Tag Archives: injuries

Real Life

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Sometimes Real Life happens and it gets in the way of blogging. My last week has been very Real. Here’s what I haven’t been blogging about:

1) Boring, unpleasant health stuff. Migraines, an injury, illness, the whole shebang.

2) Work. My husband started his new job and has been away more, so I have been busy with the children. I’ve also been working on a side project to try and make a little extra money.

3) Arts & Crafts. I’ve been writing a book for some time and have been really focused on that this week. I’ve also made some fun items for a care package, and I’m knitting a little something just for me. Like many yarn crafters, I rarely make anything just for myself, but I found some beautiful unique yarn several months ago that I fell in love with. I’ve been searching for just the right project for it, and finally found a suitable one.

4) Prayer and study. God has been reaching and calling to me in this season, and I have hungered for Him. He has brought us so many blessings in this season that no one would choose for their family. He’s allowed me to participate in some exciting areas of ministry, and in the process my family underwent the most powerful spiritual attack we have ever seen. But God opened up the heavens and kept us safe. We experienced many wonderful surprises and crazy blessings.

So, that’s what’s been going on on this side of the blog. I hope to share some more details of what God is doing in, for, and with my family soon. Bless you all.

Love Story, Part II: My Detour

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The guitarist and I talked and flirted the evening away. I could not believe he liked me! At the end of the night, I gave him my number. I grinned the whole way home. We spoke on the phone a couple of times that week, and then I totaled my car. That is a story in and of itself that I will save for later, what you need to know for this story is that I suffered a Grade III concussion. Because the concussion was so severe, I missed several weeks of school. I couldn’t remember anything from the morning of the accident until I woke up after, and I could not retain any new information. The morning after the accident, the guitarist called to check on me. Several of our classmates had driven by the wreckage on the way to school, so word spread quickly. He asked if I’d like to see a movie when I felt up to it, and I said yes. I joke that I only agreed to go out with him because I wasn’t thinking clearly, between the head injury and the teenage hormones. There’s probably more truth to that than I’d like to believe.

This boy knew how to play the game. He told me what I wanted to hear in dulcet tones, dripping with honey, and I lapped up every word. He even started going to church with me, and we prayed and read the Bible together. We moved fast and did some things I’m not proud of, and quickly fell into puppy-love. We talked about our futures and made the starry-eyed plans that young lovers make. Then, at the Prom, he requested Our Song. While we slow-danced, pressed too close together, he slipped a tiny ring onto my finger. We had been dating for a whopping five months and had only known each other for three weeks before that. Yes, we were total idiots.

Shortly before graduation, he developed a serious medical condition and couldn’t walk. For weeks into the summer, I cared for him all day so his parents wouldn’t have to take time off work. At first it was OK, but things started to change. He began to withdraw. When he started to recover, he still let me help him some, but we didn’t talk. I was so confused. And then the hammer fell. He broke it off. I felt nauseous. I couldn’t breathe. How did this happen? What did I do wrong? Why would he do this? A few days later, he called and asked me to come over. He apologized, and we got back together, but something was different. We went back and forth, on again, off again, for months. And then it was over.

No PTSD is NOT demon possession and crap like this, does not help!

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This causes me such deep pain, anger, frustration, and sorrow. Christians, before you go throwing the P-word around read your Bible.

John 9: “9 As He passed by, He saw a man blind from birth. 2 And His disciples asked Him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he would be born blind?” 3 Jesus answered, “It was neither that this man sinned, nor his parents; but it was so that the works of God might be displayed in him. 4 We must work the works of Him who sent Me as long as it is day; night is coming when no one can work. 5 While I am in the world, I am the Light of the world.” 6 When He had said this, He spat on the ground, and made clay of the spittle, and applied the clay to his eyes, 7 and said to him, “Go, wash in the pool of Siloam” (which is translated, Sent). So he went away and washed, and came back seeing.”

Matt 5:45 “so that you may [a]be sons of your Father who is in heaven; for He causes His sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.”
And there are more. Instead of crying demons, how about we all just love those who are suffering, whether we think it’s their own fault or not? A little compassion goes a long way.

Healing From Complex Trauma & PTSD/CPTSD

This is an exert from the link…

“Evangelist groups have had a checkered history of dealing with PTSD, including prominent evangelists who have recently gone on record as saying that “good Christians can’t get PTSD.” For many religious groups, prayer alone is the only valid way of treating mental illness. A 2008 survey by Baylor university Matthew Stanford showed that 36 percent of mentally ill churchgoers are told that their illness is caused by sin while 34 percent are told that it is caused by demonic possession.

http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/media-spotlight/201401/fighting-the-inner-demon

As a result, many churchgoers with psychiatric symptoms find themselves “shunned” by their fellow churchgoers and even their pastors. It has also led to the rise of evangelical camps offering a very different approach for dealing with mental illness.”

Tis is worse http://www.alternet.org/belief/why-right-wing-evangelicals-claim-good-christians-cant-get-ptsd

Some ‘Christians’ just need to SHUT UP!!!!!

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God knows exactly what we need

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even when we don’t.

