More 'Why?'s

I am often accused of analyzing everything within an inch of its teeth. That should justify what I have been pondering about lately.

Why have I started to blog?

I have hardly ever written about myself. I have always disliked the idea of writing a bio-data, and can’t remember ever having written one. Jobs have come through recommendations. When I needed to apply for the membership of a premier institution, I got accepted even 'though I wrote about nothing except my interests. I am still convinced that my acceptance was a fluke, and the decision was taken based on drawing lots. I got lucky.

Similarly, in the days when I modeled, I was the only model I knew who had no portfolio. 

And I certainly never wrote a diary.

But here I am, exposing my innermost thoughts on the World Wide Web.

Have I begun to think that my life is important enough for others to want to read? Do I think that my thoughts could be interesting or worthy of the time one spends reading them? Well, if I do then more fool me! 

I could have easily kept a private journal. Yet, here I am putting myself at the mercy of the technology I understand very little of and which could bite me without any warning whenever.

Another possibility – I don’t make friends easily.

I think most people who get to know me for a while get the impression that I am good with people. I am for a while. But I tire easily. I am best with people who like being by themselves, who don’t feel ignored, who don’t need constant attention. I like being quiet, so my ideal companions are people who are busy and happy in and with themselves.

I am good at striking up conversations, making people laugh. I apparently am a good Agony Aunt.

But, I am a floater. My attachments are few.

The few I consider to be friends are all busy professionals and come to visit me at home as much as they can. But under the circumstances I am very wary of having them feel that they owe me companionship. For me it is enough to know that if I really needed them and they could at all make it, they’d be there.

But even with friends one doesn’t introspect – except once in years perhaps when the ease of a relationship overcomes a rare moment.

In this blog I find that is exactly what I am doing – introspecting.

So maybe this is what I wanted to, needed to do all along

I did have a plan as to what I would write, a few things I thought I needed to get out of my system, but now those subjects seem to have lost their significance. This I think proves what I always thought – the past has not had much effect on me. I DO NOT HAVE PTSD, i.e. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder that apparently I should have. 

I will possibly write about all that, but I don’t know when or if at all. Right nowI don’t really care.

I think it is just that I always wanted to write, not on a specific subject, or in reference to anything, just to ramble on.

Now I have the time.

Friendships

It hurt too much, ever since I could remember for what I and most doctors thought, no reason. Good friends listened and ignored. Kind friends thought I was a hypochondriac. Other 'friends' thought I was trying to grab attention. A few wondered if there really was a problem. Only a handful had the empathy to know I was not pretending; not fibbing! I wouldn’t do that. That is just not who I am.

I shouldn’t really hold grudges. I shouldn’t judge. They didn’t know. Hell, I didn’t know! But I wish they had tried to know me better. And that I can’t get myself to forget! 

Once the diagnosis for Lupus came in I lost many friends. Embarrassment is not conducive to maintaining or nurturing relationships. However I found new support in unexpected company. With an airtight excuse/reason to avoid gatherings, I became free of those from whom freedom was liberating.

I am polite. I am friendly and I care in spite of myself. But they no longer have ME.

How to Put a Stop to Idiotic Comments

I am a contributor to a forum for Auto Immune conditions.

Our medications, and sometimes the inability to exercise, get some of us to put on weight. The amount can vary - a few lbs, to whatever. Sixty/seventy is often heard of.

With all the medications we need, we tend to look normal, and as long one is not obese, most people connect extra weight with undisciplined eating habits (which does tend to happen initially because of intense sugar craving due to the medications, but once aware, the eating is generally kept under control, but the weight gain happens anyway). The edge can be taken off the pain with the drugs, and anyway, we mostly develop higher thresholds of tolerance.  Additionally I do feel that those with chronic conditions are particularly careful not to LOOK ill. It is irksome enough to FEEL ill all the time.

We try to laugh about people’s reactions when/if they find out that we are not well. It ranges from - ‘But you look so well!’ ‘You seem happy!’ ‘Then you should be resting at home!’ and ‘But you don’t look sick!’, but in reality it is sickening.

