Exposed: Book One of The Love Seekers Series (18 page)

I always told myself I’d have tomorrow to visit. To do things. I didn’t. I used to run, skydive, and ice skate. Not anymore.

Bryan:
You’re from Texas, right?

Me:
Yep, but not born there. I was actually born in Maryland. My dad was in the Navy and is now retired. When he retired we ended up in Texas, and after I got sick, my family decided I needed to be closer to someone so that I had help.

Bryan:
Where are your parents?

Me:
Oklahoma. They both travel for work, which is why I don’t live closer to them.

              I think my mom would help take care of my gma if gma didn’t want to stay in Texas so bad, and if mom didn’t travel as much as she does.

Bryan:
And that’s where your horrible relative comes in?

Me:
Yep. She’s a first rate BITCH.

Bryan:
Wow. All caps.

Me:
All caps. And if I could bold and underline it, I would.

Bryan:
Must be pretty bad.

Me:
She is. She treats grandma like she’s an invalid and tried to forbid her from driving. Then she tells everyone that gma is senile, which she isn’t. My gma is probably sharper mentally than you or me. Still sharp as a tack. On top of that, the bitch goes behind gma’s back and makes decisions for her, takes her money, and has tried putting her in a home multiple times. Relative always loses.

Bryan:
Why not just let her live alone.

Me:
Gma isn’t a spring chicken any more. Her words not mine.

She has some health issues, so she stays with my aunt and uncle. It’s more for just in case, but aunt seems to think she is in charge and my grandma’s boss. Her husband is just as bad.

They said something on FaceSpace and I called them out for it. They didn’t like that, and the next morning I found myself blocked and unfriended. So needless to say, I’m on their blacklist. LOL.

Bryan:
You don’t sound too upset about the unfriending.

Me:
I’m not. They have tried to play the victim card most of my life and I’m done with them. I care about my gma, but not them. Does that make me sound heartless?

Bryan:
Not at all.

Me:
Good. LOL.

Bryan:
Family can suck sometimes.

Me:
It can.

Bryan:
You’re a strong woman.

My cheeks burned from the compliment. Reading those words, felt like a caress to my heart and soul.

Me:
Thanks, but I don’t think I am.

             
Bryan:
You’ve learned to cope and live w your disease.

             
Me:
It’s either that or die. It’s not my time.

             
That was my philosophy in a nutshell. I could choose to not take the numerous medicines that managed all of the illnesses and effects, but if I did that, I wouldn’t make it. I could live with a defeatist attitude, and if I did that, I would be miserable, depressed, and more dependent on people than I was now. I had always been independent, thus depending on someone fulltime terrified me. I hated depending on my sister for little things as it was.

The life expectancy of a person with MG was supposedly normal, but they also told patients that they couldn’t die from MG. I had seen the opposite to be true. In my support groups, children and adults died from the effects of MG. They would attribute the death to the lungs, heart, or anything else, but it came down to MG in the end. As with other autoimmune diseases, our bodies could not fight infection as well as a “normal” person, because our bodies were already attacking themselves. A simple cold could put us in the hospital. We had to always be careful and mindful of the people around us.

              With the cards stacked against me, I had to fight for myself, my family, and my friends. I could mope, and I sometimes gave into my depression. However, if I didn’t fight, if I didn’t try to stay positive and continue to live an independent life, I would wither away. I believed wholeheartedly that attitude was half the battle.

             
Bryan:
You could still live without really living.

             
He understood. He got it. I could live without living, but what kind of life would that be? Empty.

Me:
I thought that’s why you were helping me, because I’m not really living.

Bryan:
You do, except in the love dept.

You don’t like to complain about what you deal with. I basically have to pry it out of you. I also like how you try to remain positive.

That’s some of the stuff I’ve learned about you.

The blush that had started to diminish, intensified once again. I fanned myself suddenly feeling very hot.

Me:
Thanks. It’s either adapt or else. I feel depressed and I let it get to me a lot, but I also know that it could always be worse. I’m still alive and can get out of bed most days. Sometimes I’m bedbound because I’m too weak to get up. I can still breathe, see, walk, learn, and drive…for the most part.

