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.

One of the biggest is the sheer unpredictability of it. For example, 2 days ago I was able to hop in the car and drive to and from the Town of Canmore, to have lunch with my daughter. Being able to drive 2 1/2 hours round-trip doesn’t sound like much. But, for me it’s a major accomplishment. Normally, when I travel to the mountains I have to space my driving out over 2 days: driving to my destination 1 day and returning a day or 2 later.

What was even more astonishing was that fact that it was incredibly windy. Normally wind gusts provoke pain but not that day.

Yesterday was a whole different story.

The winds started blowing around noon and my ‘friend’ pain paid a visit. Pain is a ‘friend’ in the same way that a woman’s monthlies are a friend.

Over the course of the afternoon the pain ramped up until I could barely walk. The problem was that I was on the other side of the city, about 40 kilometers and a 1/2 hour drive from home base. Gritting my teeth, literally and figuratively, I drove home and collapsed into bed.

Why  bed? Well, quite simply when the pain becomes off the scale the only ‘treatment’ is sleep. Luckily I can sleep even when in excruciating pain. Many Fibromites can’t.

I slept for some 11 hours and crawled out of bed at 6:30 today. Emphasis on crawled.

Because I am in the high phase of my SAD I can operate in spite of the pain. It’s called COPING.

When severe pain strikes I am forced to go to Plan B … or even Plan Z.

I had planned to do some copywriting today. But, that requires too much creativity, too much inspiration. And, my inspiration gets blocked by the pain.

So, I have to find other things with which to distract myself.

Why distract?

Because 1 of the ways to deal with pain is to distract oneself. 1 way I do that is by writing … but not creative writing. Somehow, I am able to blog but I can’t seem to do creative writing. But, then when I am depressed I can teach workshops but I can’t market them. I guess creation just requires too damn much energy.

Other ways I distract myself include Facebooking, Twittering, reading blogs, watching videos, IMing, and  talking on the phone.

Another strategy I’m going to implement is 1 I used 28 years ago when I was clinically depressed. You can probably imagine how little get up and go 1 has when depressed. So, what I came up with was a check list of things I could do when depressed. Naturally, I created the list when I wasn’t depressed. I kept it in the top drawer of my desk at work. And, whenever I was really, really depressed I haul it out. I’d look at the list and see what ‘task’ on the list I thought I could manage to do.

So, I’m adopting the same idea now. I’m going to create a List of things I can do when I’m in pain.

Then on days like today I don’t have to THINK about what I can do, I just look at the list and pick something.

FIRST thing on my list will be, of course, TAKE A NAP!

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

I was wrong … again!

The challenge is that I’m really not sure just what’s causing the pain. No question the exceedling damp, cold morning air triggers the pain. And, once the pain has been triggered there seems little I can do make it go away.

By noon the pain had become to much and I could no longer force myself to work. So, I went to bed and napped for 2 1/2 hours hoping that sleep would ease the pain. Often it does. It didn’t!

Now is that because a thunder clap awakened me too soon? Damned if I know.

Sometimes a soak in hot water, saturated with Epsom salts (Magnesium Sulfate) helps. Didn’t today.

Sometimes sex helps. Didn’t today.

Sometimes a good brisk walk helps. Didn’t today.

Sometime a glass of wine helps. Didn’t today.

Sometimes acupuncture helps. Ain’t helping so far.

No drugs I’ve taken have helped permanently.

It helps to distract myself from the pain. That’s one of the appeals of Facebook and Twitter and other Social Media sites where I can socialize and forget myself.

But, god would I love a Silver Bullet!

Except there ain’t one.

For some reason he had latched onto Ralph.

Ralph was my morning coffee buddy on the cruise. Ralph, who looked 60, but was 79 was a gregarious, affable, “Eyetalian”. Now retired and living in SoCal, Ralph and I had struck up a friendship of sorts. 2 ‘old farts’ who woke with the dawn and didn’t want to disturb their roommates. So, Ralph would wander up to the Lido deck, where he had found me on the 2nd day of the cruise, and plop down across from me and share tales of his life.

