I think we are all made of such widely varying characteristic s that it really can take many many years of practice and experiences to be who we were created to be. There is an ideal balance. It is elusive though. And sometimes can only be realized during or after hardship. This is ironic because in our civilized society we try as hard as we can to stave off hardships, despite the fact that they are growth opportunities.
My anniversary was last month. No one else knows the date nor would I have anyone else remember it with me. I still always recognize march 13 almost like the anniversary of the death of a very close loved one. I have been plugging away for 9 years now.
My illness affects me more severely than any other person I've ever met with the same affliction. I seem to be made of two minds, or segments. Deep inside physically , I'm like a porcelain doll, delicate, fragile, needing specific care and gentle handling. Psychologically, I'm like G. I. Joe barbie. Strong, tough, ready. But eventually my physical limitations naturally reflect in my mind and soul and I end up having to re-examine what it is to be me. I have to embrace the delicate and fragile parts, despite the fact that I don't want to.
Like everybody else, I cannot know what purpose my specific life serves in His grand plan but, I want to play my part as fully and lovingly and mindfully as possible. Many times I am unable to be who I want to be. I am unable to speak the way I want to speak or to physically do things I want, even need, to do. The greatest faith is to know that these times too serve a purpose for Him and He means me to be on this path.
One of the greatest frustrations of my severe fibromyalgia is that other people in my world don't have any idea what life is like for me. What I endure is uniquely my own. If someone breaks a bone, has a cast or surgery, chances are that they know someone or at least of someone who knows exactly what that feels like. When people, have flu, or strep, others can relate exactly since they maybe had it last year or in the last few. But, the only people I know who share my illness, I met purposefully after the onset of my disease. Before it, I never heard the word before.
And so, I am very, very alone in my struggle. Maybe struggle is the wrong word. Maybe fight is a better word but, to look at me day to day, I fear you would not think I'm much of a fighter. Fighting implies strength, enthusiasm, endurance, courage. I face most days with courage, but also with physical weakness, severe fatigue, confusion and foggy headed. Dr L helps me bear out this aloneness by reminding me that Christ was utterly alone in the garden of Gethsemane. Of His 3 friends there, none could stay awake and pray with him or comfort him even though he was clearly distressed and in need of company. He was abandoned by them to fight His fight alone. And He prayed that the cup be taken from Him. I have prayed for that too. I don't want THIS life. He also prayed that The Fathers will be done. And, in His footsteps, I have prayed that also. Living in such isolation with more active people all around me is sometimes so bittersweet. I am genuinely happy to see love and delight in the world. Yet, I can participate in so little of life's joys without very high physical costs that it is hard not to feel anger. So, I now allow myself to feel it more than I used to. It would be so much easier if I could blame a specific source, but there is none. So, sometimes I pretend there is one (the one varies depending on the day or whatever) in the privacy of my home and beat pillows, cuss like a sailor, and slap counter tops with oven-mitts.
I am glad for the fact that I usually over prepare for my needs instead of under preparing. Yesterday, for the first time in some years, I found myself without my wheelchair and unable to walk. The doctor performed an unplanned biopsy during a routine visit. Even though I walked in fine with pokey, (my sweet quad-footed, yarn-bombed cane) I could not walk out without help. This can have the effect of being demoralizing if I let it. So, I have to focus on the fact that I gave those people a real chance to help someone in true need and remember from my pre-illness years how good and gratifying it feels to be able to do that. It will be a while before I go out without my wheelchair again. My strength can desert me before you can count to 20. It has many times. And when it goes, because my brain is responding to pain signals, so does some of my cognition. This is why I do not drive. Let me tell you what a hard thing it is to give up driving under the age of 50.
Dr L is helping me understand some of my dreams so I can really get down to how I am thinking and dealing with this illness in my subconscious mind. There is so much grieving to do. There will always be. I have lost almost everything that makes a person independent from others. I have lost pride in work well done. I have lost hopes and dreams for myself. I have lost my identity, my understanding of myself.
And so, I am now working on becoming me.
No comments:
Post a Comment