I can really only drive short distances now. I get too tired and my eyes start seeing double even with special prisms in my glasses to correct the double vision. I mean I see double all of the time without my glasses, so they do help.

Walking can be touch and go. LOL. I take it all one day at a time. I think a lot of people who get a chronic illness have to shift their mentality in order to stay positive.

Bryan:
Not everyone succeeds.

Me:
Maybe.

I didn’t want to think about those people who gave up without a fight, who were unable to alter their mentality to match their new situation. I had seen it happen to newly diagnosed patients in the support groups. They joined for answers, for a cure, only to leave disappointed. There have been cases where people with MG went into remission, but that usually only lasted a couple of years. MG was a bitch of a disease to have, and there were few strides made to find something to help the patients suffering from it. To some, it was a death sentence. To others, it was a wakeup call.

Bryan:
Were you mad?

That sounded like a stupid question to me, but then again, he hadn’t had his life turned upside down. Therefore, he didn’t know. I answered as honestly as possible, still a little shocked that he continued with this particular line of questioning.

Me:
Yes. I wanted to be mad at God, my parents, the world…anything and everything. Why the fuck did this have to happen to me? I hated that I couldn’t do all the things I used to be able to do with such ease. I wanted my old life back. I felt robbed. My sister has nothing wrong with her, but I won the lotto and got a fucked up disease. Where’s the fairness in that?

Bryan:
And now?

Me:
I still get angry, but it’s more at myself than anything. And I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. Sometimes I wish they could have a small taste though. My parents and the people around me had no control over me getting sick. I just got sick one day. No one could have predicted it.

As for God, I figure He knows better than me. My life has completely changed, but at the same time, doors have opened for me that wouldn’t have been able to explore before I got sick. I’ve met great people and made new friends. In some ways, it brought my family closer together. I’ve learned more about myself in the last four years than in the 25 prior to that, and I’ve learned to appreciate the life I used to take for granted.

Bryan:
Now if we could only get you to apply that attitude to your love life.

Me:
LOL. I’m trying.

Bryan:
I know, baby.

You said one time that you lost friends because you got sick?

UGH! That “baby.” My insides quivered reading it, and might have wished he sat beside me instead of on the other side of the country.

Me:
I did. They didn’t…appreciate the fact that I couldn’t do everything I used to do, and got mad about it all. My life now is a lot of day to day. I make plans, but I might have to cancel last minute if I’m having a bad day. You’d probably be surprised at how many people don’t like that.

Some say they can accept it, but then you notice that the number of invitations has suddenly decreased. Then there are those that aren’t quite sure how to act or what to say around someone like me. I don’t look sick, but then I use a cane or a walker. The term ‘walking on eggshells’ comes to mind.

Bryan:
Do they ask about it?

Me:
Some do. Most don’t. And when I’m out amongst the population, people stare and give me funny looks. Some look offended by my presence. My sister gets pissed off at them and grumbles that I can’t help that I have to use a walker at a young age. Some look curious, but are too afraid to ask. Different is not always good.

Bryan:
Does it bother you?

Me:
It used to. I guess sometimes it still does. It’s awkward more than anything. I’m 29 and use a walker like an old person. Here they see someone young using something like that and it stumps them. My sister wants to confront them all for me. She gets mad on my behalf.

There have been funny moments too. One time I went to the store to pick up some medicine. I had to go in because I needed milk. I pulled into a handicap parking space, and before I could get out of my car, an old man started yelling at me and told me to stop using my grandparents’ placard. He said young punks like me were what was wrong with the world today. LOL. I had a good laugh about that one.

Bryan:
Did you tell him off?

Me:
Nah. I let my walker do the talking. I got out of the car, shuffled to the back, and carefully pulled out my walker. His mouth snapped shut, he huffed, and then walked away as quickly as he could. I never said a word. Haha.

Bryan:
What do you miss the most?

Me:
Freedom.

Bryan:
Huh?

