Truthful Tuesday: Moving On

Welcome to my first Truthful Tuesday, where I dedicate my post to telling the truth. I hope some of these truths can bring better perspective to aspects of yourself.

The truth is…

Writing this weekend’s story shares was one of the most emotional experiences I have faced with this blog so far. For me the breakup with the 5-year was a story that needed to be told before I can go further in many of my postings. I feel as if readers need a better background to understand where my blog is going. But for me personally it was so emotionally draining that it took me multiple attempts to write it. Going through detail after detail wracked my brain so hard that after about 5 minutes of writing I had to take a break. The knot in my stomach was growing each time I went back, but in my mind this post needed to be put out there.

After I had completed them and posted them I went back to read them one more time. Those two blogs are two I am extremely proud of. I feel as if writing them was very therapeutic for me. I see myself as a strong individual, that forcefully gets over things quickly mostly by blocking them out, but these posts made me remember and with that came pain. But with the pain came further healing.

It has been a few years since this all happened and I have dealt with most of the grief but writing these posts brought up more than I was expecting. I see it all as a good thing though. I see it as progress.

The truth is….

2 days after he left he changed his Facebook status to in a relationship with her and started posting pictures of everything they were doing together. After he left I lost about 20lbs in 13 days. I didn’t eat. All I did was sleep. I only dragged myself to some of my classes, ending up with low grades that semester. I was falling apart day by day and nothing could help me. I ended up in the hospital multiple times with severe chest pains, which I now attribute to dehydration and mainly heart break. I had no one in my life to talk to other than my mother, and she was being stubborn with trying to wipe him out of my memory. I needed my own time to heal and gather my thoughts. Icouldn’t be forced to move forward by anyone.

The truth is…

Moving on is the hardest, most grueling process you will ever know or face. For some moving on isn’t an option, for others it is not needed. Some may need days, other years, or others yet who need lifetimes. Eventually though through own self perseverance and strength I believe everyone has it in them to move on.

The most important part to starting this process is realizing that you are somebody. That no matter what, that person didn’t take you. You always had you. You might have been with them, changed who you seem to be, but when they leave you are still you. You might be bruised and broken, and shattered into a thousand pieces, but piece by piece you can rebuild yourself.healing

It took almost 2 years for me to get to where I am now. I am over him and what he did to me. I have grown significantly in the time since he has left. I am finally able to say I am proud of myself for standing on my own, for figuring out who I really am as a person, not who I was with him.

It takes time, serious, hard, time. But one day you will come out the other side better than you ever expected.

Story Share Sunday: The 5 Year Part 2

Read part one here.

I felt like I was losing him, that I needed to assert myself to make sure he remembered I was his girl. We had been together for almost 5 years, he had to remember that and all of our moments. I started down the lovey dovey path. I made him videos with all of our cute pictures. I stopped by his work as much as possible and dropped off his favorite food. I started to befriend any coworker I could, make sure they all knew who I was and that I was a good girl friend. I even went to the point of hanging out with her. Twice we hung out as a group, we didn’t really talk much but I was there. I made points to kiss my ex on cue. Hold his hand as much as I could. Just make sure she knew he was taken.

It didn’t make a difference.

We went fishing together one day, just the two of us and I asked to use his phone for a second. I knew what I was doing. Lately he had been making it a point to hide his phone and delete texts. This time I asked to use it to look up something online. We were having a fine day and he was not even thinking about what I was going to do. He handed it to me and he cast his line. I opened the messages.

Midnight the messages started. She said she was drinking wine. She said he should come over. She was all alone.

He replied he wanted to. He replied he should bring some beer.

She replied that she was cold.

He replied he wanted to warm her up.

I was done. My heart was crushed. I felt like I wanted to vomit. But I went on acting like nothing was wrong. Yet again my brain said there was no definitive evidence he was cheating. Was it inappropriate, yes, but was there much else, sadly no.

This was the beginning of the end. My fear turned me into this jealous beast that couldn’t let go of the fact something was going on. We had so many talks. So many talks. I don’t even remember how many late nights we had sitting around just talking about it.

In the start of summer he was asking me what type of engagement ring I wanted one day and moving in together. By the end we were hardly talking and he was acting so shady. Nights we were supposed to hang out he was gone. He didn’t answer his phone until the next day. I had learned that he had been going up to his friend’s apartment which was a party house. What he withheld from me was that every time he took her.

I found out through comments on facebook, which he shortly deleted. I confronted him again. He proceeded to write me a love letter, saying that he will always be mine, that she means nothing, she is out of the picture.

I believed it. My heart was his. For 5 years we had been together. He had been all that I had ever known and his word meant something to me. A life without him seemed impossible. My mind couldn’t even imagine it. It was him, and it was always going to be him.

He turned the talks into making me look crazy. That I was just the psychotic jealous girl friend. I started to believe it. I truly believed that I was turning into a monster and was pushing him away. Because of this I stopped bringing any of it up. I went on like normal. I tried to contain my feelings the best I could.

In the very beginning of the school year he came over after class. I had stopped by his car and dropped him off some food. I knew he would be hungry, and I didn’t want him to be hungry. I was trying. I was trying my hardest to act normal, to calm down my jealous ways, to move on like the summer had never happened.

part 2

He came over.

We went into my room.

He was quiet.

I looked at him.

He looked away.

