authentic writing workshop, 10/25/17
non-subject: storm brewing
~*~
I'm tired. A thousand things come into my head to write about. Not really a thousand, but a shitload.
~*~
Between October 14th and October 21st I wrote three different blog posts about Trump. Even though it was only one week's time, it felt longer - I think because of my struggle with whether or not to voice more Trump thoughts on my blog, how much to voice, and trying to put into coherent words many of the thoughts that had been scrambling around in my head.
On October 14th I wrote a piece entitled Demand for purity. I went into detail about my thoughts regarding the recent controversy of the State trying to coerce private business into requiring employees to express loyalty to the State anthem and flag. Such coercion brings to mind a "demand for purity." As my manner is, and not that I like it, I ended up over-explaining the dialog in my head.
In that same piece I wrote about Trump's assertion that mainstream media is the "enemy of the people." I consider his continued ravings against the news media as an attempt at information control. I pondered how Trump's information control compares to that of previous administrations. I mentioned Trump's narcissism and pondered how it compares with other presidents. I pondered why Trump causes me so much angst.
At the end of the piece I listed Dr. Robert J. Lifton's theory of the Eight Criteria for Thought Reform. "Demand for purity" and "control of information" are part of his eight criteria. Lifton is a psychiatrist who, among other things, studied the effects of thought reform on POWs from the Korean war. I first read some of Lifton's works after I left The Way and began educating myself about cults, group-think, brainwashing, coercive persuasion, et al.
I didn't post the October 14th piece.
On October 18th I wrote another blog-post-that-never-became-a-blog-post. In this second piece I describe what I wrote about in the first blog-post-that-never-became-a-blog-post, condensing the subjects into a few paragraphs.
I wrote a bit more about Trump as a sociopath. I included links to symptoms of narcissistic personality disorder and antisocial personality disorder - the disorders associated with psychopathy and sociopathy, subjects which I read about in depth after my bizarre Knapp experience as I endeavored to wrap my head around what had happened. The only plausible explanation I came up with was a personality disorder or sociopathy or psychopathy, which also explains behaviors of certain top leaders in The Way. Trump displays the same traits. In the piece I stated that if it walks like a duck, looks like a duck, and acts like a duck, it probably is a duck. I entitled the piece, Donald Duck.
But, I never posted the October 18th piece.
On October 21st I wrote a third piece spring-boarding off my second blog-post-that-never-became-a-blog-post. But this time, I threw off the psychology experts. I wanted to write my own words, my own descriptions, what I've learned from my personal experience. I entitled the piece Abnormal normals.
At first I didn't post the piece. What difference would it make? Would I feel I'm just hollering into a well? My blog is not on search engines, and it gets read by very few. How vulnerable would I feel after posting it? Would I feel self-conscious for four or five days? What if some people do read and comment and I feel I have to defend my opinion and position? Should I just keep my mouth shut? By keeping quiet, am I allowing the silencing girth to bind me?
Such were some of the contemplations rolling through my head.
On October 22nd I ended up in a conversation discussing my quandary. The listener gave me more to ponder. As a result of that conversation and the more-pondering, I put a few more edits on the 3rd piece and posted it the morning of October 23rd. But I left the published-post-date as October 21st, since that was when I wrote the piece.
To my surprise, instead of feeling vulnerable and self-conscious, I felt lighter. I wondered, Maybe it's not such a bad thing to dump my Trump thoughts every so often on my blog.
The self-consciousness and self-doubt did raise their heads the next day. But not too loudly or harshly.
I wonder why posting has a more burden-lightening effect than keeping my thoughts private in a journal? Perhaps it has something to do with the silencing factor.
After leaving The Way, where I had lived silence for so long, a friend said to me, "The silence has been deafening, no?"
~*~
In the October 21st piece I state, "In my experience, sociopaths are mercurial creatures..."
Three days later on October 24th, Senator Jeff Flake addressed the Senate stating he would not run for re-election and why, expressing his concerns and misgivings about the current administration. Flake used that same word, "mercurial," in one of his statements addressing Trump's behavior, specifically Trump's tweets and their consequences. Flake stated, "The notion that we should say or do nothing in the face of such mercurial behavior is ahistoric and, I believe, profoundly misguided."
His use of that same word arrested my attention and caused me to pause, yet again...
~*~
October 26, 2017
October 21, 2017
Abnormal normals
In perusing things I've posted about Trump on my blog, I'm reminded that my opinion of the madman hasn't changed. I mostly think he is an outright sociopath, incapable of empathy or feeling remorse. At the very least, he is an extreme narcissist.
I hesitate to give the madman more attention on my blog. It feels as if mentioning his name feeds his narcissistic supply in some ethereal sphere and like I am playing into his game to agitate and irritate and incite outrage. And I do feel those things.
I recently read an article that posed the question, "Remember life before Trump's tweets?" I chuckled, but only for a moment. The man takes up too much space in my head. I don't like that. It's kind of like living with an invisible, chronic illness - not readily seen by others but always present reminding the one who is ill of his or her new "abnormal normals."
Too often, as I go about my abnormal-normal day, I wonder...
