First, let's get business out of the way. Last Saturday, the 29th I was preparing to get on the train to Wheaton to photograph a train exhibit at Sara's museum. I had just gotten out of the shower, put on my boxers and started to taste something from the past and see images from far-off memories playing in the back of my head. I knew what was coming but my VNS magnet was in the living room. So, here I am running through the house half naked looking for the magnet; I found it next to the couch (of course) and swiped it across my chest. I sat on the couch with my back straight waiting for the seizure to end. I was looking at my numb right hand while moving my fingers; what an awful and amazing feeling.
After the seizure I took an Ativan, a strong drug to stop anymore seizures from coming; a sedative. Frankly, it made me feel really good; I guess I was stressed about the photo assignment and my brain just couldn't handle it. The train ride was very relaxing; I even made a friend. A pierced girl and I were both laughing at a lady singing show tunes and snapping her fingers while we were waiting at the station.
Despite the seizure, Saturday was a good day... fun.
It's hard to explain how the last few days have been. There are just too many details, so they really can't be put into words. I've only spoken in short sentences, not paragraphs; enough to interact so as not to seem like I'm blowing anyone off or anything like that.
Last night in bed the street light was reflecting off the snow and illuminating our bedroom. I laid on my back and looked at the pattern of light on the ceiling while working out what I was going to write today.
It's horrible, but there are streaks of days that wish to god that I would have a seizure; a seizure so serious that it numbs my brain. A seizure that serious makes it hard to communicate. I want to see words and not understand them; I want to see faces and not recognize them. Sometimes I just want to be deprived of feeling, you know.
I write this now but if that day ever comes it'll damn me. Even right now I'm so sorry for writing it.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
A Day Ahead
All day yesterday I thought it was Wednesday. It wasn't until 9 o'clock last night that Sara broke the news. She had a late meeting so I had the house to myself; it was very quiet. After dinner I moved to the living room but didn't really have the energy to turn on the TV or watch a movie. I put some music (finally) on my iPhone; I found my earbuds so I could listen to something, anything.
It seemed appropriate to leave only a couple of small lights on so I could really get into a place where thought was actually possible. I'm a big fan of live, small, acoustic-style songs; I found a few good ones and leaned my head back as I listened. This is the time that I imagine having a talent where I could set-up and speak to a crowd through music. It seems like a concept so simple and insignificant can have weight when given the opportunity so be expressed through song; some concepts and feelings can only be expressed this way.
I've studied around and geared myself toward the "visual." I've probably said this before, but my eyes just don't see like they used to or at least the way I hoped they would. Close people have excelled in the visual arts; whether it be design, photography or another fine art. I can't say that I don't spend time thinking about these people... good or bad thoughts.
Even though my job is still on the visual side of the spectrum, my life has become more about language. I'm supposed to express, through words, how a seizure feels. "What is your aura like?" "Explain to me what you're thinking after a seizure." I still can only really put into words, maybe 20% of the sensation. Imagine that you're at your desk and suddenly you taste your birthday cake from when you were twelve. Then you see flashing pictures in the back of your mind of an old TV show your grandpa used to watch when you were young. By the time you figure out what you're tasting and what you're thinking, the seizure starts and when it's over, you've lost it all. (It's just amazing that the mind stores these little details; some people would give dearly to unlock these memories and some would wish to god that they would be lost forever.)
When I say that my life has been about language I'm referencing mostly the spoken language. When I speak it takes time for me to find words and pronounce them properly. I have to ask, at times, what terms and expressions mean... even some of the simplest and most well known. The last couple of job interviews have been a testament to this fact; not to mention my new voice. Awful.
The written language seems to be a way for me to slow down and take my time to express, well, everything. I can stop for the right word or right name; I can think and edit what topic I'm going to write about when I'm in the shower or laying back and listening to music in the dark. I read recently that "... as a writer, some of your best lines are the ones you delete." I've edited several choice lines already; if they were to be spoken, I wouldn't be able to go back and delete.