Me:
Freedom to do whatever I want, whenever I want. To not have to worry how I feel from day to day and I can make plans without fearing what will happen. Freedom from using a cane or walker. From having to depend on people. Freedom
.


Tears streamed down my face as I admitted the one thing I still craved, the one thing I missed above all else. In some ways, my disease had made me a prisoner and had stolen my freedom.

Bryan:
I’m sorry.

I loathed it with every fiber of my being when people told me they were sorry. What were they sorry about? Did they do this to me? No. I had won the genetic lottery, which unless they were a mastermind to an evil plot, they had no control over who the disease affected. There was no reason for them to feel sorry for what happened to me, and I sure as hell didn’t want their pity or for them to feel sorry for me personally.

Me:
Don’t be. Not your fault.

Bryan:
Still am.

The tears fell faster and blurred my vision, signaling an end to my conversation.

Me:
I’ve gtg. Bye.

Bryan:
K. Bye.

Shutting my laptop, my face scrunched up in an ugly frown, I allowed myself to cry. With my body wracked with gut–wrenching sobs, I grabbed my pillow and screamed, holding it tightly to my chest. Curley woke up and tried to console me, but all he could do was lick my arm. I needed to release my pain. Tonight, as I had done many times before, I mourned for everything I’d lost since myasthenia gravis swept into my life and turned it upside down.

Chapter 19

Emma

Blinking my eyes open, I slowly surveyed the room, noticing how bright everything appeared. Morning had come without me knowing. I grabbed my muscle pill, mestinon, and took it with a sip of water and lay there in my bed hugging my pillow for a little longer.

My eyes were crusty with dried tears, my mouth tasted like cotton had grown inside it, and my head was pounding as if someone had used it for target practice with a sledgehammer. All in all, I felt like crap thanks to my conversation with Bryan. Not that it was his fault.

The first counselor I saw shortly after getting my diagnosis, told me that grieving the life I lost was a normal process. Loss hurt. She informed me that I would go through the various stages of grief, and in doing so, it would help me to heal and cope, but she also warned me that I would undoubtedly go through the various stages multiple times throughout my life’s new journey. And I had. Sometimes I even volleyed back and forth between a couple of different stages. Every time I thought I reached the end of the stages, something happened, and I cycled through the stages again.

I accepted that my life would never be the same. I knew everything changed the day I went to the ER; however, that did not mean I accepted everything so easily. People who had lost a loved one could accept that they would never return, but they still mourned that loss. Becoming sick held a similar loss to me. Like my counselor said, loss was loss no matter what it was.

When I felt my medicine kicking in, I opened my eyes again and stared at nothing in particular. I needed to move, and yet, I had no motivation to leave my bed for any reason. I especially didn’t feel like attending the party. I didn’t care about my promise to Bryan. How would he know?

Well, Mel would tell him. She was the type of person who forced me to go to karaoke “kicking and screaming,” and somehow convinced me it was for my own good. Yeah right. Own good? Nope. I was convinced everything centered around Mel, and what she thought benefited her. I was 98% certain.

Did I have to go? Technically, I reached what the U.S. considered an adult over a decade ago, which meant I could make my own decisions. But thinking about Bryan and everything he had done for me, I thought it might be best if I made a small appearance. This didn’t mean he was right—even though he was—however, if I wanted to find someone to spend the rest of my life with, I had to actually put myself out there.

Facing one’s inner demons, though, was never easy. For every time I encountered rejection due to my illness, I closed myself off a little more. My walls got a little higher, a little thicker, and more impenetrable. I had gotten to the point where I hated meeting new people. And while rejection hurt, in many ways, I had come to expect it each and every time. Maybe that was the problem: expecting it. But if I anticipated it, it meant I never felt disappointed. Hurt, but not disappointed.

Bryan told me men found confident women sexy. I lost my confidence a long time ago. I could fake it with the best Oscar winning actresses, but I didn’t believe in myself any longer. Even when I had self-esteem issues prior to everything, I still carried myself well, letting most things roll off my back. My self-esteem issues were of my own making back then.