To help ground myself, I tell myself...
I take in a deep breath, hold it momentarily, exhale, and pause...
~*~
I limit my reading of Trump. Take intentional breaks. But I still read him and occasionally watch his speeches or self-inflated hoopla at his campaign rallies. Why? Partly because I care and am concerned; I don't want to bury my head in the sand. Partly because of my continued journey in understanding my own experience with cults and narcissists and sociopaths. I'm sure there are more "partlies," but I'll stop with those two.
I think what bothers me more than the madman himself is when his supporters rationalize his lies and bully-behavior, thereby normalizing that which isn't normal for the office of the president. I lived this normalizing-the-abnormal in The Way, especially under Martindale's tenure from 1982 through 2000. I experienced it on a more personal level with John Knapp. And I see the same pattern with Trump and those who try to explain away or reinterpret his flagrant lies, name calling, one-upmanship, disregard for norms of the office, belittling, blaming victims, claiming to be a victim, having to win, being unable to take criticism, and more.
In my experience, sociopaths are mercurial creatures; they wear masks according to whichever game they are playing at a given moment. Of course, all humans wear masks to some degree, such as in private-versus-public life. There are certain standards in society that we endeavor to live by, and rightly so. Those standards can vary according to the culture and the times.
But the sociopath's masks are worn always for their own gain regardless of the expense to others. To them, life is all about winning. As long as they come out on top or appear to come out on top, that's all that really matters. Their masks can crack with enough pressure. Pressure from when their cover stories are proven false again and again or when enough loyal believers defect. The sociopath's paranoia can become more dominant causing a fissure in the mask. If they don't repair the fissure, it can grow. But even if their mask cracks, they won't genuinely admit they were wrong. Instead, they remake themselves, from what I've seen, first into some sort of victim and then into another role, or continuing their same role after some whitewash, in order to feed their narcissistic supply.
I'm hoping Trump's mask cracks. But, he's 70 years old and has played his games for a long time.
I will not dismiss my flags regarding Trump.
My Trump flags are not red, white, and blue.
They are mostly red, and sometimes yellow...casting shadows.
I hesitate to give the madman more attention on my blog. It feels as if mentioning his name feeds his narcissistic supply in some ethereal sphere and like I am playing into his game to agitate and irritate and incite outrage. And I do feel those things.
I recently read an article that posed the question, "Remember life before Trump's tweets?" I chuckled, but only for a moment. The man takes up too much space in my head. I don't like that. It's kind of like living with an invisible, chronic illness - not readily seen by others but always present reminding the one who is ill of his or her new "abnormal normals."
Too often, as I go about my abnormal-normal day, I wonder...
How can I allow myself to feel that things are "normal" with this madman at the helm of our country? I feel like I'm pretending as I go about my life as if all this shit in the air doesn't bother me. Add to that the string of recent tragedies, still in emergency or recovery mode. I have a home and fresh water and food and income, and my family is safe. I feel a tinge of guilt, if that's the right word, because my needs are met.
You've felt this before at times of tragedy, upheaval, death. This feeling that once trauma happens it seems forgotten in a matter of days or weeks, though it's not forgotten. People have to keep living through the aftermath. Survivors have to keep moving, even as they process and grieve.
But this Trump shit, it's like there is no end to it. There is aftermath after aftermath. Almost every day I wonder, "What damage will he inflict today, and on whom?"
You've felt this before at times of tragedy, upheaval, death. This feeling that once trauma happens it seems forgotten in a matter of days or weeks, though it's not forgotten. People have to keep living through the aftermath. Survivors have to keep moving, even as they process and grieve.
But this Trump shit, it's like there is no end to it. There is aftermath after aftermath. Almost every day I wonder, "What damage will he inflict today, and on whom?"
To help ground myself, I tell myself...
Drop it. [and then note whatever I'm doing at the moment, such as...] Woman sitting, playing with dog.
I take in a deep breath, hold it momentarily, exhale, and pause...
I am in the place where I am at this moment in front of me. Things may not be "normal," but all I can do is continue doing what I am supposed to do as best I can - care for myself, my family, my neighbor, the environment. All I can do is what I can do. Be kind...be kind.
~*~
I limit my reading of Trump. Take intentional breaks. But I still read him and occasionally watch his speeches or self-inflated hoopla at his campaign rallies. Why? Partly because I care and am concerned; I don't want to bury my head in the sand. Partly because of my continued journey in understanding my own experience with cults and narcissists and sociopaths. I'm sure there are more "partlies," but I'll stop with those two.
I think what bothers me more than the madman himself is when his supporters rationalize his lies and bully-behavior, thereby normalizing that which isn't normal for the office of the president. I lived this normalizing-the-abnormal in The Way, especially under Martindale's tenure from 1982 through 2000. I experienced it on a more personal level with John Knapp. And I see the same pattern with Trump and those who try to explain away or reinterpret his flagrant lies, name calling, one-upmanship, disregard for norms of the office, belittling, blaming victims, claiming to be a victim, having to win, being unable to take criticism, and more.
