Yesterday, the 27h of May, marked my five-year anniversary with ME… which leads me to talking about why I call it ME verses the multitude of other names given to it, in addition to introducing my latest photo on the subject which you can WIN a print of! Make sure you read all the way to the end to find out how to enter 🙂

A detail shot from my new photo
I’ve been wanting to address this for some time and it just keeps getting pushed down to the bottom of my blog to-do list. But my anniversary seemed like a good time to bring it up. In the United States, we call ME by a whole host of other names; Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS), fibromyalgia (fibro), chronic fatigue immune dysfunction syndrome (CFIDS), post-viral fatigue syndrome (PVFS), Chronic Epstein-Barr virus (CEBV), and most insultingly, the “yuppie flu.” Luckily we seem to have mostly left the “yuppie flu” label behind us, but many of the other names are not much better. Calling it Chronic Fatigue Syndrome has been likened to calling tuberculosis “Chronic Coughing Syndrome,” or stomach cancer “Chronic Upset Tummy.” The names are not indicative of what’s really happening in our bodies. They are trivializing and patronizing.
I like myalgic encephalomyelitis (ME), which is what most of the rest of the world calls it. It literally means “inflammation of the brain and spinal cord with muscle pain.” This at least hints more accurately at what may be going on. Muscle pain is one of the defining characteristics of reaching that diagnosis (as I can personally attest to; I woke up nearly weeping from muscle pain after a strenuous shoot yesterday) and the evidence is suggesting more and more that this is ultimately a neurological condition. ME at least doesn’t carry the negative connotations of the other names; people are generally under the assumption that they are not “real” diseases.

In Between Awake And Asleep
I should be perfectly clear that there is still a tremendous amount of controversy over what name to give us, and if they really are all more or less the same disease. I genuinely believe they are the same disease from everything I’ve seen and read, but there will be many who do not agree with me. However, since the entire reason the US broke off from the rest of the world’s name in the 1980’s was to create an insurance loophole so companies could deny coverage to patients… I am reluctant to believe what anyone on that side of the table claims.
So I call it ME, though since it is a lesser-known name here in the US, I’ll often consent to referring to it as ME/CFS. Meeting the names halfway, so to speak.
As I said, yesterday was my five-year anniversary with ME, although the signs were certainly starting to form years before that. I was unnaturally tired all the time, I got sick and injured easily and seemed to have a little more trouble healing. But since I barely knew ME existed, and I was young, in my late teens and early twenties, I figured it would pass. You think horses, not zebras; you don’t automatically jump to the conclusion that you have a strange, little-known disease.

A Fading Girl
Some of you have heard the story of how I became acutely sick with ME before, so I will try and just hit the high points. Five years ago Geoff and I went out to lunch. We’d been dating for exactly a month. After lunch, I felt tired so I laid down and took a nap. When I woke up, my stomach was very upset and I thought I had food poisoning. Though it wasn’t pleasant, I figured it would pass quickly. Several days later I still felt nauseous, so I saw a doctor who was very unconcerned about me and suggested I take some Pepto Bismol. How helpful. Over the next several days the pain in my stomach gradually changed from an all-encompassing gripping, nauseous pain to an extremely sharp and localized pain in my right flank. Appendicitis? I wondered. The pain was higher than would be classic, but it was so sharp, extreme and had come on so suddenly, I worried nonetheless.
After 10 days of pain and nausea, I finally saw a good doctor. They determined pretty quickly that it wasn’t my appendix, ordered an ultrasound and a LOT of bloodwork (the only reason I didn’t faint was because I was sitting down, but I felt bad enough to wish I’d fainted.) Everything came back normal. They thought it must be a kidney infection, so I took the antibiotics, glad that we had figured out what was wrong and that I’d be over it soon. But the treatment didn’t do anything; I still felt terrible.
That same story repeated and repeated over the next few years. For a long time it was thought that my crazy flank pain and my fatigue were two separate problems; at this point, I believe the evidence indicates they both stem from the same cause. I have undergone more tests and procedures than I care to remember, I have tried every food and supplement imaginable; every Western and alternative approach. Occasionally I find something that helps even fractionally, and I cling to it like a drowning girl.
When I think back on this time, I feel like what was happening in my body is best expressed by this scene from Akira, near the end of the movie.

