Wide Open Spaces

This past Thanksgiving was my first off my prescription pain medications for almost two decades.  As I have reflected upon my gratitudes, I realized that sitting at that table this year, I wasn't just changed in terms of my chemistry, but the inside of me is a new version of what's been there in the past.  My shell may look the same, but my inner spirit is a little bit of the old, a little bit of the present, and a little bit someone who is still unfolding. Life is suddenly a wide open space of potential and possibility.  While that is wonderful and exciting, it is also scary and uncertain.  Our circumstances can change in an instant, and life truly is a moment to moment adventure of good and bad.

I haven't paid much attention to my blog the past few months, as I've been working on an independent writing project for a close friend. I was hired to write the biography of a spirited 89-year old woman who I quickly fell in love with over the course of our meetings.  She lived an extraordinary life, took chances, seized every moment, and she never took a moment to feel sorry for herself when faced with adversity.  It was a pleasure getting to know her, and writing her story was a privilege.

At the onset of the project, I was intended to write the biography to get her life story on paper for her family to have.  It wasn't supposed to be a finale.  However, several weeks ago she had an accident, broke her hip, and due to complications, she ended up choosing hospice care and passed peacefully surrounded by her three loving children.  I was fortunately able to finish writing her story in time to read it to her days before she passed, and I had the honor of reading part of it at her memorial service last week.   

She wasn't family, but I had grown to love her like another grandmother.  I poured my heart into writing her biography, and I was so focused on remaining composed enough to speak at her memorial that I hadn't really processed the grief of losing this amazing gift I was so blessed to know.  Mock, her nickname, was a role model for the frightened, but strong spirit inside me who is at the doorway of a whole new life.  She made me want to take risks, live moment to moment with joyous reverence for the opportunities that present themselves, and most of all, to love it, from the pain to the prosperity.  I miss her.

Our culture tends to put our seniors away, out of sight and out of mind, without realizing that they are a wealth of amazing knowledge and incredible stories.  They have seen history evolve, witnessed things many of us cannot even imagine, and have overcome and achieved in ways we can only hope to realize.  Each person has her own unique recipe, a compilation of experience, emotions, hopes and desires that makes them who they are, and writing Mock's recipe was one of the great honors of my life.

So going back to Thanksgiving, sitting at that table with the people I loved, breathing air without a machine, functioning without pain medicine, and being at the doorway of a life I can create with the courage, love, intention and bravery I've learned from the example of great individuals I've had the honor of knowing, I'm grateful to be alive.  Simple and to the point.  I'm grateful for each day I have to add to my recipe.  The future is wide open, and I step into it with trepidation, reverence and joy.  I don't need a holiday to remind myself of theses blessings.  They envelope me each and every day.

In Honor of Mary Jean Evans

aka Mock

I'm so grateful your shooting star crossed paths with my sky

Salvation

I never consciously purchased the plane ticket. It was just handed to me when the answers were vague and the pain was severe.  A one-way ticket to potential destruction.  Had more been known at the time, perhaps I would have been told to drive or take a train; there are numerous ways to get from point A to point B.  But I boarded the opiate flight and buckled myself in well; the open-ended flight meant to rescue me, but ultimately would lead to destruction. There was no destination in sight except less pain.  I thought I was going somewhere safe.  I didn't know the terror that lay ahead.

Of everything I've lived through in history, September 11, 2001 is easily the most traumatic event of my generation.  Watching the planes hit, the people jumping from windows to escape the flames, the horror on the faces of witnesses, the first responders running into the buildings without a second thought, the buildings crumbling and people running from the tidal wave of ash... I could go on and on. I remember sitting and sobbing, wondering how our World had arrived at such a horrific event.  

I will never forget that day.  None of us should.  As with anything, there is the potential to turn a bad day into a good one.  Last September 11th, I made a choice that will forever impact my life, much like the impact of the original horror left on the hearts of most Americans.  I had just returned from a beach vacation where I encountered the spirit of the aware and free-spirited Jessica on Topsail Island.  I decided then and there that I wanted to BE that Jessica again, which would entail getting off my Fentanyl patches and oxycodone.  

That day, I liberated myself of the Fentanyl by ripping off my Duragesic patch for the last time.  It sent me into a turbine of withdrawal symptoms, but I would walk through that fire all over again to arrive where I am today.  I am free of the narcotics, I am free of the overwhelming numbness, and I am free to be who I want to be, not who the narcotics dictate I am.

