Counting Sheep

As most of you will have noticed; recently I’ve been rather quiet. I haven’t been writing and I’ve been pretty slack on the social front too. However yes – I am still alive.

I’ve been on Facebook a bit lately though, and I’ve noticed a few posts that have really grabbed my attention.

Since I began blogging I always had the intention of staying as honest as possible. I’ve shared the good, the not so good and the ugly on several occasions. It’s easy to share how our week is going when it’s going great, right? But why is it that when we find ourselves facing another one of life’s ugly challenges we kinda freeze up and go silent? Why is it so hard to admit, “yeah, life sucks a bit sometimes,” to an audience of totally understanding human beings, whilst dropping this flawless facade for long enough to just prove that we’re still humans too?!

I think it comes from pride, or the stubborn need to be the strong one. The girl who carries on through it all with a smile on her face. And for me perhaps it comes from this unnecessary urge to be independent when I need to just step back sometimes and realize that I do have a whole lot on my plate, and sometimes I need a little help, or at least a break!

So the kinds of posts I was reading were the type that make you go, “Oh, wow! Someone admitting an addiction problem?” Or, “Woah, this guy’s depressed? But… He’s open about it?!” – Some may think these kinds of posts are just bait laid out in the sea of social media to catch attention, but hey, the way I see it; if it’s going to change someone’s way of thinking, raise awareness, or save a freakin life, then why the heck not? I think people should most definitely be open about all sorts of struggles they’re facing. Recovery and trust and all that good stuff – they all begin with good, honest communication, right? …So… why aren’t I speaking up?

Like I said, my reason for trying to uphold this strong, happy image of myself could be a result of many different things, but let’s not focus on that for now. The thing I’m trying to get at is that it’s time we all built up the courage to admit our wrongs, our weaknesses and our struggles, and to connect on a deeper level of understanding, through the good and the bad. We need to learn to give ourselves a break, and a bit of recognition too for all our achievements, big or small. For many, getting out of bed in the morning, or making that choice to live another day is, on its own, a huge achievement – I think it’s important we remember that.

On that note, I’d like to share with you all that since February earlier this year, I guess you could say I’ve been pretty sick. Specifically with a disorder of idiopathic hypersomnolence. Haha sorry – just wanted to use that big crazy word. Basically, I’ve been experiencing excessive tiredness, among other annoying symptoms. And for totally unknown reasons. Now, by “tiredness,” I don’t mean the typical mum – with – a – toddler – type – tiredness; tired to the point that I throw up if I haven’t had a nap before 4:00pm. People have commented so much lately on how skinny I’ve gotten. Usually I just say “thanks,” because it’s easier than telling them the truth – “I’m often too tired to even eat, which has resulted in this unhealthy, unintended weight loss and I hate feeling so fragile and sickly.” Yeah, I’ll look great in that wedding dress, but I wont feel great until my health is back on track.

At times it has been totally terrifying. One of the symptoms is sleep paralysis, which a lot of you have probably experienced at least once. It’s kind of become a regular occurrence for me, probably because I’m always so exhausted. Once I watched Little Shot smash a glass in front of me and I couldn’t even wake my body enough to move him from the clearly dangerous situation, even though my brain was awake and fully aware of what was happening.

The tiredness is almost uncontrollable. Plenty of times I’ve fallen asleep in totally inappropriate settings, and I’ve woken up feeling so embarrassed. It’s happened while I’m talking to people too, and can get rather awkward. Most days when I’m just at home I’ll usually fall asleep at least three times, and I’ll spend a lot of my day sleeping, or at least in a totally relaxed state, as I don’t have the energy to do much at all. It’s rather frustrating; I’m such a lover of life, but this illness has made day to day living feel like a tiresome chore and has held me back from chasing so many dreams.

Sometimes it’s been really upsetting and totally embarrassing. Another symptom is the inability to wake myself from sleep. Not even to the sound of Little Shot crying, which is a totally natural mother instinct, and not even when my body needs to get up and go to the toilet. (Yep, definitely something you share with the public, right? Haha well hey, I did say I was going to be honest here!)