He stood up and I went over to kiss him.

He pulled away.

I asked what was wrong.

He said he didn’t romantically love me anymore.

I pulled away. I said oh. I said let’s talk about it. We could fix this.

We went over to the park and just sat there talking for 4 hours. I said if he needed time to think that would be okay. I said that he could leave if he came back. I said if he needed time to figure out his mind it would be okay.

He said he loved me. He said he didn’t know what he wanted. He said he needed time. I gave him the weekend. I said lets talk on Sunday.

I didn’t realize he was literally not going to say a word to me until Sunday, 6 days away. And I promised him I wouldn’t say anything to him, not unless he messaged me first. Every day I stared at my phone, hoping, praying I would see a message from him. I waited and waited. Nothing.

My aunt came down that weekend just because, and Saturday night we went out to dinner. She asked about him. He was a part of the family by this point. I didn’t respond. My mother pulled her aside and told her what was going on. The entire time I went to my mother, leaving out some parts because I didn’t want her to judge me. She knew he was being unfaithful but didn’t have the strength to tell me. It was best for me to figure it out for myself. Plus I didn’t want to hear those words. I didn’t want to think of a future without him.

The restaurant was right next to his work. We walked in, my eyes stayed focus on the doors of his work. His car was there. Her car was parked right next to his. I knew she was there. I knew in those moments that when I was weak and crumbling he was having the time of his life.

I messaged him Sunday morning, since he never did. We decided to meet at the park again. I got dressed to the nines, making sure he knew what he was losing, and I left. I knew it was over. I drove to that park fueled with anger. The lack of response showed he knew it was over as well.

We walked up the hill and sat on the benches. He sat on one end and I on the other. He looked down the entire time. He never had the courage to say that he was breaking up with me. Instead he spewed lies and said that he was scared to be with me because I was so fragile. Because of my MEDICAL conditions he was leaving me. He was afraid to touch me anymore. That I was too sick and it was impairing his quality of life. That he couldn’t truly live with me in his life. That he wanted to have fun and not worry about what would happen to me.

I looked him dead in the eyes and said did you screw her yet?

He shuddered. He looked away and mumbled no.

I told him I’m not stupid. I told him I know what’s going on. I told him that I hope his decisions make him happy and that he can live with himself. I said after 5 years some girl that whored herself around work, who is also 2 years younger than you and underage is what you picked. That you chose her over me, and that you are no man. I didn’t spit what I wanted to at him. I just said I hope he was happy, and I picked myself up and walked away.

He stayed at the bench, and as I walked to my car I never looked back. I got in my car and drove away, knowing my entire life would come to a crashing halt.

Story Share Saturday: The 5 Year Part One

Starting this week I decided to start days where I write on a certain topic to my make my blog flow a little better. The current schedule will be:

  • Truthful Tuesdays
  • Wisdom Wednesdays
  • Therapy Thursdays
  • Story Share Saturday/Sunday

So welcome to my first Story Share Saturday!part one

When you are young and vulnerable it seems that sometimes only love could take you away. The premise of falling in love seems to make all the struggle disappear.

I was 15 and just entering the high school era that would be filled with all new experiences. Over that summer my remaining friends either betrayed me and left me behind, or were no longer going to public school. So starting out the year I had no one and it broke my heart. I was again a loner with no one to turn to. I fit into the group that no one else wanted, and even then wasn’t exactly wanted there either. When the opportunity came up to hang out with all my old friends I jumped, that would be the time to rekindle the close bonds we had lost over months of lack of communication.

I met my old best friend at the food court at the local mall, there we met up with some of my other friends but also new people who had taken my place for all of them. I was laughing and having a good time. It was just like the old days of running around being kids. Not a care in the world.

It’s there where I met him. My friend introduced me in of all places Hot Topic. He was goofy but seemed like a bad boy. His fro was out of this world and his smile was intoxicating. No one had looked at me like that ever. The entire night we chatted and hung close to each other. I was oblivious to the flirting, but he got my number and the rest was history.

We would text each other constantly. He was all I could think about. My 15 year old mind was overjoyed. Although he didn’t go to my school we still were able to hang out on weekends. A few weeks into knowing him I asked if he wanted to be my boyfriend. I was 15, headstrong, and naive. He said yes and the rest was history.

I was with him for 5 years. We grew up together in pivotal times in both of our lives. I was struggling at home with my medical problems and father drama, but he was my freedom. He was the one that kept me going. He was always there for me no matter what. He eventually turned into the only person I had. The friends at school left me, the home life was silent, and I was all alone. But in my mind I had him.

Eventually we both lost our v-cards together and became each others best friend. I was happy with only having him. It seemed right, and it seemed that my love story would have a happy ending. We talked about getting married, moving in together, maybe even one day starting a family. We vacationed together. We explored together. We did everything together. When I was diagnosed with POTS he was there. When I couldn’t talk because it hurt too much he would bear with me. When I was going to be put under for testing he would send me flowers and teddy bears. He genuinely seemed to care.

By the time my step-father had left he had been there through my court battles, medical struggles and continuing diagnosis, being home schooled, and being completely bedridden for 6 months. We started college together, sadly at different universities but still within driving distance. We had started the relationship seeing each other once a weekend, then maybe a few times a week once he drove, then almost every day when I drove. So with the different universities I saw no trouble.

