the details of the last email.

This is the email that I sent out to all my family and friends explaining my situation entitled "Season Finale."

And I want to say that I blog for myself--which is why I'm posting this email. Blogging for me is a stress-reliever and nothing much more than that. It helps me construe my thoughts and it's a convenient place to document the dichotomies of life. I full-well understand that posting into cyberspace allows readers to peak into my life. And if you're enjoying it, I suppose I'm just getting two birds at once. (And I never will understand how that will be possible in the literal sense.)

Hola amigos y familia,

 

Have you missed receiving my emails? 

I've missed writing them, too. And the experiences that have allowed me to write them.

 

I wanted to take the time to share with my groupies some details for clarification and understanding. 

 

I retired my badge for a bit and came home. Horribly depressing--I know. 

It's depressing for me and, I suppose for you as well because your weekly episode of Sister Adams has ended. It's totally okay if you want to cry. There is no shame in crying. Crying is not a weakness. It just means that your heart is able to feel and understand the more sacred feelings of the world, which to me sounds an awful lot like strength. And, for the record, I'm totally crying, too. The full-body kind of cry where you find yourself with mascara suddenly all over your face and hands and legs and shirt and pillow and sheets, and through your snot-filled hysterics you are even a little afraid of yourself . . . So, yeah, it's whatever. Cry all you want.

 

Anyway, the details. You’re all anxious for them, I know.

 

Seizures--or episodes--whatever you want to call them. That’s what sent me home. I had one, which ended me up in the ER late on a Sunday evening. (That’s one way to celebrate P-day Eve, but it’s not highly suggested. Too much money and grumpy doctors that make you feel ALL SORTS of uncomfortable.) When it happened, I seized on and off for an hour and a half. And then my muscles were all sore (obvi) but they wouldn't relax. My head was stuck like my earring had been caught on the shoulder of my shirt and my fingers gnarled. So to the ER we went for muscle relaxants and something to dull the pain. If you wanted to know, I’m pretty certain I pulled every muscle in my body including my eyes, but not the arches of my feet or my groin.

 

After that night, I went to the neurologist.

(Oh, jump back to the ER real quick. After I had a CT-scan there, I asked how it went. The lady said, “Sweetie, you have a beautiful brain.” So, everyone, my brain is now medically classified as “beautiful.”)

The neurologist put me on a few medications. And when I say a few, I mean I had a small pharmacy in my purse. And it sounded like I was the maraca player in some a mariachi band. I hated every part of the medication. The size of the pills, the fact that I had to buy a pill slicer, yes a pill slicer,  so that I could take the accurate dose, the side effects . . . Yeah, the side effects were easily the worst part. My legs would “seize up.” It felt like charley horses all through my legs which made it hard to walk in a straight line like a sober person. And my head tickled, like worms were crawling under my scalp. And I sputtered. The words didn't come out even though I could think them. And in my arms it felt like little grenades (we’re talking itty bitty, like a grain of sand size) were exploding ALL OVER the place. And I just plain couldn't feel my face. And I couldn't sleep though I was haggard beyond repercussion.

 

I was really annoying to the neurologist, calling him all the time, being that needy patient we all make light of. He told me I would get used to the side effects . . . Um, we’re talking worms are crawling under my hair follicles and grenades blowing up my insides. Ain't no sister getting used to that. So he tapered the medicines down. But still the side effects were there, just not as prominent.

 

Then seizure two happened. Almost a month later.

And that same week seizure three happened.

 

They called me on a Friday. I was home on Saturday, the Saturday before Mother’s Day. Yeah, Arizona Mesa Mission is clearly the best mission in the world because they actually send their kids home to their mothers for Mother’s Day instead of doing the old Skype thing.

 

Since I've been home, I’m off all medication and have to have a baby-sitter 24/7. (Hi, my name is Peri Adams. I’m 20 years old and I’m so needy the doctors literally prescribed me a babysitter.)

I've had an MRI, EKG, blood work, and a few neuro appointments.

 

On Monday, I’m having a prolonged video electroencephalography (real word), which will hopefully shed more information and give us more to work with. The test will take a few days. (BTW, if anyone wants to visit me in the hospital, that’d be dandy. I’ll be looking funky but I won’t care if you don’t. St. Francis. 6^th floor. You know my name.)

 

My prayers are for inspired doctors to help solve this mystery. And solve it quickly because I want to go back out and finish serving. Despite how I may have made it sound sometimes, I loved everything about being a missionary. Including the choinky (made-up word) companions. Maybe not so much the shoes. But I learned and grew and exerted myself in ways I didn't know were possible. And my Savior carried me. I’ll ask that my groupie would pray for inspired doctors and conclusive testing so that I might be on my way teaching and preaching about Jesus.