It seemed appropriate to leave only a couple of small lights on so I could really get into a place where thought was actually possible. I'm a big fan of live, small, acoustic-style songs; I found a few good ones and leaned my head back as I listened. This is the time that I imagine having a talent where I could set-up and speak to a crowd through music. It seems like a concept so simple and insignificant can have weight when given the opportunity so be expressed through song; some concepts and feelings can only be expressed this way.
I've studied around and geared myself toward the "visual." I've probably said this before, but my eyes just don't see like they used to or at least the way I hoped they would. Close people have excelled in the visual arts; whether it be design, photography or another fine art. I can't say that I don't spend time thinking about these people... good or bad thoughts.
Even though my job is still on the visual side of the spectrum, my life has become more about language. I'm supposed to express, through words, how a seizure feels. "What is your aura like?" "Explain to me what you're thinking after a seizure." I still can only really put into words, maybe 20% of the sensation. Imagine that you're at your desk and suddenly you taste your birthday cake from when you were twelve. Then you see flashing pictures in the back of your mind of an old TV show your grandpa used to watch when you were young. By the time you figure out what you're tasting and what you're thinking, the seizure starts and when it's over, you've lost it all. (It's just amazing that the mind stores these little details; some people would give dearly to unlock these memories and some would wish to god that they would be lost forever.)
When I say that my life has been about language I'm referencing mostly the spoken language. When I speak it takes time for me to find words and pronounce them properly. I have to ask, at times, what terms and expressions mean... even some of the simplest and most well known. The last couple of job interviews have been a testament to this fact; not to mention my new voice. Awful.
The written language seems to be a way for me to slow down and take my time to express, well, everything. I can stop for the right word or right name; I can think and edit what topic I'm going to write about when I'm in the shower or laying back and listening to music in the dark. I read recently that "... as a writer, some of your best lines are the ones you delete." I've edited several choice lines already; if they were to be spoken, I wouldn't be able to go back and delete.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Today is Wednesday
Yes, today is Wednesday.
There was a five minute period of reflection after I just wrote the statement above. Not much has happened since my last post; that could be considered a positive or a negative. What I think about a lot is my desire to have a place to be. Lately, I've had a steady system of home - work - lunch - home - dinner - TV/movie - sleep. The weekends are usually wide open but just as unproductive; I almost crave the chance to do nothing.
I dream vividly. It's sad to look at the side effects of my medications and read "side effects may include vivid or disturbing dreams..." To be honest, even the disturbing dreams give me something new to think about the next day. I wonder how those thoughts entered my brain; am I really that creative to think of such things? If so, it would be a fizzle of the creativity that blossomed in my art and english classes during high school about 12 years ago.
I picked graphic design as a major in college because I thought it was interesting and safe; interesting on the creative side and safe on the financial side. After all, designers have a good chance of getting employment just out of school; no additional school is really required to make a living. When you tell your parents that you want to go to art school they usually seem to balk at the idea, asking how one can make a living as an artist. My parents weren't like that, they supported me fully and were proud to have a their son go to college; that made it very easy for me to concentrate on my education.
After school I fell on hard times for about a year, but eventually moved to Chicago and found a job. My boss needed photography done for brochures and catalogs so I began to learn and get very interested in the trade; I thought I could make a living while making art as a photographer. A friend got me into a freelance position at a newspaper where I had assignments nearly everyday after work; it was probably the most frustrating and rewarding time of my professional career. I constantly critiqued myself and found new techniques and equipment to make my work better and better. In my free time I used several vintage 35mm cameras to learn older techniques (before digital) while making art. I shot at least one hundred rolls of film and entered them into my computer electronically with a film scanner. I fixed up old cameras and probably got a little obsessive with the number of cameras and accessories I bought from eBay. Photography filled that creative need that has always followed me around; I was even a part of a black and white photography show at a local gallery.
Since 2008, I absolutely, I mean absolutely have no drive to pick up a camera. My equipment sits unless I need to shoot something in the studio at work. Even if I see something that I would've probably photographed in the past, I turn my head and shrug. Part of me, sadly, is glad to not have the pressure of making good art. I was very harsh on myself and my photos; out of all those rolls of film I shot, I could probably only pick out twenty photos that I was proud of.
