the wrapup - my life post bootcamp

finally... the blog post I've been meaning to write for the past few months...

It's been about 6 months since that fateful day back in May. 6 months since the day my life was both turned upside down and right side up in the same minute. 6 months since I was both filled with uncertainty and clinging to hope.

I originally decided that if I was ever procrastinating writing a blog post, that I would take that as a sign, and know that it wasn't meant to be.

However my procrastinating and God's pressing at me to sit down and let the words flow weren't quite in agreement with each other.

I've been home from bootcamp for quite some time now.

While I haven't been completely open about the entire experience as of yet, I feel that now would be the appropriate time.

Upon being told I was being forcefully "invited" to attend bootcamp, I was diagnosed with amplified musculoskeletal pain syndrome (AMPS).

While I put a smile on my face after the diagnosis, and while I was able to "be strong" about the whole thing, mostly, it was all for show. It was fake. I knew that the only way to actually enjoy my graduation from high school, was to pretend. So I did. I pretended and then I continued pretending.

I knew before I even left, that bootcamp probably wasn't the program for me. I knew that bootcamp probably wouldn't fix me.

But, I placed all of my trust in God. I decided that I would go in with the proper mindset. If God wanted me to be rid of the monster that had taken over my life, I would be rid of it. If God willed it, it would be done.

I took a chance. I took a shot. I placed all of the hope I could find in a program I didn't have a ton of hope in. Looking back, I've realized that it taught me that it is possible to have hope in any and all situations.

And so I went. I embarked on a new journey that in the back of my mind wasn't going to end well.

I stayed positive and chose to refrain from using the words "I can't".

And I did it. I ran. I jumped. I did squats. I planked. I did burpees. I did more squats. I biked. I worked on my aim. I relearned balance. I ran more.

Cardio became my new best friend. I got to the point where I would watch myself in the wall sized mirrors in awe. Never having seen myself as muscular, the legs I had achieved through hundreds of squats were something that impressed me.

Until I started seeing the bumps appear. It's one thing when you feel shin splints, and its an entire other thing when you can really truly visibly see them.

On that day, I realized that there was a chance I could leave bootcamp in worse shape than when I showed up.

I befriended Alex. I worked out alongside Taylor. I got to know my pt's. I started teasing my ot's.

I started doing ab work outs with Abbie. And by doing them with Abbie, I really mean holding on to her ankles as she pushed my feet/legs into the floor as hard as she could, and then listened to her semi-motivational shouting as I drew the alphabet in the air with my toes.

However, while there were no particularly enjoyable days in therapy, one day does stand out from all of the others.

Typically doing an hour of cardio in pt, meant doing more strength based training in ot. Typically doing burpees in pt, guaranteed that I wouldn't be doing them again until the next day. So many athletes have that moment of complete dread. That moment of fear. That moment where they feel something snap or pop. The moment when you know that something isn't in it's right place.

And somewhere in the middle of doing 80 burpees (YES EIGHTY), I had my moment.

Although because most of the kids in the program get fluke injuries during their time there, I was mostly just ignored.

Strained Tendons, destroyed cartilage? Does it really matter? Do we really know? Did we really actually care about it?

I passed out of my timed activities far faster than I should of. I could accomplish anything they asked me to do. They started struggling to really challenge me.

I fought through my shin splints. I ignored my knee injury. I pushed through it.

One day during my 3rd week, they talked about letting me out early. The following day, I was told I was being released from the program an entire week early. Eventually, my 25 day program became an 18 day program.

I rejoiced. I had successfully broken their program. While I wasn't super pumped to have proven them wrong, I was mostly just ready to get back home.

When I went to bootcamp, I never imagined that it could get worse. I figured I would come home in the same condition I had left in. But in reality, I had hoped to come home ready to play my guitar and start attacking the runs I had begun to miss so much.

I had a few good days in bootcamp. I spent a day hurdling. I spent a few days doing box jumps up onto a box that was almost half my height. I did things I never imagined I would be able to do.

Before embarking on my adventure I had jokingly told one of my friends "well it can't get any worse." And a few months ago when he told me I was a magnet for attracting unfortunate events, I didn't argue.

If there's one thing I've learned in life, it's that things can ALWAYS get worse.

Two months ago I went through the absolute worst flare of my life. While I have had small time periods of a more intense form of pain. I have never been in such a high amount of pain for so many days.

So. The truth. The truth I didn't want to admit. The truth I didn't want all the well-meaning people in my life to actually hear.

Bootcamp. Bootcamp was a fail. Bootcamp did nothing to help me physically. Bootcamp made me worse.

"But are you sure that it didn't help at all?"

