I had to share this video by LindainLasVegas over on Youtube. To all my loved ones and everyone else fighting the fight, may you have all the spunk and courage that this awesome woman has carried with her:
Archive for the Category » Life «
03
Feb
2012
2012
Of course, there are many more people dealing with what I have, but on really painful nights, it doesn’t make a person feel any less alone. So I started looking around a bit and came across this person who has a great blog raising awareness called JUST ME. She also has a Facebook page to ‘like’ and Twitter, too.
She has some videos of her seizures that illustrate what I deal with each day, so I thought I’d share, not to rub anything in but for better understanding. You can also see how when it first hit really hard about a year ago, that original 4-hour seizure broke my recliner. Thankfully, the meds at least keep them down to a few minutes, generally. Half hour to forty-five minutes tops.
Anyway, here are her videos, also found on her YouTube page:
*Note: This woman is going through a lot of pain and suffering. Be warned.
There are still a lot of doctors out there who don’t understand this condition, and they think that doping the patients up with anti-psychotics will take care of it all, like one doctor first tried to give me Depakote and dump me off onto a psychologist (thankfully, the second neurologist I went to specializes in Conversion Disorder). Well, this is a mental condition, but it’s not a mental condition, as in, we’re not crazy so the illness does not get treated as such. Be sure to read her blog and help raise awareness.
02
Feb
2012
2012
Sure, there are downsides to everything, but if you’re observant enough, or patient enough, you’ll find there are upsides.
Last night, for instance, I was struck with a seizure that planted muscle spasms all across my face. It was like Andre the Giant had his hand there and was squeezing with all his might, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it but cry. The stress of it caused me to be paralyzed, so I couldn’t take any pills to relieve the pain for about an hour. When I finally did, I went on to bed and crashed.
This morning…
I had the equivalent of a brief acid trip in the bathroom. The designs in the wood grain leaped out and began dancing around. The piping on the water heater whipped about all happy-like, and the stickers on its tank zoomed in and out in what I can only describe as, well, psychedelic.
It was the best time I’ve ever had while taking a shit.
And upsides like that help me get through the downsides. I’m sure you have some, as well.
Category: Life
Tags: Conversion Disorder, downside, hallucination, seizure, trip, upside Leave a Comment
29
Jan
2012
2012
If I don’t go right to bed after taking my night-time pills, I tend to get pretty goofy and there’s no telling what I’ll do or say. I try to stay off of the Internet to avoid making strange blog posts like this one. Last night, I remember doing something funny, though, so I thought I’d type it up real quick.
At around midnight, I talked to a friend on Skype for a bit, making very little sense I’m sure, and then I decided to make Robin some s’mores. She was sleeping, of course, so imagine me stumbling around with a sticky mess on a plate, and slurring to groggy Robin, “Wobin, I haf smurrs. Eet th’ smurrs!”
She got up and enjoyed the unexpected treat, then helped me to bed before I fell down in the kitchen.
11
Jan
2012
2012
For those who don’t know, we have two dogs that had both been abused in the past. They were from no-kill shelters but were scheduled to be put down, nonetheless, because they were considered un-adoptable by the powers-that-be. It’s mostly because they couldn’t trust anyone due to prior treatment.
Well, when our German Shepherd, Bear, passed away several years ago, we wanted to honor his death by rescuing a dog. The closest local dog we could find to a GS was a GS/Border Collie mix named Nash, one of the dogs described above. He took to us well, to the shelter’s surprise, so we took him home. Here he is:
We were doing so well with him that six months later, they asked to give us a similar case, a terrier mix named Opal, and we agreed. We love ‘em both.
Now, Nash is lovable and timid as he can be. Pat him on the butt and he’ll be your friend for life. But he can be a fierce watch dog if caught by surprise, and unfortunately, there are two things that set Nash off: silver hair and tool belts. I wonder if they represent whomever used to abuse him, and they unleash some sort of trigger for him similar to PTSD.
On Monday, our favorite guy for working on heater-related stuff came over to replace our water heater. He knocked on our door and Robin said “Come in!” without thinking about needing to put up the dogs first. It was one of those automatic things we all do on occasion. So he stepped in and Nash had him pinned to the wall.
