523: Aspergers and the MTHFR Gene

It’s been over a year since my five ER visits and week-stay at the hospital. I am ready to be proactive again in regards to my health, even as I have lingering post-traumatic stress from the care I received while in hospital, e.g., not believing I was sick, accusing me of creating my symptoms, referring me to psychiatric care, insisting it was Fibromyalgia, refusing to do tests, refusing to keep my hospitalized for care, etc.

Turns out, after a two-hour tilt-table test at the University of Washington Hospital and conclusive evidence read by a specialist that indeed I do have a ‘real’ condition. A condition closely related to POTS Syndrome. The key for me is to keep up my potassium and sodium levels, stay hydrated, and not over-do it. I drink lots of coconut water and take pink Himalayan salt and a variety of supplements. I was also diagnosed with joint hyper-mobility syndrome (possibly EDS) which is a probable cause of my POTS-like Syndrome.

My symptoms prior to going to the ER last year were weight loss, hair loss, loss of appetite, neuropathy of all limbs, autonomic dysfunction (including digestive pain, not being able to sleep or sit up, heart rate of 160 standing/120 sitting), chest pain, mid-back pain, all over fatigue, weakness, shaking, and generalized pain. I’d spent a good month in bed before the symptoms worsened. Also, I had signs of dehydration—white tongue, etc.

It still amazes me the doctors thought I could control my heart rate, and literally make it go from 90 resting to 160 standing and back down to 90 resting. They must have thought I had super powers. Or they just didn’t want to face facts that I might have a RARE condition!

Anyhow, because of the stress of being in and out of hospitals and seeing multiple specialists, I never wanted to see a doctor again in my life. I have since, but not because I wanted to go.

However I am ready now to get some blood work done, after briefly reading about the MTHFR Gene. (Thanks to a reader for telling me about it.) I have been trying remedies for years to rid myself of depression, fatigue, pain, and the like, particularly related to PMDD. This gene could be another piece of the puzzle. And if so, folate treatment could be the answer. I have listed a few links, the first ones that I found that helped me to understand the gene’s role in our bodies.

PMDD, POTS, and EDS (Ehlers Danlos Syndrome) are common with people on the spectrum. I thought this gene was worth mentioning, as well.

I started going back into my far infrared sauna today, too.

Another reader said MTHFR looks like MOTHER F***ER… which made me giggle.

Okay, here are the links. Step-by-step we are finding answers.

If direct links aren’t working, copy and paste.

http://mthfr.net/mthfr-resources/

http://www.nwimed.com/mthfr/

http://www.doctorbecky.net/mthfr.shtml

Much Love,

Sam

453: The Waterdrop

I have been caught in a rut. In a spiraling stream of water that is heading down the drain. I have forgotten I have the tools I need. I am reclaiming these tools today, at this moment.

Physically I have been sick, very sick. Mentally, I have been suffering. And spiritually I have been fighting some unrecognizable battle.

hospital me

I have found the answers, the passageway, my ‘out’ through careful observation of self, of others, and through letting go long enough to gain perspective.

I had a rumbling of insights that were more disturbing than pleasurable, like bad food on an empty stomach. I keep gurgling up something of self, and pushing it back down, in an attempt to stop this ghastly taste of me from penetrating my taste buds. I have been forging through the forest of reason in effort to find the end, the stopping point, the light into the resting field.

I have had no success in my futile ways. No success in the instigation of force or the instigation of spinning logic.

My only refuge has been in dismissing ego long enough to take a good look at the circumstances unclouded and without residue of pain and fear. To peek through the window as the observer and not the trembling wounded child. This has been difficult. Not an easy task: to dismiss the part of self that wants attention, recourse, answers, and love, and to let in the part of spirit that is complete. I have fought this process with clenched teeth and starving nails.

Essentially dragging my own physical self out of the cave she wished to remain within.

In stepping back and watching me gyrate, from one retched cave of bitter-pain to the next, I have noted the effect. I have witnessed how the deeper I dig in self-pity and remorse, the deeper I fall, and the more I attract further elements to solidify my pathetic state.

I have witnessed how like attracts like, how the more I became what others thought I was, the more I brought to me others who saw me the same.

Effectually, I was a metamorphosis in full swing, becoming what I focused upon.

