Rachel from the US shares her sketch for Dysautonomia Awareness Month. As a fellow purger I can totally relate to her need to get her feelings out.
Former Pastry Chef (I prefer "retired" since it insinuates I had goals and ambitions once) turned amateur seamstress with some sort of POTS or something. The youngest looking "76 year old" you'd ever meet, enjoys chair yoga and dying her hair purple.
I drew this back in April of this year, when I was anxiously awaiting my diagnosis. It was a late night "purge" of feelings I had to get out.
Starting in the upper left, is the me that I used to be. This me had it all together. I was a creative, powerful, multitasking force to be reckoned with. I had just finished my Associate's Degree and had a new job. I juggled being a young mom, a wife, a homeowner, and a professional. I had promise, talent, and most importantly, energy.
(Right) Then the headaches started. And the pain. And the fatigue. A 12 hour shift at work now left me in a puddle on the floor. I trudged on over the course of two years, while the pain crushed my body and stole my abilities. I never before realized just how much self-worth I put in my physical abilities until they were taken away. I was an unrecognizable shell of my former self, desperate for help and to be fixed.
(Bottom) This is what I wanted. I would be home, unable to work, but I could be content. I would pick up the torn up pieces of the life I used to have, and I would patch them back together. The doctors would find me a label and I would be at peace knowing it's finally real.
*(POTS: Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome)
Former Pastry Chef (I prefer "retired" since it insinuates I had goals and ambitions once) turned amateur seamstress with some sort of POTS or something. The youngest looking "76 year old" you'd ever meet, enjoys chair yoga and dying her hair purple.
I drew this back in April of this year, when I was anxiously awaiting my diagnosis. It was a late night "purge" of feelings I had to get out.
Starting in the upper left, is the me that I used to be. This me had it all together. I was a creative, powerful, multitasking force to be reckoned with. I had just finished my Associate's Degree and had a new job. I juggled being a young mom, a wife, a homeowner, and a professional. I had promise, talent, and most importantly, energy.
(Right) Then the headaches started. And the pain. And the fatigue. A 12 hour shift at work now left me in a puddle on the floor. I trudged on over the course of two years, while the pain crushed my body and stole my abilities. I never before realized just how much self-worth I put in my physical abilities until they were taken away. I was an unrecognizable shell of my former self, desperate for help and to be fixed.
(Bottom) This is what I wanted. I would be home, unable to work, but I could be content. I would pick up the torn up pieces of the life I used to have, and I would patch them back together. The doctors would find me a label and I would be at peace knowing it's finally real.
*(POTS: Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome)
For more information on Dysautonomia be sure to check out:
Remember to head on over here to donate to my Clicking My Heels For Dysautonomia, raising money for the Greg Page Fund for Orthostatic Intolerance and Dysautonomia research, at The Baker IDI. Thanks to the generosity of many we've already raised over $2,700, keep donating and hopefully we can reach $10,000.
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