Tetsuo’s grim end.
My body seemed to completely fall apart and spiral out of control, with me stuck in the middle of i. Up until then, I had been quite consistent with doing Pilates and yoga, and enjoyed their effects on my body. I ate pretty well, I didn’t smoke, drink or do any drugs. I felt like I was doing things right. But when ME finally hit, none of that mattered any more. My body became a disgusting, horrible prison with a mind of its own, seemingly bent against me in every way. And the fact that almost none of this showed outwardly made it even worse. One of the things I hear from other ME people as being the most frustrating thing is having people say to them, “You don’t look sick.” It’s true, often we don’t (until you get into the very dire, extreme cases of ME) but inwardly, that movie clip is what I felt was happening to me.
Thankfully, the flank pain has been reigned in somewhat over the years through arduous nerve-blocking injections, although it never truly goes away. And we still have absolutely no idea what’s actually causing the pain in the first place. But since it used to feel like I had a shard of glass trapped inside my abdomen, I’m very grateful for every bit of pain chipped away from it. The fatigue and muscle/tendon/anything-but-my-flank pains have all gotten steadily worse over the past five years.

The Fog Rolls In
My life has become smaller and quieter each year in response to the unreasonable demands of my body, only to have it ask for even more. To a degree, it’s generally agreed that staying as active as possible is best; that “if you don’t use it, you lose it.” This is tempered with one of the few things known with absolute certainty about ME: if you continually push yourself past what you can handle, you WILL get worse. And it can get much, much worse than what I experience.
The UK documentary Voices From The Shadows paints an uncomfortably vivid picture of how bad ME can really get. It shows people completely bed-bound, in constant, wracking pain, despite morphine drips, eyes continually covered as they are unable to endure even sunlight filtered through curtains. Ears always protected with earplugs because they are so sensitive to sound. From my end of things, going to the grocery store is only barely tolerable. All the light and noise, oh the cacophony of noise… people talking, carts wheeling, plastic crinkling, children crying, music playing, announcements made… I genuinely dread the necessary trip each week. And if I feel that way about it when my case of ME is one of the mildest diagnosable forms, I can hardly imagine the miserable existence the poor souls with severe ME endure.

Unjust
I don’t want to have to know what severe ME feels like first-hand. So I keep trying treatments and supplements. I modify my bedtime, my sleep habits and try to rest as much as possible, without giving up any of the physical ability I still have. I try to do gentle yoga and do more walking, which I can also use as time to scout locations. My family and friends all know that any plans made are subject to the whims of my body and I may have to cancel at the last minute. Very, very thankfully, they have all been extremely understanding and supportive. It’s a hard enough battle to fight your body every day; I am sorry for those who also have to fight with their loved ones too.
People not understanding is at the core of our problems. The medical community that doesn’t understand what our disease is or how to help us. The public, who have been led to believe our disease is not valid. And we ourselves who are trapped in these confusing, maddening bodies that seem to be actively working against us.

Breakable
Luckily, I do believe the tide is finally starting to turn. More and more noise is being made about ME, and we are starting to get even a little bit of recognition and validation. More research is being dedicated to finding out what’s really going on in our bodies. I try to maintain a balance between being open to changes coming and breakthroughs being made without actually hoping for them. The disappointment is too great when they don’t pan out.
Through it all, the highs and lows, the dinners I can attend and the ones I have to stay home from, the times I weep from pain and frustration and the days I walk easily through meadows, I have my art. I’m sure you’ve all heard me talk about my Enchanted Sleep series, photos from which are scattered through this post, and how I use my photos to portray what living with ME is like. Art has helped me keep my sanity through these last five years. It’s something I can do, not just in a metaphoric sense and raising awareness, but it’s physically something I can do. Walking through the woods scouting locations is good for me, body and soul. I can still edit even when I need to lay down (which is frequent) since I work on a laptop. Sometimes muscle or tendon pain in my right arm or wrist will force me to stop for a few days or weeks, and those are always agitating times. I want to be creating. That is where my soul finds meaning and pleasure.