As a Navy brat, I tended to move from place to place every couple of years. For introverts, one of two things were bound to happen: they forced themselves to act like or become an extrovert, or they become a loner without friends, who didn’t talk to anyone. I chose option one because moving from place to place, even I knew I would be moving soon, I wanted at least one friend. One person I confided in since I knew from an early age my sister would not be that person for me. I chose people over loneliness.

To this day, my family swears up and down I was an extrovert since at least first grade. The stress and anxiety I experienced putting on my act, the times I cried in the bathroom or quietly in my room…they witnessed none of it. If I wanted, I could talk to a room full of strangers, strike up a conversation, but I only did it because I learned to adapt and cope with my surroundings. It was the Navy way, and what all military brats did. We found ways to adapt and deal with our new surroundings. Sometimes we pretended, putting on an entire stage production, and sometimes we hid.

When my dad retired and moved us to Texas, I saw a couple of girls playing on a sand pile, but one stood out more than the other. We exchanged glares, sizing each other up. Neither broke the connection because neither of us wanted to lose our staring match, and in the end, neither of us won. I thought I might see that rude ass girl again in school, but much to my surprise, she came over to greet the new family on the street with her family. We became instant friends.

Fifteen years later, Gia and I were still best friends. From day one, she got around my walls and reached me. I never held anything back from her. It never happened to me before, and I could honestly say, it hadn’t happened since. Maybe I needed that connection, or maybe I believed that since my dad retired, I could finally make a lasting friend. I couldn’t say for sure, but it didn’t matter to me. She was the one I shared all of my deepest, darkest secrets with. She knew all of my hopes and dreams, my disappointments and hurts, and my triumphs and little successes. I knew the same about her since we told each other everything.

My walls had been my comforter and protection for most of my life. They wrapped around me and refused to allow anyone entrance.

Until now.

Bryan had been chipping away at my walls, forcing me to expose myself. It scared me. What if the world couldn’t stand the woman within? Don’t get me wrong, at some point my fortress would need a drawbridge to allow that one special someone in, but I hadn’t met him yet…and I really didn’t believe I would. Unlike some people in my life, the very ones who constantly told me I had yet to meet the right one, I wasn’t sure a man existed that could accept all of my idiosyncrasies.

I would try though. I had promised, and I never took my promises lightly.

Forcing myself out of bed, I trudged into my bathroom and started the shower. Hopefully the hot water would rejuvenate me and make me feel less like a zombie and more like a human. And if that didn’t work, coffee existed for a reason. I probably had a small addiction to the hot liquid. With a little cream and sugar, it became pure manna.

The feeling of normalcy started to return after I’d downed two cups, and was sipping my third. My conversation with Bryan melted away into the steaming sweet cup of heaven, which allowed me to push everything deep inside me once again, burying it, where I could ignore it completely.

I had come a long way since the initial onset of my disease. It took me a long time to find a way to cope, but I had finally managed. Sometimes I buried some of the negative so that I didn’t feel like life was trying to drag me under.

In the beginning, I tried to pretend MG did not exist in my life. Myasthenia gravis were ugly words that when spoken, were worse than swearing. I eventually got to the point I couldn’t pretend any longer. A trip to the hospital being unable to move could be a real eye opening experience. I was horrified by my body and scared shitless that I wouldn’t make it, or that I would be intubated for the respirator. I made it, and was never on the respirator. After two days in the hospital, they released me after giving me the name of a good counselor.

After I started seeing her, I tried to face everything head on. Depression overwhelmed me, filling every cell in my body. I cried all the time and felt like I was drowning. I couldn’t breathe because my chest felt so heavy, the weight of my world unbearable. My chains held me down, choking me, threatening to drown me. It was the only time I considered ending it all, but I hadn’t been able to go through with it, and my counselor talked me down off the ledge.

Sometimes ignoring the darkness became the only way to cope. And sometimes, I had to face it head on in order to fulfill a promise.