In my experience, sociopaths are mercurial creatures; they wear masks according to whichever game they are playing at a given moment. Of course, all humans wear masks to some degree, such as in private-versus-public life. There are certain standards in society that we endeavor to live by, and rightly so. Those standards can vary according to the culture and the times.
But the sociopath's masks are worn always for their own gain regardless of the expense to others. To them, life is all about winning. As long as they come out on top or appear to come out on top, that's all that really matters. Their masks can crack with enough pressure. Pressure from when their cover stories are proven false again and again or when enough loyal believers defect. The sociopath's paranoia can become more dominant causing a fissure in the mask. If they don't repair the fissure, it can grow. But even if their mask cracks, they won't genuinely admit they were wrong. Instead, they remake themselves, from what I've seen, first into some sort of victim and then into another role, or continuing their same role after some whitewash, in order to feed their narcissistic supply.
I'm hoping Trump's mask cracks. But, he's 70 years old and has played his games for a long time.
I will not dismiss my flags regarding Trump.
My Trump flags are not red, white, and blue.
They are mostly red, and sometimes yellow...casting shadows.
October 9, 2017
Round #19...
It's time to type my rally sheet for this round.
So I typed it this morning.
The main thing on my mind was (again) focus on self-care.
That I am under no obligation to meet anyone else's standards of what they might think I should do in order to help myself.
That if I feel I need to explain or apologize; I don't need to.
But I know I will apologize sometimes.
I am sorry I can't do what I used to do - like be there for a friend in need ... or do the laundry.
Sometimes - in feeling pressure of societal or perceived or self-imposed shoulds, or feeling I need to meet standards I used to live, or imagining what others might think of me in regard to my limitations - I find myself putting my own well-being second or third, which I am unable to do for very long.
My psyche and body make it very clear, Your wholeness comes first. Recalibrate.
I'm reminded of airplane safety: Put on your own oxygen mask first.
After I typed my rally sheet this morning, an article came across my Twitter feed: As I get older I have learned...
The article helped validate what I had just typed on my rally sheet.
The author puts into words some of the feelings and thoughts I've gone through (again) the last week or so - thoughts that were up front and center as I typed this round's rally.
I think anyone who has lived enough can relate to the five lessons listed in the article, regardless of whether or not they live with chronic health issues.
This round's rally is below.
~*~
September 18, 2017, thru December 11, 2017
My new normal after epidural...
One goodish day, then one to two recovery days.
Plan for it.
This may be as well as I get.
Keep in mind the progress I have made.
Keep in mind what I can still do.
I am still mobile. That is HUGE.
I have work that I can perform part time.
It provides purpose and income.
I am committed to self-care and emotional wellness.
That is my main commitment.
Nothing else takes priority.
With self-care I am caring for others.
I do not have to explain to anyone my lack of commitment to activities/tasks outside of self-care.
Even if I weren't sick, there is no need to explain.
I have done nothing wrong by being sick.
I do not need to apologize, though I'm sure I will.
Remember moods, life, circumstances are like the weather.
Weather is always changing.
"It's wind man. It blows all over the place."
May I be peaceful.
May I have ease of well being.
May I be present.
May I embrace 10,000 sorrows and 10,000 joys.
Countdown:
Week 1: Completed M, 8/25/17
Week 2: Completed M, 10/02/17
Week 3: Completed M, 10/09/17
Week 4: Completed M, 10/16/17
Week 5: Completed M, 10/23/17 (BONIVA on Sa, 10/28/17)
Week 6: Completed M, 10/30/17 (neck shots M, 10/30/17)
Week 7: Completed M, 11/06/17
Week 8: Completed M, 11/13/17
Week 9: Completed M, 11/20/17
Week 10: Completed M, 11/27/17
Week 11: Completed M, 12/04/17
Week 12: Epidural #19 M, 12/11/17
Carol Welch, CEO ~cyclist. explorer. overcomer.
~*~
I type a rally sheet every 12 weeks and magnet it to my fridge.
The sheet is a count-down between my every 12-week epidurals,
I check off the weeks as they go by.
Each rally sheet is a bit different and is based on my most prominent symptoms at the time and coping reminders to help maneuver the weeks ahead.
So I typed it this morning.
The main thing on my mind was (again) focus on self-care.
That I am under no obligation to meet anyone else's standards of what they might think I should do in order to help myself.
That if I feel I need to explain or apologize; I don't need to.
But I know I will apologize sometimes.
I am sorry I can't do what I used to do - like be there for a friend in need ... or do the laundry.
Sometimes - in feeling pressure of societal or perceived or self-imposed shoulds, or feeling I need to meet standards I used to live, or imagining what others might think of me in regard to my limitations - I find myself putting my own well-being second or third, which I am unable to do for very long.
My psyche and body make it very clear, Your wholeness comes first. Recalibrate.
I'm reminded of airplane safety: Put on your own oxygen mask first.
After I typed my rally sheet this morning, an article came across my Twitter feed: As I get older I have learned...
The article helped validate what I had just typed on my rally sheet.
The author puts into words some of the feelings and thoughts I've gone through (again) the last week or so - thoughts that were up front and center as I typed this round's rally.