Mentally? I'm stronger.
Emotionally? I'm more consistent. I'm able to persevere.
Spiritually? I've been able to trust God more than I ever imagined.

But physically. Physically I'm not any better. I'm stronger, but not any better.

My life is being held together by varying shades of KT tape. Many days my knee is only staying in it's proper place because of hinges preventing it from giving out.

I'm going to have to start the process of finding a doctor who will listen all over again. A process that I've honestly pretty much given up on. But still, a process that I know is what needs to happen.

People can tell you that fibromyalgia isn't progressive. People can tell you that it's consistent.

But. It's not. For each and every person, it's different. My young age gave them hope that they could reverse it. My young age meant that I should have grown out of it. My young age should have given me better odds at fighting it.

My young age means that there's a lot of uncertainty. My young age means that I am not taking medication.

Each and every person with fibromyalgia is different. Each case is different. And most importantly each day is different.

My pain tolerance has only grown, and my pain has only gotten worse.

But that's life, and I've really truly honestly accepted it as my own life.

I truly believe that God has a reason. I'm honest and open about it because I know that God didn't place this burden in my life for me to hide behind it. We are called to let our light shine, and while this isn't the most attractive light, it's my light. It's my story. It's me.

There you have it. An answer many of you probably didn't want to hear. Thank you for all of the prayers. They were not in vain. No, God didn't answer them in the way so many of us desired, but I choose to believe that there is a greater purpose for that.

"guarda quanto sono brava"

when I said I would attend northeast only "over my dead body." I meant it.

I've been spending the past 18 years being prepared for this day. 18 years of days spent in classrooms. 18 years of life lessons.

But honestly. Nothing can truly prepare you.

They told me to follow my dreams. They told me I could do anything I put my mind to. They told me to believe in myself. They told me to follow my heart.

I don't ever remember reading a chapter about what to do when you have to do exactly what you don't want to do. Maybe I was sick that day.

I don't remember what I'm supposed to tell myself on the first day of college, when I'm standing on the exact campus that was on the bottom of my list. 

I certainly don't remember learning about what to do when your entire life comes crashing down around you.

There are some lessons in life, that you just don't really learn until you live them.

I had always wondered what the first few days of college would bring, however I tried not to dwell on it.

I got about 3 hours of sleep the night before the first day, and walking onto campus, I think my heart definitely through a tantrum at what I was about to do.

In those few days, I felt like I was giving up. Like I was giving in. Like I was allowing my health to control everything.

I felt like I had given up on my dreams. Most importantly, I felt like I had given up on myself.

Once upon a time, Betta painted this on the wall in her bedroom, she was oh so very excited to show me what she had done, but even more excited to send the picture to her dad.

I truthfully didn't get it.

"Guarda quanto sono brava"

in English...

"Look how good I am"

But now, I understand. 

Sometimes in life, we do the unthinkable. We leave everything we've ever known to embark on a journey filled with uncertainty. 

I've always been the one with the gameplan. The freshman who knew exactly what she wanted to do with her life. The sophomore with the list of colleges. The junior who had chosen a college. The senior who had the next four years mapped out. 

15 hours from home. A double major in Theology and Catechetics with a concentration in youth ministry. Double minors in Franciscan studies and Spanish. A semester in Europe. People who were just like me. 

We plan. God laughs. 

Just like the apostles in the bible, I was casting my nets on the wrong side of the boat. Just like the apostles I heard Jesus, but that doesn't mean I listened. 

Yeah. I could have done it. I could have deliberately ignored him. I could have moved across the country. I could be chasing my dreams. 

But what good does it honestly do to chase after something that will only leave you empty handed? 

This was never the choice I wanted to make. I was drowning, and even though I knew that Jesus could walk on the water, I didn't want to let him save me. 

I was clinging and drowning under the weight of it all. 

So many people have disagreed with my decision. I had the test scores to get into any college I was interested in. I was accepted into a school with 200 undergrad. 

No one expected me to choose Community College. People were disappointed in my choice. 

But what seemed like a mid-life crisis at 18... Was honestly one of the best choices of my life. 

I've always said that if you trust in God and his plan, that he will reward you... However, I hadn't really experienced that. Being rewarded with more heartbreak and trials wasn't what I wanted to happen. 

The amount of heartbreak and tears it took to get me to NECC, was exponentially much larger than I ever would have wanted. 

But. The heartbreak. The tears. Make the joy that much greater. 

I'm happy. I'm really truly honestly happy. 

Yes, I'm still sick. Quite honestly sicker than I've really ever been. 

But the difference between then and now. Is that I'm happy. 

