PAIN

A typical day for me, these wintry days, requires a great amount of courage and strength of spirit. Even when my corporal strength lags far behind my desires, it takes everything I have within me just to face another day filled with pain.

Even though I have worked through most of my troubles from the past, and the accompanying depression is all but gone, I still have the desire to put myself out of my misery. My pain is so great a burden. Misery is the key. Suffering for no reason. I have always considered myself able to handle monumental amounts of pain. I have worked long hours on feet that screamed with every step. I have forced my hands to work through unspeakable torture. But today, as I write this, I have to admit the pain has become too great. I am no longer stoic enough.

Many days I am in so much pain, tears threaten. Any little stressor can set me off, and it is not that the stressor or the person or the “offense” is really great enough on its own to warrant tears. They just overflow. They are pain.

Pain.

I am not enough to handle this pain alone. In times of despair, I want to cut away at my own body to remove the worst of the pain. But then I would have no arms, no legs, no nothing.

On a typical day, I do not leave the house. It is too much for me to muster. When I have an appointment, it takes extra preparation and extra rest the day before. That is, if my pain is allowing me to sleep. It takes great effort to put my pain aside and get out the door. It takes coaxing from my dear husband.

I try my best to accomplish at least a little something every day. This is important to me. I have this drive within that is greater than my pain.

Winters are terrible. Each one I spend here in Portland is worse than the one before. I need to get out of here. Please, God.

Living My Joy

One day, I shall sit in one of these red chairs, and I shall read aloud from my own published work.

Today I spent the day in my element, amongst likeminded people, talking words. Style. Prose. Genre. Today I attended Wordstock at the Oregon Convention Center. It was the first year I actually made it, having had a multitude of excuses over the past several years. Pain. Exhaustion. Depression. Anxiety. Fear. No one to go with.

Well, last night I was in severe pain, and I woke up in a great amount of pain, too. So we can scratch that excuse off the list. I made the conscious decision sometime during the night to not allow my pain to have that much power and authority in my day. It would be nice if I could keep that attitude for life, never wavering, but one day at a time is good, and at least for today the pain did not have me, even though I had pain.

I was determined to  go to Wordstock with or without pain. I did my best to sleep last night, and I ate a complete and balanced breakfast to keep my energy up. I would not let exhaustion control my day, either.

Emotionally, I have felt fairly well, other than my stress level being too high. No depression. Some normal sadness, but no major depression. This is a great thing. Anxiety seems to be creeping back into my life, but I am taking steps to deal. Being proactive and having a plan can make all the difference in the world when it comes to emotional stability. These, too, cannot be excuses. Absolutely cannot, as part of my proactive plan.

Even with my determination, my drive, sometimes I can be derailed, and all the positive talk and proactive efforts in the world cannot help me get out of bed on those mornings.

Talk about having to live in the moment. Taking one day at a time to the full extent of the meaning.

But now I am getting off on a painful tangent.

This morning I arrived at the Oregon Convention Center bright and early. I did not even let the timing of my first class (9 a.m.) deter me. I went alone, which was actually probably the best for me because I was able to get totally absorbed in every conversation and every class discussion, without worrying about where so-and-so was or if they were bored.

I had the most awesome day, and I was definitely in my element. What does being in my element look like?

• confident
• determined
• goal oriented
• willing to step outside my comfort zone
• stepping outside my comfort zone without even thinking about it
• constantly smiling
• patient with those around me
• extra loving and helpful, even to total strangers
• not concerned about what others might think
• willing and able to ask for what I need without anxiety or fear that they will say no
• joy fills my heart

It is an amazing gift that God has given me, this ability to live within my joy instead of constantly chasing it and always falling short.

Thank you, Lord, for this amazing day.

Before a Blank Canvas

I find myself standing before the blank canvas of my future once again. Our plans have been erased, and the starkness, the emptiness stares back at me, mocking me. Bright and fresh, yet painful to look at, for how easily my colorful strokes were washed from its surface.

God must find our plans rather humorous, especially since He keeps allowing obstacles to get in our way.

We have set departure date after departure date, and things keep going awry. It has been an awful health year, with both my guys having surgeries in the past several months. Plus Ken’s diabetic crisis last winter. And then there’s the effect all this stress has had on my own health. It has definitely not been a good year for us in the health department.

And all the other stressors: Too many to number.

In the financial department, it’s pretty dismal as well. Cost of living goes up. Rent goes up. Live-in son loses job because of needing time off for surgery. And yet, being retired means Ken cannot just go work a few extra hours a week to help make ends meet. Fixed income really means fixed, unless we scramble in other ways. More to come on that subject in a later post.