I think anyone who has lived enough can relate to the five lessons listed in the article, regardless of whether or not they live with chronic health issues.
This round's rally is below.
~*~
September 18, 2017, thru December 11, 2017
My new normal after epidural...
One goodish day, then one to two recovery days.
Plan for it.
This may be as well as I get.
Keep in mind the progress I have made.
Keep in mind what I can still do.
I am still mobile. That is HUGE.
I have work that I can perform part time.
It provides purpose and income.
I am committed to self-care and emotional wellness.
That is my main commitment.
Nothing else takes priority.
With self-care I am caring for others.
I do not have to explain to anyone my lack of commitment to activities/tasks outside of self-care.
Even if I weren't sick, there is no need to explain.
I have done nothing wrong by being sick.
I do not need to apologize, though I'm sure I will.
Remember moods, life, circumstances are like the weather.
Weather is always changing.
"It's wind man. It blows all over the place."
May I be peaceful.
May I have ease of well being.
May I be present.
May I embrace 10,000 sorrows and 10,000 joys.
Countdown:
Week 1: Completed M, 8/25/17
Week 2: Completed M, 10/02/17
Week 3: Completed M, 10/09/17
Week 4: Completed M, 10/16/17
Week 5: Completed M, 10/23/17 (BONIVA on Sa, 10/28/17)
Week 6: Completed M, 10/30/17 (neck shots M, 10/30/17)
Week 7: Completed M, 11/06/17
Week 8: Completed M, 11/13/17
Week 9: Completed M, 11/20/17
Week 10: Completed M, 11/27/17
Week 11: Completed M, 12/04/17
Week 12: Epidural #19 M, 12/11/17
Carol Welch, CEO ~cyclist. explorer. overcomer.
~*~
I type a rally sheet every 12 weeks and magnet it to my fridge.
The sheet is a count-down between my every 12-week epidurals,
I check off the weeks as they go by.
Each rally sheet is a bit different and is based on my most prominent symptoms at the time and coping reminders to help maneuver the weeks ahead.
October 5, 2017
Beyond words...
I live with polyradiculitis, a rare form of peripheral neuropathy where multiple nerve roots are swollen at the spinal cord. In my case, nerve roots are swollen in my lumbar and cervical regions.
The condition of polyradiculitis is usually associated with Chronic Inflammatory Demyelinating Polyneuropathy (CIDP) and Guillain-Barré Syndrome (GBS). My symptoms are the same as found in CIDP and GBS, but I have neither of those diseases. I developed polyradiculitis in April, 2011, after taking oral terbinafine (brand name, Lamisil) for 5 weeks for toenail fungus. However, it wasn't diagnosed properly until May, 2013. In June, 2016, we discovered that an artificial hip implant, which I'd received in 2008, had been leaching cobalt and chromium into my body. Heavy metals can be a factor in nerve damage. Psychological trauma was also a factor in the onset in April, 2011.
I've written quite a bit about living the hell of polyradiculitis. And there have been years of hell. It was downright scary as my symptoms worsened and spread. They are no longer spreading, and I had some slow, incremental improvement after adding Charlotte's Web Hemp Extract in June, 2015, to my daily regimen. (But then plateaued. After that, we discovered the metal-leach.) I've had more improvement since getting the leaching implant removed and replaced in 2016. But even with improvement, I still receive lumbar steroid epidurals every 12 weeks and cervical spine steroid trigger-point injections every 12 weeks, flipflopping with the epidurals.
Through the years as symptoms progressively worsened, I was forced to back away from "normal" life. I now have new "normals."
One of those new normals is that, due to limited energy, I am seldom able to socialize, online or offline, accept with Hubby and sometimes our adult children. I have three long-distance friends with whom I visit regularly via telephone. (I had four but one died a couple months ago. I miss Linda.)
At times I've felt like a foreigner when I have been with people or even in conversations online or on the phone. The things most people do in every day life are no longer a routine part of my life. Shopping. Traveling. Cleaning house. Yard work. Cooking. Laundry. Going to work. Going to concerts or theater or out with people in a group. Spending hours or days visiting with family and friends. Overnight travel trips, even if just for a weekend. (Though I have taken a few trips, as long a Hubby is along. And I did take one solo overnight trip to the mountains last summer. That was a really big deal for me. I've not been able to do that since.)
There have been times I've felt deeply isolated. I've learned to manage those times, for the most part.
Isolation visits when I don't feel connected - when my fatigue and weakness are so overwhelming that simply waking up, standing, and making my way down the hall exhausts me.
Hours feel like days. Days feel like weeks. At those times, I tell myself, This is the pattern. It's your normal. Time will feel like its moving at a sloth's pace. That's a distortion. Look at the calendar and your notes to remind your self that the speed of time hasn't changed; your realty has. This reality will pass, and you will again feel connected.
Isolation visits most when I'm unable to ride my bike through the woods. As long as I can bicycle the woods - the place I feel most connected with life, where I feel a sense of purpose, where I feel confidence, where I feel an integral part of a "community," where I fit in - the feelings of isolation (along with feelings of worthlessness and pointlessness) do not exist or are, at least, minimized.