For 19 years, I'd been prescribed opioids to deal with my chronic pain, and they had all but vaporized the Jessica that had been with their powerful numbing, sedating and paralyzing effects.  I had become a ghost of my former self, and my life had crumbled under the force of the narcotics.  The ticket to that one-way nightmare was given out readily, and I recall being handed prescription after prescription for things like Percocet, Oxycontin, and Fentanyl without a second thought.  There ARE other ways to deal with pain.  There are trains, boats, automobiles.  You don't have to get on the one-way plane ride to hell.  

I did not write this on September 11th out of respect for those who died in the tragic way they did.  I did not die, but I came close.  I saw the building coming into view, and I knew that I would be vaporized in seconds.  Instead, I pushed the imaginary "EJECT" button, and I parachuted into the unknown abyss of self-awareness.   I did not hit the Tower.  I did not die in the inferno.  I am alive because I chose to be.  And every day I am grateful, for the foresight and the hope; for the small amount of self-love that still existed on that day over a year ago. It has multiplied over and over again, and I find myself worthy now more than I ever have.

I was not vaporized that tragic day.  I did not become part of the rubble.  I am, brick by brick, rebuilding who I was before the tragedy.  I am, brick by brick, becoming who I am meant to be, and not because of a ticket I was given over 19 years ago.  I weep for those who are stuck in the destruction, unknown and unidentified because their bodies are blown to bits over years of pain.  There are no words for the destruction caused by opioids.  It can be permanent and severe.  I escaped by the skin of my teeth.

September 11th is a tragic day, and yet I found salvation on it.  There are no words for what was lost, but I have words for what I found.  Somehow, I came through the wreckage to find wellness.  I came through the trauma to find joy.  And somehow, God has allowed me the ability to save myself on a day when I couldn't save anyone else.  I am no one's savior but my own.

Love is Abundant

For my birthday, I indirectly got a puppy. It wasn't really an intentional gift, but one that came upon my mom and I as a lovely surprise.  Gracie was a stray pup found wandering at a local school with no identification, and that was turned into a local vet clinic.  She was checked for a microchip (with no results), and her appearance on Pet FBI brought forth no claimants.  She was extremely malnourished, but otherwise in good health and needed a stable home. Our Bella was adopted four years ago when she was two years old, a pure-bread Labrador Retriever, when we still had our precious Zoe Isabella, also a Labrador Retriever. When we had to put Zoe down due to old age and illness, Bella was heartbroken.  

So when Gracie appeared on the Bexley Buzz needing a home, my mom arranged a home visit and said that the ultimate decision was up to Bella and I.  It's been almost 20 years since I've had a puppy, and I've never really trained one. But the night Gracie was brought to our home, she was tiny and sweet, and she and Bella hit it off, kissing each others noses as soon as they met. There was really no decision to be made. Gracie had found her forever home with us, and the past two weeks have been filled with love, frustration, training and sweetness, and my heart could not be more overflowing had the Universe poured a gallon of unconditional love into my soul.  

I suppose the most beautiful part of this experience is my ability to relish each and every challenging yet precious moment with this new addition to our family.  Bella and Gracie wrestle like WWE Smackdown participants, and they cuddle as if they've never been apart.  I'm constantly reaffirming positive behavior, correcting mischief and loving this tiny creature with all my heart.  A year ago, I was too numb to fathom this type of enjoyment, the extent of frustration, the exhaustion of running after what appears to have the energy of a young kangaroo, hopping and jumping from activity to activity every moment of the day.  I am PRESENT, and I love it.  Without the narcotics, I am free to marinate in every beloved moment with Gracie and her new big sister, Bella.  There is no numbness to subdue the frustration of puppy pee puddles, and distract from the pure love that resonates from these two creatures.

Life is beautifully difficult, extremely discouraging, brilliantly magnificent and abundantly fulfilling.  I find myself running after what behaves much like a toddler, and I am deeply in love with the entire scenario.  My mom, my Bella, myself... we have fallen in love with little Gracie.  And by some miracle, I have survived all I've been through to arrive at this moment when love is overwhelming my spirit.  This little creature entered my life at a time when I needed to give of my new self, with all the love that's been wasted on pain all these years.  I could not be more grateful to the Universe and God for guiding Gracie to the home in which she is meant to reside.... my heart.  If I could write a thank you note to fate, this would be it.  My cup is overflowing, and I am infinitely joyful.