I stepped up and said, “Take your tool belt off.” See, this happened once before and it worked. Well, Nash is smart and he didn’t fall for it this time. He stayed his ground. So I grabbed him by the collar while the guy stepped back out the door, and I try to get him to go to another room so I could shut him in where everyone would be safe. He was like a rock – wouldn’t budge. I put my legs against his butt and shuffled to the next room, pushing him along. He growled a little but moved.
When we reached the room, I let go and he gave me a mean look. Things seem okay until I went to close the door. That’s when he lost it and lashed at me three times, biting hard. A tooth made a deep hole in my right wrist and mangled it up pretty good. It was all in the meat, though, no arteries or tendons were damaged and it’s healing okay. He also chipped the hell out of my right thumb nail – no big deal – and he bruised/ripped my left ring finger on the top and bottom.
While it was happening, I smacked him on the nose until he stopped. Unless he’s going for my throat or crotch or something, I’m won’t kick or punch my own dog or whatever, especially knowing that is the sort of treatment that most likely did this to him in the first place.
Anyway, I got the door closed on him, and not a minute later opened it again. He was immediately trying to lick my wounds and trying to make things right. He knew that he’d done something horribly wrong and lost control. I couldn’t be angry at him. I’d be happier to get my hands on whoever mistreated him. That, and I’d rather I was bitten than the heater guy.
So I’m healing, not typing so much since my wrist rests right on the worst wound. And as timing would have it, Nash and Opal got their rabies shots today, lol! Good thing because there’s no telling what Nash could get from me!
02
Jan
2012
2012
When I was a kid living in Florida, I remember this little tree sapling my parents planted in the front lawn of a mobile home we’d lived in. Oh, they’d planted several throughout my childhood, but I’m talking about a specific one that had as much of an effect on my life perspective as any philosophy or religious proverb ever could.
Let’s say this sapling represented the average negative person with a defeatist attitude. It looked like any other sapling. I don’t remember what kind of tree it was – not important, though it was probably an orange tree. Anyway, it was weak and flimsy, so it was held upright by your average wooden stake:
Time went by, and the little sapling withered up and died. Nothing too surprising, right? Well, when we went to pull it all up for the trash, we discovered why. The wooden stake had taken root. It had starved out the little tree and there were even little twigs starting to grow from it.
That stake knew that it’s never too late to bounce back, regardless of what life puts you through.
Attitude is everything.
31
Dec
2011
2011
I want to wish everyone a happy and safe New Year’s Eve.
Any resolutions? I usually don’t take them very seriously because they’re rarely kept, but I do have a strong plan for 2012. Less drama, less stress, more productivity, more positive perspectives. Honestly, I strive for that, anyway, and it doesn’t always work but hey, we’re only human, right?
Still, that’s the goal. Well, that and maybe to look like Grendel’s mom or something.
Until then, take it over, Prince!
30
Dec
2011
2011
This is a funny – and 100% true – story about my first time trying champagne, and how it made me sick of the smell of coconut for several years afterward.
It was the mid-90s and I’d been invited to a friend’s wedding. It was at his parents’ house, the ceremony held in their backyard. I was dressed in a long-sleeved white dress shirt and black slacks. I’d arrived early so I walked around in search of someone to talk to and ended up sitting in the rear of the yard, near a shed, with an older lady dressed a bit Goth.
She indicated that a nearby cooler had all the champagne for the reception, and it wouldn’t hurt to get into one of them, especially when I admitted to never having it before. POP! went the cork and… wow. It went down like candy and hit unexpectedly hard. I think she was getting a kick out of it.
Time went on and we got into another bottle or two. I hadn’t even realized that the ceremony had begun behind me! There was a point when she handed me a bottle to open when the preacher was saying, “Anyone with an objection to this wedding, speak now or forever hold their peace…” POP! I looked around and all eyes were on me. I said, “No objections.”
The reception began and I remained where I was, mainly because I was too wasted to go anywhere else. That was, of course, until someone put some money in my shirt pocket to go dance with the bride. Why, yes! Certainly! I’d be happy to dance with her!
I stumbled up to her and asked her to dance. She looked lovely in her dress. I took her by both hands and began dancing with her… well, more like dragging her around with a big smile on my face. I was tall and broad-shouldered while she was short, red-haired and very petite. At the end of the song, I said, “Dip” and dipped her… straight to the ground so the pretty dress was flat on the dirt, and then I yanked her right back up by one arm.