I was told, while in a weakened physical state, that I was wrong. That I was twisted in my thinking. That I was creating my illness. I was told this repeatedly by doctors. But then the other doctors would come, and claim what illness I had. Explain to me the sickness, validate my physical pain. I could not find any reprieve. For one minute my reality was one person’s and the next the other’s.

I was so fragile in self, from the continuing weakened physical state, that I took on whatever the onlooker perceived me to be. I became a yo-yo in truth, vacillating based on a random output from others. One minute I was up with hope, one minute I was down. Of course, somewhere inside of me I became the judge and jury of right and wrong, of hope and no hope. I took the stimuli and decided within which person’s words were damaging and which were helpful.

Here was my first turn off the course of love: In thinking anyone beyond self could dictate who I was, how I felt, and how I would be.

I got caught up in the concept of time. In the clinging to output and the desperate need of outcome. I began to focus on the end and not the present. I began to fear the future and the unknowns. I forgot that there is no definite, there is not stagnant, there is no way to control anything.

Fear consumed me. And soon the past became my hauntings. And all I could here was the doctor’s judgments. I wanted nothing more than to be protected by the next onset of judgment placed on me. Nothing more than to sleep the time away and wake up outside of the hospital back in my bed with solutions, with the ability to live again, outside the debilitating illness.

My future became my only hope and my past my only nightmare. I was consumed in helplessness and dismal self-fear. I began to reach out for any glimpse of rescue. I began to panic. Terror took over, and I slipped further into the net of ego consumption. I became the feed, the broth, the stock for the over-bearing demolishing ghost of wanting. My desires took over. And everything began to collapse.

In my weakened physical state, having barely slept or eaten in weeks, I began to see everyone as the enemy. And in turn, they began to see me this way. This validated my worthlessness. This fed the fear further. Until, soon, there was nothing I could see clearly. I began running faster from my core self and began slipping further into self-demolishing-demise.

I was never depressed, but I was constantly forlorn and terrified.

None of what I had studied mattered. None of my angels could I hear. And none of my hope could I find.

People I knew found me in this state, and I became in their eyes what they wanted to see. I could feel it happening. A part of me watched as the others about me began to project their fears into me. I became a sponge of sorts, absorbing their negative energies—their shadows. Being an empath since birth this was my natural tendency. And being so weak, I had no will to protect myself from their self-reflection.

I became a mirror to everyone about me. I became sensitive to all their plights and pain. They put into me what I was putting out: disbelief, suspicion, fear, accusations, desperation, rescue. And the others, who were not in this state, the ones that were more content, more or less pleased with their world when they met me, they soothed my soul. I could feel their energy. Still it seemed some giant game of cat and mouse. I was being chased down by whatever mood the cat was in, either batted like paw to a string or scratched and scratched, the post itself.

Soon I was such a mess, I was hysterical. Fear entirely consumed me. I could not help but cry and rage. I exploded like a child. I was helpless in all degrees, every part of me severed. Still the observer of my own self watched from a distant, though he faded in and out now.

At home, the situation did not change. My children were enough dismissed by their own actions, that my mood and altercations did not affect them enough to project my fear back to me. But the adults were not as removed. They were too close to me. And soon I became what they saw, too. They absorbed my fear, and I absorbed theirs and we existed as this interchange of pain, blame, and desperation.

Had I known how to stop, I would. But I could not see the all as an extension of self. I could not see that the poison in me was leaking out everywhere. I was already so weak and afraid, and all I wanted was support, but my own power, my own ability to manifest from my emotional state my physical world, became my own greatest injury. I was limping by my own doing, using fear for a crutch, unable to look and realize the situation.

Soon more and more around me became my enemy, validating my worthlessness and fear. Soon their fear grew exponentially. At a time I needed nothing more than unconditional love and affection, I was judged, controlled, criticized and belittled. All of me became subject of fixing. Here I felt in defense and went into fight mode. Here I let fear entirely take over.

I’d forgotten how beautiful I am.

I discovered myself perpetuating this ‘fear,’ bringing this fear into other friendships and relationships. I began to spill out. And more and more ‘unfortunate’ events transpired. I don’t accept blame for my circumstance. I refuse to self-punish. I refuse to bring further fear into me. I also do not blame others. I spent enough of the past day doing so. I still have a quench of anger and a quench of distaste for those I encountered. But I recognize if others project into me, then I must in theory project into them. We are equal players. A tango exists, and neither is the leader or the follower, both trapped in this movement where fear is the dictator.