Spoon Theory
It’s been a rough five years. But it’s also brought some incomparable joys to my life; my discovery of photography, for example. And most importantly, Geoff. Geoff who stuck by me when I became very ill after we’d only known each other for two months, and been dating one month. Lesser men would have run. He has supported and loved me every step on this tricky road, and is always there in the dark moments when I want to give up. He gently pulls me up and sets my feet going again. I am so incredibly grateful for him.
To be honest, I have been depressed with this anniversary looming ahead of me. I have heard that if you don’t go into remission within the first five years, you’re never going to. And while intellectually I realize that’s a pretty ridiculous, sweeping statement to make (how could anyone possibly know that when we don’t even know what it is we have?) it’s made this date feel even gloomier. I am choosing to not believe that I will automatically never go into remission, simply because it hasn’t happened yet… but it’s also ok for me to feel sad. It’s ok for me to mourn the things I have lost. It’s ok for me to have bad days when I just cry and burrow under the covers all day. It’s ok to be human and have emotions.

Mourning For Things Lost
I work hard at my art, not only because it’s so deeply satisfying, but because it’s something I hope to make a career out of. Means of employment get fewer and fewer for me every year, but I can do art. It’s a way for me to earn money and contribute to my family’s income, things very important to my sense of identity.
I think this is going to be a good year for my art. Not only with my recent good news, but other things are starting to happen too. I think this is going to work. But please feel free to support my work and pick up some blank greeting cards, limited edition prints or sign up for my online self-discovery-through-photography course. 🙂
Each journey through ME is different. This is just my story. I can only hope that by telling it, it adds another drop to the sea of change coming and will bring us a tiny bit closer to recognition and a cure.

Longing For Better Days
I’ll just say a few words about my latest Enchanted Sleep photo, Vanity’s Murder. My hair has always been quite fine and refused to grow any longer than my shoulders. No matter what I did, how often I did or didn’t cut it, nothing changed that. While it’s always annoyed me, since I would love to grow it romantically long, it was a fact of my life that it never would. A few months ago, I thought my hair seemed a little shorter, but I dismissed the thought. It kept nagging at the back of my mind though, even though I hadn’t gotten it cut in months. Finally, I looked at a photo of me from about six months ago and I was shocked by the proof of how much shorter my hair was; nearly down to chin-length.
I went in to my doctor, since hair thinning and loss is a possible side effect of almost every medication I take, but he suspected it was a response to stress, not medication. I finally made an appointment to see my fantastic hair guy (Hurley, at The Hair Pyrates). He agreed that the loss was probably stress-related too, but importantly mentioned that the hair I’m seeing now first started growing four to five years ago… and I think we can all agree that I started undergoing a great deal of new stress five years ago.
After everything ME has taken from my life, all the things it’s made me give up, my hair just felt like the absolute last straw. I had no idea how much of my feminine identity was tied into my hair until its existence felt threatened.
The good thing about stress-induced hair loss is that it’s usually pretty reversible, at least in theory. At Hurley and my doctor’s suggestions, I started taking a hair, skin and nails supplement and I was startled by how quickly I saw a difference. It still has a ways to go, but I’m so grateful that it is coming back. Worrying about my hair may seem like a very superficial, frivolous thing, but it wasn’t to me. It was about having one more thing taken away from me, it was about losing control over another big factor of how I appear to the world, and the things that contribute to my identity. There is so much about ME that is outside of my control. I am very thankful that this time, I could fight back, and actually win a little. Let’s hope this is a sign of things to come.