By the time we both completed freshman year he was able to transfer to my school, which I thought would be the best thing ever. He also had gotten a new job over that Christmas, which meant he had new people at work that I didn’t know. Slowly I met everyone but was kept on the outskirts. They were much older anyways since it was an auto-parts store. By the time summer rolled around things were going to change. There was a new girl. She stayed away from me, but hung out with everyone else there. She knew I was his girl. She saw me there. I had ruled her out as nothing after discussing my fears with him. He understood and told me not to worry, they were just friends.

As the summer started I could see him pulling away. My fear was that he was with her, though I had no proof. I voiced my concerns as much as possible. Voiced my concerns over his work schedule that was increasing and increasing by his own choice. By midsummer he got so angry at me that he refused to talk to me for a week. He was struggling with his own family and the after effects of a nasty divorce. I let him have that time to cool down, I knew if I said any more it would just push him away. I thought he occupied himself with work, I was wrong.

Once the communication lines were reopened we were back to normal. I looked the other way as it it had never happened. Everything was fine. Everything was going to be okay again.

Then one day he left his phone out. I went to go take a selfie to make his new background, and there it was. The chain of messages. I knew I shouldn’t have looked, that it was his phone and his privacy, but it was also my heart and my feelings.

I read them. Every single message in the chain.

For the entire week he had confided in her. The chain included many many days where they were hanging out, doing who knows what. There were questionable messages but still again, no definitive evidence. My mind shut it out, my mind still told me it was okay. It broke my heart that he was talking to her and not me though and that couldn’t be ignored. I again voiced my fears with him. He again told me not to worry. She was just a friend.

Just a friend. Always just a friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

Picking Up The Pieces

She always taught me how to pick up the pieces. She always taught me to be strong, that nothing can ever stop you. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.

And she was right, and forever will be right.

My mother did not crumble after the so called love of her life left her, instead she composed herself. She picked herself up and became unstoppable. She moved forward with her life and showed me that no person can bring you down. They can rip away everything from you, tear your heart out and walk all over it, but what comes in the aftermath is up to you. You can either let them win and be defeated, or you can show them that you in fact did not ever need them. The best revenge is happiness.

It took her a few months but she bounced right back. For the first time in her life she could truly say she was free. This meant a lot to her in many ways. She was free to live how she wanted, not worrying about upsetting him. She was free from an abusive relationship, both my father and my step-dad. Her entire life she had, had toxic men but for once they were all finally gone. There was no one there to intrude on her when she was weak. She was ready to be the woman she was truly meant to be. She could blossom. She now had all the power in her hands. The world could be her oyster, as cheesy as that sounds, it was true. The limitations were gone and a woman could finally come into her own.

Sure she cried. For months I would hear her weeping in her room next door. She lost weight, as any person would going through a time of extreme stress and suffering. But as the months passed she became stronger and stronger. I could see the light coming back to her eyes, I could see my mother coming back to me.

When the cancer treatments were finally over and she was in the clear she found herself a job. She put herself out for the very first time in her life for dating. She signed up for multiple dating websites and took herself out. She said yes she could. She didn’t care. She had never had this before in her life. It was all new and for her it was all so exciting. She wasn’t looking for the next permanent relationship, she was looking to have fun. Forever the men in her life strangled the life out of her. She couldn’t go anywhere or do anything. She was stuck, but not anymore. Sure, were there a lot of busts, yes but it didn’t get to her. It was her time to learn and her time to explore. But most importantly live again.

Over these past 4 years since he left I have seen her turn into a completely different woman. She is care free and putting her happiness above anything else that’s trivial. She has learned to manage the stress of everyday life and make sure what she does is exactly what she wants to do. There is no living for another anymore, it is her heart and she plans to keep it in tact.

reborn

What I have learned from her is that no person should ever control you, and no matter what the emotional grips they have over you, you are your own person. Even when they walk away it is not the end of the world. This is a time for you to be reborn and carry on with your life. No person is worth being miserable over, especially when they have intent to hurt you. You are better than that and deserve better than that. Sometimes you need to be ripped away from your comfort zone to realize your potential. My mother was comfortable in this abusive cycle, not looking outward to see what her life could be. Then when he left and made that first decision it enabled her to push forward, to see that there is life outside of this horridness. It might have been an extreme situation but she picked herself up and is happier today because of it.

I ask her sometimes if she ever thinks about him, or misses him. She always responds with him leaving was the best thing to ever have happen to her. She doesn’t hate him, she doesn’t love him still either. She feels nothing towards this man, because he deserves nothing else from her. He took a good portion of her life and she was ready to move on.

Her life is now her own and she has learned to find healthy relationships. She is currently with the sweetest man who just enjoys her company. They have been together for a year and a half. I truly and honestly couldn’t be happier for her. She deserves to be treated right and live a life of freedom, free of abuse.

Seeing her bloom has been the most beautiful gift, and has taught me so many life lessons. She will forever be my role model.

Because You Are a Liar and a Cheat.

He was gone. Out of the house, and with hope out of our lives. But my mother knew all too well that he would be back, and when he came back he wanted the house.

For a few weeks my step-dad was gone, completely out of contact with anyone. He had told my mother he was leaving, packed some things, and left. They had been together for 15 years and just like that he was gone.