Another downside is this micro – sleep thing I do a lot of. It’s where you appear to be fully awake and functioning, but you’re technically asleep. Just last night I burnt my hand by falling asleep while making a hot water bottle. Unfortunately, falling asleep for me only takes a few seconds, rather than the normal seven – or – so minutes.

And don’t worry – we have made sure Little Shot is safe and has the care and attention he deserves. With Big Shot working full time, my generous sister left her job during the weeks to stay with us and help with keeping an eye on him in case I fell asleep. (See! I told you she was amazing!)

Before any of you try suggesting natural alternatives to medicine, or exercise and diet changes, or prayer, or whatever else you can think of – stop. I appreciate the thought, but honestly, I’ve tried everything.

At first I was trying three injections of B12 per week and cut right down on breastfeeding, hoping to boost my energy, and I joined a fitness class and adjusted my diet more than once. I was hoping to get some sort of boost from this but it just wasn’t happening.

I haven’t had a single episode of psychosis or dissociative disorder since 2013 and emotionally I’ve been stable and the happiest I’ve felt ever since, however with a long history of mental illness it’s highly possible this could be related. I spoke with numerous counselors and psychologists who all agreed that what I’m going through is totally out of he ordinary for me and not my regular mental pattern, and so the decision was made to consider other physical possibilities.

I’ve been praying so hard every day to the same God who I have seen perform countless miracles around me; the same God who I believe has the power to cure any illness. My God who loves me and wants nothing but the best for me, and yet day by day I’m getting sicker. It’s been a real test of faith, but if there’s one thing I’ve learnt, it’s that you won’t have much of a testimony without some sort of test involved. Without a test your testimony is just an imony. Or something. I dunno.

Anyway, a few months ago I ended up at a neurologist to try and get some answers as to what the heck is going on. After asking me all sorts of questions and getting me to poke out my tongue, hop on one leg and all the rest of it, he concluded with his diagnosis of narcolepsy, with a side of mild cataplexy. (This thing where your limbs go floppy sometimes, usually as a reaction to being frightened or when you laugh. It’s something I’ve actually had for years, but always assumed was from a car accident when I was younger.)

After being stuck in line on another long waiting list I was referred to a sleep clinic, and then another waiting list for a sleep lab, which is where I’ll be staying tomorrow for my polysomnograph, and my multiple sleep latency test the next day. They’re basically going to hook me up and monitor my brain, heart, breathing and limbs and watch what my body is up to before and during sleep, specifically REM sleep. This should hopefully give us some answers, and a clearer idea of which step to take next.

Unfortunately medication will mean the end of our breastfeeding journey, which I have kind of been setting Little Shot up for, because even though I’m usually the last to stick my hand up for meds, I’m at the point now where it’s kind of my last resort to an immediate solution. As sad as it sounds, I haven’t been able to be alone with my son in so long. I haven’t had the energy to play with him, and I would love to go back to feeling like a real mum again. And as heartbroken as I will be to stop breastfeeding, I’ll do whatever it takes. I can’t be the best mother to my son until I’m the healthiest me I can be and realising that has been a huge challenge.

This experience has been a really tough one, but it’s all for a reason. I don’t want to make out that I’m suffering or worse off than anyone else by any means, but I know I am blessed through it all, and things will get better. It’s all for a reason.

So thanks for listening, folks. Hope it gives you all a bit of understanding as to why I’ve been so vacant. I’ll keep you updated anyway. Prayer would be pretty sweet right now. Much appreciated.

Po mārie, I’d better get some sleep. All this sleeping is tiring work, after all!

 

 

 

The Great Escape

Liam was a regular at the club. He was infatuated with my co-worker, Star. Absolutely besotted. Anyone could see that. Why else would a good-looking young man return night after night, spending his hard-earned cash in a place such as this? He didn’t really take much notice of the pretty waitresses or topless women around him, bothering him for tips. Myself included. He only had eyes for the curvy Latina dancer.

Star wasn’t the prettiest girl in the club, but of course by then I’d worked out that being a stripper isn’t at all just about looks. Everyone has their own taste, and there was no debating the fact that there was something special about her.

