The internet is a fascinating place. More than just a series of tubes, one can create an identity, a fantasy life and live it out. One can be a superhero, a supermodel, a supervisor, whatever your heart's desire, vanity and narcissism is yours infinitely. One thing I've wrestled with over the years is how much do I disclose online? Coming from the supremely dysfunctional family that I do, I have boundary issues, which doesn't help matters. So early on in my internet life, I fully disclosed much about my health, but then I retracted, since it turned out I'd been misdiagnosed. It's been fun as of late, what with little disclosure of my illness on my website or MySpace, I can look at these sites and feel like a normal, healthy being, someone who can fully participate in life. I can be reassured, I can enjoy the fantasy identity I've created for myself. For while my illness isn't ME it is certainly a big part of my existence. From the glares I get when I disembark my car with the handicapped placard (because I DO look rather fit), to the lost days when the pain has claimed them, my illness certainly IS a part of my identity, just not the WHOLE. It's kinda weird to be 38 & not be a full participant of life, but to have a spirit aching to burst free. While my soul screams out & begs me to let me play my guitar, my semi-permanently dislocated shoulder says otherwise, for example. This isn't a pity fest, this is an Angel-getting-real-fest. It's me reminding myself that it's ok to be me, to be the girl with the incurable disease. To be the girl with Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia & CFIDS. OK, so I've got to pop a Vicodin to play my guitar for 20 minutes, there are worse fates!

Another fascinating thing is how people of our culture (read: Mercan) reacts to full disclosure of illness; many recoil, even some old, long lost friends have shunned me once I revealed this aspect of me. You really find out who your friends are when you admit you're ill. Even relatives & in-laws, don't want to hear about it. We live in a hardened age, one that's gone cold to the touch. America is for the strong, the proud, the brave. One should never, ever, get all Euro-wimpy & divulge weakness! But recently, I decided that I'm going to like myself, doggone it, and I will, if not proudly, but straight-forwardly, proclaim that yes, I'm ill. And with this proclamation, release that part that feels shameful & angry at my body. And with this proclamation, I will separate the wheat from the chaff, those who are for me or agin' me. I would hope, naturally, that everyone would be for me, but that's not the kind of world we live in. But for all those agin' me, it'll give me an opportunity to practice my Zen & let their negativity, their thoughtlessness, flow right over & past me. And over to the next guy in line. Good luck to that next guy.

Peace out,
Angel