Things are bound to improve. I must hope. I must remain in faith that God will bring about only good for us, even from the bad.

Being visual, I made up a calendar showing that there’s only about seven weeks until our most recent deadline would come to pass. And there is way more work to do than that short seven weeks will hold. Sure, two or three able-bodied adults could handle it all in short order, but we are a chronic chick and two dudes recovering from shoulder surgeries.

So, here is the new “plan” and please don’t let that be laughter I hear off in the distance.

We will be stuck here in damp, dismal Portland for yet another winter. Fun stuff. Not! Tentatively speaking, we will make a go of it again next spring. It cannot be helped, unless we suddenly win the lottery, but then again, we would actually have to play the lottery in  order to win it, wouldn’t we? There are no rich old spinster aunts hiding in our closets just waiting to leave us a bundle, either.

My son asked me a question this morning, “What is it you don’t like about winter here?”

It is not that I don’t “like” winter here in the Northwest, but winter does not “like” me. My  arthritis flares up something fierce. And my depression also worsens, with the lessening of the sunshine. Heck, we barely have enough sunshine in the summer to keep me afloat and depression-free, in this Great Northwest. But I am now taking mega-doses of vitamin D weekly and taking measures to ensure an easier, if not less painful winter, joint-wise.

There’s not much else I can do at this point.

Except keep asking God why He has us tied here, for so long. There must be something He wants us to accomplish before we hit the road. I just need to figure out what that is.

Lord, with my faith, I place our future plans in Your hands. I wait upon You, with patience, yet an eagerness to carry out Your works. Lord, please instill in me what it is You want me to do.

Amen.

She’s Back!

Yesterday was one of the most amazingly beautiful days, especially so far this year. It was bright and sunny with nary a cloud in the sky. Absolutely gorgeous.

And me without my camera. Bummer.

Yesterday, we drove out to Sandy to pick up the Raven. They finally finished the roof and the catalytic converter. It was way more expensive than I had hoped, and it was even $200 more than what he had quoted me a few weeks ago. But those things happen, I guess. After scraping together all our pennies and waiting to pick her up until after payday, our budget is now stretched so thin, I can see through it in places. It will be tight, tight, tight this month.

I thought, (silly me for thinking too much) that I might ask my adult son for a little help this month. After all, he has been living here rent free so that he could save up some cash to get his own place. As I rested yesterday afternoon, after picking up the Raven, thanking God for all the good in our lives, I received a call from my son. He dislocated his shoulder again, at work this time. Well, there goes any further notions in that direction for now.

But she is back and I am so happy that we can get started in earnest on our projects once again.

And I am back too. It is a sweet feeling when things start to click. One of the medications I had been on for the past six months or so was messing me over big  time. It had caused increased anxiety and panic attacks and even increased my depression. Thankfully, my doctor is one smart cookie. He took me off that nasty little number and Jenni is back in business! Of course, I still have the pain and fatigue, but we are working on that.

Life’s Little Obstacles

“Whether we’re prepared or not, life has a habit of thrusting situations upon us.”

Lucille Ball

 

So, it is probably no big news that someone who suffers from depression, anxiety, and a major illness (not that depression and anxiety aren’t major illnesses) would seek out counseling services. I am not ashamed to say that I need help from time to time. We should never be ashamed to ask for help when we need it.

We should also never be ashamed to take time for ourselves, to carve out of our day whatever it is we need to not only survive, but thrive.

Each one of us is valuable and deserving of our own compassion, our own goodness. I am worth the effort it will take to get my own “stuff” taken care of. And part of that “stuff” is getting my book finished.

My main excuses have been that I don’t have space. I don’t have the freedom, with Ken home all the time now, wanting my attention. I don’t have the time, with all the other things that need to be done so that we can get on the road. I don’t feel good. I am tired. Blah, blah, blah.

Yesterday, I confessed to my counselor my real reason for not finishing my book, which is so close to being finished. I fear it will fail. I fear no one will read it. I fear my message will not be heard, despite all my efforts.

My wise counselor asked one simple question, which put everything in perspective. (He has that habit.) If you could help just one person with your story, would it be worth it?

Yes, of course. If I could save one person from suffering the torture and abuse I have been through. If I could help one woman to find the courage to love herself enough to walk away. If I could help one person, of course it would be worth all my effort and all my tears bringing this book to fruition.

Yes, I need to finish my book. Now. Not someday.

So, I need to tackle some of those obstacles that are currently standing in my way.