I had a choice to make: go to the party or stay home. If I chose the latter, it would require complete and utter radio silence. No computer, no phone, no tablet—absolutely nothing. Easier said than done, but if I stayed home, I needed to avoid detection. If I chose the former, the likelihood of me remaining a wallflower all night plummeted. I didn’t know how, why, or who, but I knew Bryan would make certain I didn’t remain antisocial during my stay at the party, and his accomplice probably had the name Mel.

Really, how bad could it be?

An hour at some stranger’s house meant I arrived, talked, socialized, and then I could leave. A solid plan, however, with Mel in the mix, I knew it would be difficult to stick to my guns. She was tenacious when she wanted something, and her deviousness knew no bounds. I had seen her convince a Marine to accept he was indeed part of the Navy. Not an easy feat considering there wasn’t a Marine alive who wanted to admit something like that. An impossible task made possible courtesy of Mel.

My anxiety rose, making me consider staying home, but once again, I thought of Bryan. Since I had started talking to him, he never seemed very far away. If I chose to stay home or leave early, he would be disappointed, but that disappointment would be tempered with understanding. He understood me a little more than most and wanted to help me in spite of it all. I appreciated him and his concern more than he probably knew. That said, I doubted he would be too happy if I left early to go home, eat ice cream, and feel sorry for myself.

And honestly, I hated disappointing him. He wanted to help me move on and find love, and I was trying to sabotage his grand master plan. Correction. I was trying to sabotage my own life. Sitting here all day, crying about my life and about how no guy would love me, didn’t change anything, and I sure as hell wouldn’t find someone hidden somewhere in my apartment waiting for me.

I only had to go for an hour, and if I didn’t feel comfortable, or if someone gave me that funny look when I walked in with my walker, I’d leave early without any regrets. If the opposite happened, I’d allow myself to relax a little, but the likelihood of staying longer than an hour was slim to none.

Thinking about everything, overthinking it all, my nerves were dancing a rumba in my stomach and setting me on edge. I needed something to calm me down. Alcohol wouldn’t work because I had to drive.

I unlocked my phone’s screen and clicked on Bryan’s name in FaceSpace. I felt like throwing up, and only he held the power to talk me through this.

Me:
Not sure if I can do this. What if I throw up on someone?

Bryan:
You won’t. You’ll be fine
.


Me:
I put on extra deodorant and am still sweating like a pig. I swear I’ve changed my shirt 3 times.

I slightly exaggerated my condition. I had only changed once, and that was because Curley stepped in a mud puddle right before he jumped on me. Brown paw prints on a white shirt…no one would notice, right?

Bryan:
LOL. I’m sure it’s not that bad. Just go and have fun. I told my friend to expect you.

Me:
Did u tell him everything?

Bryan:
Yes, so don’t worry. He knows you might need extra help getting into the house and around.

Me:
Into the house?

Bryan:
There’s a few steps leading to the front door. 4-5.

Me:
Can I stay home?

His responses had been coming through quickly, but this time he delayed responding. He waited a full minute before he said anything.

Bryan:
You can, but if you really want to find love, you won’t.

Me:
U saying love is waiting for me at the BBQ?

Bryan:
No…maybe. But if you don’t take this step, it’ll be harder to take another one in the future.

Me:
I guess.

Bryan:
You know I’m right. ;)

Me:
Maybe.

Bryan:
And I’ll be waiting for a report when you get home.

That struck me as strange considering Saturday night tended to be prime date night for many people. I figured he would find some girl to take out tonight, and wait until tomorrow to hear what happened at the party.

Me:
Not going out?

Bryan:
Date bailed on me and don’t feel like going to a bar to pick up someone. Sinuses have been shit lately anyway. With my luck, I’d sneeze on her and she’d freak.

Me:
LMAO.

Bryan:
Not that funny. Grrr.

Me:
Yes, it is. If u could see the image in my head, u’d laugh too.

Bryan:
Whatever.

Me:
Too bad u don’t live here. We could go to party together.

Or I could bring u some soup.

Bryan:
That would be nice.

Would it or was he just saying that to placate me? Why did I even care? I had an inkling of why I did, but I didn’t want to explore those feelings yet.