I live with a physical disability. When my husband proposed, he knew about my assorted medical issues, but he saw I still lived a relatively normal life. He fell in love with this intelligent, resourceful, strong, tenacious, charismatic woman of God who overcame great obstacles. He watched me beat the odds, and when I failed, he held me while I sobbed and then watched me use my failures to accomplish something different. He knew that living with me would present some unusual challenges because of my health. And he proposed anyway, because I was so much more than my challenges. He promised my tearful mother that he would take good care of me, making the multiple yearly ER visits and the various assorted doctors appointments. We loved each other, we were young and optimistic and together, we could conquer anything. But neither of us could have predicted my future inability to function adequately in society.

As my health declined over the past few years, he struggled to accept the severity. And yesterday, he finally did. It nearly killed him. He lost hope in the long, dark night. Then today went just a little bit better. And tonight, while searching through my computer bag, I found something very dear to him that’s been missing since our move. Something he’d lost hope that he would ever see again. I’ve dug through that bag several times since we’ve been here, but it’s a small item and the same color as the lining of my bag. Still, I don’t know how I missed it before. But it was like a tiny love note from God, telling him “See? Anything is possible. I can restore all that is lost. I love you, here’s a small gift. Don’t give up hope.” That may seem silly to some of you, but for my husband it was a win he desperately needed. Some might call it luck; personally I don’t believe in that.

“Whoever can be trusted with very little can also be trusted with much, and whoever is dishonest with very little will also be dishonest with much.” Luke 16:10

We feel like God spoke this verse into my husband’s soul tonight in a way that he could understand. And he let me be a part of it. Little ole me. What a privilege.

Share Your Best Blog Post | SFoxWriting’s Blog

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Share Your Best Blog Post | SFoxWriting’s Blog. What a great idea from a prolific blogger! Thanks SFox!

Busy here. Dealing with a health crisis along with the regular challenges of life. But don’t worry little blog, I am still working and praying through a new post for you soon. In happy news, the former best friend who hasn’t spoken a word to me in over a month is acknowledging my existence again. Things are broken, oh so broken. I don’t know if we will ever return to what we once shared. But some small piece of healing happened today, and for today it is enough.

Food for Thought, Part V

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Read the first four parts here, here, here, and here.

In my house, we lived out an emotional script. Sometimes there were limited choices, other times there was only one permissible emotion. If we expressed an inappropriate emotion, sometimes we were simply told not to feel that way, to feel this way instead. Other times we were instructed to express the prescribed emotion, and punished if we failed to comply.

I don’t remember being happy very much as a young child, but I know I was at least sometimes. In middle childhood, happiness rarely happened for me. I often felt confused, sad, frustrated, or angry. If I expressed those feelings at an unacceptable time, even non-verbally, I was ignored, belittled, or corrected. My emotional state defaulted to numbness. As I grew, the numbness grew. Eventually I stopped feeling happy almost entirely. I stopped feeling much of anything most of the time. Since I didn’t feel sad all the time, and people didn’t talk about depression, I had no idea that I had lived with clinical depression for most of my life.

I suffer from a disorder that causes my joints to dislocate extremely easily, sometimes in ridiculous ways. Like dislocating a shoulder while putting on a loose t-shirt. It happened that first semester of college, a few weeks in. I hadn’t even gotten my head to the neck hole, my arm got stuck in the air. When the triage nurse at the ER took my medical history and asked if I had a history of depression, naturally I said no. The ER doctor prescribed me Percocet, which apparently mixes poorly with mood disorders. I experienced massive mood swings while taking it. Lying in bed, I thought Well, I guess it’s time. I did not question what that meant, even though I hadn’t been contemplating suicide or self-harm. I just took every pill in my possession. I have no idea what happened in my brain, just that I had unknowingly been depressed for a long time and that, mixed with Percocet, almost killed me. I got back into bed with a smile on my face, feeling serene, high, sick… and I waited. Then, darkness crept into the edges of my vision and slowly closed in.

Curve Ball

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Sometimes, you know the other person is wrong. They have HURT YOU, and it’s wrong. You have every right to hurt, they have rubbed salt into an open wound unknowingly or have ripped open a scar. You care for them, want what’s best for them, ache for them. And you are hurting. And so you pray, “Lord, change their heart, open their eyes.” And God whispers into your very core “leave them to Me. Trust Me to take care of them. Let Me work in YOU. ASK Me to work in YOU.” And that is where I find myself tonight. Sometimes, you start out praying for someone who genuinely needs it, unselfishly, but instead of just fixing the other person God addresses your hurt. Instead of saying “yes” and spawning an apology, understanding, compassion, He says “no, beloved. This way. Let it go. I know, you have every right to be hurt. Give Me your rights. Give Me the hurt. Let Me soothe it regardless of what I do with your injurer, just leave them to Me. Forgive, beloved, and let go, and let Me.”  I am not very good at letting go, and God knows this about me. Forgiveness? Sure. But forgetting? Trust? Moving forward? No, those are very hard for me. And so He gives me opportunities to practice, over and over and over again. Often I fail. So we practice some more. And when I fail, He keeps calling to me, gently, Let Me bind up your wounds. But I don’t. So here I am, Lord, struggling to let go, struggling to trust You. Here I am. And here’s my hurt. Help me not to snatch it back this time. Gently pry my fingers open. I want to give this to You. Help me let it go.

