FIRST. CONCERT. EVER.
(unless you count The Wiggles…which I emphatically do NOT.)
How did my lupie-fibro-glucose-challenged body handle a rock concert???
[enter, stage left…anxiety]
I HATE (and by hate, I mean absolutely LOATHE to the core fiber of my being) having an anxiety disorder (GAD, rx’d at age 21). So, sitting in an arena filled with 18,000 other people causes me to have an internal freak-out. I focus, instead, on how I think the show will start. That made it worse…I HATE (and by hate, I mean I would rather go to the dentist every day for a week) the unknown.
(I’m a special kind of “special”, lemme tell ya)
So I gander at everyone around me, below me (sitting in the 200’s, first row, end seats=AWESOME) going through their cell phones….looked like handfuls of fireflies in amongst the crowds :o)…people busy texting, Tweeting, Facebooking, MySpace-ing….
The show starts. I was unprepared for the energy wave about to hit my body and ears. Everything was electric (and by electric, I mean like the time I was five and stuck a wood staple in a socket, burned my hand and went into convulsions)….it actually….physically….HURT.
My skin hurt. My body was taking each wave of energy like a stab of a dull pencil. THIS, you cannot tell me, is how a concert is supposed to feel!?!?
Then I did it. I embraced it. Soaked it into my fibers and pushed it back out….just letting it move right through me…..
I got to this point just as my favourite song of all time, “It’s My Life”, started…..
It’s my life
It’s now or never
I ain’t gonna live forever
I just wanna live while I’m alive
(It’s my life)
My heart is like an open highway
Like Frankie said, “I did it my way”
I just wanna live while I’m alive
‘Cause it’s my life”
This is it, folks. I’m either going to jump forward, or die. Hell, maybe I’ll even die trying. But I am NOT going to let a chronic illness interrupt the only life I get to have in this decrepit body. I did not survive the things I’ve survived to let this be the end of it all.
I will not bow down to the conventional “It’s all in your head.” and “You don’t look sick.” bullshit any longer. I will arm myself with as much information as possible and spread it like gossip (and by spread, I mean the overexposure of all things lupus/fibro/diabetes to the point that you will see my face in your mind whenever anyone even HINTS at the name “lupus”).
I will have bad days and I will have better days. You will never have to ask how I’m feeling, because I will make it clear how I’m managing running a daycare, a family of eleventy-billion, a household and my health and by doing so I will inspire people to persevere.
Like Windex clear.
[enter, stage right…epiphany]
There have been many a time where I’ve sat and wondered what my “purpose” was. I felt, at that time, it was to establish myself as a matriarch…and to have a lineage of descendants to carry on our family’s name and bloodline.
Dudes, I’ve had five kids. Got it covered at, what, I was 33 years old when the twins were born?
At 33 years old, was I to tell myself my “purpose” was accomplished. What the hell do I do with the REST of my life??!??!
And yet the school of hard knocks continued in my direction.
The made-for-tv-movie of the chaos of my reality only needs an actress to play “Me”.
Then I realized. I realized that this is, in fact, “my life.” Rather, “MY LIFE.” I will dictate when I’m done using up all of my “purpose.”
This is my purpose. This blog. The fundraising (which, to date, sits at $1,080 with online and offline donations). The link sharing. The Facebook posts. The Tweets.
Because I can. I have heard on my forums how many suffer just typing, let alone participating in Walks in their communities in order to raise awareness. I will be that voice. Until a time, if ever, that I can no longer and must pass the proverbial torch….
[enter, centre stage…..inner peace]
And for, what, a couple of hours?….I let the energy ebb and flow through my body, my joints, my ears, my BEING….and I felt like I melded into the arena itself….like in one giant hive…..
….and for, what, a couple of hours?….I felt NO PAIN.
I had had a friggin’ epiphany at a freakin’ Bon Jovi concert.
That, my friends, is the confession of a concert virgin.