Hope is Eternal

I am 43 years old today. Had you told me a decade ago, or even a year ago, I never would have believed I would live to see this day.  The illness and pain that surrounded me for almost 20 years has evaporated into the touches of flame that color the summer sunset. I won't say there aren't still scars, but they are no longer a reminder of what almost defeated me, but rather marks of what have made me who I am.  I've finally come to the realization that loving myself means loving ALL of me; the good, the bad, and the abundant traces of scalpels that have cut me through and through, only to be healed by the grace of God.

My blessings are too abundant to count. My faith, my family, my friends.  Today I have been enveloped with love and well wishes for a great day and wonderful year.  Traditionally, we get to make one wish on our birthday, and as I reflected today, I decided that my one wish for what's yet to come is HOPE.  Through all my ups and downs, there was always a firefly of hope flitting through my soul, allowing my spirit to hold on when my vessel was doing the opposite.

Every night on the news, I see the World suffering. Parents are losing children to all types of violence. The loss of a child is unfathomable. It is unimaginably painful, earth-shattering and soul-crippling.  I pray we can find a way to save the young from such tragic endings. Adults are taking their anger out with bullets. I have lost a loved one to suicide by gunshot. It is horrific and sad.  I pray we can get control of the violence.  Part of the Earth's lungs are burning.  I know what it feels like to breathe fire-like pain and gasp for breath. If I could, I would muster all the air in my now-healed lungs and blow out the Amazon like one big birthday candle. 

I close my eyes and imagine HOPE penetrating the sadness, the despair, the tragedy, the crises.  My wellness means everything to me, but without the wellness of the World around us, what can we expect in the years to come?  God's grace is infinite, but without hope, the scars will only continue to amass. So in the spirit of a new year full of rebirth, I give my birthday wish to our world. I'm learning my worth, finding my pride and nourishing my spirit.  So I'm paying forward my candle of HOPE to all that surrounds us. 

My Nana always told me that peace begins from within.  May every ounce of energy in this great Universe surge with peace, as this life is far too precious to be saturated with such sadness and tragedy. There is always the opportunity to begin again. I've faced the end more times than I care to count, and I fear it no more.  What I DO fear is facing a future with no future.  Find the firefly of hope within yourselves and be part of the change with your one shining light.

To all those of you who have made me feel so special today and who have supported me through it all, thank you for your love.  And a special note to JM.... you know who you are.  Infinite blessings on the next chapter, a brand new Virgo to carry the torch you and your wife have so bravely lit with your love.  Thank you for guiding me as I navigate this new journey and for never giving up on me.

Present in the Present

Today marks seven months since I've been off my opiates, and I was inspired to reflect on my journey since returning to the living. For so long, life was just a numb haze through which I struggled to see. Every day off my prescription narcotics, I see life more acutely.  It's as though I've gone from living in the oldest black and white movie with the worst special effects to an IMAX film that shocks me with its brilliance and wonder each and every day.  There is no more numbness to dull emotions or perspectives, and my body and mind feel healthier than they have in nineteen years.  I'm redefining relationships, establishing boundaries and discovering a wealth of worth I never knew existed. It has been a beautiful, while sometimes challenging, journey since January.

Being chronically ill for any extended period of time can rob you of your identity and sense of self-worth.  I went to college and received a B.A. in Spanish, and I had established a promising career as a translator.  However, pain and illness don't mix well with a career, and I eventually lost the battle of maintaining employment to extended hospitalizations and disease.  All I had worked hard to establish seemed to be lost to something completely out of my control, and I felt like a failure.  I thought I was a disappointment to my family, a loser to my social circle and a shell of my former self.  I will say that the drugs helped to numb these feelings of inadequacy over the years, but I was able to define them in therapy once the pharmaceuticals were removed.  An observation for the masses: therapy is not for the weak, but for the strong who want to overcome weaknesses.

I never realized how worthless I felt until I entered trauma therapy for the loss of my son this past February, and I confronted the Jessica that used to be in the face of the Jessica that is evolving everyday. I've cried for that sick girl, not out of pity, but out of loss for what could have been. The beauty of life is that each day is a new opportunity to begin again, and that is what I have done. I have begun again. I have been reborn in a new life that I am learning to define, not allowing my illness or suffering therein to define for me.  It's been the most empowering journey of my life, and I meet each day with new hopes for what can be as I continue to explore healing.

