Taking a risk

Drama unfolds at my feet without invitation. (Sometimes). Stealing moments, hours, days. (Years). These bastard thieves of time have taken enough. (Way too much). Calm out of chaos, chaos out of calm. (My MO) Blame has its place. (You know who you are). Explanations a distant cousin. (But still an important member of the family). I'm beyond weary today. (Again).

Truth. My truths, at least, are ready. My story. Just one of thousands, but it's mine. My personal diary that I purposefully have not put into so many words. A blurb here-and-there. A correspondence with an advocate. A short conversation with a stranger. A pleading glance. An effort to make it all go away. A failed attempt.

Batten the hatches. This boat is about to set sail. And hopefully, we'll get to blow this motherfucker up and sink her into the Sea of Past once and for all. Let it become a safehaven for something else, and remove a burden from me. A stormy soul finally calmed by the catharsis I've been looking for. One gaping chink in the armor has already been repaired. Love has found its way into my life, for that I am extremely blessed and eternally grateful. Hopefully this will take care of the rest. Taking a deep breath. Plunging into potential danger. Fingers crossed.

It's time...

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I knew something was wrong. Despite the outside influences and self-imposed stresses of every day life, a voice deep inside my head was whispering to me. It's amazing how adept we become at ignoring those soft messages in the back of our minds. Well-intentioned friends and family reinforce denials. Those who are professed to help caught in backwards red-taped industries.

"It's just stress."

"It's your crappy job".

"You're not getting enough sleep".

"Take two aspirin and please don't call us again".

These, of course, are usually true. But my whisper turned into a shout. Then the shout into a scream. And it's never stopped.

It was June of 2003. In the previous 6 months or so we'd all witnessed 9/11. In one weekend I quit my job of 8 years and was dumped by the man I loved. Within another month my brother's marriage exploded in a fireball of police, restraining orders and fear of a murder-suicide. I didn't want to exacerbate any more family anxiety with my personal problems so I kept them to myself. And for the most part, have continued to. And this has been one of the biggest mistakes of my entire life.

Something wasn't right. And I knew it. I made an appointment with my doctor. One or two marginal tests were conducted. A finger up the ass here, a blood test there. I was sent away with a condescending clean bill of health, mysterious symptoms (to them) and the nagging instinct that all was not O.K. I've never done well on tests, I knew the lab results weren't telling the whole story, why should they be any different? Knowing something is very off in your own body and having a medical professional throw a shrug of indifference your way is not a comfort. More on that another time.

For some reason, I listened to my gut this time. I did not dismiss myself. I'd been down this road before and every time I was right. Having the satisfaction of saying, I fucking told you so, and the regretful confirmation of what it actually was. These are important voices to listen to. Fear is an adequate motivator.

I did some more research online and my initial suspicions of what could possibly be going on were further supported. I'm situationally tenacious, but in this case, was not going to give up. I asked a friend if she had a doctor she liked. She did. I made the call and did my best to keep my nervousness at bay. The Saturday before my appointment I had returned home from my horse riding lesson and was in the shower as normal.

For some reason I ran my soapy hand slowly down my neck and that's when I felt it...