I have found my only refuge is in the continual release of all anger and blame; this means for self and others. Holding onto self-punishment or the punishment of others is detrimental.

I have remembered what I have been taught in the last two years, through readings, meditations, dreams, and daylight visions. I have been shown how to alleviate my pain and suffering through the release of past and present, through the release of all emotions not representational of love. I cannot go back and fix what has happened, nor can I make amends for what was. I only can stitch my own wounds back together with the thread of awareness and growth and confirm to self I did the best I knew with what I had. I can treat myself with self-respect and enough love to dispel the fear. I can let go of what will be of the future and what will come of the past. And stop replaying the ghosts in my head, the ones feeding me horrible lies of self. These are in my control: letting go, being in the present, focusing on love and love alone.

This is my life boat. To be. To love. To live.

home me

I have had a hard time of it for certain. In some ways, I know I created the chaos. In some ways, I know others were active participants. Where I end and others begin is still a grand mystery to me. Many a reader has told me I read his or her mind when I write. That I seem to capsulate the aspie experience. But what if they are reading mine? What if we are one mind? What if this is just one giant stream of consciousness, and I’m just a water drop with a voice?

450: The voice of my tears

I have been struggling with issues of the heart, both physical and spiritual. I have been to the emergency room five times and hospitalized for five days. I am still in a state of limbo, waiting to hear back about an appointment with the specialist. In time, I will collect my thoughts, and share more of this ordeal, one of the darkest nights of my soul. For now, I am leaking out bits of my own truisms. Here I have collected a few that have come through the echo of my heart ache. Much love to you. May you know I know your suffering and celebrate the life and light that is you.

I am tired of being misunderstood, seen and then unseen. I don’t know how to walk in this world. I don’t know how to be. Every effort is squashed. When I jump, I jump too far. When I reach, I reach too far. I don’t know how to stop, what I never knew how to start. It seems the only thing I know how to do in this crazy life is fall, to cry, to crumble, to be absolutely demolished despite my efforts, and to then pick myself back up and carry on. Nothing is simple anymore, and never was, and I long for that faraway place beyond complexity, where my mind is still, the ocean my very soul, carrying me in union cross the waters of tears.

*

Do you ever feel like your life is stuck in the second to the last chapter of a novel? You have reached the climax, emotions are on overdrive; you are about to unravel and discover all the truths that came before the foreshadowing, to behold your destiny, and at last reach your conclusion—the hero’s quest complete. When BANG, all the pages are torn out, the words blown away, and you are left hovelled in a puddle of nothing, wondering what happened to your story?

*

I am tired of people loving the parts of me they like, the parts that reflect them, the parts that bring them this self-created false comfort. I want to be loved in fullness, to a degree that has been lost in this world of dictated dangers and frailties. I want to be upheld for my goodness time and time again; not repeatedly told how I should mold and conform for another. I’m so busy trying to understand the complexities of bending for everyone into a shape they need in order to be recognized as worthy, that I get lost in my own self, searching for the light I was born with, a light I want to shine, at all costs, despite the blinding stares from the opposition. Cruel world, stop trying to make me into what suits you and criticizing me for what doesn’t. I have no limitations beyond the reflections pounced upon me.

*

I refuse to be happy when I am not. Covering up what we are in the moment is the cause of the destruction of this world. So much fear of being and feeling the uncomfortable. We have been taught to avoid with all cost the inevitable state of sadness. Sadness is okay. It isn’t scary. It isn’t wrong; and it’s not meant to be celebrated or snuffed out of existence. It just is. This place we call home could be marvelously better, if we each just embraced ourselves as is, in the illusion of flaws and failures; and like the emotion of sadness, if we just let ourselves be at a level state, beyond good and bad, right and wrong, then the whole of us would be free.

*

I love and respect myself in all my emotional states. None is better or worse than the other. All is a sea of me, intermingled and mixed; none is in and of itself, able to be extracted, labeled and classified. Each is a part of the magnificent whole of “We Are.” Each to be celebrated in their unity; reached in their effort; touched for being.

*

And she cried out, “Open your eyes and see, awake to the truth of you;” the only problem being that she no longer existed to convince them that their eyes were closed, no longer desired to point out the illusion of distraction, of trickery, of falsehood; all that she was in totality only wished to be free and wild and open; only the others, the ones with the imaginary views, they trapped her in their ways, making her believe she was the one forever asleep.