This blog is somewhat creative; I've been trying to learn more about punctuation and the proper way to express my thoughts (whether they're worth anything) in sentence form. I think I'm doing an alright job; I bounced the idea off Sara about taking a writing class, even if it's just for me I think it could be enlightening and an outlet for renewed creative energy.
Like I said before, there's a desire to have a place to be. Right now, I'm thriving on complacency.
Tomorrow is Thursday.
There was a five minute period of reflection after I just wrote the statement above. Not much has happened since my last post; that could be considered a positive or a negative. What I think about a lot is my desire to have a place to be. Lately, I've had a steady system of home - work - lunch - home - dinner - TV/movie - sleep. The weekends are usually wide open but just as unproductive; I almost crave the chance to do nothing.
I dream vividly. It's sad to look at the side effects of my medications and read "side effects may include vivid or disturbing dreams..." To be honest, even the disturbing dreams give me something new to think about the next day. I wonder how those thoughts entered my brain; am I really that creative to think of such things? If so, it would be a fizzle of the creativity that blossomed in my art and english classes during high school about 12 years ago.
I picked graphic design as a major in college because I thought it was interesting and safe; interesting on the creative side and safe on the financial side. After all, designers have a good chance of getting employment just out of school; no additional school is really required to make a living. When you tell your parents that you want to go to art school they usually seem to balk at the idea, asking how one can make a living as an artist. My parents weren't like that, they supported me fully and were proud to have a their son go to college; that made it very easy for me to concentrate on my education.
After school I fell on hard times for about a year, but eventually moved to Chicago and found a job. My boss needed photography done for brochures and catalogs so I began to learn and get very interested in the trade; I thought I could make a living while making art as a photographer. A friend got me into a freelance position at a newspaper where I had assignments nearly everyday after work; it was probably the most frustrating and rewarding time of my professional career. I constantly critiqued myself and found new techniques and equipment to make my work better and better. In my free time I used several vintage 35mm cameras to learn older techniques (before digital) while making art. I shot at least one hundred rolls of film and entered them into my computer electronically with a film scanner. I fixed up old cameras and probably got a little obsessive with the number of cameras and accessories I bought from eBay. Photography filled that creative need that has always followed me around; I was even a part of a black and white photography show at a local gallery.
Since 2008, I absolutely, I mean absolutely have no drive to pick up a camera. My equipment sits unless I need to shoot something in the studio at work. Even if I see something that I would've probably photographed in the past, I turn my head and shrug. Part of me, sadly, is glad to not have the pressure of making good art. I was very harsh on myself and my photos; out of all those rolls of film I shot, I could probably only pick out twenty photos that I was proud of.
This blog is somewhat creative; I've been trying to learn more about punctuation and the proper way to express my thoughts (whether they're worth anything) in sentence form. I think I'm doing an alright job; I bounced the idea off Sara about taking a writing class, even if it's just for me I think it could be enlightening and an outlet for renewed creative energy.
Like I said before, there's a desire to have a place to be. Right now, I'm thriving on complacency.
Tomorrow is Thursday.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
"Challenge"
On the topic of seizures, I had two last Friday. One small and one larger one where I didn't convulse but I did lose memory and couldn't understand words or communicate very well. This is disappointing seeing as though it was a month since my last seizure and we're upping the VNS, etc. Caffeine plays a big part I've noticed. I'm cutting way back, after all caffeine speeds my brain up and I need to slow it down; it's common sense that I'm just not heeding.
Yesterday I had a job interview. I would be lying if I said that the employment issue wasn't pressing. On the way home I just looked out the window and asked myself what the whole experience meant. Obviously, I was a bit disappointed with what I saw at the potential new company. Why did I take a valuable half day, with Sara sick, to travel? I felt confident and I spoke well (in my opinion); I did have a few moments where it took a second for words to come out when I tried to highlight a specific topic, like remembering terms, names, etc.
I tell interviewers that I'm looking for a "new challenge;" it's the truth but the word "challenge" has several layers for me. It would be nice to meet new people and hear new voices and talk about different subjects. How would I fare working with these people; where would I fall in the social network of a new organization?
