This period of being unemployed and attempting to be declared disabled by the US Government has been wrought with enlightening moments, as well as some heavy duty downers. I have been spending some time with my thoughts during our vacation, and now while we’re home recovering, trying to find a way to say what’s on my mind in a succinct sort of way. I mean, I know what’s up there but it’s akin to snippets of flashes of phrases that I haven’t been able to string together. I don’t think that’s a result of the foggy brain because I’ve been back on the little pink pills again (actually they’re not pink anymore – they’re orange). At any rate, I’m going to attempt to jot down some of the thoughts and minor little epiphanies. Bear with me…
When I was first diagnosed, of course it was devastating, but through that devastation I tried to convince myself that there was some reason or huge purpose to my ill fortune. That is utter and total bullshit. Complete hogwash. It’s right up there with the thought that I’m a better person because I have this stupid chronic, progressive, debilitating, shitty ass disease. I guess I told myself those things in order to try and live through the initial devastation. And I guess I continue telling myself those things in order to try and live through the lasting devastation. At some point in the past 2 years I thought I was maybe coming to terms with it all…in reality, I’m not. I have never even come close to what is referred to as acceptance. I most likely never will.
I have no faith, no hope, no dreams that there will ever be a cure… at least not in my lifetime. I have no hope that I’ll ever feel any better than I do right now on this day. Ever. This is as good as it is ever going to get. That sorta sucks to realize. Of course, I have realized this on many occasions but then shoved it to the back of my mind because surely there must some purpose. Right? Surely there is. It can’t just be that I’m completely unlucky and unfortunate and am sick for the rest of my life. Nope, it can’t be that.
There are so many “feel good” clichés that we tell ourselves or more frequently, others tell us. You look so good. You are strong. You are brave, you are a better person. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. I am none of those things… or if I am, it’s because I was before the dreaded beast took up residence in my head. There is no way I look so good… I’m a middle aged fat girl with faneck (think cankles of the neck), saggy boobs and two tummies. I’m not really all that strong… or brave. I have no choice in the matter. I either keep moving or die. Strength and bravery have absolutely nothing to do with it. Think about it… really think about it. What about this disease makes me strong? What choice do I have? Just because I get out of bed when I feel like shit or because I go to a game using a cane so I won’t miss out on life… those things don’t make me strong. And brave? WTF is brave about my life? Nothing. It’s not like I’m facing the front lines in some third world country war or anything. I have yet to figure out what about my existence has made me brave. And lastly, I am not a better person. In fact, I’m probably worse. My language has gotten horrible, I’ve gotten more selfish, I’ve told more people no than I can ever remember telling no. I think more of my self than I do of others. I know it’s necessary but those things in no way make me a better person.
Ok that’s enough for now… there is more. Lots more.