After a few weeks, or possibly even months, of Liam’s regular stop-ins, we’d all given up on trying to hustle him, and instead on quiet nights when the money had dried up and I’d still have hours left on my shift, I’d sit and chat with him while Star was busy with her other clients. She didn’t see this as a threat. She knew she had him wrapped around her finger. He loved it. And I could tell she did too.

I’d often wanted to ask her what the deal was between them. It was clear this client/stripper relationship was more than it appeared, and that perhaps this was something which existed outside of work. But I didn’t dare ask Liam during our little catch-ups. Like many, or all, other customers, this club was his little haven. His sanctuary outside of the “real world,” and maybe it had even become his reality. A place where he felt adored and respected, perhaps? Or maybe a place of comfort. Maybe he chose to neglect the fact that everything in this little world was fake – from the false laughter and flirting to the currency to the friendships… Or maybe he was in fact totally naive to the whole concept of the big act. I hoped this wasn’t true, but I didn’t want to disrupt his fantasy, even if it was for his own good. I just hoped that he hadn’t taken this too seriously, or gone too far, as many men tended to.

What I realized from meeting Liam was that everyone has their own reasons for wanting to escape now and then. I wondered what mine was.

Towards the end of one long winter night I said goodbye to my last regular client and came down onto the floor and into the warmth, where I spotted Liam at a table – not his usual seat – alone. I tip-toed over to say hello, but I noticed as his face turned towards the light that he was upset. Really upset. “Hey bro… Are you alright?” Stupid question – he clearly was not alright. I stood by quietly, huddling closer to the heater behind him. Secretly I was relieved to feel a little heat on my legs after standing half-naked on the street for my cigarette earlier. It was a very cold night and I was exhausted.

“She said no,” he murmured.

“Said no to what?” I asked, and I realized. Poor kid… He’d actually proposed.

So it turns out Star’s visa was due to expire, so her options were to stay on illegally – but of course that wouldn’t last long – or to marry, or to leave and return to her home country. She wasn’t ready to leave, and so to her, marriage would have been a very real option.

“I would have given her everything…” Liam continued. “I did give her everything. But it wasn’t enough. She’s just money – hungry. This place has changed her… She’s just like everyone else.” – I tried not to be hurt by this statement, and supposed he was excluding me from “everyone else,” but it did make me stop and question whether I would be the same in her position. I didn’t believe in love, at this point in time, but I did like the idea of money and security. I didn’t want to be the stereotypical money-hungry monster these clubs turned a lot of girls into, but it really was an eye-opener hearing that. I didn’t like what I’d become. I wasn’t happy with my life, really. I hated Miss Whiskey. Who was she? My alter-ego and my true self had started to clash. Something I hadn’t been prepared for. I could no longer distinguish between the two. And there it was; my reason to escape.

“She’s marrying this other dude… Some dickhead she met in the club… And you know why?” Liam laughed half-heartedly, “Because the ring cost more than what I could afford.” He shook his head in disbelief.

I really felt for him. He told me he wouldn’t be returning, and I think he really meant it. He gave me the rest of his fake currency. For him it was probably a form of closure. Closing the door on this little underworld.

We sat a while in silence, and I don’t know what happened, but I remember waking up on the floor by the heater. One of the other girls had woken me because I was meant to be on stage, but when I looked around he was gone.

I did see him again months later outside the gay bar. I asked what he was doing and he said “not much,” which happened to be the same thing that I was doing at the time, so I joined him for a drink. He encouraged me to down half a jug of beer, which I later regretted, and then we hung out with a group of drag queens ’til dark. I didn’t ask once about Star, but I could tell he was still cut up about it.

I had no plans that evening other than to get wasted. I was going through one of my regular phases of couch surfing and generally taking bad care of myself. I had a lot of personal issues I had been pushing into the back of my mind, and at the time drugs, I thought, were a good solution.

Back then “legal highs” were a big thing. It was around the time that they were becoming illegal as there had been many ugly side effects arising with regular use. I’d experienced this first-hand one time when I was hanging out at a flat and my friends were dropping like flies around me into seizures and ugly rages. Didn’t scare me like it should have, though. Liam was addicted to them and he actually supplied them around the city to shops, so his apartment was well stocked.

