It was 1 of those “good news, bad news’ sessions.

The good news?

After reviewing 30 years of my medical history, he discovered that there was “nothing wrong with me physically”.

YES, you heard that correctly!

YES, I have been diagnosed with Fibromyalgia Syndrome and Chronic Fatigue (CFIDS). So, how is possible that with so much muscle pain, so much exhaustion, there could be nothing wrong with my body?

It’s simple really.

Very recent research into the mechanism by which Fibromyalgia operates suggest that it is due to a dysfunction of the Central Nervous System (CNS). That means the problem is in the brain, not the body.

Therefore, as I understand it, the myriad of symptoms experienced by Fibromites are the result of CNS problems.

Here’s how that news has freed me up.

If there’s nothing wrong with my muscles — well, other than the fact that 14 months in bed have atrophied them to some degree — then there’s really nothing preventing me from doing stuff. Stuff like walking, hiking, running (except I don’t DO jogging), making love (except I don’t have a lover).

So, for the past 2 weeks, I’ve hiked my butt out of bed first thing in the morning. And, gone for a walk.

When I first started I could walk  for 1/2 an hour and travel 6 blocks. Now, I walk for an hour and travel 30 or more blocks. YIPPEE!

I’m pumped!

Morning walks have been an integral part of my Spiritual / Creative Practice. For it’s on these walks that I have the alone time I need to ponder, mull, and compost ideas. And, to dialogue with God Within Me.

Starting my day this way is critical because it gets me calm, centered, and focused on what’s important. And, because it connects me to Spirit.

I’ve noticed important improvements in my life. For example, on the weekend I drove to the foothills west of Calgary and hiked in the wind.  Why is that a big deal? Because normally — whatever normal is — wind provokes massive pain. And, it didn’t! YIPPEE!

What’s the bad news?

Tune in to the next post to see why the bad news is really good news.

The warning to Julius Caesar, “Beware the Ides of March”, often comes to my mind, especially as March 15^th nears.

March seems to be a time pregnant with significance. I’m not sure if it is or not. Maybe it’s just that the events that happened in March are so much more memorable. Then, of course, there is the fact that March always used to herald, not only Spring, but the return of my hypomania.

I yearn for those easy days when I had Winter SAD and my down cycle only lasted 3 months. Oh, and when those down cycles only meant lethargy, carbo cravings, anhedonia, suicidal ideation, and crashingly deep depressions. Oh, to have those time back, when March meant the return of Robins chirping their mating calls, elevated moods, a literal Spring in my step, and the flooding, rushing tide of ideas and ambition.

Now, March is simply March. Well, maybe not.

This last week has been so fucking exhausting, confusing, an emotional roller coaster.

Then I remembered: the first half of March is, in fact, pregnant with significant dates.

March 8, 1985: My ‘failed’ attempt to kill myself by hanging.

March 6, 1986: Divorce court.

March 10, 1989: JT moves in with me, and our relationship goes to complete shit.

I’m sure there are other March events of significance, but these are all I remember today. And, certainly more than enough to evoke March Madness.

I look out the window as the sun strikes the windows of the downtown office towers and I am both grateful that I am alive and wishing that I were dead.

I forget who said that being able to hold 2 contrary thoughts in one’s brain was some kind of good thing, but I have long had this ‘wonderful’ ability to feel simultaneous optimistic-aliveness and death-wish pessimism.

It is like different parts of me want totally divergent outcomes. And, depending on which part is stronger: I am hopeful, touched with joy, and welcome the future. If, on the other hand, the dark one takes control: I am sad, defeated, crushed, and dread the next minute, hour, and day.

Such is March Madness: the ever eternal dance of Mood. Sometimes a languid Waltz, other times a fierce Tango. But never still, never silent, never calm.

And, now much worse. For a new companion has intruded on the Dance: Pain.

So, to the ebb and flow of Mood is now added the shifting sensation of Pain.

Sometimes crushing me in her embrace.

Sometimes burning with icy needles.

Sometimes both.

And, only occasionally quiet, still, silent: gone!

Beware the Ides of March!

Copyright 2010 Lyle T. Lachmuth, All Rights Reserved

I have had this urge to write but I have been avoiding it for some reason.

So, I am sitting my ass down in the chair and having a go at it.

My little old brain keeps getting distracted, wandering off to other things. And, I am distracted by the pain in my legs. And, by the feeling of sexual need in my genitals.

BUT, what needs to be written?

What wants to be said, to be written down.

