Tiny traumas, like pinpricks from a nursing kitten's claws

So... there is that whole thing about "I am having a medical depression episode, I am medically anxious, I am in severe a chronic pain fibromyalgia flare that rates an 8 on Allie Brosh's pain scale, my spasticity is out of control, my hypertonia along with ataxia is interfering with my ability to balance, I'm very dizzy, I'm in a mental fog, I keep thinking of how Rose-kitten died and I start getting choked up, my joints ache and throb so much that I want to become a cyborg right now..."

And I got back from a shopping trip to Barnes&Noble and Target. And Adam picked out a beautiful autumn/spring coat with purple/rose/yellow/brown patterns I never would have considered and it was gorgeous on me and on massive clearance, and Adam himself found a perfect back-up backpack on massive clearance. And I found several new books I've wanted to read including a new Amber Benson book and a new supernatural suburban fantasy series, plus a Pinkie Pie doll from the company Aurora, the same kind that sells Fluttershy on Amazon, with soft simple fabric for hair that was perfect for cats to play with.

And I spoke cheerfully and joyfully with strangers, smiling so much that my disguise and my mask strengthened, and I knew that I could make it through as long as the medications held up, the Soma and Klonopin and Ultram and Vinpocetine and Picamilon and MSM and Vitamin D and Guarana and coffee. People asked me where I got my gold-colored cane and why I had it... and were honestly intrigued to ask about the cerebral palsy, no condescending remarks, no inspiration porn, just requests for details and honest educated understanding. And I was happy to educate, explain, enlighten, and watch their faces light up as they thanked me sincerely and walked off with more information, and that is all I want from things like that.

And the medicines did as promised, and I came home and fell down by choice, and as a wise, wise woman with a PhD told me, It Is Okay To Not Be Okay.

I am not okay. And that is okay. Eventually, I will be okay.

Some quotes I would like to share on trauma and living with illness, disability, life after trauma:

1. "Healing is seasonal, not linear.
It is true that healing happens with time. But in the recovery wilderness, emotional healing looks less like a line and more like a wobbly figure-8. It’s perfectly common to get stuck in one stage for months, only to jump to another end entirely … only to find yourself back in the same old mud again next year.
Recovery lasts a long, long time. Expect seasons."

2. "Whatever doesn’t kill you …
In 2011, after a publically humiliating year, comedian Conan O’Brien gave students at Dartmouth College the following warning:
"Nietzsche famously said, 'Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.' … What he failed to stress is that it almost kills you.”
Odd things show up after a serious loss and creep into every corner of life: insatiable anxiety in places that used to bring you joy, detachment or frustration towards your closest companions, a deep distrust of love or presence or vulnerability.
There will be days when you feel like a quivering, cowardly shell of yourself, when despair yawns as a terrible chasm, when fear paralyzes any chance for pleasure. This is just a fight that has to be won, over and over and over again.
… Doesn’t kill you.
Living through trauma may teach you resilience. It may help sustain you and others in times of crisis down the road. It may prompt humility. It may make for deeper seasons of joy. It may even make you stronger.
It also may not.
In the end, the hope of life after trauma is simply that you have life after trauma. The days, in their weird and varied richness, go on. So will you."

I chose these quotes because I have heard, over and over and over, "Oh, just get over it. Slap a bandage on it and walk it off. Are you still going on about that thing? It was years ago! Aren't you on medication and in therapy? Shouldn't you be past all that by now? Stop thinking about it so much; you're just making it worse. You're creating negativity in your own spiritual space. Negative emotions and negative thinking will destroy your immune system, you know. Stop stressing so much. I give up! You're hopeless! I can't even talk to you! You're a broken record! You're just making it worse. Why won't you listen to me? Every time you talk about getting worse, your mind and your body really believe it. Get over it! Think positively! Change your attitude! Do what I did! I quit thinking so much about the pain and trauma, and in a few months I was cured. I really think you need more positive thinking. You're bringing yourself down."

