I have no words. But I need to rant. One last time. Then, I promise I'll quit complaining. I had high hopes for a change. I left my doctor's office last Tuesday in high spirits. Hopeful that the fact that my blood tests came back lower than ever meant there was an actual, tangible, scientific reason for me feeling so lousy all the time. And hopeful that the fact that my doctor acknowledged this, and prescribed a stronger dose of my medicine would help eliminate that feeling.
Today, I am without hope. I am questioning. Is this to be my life now? Is this what I will suffer with day in and day out for years to come? I can't accept it. I am not my body. But, I am a prisoner of it, just the same. I can't be me inside this body. I haven't gone for a long, lift-my-spirits, therapeutic run in weeks. I don't have the energy. I find myself moping. Doing the bare minimum just to get by. I give myself little tasks, trying to motivate myself. Things like getting the laundry done, vacuuming the family room, weeding the front yard, taking my kids to the pool. These things exhaust me. I discover I have a rapidly growing list of things lift half finished or undone.
Today, I should be cleaning, packing, getting ready to leave for our family camp out tomorrow. Two days ago, I was excited. Normally, I love camping. Today, I dread it. How can I go do things I used to love, when all I want to do is crawl into a cave and hibernate for the eternities?
I look inside my mind and discover morbid thoughts. I discover myself having envy for people with terminal diseases. People with cancer. People who can see an end to their misery, and can therefore look forward to death.
My sickness is not that serious. Nor is it terminal. But it is changing my life. So, as I see it, my life as it were, as it was, is over. And I don't know how to begin again, living as a different me, inside a limited body. I mourn my old self. I mourn the mother I used to be...could have been. I mourn the loss of the children I will never bear. I mourn the loss of my fertility. I mourn the wife I was....and pity my family, my husband, for what they put up with everyday. I mourn the friend I used to be. The sister and daughter I was. I am not that person anymore.
I am living in a fog...and all I can see is me, whithering away into nothing.
12 comments:
I'm so sorry, Sherrie. I really hope that they are able to figure things out.
Sherrie, this is your blog and you may rant on and on all you want. It's totally acceptable to me and should be to anyone reading your blog. We are all human and we all have challenges, frustrations, pains and sorrows. I admire your ability to so openly share your real struggles and hurts. If I could give you a magic pill to make it all get better I certainly would. You are in my thoughts and will be in my prayers. If I lived closer I would come snatch you away and we could mourn together. That's what friends do :)
I hesitate to leave a comment, only because I am walking into this having been navel-gazing for the last six months. So I'm not familiar enough with your condition to have any specific thoughts or advice.
I just wanted to say that I've felt a similar sort of envy of people with terminal diseases and whithering of self. It has been an issue that has been moderately resolved with anti-depressants, but will likely bother me to some degree for the rest of my life.
Chronic illness just tends to go hand-in-hand with depression. Talking it out--blogging it through--is healthy. All of which is a long way of saying rant as much as you need to.
Don't give up! Maybe a new doctor with a new perspective could give you new answers. I am so sorry you feel like this. I KNOW how it feels and it is not a good place.
I have no words, either. Wish I could give you a real hug. It's okay to mourn what might have been. I hope the docs find out what's wrong soon.
love you for sharing this.
Bleh... girl. That sucks. I don't even know how to make it better. But I love ya.
I know nothing I can say will make anything better. But I'm thinking about you and wishing things were different.
I'm really sorry Sherrie. I wish I could make it all better for you. I'll be praying for you.
Sher, this just really sucks! I'm so sorry. And I'm sorry that saying those words doesn't really help anything at all.
I agree with the other sentiments here though. It's good that you have an outlet like your blog to give voice to your frustrations. Don't keep them bottled up because that doesn't help either I'm sure.
Hang in there and know that you are loved and that people are praying for you! Hugs!
I'm sad for you. They'll get it figured out eventually, but this is a context where "eventually" is an ugly word. Hang in there.
Gosh Sher,....I am so sorry you are in such despair. That has to be such a terrible place for you to be in right now.
When I think of you, I see your great smile and cute laugh.
I hope you are able to find that again.
Keep searching for answers...through different doctors, friends, family, prayer....whatever it takes to bring back the woman YOU want to be.
we are here for you in whatever way we can
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