I went on to graduate high school, on time might I add, which was a huge achievement. He had been with me throughout my journey whether he liked it or not, and when this beyond important date finally came he was not present. He had vanished just like that. One minute we were bonding over life and the next he had moved on. Deemed us no longer worthy to be in his life, just like that, with a snap of his fingers.

When he came back he forced my mother into a corner, either get out of the house or pay him what he owned. His name was on the title, making him the half owner of the house even though my mother first purchased the house and paid it on her own for 3 years. My mother, still going through cancer treatments, decided she would just pay him off. What choice did she have? She wasn’t going to let him take everything and get away with it.

He was stubborn. Not for a million years did he think she would settle, and he came at her with everything saying that he owned more than he did. He argued over the money for months. My mother had to take out a loan in order to pay him back, and days before the closing fee was due he backed out. He said he refused to pay his part, so to get rid of him my mother paid his fee. All of this just to stay in our house, the only house I have ever known. Why did he do this, oh for the money of course. Part of this property he owned, and with that came money, even if it was a trivial amount.

Later he came and took the rest of his things. His brother helped him move the stuff out, the brother that was closer to my mother than my step-dad. They took meaningless things, but it was still the act of coming into our house and removing items that I have grown up with. It was like I was reliving what I did years before with my father. I was losing memories, even if they were held in material items.

My mother stood stoic on the front lawn as they removed piece after piece. I followed them around the house to make sure they weren’t taking things they weren’t supposed to. After the truck was loaded up they were gone.

That was the last time I ever saw him or spoke to him.

So why did he do all of this? Why did he rip a family apart? His reasoning was because he was finding himself, that this journey he was going through did not include us. He was adopted as an infant and grew up with these feeling of abandonment, then he had two children it turns out he didn’t want and in turn practically abandoned. These feelings are what he blamed for leaving. He added that he couldn’t handle our medical problems, that it was just too hard for him. So he left.

My mother did more for that man than he ever deserved. He never opened up to her except in the end when he was looking for a scapegoat. My mother raised his children, fought battle after battle for him to have better custody, told him what to say to have a real bond with his children, paid for everything and anything all on her own even though she too was sick and struggling. She did all of that for him, so that he could have a good relationship with them. Well it turns out they were both mistakes that he never wanted.

My mother’s last name revolves around Valentine’s day and she was born only 3 days after the holiday, so pretty much Valentine’s day was her day. In all 15 years he never once took her out or bought her a present. He viewed it as meaningless which meant he could care less. He viewed every holiday as meaningless. For Christmas my mother would go out and buy his children gifts so that they had something to open from their father. My mother did everything for him. In his weakest moments she was there to pick up the pieces. Well it turns out it was all for nothing.When the pressure was on him he couldn’t handle being a real man. He was a coward all along.

He was cheating. All along it was another woman. All the lies that came out of his mouth were to cover his own ass to make him feel better. Apparently saying that you’re leaving because you need to find yourself makes the guilt less than saying what is really going on. Apparently that makes it all okay.

The moment we knew was when he accidentally sent a check (which was so small that it didn’t make sense, years later we figured out it might have been him sending money for the closing fee?) with his address on it. An address we looked up, which was owned by a woman, a woman who went to the same yoga studio as him, a woman he had wrote about in his yoga journal. She was younger than him, had her own house, and was on this spiritual journey. Just like he “was”. She was living the lifestyle he wanted, and unknown to us they ended up together.

Both my mother and I drive by the house often since it is on a main road going to the local hub of the area. His ancient car sits in the driveway. The man that refused to buy anything found a new host to mooch off of. His charm is never ending and clearly she was as easily fooled as my mother.

liar

What he does is mooch off of people. He has this innate desire to save, save, save. For what? We will never know. At this point he would have close or over a million dollars. Yet he has nothing to his name. He has a car that is falling apart, no property to call his own, no relationship with his only family, and no interest in marriage or anything.. He essentially has nothing. But yet he must think he has everything. He gets to live in another house, pay nothing, live the lifestyle he wants, and pretty much get away with murder.

He left us. He abandoned us. A ran running away from his own turmoil with abandonment went and left his closest family. And he didn’t even care. He had a family that loved him and was working with him. Sure it needed some serious help but when something is worth it you never give up. And you never leave when he did with my mother still battling cancer and me struggling to get out of bed every day.

The day he removed his things was the last time we heard from him. He has never contacted my mother. Contacting me would be a joke, I wasn’t even on his radar to begin with. That was 4 years ago and I have no doubt for the rest of our lives we will never hear from him again.

And at the exact same time I don’t care. To me he is nothing more than a liar and a cheat.

War Zones and Failed Ceasefires

It was another night of screaming. Another night of hiding behind my bed trying not to make a sound. They were going at it again, my mother and my step-dad, and I couldn’t help but listen. I heard the argument get more heated than ever, then the crash of something, then the footsteps upstairs. I quivered, I knew it was my mother. She came in and told me to stay in my room, that he had called the police on her.

I waited in my room while the police came in and questioned everyone. Apparently my mother had “scratched” him when he threatening to call the police with the phone in hand. He had already dialed 911 and by the time my mother whacked it out of his hand they were on their way.

