A nap as a spiritual calling?

Maybe blogging late at night isn't the best time for me to be doing it. I always seem to be overtired and maybe a little more emotional. I don't know.  Maybe that makes it the perfect time.

Today I made a powerful choice for self care, and I feel proud of that choice. Powerful yes, but made quietly. I followed the direction inside, step by step, my intuition, my angels, my spirit guides, or maybe simply my better sense. I don't know. I walked away from a situation that I thought I could handle. Indeed, I rested some of Thursday and most of Friday so I'd feel well enough to go on Saturday. But when I got there I realized that while I had enough energy to take care of myself, I had nothing left to care for anyone else. And since looking out for and caring for others was *exactly* my job today, I obviously couldn't do it.

I miss out on a lot of social events. I don't go on dates, at least not lately. I can't seem to find the energy nor the opportunity for any classes of the extracurricular sort, and I know I'm missing out on a lot of enrichment in life. Most often I have a peace with this because I know I'm better off resting or staying in.

But today was hard, even though the choice was easy. It was hard because I walked away from an activity that feels like my calling. Usually in that situation I feel like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be, more than any other situation ever, I feel a _rightness_ about it that I can't explain. I feel that no matter what I AM doing what I'm supposed to be doing. And yet today I couldn't quite get there. I couldn't quite stop thinking about my bed, about resting, about a nap. Since when is a freaking *nap* more important than a spiritual calling? Since today, apparently.

(Other thoughts about community involvement/volunteer work as well as how hard I worked to get where I am. Maybe another post about realizations regarding what I will probably never be or do, especially in light of IMsL this coming weekend.)

Out Of My Mind

I felt like an addict today when I was sitting on the edge of my bed, head hanging, a bottle of pills in my hand. I even poured them out and counted how long they would last. I picked one up and rolled it around my fingertips imagining what it would feel like to swallow it, the metallic taste in the back of my mouth, my heart racing as it kicked in. But I didn't take any. I slid them all back into the bottle and left them on my nightstand while I went to work.

I mean no disrespect to those who have dealt with or continue to deal with addiction. I respect you for your struggle and your recovery. I went to Al-Anon. But aside from cigarettes, (non-smoker for over nine years) I don't have any personal experience being addicted to a substance.

What I do have is what I am perceiving to be nearly unbearable circumstances. Notice how I worded that sentence. I don't mean they *are* unbearable, only that I perceive them to be. I'm looking for a way out. I need it to stop. I'm going nuts. Bonkers. Batty. Loosing my marbles and hanging chandeliers with not enough bulbs. Whatever.

At two weeks I was in tears of defeat. At three I'd asked for help from my doc and started to help myself. It's been nearly eight weeks of horrible, painful, inflammation and swelling, matched with other weird symptoms and now terrible ME/CFS flare up too.  And it's been five fucking weeks that I've been surviving on fruit smoothies, raw food snacks, and green tea. Two months of nightmarish inflammation and I'm so done. I give up. This is too much.

I can't go out, I can't eat normal food, I'm having trouble breathing because of bronchial inflammation, coughing, headache, hives, swelling, skin bruising, heat, fever, sore throat, swollen glands, swollen esophagus, joint pain and swelling, strange bleeding, poor sleep, rhythmic muscle spasm, high doses of palliative meds that are probably hurting my liver and kidneys, and oh yes...I'm fucking tired. Tired of walking, tired of working, tired of pushing myself through activities that are hurting me. I'm fucking tired.

I want to cry but my throat is so sore it will hurt, and my eyes already feel like they're burning. I try to watch funny viral videos to raise my mood but when I laugh it hurts to cough. My muscles are sore, I feel raw in more than a few ways.

All I seem to be able to do is bear it. And often I seem to be able to do it with a smile, a good mood, and even positive, uplifting attitudes.

But not today. Fuck it. I want the drug.

I want the nasty steroid that will suppress my immune system and completely deregulate an already deregulated system. I want the drug that will make me put on more weight, swell up like a puffy balloon so none of my clothes fit, retain fluid in my legs and ankles so painful that it hurts to work on my feet all day, let alone walk to the train. I want the drug that will displace adipose (fat) tissue and make it show up in weird other places. I want the drug that causes tachicardia so high I have trouble standing up until I adjust to it. I want the drug that causes even more symptoms when weaning off of it.

I want out of my body. Or I want it to feel like I place I want to be. I need a fucking break. Fuck.

It never goes as planned....

......and I'm ok with that. By "ok" I mean I don't feel much suffering at all around the issue. Sure, I like to plan. I've got some mad organizational skills that need regular exercise but I also know that it almost never works out how I thought it would. Isn't that grand?? Universe can plan some pretty amazing stuff for me and if I held on more tightly to what I think I want right now then I wouldn't get to see or feel the new stuff, the amazing stuff, the unexpected stuff.

I always seem to think I know what I'm going to write about before I do. After my last post I thought it was going to be very important to write all about my diet and my smoothies, but no, today I find it simply doesn't matter.

I seem to still have some expectation around how often I'm going to blog here but that doesn't work either. Sometimes I need to express, sometimes I need to be Seen, sometimes I'm lonely.

I'm quite grateful that I'm such a natural introvert. Since getting sicker I've spent a lot of time alone at home with only my cat, Switch, and my Interwebz for company. Here he is doing a great job of it. :-)

But I do get lonely. I love to hear about events happening, even if I can't go. I like to be invited even though I know as soon as I read the invitation that I'm going to decline. If you do see me out then it's a good day, or else I really really really needed some socializing.

IMsL is coming up in two weeks and I'm already feeling a little anxious about it. So many people going every direction and a lot of them I want to see because I might see them once a year at best. It will be busy and active....and I'm already thinking about how to plan my outfits to cover up the hives. If it's even possible. Going shopping tomorrow to see if I can find something new, pretty, girly, and possibly inexpensive to wear for the event. And definitely stopping at Target for some tights. The hives still seem to like to be on my legs, especially if I don't have time to rest. A lot of my regular outfits show skin, especially the upper chest, shoulders, and neck, and that's right where a lot of hives like to be. I haven't figured this one out yet. Sheer long sleeve top under the corset?

They were pretty bad yesterday and this morning too, but the most active thing I did today was walk out to the kitchen so they are much better. Switch has stayed by me the whole day. Such a trooper. Cause it's pretty hard on a cat who had a mom who's in bed all day, donchaknow. ;-)