Today, I took step one to create my own workspace in this small home of ours. The living room is not a viable work area for me because of the television. There isn’t an adequate space available in the tiny bedroom to set up a desk and chair, and I cannot comfortably work on the bed.

And of course, the Raven isn’t back yet. So I cannot work in it. I did talk to Trent today, though. It is going to cost more than I had hoped, but less than I had feared. So, I guess we will be okay, so long as there are no more surprises, like the catalytic converter I found out about today.

I have chosen the utility room in the basement. It may seem like an odd choice, being in the “dungeon” without windows, but it will give me a quiet space of my own. Since Trevor works during the afternoon, it is perfect because he won’t be making noise down there either. His bedroom is right next to the utility, after all. If I really want daylight, I can just open his door, and peek through to his window. There is a way to get around everything, if you try hard enough, even sharing space with the food larder and the washer and dryer.

My furry family album had to be put on hold for a while, too, because of my lack of space. I realized after starting that line of posts that the majority of pictures taken during Suzie’s younger years are not digitized yet. For some reason, when the stores started offering CDs when you got your pictures developed, I forgot to check that box at least half the time.

But never fear, I bought myself a Christmas gift to take care of such a problem: A negative scanner.

And as soon as Trevor gets the power cord for me and takes the scanner and a few boxes of photos downstairs, we will be back in business!

And look here, he did it already! What a sweetheart.

Such Is Life

 

My back has been up in a tizzy this week. I haven’t a clue what I did to deserve this, other than, maybe just maybe, I was starting to feel better, putting my episode of depression behind me, and so my body decided that I just could not have a moment of peace. Either that or it was our two-day shopping spree to find our Roman shade supplies. Of course it was that and not my body conspiring against me. That would just be silly. But when you wake up in severe pain, you have to ask, “what did I do to deserve this?” In Lyme, most of the time the answer is, “not a damn thing.” It just happens. I try to look at these times as God telling me to slow down and be patient and appreciate what I can do even when in pain, like breathe.

I really wanted to get my bedroom furniture to it’s new owner. I hated selling my armoire. I dreamt about having a cherry-stained armoire for years before Ken bought it for me. I struggled with whether to sell my set or store it. In the end, I decided that I could always buy another one. And so now, my friend has finished paying for it, and I have yet to get it to her. I feel guilty, but she understands. My desire had been to gut our bedroom, and being me, it would have been with or without help. So, maybe this back pain is God’s way of also telling me that I need others. I am not meant to be a one-woman show, no matter what I have had to do in the past, or what I was able to do in the past. We all need people, good people in our lives. And life is a give and take. So many times I gave until it hurt in the past. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoyed giving all that help and love. I still do enjoy giving more than receiving, but as life would have it, I now have to receive more often than give these days.

Such is life.

So, as the pain killers began to kick in today, I decided the best use of my time would be recovering the now naked box valances. The leather had already been measured and cut. The large table was already crowding the living room (an obvious deterrent to moving the bedroom furniture, anyway). So why not just jump in? Simple answer: No staples.

I grabbed the glue instead and set to recovering the fabric buttons, those silly little things that will cover the screws, which hold the door casing in place. You wouldn’t think that nine little buttons would take so long, but they did.

In the meantime, Ken stopped by the store to pick up some staples and arrived home to me getting frustrated with my sticky fingers. He doesn’t like me being cranky very much. I really don’t blame him, but I detest sticky fingers. Don’t you? Here, I think he is pondering whether to leave again or whether to help me.

I switched tasks and tried stapling, but the staple gun takes more hand strength than I currently possess. I think I managed two staples before giving up. Luckily my hero forgave me and took over the box valance job, and he did a beautiful job at that. Thanks again, honey. I don’t know what I would do without you.

My girl Suzie. Tink was suppose to be beside her in this picture, but she was too excited by all the camera flashes and would not hold still. Oh well. Its not like we don’t have plenty of pictures of Tink on this blog already . . .

Survival Tactics For Humans

 

Sometimes the best revenge when someone has hurt you is to simply live a good life. Sometimes if the hurts cut too deeply, you must live your good life without them. Sometimes if you find yourself surrounded by unsafe people (please read Safe People by Townsend and Cloud if you want information on this subject), you must assess why that is so, what your part in those issues is, and you must make changes to make your environment safe. Lashing out accomplishes nothing and damages everyone concerned. Even if your own words don’t “come back to bite you in the butt,” as the saying goes, your own words can still hurt you in lost time, lost happiness, lost relationships.

It is best to turn the other cheek. Jesus is the perfect example of turning the other cheek. But this does not mean that He allowed the offenders to strike another blow. He chose to surround Himself with safe people and He chose to live His life as an example for others.