*

People aren’t blind. They are satisfied with the view. They forget what rests beyond the horizon. They forget that the eyes can’t cry for what the soul can’t see.

*

I loved you ’till the hollowed part of me emerged, and I saw myself emptied; in recognition of this absence, I wept for my return, only to find that you had filled the last of me; and all that remained was this broken shell of the girl I once was. I stand now, a woman formed in her dignity and gratitude, a woman thankful for whatever life was bled out of her; for in the weeping of red I was torn back into whom I had always been—the strength turned two-fold from what was lost and again found–a warrior rebirthed into existence.

*

Starvation and deprivation are two different things. One can be starved and not recognize the hunger, the pangs masked by preoccupation, but once one recognizes deprivation, a dying thirst erupts that cannot be quenched nor ignored. With starvation the soul slowly withers in unknown solitude. In deprivation the spirit calls out to be filled, to be watered, to have the life waters returned. I have often been starved for love but it was not until I awakened to my own deprivation that I knew what was missing.

(These are all thoughts I have had this morning)

446: Morning has Broken

A caring friend sent me an affirmation yesterday, as I am facing some health challenges and uncertainties.

An interesting thing has happened during this process of unknown. After about three weeks of literally freaking out—panic attacks, high blood pressure, rushing to the ER—I have grown weary of worrying about my ailments and future. I have grown plain tired of trying to figure things out, solve, and fret. And in so reaching exhaustion, I have found inner peace.

My body is seemingly out of control, doing all kinds of spastic things. I have some inklings of what might be happening, but for the most part I am in the dark. I’ve had plenty of time to reflect and digest this process, as I have been unable to partake in little physical activity, do to lack of energy and physical limitations, including pain that is further induced when I stand or sit upright.

Through this I have gained further compassion for those of us suffering with chronic illness and conditions. I do say suffering, as ailments truly inflict the mind, body and spirit. There is definitely a suffering period. Though, the suffering doesn’t have to remain, at least not in the mind and spirit, and sometimes, with those two freed, the physical body can breathe easier, in turn.

I saw a poster yesterday about freedom being found in the moment we accept things as they are. I have found this to be true. It is far easier, and far less work, to let go and go with the flow of whatever is happening to me, then to be in constant battle of wanting something to be different than it is. In accepting I am where I am and things are as they are, I free up energy to ultimately heal and regenerate to a state of equilibrium.

I accept I am where I am. Where I am might not be what society dictates as ‘ideal.’ Where I am might not be representative of what my mind has latched onto as ‘ideal.’ Where I am might not be what others would claim as comfortable or easy. But that does not mean I cannot be where I am in total freedom and submission to the process. That does not mean that I cannot claim this experience as ideal; for in the act of choosing this process to be ideal, I am simultaneously recognizing that cause and circumstance do not hold the power to dictate my own inner peace.

I can be exactly where I am, experiencing exactly what I am experiencing, and find this comfort and ease. I proclaim it so.

I choose not to live in the past mourning the activities I was once able to do. Nor do I choose imaginings of what could be or what I could be losing. In actuality I am losing nothing. In embracing this change and transition, I am gaining everything. I am gaining opportunity, open-heart, and open-mind. I am surrendering to what will be. I am surrendering to being.

I just am. I am right here. I am reformed again and again, continually transformed from one ‘thing’ to another. I am the same water molecule in the stream, the ocean, the cloud, the air. No matter the manifestation of my physical form: I am the same. I am movement. I am existence. I am part of the collective ocean. There is no way to detect where a wave begins or ends. The wave is the ocean. I am a manifestation of the whole. And in being a part of the whole, I am already in completion.

I find solace in the fact that I have been through challenge after challenge and always chosen to shine brighter. I acknowledge my divine inner strength.
I have been reformed continually. This isn’t something I have chosen or sought after, but something that is my existence.

Nothing has ever been easy. Nothing has ever been simple, either. But who is to define easy and simple? It’s all, like the rest, a matter of perspective—sensory input, society, environment, biological make up, scaffolding off conclusions, energetic influences, and so on. Events are not good nor bad. What is happening to my body is nothing to be feared. And in truth, nothing is happening to my body. My physical form, as a collective whole, much like the pond, is working in unity to regain balance and function at optimal level.