I got to the point where I just expected for things to go wrong, I didn't even like being happy because I didn't want my happiness to rely on something that could be taken away from me. 

My life honestly hasn't gone this good since about 5th grade. 

The storm was long and brutal, but the calm that I've been feeling, the calm after the storm, has been greater than I imagined. 

I haven't been genuinely happy in months. And even then, my happiness relied on someone else. 

I spent so long simply reminding myself to breathe, that the fact that I'm now thriving, brings tears into my eyes frequently. 

When I tell people that I'm doing great, they expect that my answer is filled with sarcasm. 

So. Real Life. I'm doing great. Better than I have in years. 

My days are filled with plants. I get to cuddle with bunnies at work. I have my own kitchen to bake cookies in. I have hope. 

week two: a (hardcore) reality check

Extremely late on the week 2 update, but I guess it's better late than never.

Monday June 20th
I decided that my 14 months of staying as far away from musical instruments as I could were over, and I went out and bought a ukelele.

Tuesday June 21st
I befriended Alex the 12 year old, who's  actually 14.

Wednesday June 22nd
On my eighth day, I memorized the passwords for "hacking" into the exercise equipment in the gym.

Thursday June 23rd
I put on a belt and was attached to a bungee cord, and I learned that my T & R (Tuesday and Thursday) PT has more muscle than I thought. And as I drug her across the parking lot, the two of us freely giggled at the hilariousness of it all.

Friday June 24th
I learned that having fun on Fridays at bootcamp, is about as much fun as having fun at bootcamp sounds.

"You can complain that roses have thorns, or rejoice that thorns have roses."

I'm normally the first person to check in each morning. I'm also normally the only one to check myself in. I'm the only one that drives myself.

But more importantly.

I'm one of the few. I'm one of the few who actually gets to walk through the front doors. I'm one of the few who walk down the hallway to meet the therapists.

I'm on of the few who doesn't require constant supervision.

I walk. I talk. I run. I communicate. I get myself where I need to go without help. I can interact on multiple social levels.

Each morning as I leave, I walk through a full waiting room. And whatever hell ive endured for the past two hours, is suddenly meaningless.

Because I'm walking out the doors. I'm driving myself home.

I'm not confined to a wheelchair. My thoughts aren't "stuck" in my head. I can carry conversation. My hands typically move how I want them to. I see. I hear. I speak.

A reality check.

Each day before we even get close to lunchtime.

Yes. I hurt. Yes. Honestly? It sucks. A lot of the time. But.

I get out of bed by myself each morning. I feed myself. I only know sign language because I want too.

And that.... that's  more than can be said by most of the kids I pass in here.

On the nights I go for a run rather than a walk. Just at the point when ready to give up. When I'm whining to God. When I'm ready to quit.

Generally at the exact point that I'm slowing down, I notice that there's someone watching me.

A pair of eyes watching my every move.

So I keep running. Not out of fear. Not in order to protect myself.

I do it for her.

I don't know her name. I don't know her story.

I run for her because she can't. I run because she may never be able to.

I've spent so long wishing that I was healthy. Wishing that I could be anyone else. And she's probably spent time wishing she was me.

The first night I saw her I was too embarrassed to even look at her. Now? I keep running when I pass her. I run with a smile on my face. A genuine smile. Even though I hurt. Even though it sucks. I'm doing it. For her. No, she'll never know that. But. She won't ever see me run by her ready to give up again.

Every rose has its thorns.

True, I could become consumed in the fact that my health is a rather large thorn in my life.

Or I could choose to be thankful, that even though in the scheme of my life, my health is a rather large branch of thorns, that the branch is still adorned with roses.

How am I doing?

A question so many people have asked me.

Honestly? I'm doing about as good as you could begin to expect.

Essentially I'm doing everything I've been avoiding for over a year at the same time.

I'm working out past my breaking point. I'm pushing myself in ways I probably shouldn't. I'm not really avoiding any food. I'm eating food more than twice a day. I'm in areas surrounded by people whom I don't know. I'm surrounded by a plethora of noises and smells and movements.

I drive through crazy amounts of traffic.

For the past year, I've had to force myself to go out with my friends. I've had to force myself to be social. At times it was the last thing I wanted to do. But. I knew that I had to try to stay healthy - mentally.

And now? I can go for a few days only talking to my family members. Most of my thoughts remain trapped inside my heard.

Bootcamp isn't just physical. It's emotional. It's mental. it's spiritual.

"Maybe life isn't about avoiding the bruises. Maybe it's about collecting the scars to prove we showed up for it."

