This is the first of a 3-part series. The theme is derived from a campaign currently being run by Patientslikeme entitled #MoreThan (please learn all about it here). I thank Patientslikeme for allowing me to take part in the campaign, and I hope these posts might prove helpful.
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When asked what defines us, we will often respond with our professions, our spouses, our children. We will think of our very favorite hobbies, or our faith, and fit that into the definition as well.
For people with chronic illness, that illness quickly becomes the only definition. We can't remember ourselves except for how it relates to the illness. It becomes a challenge to remember our lives before the condition, aside from the condition. We forget who we are, or who we were before the condition came along.
We need to remember that we are more than that one thing in our lives, that the illness/condition/disease/whatever-you-want-to-call-it is not the be all and end all of our lives. I have bipolar disorder, I have PTSD, but they will not define me completely. That is a job in and of itself, to keep these illnesses from defining me, but there are things I can work with, parts of my life I can enjoy, that will keep me remembering I am more than these things.
For me, I have three big "loves" in my life: family, the English language, and music. They all help keep me alive, happy, and above the bipolar/PTSD quagmire. In this post, I want to talk about the English language.
Since I was a very small child, words have meant so much to me. There's an old family story that when I was about 2 years old, I stood up in my crib and shouted an entire monologue from "Pollyanna" (Death comes unexpectedly!) because my parents had played the movie's album for me, for the songs, and I couldn't help but make a racket, shouting the newest words I had learned. (My grandfather, who was babysitting me, was terrified at this little person yelling at the top of her lungs! Sorry, Pa.) I love words as though each was a friend, and I take great solace in these companions.
My parents taught me to read when I was pretty young, 3 years old, and I have never stopped reading. I love it so very much. Words create sentences for stories, and lines for verse, lyrics for songs. I love reading every kind of anything you can think of.
I love books. I love the way they look in a room or a bag, I love the way they smell (the older the better), and I love finishing them and starting new ones. Books have been some of my greatest companions, in some of my best and worst moments. I can remember climbing the hilly roads near my house as a kid, my head buried in "Wuthering Heights". I remember sitting at my job at General Cinemas reading Tennyson when it was dead and I could sneak a book on the ticket counter. When I was in the hospital for a manic episode, one of my dearest friends brought me books because she knew they were better than any candy or flowers. Books make the world feel just a bit more friendly and civilized. Paulie likes to joke that whenever we pass a bookstore, I must go inside. Now, I do manage to stop myself if we're on a schedule, but otherwise yes! We must see it!
When I learned to write in kindergarten, I started keeping journals and notebooks full of my own creations. I still keep them today. I usually have 2-3 notebooks going at any given time. I'm pretty sure it annoys my husband to no end, but he's good to me and doesn't say anything. Just the physical action of writing on paper calms me. I write everything down first, if I can, and then it can go in a google doc or a blog post or wherever.
I've published books, newsletters, and games in both children's and adult literature, I keep a regular blog, I've written piles of paper's worth of "things" in my life, I've read hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of books, I've spoken myriads of poems, book excerpts, and lyrics. The English language and what it means in my life is just one example of how I am #morethan my illnesses. It brings me through those bad times and enhances the good. I feel so lucky to have this as a part of my life, and will continue to make it a core part of me.
For people with chronic illness, that illness quickly becomes the only definition. We can't remember ourselves except for how it relates to the illness. It becomes a challenge to remember our lives before the condition, aside from the condition. We forget who we are, or who we were before the condition came along.
We need to remember that we are more than that one thing in our lives, that the illness/condition/disease/whatever-you-want-to-call-it is not the be all and end all of our lives. I have bipolar disorder, I have PTSD, but they will not define me completely. That is a job in and of itself, to keep these illnesses from defining me, but there are things I can work with, parts of my life I can enjoy, that will keep me remembering I am more than these things.
For me, I have three big "loves" in my life: family, the English language, and music. They all help keep me alive, happy, and above the bipolar/PTSD quagmire. In this post, I want to talk about the English language.
Since I was a very small child, words have meant so much to me. There's an old family story that when I was about 2 years old, I stood up in my crib and shouted an entire monologue from "Pollyanna" (Death comes unexpectedly!) because my parents had played the movie's album for me, for the songs, and I couldn't help but make a racket, shouting the newest words I had learned. (My grandfather, who was babysitting me, was terrified at this little person yelling at the top of her lungs! Sorry, Pa.) I love words as though each was a friend, and I take great solace in these companions.
My parents taught me to read when I was pretty young, 3 years old, and I have never stopped reading. I love it so very much. Words create sentences for stories, and lines for verse, lyrics for songs. I love reading every kind of anything you can think of.
I love books. I love the way they look in a room or a bag, I love the way they smell (the older the better), and I love finishing them and starting new ones. Books have been some of my greatest companions, in some of my best and worst moments. I can remember climbing the hilly roads near my house as a kid, my head buried in "Wuthering Heights". I remember sitting at my job at General Cinemas reading Tennyson when it was dead and I could sneak a book on the ticket counter. When I was in the hospital for a manic episode, one of my dearest friends brought me books because she knew they were better than any candy or flowers. Books make the world feel just a bit more friendly and civilized. Paulie likes to joke that whenever we pass a bookstore, I must go inside. Now, I do manage to stop myself if we're on a schedule, but otherwise yes! We must see it!
When I learned to write in kindergarten, I started keeping journals and notebooks full of my own creations. I still keep them today. I usually have 2-3 notebooks going at any given time. I'm pretty sure it annoys my husband to no end, but he's good to me and doesn't say anything. Just the physical action of writing on paper calms me. I write everything down first, if I can, and then it can go in a google doc or a blog post or wherever.
I've published books, newsletters, and games in both children's and adult literature, I keep a regular blog, I've written piles of paper's worth of "things" in my life, I've read hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of books, I've spoken myriads of poems, book excerpts, and lyrics. The English language and what it means in my life is just one example of how I am #morethan my illnesses. It brings me through those bad times and enhances the good. I feel so lucky to have this as a part of my life, and will continue to make it a core part of me.