I am not a victim of anything that has happened to me; I am a survivor despite it all. And THAT Jessica is who I choose to celebrate, not pity the Jessica that was. I cannot change the times I drooled and had eyes that rolled back in my head from opiate intoxication, that I tripped over my oxygen tubing or gasped for breath, that I bent over in pain.  Those times happened, and I survived them. It's that survival that now makes me proud and gives me a sense of worth.  I AM worthy of love, respect, and pride, and it's the Jessica that's aware of those things that I celebrate today.

I'm not better than anyone else. Far from it.  The most important theme in this new and evolving life is that I'm AS GOOD as everyone else.  It's that perspective that gives me the courage to keep reaching for new heights, achieving new goals and setting new boundaries that empower me.  The truth is that everyone has struggled with something.  We all have the capacity to overcome if we find and hold onto the love for ourselves in the face of any adversity.  Life is glorious, every beautiful and heartbreaking moment.  It is not a linear journey, but more of a web we have the power to weave. And if we allow ourselves the power to see it, the silk we spin is full of splendor.

A Child Shall Lead Them

Last Thursday was the 16 year anniversary of my son Gabriel’s death

in my womb.I was six months pregnant when I lost him. Every year brings with

it new and unresolved emotions, but this year was different. Partially because I no

longer have the opioid pain medications to numb my senses, I was acutely aware

of the emptiness I feel, and yet I also felt a great gratitude for the time I had

him with me. Those six months were precious and magical, and I’ve never felt

more divinely designed for anything in my life than I did for motherhood. So

instead of focusing on my loss, I chose to focus on the beautiful life he had

and the extraordinary experience I had during the course of his short life.

Being off my prescription opiates, I’m finding that life’s joys are heightened,

while my life’s difficult times are extremely raw. My mind and spirit are no

longer anesthetized, even though a lot of the pain has returned.  While I

could focus on the pain, I’m choosing to focus on the beauty I’m seeing

in life, the joy I’m finding in the smallest things and my overall gratitude

to feel alive once again. Just like my perspective on Gabriel, I’m celebrating

life off the opiates and the freedom I feel to express my deepest joys.

When you take control of your attitude, the sky’s the limit!  I don’t claim to have

control of my life, as I feel the Divine has a certain degree of responsibility for

that. But I do have control over my attitude, and without the opiates, I feel

empowered to be positive more than negative most days.  Again,

choosing to go off my opiates was the right choice for me, but I want

to emphasize that many pain patients need their opiates to live a quality life.

I have chosen to learn other ways to cope with my pain,but I empower those

who can stay on them and do so without causing the kind of mental breakdown

I had after being on them for nineteen years. It’s all circumstantial. I wish our

medical community and legislation would focus more on those who are abusing

drugs, and not on those who are merely trying to deal with chronic pain the only

way they know how.

My reflection on Gabriel’s life made me realize that I’m pregnant with positivity

and joy since my decision to go off my opiates.  On one side there is loss of pain

control, but on the other there is the miraculous change in my life. It took the

anniversary of my son’s passing to make me realize how amazing life can

be when you choose to look at the positive side of things.  Gabriel, wherever

you are, I thank you for your brief but beautiful life. And I thank you for making

Mommy see just how lucky she is. It is said, “And a child shall lead them.”

Truer words have never been spoken.

Enjoy "The Story" by Brandi Carlile....

https://youtu.be/o8pQLtHTPaI

Valentine's Day Wish

Yesterday was a big day for me. It marked one month that I’ve been off my prescription opioids; one month that I’ve endured unpleasant withdrawal symptoms and survived the four month withdrawal process I went through between September 11^th, 2018 and January 13, 2019. Having been told years ago that I would likely need to be on prescription narcotics of some strength my entire life by a pain specialist, it’s truly remarkable that I’m now living day to day without the relief of what turned out to be toxic substances to my overall health.  Life is much sweeter now that I feel alive to live it.  I give thanks every day that I was able to escape the roller coaster of my experience with prescription opioids, and I’m highly reflective about what it was that truly got me through this difficult period of detox.

It dawned on me today, after a “Happy Valentine’s Day” call from my mom, that the root of my survival through all this was love.  Today is a day where we customarily tell those important to us just how much we love them, how much they mean to us, and we show them with gifts and gestures that life is made sweeter by their presences in it.  When I look back at my decision to go off my prescription opioids, I realize that it was the love for myself that drove the effort. And in our society today, telling oneself that she isn’t only loved but worth fighting for is something that is absent. So for Valentine’s Day, I wish for all of you to take a moment to look in the mirror and tell yourself that you love YOU!

