coffeebarconfessions

Well the onslaught of symptoms I was trying exhaustively to avoid settled around me with a thud last night. I started to get a little snappy but forced myself to release the anger starting to sweep me up. Then I tried to go to bed but couldn't fall asleep. Which made me really mad, because when my sleep gets screwy everything else does too. But I calmed down enough to realize getting frustrated was only keeping me awake. After flip-flopping from the sofa to bed a half-dozen times I dozed off into a pain-filled, fitful half-sleep on the sofa around 4am. My husband moved me to the bed when he woke up for work a couple hours later. I tossed and turned and finally gave up around 10, when I woke up crying and shaking my fist at the sky. Everything hurt and I didn't want to face the day.  Of course when I took the dogs out I got all mad at my employers who squeezed me out of a job back in San Francisco six years ago. The ridiculous, unprovoked source of my discord was so outlandish a

When everything came crashing down around me last week I deployed my usual method of survival, isolation mode. I've used it many times over the past few years to clear my mind, find my strength and begin to knit together a plan to move forward. Not knowing quite how to get myself back on track I resurrected my old standby save for two specific outlets, engaging with my husband and writing this blog. My husband is my primary commitment in life and seeing as we live together, entirely unavoidable. But the last thing I expected was to find solace in writing a blog I felt somewhat estranged from and pretty uninspired by. Like most things in my life it had become one more obligation I felt I was failing at. Maybe quieting my mind from external stimulation reminded me why I started it in the first place, to figure out my life. Either way, that's what I'm using it for now. My streamlined communication with the world at large feels like something I can manage. My hope is by strippi

Last night I watched a documentary called  Fat, Sick & Nearly Dead. It is about a CEO from Australia who starts juicing as a way to regain health and get off the steroids an auto-immune condition forced him to live on. He filmed the documentary as he traveled around the USA, sharing his journey and inspiring people who suffer from poor health to join the juicing revolution. His results were nothing short of incredible and it really got my mind going. I hit a pill wall a few weeks back. After seeking treatment at a specialty Fibro clinic in 2006 I began heavy duty supplementation. It is one of the key contributors to getting the virus that made me so sick under wraps. After boosting my immune system with a complicated supplementation regiment that required an Excel spreadsheet to keep straight I started to feel much better. Over the years what I take has changed. Some stuff really makes a difference, other stuff does not. But one day not too long ago I looked at my weekly allotment

The utter lunacy of this life has completely enveloped me. I sit here hurting so bad breathing is difficult. Does another pancreas attack lie in my path? Perhaps another stroke to shape my future? Maybe it's something new all together? Or is it, once again, "just" Fibromyalgia? I don't know. Which totally stresses me out, because I am on full tactical alert for the first symptom indicating something larger is at play. Which still could be "just" Fibromyalgia. However, sitting here in fight or flight only makes me hurt worse. In turn I become more freaked out. Should I take a pain pill? I don't have that many. Is this pain worth it? Will I miss an important symptom if I do? Something that could cost me my life? What if the pain goes away in an hour? Then I will be loopy the rest of the day for nothing. But I can barely sit here I hurt so damn bad... And while all this is whirling around my head and paralyzing my body I am just supposed to get up on out th

Last weekend we took a brief sojourn home to visit family for my birthday. Just making it out the door was a miracle in and of itself. I was in a hormonal bitchy state that made Linda Blair look proper. Somehow my husband endured the six hour drive without leaving me by the side of the road in utter desperation. Yes, I was that bad. Once we got there the distraction of family and festivities transformed my state of mind tremendously. Thankfully we went on to have a pretty good weekend. But something happened on Saturday that shook me to the core. Of course I didn't find out about it until Sunday. With a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and the grip of cold fear squeezing my heart I poured over the newspaper headlines. The exact spot we traversed on the Venice Beach boardwalk at 3pm was the site of a random act of terror at 6pm. A person purposely drove down the pedestrian-only Ocean Front Walk crowded with throngs of tourists at a speed upward of 35mph. Sixteen people were injure