The house was quiet after the police left. I went downstairs to stay with my mother and make sure she wasn’t going to do anything she would regret. He sat in the lazy boy chair my mother bought him. As my mother told me what happened in the kitchen he decided to make some sly comments from the living room, making it obvious for my mother to hear. He was egging her on just like he always did, and my mother still hadn’t calmed down from the incident right before. I stood in the doorway to the kitchen with my arms stretched out to block my mother from coming through. He made comment after comment, fueling my mother’s fire. As she was screaming at the top of her lungs I blocked her, I at least contained it to the kitchen. He sat in his chair, never leaving, just spitting fire. I screamed at my mother he isn’t worth it. I kept yelling it over and over and over again. Eventually I led my mother upstairs to her room and made sure she wasn’t coming out.

Fights like this were now happening on a regular.

The next week they were fighting yet again and I came downstairs to be a mediator. This was my role now, no matter how sick I was. Being the mediator came with the danger of failing, which I did many nights. This time though I screamed at him to leave, go to the movies or something. All he heard was leave and with this he was in my face spitting anger of how this was his house. Yet again a father figure inches from my face exploding. My mother quickly put herself in front of me and finished the fight without me. As time passed I started fighting back. I would spit fire right back at him. I would shake and cry and keep going until he shut up. I was done with him walking over everyone just because he was taking a different path.

The fights were over many things. Mostly over me, or the financial situation. In his head my medical condition was a joke, that I was faking it. After all the years of him being a support. He literally carried me out of the house to be taken to the hospital. He saw how sick I was. He saw everything that had happened to me. He might have no been an active player in my life but he was there to see it all happen. The financial situation was grim with my mother on unemployment dealing with her cancer treatment and he well, he saved. He refused to spend any money. He paid half the mortgage and that was it. My mother’s half, even though she was fighting cancer, was still up to her to pay.

This man said he was finding himself. When he came up short he took it out on my mother. Soon they just stopped talking all together. The house was a war zone with only a minute ceasefire put into place.

As the months passed of the two of them not talking I actually surprisingly bonded with him. I had no one else to talk to so on nights when he was home we would talk. We talked about his life and his journey. At one point I even was happy for him because he deserved to be happy. I thought if he could find himself then he could mend the relationship with my mother and all would be well again. Plus with neither of them talking the house was quiet and the tension faded.

I was wrong.

A few weeks before my prom I was sitting on the sofa, my mother in a horrible mood, and I decided to make a sly comment. I remember saying, “god, what is up your butt today”. The most teenage thing to say of course. Little did I know that exact day was when he decided he was leaving for good.

When prom arrived I still had no idea what was going on. My mother had composed herself and put on a happy face. My aunt came down to see me off to prom and enjoy this once in a lifetime experience. During pictures was when I realized he wasn’t present. I remember asking where he was, I wanted to take a picture with him. He had gone inside and eventually left for “yoga”.

A week later my mother came to me and told me what was going on. He was moving out, he had already found a place to stay and refused to tell my mother where he was going. She told me she asked one night that it would be nice to see more of him, and that she missed him, his response was that he was leaving and ready to go.

The day I made that sly comment was the day he told her.

She argued with him while in complete shock. His mind was made up. He was already gone anyways. It was a losing battle.

He told her during the week, and by the weekend he took only a handful of things and was gone. He took the drawers and emptied them into boxes, really only taking some clothes and some electronics. Then he was gone.

But it wasn’t over, the worst was yet to come.

dying

Husk of a Man

When on the journey of finding oneself does ripping up others matter? Does the cost of your happiness mean more to you than all the others around you? Are you yourself doing what is actually right, or doing what you perceive as right?

I thought these things as he sat in front of me, no remorse in his face, no hint of pain in his eyes. He said he was leaving to find himself and he couldn’t find himself here. He said this is what he needed to do, and with that he walked out the door and walked out on a family that was left torn in half.

My mother met my step-dad when she was with my father very early on and they all became great friends. Eventually my godfather was introduced and the final gang was formed. Everyone got married and had kids, and still stayed together as a pack. They vacationed together and hung out together, and when it was finally time for my mother to leave my abusive father they stayed with her instead of him.

One after the other they all got divorced, and as fate saw it my mother ended up in a relationship with my step-dad. When my mother was able to she bought her first house and a few years later my step-dad moved in. I couldn’t be happier. He had two kids of his own my age and I grew up with them by my side. Of course he didn’t have custody so it was only on occasion I saw them, but during my summers off I bonded with them every moment I got. And I truly bonded to my step-dad since he was more of a father figure than my own dad. Together we formed this nontraditional family that just seemed to fit.

In the early years the two of them seemed so happy together. It seemed like it was meant to be, that my mother after all of this time could be in a happy healthy relationship. But it was far from what it turned out to be. Year after year my medical condition got worse, and with that brought problems. Then when I finally took my father to court it was the last straw. The home life turned for the worst and the fighting started to spiral out of control. My teenage years I spent in my room, away from the nights where punches were practically thrown. My mother with her temper and my step-dad with his below the belt punches. There was no stopping them. The screaming would go on for hours and even when it was over he would go back for more. Neither of them were happy, but my mother insisted he was the love of her life. He was meant to be with her, and she was meant to be with him.