I am afraid. I am afraid that I will continue to piss away endless amounts of money: trying to ‘buy’ friendship and love; trying to make a name for myself; looking for answers in books (bought at great expense); and then BLAM I will be sick in bed and AGAIN will not have accomplished a fucking thing.

What am I so fucking afraid of?

Why do I avoid working on my work?

Why do I piss endless time away on useless people like JT, LR, and GS?

Why do I avoid sitting my ass down and writing?

Why do I avoid creating and promoting a bloody workshop or something like that?

It’s not the hard work required to do those things: though it’s tempting to blame it on that.

What the fuck is it?

Why don’t I just write my memoirs, or my novel? Why don’t I just get the fuck on with MY WORK?

I am afraid.

Who is afraid?

Ah! One of the little guys inside.

The abused one. The hurt one. The sad one. The one who risked it all … and, was tortured for that.

I, TWO, am afraid.

I need to be loved. I need to be protected. I need to be nourished. I need to be nurtured. I need warmth. I need caring. I need reassurance. I need help. I need protection.

I need to know that you will not hurt me, wound me, bugger me.

I need love. I need comfort.

Tell me you love me … and mean it, SHOW it!

How?

Rub my arms slowly and softly.

Take deep breaths.

Go slow.

Ask me what I need … BEFORE you go running off, or running off at the mouth.

Remember me … and act like you do.

When you do these thiings, then I can stop being afraid.

I WILL DO these things for you … and, that IS my commitment.

Copyright 2010 Lyle T. Lachmuth, All Rights Reserved

“Mr. Lachmuth.  Mr. Lachmuth!”

“Can you hear me?”

I didn’t want to open my eyes. This dream was freaking weird but at least I  was asleep.

The voice continue, “Mr. Lachmuth. I need you to talk to me. Do you know where you are?”

Fuck , I thought.

My pain has become so bad that my family doc prescribed Morphine!

Unfortunately, due to a miscommuication betwixt us, I thought I was on ‘regular’ Morphine. Not true! I was given “Sustained Relief” morphine. So, I took it like regular Morphine. BIG MISTAKE!

I accidentaly overdosed (more on that experience later).

Thanks to a quick acting wife; a 911 call; and a very responsive EMS team I AM ALIVE! THANKS ERIN,  (EM Tech)!!

I’m still ‘coming down’ from the SR Morphine, so I am running hot and  itching like crazy (turns out I am ’sensitive’ to Morphine) till the Reactine(R) kicks in.

Sheesh! What am I NOT sensitive to?

This is a hell of a way to start the weekend.

I am going to be doing a series of posts on this subject. I will explain how this happened, in the hopes others will learn from my ‘mistakes’.

Happy Belated Thanksgiving! I am thankful for my LIFE! And, for dedicated EM Techs like Erin who loves her job! We had a great chat as the Narcan shut down my Opiate receptors — image little Pac Men (R) cruising your veins, running around shutting down the Opiate Receptors. I could literally FEEL a burning in my veins as the receptors were disconnected.

As more and more receptors disconnected, I became more alert. That’s how the EMT’s “KNEW” I’d overdosed — Narcan is THE Antidote for Morphine.

I am grateful to God that I am here to ‘tell the tale!”

I’m done for now.

Stay tuned for more insights, information, ideas, and encouragement.

I don’t know about you, but sometimes my ‘flesh’ seems awfully weak.

How do we manage the seeming ‘conflict’ between what our spirit, our mind, can conceive and what we can actually do?

My dendritic mind seems to pop out a thousand ideas a minute … some of them even brilliant!

But, my reality, is that there are simply not enough hours in the day to bring to fruition even 1/100 of these ideas. Mucho frustrating! Add to this the fact that I have commitments to clients, colleagues, family, friends  — and, oh jeez I’d like to travel and enjoy some recreation too!

I’ve been encouraged to hire a Virtual Assistant to help. But, I’ve yet to find 1 that can really deliver the service level that’s promised.

So, what I’m doing now is ‘chunking down’ my projects. That is, breaking them down into small tasks that I can do in 15 to 30 minutes. And, then executing them when I can ‘fit them into’ my busy schedule.

It’s not ideal … but so far it’s working.

What are you doing to take the burden off your weary body?

Please share in the comments section.

Crud, I so love listening to the news on my radio — NOT!

It’s not like I wasn’t already feeling mucho stressed — which I KNOW because my Fibro pain has returned … and with a vengance!

