On This Episode: HKPP, Myotonia, Depression, Love, and Living Alone

Yes, the title is a play on words. I'm recovering from another episode of Periodic Paralysis, complete with myotonia in one leg and the rest of me mildly paralyzed. The pain when myotonia strikes is a 10 on the pain scale every time, resulting in yelling and nausea/vomiting and nearly passing out. Then I can't put my leg on the ground for hours or sometimes days because it's so drawn up. Occasionally, I am unable to keep food or drink in me for a day or three...that's where I am at the moment. Somewhat mobile again, but not functioning.

My body completely revolts when the bad episodes happen, and life is just terrible all-around. I face this alone, and my feelings fluctuate between being thankful nobody is here to have to deal with this and anger and despair over the world's complete lack of understanding. I realize there isn't a thing anybody can do for me, but a thread of "give a damn" would be kind. At the very least, I would feel like it matters whether I'm dead or alive. I'm not feeling it. I haven't for 30 years.

I read a lot of articles about love. It's an interesting subject to me, but I don't expect I will ever put the things I've read or learned into action with the exception of friendships, which are more important than I can express and I guard them with my life. I manage to be a dreamer and a realist at the same time. I lie in bed and imagine a different me, but the reality is that this is the me I'm stuck with and I'm glad that there is no man (or child) feeling trapped, anxious, and/or resentful. I refuse to coexist that way...I cannot do it. I am an empath and I would feel more sorry for my significant other than for myself, to the point of detriment. I know me. I love people just like anybody else. Dare I say, I am more passionate than some people, without a doubt. My love is intense.

And because of that love, I would never drag an innocent soul into my personal hell.

If you knew my story...

I'm sure I stepped on some toes with the last post, but it needed to be said.

If you knew my story - everything I've seen and heard and done and been put through as a result of religious fundamentalism - my anger and disgust would make a lot of sense. For over 30 years, I was a doormat to a wide variety of obsessive-compulsive control freaks. I've held in my feelings to the point of implosion.

That point arrived when my mother died, and has been continuously fueled by the constant stream of religious abuse I see in the news and all around me.

I am still theistic, and this is not about God. It's about selfish people using God's name to serve their desires and justify their sicknesses.

If I live long enough to write a memoir someday, I'll tell my story.

And you will either be self-righteously offended, or you will understand.

Either way, I won't regret it.