Eleanore Vs. Days Like These

Dear inhabitants of the Hundred Acre Wood,

I must have turned into Pooh Bear overnight, because my stomach is about as rumbly as it gets. Actually, as I stated on Instagram, it’s less Winnie the Pooh and more Bioshock-y. It feels like a Big Daddy is plowing straight through me. If you don’t know what a Big Daddy is, he looks like this.


Yeah…having that dancing around in my abdomen is not charming. I woke up in the middle of last night to a Vasovagal Syncope frenzy, writhing in pain and feeling positively doomed. Thanks to the fact that I have been through this a billion times, I was able to actually avoid fully losing consciousness. Out of all my episodes, this was only the second time I was able to fight it. I feel like a mutant who just learned to control their powers. Not today, Satan!

Despite avoiding passing out entirely, the episode still takes a while to come back from.  I was especially disappointed about this horrible end to my day because aside from that, yesterday was absolutely spectacular in every way, which is not something I’ve been able to say in a while. I went to Forest Park, my favorite place in all of St. Louis. It was the first time I really ventured out on my own in this city just for the sake of it rather than to get errands done. I was excited, but my anxiety was heightened. Still, I forced myself to go. I found myself briskly walking/rolling down the massive Art Hill, finally hitting the gravel with a slight twist of my ankle and exhaustion already setting in. I made my way to the gorgeous lake…pond…moat? Let’s go with moat. I made my way to the edge of the Forest Park Moat, filled with waterfalls and paddle boaters. I set my Ipod on shuffle and in that moment, I felt like I was going to be okay for the first time in a month. I felt, well, happy. I mean look at this. How could I not feel that way?

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I spent most of my time in this one lovely spot, perfectly contented. Everything felt beautiful and I felt alive. Of course that was until my everything started to hurt, because turns out, chronically ill girls don’t do so hot sitting on concrete for a few hours. I continued my walk around the remainder of the moat, passing by lovely families, a wedding in progress and a little girl very pleased with herself because she was dressed as a Pikachu. I had finished my lap and realized, much to my horror, that the hill I had walked down was also the way back up. I stared up at it, intimidated, and I felt like it was mocking me. Look at that smug grass. LOOK AT IT.

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I’ve been to this park a million times, and I knew there was another way up, but I couldn’t remember the path (thanks to chronic brain fog, of course). I’ve also been pretty convinced each visit that with all my illnesses, nerve, joint, and muscle pain, there was no way I’d be able to make it to the top. In a sudden moment of bravery or stupidity (probably both), I had a deep, gnawing feeling that I had to climb that hill. I have lost so much this year, and I’ve been defeated countless times. Now, I felt it was my turn to defeat something; and it was going to be this smug, grassy hill.

After texting my darling friend Holly, “If you don’t hear back from me in 20 minutes I’m dead,” I started my ascent. One foot in front of the other I headed upwards and it was painful and frustrating. My nerves and muscles sent out shockwaves, my bones felt like Jello. A few times I felt like stopping, but decided not to because I was afraid it would be even harder to start again. It was only when I finally reached the top that I stopped to catch my breath, and smiled like an idiot all by myself in a crowd of people in front of the museum because I beat that fucking hill.

 I thought about returning home but the day was simply too lovely, so I picked a shady bench and rested. I gazed out on the grand landscape before me. I watched a handsome man with a sweet black dog lying together in the grass. I saw a family of four with a father in a wheelchair smiling and observing just as I was. I saw Indian families, white families, black families and Muslim families. I saw couples kissing each other and leaning on one another as well as people who were alone just like me, but who didn’t seem to mind. I saw elderly people carefully walking and fresh babies wobbling about. I saw everything, and my heart felt like it was glowing; I realized that while I didn’t know how I would be okay, I knew eventually I would be.

Of course going from a day such as this to writhing in pain in my bed was deflating to say the least. In fact, when I think back to my life, most of my most wonderful days ended up in sickness, pain, passing out, or tears. After 26 years of living with as many illnesses as I have, it has made me realize that this is the curse of the chronically ill. Even the most beautiful days can often end miserably, reminding us that we’re always going to be sick and a little bit different. It’s also no fault of our own. We don’t always have a say in what our bodies do, but all of that can weigh a little heavy on the heart.

Days like these represent pretty much my experience with existence as a whole, and you know, I’m just not sure what to make of it. It’s difficult feeling like even the most magical days are stripped of their enchantment by chronic sickness. I try to remind myself that even though it’s easy to be caught up in everything wrong, the negative doesn’t always have to rip away the positive. Of course that’s easier said than done, but nevertheless, taking the goodness and holding it dear, even when experiencing hell, might not be the most ideal option, but it is the best option we’ve got.

This post took me literally all day to write because I have hardly any energy at all, yet yesterday I was daydreaming under a marble sky, feeling the sweetness of the wind and the water mist kissing my face. Yesterday felt amazing, and while I’m certainly frustrated that I can’t feel that goodness for a longer amount of time, I am at the very least learning to be okay with the fact that just as I will have more awful days, I’ll have plenty more fantastic ones too.

I have said a thousand times before and will for as long as I am able, people who are disabled, chronically ill, and in chronic pain can still have beautiful lives. We can still be alive in spite of everything that has insinuated that we don’t deserve to be as happy as the “average” person. We don’t just have to survive or just live quietly. Everyone deserves to live, experience and thrive. Even if it’s many times more difficult for those such as myself, we’re deserving of wondrous life, too.

So Eleanor take a Green Point three point, turn towards the hidden sun,
You know you are so elegant when you run.
If you run, you can run,
To that statue with the dictionary, climb to her fingernail and leap, yeah,
Take an atmospheric leap, leap and let the jet stream set you down.

Could be there when you land,
I could be there when you land,
Could be there when you land.

~Eleanor Put Your Boots On – Franz Ferdinand (This song came on yesterday while I sat at the top of Art Hill. It could not have been more perfect). 

A horse of a different color:  I am really struggling to survive right now. So, I am selling most of my things. Please consider purchasing (and convincing others) to help me pay for rent, gas, and my medical bills that are currently adding up to the height of Mt. Doom itself.

Click here to see jewelry.

Click here to see books.

Thank you for reading, from the bottom of my heart. 



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