When I look back, the one aspect of my situation in September that gave me the strength and the courage to begin my separation from prescription opioids for my pain is that, for the first time in my life, I put myself first and decided I was worth saving from what was a numb and hopeless existence. I want to emphasize that not everyone on prescription opioids experiences the anesthetized mentality and spiritual bankruptcy that I did, and I support those who are able to healthily remain on their pain medications and sustain an active lifestyle. That was not the case for me.

I believe, especially as women, we identify ourselves by how much we love others, and we don’t often turn that love inward, as it seems almost selfish or conceited. There is nothing self-centered about loving the one person who gets us through each and every day, and there should be no limit to how much we can love ourselves, especially when we so freely give our love to those in our lives.  I truly believe that one of God’s great joys comes from seeing individuals who can appreciate who they are, who can recognize their inner strengths and who can make the tough decisions to stop hurting ourselves, no matter if it’s intentional or as a result of external factors.

I was taught that it’s impossible to love anyone else until I learn to unconditionally love myself. Looking back on these difficult few months, I realize how true that statement is. I’ve always been one of those people who are really good at giving 110% to relationships with others, but not so good at directing that attitude inward. Unfortunately, I allowed that love for others to be a blinder to what was going on inside me, and I came close to losing my life to a lack of love for the person who wakes up every day and looks in the mirror. I was never going to be capable of loving those in my life as completely as I wanted until I learned to put myself first and love myself.  There was no way, in my suicidal and emotionally disabled state, that I could live my life the way it was intended to be lived until I stopped and decided that it was worth pulling myself from the depths of opioid dependence and finding another way to cope with my pain.

In the grand scheme of things, a month seems like nothing to most.  It’s a few pay periods, a third of a semester, a mortgage payment.  To me, it’s been 31 days of experiencing life with the mental acuity and passion with which I believe God intended, and I can only imagine it will get better with every passing day.  I could never have gotten through withdrawal without the unconditional love of my support system, and I don’t downplay that love for even a moment. I recognize, for the first time, it’s OK to say, “I love you, Jessica!” on this Valentine’s Day. 

Perhaps it’s just maturing on my part, but loving myself has reaped nothing short of miracles in my life. Wherever you are on your journey, may you all realize the love that surrounds you in the very center of your being, and may you be blessed with the fruits of such love! 

Satisfying Semantics

Ever since taking my last prescription opioid dose on January 13, 2019, I have been searching for a word that accurately describes the phase in which I now find myself.  I’ve tried on many words to see how they fit, but none of them feel accurate or befitting of the situation. Yes, I’m in a period of recovery, not just from being off the opioids, but also from being severely chronically ill. God willing, the latter will follow me into the future, but regardless, “in recovery” isn’t specific enough for my liking.

There is the obvious word “sober”, which means “not under the influence of drugs or alcohol” according to the Encarta Dictionary. Perhaps in error, but in all honesty, I find the opposite of this word to mean “drunk” or “high”, and I never felt either of those things. I certainly felt numb and out of it, but it was not a pleasant escape from reality. If anything, I associate my time on opioids as a complete emotional void. From the outside, I may have seemed high, but I never felt the enjoyment I think many find in the highs they seek, despite the danger in which it puts them.  I think true sobriety for an addict is much harder to maintain than the absence of drugs I find myself enduring after being drug dependent. I’m enjoying the lack of toxic chemicals in my body, and “sober” just doesn’t fit my situation.

Then there is the word “clean”, which means “with no illegal drugs; not containing or possessing illegal drugs”. Over the 19 years I was on prescription opioids, I never pursued them from the streets. That’s where the word “prescription” comes in; I always got my medicine from a doctor and used it accordingly. Yes, there were times when I would take an extra pill here or there, but that was the exception, not the rule. In addition, to say I’m now “clean” infers that I was somehow, at some point, “dirty”, and I was never what I would consider dirty. I was chronically ill and dealing with chronic pain, neither of which made me unclean. I was suffering, not sucia (dirty in Spanish.)  Plenty of people made me ashamed by my situation, and in that way I felt subpar, but never dirty.  So again, the word “clean” doesn’t befit my situation.

Finally comes my least favorite phrase, “on the wagon”, in contrast to being “off the wagon”, which implies that one has failed to remain off their substance of choice. The last time I was on or off a wagon was when I was about seven-years old and being pulled by my dad to the Bexley fireworks on the 4^th of July in the Radio Flyer red wagon I shared with my baby brother.  There is nothing about this period of being off narcotics that reminds me of that young time, with the exception of perhaps a hope that good things can work out. However, I’m not on a wagon, red or otherwise, and this phrase just doesn’t work for me.