Vanity’s Murder

Vanity’s Murder – detail

Vanity’s Murder – detail

Vanity’s Murder – detail

Vanity’s Murder – detail
Lastly, let me tell you about how you can win a signed and numbered limited-edition print of Vanity’s Murder! The very kind people heading up the ME and You fundraiser were very receptive when I wrote them and offered to donate a print to their cause if it would help them. And while I’m sure they have more than enough on their plates, they quickly came up with a way to do this! Want a chance to win the print? Follow the directions below!
- Click on the ME and You button below and donate whatever amount you can through the big yellow “Donate” button on their site.
- Leave a comment on this post saying that you donated and mention that you’re entering to win Vanity’s Murder, as several artists are doing similar giveaways. Make sure that the name you leave in your comment matches your Paypal name!
- Leave a message for the ME and You people during your Paypal checkout, again stating that you’re entering to win Vanity’s Murder.
- A winner will be randomly selected on June 6th and I will announce the winner here!

That’s it! This is such a win-win situation; the cause is so worthy and someone will get a beautiful print as well. 🙂 For anyone who missed it, the amazing people at ME and You are trying to raise funds to do further testing of a new drug that has shown real promise in helping to cure ME. This is something we absolutely must study more, and hopefully, within a few years it will be approved and people all over the world will be able to try it. And just maybe, some of them will go into total remission like some of the people who it’s been tested on.
Remission. I can hardly imagine what that would feel like. But I would love to find out. If you can, please consider donating to this great cause. And thank you very much!
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Creating Rapeseed’s Harvest
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged adobe, adult depression., afterlife, Alchemist pallet, alternative, anti depressant, anxiety, art, art series, art therapy, artist, beautiful, BH cosmetics, birds, bleak, blue, cathartic, CFS, childhood depression, clinical, cloud atlas, colorful, conceptual, contour, crows, crying, curl, D810, depression, Deviant Cosmetics, disease, disorder, dreamworld, dreamy, editorial, emotional, escort, ethereal, Etneral Storms, fibro, fibromyalgia, fine art, firefly path, forest, Ghost Violet, girl, glitter, glitter tears, glow, gray, grey, hair, harvest, health, heaven, high key, home, hopeless, horn, human guinea pig, illness, jumbo pencil, Kat Von D, kirsty mitchell, LA, lavender, legend, lilac, los angeles, magic, makeup, makeup artist, ME, ME/CFS, medication, meditation, mental illness, mental state, metaphor, milk, mineral makeup, MUA, myalgic encephalomyeltis, native american, nikon, Nyx, personal, photo series, photographer, photography, photoshop, pink, powerful, purple, rape, rapeseed, self portrait, silver, social commentary, soul, spoonie, stigma, story, suicidal, suicide, taupe eyeshadow, tears, teenage depression, therapy, trees, unicorn, unicorn girl, victim blaming, violet, weeping, white, wig on March 20, 2017| Leave a Comment »
This was one of those self portraits that I just HAD to shoot RIGHT THEN or I was going to explode. It’s actually been a pretty rough couple of months; I’m fighting my way out of another bout of depression that came on for seemingly no reason. This does happen periodically, so I tried to just give it time and let it pass, it always will eventually… but it’s been clinging like it hasn’t in a long, long time.
As depression progresses, it gets worse, not just additionally, but exponentially. You can very quickly move from, “Ok, I don’t like this, but I’ll get through it soon,” to “Oh my god, this is going to be the rest of my life, I will never feel joy again ever; what’s even the point of living??” in shockingly short time.
For me, one of the best tools I have against depression and slowly losing my will to live is creating art, especially art that expresses how I’m feeling at the time. It’s incredibly cathartic. Working on this self portrait has been a huge help in keeping me sane lately, but the pessimistic side of me wonders if I’ll just be left right where I was before I started it, once I’m totally finished creating it. I suppose that even if it does, I’ll at least still have a new image in my roster. It hasn’t helped my depression to know that it’s been so long since I released any new images (there are far too many reasons to get into right now, but it’s been incredibly difficult to find and make time for art lately).
I was thinking about what I would say to accompany this image, which (probably obviously, belongs to both my DreamWorld and Eternal Storms series) and pondering how to explain what long-term clinical depression feels like to those who haven’t experienced it. It’s not the same as just being sad or upset, it’s a stain on your soul which you can’t ever blot out. Out, out, damn spot. A stain which not only looks ugly, but spreads like a cancer and does you actual harm, emotionally, physically and mentally.
