And so the end is near…

Writing this blog has been easily as therapeutic for the author as it has been for my readers. I do so hope you have gained some information and humor along the way. Make no mistake, this entry has been mind-shattering for me. My thoughts are only that you attempt, on some level, to convey your mind into my story so you can also feel the pangs of relief. And so, on that note, I shall reveal a most important announcement of one of the biggest and most profound changes of my life—the answer to “Why?”

Last you were aware, we were living in Salt Lake County in a city called Cottonwood Heights. Beautiful city. Couldn’t really ask for anything more except one insignificant detail—that out of all of the Poland one can be allergic to, mine was Cottonwood trees. Didn’t find this out until we lived there. But our lease wouldn’t be up for a few months. Not wanting to be caught with “my pants down,” I decided being proactive was a great idea. You know, sort of window shopping to see what was out there, by scrolling through the internet. The rest was a blur.

The doctors were fairly sure I was suffering from COVID-19, but personally, I feel like they got so accustomed to cramming extra long swabs up people’s noses that they were afraid I would feel snubbed. They did mine too, informing me I needed to quarantine until they got the results back.

Sometime between scratching the back of my head via my nasal passages and a week later, I received a text message. The message told me “Congratulations!” and informed me I was the new owner of a condo—a condo that I had only been inside of one time. And even though I was not a victim of the highly contagious Coronavirus, something else was terribly wrong—and the doctors didn’t have a clue where to begin their search. So, test after test, all coming back negative, I have odd symptoms from being unable to walk, to stuttering, and even completing dangerous feats that haven’t yet killed anyone. One of them was attempting to remove a pan from the oven without mitts. Thank goodness Nikki was there, screaming at me to stop. The fact is, she screams so much it’s hard to take her seriously, you know? But I did. Embarrassed, I moved aside and allowed her to take the French fries out of the oven. I went into my bathroom and cried. Sure, I could have been hurt pretty bad, but how am I supposed to take care off my kids if the need to babysit me? There have been numerous other times, but that was the worst.

The only way my hands work is either using my cell phone, as I’m currently doing, or typing one letter at a time with my index finger. Not only is this mentally taxing for a writer to type one letter at a time, but varies segments of my body fall asleep painfully. At the table, on my computer, my legs go to sleep. My left leg, with a 2.5” bigger circumference than my right swells and throbs, even elevated. So I’m forced to use my phone, as stated earlier. But this has its own discomforts.

Using my phone, I’m unable to read a huge portion of what has been written, but my left hand has a shooting pain that darts up my arm to my elbow after a spell. Doesn’t appear as if that $85,000 degree in writing will be worth the effort. However, one of the tests I was submitted to participate in was determining if I had multiple sclerosis, or MS. Becoming increasingly frustrated with scaling the stairwell up and down to our new third floor condominium with a cane in my right hand, held by a painful grip accommodating my lame left leg, I determined I didn’t know any more than I had in the middle of May when this occurred. MRI, CT scan, ultrasound of my leg searching for clots—all I could see was $$$$ going out and nothing coming in, and I remained at square one. Impatient, I began searching my symptoms and potential cures.

With MS, some studies have shown a significant improvement in patients who had seen a hypnotherapist. Now some people believe this and others don’t. But even if it has a placebo-type affect, the point is it works, right? Who cares why? And I recalled in my high school days, we had a hypnotist visit. Determined to expose this fraud, I jumped my friends by going to when he pointed me out. I was in full Daphne Blake mode, ready to pounce on the villain’s lame party tricks and expose him to everyone. Needless to say, I performed exactly how the hypnotist presumed I would react. So, I couldn’t help but believe.

So, as a last ditch effort, I found a few courses online, next to nothing. I was determined that even if I could not figure out what was happening to me and why, I was going to use mind control to stop the symptoms—not only from getting worse, but from existing altogether.

One night, I had a dream. Actually, I dream about every night, but you guys already figured that out. I dreamed that not only had I healed myself, but I became a certified hypnotherapist and NLP Specialist. I got to work. Immediately, I began going nuts in the place. Remember how that freak “artist” did in Beetlejuice with that awful spray paint? Don’t worry, I was not that ridiculous, but a couple of notches less. Without money.

Having a puny amount of funds didn’t stop me. I bought stuff from Facebook right around my neighborhood. And because I am now incapable of driving, I would bid low and offer a couple of dollars compensation if they would deliver it. Basically, I garnered free delivery. I had to—remember, the stairs?

Yep, been practicing on myself and my kids. I can’t let them know, so I sneak in their rooms at night and do it. Besides, they don’t put up a fight when they’re relaxed, and I don’t have to worry about whether or not they’re pretending, right? During this practicing, I’ve been uncovering a lot of deep dark secrets I had forgotten about since the amnesia. One was about a customer from back when I was an exotic dancer.

Yeah, I’m fairly sure everyone at Paradise has their share of freaks, but this one was extra special. It started with small gifts left anonymously with my name, “Tiffney,” on the card. Starting off with a can of soda, after a few weeks time, it became a game for all of us backstage guessing what would come next. Scanning the crowd and dissecting conversations, we couldn’t figure out who it could be, either. The final gift received was a little more weird than the bracelet he’d left for me. It was a Manila envelope with my name printed boldly across the front…. anyway, seeing how this is clearly a story for another time, it’s only important to understand my amnesia blanketed so much of my mysterious life. One vital point the amnesia managed to accomplish was allowing me understanding not only who my true friends were, but my family. A couple of them took advantage of the situation, clearly with a frame of mind I would never find out—who stole my wedding band; among many other trusting scenarios. But the hypnosis I’ve been training in has revealed so much about me, I’m gaining my memory exponentially—not all of it is welcome. I’m sure you’ve had events in your life you wish you could “unlearn.” In a way, I’m afraid of learning more. What makes me continue? I’m no longer the person I was then.

If I was in the condition I was in physically at the time, I would never become an exotic dancer—even though I was considered one of the top performers. I would never be a truck driver, even though there was a certain independence in not having someone stare over your shoulder like they do at most jobs. I would have gotten my education young and started my own life on my terms. I would have left home rather than staying and dropping out of school, where I’m positive I would have received a full scholarship, to care for my siblings.

I didn’t do that. Here is where I am. And now it’s time to start a new life, new blog, and whole new chapter. I’d love it if you joined my interestingly new perspective @ http://www.HypnoBrew.com. With me, I soberly hope you’ve learned that my life is an adventure!! Come on!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s