In college, my ability to socialize had its ups and downs. As an RA in the residence hall I was very social and responsible, but at my internship at BVK, a big influential ad agency, I was small and overwhelmed. It was the same in school; I was relatively quiet and guarded in class. I would speak up in critique a couple times a week, but honestly I wasn't happy with the people in my class. I felt at times that they were putting on a show, using words and making hand gestures to make themselves seem like they were at a higher artistic level than the rest of us. Many times I was so frustrated that I would skip out of class at break and make my way back to the dorms to quietly sit in my chair and stare out of the window. I was probably thinking the same thoughts as last night after the interview.
I have always over-thought and taken life too serious; a good way to put it would be that I take life personal. Yeah. I'm going to coin a phrase; "Don't take life personal." I worked at an intellectual property law firm one summer, maybe I should call them and trademark that sucker.
Another piece of common sense I'm not heeding.
Yesterday I had a job interview. I would be lying if I said that the employment issue wasn't pressing. On the way home I just looked out the window and asked myself what the whole experience meant. Obviously, I was a bit disappointed with what I saw at the potential new company. Why did I take a valuable half day, with Sara sick, to travel? I felt confident and I spoke well (in my opinion); I did have a few moments where it took a second for words to come out when I tried to highlight a specific topic, like remembering terms, names, etc.
I tell interviewers that I'm looking for a "new challenge;" it's the truth but the word "challenge" has several layers for me. It would be nice to meet new people and hear new voices and talk about different subjects. How would I fare working with these people; where would I fall in the social network of a new organization?
In college, my ability to socialize had its ups and downs. As an RA in the residence hall I was very social and responsible, but at my internship at BVK, a big influential ad agency, I was small and overwhelmed. It was the same in school; I was relatively quiet and guarded in class. I would speak up in critique a couple times a week, but honestly I wasn't happy with the people in my class. I felt at times that they were putting on a show, using words and making hand gestures to make themselves seem like they were at a higher artistic level than the rest of us. Many times I was so frustrated that I would skip out of class at break and make my way back to the dorms to quietly sit in my chair and stare out of the window. I was probably thinking the same thoughts as last night after the interview.
I have always over-thought and taken life too serious; a good way to put it would be that I take life personal. Yeah. I'm going to coin a phrase; "Don't take life personal." I worked at an intellectual property law firm one summer, maybe I should call them and trademark that sucker.
Another piece of common sense I'm not heeding.
Monday, January 3, 2011
The New Year
Today I'm visiting NW again to have the VNS turned up. It seems to be working how it should. I've had two strong seizures since my last doctor visit but I was able to control them with the VNS and the magnate. I've been keeping track of the "when/where/intensity" with my phone; something I wasn't doing in the past but should have been.
My New Year's resolution is really so big and complicated that I wouldn't call it a resolution at all. My job is to pick away at the things that I do have control over.
Sara and I were watching a documentary about WWII; basically the reconstruction. Cities and homes were completely destroyed. Amongst all the rubble, people formed lines and started pulling out one brick at a time to set them in a nice, neat pile. They found chairs and furniture, turned them right-side up and found an area for them. The people looked miserable, and the narrator said that reconstruction didn't end until the 1980's.
I'd like to do the same thing. Start at a point and work with what I have to make things better; even if it takes longer than expected. Every other time I've tried this method I was met strongly by adversity. The thing that I have to understand is adversity is the definition of any disorder or disease.
When I got out of college I had an idea of where my life was headed and what I wanted to do. I was looking straight forward, but several months ran into years and the path began to curve and sway. I was distraught but willing to work through the doors that were open to me. Since being sick, that path has taken a complete right angle and I haven't yet come to terms that the path that I'm standing on isn't the path I dreamt about.
The one thing I could never expect is that someone else would be sharing my path's turns and dips. Sara is a person I need. She's the part of my brain that remembers and continually reminds me for what I should be grateful. Sara's the energy that keeps my going when mine seems to have run out. She has eyes that do not look away from my body's scars and discrepancies; a body for which I'm sorely self-conscious. Sara has hands that will grasp mine to walk me through difficult steps; literally, at times. She married this man, a man that hasn't held himself in high regard in a long time. Apparently, there's something she sees in me that I have yet to discover.
