I'd be dead if not for friends and family

There is no way in this world I would be alive today if I had to deal with ALS all on my own. I don't let a moment go by without reminding myself that the world at large, with those whose love and empathy, through active means, as well as through passive concern, support my passion for life. I can only draw energy when there is input; alone, I'd be starved, emotionally emaciated and filled with dread and despair. By now, I'd be dead even if I were alive. Hope and life are intertwined  as they mingle in my brain, enabling me to look at everything with new realization. A while back I said that everything was slightly dull, slightly gray, less important. It is increasingly apparent that ALS has made every effort to darken my senses. I feel I am past that now, able to embrace that which is important, that which is simple. Of course I need to reinforce this sense of well being every day, knowing the bleak probability of my digression. I am constantly reminded of my disability as I attempt even menial tasks. What keeps me going is the continuous flow of support and concern that gives me the motivation to impress. If I am to remain strong, brave, I must remain aware of my contingency. I must make them proud. Happy. I need to lead an army of supporters even if into darkness. I can't give up the ship. I cannot disappoint. 

I wonder if I can go the distance. Hell, I don't know how long the race is! So far, the disease has allowed me to peck on my keyboard, even though I can't hold a tissue in my left hand. There appears to be new meaning to a stiff middle finger.

I also wonder how I might continue to write as the sun descends on me. Maybe my posts will become charitably shorter. Maybe when times are darker I will fill these pages with my pre-ALS life. I have not begun to exhaust that line of conversation. I'd guess that I would continue to lay my flesh open and reveal my inside no matter where I find myself. I might as well finish what I started back in July. Hopefully, it will take me a number of years.

Lately, I've been perusing some of my earlier posts. I find it interesting that my basic, fundamental concepts have changed only on the periphery. I have spent my whole life investigating what I believed about nearly everything, and throughout all those years my core intuition has remained mostly unchanged. About people, politics, science, God, about evolution, practical sense, about relationships, love, family, capital punishment, war, religion, ghosts, prejudice, wealth, poverty, spiritualism- about most everything- my views are largely static, only tweaked on occasion. I do admit, freely, that I have learned how to apply these beliefs and considerations to help me cope with ALS. I find myself studying more the effect of belief than the source of such. I know now that faith has nothing to do with religion no matter the semantic confusion. Faith is simply the application of hope. Faith is embedded in positive attitude. Faith can be a powerful, tangible tool for the mind.

If I were to follow the saying "It's always darkest just before dawn" I would fall into a trap. Now, things are brighter for me. Not everyday life, but every day realizations, often blotted out by life. I look at the fall colors differently now, separating the leaves from the trees, seeing the capillaries rather than the branches. Maybe I just have more time to look. Really, I probably have less time, but since my priorities have changed these observations are more relevant. I breathe differently. Possibly the creeping degeneration of my sense of touch has heightened my others. I've heard of that before........ so........... I might be trapped into believing "It's always brighter before the dark", but I consider this to be nonsense just as it's nonsense to think it's darker near dawn, as the sun nears rising. Everybody knows it darkest in the middle of the night- with the light off, with the shades drawn, with your eyes closed.

I know my situation. It sucks. I know it could be worse. I know I'm not alone. I also know that given the opportunity, I would never trade my ALS with anyone. Not even Charlie Manson. You see, this is my disease. It's my fight, my destiny. I lead my army of supporters to whatever awaits me, even if I'm rolling forward at 4 miles per hour. Just don't try to get in front of me.