 

God is real. And He hears us all the time.

I love you all to Pluto and back. 

 

 

Mucho amor,

Peri--or you can still call me “Sister Adams” 

xo.pa

contined resolutions.

At the beginning of the year I made resolutions--just like everyone else in the world.

I wrote in late December:

For 2014, I want to live more deeply.

I want my foods to be rich in the colors of the earth.

I want to wake early and move my body because it's good for my heart.

I want to be the kind of person and friend who honors commitments, takes the time to make calls, sends emails just because and cards in the mail, and who speaks freely and truly.

I want to have discernment with what's important and let go of what isn't.

And I want to know God better and let others know Him, too.

Almost half of a year has progressed since I compiled that list. In those six months I've questioned myself to search the deep, hidden crannies of my soul. Which in turn has encouraged me to add to the goals that I'd previously committed to.   

Because my life has taken a startling turn.

You see, it'd been rather easy to thrive in Mesa. It was something about the dust, wonky cacti, and the go-go-go of missionary life that clicked for me. I lived in a state of sheer wholeness that I can't put into words. There were, of course, bouts of discouragement that we need not ignore, but I felt completely realized and got used to the wash of daily joy that warmed me each morning. It didn't need encouragement or enticing; it was just there. 

And then I left. And it didn't come with.

The first two weeks home were dim. I was a returned missionary—a missionary that came home early. I was disheartened and reeling, and life felt off. Very off. The needs-no-reason happiness had been ripped away along with purpose and daily structure. What I realized is that I needed to develop intrinsic joy. Environment—surrounding yourself with good—is vital, but generating joy from within is paramount. It's everything because it cannot be taken. I held out by forcing myself to find solace in the little things—the everyday rituals. I fought to find peace. And rode on the wings of hope while searching for it.

Week three approached. It would be seven days for healing—this became my focus. My spiritual efforts increased and became passionate and wholehearted again. I studied and pondered out of desire and not out of wanting to cling to details of the past. I began to gather myself and my focus shifted to cleaning myself of the muck I’d packed inside.

I wrote in my journal, "I can see myself running down a raceway, trying to catch the peace in front of me who’s coaxing me to put her on and wear her like a gold medal. I can see the changes lined up near the finish line and hear them cheering. Cheering for me. And I can feel the hope flowing through my veins encouraging my legs to keep pumping."

The week progressed and I waded through confusion, elation, beginnings, ends, healing, heartbreak, understanding, loneliness, and growth. Not in that order.

But I was so right. Week three changed who I was. It divided my sense of self into a well-defined "before" and "after." Before returning early and after being a missionary. I found myself running at the sight of peace and draping it around my neck, while hope pushed me there. I won the single-person race, and will I ever be the same again? 

In the most terrifically and horribly cliché way, I felt like I found myself in Mesa. At least, I thought I did. And now as I stagger and sweat to again secure my footing, I realize that what I really found was the capability to reach a deeper, more developed level of bliss. There is no finding yourself. There is only building, and fighting, and straightening out. and rising. 

Despite the darkness—perhaps because of it, though—there were many wonderful, fiery moments. They came while on my knees. There I found that every good part of who I am is because of the atonement of Jesus Christ. And what isn't can be changed. I was then able to inhale and exhale in moments that speak mostly of drowning. Not only breathe, but burn. And the burning holds hope.

For the rest of this year, I resolve to love with all the kindness in the world, to be kinder to myself.

I want to develop a deeper, more passionate level of spirituality.

I want to let the space between where I am and where I'm headed inspire me instead of terrify me.

I want to be the kind of person that refuses to judge the life of another, because each person knows only their own pain and renunciation. It's one thing to feel that you're on the right path, but it's another to think that your's is the only one.

I want to inhale and exhale and live instead of drown.

I want to find solace in God first.

xo.pa

zoinks, they said.

I grew up watching Scooby-Doo.

Scooby-Doo taught me that the real monsters in life are people.

If that isn't a scary enough thought, 

I do not know what is.

xo.pa

Inspiration to start off the week.

Sometimes your only available transportation is a leap of faith. |  Margaret Shepard

Love is the only sane and satisfactory answer to the problem of human existence. |  Erich Fromm

I am learning every day to allow the space between where I am and where I want to be to inspire me and not terrify me. | Tracee Ellis Ross

The moment you feel like you have to prove your worth to someone is the moment to absolutely and utterly walk away. | Alysia Harris

xo.pa

Up and running.

+ Macy and I ran the infamous Color Run with our friends, aka the local missionaries.

+ Don't worry--they had permission from their mission president.

+ And we volunteered for the race the day before in the freezing cold and pouring rain. 