After a few days of the therapists continually telling me that my form didn't matter, and that we were focused on the speed at which I could move, I started listening. It took a lot to let go of being stubborn.

But I did.

Even though I knew that I knew more about my body than they did, I listened to them.

And was greeted by sharp stabbing pain in my shins a few days later.

Eight days and I was reminded of why I was in bootcamp in the first place.

It's kinda like life in a sense. Sometimes you listen to other people, and ignore your own thoughts. You ignore your own real life experiences and what you know to be true.

And you get hurt.

My scars will probably never heal. I've come to the conclusion that I'll probably always be prone to shin splints, and well, I'm accepting that.

I'm getting bruised and I'm collecting my scars.

Sometimes it takes destroying ourselves, to begin understanding ourselves. We make mistakes. The path to becoming whole again isn't a straight shot. There are curves and it's an uphill climb. Sometimes, you have to backtrack. But it's only in the process of fixing ourselves that we find out who we really are.

Which is why I choose grace. Why I choose to be thankful.

I hate Omaha. But. It's making me a stronger person. I've been able to heal in ways I haven't been able to. No, I haven't been fixed, and the odds of that look slimmer with each passing day, but I'm stronger than I've ever been.

And right now, that's what matters.

some days you're a shooting star... week one

I had hoped to post an update each Sunday, but time seemed to just fly away from me.

What have I spent the past week doing? Working out, sleeping because of working out, eating because of working out, followed by more working out, and then more eating.

Oh and have I ever mentioned that I decided to start college a few months early? And that the fast paced classes are the equivalent of taking about 36 credit hours in one single semester?

Monday June 13th
Proved to be one of the harder days of my life. While I haven't technically moved out of my house - it was the beginning of the end. But I did it.

Tuesday June 14th
 I arrived to my second day of therapy, whining. Not because I was tired or because I was sore. Whining because of hatred. I dislike Omaha, very greatly.

Wednesday, June 15th
I finally accomplished one of my short term goals. I got a lady to smile. Never mind the fact that I had done so by walking in to a (not-so) automatic door.

Thursday June 16th
I went running down the apartment stairs giggling because "my people" came to visit me. I'm not gonna lie, there were a few tears in my eyes, as I saw them, and then again when they drove off.

& as weird as they were when I left them, the weirdness only increased

Friday June 17th
I had group therapy with a 12(?) year old boy. Who couldn't quite fathom being in a room with an 18 year old girl.

"If I were on a sinking ship half empty would be a more optimistic outlook than half full"

I've learned a few things in the past week.  Perhaps the biggest lesson, has been about perspective. Life truly is all about perspective.

On Thursday, one of my OT's and I had a lengthy discussion about shooting stars.

I was doing star jumps... And I'm sure that at the beginning, my form and energy did resemble a shooting star, but 30 seconds into my third circuit... my shooting star, began to look more like a drunk shooting star, but a shooting star just the same.

And that's true for all of us. Yes we fall. Yes we get tired. Yes sometimes we want to give up. Yes sometimes we almost let those two words from hell (I can't) slip out.

But.

It doesn't matter how life knocks us down, it doesn't matter how broken or slow we are, we are shooting stars just the same.

The shooting stars that take your breath away every time you see one fly across the night sky.

So to wrap things up... a few more truths I've learned in the past week.

1. You CAN do anything you put your mind too
2. Eileen makes better cookies than Grandma
3. You can do anything for 10 minutes
4. There are more stoplights on the way to bootcamp than there are in West Point
5. Placing all your trust in God, allows you to move mountains you never dreamed of even climbing

One of my friends asked me if it was better or worse than I thought it would be. Honestly? I think it's worse. But the thing is, I don't even know the honest answer. I've been tested in ways I never imagined in this past week. It's taken strength and courage. Strength and courage I wasn't even sure that I possessed. 

But when you place all of your trust in God, crazy, beautiful, insane things happen. He carries you when you need it, and with his help, even the impossible becomes possible. 

Until next week, 

Bek 

reflections in the mirror

I am that girl.

The girl people are whining and complaining about while shopping.

The girl who gets her clothes from the top of the pile.

The girl so small she can typically find jeans for about 80% off on the clearance rack.

That's me.

And even though you probably don't believe it, I've spent plenty of time staring in the mirror hating what I see. But I came to realize that I shouldnt be doing that, and neither should you.

There's been a post going around facebook, the one with the two pairs of shorts. A size 4 laying on top of a size 10. The shorts identical in size.

The post, was in general a great read.

Body image is a very real struggle in America. And I'm sure the girl who was a size 4 struggled with accepting that she was now a 10.

But I'm that girl. And while depending on the store, my size can vary. I'm her.

