I have taken quite a pause in my writing lately. Sometimes I worry this cyclical activity followed by utter inactivity might render my influence null and void. But I press on, because I really am doing this for my personal manifestation of my life purpose, and not what the world’s response to that action.

I was in therapy the other day discussing the pros and cons of having a prison wedding, when my therapist sat up a little straighter and hesitated. I took notice of this because he doesn’t typically hesitate ever when in conversation with me. We have become cool like that over the last decade of weekly sessions.

He fumbled over his words trying to explain that he didn’t know how to say something, but he felt as though I was certainly capable of thinking about life and future with….

I finished his thought, “catastrophic fortune telling?” He laughed quietly and responded, “I was going to say flights of fantasy, but yes that too.” It is one or the other. My mind operates as though I am some extremely dramatic fortune teller. Death and doom, or luck and love! It will all work out perfect, or it is going to be the worst possible outcome.

This is why I can’t call myself an optimist. Or a pessimist. But I am definitely not a realist. Well, am I?

I take life as it comes and often don’t think there is anything that can realistically happen to improve it. When I am not depressed (which is less often than most), I have this amazing capacity for hope. Tack on the surreal experience of depersonalization/dissociation, and there you have it. A hopeful, apathetic dreamer.

Recognizing this in yourself really brings about a lot of deep thinking. Is it really such a bad thing? I am not really a worrier because I have hope for the best case scenario. I am not a manic lunatic because I assume the tragedy is what is likely to occur. Maybe I am closer to being a realist, when everything averages out.

So let’s take a step back and stop this never ending monologue of introspection. A lot is changing in my life right now. I spent a good two weeks letting myself decompress meaning I slept all the time and didn’t take my eight different medicines to keep me sane and uninflamed. This was followed by two weeks hating myself for missing my medicine, being chronically exhausted with incredible joint pain.

In the midst of all this, I managed to function and successfully interview and accept an offer of employment with a new company. I am really very excited about this new opportunity in my life, and feel the leadership of the company are real people with very personable approaches to the work environment.

So, I got back on the wagon, took my meds religiously, and started feeling better. But not tip top, resulting in my rheumatologist changing my treatment to biologics, which are injections of very expensive meds that will wipe out my immune system. Yay me! I never quite understood this whole kill the immune system to deal with autoimmune disorders cure.

So, I am finishing up my current job, taking a second vacation to the beach (part two will be much better!), and starting fresh the week after Thanksgiving with my new job. Hoping and believing the best will come from the med change and job change and life choice change…. And staring at the possibilities of failure too.

I think I am swinging on the pendulum of life and it is ever so gently slowing down to where I am supposed to be. We’re pretty dang close! Or maybe that is a flight of fantasy!