After exhausting these commonplace words and phrases, I began thinking about my true feelings at this time. I feel satisfied, full and complete, as I freed myself from the tentacles of drug dependence after so many years of chronic pain. I feel filled to the brim with pride for my accomplishment, and humility for realizing that I could never have done it without the support from my family, friends and most of all, God. After nineteen years of drug dependence, my appetite for them is sated. I am filled to the brim and ready to take on a new diet. Most of all, I feel overwhelmed with a satisfaction that my life is better today than it has been at any other time in the past two decades.

Thinking of these emotions, I recalled a phrase my Nana used to say when she was feeling full and replenished with a satisfying meal:

No thank you,

I’ve had my sufficiency!

Fully serrencified,

Clear up to my velosophinial.

Any more would be an indulgency.

Remembering her sweet phrasing, of which serrencified appears in no dictionaries, I relate this feeling to my past years of chronic pain and illness. I HAVE had my sufficiency of the two, more than enough. And if I even HAVE a “velosophinial” at this point, and it hasn’t been removed in one of my many surgeries, I am full of the pain and chronic illness all the way up to it.  At this point, any more would be indulgency. I’ve spent enough time in bed, in hospitals, on surgical tables, in doctors’ offices to last me into the next millennium. I don’t want to jinx myself, but this feeling of being “serrencified” has given me the hope that the future will see my health continue to improve, as suddenly I’m able to see the light rather than having to penetrate through the pea soup fog of opioid dependence with vision that didn’t exist.

Nana wasn’t just my grandmother, she was my spiritual guide.  She taught me to have empathy for others, to learn from my mistakes and to journey forward with a positive attitude, no matter the realities of the past. Looking back at these years of illness and pain, I feel so fortunate to not just have survived, but to now be thriving, at least emotionally. Physically, my body is healing a little each day, and it’s a miracle to behold. More than anything, I feel her spirit speaking to me as I go forward, feeling “serrencified” and optimistic that my future will not be a continuation of my past, but rather a new beginning.

This past weekend, my mom and I were going through old photos, and I found a letter from Nana written the Christmas of 1997, two years before I got ill. As I read it, I could feel her spirit surrounding me, and a particular paragraph stuck out. At the time, I wouldn’t have understood what she was truly saying, but after the experiences I’ve had these past nineteen years, it now reads as if she had some power to see what was to come.  Now sixteen years since losing her, I read it almost as prayer, and perhaps, a prediction.

She wrote:

As we continue to clean our lens of consciousness with love, we will one day look back on the evolution of our growing and see how much cleansing has been going on. We are already seeing how beautiful flowers of peace, love and compassion grow from the compost of pain.

Amen, Nana… I am “serrencified” and at peace knowing you are watching over me.

Ella Fitzgerald sure knows how to sing about it in, "Someone to Watch Over Me".

https://youtu.be/gDhF-PsDuCw

Satisfying Semantics

Ever since taking my last prescription opioid dose on January 13, 2019, I have been searching for a word that accurately describes the phase in which I now find myself.  I’ve tried on many words to see how they fit, but none of them feel accurate or befitting of the situation. Yes, I’m in a period of recovery, not just from being off the opioids, but also from being severely chronically ill. God willing, the latter will follow me into the future, but regardless, “in recovery” isn’t specific enough for my liking.

There is the obvious word “sober”, which means “not under the influence of drugs or alcohol” according to the Encarta Dictionary. Perhaps in error, but in all honesty, I find the opposite of this word to mean “drunk” or “high”, and I never felt either of those things. I certainly felt numb and out of it, but it was not a pleasant escape from reality. If anything, I associate my time on opioids as a complete emotional void. From the outside, I may have seemed high, but I never felt the enjoyment I think many find in the highs they seek, despite the danger in which it puts them.  I think true sobriety for an addict is much harder to maintain than the absence of drugs I find myself enduring after being drug dependent. I’m enjoying the lack of toxic chemicals in my body, and “sober” just doesn’t fit my situation.

Then there is the word “clean”, which means “with no illegal drugs; not containing or possessing illegal drugs”. Over the 19 years I was on prescription opioids, I never pursued them from the streets. That’s where the word “prescription” comes in; I always got my medicine from a doctor and used it accordingly. Yes, there were times when I would take an extra pill here or there, but that was the exception, not the rule. In addition, to say I’m now “clean” infers that I was somehow, at some point, “dirty”, and I was never what I would consider dirty. I was chronically ill and dealing with chronic pain, neither of which made me unclean. I was suffering, not sucia (dirty in Spanish.)  Plenty of people made me ashamed by my situation, and in that way I felt subpar, but never dirty.  So again, the word “clean” doesn’t befit my situation.