I'm the 00.

And a year ago. When I was wearing a size 5/6. I felt it. I hated that they made clothes as small as they do and whined because "no one that small is even healthy."

But I was wrong, and maybe you are too.

I don't want to be a 00. Actually, I hate it. I hate nothing more than when people look at me with envy and tell me "I wish I could be as small as you."

As a culture, we could really work on our views about body image.

We look down on people for being "too fat," turn around and try to make people feel bad for being "too small."

Embrace it. Embrace the body you've been given.

The number on your jeans. It's just a number. I promise you I hate the 00 as much as you hate the 12.

So let's all just stop.

Stop shaming. Stop hating. Stop guilting.

We are what we are.

Yes, stores are making clothes smaller. Accept it.

They're also making clothes bigger.

They're trying to appeal to a broader range of people. It's simple marketing. They're trying to sell to a younger age group. I promise you, that girls start shopping in American Eagle a lot younger than they used to. They don't want to sell "little kid" sizes. So they modified.

Embrace the body you've been given. Or shut up about it. Sure. Some girls are the size I am because they are trying to be. But I'm sure there are plenty much like me. I'm the size I am because of the life I'm living. I walk for two hours everyday. I do yoga. I don't sit on the couch. I eat Kale. I drink almond milk. I stay away from preservatives and foods that aren't natural.

Clothes are in smaller sizes, yes. But does smaller make those size any less real? Is my size any less real than yours?

And honestly, if clothing sizes ran the way most people want them to, I would forever be shopping in the little kids section.

you're perfect. just the way you are. remember that. today. tomorrow. forever.

"You are altogether beautiful my love, there is no flaw in you." -Song of Songs 4:7

here's to (never) growing up

here's to never growing up has been on repeat in my life for the past two weeks.

At first it was simply a song. A song that fit the timing of the coming week perfectly.

"singing here's to never growing up"

 While the catchy melody has a lot of truth behind it, and I realize that even though we must grow up, we must also stay young, I've grown up. In the past year and a half, I've been forced to grow up too fast.

My childhood was gone before I really even had a chance to understand what was going on.

Getting ready for graduation, realizing I would turn 18 in a few short days, preparing myself for moving out of the house in August. I thought I was taking the steps to adulthood at a nice, but faster than I would have liked, pace.

And then Thursday May 5th happened.

And while my life changed hugely on a rainy day in June, and a cold day in February... On a beautiful day in May... I realized that the summer I had been looking forward to for so long, that it was gone too.

I've learned that part of growing up, is making the hard choices, the hard choices that we don't want to make. It's saying yes, and placing complete trust in God, even when it seems like agreeing to his plan is the hardest thing in the world.

"stay, won't you stay forever stay, if you stay forever hey, we can stay forever young"

For years I wanted nothing more than to leave the town I've called  my home for the entirety of my life. But in the past few months, I've come to love the place. Mostly because of the people. Why would I want to leave a place where I was comfortable? A place where I had people I could count on? People who would support me in both the good and bad times?

I wanted to stay. I still do.

And even though I'm growing up, a part of me will stay forever young.

I got comfortable. I began to accept the trials I had been given. I was almost genuinely happy again.

I was finally okay with graduating, and turning 18, and moving away at the end of the summer.

Until the end of the summer... became the beginning...

Have you ever agreed to do something that would push you past your limits? Something that would surely break you? Something that you're surely not strong enough to handle?

When I told people that being sent away to a larger hospital was an option, while I knew it could happen... I never truly believed it actually would.

Growing up. The thing we've all been wanting since the day we turned 12.

And so that's what I'm doing. Growing up. Again.

In a few short weeks, this small town girl will move to the "big" city... and I'll start living a new adventure. An adventure I don't want to live.

While a brain is a brain and it really can't be altered in any way... we're going to try to rewire mine.

Yes. Rewire.

We're going to try to rewire my brain.

We're going to try to convince my brain that my everyday normal pain isn't pain, by putting it through an intense amount of pain.

In the form of physical therapy.

In a few weeks I'll be moving to Omaha. To complete an intense program of physical therapy through Children's Hospital.

Do I want to do it?

No. In fact spending a good portion of the summer after my senior year away from my classmates (many of whom I've finally come to learn to love), wasn't in my plan.

Yeah, I'll lie straight to your face, and tell you that I'm fine with it, but really, who would be excited about spending 5 weeks in a form of daily pt they call "bootcamp"?

I'd rather spend my summer camping, while wearing boots.