Used to be when I lived with almost constant widespread pain, cycling the woods relieved the pain, temporarily. My widespread pain symptoms (especially in my neck, jaws, and arms) have improved since my surgery in August, 2016 - a revision lateral hip replacement to replace the defective, leaching hip implant that I received in August, 2008.
My fatigue and weakness though, since surgery, are almost non-stop. It's not that their severity has worsened; rather, the fatigue and weakness are more frequent. Before surgery I'd get three to four sequential weeks of relief in response to my routine lumbar epidurals and neck injections. That is no longer the case. But still, cycling often provides temporary relief from my post-surgery fatigue and weakness. I don't know exactly how, other than perhaps the release of endorphins somehow help? I had wondered, due to the unrelenting fatigue since surgery, if I'd developed Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. But, I do not believe that's the case. CFS is often worsened by exercise. That said, cycling is the only exercise I can do that provides good, refreshing, energizing relief. Even stretches can leave me feeling tired or exhausted.
Is getting started on a cycling trip easy? No. It's hard work. But I know the feeling of freedom that awaits me once I get into the ride. That feeling is on a continuum, and there is no guarantee. But I can't recall a time I've been the worse for cycling, except the one time when I fell off my bike.
Unlike walking, when I cycle, I do not have to carry my body weight. My bicycle supports me. I do not have to lift my legs. They push the pedals round and round which acts as leverage to move me forward. I do not have to use my arms and hands for anything except support, steering, and changing my gears. Changing my large, crankset gears is the biggest challenge due to the thumb-strength required to push the lever into third, which I do with a grimace.
My bicycle, Olivia... she truly is my freedom.
Freedom because my body feels lighter on wheels - I do not have to work so hard in order to move.
Freedom from the concentration and calculations required to perform routine, daily self-care tasks - my mind has more margin.
Freedom from having to string together words in order to communicate - there is no need to explain anything to anyone.
In those moments --cycling the wind, immersed in communion with Nature-- words aren't necessary; sentences even less so. In those moments, the linear alphabet --strung into words, stretched into sentences-- feels a shallow, peripheral communication when compared with Her song...primordial, evolving, deep, rich, wise, solid, fluid...
Beyond words...
The condition of polyradiculitis is usually associated with Chronic Inflammatory Demyelinating Polyneuropathy (CIDP) and Guillain-Barré Syndrome (GBS). My symptoms are the same as found in CIDP and GBS, but I have neither of those diseases. I developed polyradiculitis in April, 2011, after taking oral terbinafine (brand name, Lamisil) for 5 weeks for toenail fungus. However, it wasn't diagnosed properly until May, 2013. In June, 2016, we discovered that an artificial hip implant, which I'd received in 2008, had been leaching cobalt and chromium into my body. Heavy metals can be a factor in nerve damage. Psychological trauma was also a factor in the onset in April, 2011.
I've written quite a bit about living the hell of polyradiculitis. And there have been years of hell. It was downright scary as my symptoms worsened and spread. They are no longer spreading, and I had some slow, incremental improvement after adding Charlotte's Web Hemp Extract in June, 2015, to my daily regimen. (But then plateaued. After that, we discovered the metal-leach.) I've had more improvement since getting the leaching implant removed and replaced in 2016. But even with improvement, I still receive lumbar steroid epidurals every 12 weeks and cervical spine steroid trigger-point injections every 12 weeks, flipflopping with the epidurals.
Through the years as symptoms progressively worsened, I was forced to back away from "normal" life. I now have new "normals."
One of those new normals is that, due to limited energy, I am seldom able to socialize, online or offline, accept with Hubby and sometimes our adult children. I have three long-distance friends with whom I visit regularly via telephone. (I had four but one died a couple months ago. I miss Linda.)
At times I've felt like a foreigner when I have been with people or even in conversations online or on the phone. The things most people do in every day life are no longer a routine part of my life. Shopping. Traveling. Cleaning house. Yard work. Cooking. Laundry. Going to work. Going to concerts or theater or out with people in a group. Spending hours or days visiting with family and friends. Overnight travel trips, even if just for a weekend. (Though I have taken a few trips, as long a Hubby is along. And I did take one solo overnight trip to the mountains last summer. That was a really big deal for me. I've not been able to do that since.)
There have been times I've felt deeply isolated. I've learned to manage those times, for the most part.
Isolation visits when I don't feel connected - when my fatigue and weakness are so overwhelming that simply waking up, standing, and making my way down the hall exhausts me.
Hours feel like days. Days feel like weeks. At those times, I tell myself, This is the pattern. It's your normal. Time will feel like its moving at a sloth's pace. That's a distortion. Look at the calendar and your notes to remind your self that the speed of time hasn't changed; your realty has. This reality will pass, and you will again feel connected.
Isolation visits most when I'm unable to ride my bike through the woods. As long as I can bicycle the woods - the place I feel most connected with life, where I feel a sense of purpose, where I feel confidence, where I feel an integral part of a "community," where I fit in - the feelings of isolation (along with feelings of worthlessness and pointlessness) do not exist or are, at least, minimized.