My body is not my enemy. What is happening to me is not my enemy. The unknown is not my enemy, either. As life is a constant unknown. Any truth I think I have about the next moment is illusion. And any truths I have gathered from the past, illusion two-fold.

I have peace in the fact that I have truly lived. In reviewing feasible ‘future’ avenues of my life course, I can see that if per chance this is the so called ‘end’ of life or ‘end’ of full-mobility, that indeed I have already led a very authentic, love-filled life. I have no regrets. I have left nothing undone. I have been true to my calling, true to my self, and true to my soul. I have embraced life fully, and continue to do so.

I have been to doctors and healers. It seems when one mystery remains unsolved and turns dormant, another mystery appears. I seem to take on ailment after ailment, each wearing a different mask and speaking with a different voice. They are my teachers. I see this. Even as they are illusion, manifested purely by my body re-shifting and seeking equilibrium; I can see these manmade conditions as a force that reveals parts of self. I can choose to make this experience for the betterment of my soul. I can choose again and again to be a student.

I can choose to make every experience anything I wish.

There is true power here.

Wherein I might have very limited access to dictate how my body reacts at this singular moment, I have full opportunity to choose how my spirit reacts. I have true ability to decide to use any of my perceived suffering as a benefit for the all. I can embrace the rest that are suffering and hold them with me, and we together can move as the wave. We together can be the ocean. Much less afraid, and much more joined in hope. Encircled in union, here is where I find the deepest solace of soul.

As I break upon the shore, so you break, endless beauty, rising and falling, again and again.

In Peace ~
Sam

My Healing Mantra

I open my spirit fully in the understanding that all people associated with my healing process are able to assist me. I open my spirit fully in the understanding that I, in my being a part of the collective whole, am able to be at a state of equilibrium and balance of body, mind, and spirit. I recognize that I am experiencing life in fullness and that everything is unfolding as an integral part of the natural flow of nature. I acknowledge the wisdom of nature and the wisdom of my body. I recognize that all possibilities are ever present in this incredible universe. I accept that the spiritual laws of the universe support and love me unconditionally. I accept that all prayers are perfect in their expression and accept all beneficial energy, thoughts and prayers provided to me from loved ones. I am not distracted by the illusion so named fear. I claim my complete healing at this moment and extend this proclamation and understanding to all other beings in need of complete healing. I give thanks to this and to the ALL of us.

(Thank you Pat. F for inspiring me with your light.)

image_1354549673911353

(A photo taken about a year ago, that I believe shows an element of vulnerability and uncertainty.)

436: Lessons Learned: What Ails Me

pinit super power

I have been depleted for two weeks, utterly exhausted, in pain, and unable to do much of anything, beyond a few simple errands. But that’s okay.

My life is a process. I am a process. And I firmly believe, despite my intense moments of pure panic and doomsday fear of my singular obliteration, that all is unfolding as it is meant to be.

I have had a lot of time to think, and over-think.

The thing is, with so much time to think, my mind tends to go into overdrive. I try to find all types of creative ways to preoccupy my brain, but it does its thing regardless. I sketched, I wrote poetry, I wrote a post or two (I think), I discovered how to make posters with my original photography and quotes, I watched a bunch of movies, or at least the first thirty-minutes of a lot of movies. I had a hard time focusing. My body wanted to move—to walk, to get out, to accomplish something, part of my body at least.

I got rather forlorn and lost in myself. Biologically this is caused, I gather, from the fluctuating hormones from PMDD. Physically, I hurt from what is most likely the result of my childish (as in spanking it) short term memory, in which I forget I have various muscle ‘conditions’ and quite frankly act like a dang super athletic hero, when I ought be seriously sitting on the sidelines.

I tend to forget I have limitations. Seems to be my area of expertise: overlooking limitations.

And… when it comes to my body, it’s not advantageous to overlook feasible limitations.

I have to learn to listen to this part of me, and I am finding I am a wee bit stubborn.

I keep thinking something will change. That if I just look hard enough, try hard enough, and just BE hard enough, (in that place of letting-go-zen-di-ness), that I will transform. That this physical pain will dismiss itself, and I can run and leap and charge forward like a little girl reborn, without repercussions.

The truth is: It’s time to let go of who I want to be and time to embrace who I am.

I am disabled.