Around the same time as my POTS diagnosis came the shocking news of my mother having breast cancer. I remember being in my room and they both come in, both with half smiles on their face. He leaned up against the wall and my mother sat next to me. She told me they had found a mass in her breast and it came back cancerous. I was in shock. How could this have happened to my mother? She explained that it was only stage 1 and that it did not spread, but it was one of the most aggressive forms of cancer and she needed further treatment. My mother being who she is opted for just the radiation therapy and biweekly injections of a substance that would shut down the proteins of those cells. They pushed for chemo but opinion after opinion said that she didn’t really need to get it since it was only stage 1 and did not spread. They did want to give her a port though, which she said no to because then she would have to tell people since you could see the port. Without the port though her veins would be ruined. She accepted this fate if it meant she could hide this diagnosis from the world. She was fighting for her life and the only people she told was my step-dad and me. No one else in the family was told for her own sake, since then everyone would want to help her. My mother is the strongest woman I know and she didn’t want to be pitied. Telling people would just make them look at her weak, as someone who is now fighting for her life. She wanted nothing to do with that.

After a botched tube was placed for her pinpoint radiation therapy she had to go back in for more surgery. Each time she would come home and my step-dad was in charge of helping her clean the open wound and helping support her. She was sliced and diced, and came home often with blood soaking through the bandages. She couldn’t come to me in her weakened state because in her eyes that was not right to show me, she had to be the caregiver, not the other way around. She never cried in front of me. She never broke down in front of me. The entire time I saw her as a fighter, which gave me strength to go on in my own fight.

On top of everything else my mother was going through she was forced to resign from work because of the recovery period. In her mind it was the right thing to do, since battling cancer and holding a job in corporate America isn’t exactly the easiest thing to do. Plus this gave her the time to watch after me since I was also extremely weak and vulnerable.

By the summer of my junior year of high school I saw less and less of my step-dad. I was told he was working late. He would roll in around 10pm and would be gone before I woke up in the morning. I always heard him come in since my window faces the driveway.

And for about a year he was sleeping in the spare, apparently due to snoring (which let me tell you he did. I heard him through the walls). Then it was because my mother didn’t want someone else in bed with her during the cancer treatment. Then it was just normal, they just didn’t sleep together. There was never any affection. It was a cold house of him just being there. It was either he was there and they fought or he wasn’t there and my mother would make excuses. That was now the norm.

As my senior year rolled around and I was homebound yet again he came to us with exciting news. He had started yoga classes and joined the local YMCA. I was a little shocked honestly. This man was 6’3, easily almost 300 lbs, not exactly the yoga type. But that is what he wanted to do, and to keep him happy my mother supported him. As months went on his training took a more serious tone and he turned into this man that none of us knew. This man we knew was turning crooked. He had branched out of what either of us knew. The status quo was being challenged and he broke away from what was expected of him. But this left uncovered a dead man who wanted nothing more to reblossom.

huskHis life was yoga. There was nothing else. He decided he wanted to be trained to be a yoga master and yet again my mother supported him. He would come home with all of this weird information, come home saying that yoga can cure anything, come home saying that yoga would cure my mother of cancer and cure me of all my illnesses. He was crazed with the idea of being reborn. He wanted to cleanse his body of all evil spirits and be new again.

He juiced like crazy, far more than recommended. He would fast for weeks in order to cleanse his body. Overall this large Italian man was turning into a husk of nothing. The light in his eyes was gone yet the smile on his face remained. The wrinkles grew along his thinning face. He was turning into a man that no one had ever seen before.

The longer he went on this now spiritual journey the farther away he drifted from both my mother and me, but the full abandonment was not far away and not either of us saw it coming.

The Demon That Is Sleep and Restless Leg

Since I could remember I’ve had sleep issues, so naturally the next progression of my medical journey would be to tackle the never ending cycle of no sleep.

A few weeks ago I finally had my appointment with a top sleep specialist in my area, and quite a bit was discussed. To start off the consult we discussed everything about my sleep habits and any issues I had. From what I could remember my sleep issues started when I hit puberty and since then it’s only gotten worse. My nights consist of routines in order to even fall asleep which include finding the proper amount of weight in the blanket combinations then being able to breathe in the cold air, and if the air isn’t cold then I need to make it, then on to my legs and feet which have always been a problem. About every night my legs have some sort of pain, whether it is a deep ache that spans my entire calves or sharp shooting pains that go into my feet. Regardless my legs and feet twitch, and some nights I even sleep with sneakers on so that my toes don’t bend backwards and spasm. Finding the right spot in order to keep my legs happy is always a challenge. Sometimes it keeps me up for hours or wakes me up periodically throughout the night. And I never wake up refreshed. I never actually feel like I slept at all.

When I actually reach the critical point of falling asleep is when I hit more trouble. Even when I was a small child I had vivid in depth nightmares which continued through my adolescents and into my adulthood. The nightmares typically do not have a reoccurring theme, but always play on my fears as nightmares would do. The main issue I have is not that they wake me up in a panic, which sometimes they do, but the fact I wake up and remember a majority of the dreams well into the day. Then to add to this I feel like I was actually living my dream the entire night so I wake up exhausted. Many times I wake up feeling like I had been running the entire night or have the bottoms of my feet so sore as if I was standing around just like in my dreams. Then I also have lucid dreams, and not the cool awesome kind, the sleep paralysis ones where it feels like someone is there or you are about to be killed. The dreams are so bizarre because my eyes are essentially open (I think, at least my mind creates the exact picture of my room as if my eyes were open) and there is either someone coming up the stairs to kill me or a ghost in my room. It freaks me out and those are the dreams I wake up in a full panic because it really throws you for a loop. I mean it seriously feels real!

