Hello, you beautiful humans!

You may have noticed I didn’t post an article last week. Or maybe you didn’t because I’ve only posted two so far and you haven’t come to expect them yet. Nevertheless, I didn’t post anything because the last few weeks have been incredibly migraine-heavy. The migraine followed me to Minnesota for spring break. It took a day off when I got back home the following weekend but returned in time for me to go back to school. It then stuck around for six days before finally tapering off and letting me go back to my regular level-six headache. Of course, even though I wasn’t writing, I didn’t stop thinking in that time – though that would’ve been nice because my sensitivity to sound applies to even the voices in my head. So, I decided that this week I would use my post to introduce myself and explain my outlook. My perspective is through my sunglasses, and I want you all to know what that means.

Three years ago, I was struck with a mystery illness. I use the word “struck” because my symptoms literally knocked me over. There I was, standing and singing at church when suddenly my knees gave out, I couldn’t see straight, and I was incoherent but apparently wide awake for the next three days. I use the phrase “mystery illness” because it wasn’t until seven months later that we discovered what the hell was wrong with me: POTS. Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome. Never heard of it? That’s okay, none of the 40+ doctors I saw in that time had either! For months, my body ached like I’d just run a marathon – my chest hurt, my muscles were tight and crampy, I was dizzy and nauseous and couldn’t stand up or walk without temporarily blacking out – and all the doctors could tell me was that I was crazy. Or “neurotic.” Or “just trying to get out of going to school.” It wasn’t until my physical therapist (whom I was referred to by my second neurologist to “humor” me) noticed my heart rate spiked like a damn volleyball player every time I sat up/stood up/moved/walked/you get it, and mentioned POTS. Finally, Cardiologist Number Three decided to test me for it and eureka! An answer.

Learning I have POTS was kind of like finally figuring out a math problem. It was great, it was a relief, my homework’s done, but what do I do with that information? My body still hurts. Many doctors still haven’t heard of it, or at least don’t know what to do about it. I’ve spent the last three years trying a variety of medications to treat my various symptoms, but the actual problem is still, for the most part, a mystery. That’s why I’ve had a headache – one constant, continuous, unbroken headache – for the last three years. It fluctuates in pain level. When I said “Level 6” earlier, I was using the 1-10 pain scale doctors have been using on me since day one (‘1’ being ‘hardly noticeable’ and ‘10’ being ‘unbearable’). It usually rests around ‘6’: painful enough that light and sound feel like thunder and lightning being applied directly to my skull, but tolerable enough that I still move and try to get things done. A couple times a week, it moves into Migraine Territory, at which point I feel like I’m dying and no one should be around me. I do still try to function in Migraine Territory because if I stopped moving every time I thought I was going to keel over in pain, I would never get anything done. However, migraines are natural disasters, so sooner or later I surrender, hiding in my bed and riding out the storm.

The headache is definitely the most prevalent of my symptoms, followed by the shortness of breath, muscle weakness and thoroughly weakened immune system. Over the years, these things have become part of me, but I, myself have split into two separate entities: me (mind, emotions, spirit) and my body (bitch). Examples: I didn’t turn in an article last week because my body couldn’t look at my computer screen long enough to type out my thoughts. I like going to school and I get fairly good grades, but my body screws up my attendance so much that I barely graduated high school with my class. I want to get dolled up and leave the house, but my body can barely handle more than a trip to the grocery store. My soul and my body are like college roommates: one is loud and obnoxious and the other just wants everyone to shut up because everything hurts. They share a very tight space and they’re constantly at odds. And they’re both me. Is this split-personality disorder? It’s not, right?

I’m sharing this with you because I want you all to understand where my writing comes from. I will write about being a morning person just as much as I write about how hard it is to get out of bed. When I tell you about the party I went to, it will be with both pride and self-loathing. Some things I say will be so optimistic you’ll want to puke, but they will be balanced by the posts where I rant about how much I hate everything. My body constantly hurts, and I’m notorious for my classic “I have a heart condition” whine, which I use to get my friends to do things for me or make them feel bad for being loud (I’m a gem). The things I say will probably contradict each other, but it’s all genuine and valid. I am all about seeing the light – I’m just going to put on my sunglasses first.