I myself was going through a phase of MDMA obsession. I too had copious amounts of the stuff. So that evening we stayed up late with his flat mate, smoking, drinking, and snorting line after line of whatever we could get our hands on – including his ADHD prescribed medication. We had the idea to go ice skating, or to run through a mirror maze. Anything to escape reality. Anything to keep our minds and bodies occupied. Anything but the stripclubs. I ended up crashing out in his room listening to music instead, before heading out again at some ridiculous hour on another solo mission to wreck myself.

I became hooked on the ADHD meds and figured out they weren’t actually that hard to come by. On the streets they sold for quite a bit. Kids were realizing it wasn’t hard to fake what you needed to in order to be prescribed them, and I never paid for drugs at the time, so most things I could get through work or people I’d met.

On one occasion a mate from my hometown and I decided to drink cough syrup, another addiction on my list, and when we were in search of something more I decided to give Liam a call. Those days I’d do just about anything to stay high in the ignorant oblivion of ecstasy. The great escape.

I don’t really know the deal with my mate, I think it was his sexuality he was trying to come to terms with, I don’t think I’ll ever know for sure, but there was something in his eyes which reflected my exact emotions, and I knew that he too was looking for his escape. Something I could relate to, and so we were drawn to one another.

It had been a while since I’d last seen Liam, but he met us at my favorite stoner location – a carpark up on the hill overlooking the city lights and the water. He brought a few of the pills I was after and we sat in the car listening to rap and smoking. I remember being pissed off and asking him if that was all he brought.

Liam realized his phone had gone missing, so we went on a mission to retrieve it. We got pulled up, all three of us high as kites, and somehow got away from the cops, even though we were dressed ridiculously and had no business being down by a wharf in the middle of the night. Thankfully we hadn’t been drinking. Yet.

We hung out at the hotel room my mate and I had booked, all three of us zoning out of our brains on the bed. I was in an odd, in between asleep and awake – mode, and I’m not quite sure what the other two were thinking. But I knew we had reached our goal for the night – losing ourselves. Escaping. All three of us for different, unknown reasons. But all with the same aim.

I remember hearing my mate yelling, “Don’t touch her, bro. She doesn’t want that.” Then waking the next morning with a fuzzy head. I told the hotel receptionist that I’d woken with bedbug bites; marks I’d encouraged by myself on my skin, so that we didn’t have to pay. Then we took our free coffees and left.

I don’t think I’ve seen Liam since, and my other mate I’ve only seen once while I was pregnant. I’ve never had the chance to speak to either of them about that day. I don’t think I ever will, to be honest. But there was something there in that experience, or that segment of my life, which has made writing this post really difficult emotionally. I can’t put my finger on what it is, but it’s something I’m slowly bringing to the surface. Either way, I don’t know what made me think of those guys. But wherever they are now, I hope life is treating them well. I hope they found what they needed to end that constant search for escape, because God knows I know what that feels like.

Me personally? I’m glad I’ve found what my heart was really looking for. It wasn’t drugs, or the kind of lifestyle I was caught up in. I didn’t need an escape after all. None of us did. And I’m no longer afraid to live in the “real world.” At long last I feel like I belong somewhere that doesn’t involve self – harm or an easy escape. I have my family, my true friends and my faith to thank for that.

Thank God I made it out alive. As for Miss Whiskey? She taught me a lot, and she was good to me at times, but she’s dead and long gone. She won’t be coming back.

To Love Someone Like Me

The hardest part of becoming a mother, for me, is trying to wrap my head around how much I love my child.

The hardest part of becoming a Christian, for me, is trying to wrap my head around how much God loves me.

The two go hand in hand and help me to understand each other.

I have lost three babies in my lifetime. But they are always in my heart and constantly on my mind. The unfinished tattoo on my head represents this; the little memorial I carry around with me everywhere.