Food For Thought, Part III

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As I moved through high school, I experienced periods of healing along with periods of simply getting worse more slowly than before. Sometimes I took two steps forward, one step back. Other times it was ten steps back, then two steps forward, then just crawling forward inch by inch. By graduation day, I knew that I was sick and needed help. I began to recognize some of my disordered thoughts and behaviors for what they were. That didn’t mean I stopped, many times I didn’t know how or was too wrapped up in the illness to care. But I saw that some of my thoughts and behaviors were abnormal and unhealthy. Sometimes I was afraid, sometimes I just wanted to be normal, but I wasn’t quite to the place of wanting to fully heal just yet. I’d been sick for so long that I felt it was a large part of my identity, and I wasn’t ready to let it go.

After graduation, I went to my second-choice college. In orientation, the counselors from the health center each spoke about some of the common problems new college students face and what resources were available on campus and in town to help us navigate these challenges. One of the things covered was eating disorders. My heart fluttered as I listened and heard specific things about myself included in the descriptions of disordered thinking and behavior. I was sicker than I’d thought, and I was not alone, not by a long shot. Things I thought I owned were common.

I left that orientation session a little shell-shocked from the new information. I tucked the resources away in the back of my mind, in case I ever felt ready to use them. But the disease had so consumed me, I wanted to see how sick I could get before I had to start getting well. How thin could I REALLY get? How hard could I push my body? How long could I deal with the blackouts and other side effects before collapsing in public, and thus “getting caught?”  This is how sick I was. I actually thought those things. I wanted to push my body to the brink of death, just to see where the brink was. I didn’t care if I fell over the edge. I didn’t consciously want to die, but if I did, I thought I was OK with that. I wanted to stop, to be free, but I didn’t care about actually getting better. I didn’t think I could. I just wanted to be free from the strict litany of rules and the urges and the fun-house mirror distortions. But I didn’t want to be fat, to be noticed, to get hurt again.

Deep within me, the Holy Spirit had been whispering to me for a long time. No. Beloved. Stop. No. Sometimes louder. This is wrong! You’re hurting yourself! It hurts ME when you do these things. Can’t you see I have plans for you? Beloved.  And I would tell him Lord, I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop. Please don’t make me. This is MINE, I don’t want to give it to You and anyway, I don’t know how. I do not trust You with this part of me. Don’t let people see me. I just don’t want to hurt anymore. This doesn’t hurt. Let me have this. It’s mine. I want to serve You, but I don’t want to get hurt so that means keeping people out. If they can’t see me they can’t hurt me. Just let me do this. Let me disappear. And then God would be silent, and I was alone. I’d feel empty. So I’d try to fill the emptiness with runner’s highs and hunger.

Those first few weeks of college, I reveled in my new-found freedom. With no family meals to worry about, no friends holding my spot at our lunch table, I ate less than ever before. And with a beautiful campus where I could run and hike and a free gym with all kinds of equipment, I was in anorectic/non-purging type bulimic/ED-NOS heaven. I rarely went to the dining hall. I lost weight more quickly than I’d ever been able to at home. And I loved it, but I felt like crap. And of course, it wasn’t enough to appease the disease. It demanded ever more, more pounds shed, more ticks on the pedometer, more time in the gym, fewer calories. I began to black out more frequently. I couldn’t concentrate in class and frequently skipped class to exercise. The numbness and tingling in my extremities got worse. And one day, I finally collapsed during a run. Just blacked out and fell, mid-stride. Fortunately it happened in a well-populated area of campus and a cute boy came to my rescue. He scooped me up like I weighed nothing and carried me to his car, then drove me to the health center. He asked if I wanted him to stay with me, but I told him I’d be OK and gave him a winning smile. I never saw him again.

As I waited to see the nurse, I filled out the necessary forms and took in my surroundings. The medical scale in the corner naturally grabbed my attention. There was a large plant by the check-in counter, and a book shelf filled with those clear plastic brochure holders.  Any mental health-related issue you can imagine a college student dealing with, they had a colorful brochure for it.There were some on eating disorders I made mental notes of; some on depression, learning disorders, pregnancy and STDs, drugs and alcohol. Then it was my turn to see the nurse.

She examined my ankle and felt like it was probably just a sprain, so she splinted it and issued me a loaner pair of crutches. She gave me some samples of Aleve and told me to visit the hospital in the morning for an X-ray if the pain got worse or wasn’t improving, and gave me my discharge information. And then she flipped to a new page on her clipboard. She asked how I was liking school so far, if I was making friends, had I tried any of the clubs or extra curricular activities. She said they ask any student visiting the health center for any reason a few standard questions and smiled. I was caught a little off guard by some of her questions, and the fall had scared me, so I answered more honestly than I otherwise might have. She looked a little concerned and asked if she could introduce me to one of the staff counselors. I said yes, and immediately regretted it.