Did I mention she had cerebral palsy? Poor girl, but she seemed amused. I think. I hope.
Somewhere, someone probably has that on a VHS tape, and I pray that it never makes it to YouTube!
After that dance of all dances, I wandered into the house to find a bathroom. I found it, and I think I used it properly. Finding my way back out was another story. In my search, however, I found a tray of homemade hot wings, and anyone who knows me knows that I’m a sucker for chicken. So there was young, drunk Jerrod with hot wing sauce on his lips and fingers.
I finally made it back outside and found a metal folding chair to sit on. Shortly afterward, I realized how poorly hot wings agreed with champagne. I leaned to one side and threw them up. Unfortunately, I didn’t lean over far enough, and now the once-white sleeve on my right arm was red-orange.
A confused little girl stopped in front of me and said, “What’s wrong with him?”
My friend’s father, who was no stranger to alcohol, laughed and said, “Nothing. I’ll take him home.” And he did.
Once home, I headed straight to my bathroom to remove my soiled shirt and to urinate, and I couldn’t quite re-fasten my pants, so they fell to my ankles. I shuffled back toward the living room, and here’s where the coconut comes into play:
Attached to the wall next to the bathroom door, I had one of those aerosol air fresheners encased in plastic, where you simply push on the front and it squirts out from the top. This one had a new canister of coconut-scented freshener inside.
On my way out, I stumbled to my right and bumped it with my shoulder. It didn’t just squirt once. It jammed to one side and stuck that way, spraying steadily.
I continued to the living room, walked into the back of my couch and flipped over it. I was now passed out on it, with my legs draped across the back and pants hanging around my ankles. And the overly-sweet smell of coconut emptying itself throughout the room for me to inhale throughout my drunken slumber.
Yeah, I was sick later, and that is why the smell of coconut troubled me in the following years.
29
Dec
2011
2011
*Note: I’m about to discuss psychological triggers, rape triggers to be specific, so if you’re sensitive to this sort of thing, please stop here and move on to one of my sillier posts. This post is one of my rare serious ones.
An author friend of mine was recently the victim of pirating. Not just a few of his books, but a bunch of them, and by so-called fans which makes it worse. No doubt he’s upset. One of the downloaders was a jerk to him on his blog and part of the author’s response contained an analogy that stealing his work was like raping him.
Someone on Twitter took offense and made a big deal about it, and someone on the blog agreed (though very politely – nothing against him, really), and the author apologized.
Because oh my, the things used in an analogy must be equal! I’m waiting for someone to say, “It’s colder than a witch’s tit” only to be approached and informed, “Actually, the politically correct term is Wiccan, and their breasts are typically 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit, same as any other human being.”
I made a snarky joke that rape also means to seize violently, etc, and to pretend that’s what he meant so the author can still get raped. I’ll probably hear about that in the morning.
Then I spent the next hour with bouts of paralysis, spasms, and a nasty migraine thanks, to… you guessed it! Triggers. Since I have conversion disorder, my brain converts any form of stress into various seizure activity.
And having been a rape victim and all… oh, nobody knew? Well, I don’t like to talk about it, but tonight I need to vent to get it off of my mind and I like you folks. And conversion disorder (shit, maybe the whole rape thing is part of the reason – pent-up trauma – damn, do I need a therapist, after all? Don’t answer that!) amplifies the triggers.
This is what got me thinking, and it’s the point of this post. I did a little Google-fu and apparently, these rape analogies are a big no-no because rape victims might read them and it becomes a “rape trigger” for them. It takes them back to the moment that it happened and brings back all the trauma for them, like PTSD. So this is especially bad when there is no warning, like in the middle of a blog post or a TV show, celebrity interview, etc.
This is the reason why Johnny Depp had to apologize for using a rape analogy and so on and so forth. Well, if the word “rape” out of context like that sets off triggers in certain victims, I can understand how people might be sensitive to it, though I don’t see how using any word as a metaphor somehow takes away its strength, as some people claim this does.
