Writing Through It

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    I think that learning to be a better communicator, isn't about learning how to be more concise as I've been taught. I grew up learning things like: "Got milk?" These ads expected you to infer that milk amounted to strong bones and therefore athletic talent by using vague imagery of athletes wearing the mark of a milk-stache proudly. Instead of, "here are the health benefits of milk." Either way, I'm lactose intolerant. I'm also sports intolerant and I'm intolerant of being concise. I've always been too wordy. It boils down to my fear of being misunderstood, but it comes out as long, drawn-out sentences, and reiterating points.

    All throughout my training in advertising and marketing, both in classes and the real world after graduation, I've been haunted by learning to be more concise. Do I know how to do it? Yes, and it leaves me with the same feeling as I have after eating a piece of cheese.

    “Don't write so that you can be understood, write so that you can't be misunderstood.” - William Howard Taft, 27th president of the United States

    #Writing #WritingThroughIt #sillyrant #rant #wordy #Advertising #marketing

    Side notes: I wrote this mostly comically. I think concise has it's place and uses, but some information does get lost in translation this way. Not having all of the information can lead to misunderstandings that sometimes have very large consequences.

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    Is this poetry?

    I'm afraid of everything,

    all the time.

    I'm afraid of everyone,

    including me.

    I'm even afraid to think.

    #GAD #GeneralizedAnxietyDisorde #Anxiety #anxiousthoughts #Poetry #Writing #WritingThroughIt #Books

    Picture of me at the park with a book that inspired me to write more creatively.

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    Conspiracies Of Silence

    Putting this out there for whoever needs to hear it. I am on the journey to forgiving myself. It’s hard and it’s lonely, but the silence became so deafening that in the end I had to scream and name some of the elephants in the room. Sometimes it felt like there were so many, it was suffocating the life out of me. And I learned that distance does not alter this feeling. Only the truth could free me but in saying the words, I lit my life on fire.

    Would I change it? Yes, if it would change them—but it won’t so here I am; choosing happy instead of normal 🤍

    #ComplexPosttraumaticStressDisorder #PTSD #GriefQuotes #Forgiveness #MightyBookClub #Loneliness #WritingThroughIt #selforphaned #Happiness #HappinessCanBeFoundEvenInTheDarkestOfTimesIfOnlyOneRemembersToTurnOnTheLight

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    You are my sunshine adaptation

    I love to write and I love to adapt songs and poetry. It's something I do for fun and it helps keep me grounded.

    Written for my partner this morning:

    You are my sunshine,
    my only sunshine
    These days may be harder,
    while skies are grey
    But, don't you fret dear,
    it's warmer when you're near,
    and, together we will always find our way

    #Writing #WritingThroughIt #whilewalking #Dating #Anxiety #Depression #searching #Journaling #Walking

    Photo from one of my walks

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    The Autumn Of My Years

    Frank Sinatra famously sang in “It Was A Very Good Year”—a survey of his life of sorts—observing that it was a very good year when he was 17, and again at 21, and 35. Later the days grow short and he finds himself in the autumn of his years. Frank doesn’t share with us what age he is, but it’s 2022 and I’m 42, and I feel that I have reached the autumn of my life.

    I am rooted in my bed. I can stretch my limbs as far as downstairs maybe once, twice, a day. I manage to water myself about twice a week, but even then, my trunk groans and creeks with the effort. Most things that I enjoyed when I it was in the summer of my life, have lost their lustre. And like the autumn tree, I have begun to shed my hair.

    My branches held onto my leaves as long as possible. For that I cannot fault them. The rings of decay from the physical—and emotional—stress that were forming unseen inside me just become too many, and without my awareness. I saw countless doctors, all of whom failed to identify the rot that had set in, declaring me a mystery with my inverse T-waves, shaking limbs, falling leaves, and general failure to thrive. Finally, after two emergency room visits, a hospital stay (2 out of 5 stars, do not recommend), I finally saw an endocrinologist after a two month wait. He was confident that I had most likely gone from a state of hypothyroidism to hyperthyroidism without knowing it, for at least a year. With all the stress this imbalance of hormones placed upon my body, my hair started to break and then fall out.

    So now I am in the literal autumn of my years.

    The forecast is hopeful in that with the right treatment, most of my hair will grow back. And, after having weathered an unrelenting storm for the better part of the past year, my body just wants to hibernate. I am grateful that we are approaching winter, which makes sleeping all day feel like less of an indulgence. But I think about my hair loss and how for the past two months I have been lost for the right words to talk about it… particularly in the absence of a diagnosis.

    There are things I can tell you though.

    I can tell you that even though I couldn’t walk, developed alarming peripheral neuropathy, and needed a wheelchair, the thought of losing my hair scared me more. Despite developing what the doctors repeatedly referred to as “concerning” cardiac symptoms, my concern remained with the loss of my hair and with each parting strand, a part of my identity felt at risk. I can tell you that after being admitted to hospital for observation, I became even more afraid when my body hair started to fall out. Making each trip to the bathroom into a turbulent storm of anxiety, grief, and depression, as my body continued to shed more leaves.

    This being a major outward sign of my condition, every day of increased hair loss made me feel like I was ever closer to being visited by the famed hooded logger, and thrust into the great wood chipper. And no Friends like Pheobe, Monica, and Joey to save me.

    As I fixated on my hair loss, I learned many things.

