Kind of at this new point. I'm sitting in my car at the moment, typing on my iPhone. I'm waiting outside my doctor's office. Today however, I'm not here for me.
I was writing a post for this blog three days ago; after several hours, it became quite obvious that what I'd written was too long for this. In essence, it's the start of a book.
The past five years have been a grueling journey; each day, week, month, battles fought uphill — in the snow... without shoes.
No, really; I don't want to exaggerate the story beyond believability, so excuse that. I'm reminded often, those classic "in my day, we had to..." stories. I do get it. I do believe that life, in general, is easier now for most people most of the time. America, along with the world, has its problems, but altogether, things aren't too bad.
Whenever I feel that my pain is overwhelming me, I think about the things that I want to fix and people I want to help (and help set straight).
Fortunately, about two months ago, I stumbled on a breakthrough. Though it's put a serious damper on the amount of stuff I can get done during the day, it's reduced my pain tremendously.
I've been using a process involving lucid dreams.
Two years ago, I'd considered hypnosis as a treatment option, an alternative form of therapy for my condition. I knew a pot less about the mechanics of what's going on inside my brain and body, and frankly, I was grasping at straws.
I've been on pretty serious medications for five years, and I want it to end. My life is governed by a once-per-month prescription, the side effects and physical consequences of the opioids and the stigma surrounding pain killers. Far too many people, some talented, have died due to overdose; most of the people worrying about me aren't all that informed — but that doesn't stop them from judging and suggesting things.
I've tolerated and placated, but I have limits. I'm tired.
Luckily, my new form of therapy involves sleep — and it's dually productive.
First and foremost, my lucid dreams allow me to control my pain, even temporarily eliminate it. For years, pain had been a pervasive and consistent element, and the condition was felt while asleep as well as awake. I've found that by controlling the physical nature of my dream world and screwing with its physics, I can end the pain... in my dream.
The most amazing part: the lack of pain persists even after I wake up.
There's obviously a catch. If there wasn't, I'd be screaming prayers (or possibly profanities) from rooftops with a loudspeaker. I'd publish my method and immediately begin trials to treat others. The problem is that the pain inevitably returns; sometimes it comes back within an hour, sometimes after several.
So far, I haven't been able to be pain free while awake for longer than three hours. Meaning: I have to go back to sleep... frequently.
Nevertheless, this breakthrough has been truly remarkable. The basis came while watching some untitled (according to my dumb Comcast DVR; the thing is junk, I'm not happy with it — and it's pricy. Lose, lose!) PBS documentary on the nature of chronic pain. My parents called to tell me it was on, and I caught the tail-end of it.
What I took from that show was that chronic pain physically changes the brain, and that over time, the brain begins to "expect" pain, whether it should be there or not. The brain has an amazing ability to ensure that everything perceived is consistent with its worldview.
I knew that I needed to work on my brain. So I did.
Lucid dreams are amazing. More on that, later. (Time for me to go!)
Brad uses Blogsy
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