And the reason I have merely smiled, nodded, and replied, over and over, "Thank you; I shall consider that!" is because those people don't want to listen anymore, they just want me to stop talking, even though I just want to confide. And so I stopped confiding in them. It was a drain on my energy and time and it just made them irritated at me.

The point is that there is no straight line when it comes to trauma, pain, illness, damage, and negative life events. Some people will never seek treatment, and will continue to live in a post-traumatic stress cycle complete with angry outbursts, emotional breakdowns, and paranoia over things such as medical treatments. There is nothing I can do but be there, even if it is just as a voice to soothe, a hand to hold, a joke to tell, a distraction to offer.

But for me, everything is a cycle. I will never be free. I acknowledge that my entire life, literally, is, was, and will be about recovering from trauma. I have tools to work with. I have doctors who understand me. I have taken all my medical problems on with my own personal arsenal, and I know better than any of the people who dislike my methods how to work with, on, and despite myself. I have my girls, my spirit guardians, my coping mechanisms with human faces, the parts of my brain formed from fictional characters that allow me to handle different parts of my trauma. And so I keep going. Trauma is a part of my life. And that is okay.

Fine, I'm a 'Lost Girl' fangirl, I admit it.

So, I had a fascinating dream last night that was at best a "Lost Girl" fanfic and at worst a bizarre fantasy wish fulfillment. I, myself, as I am, was a Light Fae with naturally indigo hair and eyes, whose skin gained a pale purple tint while my powers were in use. I was a healer, for myself and others; I could even pull someone from the brink of death, although it weakened me. Conversely, I could also cause extreme pain and injury to the point of death. I also had inborn herbal medical knowledge and strong empathic powers that were both receptive and projective, which I used to soothe the wounded. Weirdly enough, dark purple butterfly wings would magically erupt from my shoulders while I worked and then would vanish - and I was actually able to hover and glide. Trick called my kind "airmeds" - which, in the canon universe, made sense, as they already have lokis and serkets, which are singular names of deities (Loki, Norse god of mischief, Serket, an Egyptian goddess of minor healing). Airmed is a Tuatha De Danann, a goddess of healing and resurrection.
Digressing: I have a sense that the writers may take advantage of using individual gods as Fae species. I actually love that about the Lost Girl universe. Being a singular god would be even more powerful. Makes me really wonder if the Wanderer is a god himself.
Returning to the dream: Bo and I became lovers for a bit, as I found her chi and powers fascinating, and we would feed on each other during sex. It appeared that I was immune to Bo's succubus blood, that if she bled on me I would not become enamored or obsessed (ie, Ryan the loki). I also slept with Hale a few times, and having a siren and an empath together was rather hilarious. Interestingly enough, Kenzi didn't mind.
I became useful when Kenzi was attacked by a wolf shifter that Dyson had to kill. The fact that I was unable to heal my own brain injury fascinated both Trick and Evony, as well as the Una Mens. The dream started fading as Bo and Kenzi invited me to crash with them for a while while I was being hunted, since an active airmed with an healing-resistant brain injury was extremely rare and highly sought-after for medical experiments. I mean, if the wounds I healed were severe enough, I would break down sobbing and spasming, have a seizure, and then become near-catatonic for several minutes. That's not a good thing for a Fae desperately needed in battle.
There was a point where I expressed specific distaste with Doctor Lauren. I still don't like her much. Bo and Dyson should really keep acting on their love for each other. I know Dyson is 1500 years old and patient, but really. And then there is Tamsin. Mmm, Tamsin.

I believe the main reason I had such a dream with such a highly specific original character was because I was researching the healing abilities of the indigo plant as well as the transformative mythology of the butterfly. Still... fascinating. I didn't feel like a Mary Sue. Considering that "Lost Girl" is filled to the brim with potential Mary Sue characters both in canon and in fanfiction, I imagine my character's Faeness rated low.