Finally comes my least favorite phrase, “on the wagon”, in contrast to being “off the wagon”, which implies that one has failed to remain off their substance of choice. The last time I was on or off a wagon was when I was about seven-years old and being pulled by my dad to the Bexley fireworks on the 4^th of July in the Radio Flyer red wagon I shared with my baby brother.  There is nothing about this period of being off narcotics that reminds me of that young time, with the exception of perhaps a hope that good things can work out. However, I’m not on a wagon, red or otherwise, and this phrase just doesn’t work for me.

After exhausting these commonplace words and phrases, I began thinking about my true feelings at this time. I feel satisfied, full and complete, as I freed myself from the tentacles of drug dependence after so many years of chronic pain. I feel filled to the brim with pride for my accomplishment, and humility for realizing that I could never have done it without the support from my family, friends and most of all, God. After nineteen years of drug dependence, my appetite for them is sated. I am filled to the brim and ready to take on a new diet. Most of all, I feel overwhelmed with a satisfaction that my life is better today than it has been at any other time in the past two decades.

Thinking of these emotions, I recalled a phrase my Nana used to say when she was feeling full and replenished with a satisfying meal:

No thank you,

I’ve had my sufficiency!

Fully serrencified,

Clear up to my velosophinial.

Any more would be an indulgency.

Remembering her sweet phrasing, of which serrencified appears in no dictionaries, I relate this feeling to my past years of chronic pain and illness. I HAVE had my sufficiency of the two, more than enough. And if I even HAVE a “velosophinial” at this point, and it hasn’t been removed in one of my many surgeries, I am full of the pain and chronic illness all the way up to it.  At this point, any more would be indulgency. I’ve spent enough time in bed, in hospitals, on surgical tables, in doctors’ offices to last me into the next millennium. I don’t want to jinx myself, but this feeling of being “serrencified” has given me the hope that the future will see my health continue to improve, as suddenly I’m able to see the light rather than having to penetrate through the pea soup fog of opioid dependence with vision that didn’t exist.

Nana wasn’t just my grandmother, she was my spiritual guide.  She taught me to have empathy for others, to learn from my mistakes and to journey forward with a positive attitude, no matter the realities of the past. Looking back at these years of illness and pain, I feel so fortunate to not just have survived, but to now be thriving, at least emotionally. Physically, my body is healing a little each day, and it’s a miracle to behold. More than anything, I feel her spirit speaking to me as I go forward, feeling “serrencified” and optimistic that my future will not be a continuation of my past, but rather a new beginning.

This past weekend, my mom and I were going through old photos, and I found a letter from Nana written the Christmas of 1997, two years before I got ill. As I read it, I could feel her spirit surrounding me, and a particular paragraph stuck out. At the time, I wouldn’t have understood what she was truly saying, but after the experiences I’ve had these past nineteen years, it now reads as if she had some power to see what was to come.  Now sixteen years since losing her, I read it almost as prayer, and perhaps, a prediction.

She wrote:

As we continue to clean our lens of consciousness with love, we will one day look back on the evolution of our growing and see how much cleansing has been going on. We are already seeing how beautiful flowers of peace, love and compassion grow from the compost of pain.

Amen, Nana… I am “serrencified” and at peace knowing you are watching over me.

Desperately Seeking Jessica : The Promise

Desperately Seeking Jessica : The Promise:

The Promise

When I was in high school, I suffered from an eating disorder. I felt emotionally bankrupt from a variety of things, not the least of which was from being sexually molested by a man who I babysat for and the fear of being raped because of his advances. I didn't tell my family for three years, as I loved the kids and wife so much, I was afraid I wouldn't be allowed to return once my parents found out.  

I had no control over the situation, so I chose to control the one thing I could, which was my diet. I starved myself, and then if I did eat, I would make myself purge. I wanted to feel as empty physically as I did emotionally, so I abused my body and let it atrophy in the face of my heartache. 

My family never knew until several weeks before I went away to college, when I told my mom over lunch what I had been doing. She almost kept me from going to school, but I promised her that I would never purge again, and she cautiously agreed to allow me to go forward with my college plans.

