Abide

Tangibly Planning & Tracking

I have been advised over these not-well years to keep a symptom diary, but have never managed to do it. I found it depressing. But I think I've found a system that will work for me: Tangible Plans™ {Starter Kit & Workshop}.

The Starter Kit & Workshop comes with the following: 
*Letter Size and Junque Journal* Size Templates
*Over 500 pre-made pieces divided into Sector folders
*Attatchers and Word Art scaled perfect size for this project
*All Sectors to build your own Templates if desired
*1 Tutorial on how to build your pages and 1 tutorial with binding ideas

I use Tangie's work a lot in my art journal, and it occurred to me that making a symptom diary visually interesting might help me stick with it. I've been playing with this for a couple of weeks now, and so far I am sticking with it. 

[More under the cut.]

Some Suggestions

Those look like mystery tracks, don't they?

Those are Lucy's front paws and nose, as she reached up to eat the snow. I was there, so I could read them.

The mystery tracks of this illness are not, apparently, so easily deciphered. There they are, for all to see -- but what made them?

This landed in my Google Alerts folder:

Guilt, Shame, & Responsibility

I didn't ask to be born!

For some reason, trying to sleep in the early morning, I think of this adolescent wail. And I think, all around this world -- probably across the galaxy -- people are born into poverty and abuse, slavery and illness, hardship and brokenness -- and none of us asked for this. Of course, some philosophies and religions suggest that we did, but set that aside for the moment.

When I worked with sex offenders, their victims and their wives, the wives (especially wives of men who abused their own children) would often claim the blame for the abuse. There are, of course, some wives, mothers, girlfriends, who do know -- even condone -- their husband's crimes. But usually, not. Yes, it is possible to not know; or to suspect, but deny.

After awhile, I began to see these assertions of guilt as a rather sophisticated avoidance of responsibility. As long as a mother blames herself for her husband's behavior, she is distracted from her own. She did not abuse the child. But perhaps she did ignore the complaints of her children; refuse to hear. Perhaps she feared change; feared how things would be if the denial stopped. Feared what she would lose.

She can't change his behavior; she can only change her own -- and that means, often (usually) great upheaval for the protection of her children.

Why am I thinking of this now, and why am I posting it here, on a blog about illness?

Because I think I've been using the same mechanism. By blaming myself for being ill -- either for somehow bringing it on myself, or for somehow not curing myself -- I avoid responsibility for dealing with the fact of it. Here it is. Now what?

So when it's bad -- when I can't keep the house, or manage daily chores, or walk the dogs or write a blog post -- I feel shame. I feel guilt.

This is not helpful, both because I did not, indeed, ask for this -- but also because such feelings block my responsibility for finding a solution. I am not responsible for being ill; I am responsible for managing it. I've gone around and around this over the years -- too many years -- sometimes doing better; sometimes worse.

Where is the exit?

 

NaNoWriMo: Seeking Advice

So, I'm thinking very seriously about trying this. In fact, I sent for and have read the first four chapters of the book, which only makes me more determined. I've already signed up.

But I know it's a hard push to my limits, and I'm trying to outline an approach that will help me accomplish it. Because I really want to not just try, but to finish.

Have any of you (who wrestle with illness) done this, or something similar? How did you go about it?

I can't find my wrist braces, which on the upside means I haven't needed them in a long time. They're probably lent out, or under some large piece of furniture. I'll keep looking.

I plan to use the old desktop computer -- it's useless for photos or online, but quite adequate for word processing, and by far the best choice ergonomically. I've been doing all the computer maintenance stuff the past few days, scanning for viruses and adware, defragmenting the hard drive, and so on.

Tentative schedule: after walking the dogs in the morning (or whenever I get up) one hour (I'll set a timer) at the keyboard; break for a snack and a stretch; then one more hour. Walking the dogs is a necessary for them, and for me. Other chores (groceryshopping excepted) can be postponed. I think. I can sleep again later in the day if I need to. 

I'll stock up on food, and do laundry, in the next few days. I'll continue to try to post daily at Watermark, but without high expectations as to quality. I'll let myself order pizzas.

Any advice or suggestions on what I must, and must not, do?

Queen of Denial

This past week I've been reminded of my most consistent -- and often effective -- coping mechanism: denial. As long as I do almost nothing, I can pretend, at some level, that I'm not actually ill; not truly impaired. I'm just taking it easy. That's all.

But then something comes along that I really want to do. That I do.

And then comes the payback -- days of pain and inertia; that wall of fatigue.

Do I want to stay inert, and so find comfort in denial?

Or do I want to try harder, do more, and be reminded?

Help!

Photo by Abigail Robinson ~ click for larger image

Nancy asks:

What's been terribly troubling me this week, with the holidays approaching and my perfectionistic parents visiting for a day, is how do you guys get any housework done? I tried to do some today and am in so much pain I can hardly type . . .  I used to have a cleaning lady but the price of my meds has forced me to cancel her. I can't take it. The clutter/??mess is driving me crazy (in addition to the other symptoms of CFIDS). Any suggestions?

How do I take care of my house? Short answer: I don't. I'm in exactly the same circumstance -- I used to have a house cleaner, and can no longer afford it. This past year (or more) has been terrible, physically, and so the clutter and the dust -- and the animal fur -- grow on every surface.

[&%!!@#!! This was a long post and I've just lost the rest of it -- I'll come back a bit later and redo it.]