A New Outlet

     I used to write.  Short stories, poetry, streams of consciousness, and like most females, diary entries.  For awhile, I tried my hand at blogging, then life got in the way.  Ten years ago, I was a mechanic.  I also tried my hand at art (not nearly as good as my brother or mother, but fair enough to stand on my own).  Life has a funny way of throwing curveballs and obstacles in your way.  For the past eight and a half years, I have been unable to work and have found myself starting over or adjusting parts of life I could not let go.  Reading and music were two things I never stopped loving.  And here I am, almost back where I began my journey:  writing.  I will admit being inspired by my sister-in-law in deciding to return to blogging.  
     Growing up, I knew something wasn't right.  Even playing multiple sports, I found myself ceaselessly exhausted and achy.  "Growing pains" was everyone's explanation.  Almost 9 years ago, I found out that I was right.  There is nothing scarier than ending up on the floor resisting the urge to scream because the simple act of changing clothing was unbearably painful.  My primary physician, like most then, believed it was entirely in my head.  Three specialists explained it wasn't; after 22 years, I had what was the first of many diagnoses:  fibromyalgia.  By 2004, migraines, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, carpel tunnel, and the worst of all, Lyme Disease, were added to the list. Some I still feel are incorrect, but two I cannot deny:  FMS and Lyme. 
     There is nothing more difficult than finding yourself in your early twenties and realizing your life is irrevocably changed.  Years went by trying to not only digest this information, but accept it.  All I wanted to do when I grew up as a child was become a mechanic--and I did.  Then I was forced to not just slow down, but stop.  Then as I learn, and continue to learn, my new limits.  The second hardest part of accepting a career loss to something you had no control over is figuring out now what.  I had no backup plans.  Then in 2007, after many poor experiences in the medical field--medicine and psychiatry/psychology alike--I decided I would return to school to help others like myself.  It is still a huge question and mystery if I will ever actually enter the field, but I've learned I must try.  Even after three years, two Associates Degrees, and working towards my Bachelor's, if I am able to help just one person by the end of my education, it will be worth it.  Sometimes you have to take the chance knowing the possible outcomes.  It's far better to look back twenty years ago from now and know I at least tried than it would be to wonder if I could have made it.  There is much more to say, but I shall leave it for another day.