Depression, especially when it gets really bad, feels like your brain is beating and gang-raping your soul every day while the rest of the world goes about their business, either not noticing, or at best stopping to take cell phone videos of your torment, but offering no help. And much like the unjustified stigma and shame victims of abuse feel, people who have trouble with depression and who don’t feel excited about being alive are often subject to the same kinds of judgements. We must enjoy wallowing in our own emotional filth, or else we’d just get up, dust ourselves off and go be happy, right? Or, ok, maybe it’s really a chemical imbalance thing; so just take an anti-depressant and let’s all get on with our lives, all right? And she was wearing a short skirt, so she was asking for it.
I wish it worked like that; I wish it was that easy. I can’t recall how many medications I’ve tried, not to mention the far, far greater number of alternative healing treatments, supplements, and anything else I could think of. Some help more than others, but so far nothing has completely cured me.
For anyone wondering, no, I do not believe this bout of depression is really related to the ME. The ME has been about the same as it has been since my injections kicked in, so there haven’t been any recent changes on that front. It definitely doesn’t help anything, but I don’t believe it’s the cause.
Depression lays a gray film over your life. Everything appears bleak and hopeless. There’s no point to trying, no point to doing anything. And there’s also the honest, nothing-to-do-with-depression frustration of having to be your own guinea pig as you try different treatments, often with horrible, horrible side effects, which may or may not stop after you discontinue the medication. It’s been recommended that I add a psychiatrist to my team of doctors (I have a wonderful therapist, but she’s a psychologist, so she can’t prescribe medication) which I’m not looking forward to. My depressive mind doesn’t want to go through the bother of more appointments, more co-pays, more explaining my symptoms and feeling judged, more trying new medications will probably make everything worse before it even might get better. My rational mind says I should try it anyway, but I’m not looking forward to it.
So, back to talking about this image. I chose the title even knowing it might ruffle some feathers, because I honestly don’t feel like there’s a better way to explain it to those who have been fortunate enough to never be so depressed that they feel they can’t go on another day. It is your mind raping your soul, verbally abusing you, telling you you’re worthless, a horrible person, undeserving of love or bothering another person by asking them for help. It’s a prison only you can see and feel; a prison you both hate and are afraid to leave, because it’s all you’ve known for so long. (My first memories of what was clearly depression are from my early teens, but I wonder if the terrible anxiety and nightmares I endured since I was a very young child were a precursor to this. The first time I gave serious thought to killing myself, I was 17.) A strange Stockholm-like syndrome can develop where you long to escape, but are afraid to. However, I hope it’s clear that I am in no way trying to take anything away from the trauma victims of the “regular” kind of rape suffer from. Though our hells overlap in some ways, they are not identical.
I liked the idea of using “rapeseed” in the title, not only because it catches the ear, but because I feel it works on a metaphoric level. Rapeseed is a plant which grows beautiful yellow flowers; it belongs to the mustard family from what I’ve read (and apparently the name has to do with the Latin word for root vegetables and nothing to with an act of violence). Kirsty Mitchel shot part of her Wonderland series in front of a breathtaking field of rapeseed flowers. It is also, apparently, what canola oil is made from (or at least used to be? I’m finding mixed info), around which there is some controversy if it’s truly safe for human and animal consumption. The word at once touches on horrible, horrible acts of violence and abuse, potential danger but still has immense beauty to offer the world.
In this image, I imagined a beautiful, unicorn-like creature, someone that would look completely pure and innocent, someone who looked like that would never have had a single bad day. And I just poured my emotions into the shoot, letting them all out. I’ve already said it was cathartic, but I can’t stress just how much it was. I felt lighter that day than I did in a long time. Even editing it was therapeutic. Some images seem to fight you the whole way, kicking and screaming, into what you want them to be; this one felt like it was actively working with me to help me achieve my goal. It’s one of the most gratifying feelings when art flows like that.
