I am sitting here in my living room, in pajamas, in need of a good, long shower contemplating the meaning or relevancy of my life. This has been my unwanted routine for the past few days. Heck, who am I kidding…past week or two! I won’t even begin to try to explain the level of pain and the relentless fatigue that overwhelms me every single, long, drawn-out day of my life!
I read articles, blogs or posts about how to stay positive or how they try to remember that others have it worse off than them. I’ve been there done that. It is easy to remember there are people out there that have it worse than me. It’s not so easy to remember to stay positive when every time I try to get off the couch to wash dishes or do a load of laundry, my legs and back scream at me to sit back down…or better yet, lay back down so it takes pressure off my back. Then of course, my hips get mad at me because that’s too much pressure on them. So out of frustrating and pure disgust that I am laying on the couch, yet again…I get up. I get up and fight the pain that wraps around every fiber in my body and fogs my mind. I try yet again to accomplish something, ANYTHING…to do something that doesn’t add to the clutter slowly growing not only around me, but in my mind.
I feel like a superhero if I can actually manage to get the dishes done or make dinner or ensure my family has clean clothes. Then I am reminded of how very little that I really did when I see dust collecting on pictures or the soap scum that is building on the shower. Keeping the house clean is really my only “job” and I can’t even do that! Hell, I can’t even make sure I shower every day…how pathetic is that!? I try so hard to just complete the smallest, simplest of things, like take a shower and I am wiped out for the rest of the day. So, the choice is shower or dishes and “maybe” a load of laundry. And if I get that done early enough…I might be able to whip up some pasta and garlic bread for dinner. It seems to me the past few weeks have been a slow decline to a pathetic existence. When asked my plans for the day…I can think of hundreds of things that I want to do…that I need to do. Even things that don’t require a lot of energy, but can I remember to do them…NO! I can’t even remember to put them on a damn list so I don’t forget to do them.
I remember, barely remember, the me that would wake up excited to go to work and see what new challenges awaited me. I was even more anxious to come home and tell John about my day. Now my day consists of couch, bed, maybe a shower and that is IT! Remember to change my patch, take my pills and go to my dumb ass doctor appointments. Oh yeah, and go to the pharmacy only to be told that “those kinds of drugs” cannot be ordered anymore. That those kinds of drugs are usually prescribed for dying cancer patients. Which I wish I was some days, that way I would at least know what to expect. I keep waiting for the day that the right combination of drugs will somehow make me feel better…will somehow let me function to a minimal level. I also wait for the government to set a date for my disability hearing so I can go into a room and bare my soul and tell complete strangers to their face how very little I can do anymore. I am 41 fucking years old for god’s sake! I feel like I am a prisoner in this 91 year old body and there is no way out. I am screaming for help, but no one can hear me.
I look around and I see those that love me and they are the only things keeping me here on this earth. They are the only reasons that I battle this god-forsaken body every day and make myself get up and try. I keep trying and feel like I keep being knocked back down. How many more times can I get back up…even for them?
I usually will write a draft for my blog and go back and edit it and edit it until it’s perfect. I take things out that I think are maybe too “real” for the world…for friends and family. Today, as I write this with tears running down my face, I have decided to just hit publish and say fuck it and let it fly. This is me, take it or leave it.