How Long?

I remember hearing about an oil rig explosion which killed 11 workers. That was sad, and I wondered who they were and if they had children. But I thought that would be the end of the story. Before I knew it, there was an oil spill of immeasurable proportions, and the news reports grew more and more grim. People started pointing fingers at the oil company and the government, while many pointed the fingers at every person who drives a car for allowing a disaster like this to occur. Instead of pointing fingers at whose to blame, let's focus on the aftermath and how to decrease the devastation.

You see, I've found that MSNBC and CNN, among others, think that all we need to know is that there is an investigation going on to determine who to blame, that BP has tried some new strategies, and that the president wants to kick ass. Well, I think the people of Louisiana are telling a different story - and instead of taking what MSNBC and CNN feed us, we should listen to what's going on in Congress - we should hear for ourselves what's being said and who's saying it. Unfortunately, though, the closest we come to that, many times, is C-SPAN. We should pay attention to the fact that the leaders of Louisiana are trying to solve this problem and that the powers that be are hesitant to give up control to the people who have the will and determination to actually get something done. Louisiana is at risk of losing it's precious marshes, and life has all but been sucked out of them already.

I'm wondering why our nation isn't in a state of emergency. And I echo the question of one of my dear friends when she asked, "Where is Sean Penn now?" I've noticed that he's not floating around in oil infested water. Why is that? Where is the support of the rest of the nation? Quit arguing. Quit threatening to kick ass. Get rid of the beaucracy that holds up action and renders plans useless because they are approved too late. Every citizen in this country is watching the pathetic response to this emergency, and we should be enraged. So do it. Be angry. Protest. Wake up from the apathy.

Enough is enough.

Those like me.

I recently discovered epilepsy.com, a website founded by people living with epilepsy - in other words, those like me. I am in love with this website. It's helping me to get outside of the scientific and into the hearts and minds of others who are living with the condition. I know I said that I'd make this blog into a blog about other things besides epilepsy, but it turns out that I'm a liar. I find myself nodding in agreement or posting an answer to someone else's question on a daily basis - this is such a fantastic gift for those living with epilepsy.
One of the things that I'm amazed about is how I've come to embrace epilepsy - I didn't ever think that I would like being epileptic, but I think I do....does that make sense? Embracing what others consider a disability is unusual - but more importantly, it's empowering. As I read others' stories about their experience with epilepsy, I'm amazed. I have so much to learn about my own affliction - I thought I knew everything, but I don't! And ironically, two years of learning to embrace a condition has caused me to learn a great deal about it, and it's allowed me to give feedback to other people's comments and answers to their questions. It fills me with the deepest satisfaction to know that I'm interacting with my peers. They may be 66 years old, or a mother of three, or a college student going through nursing school - and I can relate to all of them.
In particular, there have been many discussions about leviteracetam, or Keppra, which happens to be a medication that I'm intimately familiar with. I've read about others who are scared of taking the medication because of what they've heard about it - and I've read horror stories about how leviteracetam messed up people's lives, and so on. The pattern I'm noticing is the amount of despair exhibited by so many who visit the website - the tone of their questions suggests shame, anger, humiliation, and sadness. I remember a time in my life when I felt the exact same way. In so many ways, I'm a neurologist's dream: the medication works for me. But there's story after story and comment after comment that screams the opposite: no medication works for them, and they hate being epileptic. Part of me wishes I'd found this site soon after my diagnosis, and yet I'm so happy that I've only found it now, because had I been exposed to the depression and angst of so many others, epilepsy might've gotten the best of me.
Do you ever notice how the obsession with despair blur all possibilities of hope? Epileptics need to vent and relate to others who understand them, but sometimes that's where the therapy stops. As a result of this revelation, I've got to commit myself to being positive and offering encouragement whenever the opportunity arises. After all, I think that's what I may be good at.
Maybe God chose to let me have epilepsy so that I could help others who have it. I think that's why He likes me better as an epileptic.
We all have afflictions - and it varies for everybody, but you can only conquer the affliction by embracing it; not running from it. Acknowledge every part of yourself, not only the parts that you like. =)

Always hungry.

Who I am is defined by what I do. Literally. Usually, this is used as a lesson in a movie script or as a point of encouragement, but for me, it's unsettling. I define the very reason for myself based on how I spend my time, where I work, what I do, and how long I do it. I reason that my purpose is wrapped up in what I create around me and how I use my mind, body, and soul. I'm never fully settled, or content, in any point in my life. I always want to be more.