During the night I also wake up with extreme thirst and typically have to get up to go to the bathroom 2 to 3 times. This of course wakes me up and doesn’t allow me to fall back asleep for about 30 minutes since I have to hit all the proper items I need. Every time I wake up I reset all of these processes. My nights usually end around 10pm, and I typically wake up around 6 or 7am to actually get up for the day. Even though that seems like a long time to be in bed, I am really only getting about 5 hours of sleep if I am lucky. Between taking forever to fall asleep and having issues staying asleep my sleep cycle is a nightmare.

So finally after seeing my rheumatologist for a few visits and getting medication for my fibromyalgia started he strongly recommended I have a sleep study done since a majority of my pain could be caused by the lack of restorative sleep.

When I did actually reach the sleep consult we discussed an overnight study then a day study. She strongly believes I have restless leg syndrome and potential for daytime sleepiness and nightmare disorders. The day study consists of a series of 20 minute naps throughout the day which can show more results than just the night study. My appointment, which was the soonest they could do, is April 12th and it couldn’t come any sooner.

For years I had thought of restless leg but always thought it was a disorder for the elderly, plus I had no doctor suggesting it could actually be something. And even though I have been on a variety of sleep medication not once has a sleep study been suggested, but as soon as I get a second opinion for the misdiagnosed POTS and the correct doctor it was practically immediately told to me that I need to have that addressed.

I have to say that in the past few months my sleep has been getting worse and worse just on my leg habits. During the day they fall asleep and at night they ache like someone has been beating me with a bat.

Since the consultation my mother has been doing research on ways to help my legs until we hit the actual study. The night last week where I had a horrible flare up (which still hasn’t subsided) and I came home like a zombie, my legs were at the point I just wanted to rip them off. The pain was beyond words. And worst of all the pain was all over my body making it harder to handle. That night when I went to bed my mother came in with a bunch of heating pads and wrap for my legs. She thought that wrapping them might help, so I laid there in bed completely out of it ready to cry as my mother carefully wrapped each leg making sure it was just tight enough. She searched all over the house for her old knee socks and put those on as well to keep the wrap in place as I slept. Then she wrapped the heating pads around each leg and got me a bunch of potassium filled munchies. I was so thankful for everything she was doing and the support she was able to give me when I literally couldn’t move. She is amazing in every way.

rest

For now each night I heat my legs and wrap them before I attempt to go to sleep. Today of course I woke up with extreme pain since last night I felt I didn’t need to wrap them, so I wrapped them today which seemed to help. All I can say is that I’m ready for this sleep study. It is so overdue and so needed.

Imagine if I fixed my sleep and my pain subsided. Now that would be a miracle. Imagine if fixing my sleep could fix a majority of my problems. Imagine waking up refreshed and happy! Now that is a future I can look forward to. It is a future where I can truly begin to bloom.

Caged Bird

“I see at intervals the glance of a curious sort of bird through the close set bars of a cage: a vivid, restless, resolute captive is there; were it but free, it would soar cloud-high.” ― Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

It hacagedppened yesterday, another flare up out of the blue. I woke up early to head out for my Praxis II exams, which was then followed by my teaching assessment class midterm. I wasn’t worried about how much testing I was going to have to go through, it was more of just wanting the day to be over with. Once the exams were complete I headed home, finally able to rest. I had a nice lunch and took a relaxing shower, then decided to lay my head down for a few before heading out to my education based math class for yet another exam. And that’s when it hit me.

I was laying there and I could feel it, the creeping pain spreading from my neck to the front of my head. It wrapped around my left eye and started to pulse. My back started to tingle and the shooting pain exploded to every inch of my body. I told myself it was just a headache and to not worry. I took some Tylenol and hoped for the best. It wasn’t helping, and my status was deteriorating at an even faster rate. My legs ached and were ice cold. I was having rapid hot/cold flashes. I was in pain from head to toe.

But I pushed through, what choice do you have when it’s an hour away from exam time and at a university that could care less about your medical condition. I was forced to get out of bed, get dressed, and drive myself to my exam regardless of my pain.

By the time I was at school my mind was completely absent. I looked around and it felt like I wasn’t even there. By the time I sat down in my chair for the exam it felt like I was in a dream, those moments when you are dreaming something so real it feels real. Except mine was the exact opposite. I was there, and this wasn’t a dream.

As the exams were passed out I realized I was screwed. It was a packet of 10 pages with questions we hardly even covered. I went through each page and picked out what I automatically knew. When I hit the simple addition problems I stared at the page blankly. The question was to write a real world example for -5 – -5. The answer was 0, but my brain could not think of anything that made sense. I flipped to the next page. Find the error: 10 – -14 = 4. I looked at the problem, stared at it for a good five minutes. The error was obvious and could be applied to the rest of the problem, but my brain just stopped. I looked at the numbers and they seemed so foreign. I went to write my answer and explanation but my hand didn’t want to hold the pencil. Attempt after attempt I failed, I couldn’t hold the pencil and write properly. My handwriting on the test was so poorly written, the spaces between large font letters and sentences made it seem like I was in grade school. But no, just a senior in college having a horrible episode.