My New Year's resolution is really so big and complicated that I wouldn't call it a resolution at all. My job is to pick away at the things that I do have control over.
Sara and I were watching a documentary about WWII; basically the reconstruction. Cities and homes were completely destroyed. Amongst all the rubble, people formed lines and started pulling out one brick at a time to set them in a nice, neat pile. They found chairs and furniture, turned them right-side up and found an area for them. The people looked miserable, and the narrator said that reconstruction didn't end until the 1980's.
I'd like to do the same thing. Start at a point and work with what I have to make things better; even if it takes longer than expected. Every other time I've tried this method I was met strongly by adversity. The thing that I have to understand is adversity is the definition of any disorder or disease.
When I got out of college I had an idea of where my life was headed and what I wanted to do. I was looking straight forward, but several months ran into years and the path began to curve and sway. I was distraught but willing to work through the doors that were open to me. Since being sick, that path has taken a complete right angle and I haven't yet come to terms that the path that I'm standing on isn't the path I dreamt about.
The one thing I could never expect is that someone else would be sharing my path's turns and dips. Sara is a person I need. She's the part of my brain that remembers and continually reminds me for what I should be grateful. Sara's the energy that keeps my going when mine seems to have run out. She has eyes that do not look away from my body's scars and discrepancies; a body for which I'm sorely self-conscious. Sara has hands that will grasp mine to walk me through difficult steps; literally, at times. She married this man, a man that hasn't held himself in high regard in a long time. Apparently, there's something she sees in me that I have yet to discover.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Holiday
Well, I can be proud that this is the first Christmas in two years that I haven't had a seizure. I shouldn't jinx it because I haven't celebrated with my side of the family yet! Every other year I would wake up to Sara over me, asking me questions and breaking the news that I just had a seizure. I've noticed, or rather came to the conclusion that the seizures are stress induced. Sometimes being away from home and having so many people to visit builds stress and well, is obviously hard on my brain. Not just my brain I can assure you. We all have our reasons for being stressed out on holidays.
This Christmas was different. We stayed in the same bed and breakfast as last year (it's our hotel of choice while in Milwaukee). We use the hotel as a "home base" where we can escape once our visiting comes to an end. We can have a few drinks at the bar downstairs, then go to our room to put on our pajamas and watch "24 hours of A Christmas Story" on TBS. I felt ok but I had absolutely no energy, kind of grumpy to be honest. I fell asleep and didn't dream.
The next day, during Christmas my heart was pounding so hard I could feel the blood flowing through my veins. I thought it was just the VNS, but it was constant... just like pure concentrated stress. There was really nothing to be stressed about, just a lot of people in one warm house with too much movement and fluorescent light. Once outside, the cold, soft air hit me and I was never so happy to see my breath steam from my lungs.
Nothing was open so dinner was hard to find. We ended up finding a Chinese restaurant being open (funny). We ate and drank a little rum, thinking it would help us reset but all it did was knock me out... another night without dreaming.
Sunday was hell. You know the feeling when you're coming to the end of a vacation and you start to miss home? That's where I was. We had one more stop at Sara's uncle's house and again, my heart started pounding. I thought standing up, kind of out of the way would calm me down but I felt a little numbness in my right hand, so I swiped the magnate just in case it was a precursor to a seizure or a heart attack!
My boss, Joe said I'm a very anxious person when I skimmed the story to him. I agree that I brought most of these feeling on myself. All my medications are sedatives, basically. They're there to calm my brain so you'd think they'd be able to calm me. There's a lot to be anxious about, in my defense. At work we get reminded about how bad business is on a semi-daily basis. I think about how I'm going to make the next step while keeping my balance.
Balance. That word is kind of an answer to all of my questions. Growing up my Dad always told me that life is about balance. Too much of anything can be bad. It's hard to focus on these words when my will to balance is nonexistent. I started drinking, again. It feels good to really laugh and, this is going to sound funny, but after a few drinks I'm able to put things into perspective. I'll look away, down to the floor and almost pray. I'm unafraid.