Used to be when I lived with almost constant widespread pain, cycling the woods relieved the pain, temporarily. My widespread pain symptoms (especially in my neck, jaws, and arms) have improved since my surgery in August, 2016 - a revision lateral hip replacement to replace the defective, leaching hip implant that I received in August, 2008.
My fatigue and weakness though, since surgery, are almost non-stop. It's not that their severity has worsened; rather, the fatigue and weakness are more frequent. Before surgery I'd get three to four sequential weeks of relief in response to my routine lumbar epidurals and neck injections. That is no longer the case. But still, cycling often provides temporary relief from my post-surgery fatigue and weakness. I don't know exactly how, other than perhaps the release of endorphins somehow help? I had wondered, due to the unrelenting fatigue since surgery, if I'd developed Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. But, I do not believe that's the case. CFS is often worsened by exercise. That said, cycling is the only exercise I can do that provides good, refreshing, energizing relief. Even stretches can leave me feeling tired or exhausted.
Is getting started on a cycling trip easy? No. It's hard work. But I know the feeling of freedom that awaits me once I get into the ride. That feeling is on a continuum, and there is no guarantee. But I can't recall a time I've been the worse for cycling, except the one time when I fell off my bike.
Unlike walking, when I cycle, I do not have to carry my body weight. My bicycle supports me. I do not have to lift my legs. They push the pedals round and round which acts as leverage to move me forward. I do not have to use my arms and hands for anything except support, steering, and changing my gears. Changing my large, crankset gears is the biggest challenge due to the thumb-strength required to push the lever into third, which I do with a grimace.
My bicycle, Olivia... she truly is my freedom.
Freedom because my body feels lighter on wheels - I do not have to work so hard in order to move.
Freedom from the concentration and calculations required to perform routine, daily self-care tasks - my mind has more margin.
Freedom from having to string together words in order to communicate - there is no need to explain anything to anyone.
In those moments --cycling the wind, immersed in communion with Nature-- words aren't necessary; sentences even less so. In those moments, the linear alphabet --strung into words, stretched into sentences-- feels a shallow, peripheral communication when compared with Her song...primordial, evolving, deep, rich, wise, solid, fluid...
Beyond words...
 |
| My bicycle, Olivia, rests along the New River Rail Trail in VA. |
October 1, 2017
Thus far
Thursday afternoon.
I lay back in the reclining dentist chair. Time to add another crown. I reckon if we didn't have crowns, I'd have only gums where my molars root.
I'm always impressed how dentist staff can understand what I'm saying when I "talk" while they work in my mouth. My hygienist is especially adept at understanding the guttural language.
I actually like going to my dentist. I really love the staff. Always pleasant and cheerful. It's such an uplifting atmosphere. I don't like being drilled, etc. But, it's not too bad in the scheme of life.
Dr. Dentist walks in, his pleasant self. He points at my hand-and-wrist braces. "You going into a boxing match?" he jokes.
"I'm gonna box Trump up side the ears," I respond in kind, not knowing if Dr. Dentist is a Trump supporter or not.
"Oh my gosh. I know," he says. "I've quit listening to or reading the man for the most part. I just end up upset and agitated. He is who he is. Nothing I do will change him."
"Right," I reply.
~*~
Tuesday night, prior to Thursday.
I decide that beginning Wednesday I'd take a break from reading current politics, including Trump's bombastic tweets.
But Wednesday takes a different turn. I end up spending hours in my head working through thoughts regarding Trump, his supporters, media from all sides, and bottom lines setting off an angst that ricochets like a rouge ping-pong ball, internally bouncing like a confused compass needle. To add to that, I handle a couple stressful circumstances and then have two separate odd encounters with strangers in downtown Mt. Airy. I think, I'm surrounded by crazy people.
It was ending up a weird Wednesday, thus far.
I had gone to Mt. Airy to ride its Greenway. But by the time I arrive at the Greenway, I am exhausted. Not that I had much energy when the day started.
Carol, do you just go home and go to bed?
I remind myself that cycling through the woods often helps my physical and mental fatigue. I opt to ride.
Mother Nature works her magic. Anxiety melts. My body and mind are soothed. I see my groundhog friend and the two great herons that make Ararat River their home.
~*~
Dr. Dentist's words the next day, on Thursday, remind me of what I had decided on Tuesday night.
Friday.
I do okay with my politicalless and Trumpless endeavor.
I dedicate Saturday to a mountain day-trip and cycling on the New River Trail. It will take my entire focus. But it will be worth it, I hope.
~*~
Saturday morning.
Unfortunately I look at the news and read Trump's tweets blaming Puerto Rico for not doing enough to help themselves in their dire circumstances...ten days going at that point.
What. The. Fuck. I didn't think even Trump could sink this low.
I was stunned, but only momentarily.
This is Trump. This is what he is. He's a megalomaniac.
His words were cruel. Cruel words from a cruel, selfish, heartless, without-conscience, sliver-spooned-golden-toilet-sitting, interested-only-in-his-own-glorification liar.
