Erracticism

One thing you've noticed if you're regularly following this blog, is that it's been very sporadic lately.  Posting one day, then nothing.  Or maybe two or even three or four days in a row.  Then nothing.  Very erratic.  Which is why I made up a "new" word:  erracticism.  There's eroticism for erotic.  So why not erracticism for erratic?  (And yes, my spell check is having major issues with this word since it doesn't exist.  But then that's the advantage of being the possessor of a deranged mind.)

As I walk this path which I really didn't expect - or want - to be travelling at this, or at any other, time in my life, I find that it is not an easy forward direction.  

Recovery.

I call this phase in my life recovery.  Recovery, I've found is very erratic.  I start going in one direction thinking I've finally found a solution - only to find myself back in bed.  Bedridden temporarily.  Not able to move.  Not able to read.  Sometimes not even able to sleep.

And/or the itching crops up again.  Every time I think I've got it tamed, it finds ways to remind me that it has no intentions to lie low and be tamed.  The good times are when my skin actually feels like skin, not like an inside out pincushion being pricked ceaselessly from the inside.  Minor itching on the torso.  Warning signals are when the itching extends from the torso to the limbs.  I know I'm in big trouble when the itching makes its way to the scalp, the eyeballs, inside the ears, the toes, the fingers.  You name it, nothing is sacred when I'm in a major flare-up.  There are times I feel like screaming.  There are times the discomfort is so severe that I can't even find words to use.  Those are the times I throw some cream to Papa Bear and make motions.  Fortunately, he understands.  He hurts when I hurt.  He feels badly when I feel badly.  He feels helpless.  Because there's nothing he can do - except apply the cream.

I started out this blog early this year with definite goals in mind:  to start writing again, to hone my craft in the pages of this blog, to work towards a certificate in writing from a local college, to start exercising with an aquafit program, to attend a Bible study regularly.  In short:  to start moving forward.  To put the past behind.  To explore options.  To re-enter the outside world.

At first, it seemed like everything was coming together.  I started the blog.  People even read it!  I took a course in grammar via computer - enjoying the interaction with others in a "safe" environment i.e. the class message board.  I regularly attended a water walking class at our local rec centre which meant I was getting out regularly and interacting on a very basic social level with others i.e. hello, good-bye, how are you this week?  I attended the Bible study faithfully.  Never missing a week.  That was hard being in a room with roughly 25 other women.  Ironically, the Bible study was on Grace Fox's Moving From Fear to Freedom video series.  My original intention when invited to attend this group was simply to get out and start being around people.  Socialization.  Little did I suspect that I would be thrown into confronting fears I didn't know I had.  Fear of people.  Fear of rejection.  Going back time and time again was hard.  Not because of the people.  Because of the fears.  Because of the lies I'd internalized from the severely stressful situation in 2011 which has changed my life - for better or worse.

I found these people scary.  Which would make them laugh manically if they heard that.

So where am I going with this?

Where am I going indeed?

Recovery is not only hard work.  Definitely not for the faint hearted.  But it's also not a steady forward movement.  It goes forward and backward - sometimes unexpectedly.

It's erratic.

I ask your understanding at the erraticism of this blog as I struggle through this morass daily.  As I keep moving unsteadily and erratically forward.

Thank you for walking with me in this.