Once when I had to go to meet someone to get some documentation sorted out, I was particularly unwell. I made an appointment to make sure I wasn’t kept waiting. Then I dressed appropriately, albeit in no-fuss comfortable clothes, pulled my hair back so I wouldn’t need to bother about it. I even managed to put some Vaseline lip salve with SPF on, which I anyway should, but often don’t bother with.

When I got to the meeting, the person was not in his room. I waited for half an hour. My brain was oozy. I had my usual body ache and low fever. My head throbbed. Etcetera.

So I went to his assistant and asked when the gentleman would be back, as I was not feeling too well. He looked at me and said, ”But you don’t look sick”.

At that point I was beyond politeness, so through gritted teeth I snarled back at him, “Idiots don’t look like idiots either.”

A huge forum discussion of more than two hundred posts followed on the subject, each illustrating individual experience. To prevent these infuriating observations about how 'well' we look, these were my suggestions.

I am reproducing that post here without any further edit:-

Hair and face:

-Wash hair.

-DO NOT brush

-Throw head forward.

-Blow dry any which way (the point is to look unkempt).

-At this point moisturizer may be considered.

-Sunscreen with high SPF is strongly recommended.

-If physically at all possible, smudge a dark kohl pencil around the eyes, adds much to the end results.

-Don't bother with fine lines and neatness. Think HEROIN CHIIC. Or Lyrica, Ultram. Imuran, Met, Xanax, yada...yada.

-Vaseline lip care will do. Nothing is also fine.

Clothes:

-Any skirt/trouser - classic, wrap, straight, bias, - whatever.

-Top - anything will do. Absolutely.

-Dress- from wadrobe, attic, bazaar, anywhere. Moth eaten? Cool!

Pull a tshirt under it or a shawl over it-only if modesty beckons.

POINTER - mismatch is good. Very good. Better than match.

-Scarf/shawl. Bright colours - as many as the weather permits.

Legs:

- Tights, leggings, warmers - anything, anywhere, anyhow.

- Ballet shoes. Not too new. If boots, then scruffy.

The idea is LOW MAINTENANCE. To look somewhat FLAKEY. ECCENTRIC. WILD. UNAPPROACHABLE.

And to put people off asking idiotic questions or attempt to reach a comfort zone from where they can make unsolicited comments.

However, NO body odour. PLEASE. Some energy has to be used for that.

And now you are ready.

So go get them!

Why

Why am I writing all this?

What is the point?

Right now I am not sure if I am sure.

Why I use a Monikar

To give some people undue anonymity…

And because I have a right to be selective about whom I want to share any personal thoughts with.

Some people I have sent this link to, are those who have been close to me from when I was young. They never knew what was going on, but always wondered … I thank them for caring enough to wonder.

I have also sent this link to a few who know me now and would not be surprised at all, not because they know me, but because they know that life is strange…

I have also sent this link to one of my doctors who coaxed me into a comfort zone where I could actually fast forward the past. I never thought I would. The anonymity helped. I owe them heaps. Some of these people I regard as friends and would be proud if they would look upon me as theirs. 

On the bloggosphere of course everyone is welcome to read.

I still don’t know what I will write. Whatever…

And yes I will use a monikar.

Freedom at Eighteen

My daughter is eighteen. 

From a couple of years before she turned eighteen she was looking forward to that birthday, as it seemed to her she could enter the wicked world of adults – like having a glass of wine on ‘Special Occasions’.

She was born at 11.45 pm, and I, with Mummy like wretchedness, made her wait till exactly that time before I poured her a glass.

It was a real sight to see her take her first sip, more of a gulp, gag and spew it all out. I decided to take pity on her and gave her some orange juice with a very little vodka.

She called and made proud announcements to her friends.

Since then there have been many ‘Occasions’, but not ‘Special’ ones as determined by me. Of those there have been just a couple.

Yesterday she went with her father to another city for a few days. Her father is in a profession that is perceived to be glamorous. She expects there to be parties every evening.

The evening before she left she asked me plaintively if every night there was going to be a ‘Special Occasion’. Her hopes were dashed, but I have told tell her that she may have one drink on the last evening she is there.

Poor Baby! Silly Baby! I miss her.

Taking Flight

I have lived in forests and mountains, on the beach and cities. I am absolutely BLACK when it comes to cities. I hate city living, and can’t imagine how people can go for holidays to major cities unless it is to pursue a specific interest, which does NOT include shopping.