I had viewed a couple videos the night before from Mayor Cruz. Yes, she sounded over the top. Yes, she sounded desperate. But it's an over-the-top, desperate situation. I thought she went too far with her genocide statement. But I couldn't criticize it or hold judgement against her. I have never lived through a disaster like Puerto Rico was dealing with. And they are headed into day ten! Ten days of this crap! 24/7.
Even, even, even if his verbal attacks toward Mayor Cruz were factually correct, it's still cruel and morally wrong for him to express those opinions while they're dealing with this shit. And it's ten days in! They're exhausted beyond anything most of us can imagine.
I haven't read or seen anyone disparage first responders. I've read just the opposite. Perhaps Trump is lying? Surely not.
And to blame Mayor Cruz and Puerto Rican "others" for wanting everything done for them and not being able to get their people to work together? My god. Talk about victim blaming.
And then for Trump to accuse the Mayor of colluding with the Democrats to make him and his administration look bad? This man doth project his own tactics, perhaps?
Poor Trump. He is the victim of the media and the opposing political party.
What an ass.
How can anyone with good conscience rationalize and support such an outwardly, cruel, inhumane son of a bitch?
You know how Carol. You did it. Wierwille. Martindale. Rivenbark. Knapp.
But maybe your conscience wasn't so good at those times.
~*~
My internal ping-pong ricochet is set in motion. Oh gawd. This is not where my energy should go. Energy expended again to getting Trump-nation out of my head.
I journal, and that helps, some. Hubby and I talk, and that helps, some. After I get on the road, I make a pit stop along Hwy. 52 and call my daughter. We talk, and that helps, some.
But it again takes Mother Nature to soothe my soul and body.
I arrive at the New River Trail in Galax. My cycling starts very slowly. My main symptoms this day are fatigue, pain radiating from my left hip to knee, tender palms, and my ongoing digestive issues. Add to those the anxiety regarding Trump and his loyalists. I take medicine for my tummy, begin my ride, and repeat to my body and mind - drop it. settle. woman on bike riding in woods. - endeavoring to simply be in the present.
I take in the scenery. The scents of autumn. The sound of my tires on gravel. The crunch of leaves. The sound of rapids in Chestnut Creek. The invisible breeze. Eventually I listen to music through my Bluetooth.
I shuffle thoughts examining my internal, ricocheting, ping-pong-ball response to Trump's words and his rationalists. Think of worst case scenarios. Accept worst case scenarios. Think of most-likely scenarios. Sideways. Upside down. Right side up. Distinguish "normal" from Trump's "abnormal" and how to stay grounded despite the "abnormal." Delineate facts from my own emotional filters. Endeavor to pinpoint what I feel and why.
Why does it bother me so? What can I do about any of this crap anyway?
Between it all I repeat - drop it. settle. woman on bike riding in woods.
After an hour and fifteen minutes, I take a thirty-minute break. I sit alone in the woods by the New River. The trees sway in the autumn breeze. Leaves float to the ground. The tangles in my mind clear. My heart settles. Fatigue and pain are relieved and so are my tummy issues. Two cyclists approach, and we have a fun-filled conversation.
As I start my trip back down the trail to Galax, I whisper, "I'd like to see Great Heron. And some deer."
A few minutes later I spy Great Heron standing tall in Chestnut Creek. I smile, content. Then I pump my fist, Yes! Teary-eyed and energized, my heart fills with gratitude. Mother Nature will not disappoint.
I see seven deer on my cycle-ride back.
Later, on my drive home along the Blue Ridge Parkway, I see nine more deer.
As I eat supper at an overlook - witnessing a sunset with pink, wispy, cotton candy clouds stretched over a blue-gray-purple canvas touching tops of mountains and dips of valleys - I feel whole, knowing the feeling will be fleeting but wanting so badly for it to never end.
I lay back in the reclining dentist chair. Time to add another crown. I reckon if we didn't have crowns, I'd have only gums where my molars root.
I'm always impressed how dentist staff can understand what I'm saying when I "talk" while they work in my mouth. My hygienist is especially adept at understanding the guttural language.
I actually like going to my dentist. I really love the staff. Always pleasant and cheerful. It's such an uplifting atmosphere. I don't like being drilled, etc. But, it's not too bad in the scheme of life.
Dr. Dentist walks in, his pleasant self. He points at my hand-and-wrist braces. "You going into a boxing match?" he jokes.
"I'm gonna box Trump up side the ears," I respond in kind, not knowing if Dr. Dentist is a Trump supporter or not.
"Oh my gosh. I know," he says. "I've quit listening to or reading the man for the most part. I just end up upset and agitated. He is who he is. Nothing I do will change him."
"Right," I reply.
~*~
Tuesday night, prior to Thursday.
I decide that beginning Wednesday I'd take a break from reading current politics, including Trump's bombastic tweets.
But Wednesday takes a different turn. I end up spending hours in my head working through thoughts regarding Trump, his supporters, media from all sides, and bottom lines setting off an angst that ricochets like a rouge ping-pong ball, internally bouncing like a confused compass needle. To add to that, I handle a couple stressful circumstances and then have two separate odd encounters with strangers in downtown Mt. Airy. I think, I'm surrounded by crazy people.