Turning the other cheek means you move on without taking revenge. Without charging an eye for your own swollen and blackened eye. Having such a negative attitude only leads to more hurt, more strife, more pain. Therefore, it is best to lead a good life without sinking low.

Whether those who have offended you ever know of your new-found freedom through living your own good life is inconsequential. Just as forgiveness is for your own heart and not for the benefit of the person you are forgiving, happiness is for your own sake. I have given myself the grace to live my life as best I can, though sometimes my depression still rears its ugly head. I am only human.

I strive always for forgiveness, goodness, and mercy in my heart. I surround myself with good people, loved ones who build me up rather than tear me down. I strive to give and do for others whenever I can, though my illness tends to hold me back from all I want to do. God has forgiven me my inabilities and my failings in my darkest hours, in my weakest moments, in my illness. I strive to give myself enough grace to heal my heart, soul, and body instead of hating myself for all that I am not and cannot do.

I am a survivor. I survive. I am alive. And God loves me even though, or maybe because, I am human.

The Best Anti-Depressant

. . . is being proactive.

For years, I have suffered at the hands of my depression and anxiety. For years, I have let those evils run my life. For years, I have wallowed in self-pity, allowing my past to continue to haunt me. For years, I have contemplated suicide, knowing in my messed-up brain that the world would be better off without me.
For years, I was stupid. Allowing my past and my emotions to rule my present and my future is stupid.

Sometimes I hate myself for allowing this waste of my life. It is worse than suicide because I have to be here and still know how much of my life is gone, wasted. But I cannot hate myself forever. I am only human, after all, and if I allow others their mistakes and I forgive them, why not myself?

A couple years ago, I hit rock bottom. I thought I had already been there several times before, but this time was the worst. I found myself newly diagnosed with a devastating illness. I lost my job because of that illness. I was thrust into motherlessness when my mother suddenly passed away from a pulmonary embolism. I further became an orphan when my entire birth family shunned me because they could not accept my illness. They preferred to call me a hypochondriac and lazy. I lost my home because of my illness, medical bills, and joblessness. If it weren’t for the love of my dear husband, I would have been destitute, alone, and dead on the street.

I came to a decision in the wake of all that tragedy.

I had to love myself as much as Ken loves me. As much as Jesus loves me. I had to fight for myself as much as Ken was willing to fight for me. As much as Jesus fought and died for me.

I came to the decision that, even with the love and support of Ken and Jesus and my son, I was ultimately the one who had to save me.

I had to be proactive.

But I did not know how. I did not know what to do.

I took a few classes at church. At first, my life crumbled further into the abyss as my searchings opened old wounds. I was forced into reliving my past every night in my nightmares.

Then things started to even out. My emotional life started to improve even though I still suffered greatly in my physical life.

I would like to share that turning point with you. This painting and poem came about because of an assignment in one of the church classes I took. Because of my new guiding attitude and the reminders of this artwork, I know I must fight and scratch and claw my way out of the pit of depression.  Sometimes I must still fight every day. Just as I must be proactive in regaining my physical health, I must be proactive in my mental and emotional health.

Thank you for allowing me to share my life with you. Thank you, Renew and Mountain View Christian Church, for helping me know what I must do. Thank you, Pastor Dave, for listening to my broken heart, even when sometimes I just seemed to blubber and rant.

And thank you, Angie, most of all for starting me on my healing journey. Your insights into grief and your compassion for others are immeasurable. I love you, my dearest friend.

RENEWED

I am renewed

I am out of the woods

On top of the mountain

The dove of peace

Has left the olive branch

And taken away the spirochetes

I reach for Jesus

His warmth beckoning

My heart is already there

His gifts rain down around me

Like wildflowers in a field

So many go unnoticed

His greatest worldly gifts

My life, my mind, my body

These renew so that I may

Give my gifts to you.
 

Jennifer Lynn Servantes

October 15, 2009
 

Winter Blues Come Early

 

Ken and I returned home a few days ago. We will be home for the entire winter, my worst season. We talked briefly about getting the Raven winterized, and my depression escalated even more than in the few days before we came home, as I dreaded returning home.

One of the fulltimers we met in Neskowin asked when we would be back. I wanted to say, “real soon,” but I know differently. She said that they were staying the winter in Neskowin, and I so longed to just hunker down, even though it was bracingly chilly, and the only thing I fear worse than drowning is the wind—and being so close to the ocean that you can hear the waves means you will get quite a bit of wind. I did not want to go home. I do not want to be home.