Unfortunately my circumstances dictate that I should live in a city now, so I do that with a mighty deal of grudge.

I did study, like all the people around me did (correction, only those with ‘our’ socio-economic backgrounds), but it all came to naught as I never had the temperament of a corporate professional. Everybody around me studied economics, so I did too. Acute boredom with the subject and the recognition that it was something best left to others saved me from further agony.

So there was I, with passion for life and its possibilities but no focus whatsoever. I had withdrawn from the life I always thought I was going to live, and all I could think about was that I was unhappy with the weather of the place where I lived.

Under the circumstances I did what I thought was best, I took flight.

Literally.

I bought a one-way ticket to the capital of my very large country of origin.

I had nowhere to go, did not speak the language, and knew no one.

I had with me the kind of money that a student with an interest in orphans of immigrant labourers would have - that is to say - very little, because most of it went to buy Christmas gifts, birthday gifts, 'get well soon' gifts, 'well done' gifts, ‘I know you will do well’ gifts and 'never mind' gifts. But I am not a Future Planner – so I wasn’t bothered.

I rejoiced in the brightness and colour, all around me, of my new surroundings. It was a treat to not have to wake up to dreary weather - beiges, browns and grays at the shop windows - and pale people. The smarter the people (people who went to work in the city) the more boring they looked.

At that time, I preferred the dust on the roads shimmering in the sunlight.

This is Personal

A finite detailing of any being is not possible, except just for one moment in time. To get on in life, one needs to get over oneself.

Past is where you were. If you were a hero then, well you were a hero THEN. If you were a victim, it was THEN.

Now is a clean slate, NOW the decision has to be made as to who you are, because now is where you are.

My profile is therefore true for 22^nd September 2009, Tuesday. I am writing this at 11.16 pm. And by the time I post this, all my present and the way I view my past will have changed.

My life is all about how I never achieved what I wanted to.

Today, because of that, I am at peace.

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I wanted a career when I was young. In the previous generation of my family were Doctors, Chartered Accountants, Men in Uniforms, and Lawyers with a Chief Justice thrown in for good measure. There were controversial politicians. Very controversial. That I would become a professional of some sort was given.

It didn’t work out that way. My own opinions took on a life of their own, and refused to go along for the ride that others had put me on.

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Over the last 20 years I have worked in advertising, modeled, studied the concept of monastic religion evolving into the personal. I have translated into English the literature and poetry of a man whose writings won him the Noble Prize.

I have volunteered in orphanages and worked on adoption programmes, but found it impossible to continue because I never was able to match my thoughts with those of the institutions.

I am now old enough to face the truth. I lack the stamina and drive to deal in details. I can’t quibble over procedures, deal with beaurocrats, win allies and outwit opponents.

I also realize that I don’t really want the power I would get if I were able to do all those things. I don’t want to impose my thoughts for an ideal world, by my definition, on others by force.

I don’t begrudge others the power. I just don’t want to be forced to agree.

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Intricacies of the woven textile had always fascinated me. Why textiles? I have no idea.

As on a whim one day I started to look into some documentation about the history of fine textiles, I figured that the socio-economic evolution in any part of the world could be mapped through its textiles.

Pursuing those thoughts I made friends with a community of weavers who had historically woven a textile, the muslin that legends are made of. They are immigrants in this country - displaced because of community violence.

With them I tried to bring back into production our textile heritage – to find out if they could still be relevant to a market large enough to support them.

I wanted the weavers to be proud of the incredible aesthetics and dexterity they had inherited.

But competition with the current trend is too heavily stacked against them. The material costs are too expensive and the expertise much too rare, to compete against the deluge of gaudy glitter and easy taste that now permeates the market.

Demand does exist amongst the connoisseurs, but is not enough to provide a comfortable living for a meaningful number of families.

I have tried to push it to a niche market. But there are too many variables beyond my control, one of the variables being that I am lousy at running a business.

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My head now hurts. I never thought I’d write all this, let alone share.

In a day or two I hope to write the rest and post.

Ouch

I have Lupus. It is S.L.E to some, Systemic Lupus Erithematosus to the knowledgeable and meaningless to most. I was one of the most about a decade ago.