That's why, when I have a decent job, and a great life with my husband, I still beat myself up for not going the extra mile to do something extraordinary. I don't want to leave this world as just an ordinary person. I want to do it all. I want to travel to far off places, help as many people as I can, try everything at least once, and learn new things at every turn. For some reason, wherever I am in life isn't enough for me to be satisfied. I don't feel that I'm living the dream. I think I'm holding back from what I really want, and I think I've done that for a long time. I wanted to do respiratory therapy, and now I'm not so sure. The drive is still there, but I fear in my heart that even if I achieve that goal, I'll still have the feeling of standing at the far edge of a field, ready to run across to the other side and resenting myself for pausing. How would it be if one day I woke up, and realized that my life is ordinary?



This is the one hurdle I've never been able to jump, and it's been the unrelenting weakness I've felt my entire life. I achieve one goal, and I'm on to the next without really taking that first goal very far. I'm all about achievement, proving myself - to myself. I don't really understand it - I just know that I'll never be good enough for the bully inside me. The ironic thing is, I've been complimented on what this bully has brought out of me. People think I'm an extremely driven person, and the truth is, that I'm actually a tormented driven person. People admire my drive, I admire other's contentment.

I thirst for God, and I believe that the answer to my woes lies in Him. But I'm having a difficult time making that first step back to Him. I never fully give myself away to Him - I hold back and try to maintain control because I don't want to lose it. Even in my years of being extremely close to the Lord, though, I still had this unquenchable hunger. I wish I knew what I was hungry for?

Just a few odd thoughts for the day.

Haiti.

Dear Haiti,

I'm thinking of you. I didn't think much of you before, I'll admit. My focus has been on other times, other places. My Haitian friend always told me life was hard there; but she certainly loved you very much. Now the whole world is watching. It took a 7.0 earthquake to get the world to stop and see you - a beautiful island, independent, and torn by tragedy and corruption. Now books will be written AND read - about you and your people. Your tumultuous history, your struggle for sovereignty and freedom. The wealth that was deprived you. I'm sorry that it took so long to notice - that it took so much death and destruction for us to notice.

I want to go to you. I long to go to you. Nothing would please me more than to be there, sifting through broken walls and dismantled lives, side by side with you. Why it feels so close to my heart, I don't know. Why I feel like I've lost a distant cousin, I don't know. Your children, siblings, and parents will be missed. I hope you find all of them. I hope that no one gets lost in the rubble because it's too much to clean up. As you travel by foot to the hospital in search of your friends, know that the delay is not because they are unimportant. The world is watching, waiting, and praying that you will find your friends and family. The doctors are doing everything within their abilities to save their lives.

I'm sorry that everything is so scientific. I'm sorry that the day after, an article is published about why Haiti is prone to dangerous quakes. I'm sorry for the unintended "I told you so" attitude that is filling the gap that should be filled by prayer and compassion. When you go to your home, and see it in a pile, I pray that God will give you the clarity to remember that you were able to survive it's collapse and that God is your home. He is your roof, wall, and floor that will never collapse. When you see your child's school on the ground, remember that learning happens everywhere. Learning doesn't need walls. And if your child is among the missing, you know where to look. Remember that love, like learning, has no walls. Your love for them will help you to endure through the hours of recovery. You will not sleep, nor will you stop to eat. You will move planks, boulders, metal, and glass. You will cut your hands and feet but will not notice. You will hear the cries of other parents, and you will brace yourself. That afternoon you saw them - the memory of their tiny voice and beautiful smile renews your strength. You will find them and hold them again, even if they cannot hold you back. But when they are able to put their arms around your neck, and you feel the warmth of their body, you will be whole again. How I wish I could help you find them.

Husbands, wives, lovers - as you search all of the likely places for your partners, be prepared. Their workplace is eerily quiet. As you survey the scene, a hole grows in your stomach. But you hear a familiar voice calling your name. Blood rushes to your skin and you run in the direction of the voice. When you can't find them at work or at home, you go to the hospital. There are many bodies to look through. When you find them, you will take a moment to remember the beauty and color they added to your lives when you see their empty faces. How I wish I could comfort you. Children, when you said goodbye to your parents that day when the earth shook, remember that YOU are their purpose. They'd be pleased to know that you survived. Don't stop searching for them. Don't give up hope. Soon you will know, and when that time comes, you must take care of them.

Brothers and sisters, as you run to each others' houses in urgent hope, what you see won't make you stop crying their names and tearing through the ruins. When you hear them quietly call your name from beneath the mess, your heart pounds through your chest and you dig until your fingernails are nearly coming off. When you don't hear them, and you can't decide where to start digging, you take your best guess and it won't always take long to find them. I'm sorry that no one is there to help you.

As you're pulled from the wreckage, Haiti, I'll be watching and waiting. You're cut up and bruised, but breathing. You will never forget that day, and you will use that day and all the days following to build a better future. All I can do is pray for you. I wish I could do more.

Sincerely,

Missy