Will it work? Will I be fixed? We don't know. It could help. It could make it worse. The uncertainty of what will come of the adventure is quite large. But I'm confident that after its all said and done, that (along with having actual abs and muscles) I will have a greater amount of trust. That I will not only be physically stronger, but mentally and spiritually stronger too.

I'll be tested. I'll be pushed past my limits. There will be pain. There will be sweat. There will be tears. There will be doubt. There will be uncertainty.

But I'll live. And hopefully I'll even get around to thriving.

I'll need an insane amount of faith, courage, and trust to make it through. So keep me in your prayers. You'll certainly be in mine.

fibromyalgia awareness day

Happy Fibromyalgia Awareness Day!

While I'm more than happy to spread awareness, this is one day, I wish I didn't have to celebrate.

Most of the time, brutal honesty isn't necessary. But today, is an exception.

Fibromyalgia. The 12 letter word that changed my life 11 months ago. A word that gave a meaning to everything I had been feeling and fighting for so long. A word that described why simply living was such a hard activity for me.

But what exactly is fibromyalgia? I'm to the point where I can typically tell whether a person understands what I'm talking about or not just by the look on their face when I say the word.

"Fibromyalgia is a disorder characterized by widespread musculoskeletal pain accompanied by fatigue, sleep, and memory issues"

If there's one thing I've gotten used to doing in the past 11 months, it's describing exactly what this illness is and does.

Arthritis is a familiar term to most people, and in a sense, it's a lot like that. However fibro doesn't stop at your joints, it attacks your joints, muscles, and nervous system.

I've spent hours trying to come up with a part of my body that isn't affected by it. I have yet to come up with an actual answer to that one. Every single part of my body is affected somehow.

hands are just hands, until you're 16 and you can hardly pick up a pen to sign your name.

hair is just hair, until you're 17, sitting on your bathroom floor clutching yet another handful, a week before prom.

food is just food, until every bite you put into your body makes you want to throw up.

sleep is just sleep, until you're laying in your bed at 3 am for the fourth night in a row, knowing full well that you need to be up and functioning in 4 hours.

Fibromyalgia is like having the flu, shin splints in your entire body, and a migraine all at the same time, the day after being run over by a herd of buffalo.

Pain. Fatigue. Brain Fog. What's not to love?

It's been said, that to understand the fatigue fibro causes, a normal person would have to stay awake for three days and then try to function.

Brain fog is simply unexplainable, (mostly because I typed the q about ten times before I figured out that I wanted a g instead... ). Some days I try finding a word from inside my head, and even though I know I know the word, I can't get it out of my mouth, or even better yet, a different word comes out.

I get tired. I hurt. I get mad. I cry.

I'm still me.

Fibro took some of my patience, but in ways, it gave me more. Fibro took some of my calmness, but I'm more understanding. I'm less judgemental. Fibro took away my my ability to use my hands in the ways that I want to. Fibro took away my ability to drink chocolate milk. At one point in time, fibro had taken more than 20 pounds away from me.

I'm still me. Yes. I deal with an amount of pain you can't imagine or fathom. But, I've come to learn that pain isn't just a time of hopelessness and desolation. That pain can be used for a greater good. No, I won't really ever be able to see the fruits of my pain. But, knowing that I can offer up my pain as a sacrifice and a prayer for someone who needs it, somehow makes it worth it. It gives me the grace I need to smile and laugh because I know that if fibromyalgia can't ruin me, nothing can.

following my dreams or trusting in His plans?

sitting out on the swing, wrapped in a warm beige sweater, listening to the birds chirping, daydreaming, blogging

But mostly wondering where the time went because I'm pretty sure that just last week, I was a 5th grader.

Looking at the calendar trying to figure out when the heck it became April 8th, 2016. 

I've spent the past 14 years at GACC (gack) being prepared for this moment. I've spent 14 years listening to everyone tell me to follow my dreams.

I've always been a dreamer. Daydreams. Nightdreams. Crazy dreams. Unpredictable dreams.

I used to dream of living in the mountains. Of owning my own restaurant. I dreamt of building my own Tintern. But for the past few years, I mostly dreamt about the day I could pack my life away, and travel halfway across the country Leavig everything and everyone I had ever known.

A year ago, I dreamed that I would live to see tomorrow. I dreamt about finding a doctor who could tell me why I was stuck in a living hell. I dreamt about someone who could fix me.

I've been finding that "just follow your dreams" is one of the most overrated pieces of advice that everyone seems to give to Highschool seniors.

Am I following my dreams? Honestly, I'm not even sure how to answer that. In one sense, sadly, no, I'm not.

Fibromyalgia took everything I had, followed by almost everything I loved, and when it was done doing that, it took my dreams along with it.  Does that mean I don't have dreams? No, it doesn't. It means I dream differently.

