Awakening...

Well sort of...

More like a bitch slap sized wake up call. When I was first diagnosed with Neurocardiogenic Syncope, my doctor gave me a prescription and a special diet. He only gave me a month of the prescription so we could try it out. Boy, has it and the diet helped a lot. I'm still wiped out walking around Menard's, but I at least have the energy to go there and try.

Well, the "trial" was over and I called to schedule my check-up. They couldn't get me in for two more weeks and I mentioned that I would run out of my script on Friday. I gave the lady the information and she said the doctor would call in my prescription later that day.

I picked it up after work, paying the same amount that I did for the first one, so I didn't think anything of it. I drove home without another thought about it. I then pulled it out to see if I'd been given any refills or if I'd have to remember to call the doctor before I ran out. Shocker, there are two refills. I was standing there holding a three month supply of pills (in essence) and I wanted to cry.

I took it out in my writing, again attacking my horror anthology and finishing another piece. Why horror? Why sadness? Why shock, tears, and OMG?

For the first time I realized that I am "sick", not the take a few pills and it goes away kind of "sick". This is the "you'll always have to deal with this" kind of sick. I was so peppy and bouncy and go go go before this struck and the disease/disorder is so misunderstood and under-researched. They don't know why it strikes, how, what, when... they just know how to treat it and that it typically begins in late teens through early to mid adulthood.

There is nothing that will ever make it go away completely and I've had plenty of time to think about all the warning signs I missed in the past. Per my usual, I waited until I couldn't stand it anymore. In other words I waited until I hit the bottom of the hill to try to climb back up. It will take me longer to get it back under control and get back to the person I was. And, God, I can't wait. Secretly (or not so secretly anymore) I hate the person this disease makes me.

And don't all the aspects of illness mirror the aspects of horror. Something coming out of nowhere, changing a person's life in a way that can never be undone... Oh yes, illness is excellent fodder for horror mentality. Will there be happily ever afters in my anthology - no. Will there be concrete endings- no. Will there be easily understood stories and plots- no. They will unfold as life unfolds, without reason or sense, tumbling out of nowhere to sweep the characters away...

Life does not imitate art... Art is the mirror of life. How we view it if you will and I'm definitely stuck in a fun house hall of crazy mirrors! Should be an interesting ride.... would you like to come along?