OY! Such stories. But, this is Justin’s story not Ralph’s.

Some gentleness is Ralph attracted strays like Justin … “wounded boys” … like me.

Ralph had invited Justin to sit with us. So, Justin sat and began to share the sorry story of his life. 23: a meth addict, pierced, tattooed, drunk, and a cutter. He showed us the tattoo, some of which he had placed to cover the self-inflicted cut scars.

Justin was a sensitive guy who like so many sensitive souls couldn’t cope with the pain inside. So, at age 11 he started drinking. At age 13, or so, he graduated to precription drugs, and ‘blow’. By, 17 it was cocaine and ecstacy. Then came meth!

Now, at 23, the graduate of several stays in rehab, he was dreaming the delusion that after this cruise he would join the US Marine Corp. Naively believing that the Marines provide the structure that he needed. The men of Semper Fi would “smarten up his sorry ass!”

Ralph knew better but didn’t tell Justin. Ralph was a Marine and served in the Korean War. Ralph knew, all too well, that the last person the Marines would want was Justin.

I think about Justin from time to time. And, wonder what became of him.

Is he dead? Or, still drunk?

The following poem is for Justin and those sensitive souls who like him cut themselves to free the pain.

Sadness has seeped

Into every pore.

Soaking the fibres

Of my body.

Permeating every

Cranny and nook

Of my

Body, Mind, Soul.

Driving my Spirit

To the Stygian

Depths

Of Despair.

Immersed in

The honey sweet

Slime of Melancholy,

The searing ache

Of emptiness

Fills my mouth

With

Almond bitterness.

The tantalizing aroma

Of

Death beckons.

And,

The razor calls

To me.

Its siren song

Promising surcease:

The razor’s touch

Is a gentle whispering

Burn,

As the crimson

Streams of blood

Drain away

The pain;

The goddamn fucking Pain,

That is ever

So much with me.

How can I resist?

How can I ignore

Her song?

And. Yet somehow

Simply Bathing,

Wallowing,

In the chocolate sweetness

Of her

Painful embrace,

Seems enough.

For now.

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?)

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

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

Well, for those of us whose chronic pain orginates from childhood sexual abuse; I’d say EVERYTHING!

We’ve all heard about the Body/Mind thing. We’ve all heard about the Mind/Emotion thing. We’ve all heard about the Mind/Spirt thing. But, few of us (well at least me) seldom heard about the SEXUAL thing.

What do I mean?

Early on in therapy I learned that there is a BIG connection between the Mind and the Body. Through Cognitive Therapy I began to change the way I thought and the way I talked to myself. This helped mitigate my depression.

As I read hundreds of Self Help books I began to see the connection between Body / Mind and Emotion. Then came a 4th dimension: Spirit. I’ve long been a spiritual seeker but only in the last 15 or so years have I explicitly explored spiritual beliefs that are non-Christian.

So, up until recently my understanding was that the parts, or pieces, or aspects of our beings that intertwined and interacted with each other were just 4: Mind, Body, Spirit, Emotion.

Then I began to do some relationship work with my best friend Bill Astalnok who is a Certified “Body Vibrance” Coach. I was surprized to learn that the model which underpins Body Vibrance work is 5-fold.The added element being SEXUAL.

As I began to think about that it made a lot of sense. After all, sexual abuse victims have Tribal wounds; wounds that lodge in the 1s Chakra.

And, all the Cognitive Therapy in the world will not touch or release the Trauma stored in our sexual organs.

So, 2 years ago I sought out a local Tantric Coach to help me free up my sexuality. Unfortunately, I got sick … probably because I wasn’t then ready to really DO the Work.

Now though, I believe I am ready!

So, starting next week I’m going to be doing some Tantric Healing work.

My goal is to heal the pain of sexual abuse and to free up my creative, Kundalini energy.

I’ll let you know how it goes.