Systemic Lupus is an autoimmune condition. It is a connective tissue disease, - a chronic, inflammatory condition that happens when the body’s immune system attacks its own tissues and organs. It can be controlled by drugs, but not cured and is adversely affected from exposure to sunlight, stress and strain.

Lupus in Latin meanswolf. And Erithematosus means redness of the skin caused by dilatation and congestion of the capillaries, often a sign of inflammation or infection.

Inflammation caused by lupus can affect many different body systems, including joints, skin, kidneys, blood cells, heart, and lungs and the central nervous system.

In my case - joints, skin and blood cells are involved.

Lupus for me mostly means moderate to severe-ish body ache, – the kind of body ache that accompanies a very bad attack of flue.

I also have painful joints and constant low-grade fever.

The fever is totally draining. Then there are the dry, blistering mucous membranes – Sjogren’s syndrome. Sometimes my eyes are so dry that I can't move them.

Viral and fungal infections are another bane, and treatment for these are difficult as the drugs can be toxic.

There is a mental scale that I measure my pain by. So on a scale of zero to ten, my pain level is between five, to six and a half. I have left the other three and a half for any future progression, because I would like to have a few more decades to look forward to. I intend to spend a lot of time in the forest and on the mountains.

I want to emphasise that this scale is applicable to my personal condition only. Others may have a lower or higher tolerance to pain. So their scale would be different.

Also, this scale is in no way a reference to the pain of any acute conditions, - surgeries, accidents, or acute painful illnesses.

Lupus pain is constant and numbing. When it is at six and a half, I am dizzy and nauseous. My dream massage would be one with a contraption that is a combination of the pressure of a road roller and an elephant’s walk. But a massage feels good only while is happening. The minute it stops, the pain is right back again.

My nervous system is possibly also shot, or may be its just the effect of the drugs.

I have some of the symptoms - confusion, fatigue, memory impairment, and difficulty expressing my thoughts.

But these have been the cause of much hilarity and belly laugh among my friends, so I shall consider them a silver lining. I will be writing about some of the occasions later sometime.

Before I was diagnosed with Lupus, I would tan a beautiful caramel within a few hours in the sun. I used to be so proud of my colour, and how much I showed it off. Then I got to know that it was a symptom of the condition!

Happiness!

What is bothersome ‘though is the often discoloured, angry Malar Rash, or the butterfly rash that appears on the bridge of the nose and then spreads to the cheek bones on both sides of the face.

For a person as vain as I am, this can be terribly depressing. But then again, often it is like a red stain that makes me look rosy and fresh.

I can totally put up with that!

The Origins of Addictions

Substance abuse has been doing it’s rounds ever since just after Adam ate the apple. The apple grew on the Tree of Knowledge of Good or Evil; BUT that tree must have grown more than just the one fruit. Of that I’m pretty sure, and the law of probability will support me.

If there is fruit, there must to be wine, and once Adam got to know the ways of the evil, it would have taken him half a second to figure that out. Imagine – the aroma of rotting apple, on a deserted planet with only Eve for company; would be enough to drive anybody to drink.

Here is a fact to help establish my premise – in Latin "malum", as an adjective means evil, but as a noun means apple.

I haven’t given much thought to the origins of other forms of substance abuse but I shall be happy to be enlightened.

The Illusive Present Perfect

I am eating a toast with peanut butter and marmalade on it.

Now THAT just is not the great start to the profound and meaningful blog I have been so looking forward to write; 'goes to prove that past thoughts for the future seldom become the present!

The idea is that we should live in the present, be perfectly content and look for perfection in the moment that is the present. In that scenario then, how do the concepts of past or future fit in? Unless of course we take birth and die within that one moment! So the present is a moment with neither a past nor a future, but is a long time in the making and in recovering from.

At the present moment I am eating the second last bite of my toast and loving it. It’s perfect!

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I like to keep my upper lip stiff. In the quiet of my own being it may wobble a bit, but in public I express each stirring of emotion with an explosion of intense clinical hyperactivity. It is hardly ever in proportion to the occasion, mostly absolutely over the top, but it has its uses. It tides me over. And it keeps the aforementioned lip - stiff. Within the sight of others, I'll scream and shout, but nary a tear. Except when I am reading a book or watching a film. Then I go for broke.