I started this blog with a very minimal goal in mind. In fact, I’m not even sure I’d consider it a goal. A little over two years ago I suffered a stroke in my thirteenth week of my second pregnancy. It was due to a rupture in something in my head called an arteriovenous malformation, or AVM. It was pretty horrific. I want to go into detail and tell my story but here is where I hesitate, I pause, I wonder and consider.
I started a blog about a year ago; it didn’t go so well. I just wanted to tell my story about my stroke, my AVM, my pregnancy and the many struggles I have had since. But it wasn’t working. I had zero audience members. I became bored with my own story. I regressed and went back to my support group. I blogged there instead. I asked questions. I reached out. I discovered that I am alone in my sufferings; I coddle the rage and depression that surges through me while everyone else works overtime to evict these invasive and controlling critters.
I discovered in my group that, yeah, it’s not cool to feel sad. It’s not alright to be angry. And if you feel these things…don’t mention it in your support group because no one will understand or try to understand. Instead, you will be flooded with hotline numbers and links to sites full of people who want money before they are willing to help you. And you better have insurance because there’s no other way to get the help everyone suggests you find.
So, I had no choice but to ditch my support group. They were depressing me more than I can do on my own! That is quite a talent. I am my own guard; I rule myself with a hard hand and I let no one sneak in to comfort me in my dark cell. And yet there was this group of people somehow managing to sneak in and make me feel worse about my lack of successes with the stories of their ever-growing stacks of achievements. My gains stopped after the first year of my recovery. People gain back their losses; people become independent and I…well, I just stayed the same. I was alone…so alone. I had no one to talk to. I still have no one. I don’t know what is normal; I don’t know what is supposed to happen next, I don’t know how to move forward.
So I started this blog. Not only is it rare to have an AVM discovered while you are still alive, but it is apparently just as rare to continue life with the deficits created by the rupture of that rare gem living inside of you. I am a hemiparetic and I have issues. I am depressed and I live in a red world with frayed white edges. I love the life around me. I love my family, my kids and husband but I cannot escape or deny the fact that I hate my life as well as who and what I have become. It would be nice to simply say, “Well, I don’t like me so I’m going to change me and be a new me.” But no matter how many times I say that or attempt to take action there is no change. This is me and I am alone and I am hurting on the inside so deeply that I can barely tell the difference between the me that exists and the one that simply wishes she didn’t exist. They are becoming the same person and I’m fairly confident this is not a very good thing.
So, my goal, however minimal it may be, is to not feel alone. I have no wishes or desires to reach out to anyone. I have no goals to acquire a huge audience. The more people reading the less I will focus on myself and the internal growth I am struggling to acheive. The more people reading means the more I will focus on entertaining them with things they care not to read.
I am strange, I am odd, I am angry, I am alone and depressed. I am also an introvert with literary goals I have no one to challenge with. I enjoy art and the solitude art permits. I enjoy a soundless noise no one else can hear. I like to look up at the sky and imagine myself as someone else. I don’t mind the smell of gasoline and I secretly like the smell of a skunk though I would prefer not to wear the odor. That is me, this me and this is my blog and I have to remind myself that this not for the entertainment of others but for myself though it is hardly entertaining.