I received some energetic healing work earlier this evening from Maria, and it was really interesting. We were on the phone for an hour, and she worked remotely (I’m in Louisville, Kentucky; and she’s in Florida) to untie my energetic knots (or something like that). I could feel her doing it, and it fatigued me and triggered my ataxia, which acts up ever so often. She said she could sense something wrong with me neurologically. I told her I’ve always been fatigued, and that I’ve wondered if I have multiple sclerosis; because without my alertness aid, I require 11 to 13 hours of sleep per night. And it’s not a matter of waking up. You can wake me (if you try really, really hard), but it won’t “take”. I’ll just go back to bed. And I’ll try to stay up! I really will. It used to make me miserable when my sleeping cycle would get off due to it. Like, if I’d sleep until 3:00 in the afternoon, I’d be unable to fall asleep again until around 7:00 in the morning. Pure misery. And I’ve been told my whole life, “Try harder. Don’t be so lazy. Just go to bed earlier,” and other idiotic comments from the know-it-alls in my family. I’ve never been happier now that I’m taking an alertness aid, and I also have sedatives to knock myself out with every night. So my days of being up until 7:00 in the morning are over, and thank God!
It felt great for her to acknowledge that and to validate that I’m not lazy. I wasn’t even expecting it to come up, but she sensed it. I strongly suspect it’s multiple sclerosis. That’s what I’ve always intuited. It’s a different experience for everyone who has it. For me, the fatigue is constant. It might go away if I were to become unmedicated and manic, but trust Meg on this: mania is not the right treatment for fatigue. Just no.
I stumbled upon my alertness aid online by researching multiple sclerosis. That’s what the drug’s for: people with MS-related fatigue. I’ve been diagnosed as having fatigue, but that’s the end of the diagnostic trail. The doctors gave up after that.
I don’t worry about it, the multiple sclerosis. It’s just something about me, like how I’d get exhausted from exercise at the age of fourteen, when I was in the best shape of my life; and I couldn’t do deep knee bends at that age, either. I was in ballet, but I remember seeing some classmates shimmy down and then come back up while rehearsing for Little Shop of Horrors (I played the freaked-out patient in Orin Scrivello’s office, which was odd foreshadowing of how my life would turn out), and I knew I couldn’t do it like that without holding onto something.
I’m inherently weak. This is fact. I can’t run. Anwyay, to hear Maria say that it’s something neurological gave me a lot of validation. And it’s no huge deal. I didn’t come into this life to express myself athletically. I’m more emotionally, mentally, creatively, interactively, and spiritually oriented. Can’t be everything!
Actually, that’s not true. My first boyfriend, a real loser, was a genius thrice over. I’m not exaggerating. (Would I want to talk him up for any reason?) He was a genius musically, artistically, and intellectually. I’ve never encountered the like before or since, and I don’t expect to. He composed beautiful music that I wish I still had on file. (It was on an old computer that got tossed.) He painted beautiful artwork that touched me deeply and had strong spiritual undertones. He knew about intellectual topics I’ve never heard of and was incredibly intelligent.
He had the worst attitude, though. He’d dropped out of school at fourteen to work full-time and help support his family. Sounds like a nice thing to do, right? He told me, maybe ten years later (I guess we were around 24 when we dated) that he wanted to go back to school.
I said, “Great! Get your GED, and you can enroll in art college. You’re so talented.”
“No!” he yelled. “I don’t deserve to succeed, not ever, because I’ve made such horrible decisions with my life.”
“Oh, nonsense,” I said. “Sure you do!”
But he pouted and wouldn’t budge. In fact, he got mad at me for being supportive. You can’t make this stuff up. He truly wanted to wallow in self-pity over something stupid than move on with his life. I wound up wondering why God gave all those talents to someone who didn’t appreciate them and would likely squander them. Indeed, I haven’t heard from him in around twenty years, and he’s not famous yet. With his levels of ability, he should be famous. I can’t even find him on social media. Maybe he died tragically…? (No clue.)
He used to be visited by the shadow people. I don’t know much about the shadow people, but he did. They haunted him on the astral plane because of his overblown ego, from how he explained it to me. (Although how he managed to explain that without dissing his own ego is lost in my memory.) Apparently, that’s what the shadow people do–they pester people who puff themselves up too much. He’d fall asleep for a nap, and immediately, he’d start twitching and tossing about. Then he’d sit up, terrified, and say they’d come again. I know that sounds like a professional performance, but I believed him. I don’t think he was faking it. He couldn’t understand why they wouldn’t leave him alone. Uh, gee, maybe because he was so stuck on himself? His ego was enormous. He was a lot like a male version of Oprah Winfrey, only without the success. This probably goes without saying, but I’m glad we broke up. [Eyeroll.]
I’ve been listening to sad music lately and feeling sad.
Anyway, when Maria started working with my energy, I could feel my whole system being assaulted. That sounds bad, but it was helpful. I feel fine now, but I crashed afterward. It literally fatigued me to the point that my hands started closing themselves again. Ataxia is the term for that. It’s a neurological symptom. (Speaking of neurological issues, in the absense of any sort of helpful diagnosis, I once worked the theory that I have gluten ataxia. I spent a whole year off the gluten, but my health and fatigue didn’t improve. I’m fairly certain that bread isn’t good for me, and I’m sensitive to the effects of it, but at the heart of the matter, cutting out bread didn’t help.) (And oh my gosh, the bread withdrawal! It would probably be just as hard to come off heroin. Pure physical pain. I was having Lhermitte’s sign every two seconds. That’s when your head flashes like lightning. It doesn’t feel good.)
Anyway, yeah, I’m sad lately. But I’m sure I’ll be happy again to write more happytimes rainbow poetry.