When the test was over we had class, 2 more grueling hours of mathematics. By this time I could no longer speak, or sit up straight, or even really look up. I sat in my chair hunched over with my hoodie bunched up around my neck. I was an icicle. At some moments it felt like my breath was even cold. The class passed and I wiggled and waddled out of my seat, having to pause while my blood pressure caught up with the rest of my body. Walking back to my car I was so dizzy and I could hardly breathe. The massive change in temperature blasted me as I went from a lukewarm classroom to a freezing windy outside. As I managed into the car I just wanted to cry.

I was so out of it that even the emotional process of crying was too much for my brain to handle. So I drove home with this heavy feeling in my chest. I felt like a failure, a down right absolute failure. I cursed all of this medical garbage I was dealt and thought of all my other classmates who could care less that I looked like I was dying in my seat. I thought of how wonderful it must be to not be sick all the time, how amazing life must be when your wings haven’t been clipped.

At moments like these I wonder what my life would have been like it I never would have gotten sick. How much different would things have turned out? If I was given the ability to fly from day one would I be someone completely different? If I was given the ability to fly forever would I be like everyone else around me?

Connecting the Dots

It was 3 months of waiting around for the rheumatologist appointment. 3 months of realizing my entire life was practically a lie, a lie told and set in stone by someone you should trust and depend on.

I was walking around on a day to day basis telling myself I don’t have POTS. It was hard and honestly it was weird. Every pain I had, every inability to complete a task, I never went back and associated it with POTS. It was something else, something yet undiscovered.

The cardiologist left us with the lingering thought that I might have some terrible nerve damage or some other extremely rare and untreatable ailment. But through research my mother and I came to the conclusion before the appointment that more than likely I had fibromyalgia. It was shocking reading articles online about the condition and how just with a quick google search the top 10 symptoms of fibromyalgia I had. Before the POTS diagnosis one of the things my mother was thinking was fibro but no one ever told us to pursue it. Now here I was 6 years later about to find out the truth and have a definite answer.

Going into the rheumatology appointment I had made a list, just a general “all the things I can remember that are wrong with me” type list. This time no stone was being left unturned and everything was being ruled out. The list goes:

  • Head tingling
  • Neck pain with/without headaches
  • Difficulty focusing eyes
  • Brain fog (memory & concentration; slurred/stuttered speech)
  • Face rash with chills
  • Elephant on chest
  • Rapid heartrate (heart feels “weird”)
  • Chest pain (worse when active)
  • Acid reflux and gastroparesis
  • Arm/hand rash (little clear bubbles & at random times)
  • Bathroom habits (half constipated or not normal)
  • Can’t feel feet/legs (sitting or at random times)
  • Cold hands and feet
  • Muscle spasms in leg, feet, back, arms
  • Chronic fatigue
  • Constant aches
  • Severe insomnia
  • Random pain like electric shocks in various locations
  • Chills and sweats
  • Dizzy spells

And that was just what I could think of off the top of my head that I have experienced in the last month on going. As I wrote it I felt this wave come over me like, oh my gosh am I messed up. I could think of no area where I was so and so “right”. But at the same time I felt like I was regaining some power in my life. I was about to go to a doctor that hopefully could help me and really look at this list with a brand new set of eyes.

Can I just say he is the nicest man. He comes into the appointment with his aged face and wrinkled hands and cracks a joke. He goes on to crack wife jokes about how he is a “bad husband” but all in good fun. But then he got down to business. I gave him the list after telling him my story and his first response was.

“Some people might look at this list and think these are all random, unrelated things, but I am looking at this list seeing a connection between each and every piece.”

I almost cried. I was so happy inside. For once it was recognition that I wasn’t making this up, it wasn’t all random, and best of all IT WASN”T ALL UNRELATED. The pieces of the puzzle were finally coming together.

The referring cardiologist suggested somethings for him to rule out and it was all done with simple blood tests. He was a little suspicious that I might have celiac but the results came back negative. In fact the results came back negative in everything. The only area was my thyroid which had me going to a different doctor to rule that out. After that was ruled normal, and just a skewed blood test result, it was time to give a final diagnosis. It was after all fibromyalgia. All the symptoms fit together, everything made sense, and it was time to discuss treatment.

For some people fibro seems like a grim diagnosis, and to my surprise it is so far from it. Like so so far from it. The first medication we tried was Gabapentin, which I could not handle on a higher dose so we switched to this magic medication called Savella. We have been figuring out the dosage and at this moment in time I am on a very low dose. I was having to severe side effects to continue upping the dose so for now it is on the lower end.

The first few weeks of taking it was a miracle. Literally a miracle. I woke up feeling WELL RESTED. I woke up PAIN FREE. I woke up feeling human. I spent my days like someone without all these things would do. I was normal. For the first time since early childhood I felt right. It didn’t exactly last long, but I can say for 3 whole weeks I felt alive again.

We started playing with the dose after 3 weeks and I crashed. The headaches were insane and I couldn’t really eat since the side effect of this medication was extreme nausea. So where I’m at now is getting my sleep issues resolved. My rheumatologist believes after I can have normal sleeping habits again we can play with the dose and prescribe maybe a counter for the side effects.

The hope is seriously there. Every day I wake up and believe that this year might be the year I finally get a handle on my medical issues. And with each appointment that passes my hope grows stronger and stronger.

hope