Curses

Now imagine I’d said the title in Disney Villian voice. Ursala, for preference; she always was my favourite.  WHY? Because it’s almost as fun as swearing and I’ve yet to set off a profanity filter doing it. More importantly, I feel it’s accurate.

Why curses?

Because today I was betrayed by the recliner!

That’s right, my chair!

How?

I made the mistake of trying to recline in it; forgetting once again that the tortured mechanisms now Fight to close back up. So I’m stuck there forcing all my strength into pushing it closed, hoping my brain doesn’t misfire, like it likes too when least convenient. The bloody thing snaps closed finally freeing me to stand up safely.

Drama over, I then retrieve my tablet, only to discover that in my forceful rocking of the chair I’d dislodged the magnetic charger, sending it straight into dangerzone, land of tired metal. I was so relieved when it came back with a gentle tug. We’ve had to fight cords out before, so it felt like a small victory.

I celebrated… too… soon…

Damn thing looked like my rats had found it; a neat slice through the casing then nicely frayed metal cords.

The biggest joke? I’d never even taken that charger into my room as I didn’t trust my rats. What would life be without irony?

Author’s note: so strictly speaking this is an auto-biographical blog post. I originally intended to write some flash fiction. As can be seen I got a little derailed…

I have been planning to get back to writing. I’ve started uni again and I’ve had success in the past using one to encourage the other; of course that was pre-craniotomy and may just spell a recipe for fatigue, I still think it’s worth a try.

Writing for good health

I found a prompt today that I felt drawn to write for only to discover that my work over the past three days has left me cognitively and creatively drained. So today I thought I would take my post in a slightly less fictional direction. As I am struggling to produce even a smidgen of flash fiction, I decided to produce, instead, a personal article on how writing has helped me over the years.

Past:

1) The outlet: this is actually a fairly standard reason to write. I claim no originality on that front. Around those I don’t already know I’m quiet, shy, and awkwardly social. Big surprise there, right? I think I have scared people in the past with my ability to talk the legs off a donkey when I’m in my comfort zone, and, for me, my ultimate comfort zone is the written word. The written format allows me be far more expressive then a social situation ever will.

2) The challenge: I always was the one who could never refuse a challenge – creative writing provides one at every turn. There is always something to read and always something to inspire.

3) The confidence booster: When I was in my teen years I had anxiety attacks at the though of anyone reading my work (even the bits Mum claimed were good and the short stories my teacher insisted I submit for competition.) This extended from and feed into my social anxiety (again, who didn’t see that coming.) I began blogging fiction precisely because it was against the grain – and, of course, I gained more confidence in my writing and, because I was putting myself out there, social situations seemed less nerve wracking.

The present:

2014 was not a good year for me, so feel free to skip this paragraph if you are not interested in the reasons for 4 and 5.
Shortly after my birthday I began to experience grand mal seizures with no history of epilepsy. 2 days in critical care and an Mri later I was discharged with a brain tumour diagnosis. One week later my neurosurgeon told me he felt it might be cancerous (thankfully it was not!). After the seizures my partner of 4 years began to distance himself from me and then, on the day I was told it may be cancerous, his uncle died suddenly; meaning he had to go back to his family. With the funeral scheduled for the day before my time on the surgical table, I only saw him once before he broke of with me 5 days after my operation (and, yes, I was still hospital thanks to an infection and temporary paralysis of my foot) and on that day he was more interested in spending time with his friend then with me (God, I choose well). The minor details here are that I am still not sure I can return to care work thanks to seizure that give me muscular weakness in one leg and a lack of a driving licence on which my current job depended. I am still ‘in recovery’. It’s safe to acknowledge that sense of self and self worth died for a little while.

4) Occupational therapy: Brain surgery has some pretty powerful after effects. Between fatigue, lethargy, inability to focus, cognitive deficits, and ongoing seizures any form of work, no matter how easy it was. Continuing write allowed me to build up energy levels, cognitive functions, focus and resistance to screen triggered seizures (being that most of my writing is done via computer.) I also managed to regain fine motor control of my right hand on the occasions I did resort to handwriting prose.

5) Returning to myself: Character exploration and plot building combined with the expressive nature of prose allowed me to get back in touch with fundamental parts of my self when I was no longer who my self was. This is aligned with the principles of art therapy. From a personal view point I would actually recommend creative therapy to anyone regardless of state of mind. Even without the therapeutic aspect, creative methods of exploration of who you are as an individual is certainly freeing; you are sure to facets of yourself you did not know existed.