There is too much to do here. Too much stuff left undone, stuff left un-gone-through. There are too many bad memories here. Too much pain, emotional pain, family pain. It is too cold here. Too dark. This is not my home.

This is no longer my home, though my stuff is here. The Raven is my home. I know that now. I feel safe there. I feel welcome there. I feel happy there.

I entered in the front door of our duplex, and my only source of solace, other than my bed, is the light coming in the front door’s etched window. It beckons me to leave again, but I cannot.

I must deal with all that is left to do before Spring arrives.

But I must first deal with this nagging depression. I must find a way to make it through the winter with my sanity intact. I must find a way to continue to be me even though I cannot be free.

I Love Your Smile

 

How are you feeling today?

Tired and reclusive.

So, you don’t want to be around people?

No.

Ken had to nearly drag me out of the Raven to get me to take a shower. I just didn’t want to see or talk to anyone, and that included him. He knows a shower always helps me to start feeling better. I just wanted to go back to bed and bury my head. He told me there was no one in the clubhouse, where he had been working on that beautiful swan puzzle all morning. It didn’t matter. I just wanted to be alone. I know he was trying really hard to give me my space, but I still didn’t want to leave my self-imposed solitary confinement no matter how nice he was.

Yesterday was one of those days. Filled with depression and self-pity. Void of any sense of having ever been loved or cherished, or even valued. I hate these days. These are the only days when I dare utter the words, I hate my life. I don’t really. I hate aspects of my life. I hate my illness. I hate the tick that bit me. I hate the yeast that has proliferated every cell in my body because of all the antibiotics I have taken every day for the past two years. I hate the sugar cravings. I hate the eczema and the itchies that have plagued me every day for the past year. I hate when I allow my past to influence my mood, my present, my future. Physically, chronologically, I am beyond that torturous era. Emotionally, I should be too.

Just let it go.

Just get out there and live the life I want.

Just smile. I love your smile. I can hear him say it even now in my dismal mood.

I love your smile.

Smile and get on with life. Start by helping with that beautiful puzzle. If anyone enters the clubhouse, pretend to concentrate extra hard so they will leave you alone. Until you are ready to interact, that is.

I love my smile too. It is one of my best features. I need to remember how a simple act can turn my day around. I need to smile instead of cry.

I love your smile. And I love you.

THE SPLENDOR THAT IS MORNING

It is 7:30. I have been mostly awake since about 5 a.m. The sun has been trying to peek through the mini blinds since its rising, and I have been watching the slivers of light as they filter through the tree branches to find me still lying in bed, cold and patient, waiting for the furnace to warm things up a bit. Tinker has been stealing the blankets again. She likes to snuggle down between us, on top of the covers, of course. Even though the blankets are king and the bed queen, there still doesn’t seem to be enough to go around on the chilliest of mornings. If I were small and cold, I would want to snuggle between my parents, too. Heck, I am large and cold, and I still want two warm bodies to snuggle between.

It is now 8:30, and I am sitting on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket. Tink has now taken on the job of warming my feet. So I guess the comfort she stole earlier, she is now returning. What a silly puppy she is.

I can see that the sky is gloriously blue already this morning. The rains have stopped. Last night’s winds must have rushed the final clouds away, sending them to a destination farther south. I know there won’t be many more days like this. The leaves are already turning brilliant shades of red and gold. Though the view from my window is inviting, I just cannot seem to enjoy even the thought of getting out there. My whole body hurts and I have a nagging headache.

Depression has a way of creeping in when I cannot escape the pain. When I see others enjoying themselves without me. When I see the sun shining. When I see disappointment on Ken’s face after I decline to go fishing with him. When I see all that needs done and am keenly aware of my inabilities. When all that seems inviting is the comfort of my pillows and blankets. Not even a hug is welcome on such a morning as this.

Maybe a nice, hot shower will do me some good. I will let you know after I take that long walk to the johnnie, shower bag in hand.

It is now 10 a.m. Shower is done. Teeth are brushed. Hair is coifed. I am dressed in clean clothes. It is good and helpful to at least appear better than I am feeling. But I think I will stay here for today and work on my book. The time has flown by this past week, and I have not gotten much accomplished that was on my list. I have, at least, almost finished a friend’s book he recently published. I feel terribly that it has taken me so long to get to it, but I am an incredibly slow reader. It is really pathetic how slowly I read. Dyslexia will do that to a person.

So today my plan is to edit my book. I am back on the sofa, all propped up with my computer lap table. (Thank you, Charlie, for giving Grandma a great Mother’s Day gift.)

Wish me luck.