So, on my walk this morning I got to thinking about what was stressing me. I was just ‘delighted’ to identify SIX separate stressors. Then it occured to me after I got back from my walk, that it would be useful for me to share my approach to reducing the stress that’s escalating my pain.

So, over the next few days I’m going to write about how I’m dealing with those 6 stressors: in the hope that my tactics will help you.

What’s the FIRST step to Reducing Stress?

Step 1: Know When (and how much) You Are Stressed

How could it be possible that YOU might not know you are stressed?

Well, ya see, each of us manifests our stress in different ways and sometimes we exhibit stress differently at different times.

For example, when I first experienced significant stress — which, ironically, was during the last huge, mofo economic recession in 1982 — I reacted to the stressors in my life by becoming Clinically Depressed.

Up until then, I’d never been really sick. Sure, I’d had the flu, some colds, but I’d never experienced a major work outage. Suddenly, work sucked big time! I could barely drag my butt into work. In fact, the new position I had just started — which I had created — I was starting to HATE.

It wasn’t till I met with a psychologist that I began to understand that my depression was due to stress. So, I began to do extensive research into stress and stress management techniques.

Little did I know at the time, that I would spend years learning how to better deal with stress. And, that my work would evolve into a coaching practice that involves, among other things, helping creative professionals deal more effectively with stress.

So, HOW do you KNOW when you are stressed?

Get the hell out of your head and into your body!

Yes, I know your body hurts! Mine sure as hell does. I know the last thing you want to do is FEEL THE PAIN MORE!

Trust me. Feeling INTO the pain will: a) give you some important clues about WHAT is stressing you and b) will actually reduce the pain — eventually.

When I finally SURRENDERED to the massive pain I was feeling in my hips and shoulders I then began to connect to the actual stressors that were contributing to the pain. Ya see, I had thought that there were only 2 things stressing me. As I felt the pain, and listened to it, it told me about ALL the things that were pressuring me.

So, the first step to reducing your stress is to know WHAT is stressing you and HOW MANY things are stressing you. And, you do that by moving into your body, into the pain, taking a breath or six, and listening to what the pain has to say.

NEXT — Step 2: Prioritize Your Stressors

And, I LOVE it!

The part of my brain that has an ounce of intellect left recognizes this “feeling”. My old FAMILIAR: the “dark side” of my Muse.

In her ground breaking work, “Touched with Fire: Manic-Depressive Illness and The Artistic Temperament“, author and manic-depressive, Kay Redfield Jamison suggests the artist who suffers from mood swings needs her depressions to ground, to make real, to solidify her ideas and creations.

And, what artist, what writer, what sculptor, what painter: in fact what anyone who creates DOES NOT suffer swings of mood?

Just yesterday I was coaching a 20-something asipiring muscian/song writer who conjectured, “maybe I’m bipolar?”

I do have Biploar Affective Disorder: specifically Bipolar II. I have extremely labile moods. I can zip from “feeling groovy” to “soaking in sadness” in under 2 minutes!

But, hey that’s me.

Yet, I hear many of my creative clients questioning whether they too have BPD. Almost as often as they ponder whether they have ADD or ADHD.

I’m not a psychiatrist, and I don’t play one on TV, but I do know moods and what it’ s like to have a scattered mind.

I believe that many, maybe even any one, whose reason for being is the expression of ideas will suffer from symptoms that mimic BPD, ADD, OCD, and ADHD.

I believe the ‘artistic or creative’ brain is wired differently.

Years ago, a friend and colleague, suggested that her brain was like a “tangled ball of string.”

I think the creative brain, the artistic brain does indeed resemble a ball of string. But, I think it’s much more like a huge network. In fact, in her memoirs, Jamison described her brain as dendritic.

I LIKE that term!

When I picture my brain as dendritic I see that massive collective of interconnected neurons, ideas zipping from place to place, briefly lighting the pathways, stirring the soul, firing the emotions!

As I said the other day to my wife when she asked “why are you so emotional, so down? Why are you so bothered by (what to her are unconnected) events?”

I spontaneously replied, “Because everything is connected to everything else!”

As I’ve pondered that idea, I have come to realize that in fact, EVERY IDEA, every memory, every ‘feeling’ in my brain does seem to be connected to every other entity — past, present, or future.

So, when as now, I am subjected to demands, to stressors, when 1 part of my brain is pinged, the rest thrums!

When events lead me to ponder, to muse about a past event, a former emotion, why then the rest of my neural net takes up that ‘feeling’.

