I forgot what I was doing. Last night I remembered. See my husband and I are trying to execute some life changes and are at an impasse. We really can't proceed without my income. We've hacked it up one side and down the other and the alternative is so damn undesirable it's pretty much become a non-option. Currently I sit in that wonderful paradox so many of us find ourselves in. At the age of 36 I am disabled enough to not be employable in my field but not disabled enough to be disabled. Which means starting over, which I did two years ago when I quit my makeup artist job and started this blog. But what have I done with it?
The blog a lot, but I mean the fire. The passion. The conviction that God saved me from death to do good work in the world. Because laying in that hospital bed knowing it was no small miracle I was ever gonna see the light of day again, well that changes a person. Their are offers that are made, deals that are bet. I made a promise to stop living for myself and do something to help the suffering in the world. I was living on time that was not my own, if I were to survive, so devoting it to service made all the sense in the world. If somehow I missed the point six months on high dose steroids drove it home because in that time I whipped up a frenzy of an awareness campaign and started The Fun House on Facebook and pretty much devoted my entire life to Fibromyalgia awareness.
Ha ha ha, wanna make God laugh make a plan? Isn't that what they say? Well then I came off Prednisone. There are hundreds of blogs chronicling the misery of that comeback. It ripped me off, chewed me up and spit me out. Fibro did, and the fissured synapses of my brain from the strokes made it so much worse. But one day not too long past I realized I was healing. Holy shazam, I could go to the post office again without crying when the mean postal lady yelled at me! Oh that was a good day indeed. However my conviction to change the world, or at least the face of Fibro awareness, was long lost in the background. Buried beneath a pile of woe is me and anger that I had no certainty from one minute to the next if I was going to have to stare that grim reaper in the face again.
Last night I cried to my husband and asked him to remind me what my intention was when I started this whole thing. Why did I give up my life to this cause? What have I been working so hard for these last two years? Suddenly I remembered what it felt like lying on that gurney, pushed around from procedure to scan to lab, praying with all my might this wasn't the end for me. I remembered why I made the promises I did, how I needed to give back for the blessing of more time with those I love. And how I was going to stop at nothing to help suffering in the world in whatever way made possible. "If it can be done I have a responsibility to do it," I heard the words I repeated a thousand times reverberate around my head. So last night I found my conviction, my fire, my passion. Last night I remembered what I was doing. I'm throwing all my chips in and bringing change to our cause in whatever way made possible. I had to pump the brakes for a while there, and really stumbled off course, but by the grace of God go I. And after all this was done and I sat there with my heart once again full of purpose I couldn't help but wonder how all this happened to a girl who really really didn't want to get out of bed when she opened her eyes yesterday morning.
Thanks for joining,