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.

I’ve tried to remember what life was like before my Manic Depressive Illness kicked in. I remember times, or at least I think I remember times, when I felt joy. For instance when my daughter was born. I remember the sheer terror of her breech birth and the flush of happiness when she was actually born, whole and sound, with a very bruised bottom.

But, today, some 28 years after my mood disorder was triggered I wonder what it would be like to be normal. To not experience the ebb and flow of moods. In particular, to not experience the painful embrace of depression. To not shuffle through the morning feeling gray and dull. To not have a part of me that wants to drown itself in the searing pain of sadness.

I have a friend who claims to have never been depressed. And, I believe that to be so. She seems possessed of an eternal perkiness, as if equipped with some special force field that repels badness, sadness, and meaness.

I wonder what it would be like to be her. To not be downed by the challenges of life. To not be sadened by the shitty, evil things we humans do to each other. To not feel dispair at the cruelness we perpetrate on each other.

I know she cares about others. It is clear from what she says and does. Yet somehow that caring never seems to drag her down; as it does me.

Part of me seems to live off the side somehow, an interested observer. “He” listens to the melancholy stories of my sad self and seems bemused; if not downright disgusted by the seemingly constant whining and complaining.

And, yet that sad part of me seems to take control on these cloudy days. She, for it seems that part is a she, feels such exquiste pain. Such deep acrid sadness that permeats every cell and molecule of my being.

The observer raises a bemused eyebrow and thinks, “Fuck. Here we go again! How long must I put up with this shit?”

And, yet somehow this sad pain seems so much a part of who I am, of who I have become.

The observer wonders, why do poets, songwriters, and artists wallow so much in pain?

And, yet somehow I welcome the sadness and pain. Not so much that it proves that I can feel. Nor so much that it proves that I am alive. Yet it is a welcome friend.

I want to drown in melancholy. I want the sadness to permeate every crevice and crack of my being. I want to take a razor and cut open my skin, slice my veins and bleed out the dark crimson sadness.

What will that accomplish? I don’t know. All I know is that somehow if I absorb all my sadness; somehow if I suck it deeply, wholely into my being; somehow if it become all of me, it will transform me.

Into what I know not.

Copyright 2010 Lyle T. Lachmuth All Rights Reserved

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.

The Sadness

sits with my heart.

Alone

I feel,

So, much alone

and, sometimes

I want to die,

and, sometimes

I want to run away,

For the Sadness

leaches through my soul,

Permeating:

Soul, body, mind, and marrow,

and fills

my being with

naught but pain.

Yet,

run I not;

And, die I not;

For somehow

This familiar melancholy

comforts me

like sipping

a soothing elixir

and, so

I wallow in the

pain

and, through

immersion

emerge

renewed,

revitalized,

and

refreshed.

Copyright 2009, Lyle T. Lachmuth, All Rights Reserved

When I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia Dr. Donaldson
suggested that I was "Type A". I didn’t agree then. And, I don’t
completely agree now. Sure I can be driven and competitive but years of
chronic illness preceding the diagnosis long ago drove away any
tendencies to workaholism.

I began to ponder the characteristics that got me in trouble and
that I saw causing problems for my ‘wounded’ clients. What I saw were
people who put others first (last and always), failed to care for
themselves, and seemed to wedded to the notion of being Helpers.

I coined the term Type H to describe this condition.  Apparently though the syndrome I call Type H already exists. It is the "Cancer Personality".

I read the list of characteritics and it was BINGO!

Bang on on all aspects. Especially the one about stuffing anger.Many of my clients confess to harbouring deep seated RAGE.

So, how come some people manifest cancer and others fibro?

Actually in some way they aren’t all that different. Cancer occurs when
cells go wonky and mutate, growing crazily, like eating one’s own body.
(Do you like my scientific explanation?) Fibro has been labelled an
autoimmune condition where our immune system attacks the body.

Really, doesn’t it seem to be about self-hatred?

And, fear.