On Sunday night I dreamt vividly. I wrote down what I thought after waking up. You may not understand these but this is what I wrote: "Respect photography, nurture writing," "There are many steps that have to be taken to reach goals, even if those goals haven't yet become clear," "Thank you for tomorrows," "Look close... closer... there's a lot of reality in dreams. Possess the ability to find a message, it's in there."
The one about goals is pretty confusing but I think it has a lot in common with my life in Chicago and what had to happen for me to get here. Things just fell into place, both good and bad. I'm trying to work with what I have and my goals are a reflection of this. For the rest of my life things will just fall into place and my goal is to be sure there's more good than bad.
This Christmas was different. We stayed in the same bed and breakfast as last year (it's our hotel of choice while in Milwaukee). We use the hotel as a "home base" where we can escape once our visiting comes to an end. We can have a few drinks at the bar downstairs, then go to our room to put on our pajamas and watch "24 hours of A Christmas Story" on TBS. I felt ok but I had absolutely no energy, kind of grumpy to be honest. I fell asleep and didn't dream.
The next day, during Christmas my heart was pounding so hard I could feel the blood flowing through my veins. I thought it was just the VNS, but it was constant... just like pure concentrated stress. There was really nothing to be stressed about, just a lot of people in one warm house with too much movement and fluorescent light. Once outside, the cold, soft air hit me and I was never so happy to see my breath steam from my lungs.
Nothing was open so dinner was hard to find. We ended up finding a Chinese restaurant being open (funny). We ate and drank a little rum, thinking it would help us reset but all it did was knock me out... another night without dreaming.
Sunday was hell. You know the feeling when you're coming to the end of a vacation and you start to miss home? That's where I was. We had one more stop at Sara's uncle's house and again, my heart started pounding. I thought standing up, kind of out of the way would calm me down but I felt a little numbness in my right hand, so I swiped the magnate just in case it was a precursor to a seizure or a heart attack!
My boss, Joe said I'm a very anxious person when I skimmed the story to him. I agree that I brought most of these feeling on myself. All my medications are sedatives, basically. They're there to calm my brain so you'd think they'd be able to calm me. There's a lot to be anxious about, in my defense. At work we get reminded about how bad business is on a semi-daily basis. I think about how I'm going to make the next step while keeping my balance.
Balance. That word is kind of an answer to all of my questions. Growing up my Dad always told me that life is about balance. Too much of anything can be bad. It's hard to focus on these words when my will to balance is nonexistent. I started drinking, again. It feels good to really laugh and, this is going to sound funny, but after a few drinks I'm able to put things into perspective. I'll look away, down to the floor and almost pray. I'm unafraid.
On Sunday night I dreamt vividly. I wrote down what I thought after waking up. You may not understand these but this is what I wrote: "Respect photography, nurture writing," "There are many steps that have to be taken to reach goals, even if those goals haven't yet become clear," "Thank you for tomorrows," "Look close... closer... there's a lot of reality in dreams. Possess the ability to find a message, it's in there."
The one about goals is pretty confusing but I think it has a lot in common with my life in Chicago and what had to happen for me to get here. Things just fell into place, both good and bad. I'm trying to work with what I have and my goals are a reflection of this. For the rest of my life things will just fall into place and my goal is to be sure there's more good than bad.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
New Opportunities
I've been talking to my sister about her experiences working in a hospital and it's really got me thinking about finding a part time job or volunteer position at the Elmhurst hospital just down the street. My sister, Jenni shared some interesting stories about her interactions with patients and although I probably wouldn't interact with patients like she does, I'd like to give back as much as I can.
I sit behind a desk all day and really have no interaction with new people. Volunteering might help me as much I'm able to help the hospital and ultimately... the patients.
I know there are a lot of stories out there and I'd really like to be a positive part of those stories.
I sit behind a desk all day and really have no interaction with new people. Volunteering might help me as much I'm able to help the hospital and ultimately... the patients.
I know there are a lot of stories out there and I'd really like to be a positive part of those stories.
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