some honorary badge for declining to this milestone of absurdity. Now I'm waiting to see an orthopedist. (I can walk, but not stand).

As for my thyroid, which I've written much about in the past, I finally found a new endocrinologist who treats and understands both Hashimoto's thyroiditis and Lyme disease. While I'm thrilled to be seeing her, there is a waiting period involved there too. 

And (I may not have previously mentioned) I had to stop taking all my thyroid meds because I recently started having toxic brain reactions to them. Armour was barely tolerable, but Synthroid was absolutely intolerable—at any little dose. 

It's the first time in almost three years I've been completely off thyroid. Having no thyroid equates to an increase in fatigue. And boy, oh boy, when I say fatigue, I mean FATIGUE! Bam, I feel like I've had the flu for the last few weeks (but without the green phlegm or coughing. Hey, that's a plus!). 

I am seriously, wickedly exhausted. If I could, I would sleep all day and night. But this is better than the alternative—at least until I can get on T3 or T4 or whatever my lab tests indicate I need.

Then, there's this: I'm still living in a beautiful, mostly empty house, waiting for the judge in New Jersey who confiscated my belongings from the crooked movers to release my stuff back to me and the other plaintiffs. The legal process is painfully slow. Nobody involved in the legal system seems to care that, unlike many other cases, this one involves eleven people's personal belongings, which we all urgently need.

In the meantime, I've bought a new bed, a bedside table, a lamp, a couch, a dresser, and a shelving unit. I brought in the small TV from my RV. I bought some new clothes and dishes. I eat at the kitchen island, and my dining room is just four walls reserving the space for my beautiful, hand-painted, rustic dining table and chairs.

Maybe my stuff isn't in Jersey after all. Nobody has sent me photos confirming it's actually there. Maybe I'll never see my family heirlooms again.... my old diaries, my portfolio, portraits, love poems, photo albums, art I collected in Italy, Spain, Mexico, Argentina, and Syria. My jewelry, my shoes, my wigs, my extensive wardrobe made up of irreplaceable blouses I carefully collected over 15 years. My enormous collection of books, hundreds of books, many out of print. All my files, from report cards to health records; every formal document that identifies and confirms the history of my human existence.

Maybe I'm not meant to see any of my old stuff again. Maybe I'm supposed to shed all my old attachments—to start anew. It certainly would be in theme with the other losses I've sustained during this move. And how odd, really, that during my move I had to bid farewell to Tiggy and the other male who holds my heart.

Maybe there is a lesson in here somewhere. Maybe my guides are trying to pummel me forward through shock and awe.

So, when I say I don't want to live in the inert present tense, I mean that I want something to happen—an increment of productivity and positivity. I'm waiting.

On the other hand, I'm not just sitting around feeling sorry for myself. Once I see my new orthopedist and endocrinologist, I'll feel better about where my health is headed. And at some point, hopefully before 2028, I'll probably get my belongings back from the judge in New Jersey—if it's meant to be. 

If I can't be living in the present, at least I can focus on the future! I have to think positive.

Present, be blurred like an indistinct haze.
Painful past, be torched like wasteland ablaze in a cropland conversion.
Future, carry me forward with promise of golden glory.

Now, before you start thinking, "Sheesh, you self-pitying woman! Pick yourself up and make the best of what you've got," let it be known I haven't let this slump completely take over my life. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if—to the outsider—it appeared I was enjoying every minute of an exciting life.

This is because I hide my malaise well. And also, and as long as I can get out of bed and into a car, I find myself partaking in exciting little explorations on a regular basis, because East Tennessee is absolutely awesome—and there is no way I'm letting my health stop me.

Does my health slow me down? Of course. Some days, I can do nothing. But does my health stop me? No way. Simply being alive, to me, is more of a gift than it's ever been, and there are ways to get around the fatigue and headaches (ahem, coffee).

So, I'll finish off this post on a more positive tone. 

Over the past few weeks, life has included such adventures as singing in front of a diverse audience at an open mic night, celebrating my thirty-second birthday with a few new friends at a local joint, going to the Foothill Falls Festival, attending a meditation and grounding class, designing and editing a restaurant menu, driving through the famous Cades Cove where I saw not one, but FIVE, black bears, and partying with a bunch of drag queens on Halloween.

Actually, I'm glad I just sifted those recent memories out of my brain and into a list. I think that I may have just realized that I'm getting out and doing more than I realized. And, in fact, maybe this present phase isn't so bad. 

I admit I'm scared. I'm scared and anxious, and feeling let down by the bodily shell that houses my spirit. (That trip to Cades Cove I mentioned above? I only spent two hours in the cove—but without any restrooms, I literally squatted and peed seven times! Hello, interstitial cystitis. Good grief.) 

I'm a bit stuck, but I'm trying to make the best of what I've got in the ways that I can. The human spirit is strong—stronger than the body. And an ailing spirit can debilitate a person much, much faster than an ailing body.

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