Now, before you jump all over me, allow me to explain further:
Those rape analogies don’t bother me one bit. I joke about raping dolphins, ewoks, goats, whatever. I’ve written stories about Bigfoot raping a grizzly bear. You get the point. Rape. Rape. Rape. In a humorous context.
That last paragraph? Easy for me to type. But check this out:
I was raped when I was seventeen. I’d recently been in a big car accident that shoved my skull into my brain, and doctors had put me on psychotic medications rather than deal with the real problem. I didn’t realize how much of an effect they’d have on me, where I might go out with friends and wake up on someone’s floor the next day. I was depressed over my first love who’d cheated on me, so some guys took me to a house that I’d never been to. Those new pills… they were really starting to mess me up. I was given whiskey, a lot of it. This girl was coming on to me. I said “no.” I was feeling so weird, so they said I could rest in a bedroom. The girl came in and tried to mess around but I resisted. She ran off. Then a guy came in and said something about beating my head in with a hammer if I didn’t go along with what she wanted. Apparently, the only way he was getting laid with another girl was if someone was brought along (me) to have sex with the best friend (this girl). I was in no shape to defend myself. She came in and I didn’t resist that time. I was afraid to and I felt trapped, plus my head was swimming everywhere. Afterwards, what was I to do? I was over six feet tall with long hair. If I walked into the police station and said I was raped by a girl my age, I would have been laughed out of the building. WOMEN DON’T RAPE GUYS, M’KAY? The girl became obsessed with me after that and wouldn’t leave me alone, which only made it worse. She’d come around while I was home alone and (those pills had me so confused) she laid all these guilt trips on me. She was also strong and aggressive, convinced that her dead boyfriend would be reincarnated as our baby (never happened, of course). In my loopy state, I was no match for her. I would just freeze up and let her ride me, feeling worse and worse every time. My parents brought up my worsening behavior (panicky, fearful, etc) to the doctors and – I shit you not – I was on Thorazine before all was said and done. Not their fault, though. They didn’t know. A few weeks later, we moved out of state, so I locked it all up in my head and took it with me.
Okay, that paragraph (wall o’ text, whatever) was one of the hardest I’ve ever written (never thought I’d be able to blog about it, to be honest, and it’s taken three hours), and I’m having a hell of a time right now. See the difference? It’s all about the context.
Context is everything, really.
Backing up, reading or hearing a rape analogy does not trigger anything for me because it’s not talking seriously about being raped, and I’m smart enough to know an analogy from the real thing. It’s when people raise a stink about them that causes a trigger.
Funny how people who think they’re being the white knights are actually part of the problem.
Okay, rant over. I hope it made some sense and I didn’t sound like a total jerk. And again, what doesn’t bother me may bother others. Everyone is different. This is me. My perspective based on my personal experience. Your mileage may vary and I didn’t intend to offend other victims out there.
25
Dec
2011
2011
I know what you’re thinking:
But it was still a proud moment for me to be visited by the famous Mr. Hankey, the Christmas Poo years ago, and I was able to snap a photo before he disappeared in a cloud of toilet paper to the sewers below. I’d sent it to the South Park boys but never received a response – never could figure out why.
Anyhoo, Merry Christmas! And here’s some more shits and giggles for ya, some true, some not.
First the true:
Yesterday morning, I took a shit… wait, there’s more. As I was leaving the restroom, I had a spell in the hallway and fell down. When I was able to move again, I told Robin that shit indeed floats, because look what happened when I got rid of mine. *rimshot!*
Now for a fart joke that my mother told me when she showed up today:
Old man passes gas and says, “Seven points.”
His wife rolls over and says, “What in the world was that?”
The old man replied, “It’s fart football.”
A few minutes later, his wife lets one go and says, “Touchdown, tie score.”
After about five minutes, the old man lets another one go and says, “Aha, I’m ahead 14 to 7.”
Not to be outdone, the wife rips out another and says, “Touchdown, tie score.” Five seconds go by and she lets out a squeaker. “Field goal. I lead 17 to 14.”
Now the pressure is on the old man. He refuses to get beaten by a woman, so he strains real hard. Since defeat is totally unacceptable, he gives it everything he’s got, and accidentally shits in the bed.
The wife says, “What the hell was that?”
The old man says, “Half time, switch sides.”
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