I Don't Know

    "I don't know."  "You're right." "I'm sorry."  Three phrases that are very simple, but three of the hardest phrases for most humans to say.  I can't think of anyone who is an exception to this rule.  Myself included.  Eventually, many of us sit back, reflect on our actions, and say any (or all) of these.  But there's a difference in saying them or meaning them.  Just like there are many different meanings behind those phrases.  "I'm sorry" could simply be said to get out of trouble, but not be genuine; the same could be said for "you're right."  "I don't know" could be said so that no further questions are asked, or so that someone doesn't have to look any deeper into themselves, or simply because that person just doesn't know.  "I don't know" is also the scariest of the phrases depending on the use of the phrase because there is always a lot of unanswered questions, unknown scenarios, or just plain unknowns with that phrase.  And everyone reacts differently.
     A lot of what has happened in the past few days that has had me considering those phrases and much, much more.  Insight from a friend (not entirely incorrect, either) has me thinking even more.  Yes, I do tend to think sometimes before I fully think about how to say something, or think about how to word something differently (not everything comes across a computer screen, text message, or over the phone the same way it would in a face to face conversation) that leaves a lot of room for interpretation, out of sheer habit I go on the defensive (which has always been part of who I am--many reasons I am fully aware of and have been trying to work on, but still have a long way to go, others is just because of my general nature), and I have always been that kind of person who tries to fix things.  I am also very emotional and a fighter--which can be both assets and liabilities.  When someone goes after me, I try to look at all sides of the picture.  Sometimes I know it's not personal--everyone needs an outlet because of what's going on in their own life.  They lash out at everyone.  I'm just as guilty at times.  But others, I find it hard to stay silent and fight back.  Except this last time it cost me.  And I can't take it back anymore than I can take back the repercussions of it.  I still haven't decided whether to continue my blog or not--or how often to blog, but for now, at least I'm choosing not to continue anything on my Facebook page, save check my messages now and then.
      I honestly thought I was helping people, but I guess I really wasn't.  I'm actually not sure what I was doing besides distracting myself and staying busy "re: distracted", since the only thing I can do as far as my health is concerned is to essentially sit back and wait.  I'm doing everything right at the moment there, so it's a waiting game.  So it's time to go back, look back over the past, nightmares included, and see what went wrong where.  But at least I have some examples and some perspectives to look for.

Did I Do That?

     Ever since I was originally diagnosed with Fibromyalgia almost a decade ago, I never made it a secret.  I did as much research as I could, I joined several support groups (mostly online), and I spread awareness of it, hoping to educate others that yes, it IS real, and yes, it can be extremely debilitating much of the time between the pain and fatigue.  I was very open about medications my doctors tried me on, physical therapies, diets... The same held true all 9 times I was diagnosed with Lyme Disease.  Then when my health really went south this year, I became more open as my neurologist realized that I have more than Fibromyalgia and I was thrown into "pin the tail on the diagnosis," going from one specialist to another, one test after another.  I became friends with an awesome woman named Chris, who in turn asked me to help her start an awareness/activist page, which I continue to work on along with my blog.  I see it this way:  the more people who are aware of these "invisible illnesses," the less likely they are to judge us because we look just fine and some days we may even act just fine.
   But after the other day, I find myself questioning my openness of that.  It's very rare my parents get to go on vacation.  Even rarer for me.  So when my mother told me they were going away for a few days, I'm not sure who was more excited-them or me.  For me, it meant I had a few days of the house to myself--nothing to do, silence, take out, relaxation at it's peak.  And the vet told me how to deal with the dog's severe separation anxiety--some benadryl at night.  Perfect!  The only thing I had to do (well, not had to, but it should've been 2 hours tops) was take my car to the mechanics for diagnostics and an estimate for an ABS sensor, new tires, and find out why my airbag light is on.  It was a LOT more than I expected, but eh, it happens.  (And I won't even talk about how I called the school to straighten out another miscommunication and how Starbucks screwed up my iced coffee).
    But when I got home, I had a screaming headache from being out in the hot sun in long sleeves, the stress of having an estimate a few hundred dollars more than I expected, and just stress in general, so I ran downstairs to change into shorts and a tank top, not paying much attention.  That's when I noticed the back door was slightly open.  I didn't think much about it because I open and close the door a few times a day.  Maybe I didn't close it all the way, or closed it too hard and it bounced back earlier.  I closed it and came back upstairs to discover the dog had eaten both scones I just bought... Almost 7 hours later, I let the dog out before I went to bed and noticed the screen at the front door was pushed in and torn and remembered the back door.  Someone was in the house while I was out.  After the police showed up, I went downstairs and started looking around.  Several of my drawers were open, my jewelry box was overturned, my safe was open, and my pain medication was gone.  They never made it upstairs--probably because of the dog.
      Nothing else was stolen, though.  No jewelry, nothing.  Just my pills.  It makes me wonder if in my effort to be honest with others and spread awareness, if I didn't somehow invite someone into my home.  Many of us with chronic pain illness take pain medications, muscle relaxers, anxiety medications.... sadly, it's not uncommon for family members to steal those medications to get high themselves or sell them on the street, but it does make me wonder just how open does it make us to scumbags in our own community who know we're sick, know we take these medications, and wait for that opportunity like the other day with me?  I mean, what if my mother was home?  Or if I didn't have the gate up and my dog got downstairs and they were armed?  Would they have killed my dog?  Or I was home and it was one of those rare days that I had taken my pain meds and the meds had disoriented me?  I don't really want to think about it... bad enough I'm washing all of my clothing because some stranger touched it.   And my bedding.  And I'm scrubbing down all of my furniture and possessions as well.

    I haven't written anything in awhile (and what I have written before the break wasn't really much of anything, except for a few decent blogs) because a lot of things have been happening at once in addition to adjusting to the new medications, allowing my diagnosis to sink in (along with accepting it and letting go of the anger that comes along with it when you find out that the specialist you have trusted for 10 years was completely wrong--whether it was out of sheer ignorance and stupidity the entire time, or fear of a malpractice suit after a certain length of time because there was just too much evidence piling up that really couldn't be explained away, I don't know), and dealing with a multitude of external stressors that I have very little control over.  For the most part, it has been those external goings on that have hindered my blogging.  While much of it affects my life, and to an extent my health, it's trying to figure out that fine line what should be written about versus what should remain inside or in a private journal offline.  In many ways, I feel that I cannot be totally honest with any of my readers in explaining how I live and deal with my illness when there is so much else going on at the same time that affects my life, but say very little about what much of my life is really like.  On the other hand, some things are also not my place to tell, no matter how much they affect me.  I will resume my writing more regularly as I work through all of this and find a compromising medium.  But for now, my blogs will most likely continue to be irregular.