It was ending up a weird Wednesday, thus far.
I had gone to Mt. Airy to ride its Greenway. But by the time I arrive at the Greenway, I am exhausted. Not that I had much energy when the day started.
Carol, do you just go home and go to bed?
I remind myself that cycling through the woods often helps my physical and mental fatigue. I opt to ride.
Mother Nature works her magic. Anxiety melts. My body and mind are soothed. I see my groundhog friend and the two great herons that make Ararat River their home.
~*~
Dr. Dentist's words the next day, on Thursday, remind me of what I had decided on Tuesday night.
Friday.
I do okay with my politicalless and Trumpless endeavor.
I dedicate Saturday to a mountain day-trip and cycling on the New River Trail. It will take my entire focus. But it will be worth it, I hope.
~*~
Saturday morning.
Unfortunately I look at the news and read Trump's tweets blaming Puerto Rico for not doing enough to help themselves in their dire circumstances...ten days going at that point.
What. The. Fuck. I didn't think even Trump could sink this low.
I was stunned, but only momentarily.
This is Trump. This is what he is. He's a megalomaniac.
His words were cruel. Cruel words from a cruel, selfish, heartless, without-conscience, sliver-spooned-golden-toilet-sitting, interested-only-in-his-own-glorification liar.
I had viewed a couple videos the night before from Mayor Cruz. Yes, she sounded over the top. Yes, she sounded desperate. But it's an over-the-top, desperate situation. I thought she went too far with her genocide statement. But I couldn't criticize it or hold judgement against her. I have never lived through a disaster like Puerto Rico was dealing with. And they are headed into day ten! Ten days of this crap! 24/7.
Even, even, even if his verbal attacks toward Mayor Cruz were factually correct, it's still cruel and morally wrong for him to express those opinions while they're dealing with this shit. And it's ten days in! They're exhausted beyond anything most of us can imagine.
I haven't read or seen anyone disparage first responders. I've read just the opposite. Perhaps Trump is lying? Surely not.
And to blame Mayor Cruz and Puerto Rican "others" for wanting everything done for them and not being able to get their people to work together? My god. Talk about victim blaming.
And then for Trump to accuse the Mayor of colluding with the Democrats to make him and his administration look bad? This man doth project his own tactics, perhaps?
Poor Trump. He is the victim of the media and the opposing political party.
What an ass.
How can anyone with good conscience rationalize and support such an outwardly, cruel, inhumane son of a bitch?
You know how Carol. You did it. Wierwille. Martindale. Rivenbark. Knapp.
But maybe your conscience wasn't so good at those times.
~*~
My internal ping-pong ricochet is set in motion. Oh gawd. This is not where my energy should go. Energy expended again to getting Trump-nation out of my head.
I journal, and that helps, some. Hubby and I talk, and that helps, some. After I get on the road, I make a pit stop along Hwy. 52 and call my daughter. We talk, and that helps, some.
But it again takes Mother Nature to soothe my soul and body.
I arrive at the New River Trail in Galax. My cycling starts very slowly. My main symptoms this day are fatigue, pain radiating from my left hip to knee, tender palms, and my ongoing digestive issues. Add to those the anxiety regarding Trump and his loyalists. I take medicine for my tummy, begin my ride, and repeat to my body and mind - drop it. settle. woman on bike riding in woods. - endeavoring to simply be in the present.
I take in the scenery. The scents of autumn. The sound of my tires on gravel. The crunch of leaves. The sound of rapids in Chestnut Creek. The invisible breeze. Eventually I listen to music through my Bluetooth.
I shuffle thoughts examining my internal, ricocheting, ping-pong-ball response to Trump's words and his rationalists. Think of worst case scenarios. Accept worst case scenarios. Think of most-likely scenarios. Sideways. Upside down. Right side up. Distinguish "normal" from Trump's "abnormal" and how to stay grounded despite the "abnormal." Delineate facts from my own emotional filters. Endeavor to pinpoint what I feel and why.
Why does it bother me so? What can I do about any of this crap anyway?
Between it all I repeat - drop it. settle. woman on bike riding in woods.
After an hour and fifteen minutes, I take a thirty-minute break. I sit alone in the woods by the New River. The trees sway in the autumn breeze. Leaves float to the ground. The tangles in my mind clear. My heart settles. Fatigue and pain are relieved and so are my tummy issues. Two cyclists approach, and we have a fun-filled conversation.
As I start my trip back down the trail to Galax, I whisper, "I'd like to see Great Heron. And some deer."
A few minutes later I spy Great Heron standing tall in Chestnut Creek. I smile, content. Then I pump my fist, Yes! Teary-eyed and energized, my heart fills with gratitude. Mother Nature will not disappoint.
I see seven deer on my cycle-ride back.
Later, on my drive home along the Blue Ridge Parkway, I see nine more deer.
As I eat supper at an overlook - witnessing a sunset with pink, wispy, cotton candy clouds stretched over a blue-gray-purple canvas touching tops of mountains and dips of valleys - I feel whole, knowing the feeling will be fleeting but wanting so badly for it to never end.