    I learned that there are all sorts of potions that you can buy, that promise to help regrow hair. There are wigs… so many wigs. But the choice really only comes down to two questions. “Can I pull off this radical new look?” Or, “if I cut this wig in a certain way, will it make me look like I did before?” Thyroid related hair loss apparently means any hair that does grow back, might not be the same colour as before. So that’s kind of like a present to look forward to, only it’s unlikely to arrive by Christmas. A full head of medium length hair apparently takes two, maybe three years to regrow. In that respect at least, I feel like I will be like a sapling again, with literal tufts of juvenile hair sprouting between what remains of my established leaves and locks.

    I can tell you that in addition to the emotional pain, hair loss hurts, quite literally. It hurts to pull on it, and my hair band falls out often—I just don’t have enough to bunch together anymore. So I’ve invested in cancer hats. Only I don’t have cancer, so I also feel like an invading alien species. And of course derogatory as the term is, it is accepted that cancer patients are “brave”. The only thing worse than this enforced bravery is that there is no accepted lexicon, or field guide for what I am.

    But I can tell you how I feel.

    I feel like the lonely tree in a forest that doesn’t look like, or feel like, I belong with the others. I’m not quite sick enough to be offered any support to help prop me up, even though every day is a struggle just to hold myself upright. Being my kind of sick is to be that lonely tree in a field that people are happy to shelter under in a storm, but quick enough to cut down at the first sign of disease.

    And I do not know when it will be spring again.

    But I hope that when that day finally arrives I will rush out into the wilderness and hug every tree I see. Even more so in winter—for I will know what it is like to be bare, and suffer from a lack of kindness or care.

    #HairLoss #Hypothyroidism #Hyperthyroidism #GravesDisease #Grief #Loss #Depression #Loneliness #ChronicIllness #Alopecia #MyCondition #Anxiety #Stress #MentalHealth #MightyTogether #SpoonieProblems #Selftalk #Selfimage #Selfesteem #PeripheralNeuropathy #Neuropathy #WritingThroughIt #Disability #Homebound #ChronicFatigueSyndrome #Spoonie #Hope

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    TW: Self harm #triggerwarning #Selfharm

    Hi everyone, for 10 month I haven’t hurt myself in anyway and it’s mostly been managable but these last 2 weeks have been extremely difficult. I have been wanting to SH so I won’t be in any emotional pain for awhile. Any advice on how to keep going? #Anxiety #Depression #WritingThroughIt

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    Undeserving of love #Depression #WritingThroughIt #Anxiety #CheckInWithMe #DistractMe

    All my relationships, no one understands me, no one is willing to try. I’ve come to the point where I now feel like I’m the problem. I’ve accepted that the love and care I give, will never be matched. I’m the most loving, caring, sensitive person ever. It’s never reciprocated on the same level. I guess people are different.

    I wouldn’t hurt anyone I love intentionally. I know I say the wrong things, I can be slow to respond/ understand but it’s never out of hate. I realized I’m different, I never fit In anywhere even in my family. I’ve always known something was off with me since I was young. I started researching and identifying myself with mental illnesses to explain why I’m the way I am.

    It’s not easy to live such a life, especially letting someone love the parts you hate about yourself. As of today, I have accepted to move on with my life without seeking love from anyone. I don’t think I need to let someone in to my mess. I don’t want them to change their mind about me when I’ve already given them my fragile heart.

    I do not deserve to be loved especially because im far from loving myself. I’m foolish to think anyone will match my heart.

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    Activities

    When I’m stuck in bed, which is a lot lately, I like to find a variety of things to keep me occupied because I get bored very easily. I used to be a very active person. Now I cannot do a lot of the things that I used to be able to do. So I have had to adapt and change and find new things to occupy my time in ways that I am able to do. So here is a list of some of the things that I like to do to distract and entertain myself.
    Please feel free to share your ideas too. It might give another Beddy an idea that they hadn’t thought of yet.
    Some things I enjoy doing :
    1. Watching movies / shows
    2. Chatting with family and friends ( when my fingers and arms aren’t hurting too much)
    3. Drawing ( Again, if I’m not in too much pain )
    4. Playing games on my phone like Words With Friends2
    5. Helping my eldest daughter with her graphic design ideas
    6. Designing rooms on Design Home
    7. Chatting with my hubby
    8. Playing cards with my younger daughter who lives here with us because of her own severe / chronic health issues.
    9. Chatting with friends on The Mighty! :)
    10. Bird and deer watching out my bedroom window. I can also sometimes see our horses when they come up to this side of the pasture.
    11. Play around making silly selfies with my friends.
    12. Journal or write poems

    So, these are just a few things I like to do to pass the time when I have to be in bed. What are some things you like to do?

    #Lupus #Fibromyalgia #MultipleSclerosis #InflammatoryBowelDiseaseIBD #IrritableBowelSyndromeIBS #MyalgicEncephalomyelitis #heart palpitations #SupraventricularTachycardia #HypothyroidismUnderactiveThyroidDisease #DistractMe #WritingThroughIt #bed #AutoimmuneDisease

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    Hurt and People

    People hurt people.

    It’s a funny concept really when you sit and think about it, why inflict unneeded trauma?
    We all do it
    Let’s face it. People are horrible, we all are. The fascinating human race has many positive aspects and encouraging developments, usually unfulfilled. We are brought into the world not only to live but to hate, to form some sort of opinion on everything. Not one single person can love everything and everyone.

    People hurt people usually because they are hurt themselves. It’s an aphorism. Inflicting a wound on someone else will not heal your own, where do we even learn how to hurt or how to hurt others? Nature? Nurture? Both? What do we even think gives us the right to make another bleed when we cannot even cover up our own wound. We all need to learn to introspectively confront our own emotional pain instead of unjustly inflicting it on others.

    Hurt people hurt people

    #MightyPoets #Anxiety #WritingThroughIt #CheckInWithMe #MentalHealth #MensMentalHealth