When I was fifteen I was raped. It wasn’t the first time I’d experienced sexual abuse, but it was the first time it had resulted in pregnancy. I knew straight away. I had carried my little secret around with me under my school jumper for months. In those days teenage pregnancy was frowned upon. If you even had sex you were labeled a “slut.” I never used to use that word often. When I did it felt dirty in my mouth and I’d drag out the ‘sl’ with narrowed eyes and spit out the ‘t’ repulsively. I remember being nominated at the unofficial prize giving for the “Town Bike Award” the day I decided to leave school. -If only they knew. ‘Slut’ was a label I wore shamefully around town, plastered across my forehead. I decided to match my behavior and attire to my new designation. At least then they’d all have a legit reason to be judging me. Despite the circumstances, in becoming a mother God had shown me light in those dark times, and looking back on it now, I believe that’s what kept me going. I was terrified. But I loved that baby with all my heart and soul. The one friend I did tell at the time had said to me, “How can you even think of keeping a child who was conceived that way? They’ll hate you for it.” But that friend didn’t know this love I felt. That was between me and my child. These days people say, “How can you love a God who lets all these terrible things happen in the world?” And I guess it’s the same thing. The love I have for God, and for my first child, is personal, passionate and unexplainable. Despite the pain and fear. I remember the Sunday morning I sat on the bathroom floor whimpering, my red hands a shaking mess. I had never felt such loss and grief. With my fresh set of eyes I wonder now if God’s heart breaks the same when I wander far from Him, too?

My second baby was on this earth only a short while. I hadn’t known I was pregnant ’til I wasn’t anymore. But for that time, and even now, I’ll always feel nothing but love. Just as it is with God; although I’ve never seen them, it doesn’t mean my heart hasn’t known love. And I’m longing for the day when we stand face to face.

“Faith is the confidence that what we hope for will actually happen; it gives us assurance about things we cannot see.“

-Hebrews 11:1
My third little love I had wanted for so long. When this baby too was taken from me I could barely handle the heartbreak. I remember the anger resonating amongst the hurt; the times I would break down and curse whoever took my babies from me. It didn’t seem fair. What had I done to deserve this? If there was a God, why had He been playing this cruel trick on my life? The only way to get past these feelings would be for me to trust that there was a reason my babies opened their eyes to see heaven first, and not their mother who loved them more than anything in the world. Little did I know, someone else loved them more. He who breathed life into them had taken them back into His arms, for reasons I will probably never fully understand. But that probably isn’t for me to know. Instead I have had to learn one of the most important lessons in being a Christian- and a mother too, I suppose- to trust in God completely. To throw up my hands when times get tough and totally give up, knowing in my heart that everything will work out the way He meant for it to and to let Him take charge of the life he created in me. The way it’s meant to be.

“For God had something better in mind for us, so that they would not reach perfection without us.“
-Hebrews 11:40

We held a small memorial service for her on the beach at night. We sailed a candle in a jar into the dark ocean which encapsulated a tiny teddy and a letter to her. We sat and watched until the glow of the candle was nothing more than a speck of light in the distance, dancing in the waves. We then released white helium balloons into the sky and then, despite everything I had been through, I felt at peace.

“The Lord gives strength to his people; the Lord blesses his people with peace.”
-Psalm 29:11

Having my son was risky; I was too afraid of losing another part of me. I felt I didn’t have the strength in me to bury another baby. I swore I would have to be buried first. I was scared to emotionally bond with him, in fear of him being taken away from me, but I couldn’t help falling deeper in love each day. It was during this pregnancy that I handed the responsibility of the life growing inside me to Jesus to take care of. I prayed every single day, thanking God for another chance and begging for safety and protection over my new family.The first time I held my son in my arms I clutched him tight to my chest and wept into his forehead, kissing my tiny angel’s face. He was my special miracle. I thanked God over and over again between outbursts of joyful tears. An overwhelming sense of perfect, unconditional love drowned my fears. In that moment I knew that no matter what came between us, ever, that love will never leave my heart. And no matter what he did in his life, I would always love him just the same. And that’s the moment, I think, that I came a step closer to understanding God’s grace and mercy and His own amazing love for me. Me; a slut, a sinner, a stupid little girl. No, I’m a child of the one true king. I’m unique, I’m beautiful, I’m important. And it blows my mind.

“God had already decided that through Jesus Christ he would make us his children- this was his pleasure and purpose.”

-Ephesians 1:5