Day 24- Mascot a go-go #HAWMC-WEGO

Our topic for today is to have a mascot for our illnesses or health focus. I'm choosing my own name...the reverted butterfly. Within a year or so into my becoming housebound & getting involved online, I discovered that many of the groups out there have butterflies as their logos or animal so to speak. I liked the thought, but as I had spent the last decade of my life living & teaching overseas, I felt the opposite. I was lucky enough to have lived in Indonesia, the Czech Republic, & had traveled in Australia, Asia, Brazil, etc. I felt like I had reverted back to the cocoon stage but was fully grown, so when I started my picture a day blog, I chose to refer to myself as a reverted butterfly. The important part I felt was to be honest-to paint a true picture, but also to be positive. I am trying to fight my way out of this new cocoon. Even if I never fully get out I'll never stop fighting, & to me that is my main message. I painted a picture of a purple butterfly, as fibro's color is purple, fighting to escape the cocoon stuck on a tree branch. You can see I have windows into my world from the cocoon, & damaged wings are sticking out, trying to stay a part of the world from this strange new wrapping of life.

 

 

The 5 year milestone

I think as a nation we are somewhat conditioned to having that saving twist-the something/someone comes in to save the day kind of ending-to beat the bad guy. Personally for me I blame sitcoms and Sweet Valley High books. 5 years ago today I was forced to resign due to medical reasons from teaching, sent packing, and was home moved in with my parents a day or so later. Needless to say it was a tough Christmas. 

I really thought that after 6 months to a year-after resting and regaining the strength from my 3 year battle with a very complicated broken ankle that put my fibromyalgia in a tailspin that I would somehow get better and start a new plan. For at least 2-3 years mom and dad talked about getting me into an apartment when I got better-I think they just needed to hold on to hope that I would rebound. Within year 3-4 thankfully for my sake that subject of job/apartment/etc. stopped. 

I consider myself so blessed-so lucky that my parents stepped in and swooped me up without batting an eye. I could be going through this and be homeless, or in a country where women aren't even allowed medical care, or in a remote part of the world where technology couldn't help me have a window out of my battered, cramped, crinkled cocoon. Along with that of course comes the crushing grief of what was lost 5 years ago. I don't feel sorry for myself-but I do allow myself to grieve. For the chronically ill grieving is an ongoing process. Everyday almost we stubble across something that reminds us of the old me, the old life, the old plan. Yet I strive daily to give myself the freedom to grieve along with the freedom to keep going. Not to a specific place or time, but just to hold on and try.