My first week at Miami University, I found myself hovering over a toilet, having purged the cereal I ate for dinner. I ate cereal for all of my meals to restrict my calories. Anyway, with eyes watering from my violent liquidation of food, I stared at the bathroom floor tiles, thinking to myself, “You couldn’t even keep the simplest promise to your mother.” 

I knew in that moment that I had a serious problem, and the next day I sought help through campus counseling. I began intensive therapy with a graduate student, one of the best counselors I’ve ever had, and she helped me come to terms with the reality of my issue. I had to finally cope with the pain after years of sexual abuse and actually FEEL the emotions I had refused to confront for so long. Between a support group and counseling, I finally learned how to process my emotions without taking it out on my body. 

I no longer needed or wanted to make my body the same emptiness I had felt in my spirit, which was finally on the mend. It was a turbulent time, but I learned so much about myself and the nature of pain. I never dreamed that I would reach a similar point many years later, but I did with the onset of my disease.

When I initially got sick at 22 with first gallbladder disease, and then chronic pancreatitis, my body felt physically bankrupt, and my spirit felt the same.  When your body is stripped of all strength by the intensity of chronic pain, and the pain has stolen everything you have, it feels like a form of starvation. No matter how many specialists whose expertise I sought, they couldn’t fix me, so they fed me pills. Those opioids were like comfort food to my suffering body and mind.  When you’re starving and you’re offered food, you eat; sometimes to excess without realizing it, because it hurts so badly. 

As the disease got worse, the same amount of food wasn’t filling me up, so the doctors fed me more. And suddenly I found myself stuffed to the gills, but the hurt continued. No amount of “comfort food” would help, because my tolerance for it has gone up with time.  And finally I just couldn’t eat anymore without getting sick, my mind and body dependent on substances I never imagined being a part of your life.

I found myself back at the beginning, emotionally and physically bankrupt.  To continue to eat would have meant compromising me; mind, body and spirit.  I had become so tired of eating and still hurting that I put myself on a crash opioid diet. The point had come where my pain wasn’t being touched by the drugs, and my spirit was crashing. Instead of letting myself fall even lower, I stopped my opioids to save my soul. And now that I’ve thundered through my withdrawal date, I find myself with no appetite for the agonizing numbness of chronic opioid use. 

To be clear, not everyone on opioids gets to the point I did. Many chronic pain sufferers NEED their pain meds to allow them to work and function. For me, the opioids had the opposite effect, and my life has been void of any real purpose for almost nineteen years. I am looking forward to getting back to life now that I have a clear head and my body back under my own direction.  I dare not say control, because I don’t know if we can ever truly have complete physical or emotional control over ourselves. Some things are left to God and the Universe.

Without the opioids, I’m feeling more like the Jessica I found on the beach.  The fire and feistiness have returned full-force, and I actually have to rein her in a bit, as her passion tends to bubble or even boil over rather quickly. My pain may have returned to a degree, but it’s less now that I’m learning other ways to satisfy it. The comfort food I was offered for so many years just didn’t help anymore, and so I had to make the decision to help myself. And ironically, the pain is less now that I’m awake enough to soothe it with other lullabies, singing to it softly without the drugs. My life is better, and I am grateful.

Until recently, I never realized the correlation between my eating disorder and my opioid use for chronic pain. With my eating disorder, I literally wanted to disappear and no longer feel the pain of this life. With my chronic pain, all I wanted to do was disappear from the reality of the agonizing hurt. After so many years, I became emotionally inclined to take my life, because I couldn’t imagine living like I was anymore, a physical and emotional vegetable. There are so many similarities. Many people don’t understand the dynamics of the two. Eating disorders are all about control. With chronic pain and opioid use, it’s all about what’s controlling you.

My desire with my blog is to draw pictures with my words to help other understand the plight of the pained better than is currently understood.  Those with chronic pain did not cause the opioid crisis, but they are being punished by the crackdown on policy. I’m just so thankful to have found a way out of MY crisis, and to have found the courage to face my pain, even if it is unpleasant. It’s that strength that drives me forward, and I look forward to finding even more ways to soothe the pain so that I can return to a productive life. 

I go back to the promise I made my mother before I went to college. In essence, it was about no longer hurting myself.  Ultimately, that is why I stopped my narcotics. They were hurting me, and I was on the brink of hurting myself even more. Thank God for the strength and understanding to pull myself from that ledge, and to be able to stand strong before you as the TRUE Jessica once again, now opioid-free.

CHECK OUT Tracy Chapman's "The Promise".....

https://youtu.be/XcfswBZpSBU