Fires

When I was first officially diagnosed with epilepsy, I verbally balked to the doctor about being put on a daily medication of prevention. Up until that point, I had handled my seizures relatively fine, if anything, in my world they were simply an annoyance. Translation, I was a stubborn girl who thought she never, ever, needed nor desired additional help that wasn't directly controlled by the great and powerful Rebecca.

       As any good doctor will, she then tried the scare tactic. This neurologist is a sly one, and much to my irritation she spoke my language. 

       She said, "Rebecca, picture a campfire with 4 sticks on fire, small and insignificant. Now, throw a small stick on it and the flame will grow and get a bit bigger. Then picture adding another stick and then another, and so on. If you keep throwing sticks on that fire, it will eventually turn into a raging bonfire that cannot be controlled. Each time you have a seizure, it's like throwing a stick on that fire. Why don't we keep the flame minimal instead of letting the sticks pile up?"

       I'm not even here to write about kickin chicken moments and mind numbing seconds of frozen body parts. But, for the record, I have the ailment, so I can call it doing the kicking chicken all I want, it's my privilege.

       It's that irritating doctors metaphor that won't get out of my head these days. When I side the illusion up, comfy like, with the way I've been handling my life lately, I see remarkable similarities.

       My inability to admit I'm not doing well, my stubborn demeanor, my horrible habit of shutting, more like slamming the doors of communication down to anyone who bravely steps toward me when I'm feeling like my bonfire is out of control has been my detriment.

       My silence, to those online, those in my 3-D world, friends, family, loved ones in a world based on honor and simple human traits is not only unacceptable, it's deplorable.

       And unfortunately, it's me. It's my way. It's my Achilles heel. It's my self preservation blanket and my heavy chain of guilt to drag along inlife. My mode of silence and walls, is not reserved to any one person, although I can see why a person could interpret my silence as exactly that.

       When I feel like my fire has become an uncontrollable bonfire, I willing stand amongst it's flame and protectively turn my back upon the very people who care about me. When I am like that, when my world feels like a decent version of hell or just a beautiful swirling flame of confused thoughts, I want no witness, I want no voices, I cannot stand for others to see, observe, hear, touch, live, or experience my problems.

       That Achilles heel is extremely tricky to explain. Because for one, it could make me a very bad friend to have around. At a days notice I could withdrawal and slither into my hole of illusions and silence, the next I could be as receptive as any other friend a person has in their cache of phone numbers. In all honesty my Achilles heel, makes me not such a great friend to have on the rooster of dependability. It takes a good hard sense of understanding, or at least a teacup of friendship passes to be an active part of my life.

       It's a struggle for me sometimes, because I feel so very different from the majority of the people I know. I have friends who call me because they broke a nail and it hurts. I don't mind at all that they do that. I have friends who call with every bump and bruise, physically or emotionally, and I'm good with that. Yet, they all know I will never call with the same ailments. For example, a few years back I almost died over something and was in the hospital for days and days, and I never called a person nor told anyone. It just isn't in me to divulge whats going on in my life with anyone. I'm fine with keeping it that way, but I run into the problem of hurt feelings, misunderstandings and downright making people mad by my quiet nature.

       I create something I reflectively describe as fault lines. The longer I am quiet, the wider the fault line can become. The more time that passes, like in this journal, that I maintain my silence, the harder it becomes to face it and close the seams of my mute nature.

       Writing here, is a first step in a long fault line of silence for me. Next, I know I need to pick up the phone and apologize to people I care about. I find I canhold my phone in my hand for hours willing myself to make a call and just cross that fault line. Fault, is my burden, because even in innocence, silence cuts a scar of fault across my thoughts and I become cut farther and farther off at the knees the more time I let pass. Fear and fault, fault and guilt, guilt and accountability. All a beautiful mixture that makes me......me.

       I wonder about that fire. The one I can either add sticks, or dose with water. How much do I really add to it's flames is something only I can observe. I think I've allowed others to toss a few branches on my fire, but I'm the one who's thrown the logs on it. The bigger it got, the more quiet I became. The more intense it became, the clamps of silence took hold and I'm just now starting to break from it's flames.

       What I could have probably wrote today, instead of this jumbled entry that went on longer then a Virginia Wolf sentence, is, I apologize for my silence and those I may have offended. I thank those that emailed and commented about my absence, I appreciate the concern and well wishes.

       And most of all, hopefully understanding can be found in written words...............