I have had free parking (courtesy of the blue handicap plaque) for four years now. I have been unable to work more than part time for 12 years now. I have scoured literature on every disease, affliction, and illness known to man, and though I have developed practical theories on why I am the way I am, in regards to my pain ailments, I have not solved anything. Today, after thousands and thousands of research hours, and attempts at various regiments, restrictions, and so on, I am no closer to discovering an avenue of reprieve, than I was over a decade ago.

Deep breath.

I am coming to grips with this today. I am mourning. I am realizing that it is really time to throw in the towel. I can choose to spend my next decade focusing on a cure and an explanation, or I can choose to focus on the life I do have. I am not giving in. Not in the least. And I can’t promise I am giving the search up, but I do know that I am shedding attachment. And discarding of some lie I have enchanted my spirit with that preaches: I am not enough.

I am enough. I am not my pain. I am not my condition. I am not anything that has a name or label. I can’t be defined. And I am not inadequate, flawed, made wrong, or damaged. I just AM. I want to drill that into me. I want to tell myself again and again I just AM.

I have had enough. Enough tears. Enough struggles. Enough puzzle solving. In all my efforts, that I know aren’t wasted, but definitely over-drawn, I have collected more and more diagnosis, theories, and questions than a singular being ever needs in one life time. And all for what? To find out I am at square one, back on the couch, unable to proceed with a ‘normal’ life.

This is my normal.

I need to digest that like chocolate. I need to let it melt into my mouth—melt into me.

I need to hear it. I need to accept that I am okay with where I am at and to stop fighting. I have fought my entire life over one thing or another, trying to make better, to find the escape, to find the peace, to find the remedy.

My sickness, or ailment, of phantom quest, whatever I choose to call it, is a symbolic representation of my spiritual hunger, that need I have for answers and truth.

I thought I had let go enough to accept the flow of life, to be that stream. I know I have in many areas. But my health seems to have taken over my brain-processing like a singular-minded dictator. Getting better is pretty much all I can think about. It’s all I can do. I am over powered by this innate drive to fix and solve.

And I am rebelling. It is time.

This is as good as it gets. Right now, at this very moment, for you and for me. And if I can’t be happy exactly where I am sitting, whatever my circumstances be, then life will continue to be a rollercoaster.

Oh, how I want to blame the fixers of the world. Try this. Try that. Do this, it helped me. Have you done this?

Oh, how I want to blame the complainers of the world. Always me. Poor me. That’s me, too. It’s so terrible. I wish I was dead.

Oh, how I want to blame the proclaimers of the world. Just change your energetic vibration. Just visualize your reality. Create yourself in wholeness. Illness is illusion.

Oh, how I want to blame the coaches of the world. Just be strong. Life could be so much harder. You have so much to be thankful for. It’s not that bad. Toughen up, girly.

Oh, how I want to blame God. Why did you do this to me, Lord? Why me? Should I be better? Should I try harder? Is this punishment? Is this my fault?

Oh, how I want to blame the past me. Karma. It must be karma. Come to kick me in the butt. I must have done something right. I mean I have had a lot of accomplishments and love in life. But man, I must have really screwed up somewhere.

Oh, how I want to blame the concept of normal. Why can’t I be like her? Does she understand how hard this is? She takes her health for granted? She has no idea what suffering is?

Oh, how I want to blame the invisibility. No one can see this pain. No one can understand. I am so alone and isolated, forlorn, forgotten, un-important and lost.

Oh, how I want to blame everything and everyone, but me.

I have a choice today. I can join anyone I am blaming. I can blame them or become them (minus God) or I can start to be ME.

I can start relishing life for what I can do, and not blaming life for what I cannot do.

I can begin by pointing the finger at self, and then softly point the finger away to a space of emptiness. For no one and nothing is to blame. And just as there is no blame, there is no hidden promise of discovery to what ails me. What ails me cannot be relieved through attachment. Just as in my spiritual quest, I understand what ails me can only be relieved through letting go.

So today, I am letting go.

I am releasing this clinging-need to make myself whole and healed. I am accepting I already am whole and healed. I am accepting that the latest advice, tip, or cure isn’t for me. Nothing is out there. And if it is, this nothing, this something morphed from nothing, will find me when I am ready. I have to trust in the higher plan. In the course. In the miracle. I have to believe that this is as good as it gets, and be happy in this moment. For life is only this moment.

sam's hair