I have been studied makeup application a lot recently (mostly for upcoming images) and this was one of my first times being able to test just a little bit of my new knowledge out. That was fun, although tiring. But I’m pretty pleased with my first attempt at being a makeup artist! I had to search high and low for some cosmetic-grade silver glitter of the right size and color to make the glitter-tears; you really wouldn’t think it would have been so difficult, but it was! I eventually found some on either eBay or Etsy; I’ve bought some from both and now I don’t remember where this particular one came from. I already had the silver wig, so I just grayed up my eyebrows to match it better. I used Nyx’s Jumbo Pencil in Milk for the entire eye/cheekbone area along with a nice matte white eyeshadow from BH Cosmetics pallet, along with two shades of lavender and a darker purple in my crease and as blush. I contoured with another Nyx product, an eyeshadow in Taupe which is perfect for my pale skin (even paler here, so I used a very light hand). I highlighted cheekbones, lids and inner corners with Deviant Cosmetics Ghost Violet, which is just about my new favorite thing ever. It has the most gorgeous flash of purple when the light hits it, and Deviant Cosmetics has four or five colors in their Ghost line; I recommend them all! (If you’ve been eyeing the Kat Von D Alchemist Palette but don’t have the money, go see Deviant Cosmetics. Their colors are brighter, more vivid, they carry one more color than comes in KVD’s pallet, and it’s WAY less expensive! And since it’s mineral makeup, there are no weird or harmful ingredients to worry about.)
After I did my makeup and looked utterly insane in person, I set my camera up and a couple lights. I actually really hate setting up lights, so I always try and make it as minimal as possible. Luckily, this shot didn’t call for anything fancy, so I got away with only two. I taped some white, mesh fabric to the inside of my front door, and it gave me a lovely, neutral whiteish backdrop that wouldn’t distract from the main subject. I was nearly done shooting when I remembered I’d intended to wear my unicorn horn circlet from Firefly Path! I quickly shot a few more images with it on, tipping my head at different angels and planning on adding it on to the final image in post, which I did. (This is not the exact circlet that I have, my horn is silver and the crystals are lavender, but this seems to be the only one in her shop at the moment.)
Unicorns represent a lot of things to me, but innocence and purity are two big ones. If a human is sad, well, that’s… sad, but normal. If a unicorn is sad, it’s tragic. That there could be anything their magic couldn’t overcome underscores the power of whatever is causing them pain. To me at least, that emphasized the magnitude of the power depression can hold over you. The working title for this image as I tinkered on it was Sad Unicorn, because that was all I could think of when I needed to save the file for the first time. It still feels appropriate in a way.
I added the trees and birds on the background, as if perhaps the unicorn girl is longing for her forest home. I specifically chose to add crows, both because they’re one of my favorite birds (did you know they actually make and use tools and are incredibly smart?) and because Native American legends say they escort one’s soul into the afterlife. That felt very fitting giving the subject of the image. She seems like she’s in an alien land, somewhere she doesn’t truly belong, which is how I’ve felt about my time on earth just about every single day since I was born. I knew this was not my true home. My true home is where my soul resided before it decided, for whatever insane reason, to incarnate into this life. In a meditation, months ago now, I actually visited what I consider to be my true home and I sobbed and sobbed, because I was so glad to be back, even for a moment, and also because I knew I couldn’t stay. That place, that timeless, unchanging Home, is where this ethereal creature belongs too.
Now that I’ve gone on for probably far too long, I’ll finally show you the image. I felt it was very important to explain my reason for the title I gave it to give people a way in to understand it. And for anyone concerned about me, thank you, but I’ll be ok. I’ve been through worse. And I didn’t even have photography back then. I have an excellent support system, which I didn’t have nearly as much of before, including my really incredible therapist. All that said, let’s get on to the first image I’m releasing this year!
Lastly, I don’t enjoy talking about my mental health (or lack thereof) to strangers on the internet, no matter what impression this post gave you. I speak candidly and openly about it because we NEED to end the stigma around it. And the only way for that to happen is for those of us who struggle with it to speak about our experiences. A lot. In detail. Repeatedly. I do think things will change eventually, but it will take a lot of voices speaking honestly, blatantly, about it. My voice is only one drop in the ocean of voices, but to quote Cloud Atlas, what is the ocean but a multitude of drops?
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