I dream of a day when I can haul my matte finish mahogany baby out of the closet, and make some music. I dream of a day when I can sit and eat pizza and drink chocolate milk. I dream of a day when I can do whatever I want, whenever I want without giving a thought to how I'll suffer after. I dream of a day when I can look all of the monsters that fill my body in the eye, and tell them that they're done winning, that I'll be taking control of my life once again. I dream of pain free days and rest filled nights.

I dream dreams that are only possible with God. I dream dreams that will most likely never come true.

Northeast was never my dream. I told my family that "over my dead body" would I go there, and ironically I am very much still alive.

God's been taking a lot of time these past few months to prove that his plans for me, are greater than my dreams ever could have been. That dreams I had never even dreamt of dreaming could come true. That people I didn't see becoming a part of my life even in my wildest dreams, could have a greater impact than anyone else.

It doesn't quite make sense, the feeling I had walking around Northeast's campus. It doesn't make sense that I could somehow feel at home there. And honestly it doesn't really make complete sense as to why I'm going there.

I'm not following my dreams, I'm trusting God with them. By doing that I know that one day, someday soon, it will all make sense. That I will understand why God sent me to a tiny community college less than an hour from my home. That his plan, will be greater and more perfect than my dreams ever could have been. God has his reasoning for everything he's doing in my life right now, and I can't wait to begin understanding it.

that 12 letter f word

One word changed my entire life, and in that sense, I'm not alone, so many people have gone through similar situations in their lives. One Doctor's Appointment. One Diagnosis. One word.

A 12 letter f word.

The 12 letter word that changed my entire life. The 12 letter word that has challenged me in more ways than I imagined possible.

12 simple letters. I never imagined that 12 simple letters could change so much. That 12 simple letters could challenge me so much. That 12 letters could affect me so much. 12 simple letters.

Fibromyalgia.

A word that a year ago, I couldn't have spelled. A word that I hate saying.

Fibromyalgia.

A simple word really. A simple word that, on a rainy day in the beginning of June, changed my life.

A word that challenged everything I had previously known to be true, and everything that I thought would eventually become true.

A word that I came to hate. A word that I convinced myself didn't have to affect me if I pretended that it didnt exist. A word that I ignored.

A word, that made me "lucky." Being diagnosed with something, at 17, that most people don't get until they're 40. Lucky.

The thing about an unofficial diagnosis, is that it's just that. Unofficial. The thing about and official diagnosis, is that it's just that. Official.

You can't run from it anymore. And on a cold day in February, I stopped running. And since that day, just a short month ago, I've tried running. But I've come to realize that running, solves nothing. Running changes nothing. Running won't make fibro go away. Running won't change my situation.

While this may make it seem like I'm completely fine with telling people what's wrong with me, I'm not. I don't like admitting it.

Looking in the eyes of the people that I love more than anything else in the world, and explaining that I'm sick. That I will be. That this is my life. I hate it more than anything else in the world.

Admitting that some days, I just can't do it. That some days, I need help. Admitting that I can't do everything I used to be able to do, or everything that I wish I could do.

It breaks my heart.

I hate seeing people look at me with pity. This isn't my choice. But, it is my life. It can't define everything. While it's completely changed me. I'm still the same girl that I was a year ago. A year ago when I first truly began this journey.

In a time when most people would completely turn their back on God, I've been clinging to him. And in that perspective, I actually am one of the lucky ones. Life always has a purpose. Even a life of pain. It is through my faith, that my pain and my suffering has a purpose.

It is through my faith that I can join my suffering with His, and realize that even on the days when I feel as though I can't possibly go on, that Jesus has my back. That he always will.

That suffering isn't a reason to turn my back on him. He suffered for me. So why shouldn't I suffer?

It's because of Him that I haven't given up. It's because of Him that I keep fighting.

Yes, I have fibro. However, fibro does not have me. Fibro does not define me
 Sure it's changed me, but I'm still me.
 I'm just a new, more understanding, more relaxed version of me.

I wake up everyday and fight a battle most people can't fathom. I hate what it does to me. Some days I avoid mirrors. Other days, I avoid everything. But at the end of the day, it's making me stronger, and while I don't quite understand what the exact purpose of it is, someday, I will.

(stay tuned for a "what the heck is fibro?" post)

magic wands, acceptance, and trying to cope

"I'm sorry, I wish I could just wave a magic wand and make everything better, but I can't, it's going to take time"

The amount of times I've heard that great line in the past 3 years... Is far too many.