So, as I ponder, and try to make sense of the shit that happened to me as a child, the whys and wherefors of child abuse, and fucked up families, it makes complete sense that those old, reeking, negative emotions would percolate and enfuse the entire network. And, as they do my being would move from lightness into the dark.

The dark is a familiar sanctuary. A place I reatreat into to hide and heal.

And, to play with the notion of ending it all, of taking those sharpened blades and ripping open my flesh so that my body could experience the depths of pain my mind and soul feel.

But, I will not act. For in reality I do not yet wish to pass on. I do not wish to die. It just feels that way.

And, so metaphorically, I take out the razor blades and imagine their caress.

(Crud. Is this dark or what?)

COURAGE

Cowards

are we all,

Who easy choices

make.

Fear whispers

In every ear,

Few choose not,

To heed.

Seldom to us

Is given

Greatness.

Yet,

It is not

The Grand Acts

That make us

Great.

Rather,

Small choices,

Carved out of despair;

Forged in pain:

Choosing life’s

Hurtful embrace.

Not for other’s

Scant approval,

But for

Self;

We do that

Which we

Must do.

Living for

Ourselves

Is never

Easy;

We stand

Alone,

Balanced

At the Edge.

Giving no thought

To others,

We fall among

The Uncaring;

Heeding too much

Another’s call,

We Join

The Sheeplike masses.

And, yet

ALL this knowing,

We DARE

To say,

“I CHOOSE.”

© 1987, 2009 Lyle T. Lachmuth, All Rights Reserved Adapted from “New Cycles” by permission of the Author

My mother, actually step-mom who raised me from the age of 6, had a ’substantial’ heart attack March 10th. At first we, the family, thought she had skated through with little damage.

However, as time passed and information trickled in from her care givers — an immensely frustrating aspect of our overloaded Canadian healthcare — we discovered her heart was badly damaged. Can you say Myocardial Infarction?

For the first 6 days the parents were in SHOCK. Dad was walking around like a lost little boy. Mum had turned into a belligerant little girl. Yummy!

I, the eldest boy, was naturally expected to take charge! In our little German-Canadian family, that means massive responsibility with little actual power and authority.

Then on Monday of this week, Mum and Dad, both moved into Phase 2 of  the Transition cycle: DENIAL. In mum’s case, massive denial salted with anger and resentment.

Yesterday, my twin sister and I were finally able to talk to the cardiologist and get the ‘truth’. The truth being the facts: NOT the story mum was telling.

As you may know, people in denial: hear what they want to hear, say what the doctor wants to hear, and then when the doctor (or other health professional) leaves, go back to doing what they WANT to do — and, then lie  to their family (or conveniently forget what was said) about what the doctor or other health care professional said.

Yesterday I explained to my sister that neither of my parent’s could be reasoned with. They want what they want and they DO NOT want to have to CHANGE!

So, I told my sister that she and I (and baby bro) needed to psychologically prepare for my mum to die because of NON COMPLIANCE with doctor’s orders. My sister nodded her head and agreed! (GEE! I wonder where she learned that?)

I told her, “I’m letting go. I’m backing away. I’m not any longer going to try to convince mum and dad to change.”

I promised I would phone baby bro, who had been out of town during this adventure, and fill him and his wife in on the details and next steps.

TODAY:

I phoned bro, talked to his wife, and was surprised to find both of them calm and cooperative.

Then I phone sis to keep her in the loop and to suggest that she might want to want to move into a hotel when my mum came home. I said, “you might not want to be in the middle of an insane situation that is going to cause you pain!

Sis proceeded to argue with me. “No. Mum maybe had some slight brain damage from hypoxia. No. She’s not being resistant. She’ll take her meds. She’ll change her behaviour.” This garbage coming out the mouth of the woman who just yesterday agreed that mum and dad were both in denial and resistant.

I said to sis, “Look. This is my advice. I’m done. Do what you want.” Sis proceeds to argue with me, even more.

Now, I’m pissed! So, I say to her, “I SAID I WAS DONE! GOODBYE!” And, hung up.

I’m still pissed. Even though I’ve practice my deep breathing and vacuumed the floor.

So, I decided to vent by writing this post. And, using the writing to figure out the cause of my anger.

DUH! Darling Sis just stomped all over my boundaries.

And, what IS the BIG ISSUE for sexual abuse victims?

Can you say: BOUNDARIES?

Good thing I’m leaving for Yoga in 5 minutes. I know that by the time I’ve done 90-minutes of floor routines I’ll feel better and less likely to want to smack her a good one!

MMu