Self Awareness

Self awareness, not my strong suit.  

The day I got back from the "victory summit" in Phoenix I thought I must have eaten something that didn't agree with me.  I'll spare you the details.  Few people return the favor, seeing nothing wrong with sharing the most intimate details of their bowel habits.  I think that's gross and possibly puts them in a position of being even less self aware than I but I'm already on a tangent....

After about 5 days of eating nothing but crackers, toast and rice and I thought to myself, gee, I haven't felt this bad since my husband was depressed and out of a job, and we with two very small children and me with no marketable skills whatsoever, slowly watching our ship sink.  Also at the same time, my little sister was preparing for a shot-gun wedding -her second marriage and my parents were none too pleased.   I found myself on the business end of some sort of medical scanner convinced I was dying.  When nothing was found medically wrong it was suggested it was a case of IBS.  I was incredulous that my body could betray me and not buy into it when I told everyone I just knew that everything would work out.  Intellectually I thought and believed that to be true.  My body on the other hand wasn't having any of it.

It didn't occur to me just how deeply that conference bothered me.  I thought I put the issue to bed with my cathartic blog entry.  I'm not even sure I can put my finger on what exactly pushed me over the edge.  The great thing that I actually love about myself is once I realized I had been pushed that far the symptoms cleared.

I handle the negative pretty glibly and dismiss it quickly in the hope that it won't take root and wield any real power over me.  I keep myself pretty busy proving that I'm not that affected and I'm still the same tough, sarcastic and ornery girl I've always been.  I celebrate privately inside my head when people say I've got a pretty positive attitude and they forget anything is wrong with me.  It's when that facade is chipped away or not strong enough to keep everything out or when people simply see right through it that I almost short circuit.  One of my readers privately messaged me after she read this blog:

 Dearest Maureen,

Your blog is just like you: feisty, vulnerable, brave, funny, outrageous. But through all of your blogs I sense pain, the intense pain and bitterness of being dealt such a lousy hand at such a young age. I can only say the pain resonates through my body as you talk about it. It becomes real and formidable.

I wouldn't run from it, Maureen. Probably the funniest entry is your day in Phoenix with all these phony-cheery people yucking it up with joyful yoga. How absurd do people think Parkinson's sufferers are? Your outrage was appropriate and heartfelt, you were furious at being condescended to like that. I say, "You go, girl! Tell it like it is."

I loved the entry on Rob, and Amelia, and the motorcycle, and on your boss delivering you a lecture. But I don't think you should apologize for your feelings about having this disease. The one thing we are all counting on from you now is to forge a new life out of what you have left, to give us some insight into your feelings as the disease progresses, and to emerge triumphant in some way. Like Stephen Hawking or Michael J. Fox, you will prevail, not just endure. Because you are a strong and resilient person, and you are going to in some way leave your mark.

So keep writing, and give us all the pain you feel. We can handle it, and will love you all the more if that is possible. You are very special.

Love and admiration,

xxxx

I was so touched and so moved and so surprised that she had my number.  She understood and articulated for me better than I ever could for myself.  The coup de grace was in the last bit where she throws in some unconditional love and encouraged me to just be real.  I wept.  I re-read and and I rudely didn't reply.  I'm ashamed to say that she worried she had offended me.  My carefully crafted exterior wasn't enough.  She had penetrated it easily and I recoiled like a petulant child.  I'm not sure how to be or if I even  want to be real.  Sure, I'm honest but being real and sharing vulnerability?  Typing this and having my say, editing my thoughts and howling into cyberspace is a practice run I suppose.  I'm tightly wound and bound with many layers of duct tape.  If the corners are picked at and peeled back I'm afraid of what might come spilling out and afraid that the pieces wouldn't ever fit neatly back together.  I would have to abandon my modus operandi of "stuff it and move on".  Honestly, that's the way I've  lived my life.  It's allowed  me to sidestep grief and shuffle by most of life's entanglements.  There are cracks forming in my foundation and maybe it was only a matter of time that I could get by like that.  Maybe this is what my Dad is talking about when he describes hitting the wall?  

Work and life have been pretty busy lately.  I haven't had time to fully sort through and make complete sense of all this yet but it bubbles up to the surface even still.  I'm usually thankful for the distractions of being busy.  This time, I'm going to go out on a limb and actually try to resolve it rather than stuff it.