I was abused as a child. Every single one of my clients who is ‘wounded’ was abused in some way: sexually, physicially, emotionally, or psychologically.

That kind of serious abuse leaves deep, abiding wounds.

What’s really sad for me is that the wounded person then not only feels unloved, unlovable, but DO NOT love themselves! In fact, at a cellular level seem to hate themselves.

It is as if they are trying to kill the bad that was done to them.

Yet, Jude (quoting the apostles) said to hate the dirty garment not the person who wore it.

So, why do we hate ourselves so much that we manifest this pain?

I attribute the experience to sunshine, sunshine, sunshine, heat, and dry weather.

Then last night we got word of a big system moving in. Thunder. Tons of rain. Cold, well at least relatively.

The air pressure plunged. The humidity soared. The wind screamed. The rain was horizontal. And, when I went to be I was fine — very, very tired but in no pain.

Then I woke at 2 a.m and the first thing I noticed was the PAIN.

My legs ached. My arms ached. My butt ached.

Then the pain grew. Soon IT was back. The screaming, crushing, blinding, PAIN.

When IT returns I am almost always devastated.

And, I have to work on THAT. That feeling. That emotion.

I’ve learned that focusing on the emotion only makes the pain worse.

So, I find ways not to think about the devastation.

I pray.

I recite my code word. This is a word I developed in my work with Energy Therapist Joan Hitlin.

Still though my little brain grinds.

Somehow, it FEELS like the pain that comes after days of NO pain is WORSE.

Maybe it’s the contrast. Maybe it’s just my imagination.

But, still it sucks.

And, I must get back to work on my attitude and my emotions.

I just wish the fucker would go away. Or, I could take a PILL.

But, I must do The Work.

RATS!

Ch ch changes.

Ups and downs.

But, it seems THE BOOK is calling me back.

So, I am starting up again.

When inspired, or perspired, I’ll be back.

Finally, today it hit me!

I’ve been SOOO focused on my physical pain that I neglected the fact that there are really 4 dimensions or aspects of pain. In fact, pain can come from 4 directions.

What are they?

1. The first is obvious: Physical Pain. This  is the one we are most aware of. We skin our knee, do too much physical labour — and, we hurt.
2. The second is just as common: Emotional Pain. But, this one we often deny. Until it really, really hurts — like when the divorce comes final or a loved one dies.
3. The third is common too: Psychological Pain. Anyone who’s suffered severe trauma, knows this one.
4. The fourth hurts just as much: Spiritual Pain. But, we often don’t realize it. This comes when we fail to exercise our God Given Gifts.

Next up, The 4 Dimensions of Healing Pain

It’s got me thinking about the relationship between pain and pleasure.

I’ve noticed that when I feel the building rush and tingle of sensual pleasure… and push it down, suppress it… then I immediately feel the crush of myalgic pain.

I wonder how much this has to do with being abused as a child.

Was pleasured followed by pain? Were they somehow inextricably linked?

Or, is the repression of fundamentalism that paints any hedonistic feelings as BAD?

I don’t know.

All I do know is that when I breath and let the pleasure flow… the pain goes or doesn’t even come.

Tags: Pain Relief

I still remember his detailed description of how to build a proper compost
heap: carefully place each item in it’s ‘correct’ spot, layer orange peels
and cabbage leaves just so, carefully pile on potato peelings, add a dash of coffee grounds for drainage — and
colour. Weird, the things that stick with you (that was more than 40 years ago).

It was he who introduced me to T. S. Eliot’s The Hollow Men with it prophetic pronouncement that the world would end "not with a bang but with a whimper!"

And, that’s another piece of trivia that has stayed with me over the years.

I’m glad it has. Because its a fitting way to describe the death of pain.

I’ve lived with grinding, crushing, excruciating pain over the last 4 years. And, now except for occasional flare ups that happen when lack of sleep meets tumultous weather, I have no pain.

And, it left with no fanfare. No bugles or trumpets. No sirens wailing.

It left with no bang. But, with a whimper.

Tags: pain relief