   Yes, if you insist, you may dub us citizens of the year....

+ Notice the elders' getup's. White shirts and ties. They had me lol-ing all over the place.

So thrilling. 

And it feels good to be up and running again. 

negatives

The little sister is a dance master. 
Fall down seven times get up eight.

xo.pa

If you can make a woman laugh, you can make her do anything.

What do you miss most she asked as we drove onto the 60.
The belly aches from laughter. 

That's what I always miss when I'm not at home--
the aching of happiness. 
the desperation for air. 
the sound of sheer bliss and the tears that accompany. 

I haven't laughed this hard for so long. It's been a  minimum of four months because in January I had a laughing belly ache. Four months is a long time, right? Anyway, they were four  l o n g  months. 
Good ones, but long ones. 



And the aches are refreshing. 

Acceptance.

My writing has lost its voice when I decided to not be over dramatic about this because that’s usually what I am, and that’s the last thing that I need to be.

I’ll write something frenetic, out of perspective, and more peri-esque soon. For now I need to rationally mull through reality.  

Then:

I lived on my own for 4 years. I traveled the world.

I provided for myself. I ran marathons. 

I was an independent (missionary) and happy with that.

Now:

I live at home. I cannot drive. I have a 24/7 baby-sitter.

I have to wear a helmet when I run and tell myself that it’s better than headgear.

I am dependent and it is hard because I feel capable.  

This is the hardest part. Accepting the difference between the before and the after, the I-am-just-going-to-have-to-get-over-being-dependent factor and convincing myself that it won’t last for forever.   

Because it won't.

I've prayed more times since the beginning of this year than I have in my entire life. That may not be true, but my prayers have increased and so had my relationship with God been strengthened. God is so real. He hears me all the time. And I can feel Him loving me. I think that's the thing that God loves most about being God--the thrill of being merciful, especially to those who don’t expect it and don’t feel deserving of it. 

I can’t do this. (being over dramatic)

You can and you will he said.

You can and you will.

xo.pa 

On heartbreak

This heartbreak has been different.

I said goodbye May 9th, but I didn't leave until the morning of the 10th. I needed to have some time to understand, feel, and regroup—but feelings weren't accounted for here. Just my physical health.  

She called during weekly planning. Fridays are weekly planning days. May 9^th was Friday.

  

It felt out-of-body, at first, when I got that phone call. You have a flight home for tomorrow at noon. and I couldn't control it. There wasn't anything I could do to try to stop it from happening, so I did what I knew how, or rather what my body knew how. It cried. 

Sister S took the phone and talked to her.

My makeup was smeared by the tears coursing their paths down my face.  

Was this really happening?

Speechless.
What do you say when there aren't words?

We sat in quiet until we didn't. 

Sister S was in shock too. What is happening? Is this for reals? Both of us wordless.

accents. that's how we tore down the silence and revived ourselves. we spoke in accents. accents were our   tradition. during companion study, we always spoke in accent.   

terribly inaccurate ones, mind you. sliding from southern to british to ghetto white girls.

I’m sorry it’s a bad day. She 'd said to console.

No. Not a bad day, just bad news.

Then.

Stared at the mirror.

Washed my face.

And

And we laughed, and exhaled, and went out for ice cream.
We shared embarrassing stories and looked at photos and listened.  we never did get to that point in the transfer where you divulge your pre-mission love life.

 but it was just bad news.

And we stuck by that.

---

May 10th.
It was there until it wasn't.

I couldn't leave. I couldn't let me leave.

but I did. I had to. and I needed me to be healthy.

it all is for the best.

The last few tender moments broke my heart.

I held on until I wouldn't.
I had to save a few heartstrings to keep myself going.
to keep my lungs expanding and contracting
and the blood pumping.

then, I couldn't feel  anymore

dropped my papers and my bag.

blurs. 

We stood there in the airport. The three of us. The woman on the phone, Sister S, and me. I cried and pulled my best efforts as Lawyer Adams but no luck. There wasn't a thing I could do or that she could do. Then she hugged me tight like a mom would. It’s hard for me too, you know, but you have to go. I didn't feel ready, but it felt right

So I turned around and walked a

                                                       w

                                                       a

                                                       y.

They didn’t stand there for too long.

Because I turned around and looked.

   a searing rent 

       a hollow ache

the remaining heartstrings snapped

This is real. I’m headed home..

        and the mission life moved on without me.

My breath clouded the small plane window
       This is what the end looked like, and I breathed it in.
       I felt it swell down my throat, flush through my veins
       it all became haze.
Arizona disappeared
and my forehead fell against the warm glass

I'll be back .

There's something telling me I'll be back.