What I would give for a magic wand... {My chacos, my collection of brookside chocolate, my eno...?}

We don't believe in magic. We believe in a God who loves us above all things. We believe in a God who loves us so much that he sent his only son to die for us.

We don't believe in magic. We believe in God. And really. Who's the real winner there?

We are. Clearly.

Our God is greater than anything else that could ever exist. Our God is greater. Our God is higher. Our God is stronger.

Some days we just have to remember that. We have to remember to be thankful. We have to remember that even though Jesus defeated Satan, conquered hell, and won heaven for us, that suffering still exists.

We like to think that a God who really truly loves us... Wouldn't put us through hellish days. That he would protect from all sorts of evil. That we won't have to live through hard days.

I don't have an exact answer as to why we suffer. I've been desperately searching for an answer to that question for the past few months.

Waking up in so much pain that I can't move. Feeling as though those days are behind me and that I'm the real winner, that I'm a warrior. Feeling like I am stronger than my body's will to attack and attempt to destroy itself.

Having those days where I can't get out of bed come back and hit me out of nowhere. Get knocked down. Fall flat on my face. And wonder why out of all of the people on this earth, why me. Having those days where I wake up in so much pain I can't move begin to come more frequently.

But why not me? What makes me better than anyone else?

Some days. I feel as though acceptance is way beyond my reach, no matter how hard I try to grasp it. And other days, I feel as if I'm coming to terms with this new life I've been chosen to live. 

It's a process. A process that I struggle with daily. A 10 letter word that some day, I will reach. A 10 letter word that will make me a stronger person.

I'm not there yet. But I'm trying to cope with where I am currently. I'll get to acceptance when I'm meant to, and not a moment before.

Sure there are days like today when I feel as though nothing else could possibly go wrong, and then God feels the need to prove that indeed, things can always get worse. {Yes, in my emotional state, I did shed a tear, and later had a good laugh, over the perfect prom dress that was supposed to be coming in the mail, that came well not really quite so perfect.}

Things can always get worse. Things can always be worse.

God gives his hardest battles to his strongest soldiers. God only gives us what we can handle. I personally feel that God is placing a bit to much trust in me currently, but who am I to question him?

So magic wands, acceptance and coping. The first doesn't exist, the second is coming, in its own time, and the third, is my current choice. Coping. I'm not where I want to be. But I'm better than I was yesterday. I'm coping. I'm not loving the struggles. I'm not dealing with the pain in as good of a way as I could be. But I'm coping. And for now, that's enough. The rest. The rest will come.

breathing

breathing, living, thriving

If I could pick a word to describe the past few weeks, it most certainly would not be thriving, and even living is being a bit to enthusiastic about the whole thing.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Waking up to find that the temperature has suddenly dropped 20°...

Breathes in deeply.

Waking up to find the earth covered in white powder.

Breathes in deeply. Hides under a new layer of blankets. Snuggles in closer to the cat.

It's quite odd how a select group of us can be so "connected" with the things going on in our atmosphere while everyone else seems immune to it. I used to think people who could predict the weather were a bit, well, a bit off. And now here I am with full knowledge of what's going on outside before I even peek out the window.

I love this great vastness of complete nothingness and cornfields that I call my home. However if someone offered me a one way ticket to some place warm and dry, I certainly wouldn't be arguing.

A year ago I unknowingly had my first "flare." I thought I was dying. I now understand that it is possible to feel like you're dying while still being quite alive. Some people say that pain makes them feel alive, and in that case, I feel very, very alive right now.

Breathing.

Breathing and laying still. Avoiding anything that could make the pain worse. Breathing and laughing. Breathing and crying. Because sometimes you just have to roll with it. Follow your emotions. Ride the wave to shore.

Breathing and understanding that while the changing of seasons is a beautiful thing, that for the rest of my life, it will take a great amount of patience with myself to get through it. Breathing and realizing that in order to see the vibrant flowers that i love so dearly covering the landscape, I have to first make it through today.

Taking it day by day because as my mother always tells me "the only way to eat an elephant is to take it one bite at a time." I tried looking at the big picture yesterday, and then I realized, why focus on tomorrow, when today has to be gotten through first.

So I'm sitting here. Breathing. Remaining calm. Trying to find the patience I need to handle myself for the short time I have before I crawl into my bed and try to restore my body.

Remembering that simply breathing is enough to live. That breathing will get me through. That reminding myself to breathe is the first step.

And that in a few minutes when I face the mountain in my life that most people call a staircase, that rather than wanting to cry at the thought of climbing back up it, I'll breathe.

There are constantly going to be mountains in our lives, and I'm confident that if we remind ourselves to simply breathe, we can conquer anything.

°breathe°live°thrive°