Today is a write off… 

Today was very much ‘one of those days’. Last week was a busy week, and it’s most definitely caught up with me. I had no choice but to push on and butt heads with my conditions, and now I’m paying the price. Notice how I said push on, not push through? That’s because to me, pushing through is impossible. I can never push through. I have several conditions, and they will never ever be through with me. One of my pet hates is when people post in support groups about how they’re terribly ill, but they push through and so should we! Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy that they can. But they don’t seem to realise that there can come a stage when pushing through is just not possible. Pushing through morphs into something new, something harder. It becomes pushing against ever encroaching walls that are ready to push the life right out of you. Like a super hero in a cheesy eighties film, where the walls are closing in. Only much less glamorous. Last week I was lucky. I managed to get done what I needed to. But there’s many times when that’s just not possible. 

This being one of the days I was beaten, ironically whilst wearing my Wonder Woman nightie

But I digress. Back to today. Today was one of those days. The days where my health not only beats me physically, but mentally and emotionally too. I was stuck at the bottom of a pit of exhaustion and there was no way I could escape. The energy had sapped out of each and every part of my body, leaving me struggling to function. Worse than that though, I was drained of any emotional stamina I may possess. 

Usually on a bad day I try to fill my time blogging, or chatting with friends online. Today I did neither. I sunk within myself and wallowed in my hole. Instead of having a little cry and feeling better, I sunk into a maudlin limbo. Yet I had no reason to feel sad. This isn’t the first bad day I have had. They don’t normally leave me a weeping mess. Today however. Today did. Randomly and without notice I would find myself overwhelmed by sadness, tears streaming down my face. To the point I waited hours to write this blog as I couldn’t face the idea of crying yet again. The tears though, had no substance. For I had no reason to be sad. Or so I told myself. 

I had had a good week. I’d managed to get done what I needed to. I survived. On top of which, I’ve been given the go ahead for my surgery and some writing opportunities have come my way. This is all positive stuff!! But that’s the catch twenty two. I’ve found that when the good things start to happen is when we can feel the lowest. It sounds crazy, but it’s true. 

Let’s look at my list. I managed to get the things I needed done. For me that’s a huge achievement. However, I cannot help but see all the things everyone else manages to get done and feel belittled at my meager accomplishments. I cannot help but focus on the vice like grip my health problems had upon me, even whilst I was trying to do the things I needed. To reflect on the sinewy tendrils of pain that weave throughout my body, forever encasing me in a prison of pain. My operation was ok’d. While this is a great step forward in my treatment, it’s also terrifying. The thoughts of being put to sleep, or worse kept awake, and having my insides fundamentally changed fills me with dread. I struggle enough on a daily basis, how will I cope with recovering from an operation?! Some writing opportunities have come my way. Another exciting and wonderful development. More fear and self deprication. What if my writing isn’t good enough? What if I cannot cope with the work load? What if they change their mind and see me for what I really am, a bored cripple (I’m allowed to say it, I am one) scribbling an Internet diary? 

Absolutely everything has a sting in the tail when it’s processed by my head and heart these days. You see that’s what disability has done to me. It’s stripped me of my self confidence and filled the void with doubt and anxiety. Most days I can ignore the niggling thoughts in my head. I can dispel the creeping darkness inside me with the love and light provided by my family. But not today. Because today I just didn’t have the energy. So today I cried. I was sad. Then I cried some more. Because sometimes I just need to let it out. 

I would love to tell you that tomorrow I’ll feel better and be back to my sarcastic self. But honestly, I don’t know if I will. My health is flaring and exhaustion is gripping me like a vice. But I can tell you this. It’s ok to have days like today. It’s ok to feel exhausted and sad, and as though you’ve just had enough. Feel those emotions, hell wallow in them for a while if you need to. But remember that tomorrow is a new day, and while we can’t guarantee it’ll be better, we know it’s not today. Today will be over soon, so just get through it however you need to and know you’re not alone. 

Remember, it’s just one of those days. 

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*Please note this post contains adult themes and possible triggers. 

I don’t know how to start this blog. Three, four, five times, I’ve begun typing and deleted each and every word. Tracing back on myself until I get back to blank, white, nothingness. Ironic really, because that night that’s exactly what I felt. Nothing. A huge wave of calm came over me. My brain switched off. My heart switched off. Suddenly all I had was nothingness, and my pills. 

I have chronic illness. I love every day with extreme pain and exhaustion. More than any pain I could possibly describe to you. In every single joint of my body, all the time. Sometimes it’s a dull ache, resounding through my joints like the hard beat of a huge base drum. Other times, it’s as though nails are being driven, hammered into each single joint. There’s many different ways the pain manifests. But it’s always there. Always clawing at me. 

The exhaustion makes you feel like you’re caught under a thousand lead weights. Tied to you. Pulling at you. Holding you down. Like every day has been a marathon run, with no time to recover. I often liken myself to a flat battery. From the outside I look like every other battery. But I’m not. I’m useless, running on empty and desperately trying to get through the day. 

But more than the physical pain and exhaustion. There’s the emotional. To see friends move on and leave you, because you couldn’t make it one too many times. To be in relationships where you’re told you’re a burden. You’re useless. You make life harder. That just talking to you is depressing. That doesn’t feel good. To see the disappointment in your child’s eyes when once again it’s a no to the park. It all adds up. It makes you forget the good times. 

So, back to that night. That night was in between Christmas and New Year. I was estranged from my family. My Grandfather had just passed away. My daughter was staying with her father. I had just been told I wasn’t worth loving by someone who had been in my life since I was a child. I was alone. Completely and utterly alone. Not only physically, but emotionally and mentally. I truly felt I had nothing and nobody. Nobody except my beautiful girl, but she was staying with the other half of her family. Her family who were healthy and could give her more than I ever could. 

I was in a dark place that night. A quiet place. An empty pit of nothing. No sensibility. No words of wisdom filtered through the dark. Nobody was there to tell me my girl needed me. That things would and could get better. That though I will always be ill I wouldn’t always be so alone. 

I thought of my Grandad. Of seeing him laid in the mortuary. The pain of life no longer etched on his face. He was at peace. I fixated on the peace. No more pain. No more heartache. A ‘better’life for my girl. Something inside me tripped. 

One hundred and seventy five. They went down like candy. I felt nothing. Handful. Gulp. Handful. Gulp. Handful. Gulp. 

I didn’t know how many I’d taken. That was what they told me. The lady that turned up at my house. Hoisted me off to get checked out. I didn’t call them. Someone in a support group for my health issues figured it out. She phoned. For that I’m very grateful. Though ironically, it wasn’t needed. The tablets I’d chosen only served to cause severe symptoms of the health issues I already had. They would never have done more than that. 

Perhaps it was fate. Or perhaps my Grandad was looking over me. Loving me and protecting me from myself. I choose to believe the latter. 

When I think back on that night my heart jumps into my mouth and my chest tightens. I can’t believe I thought it could ever be right to leave my darling girl. I ant believe I was unable to see the beauty and love in my world. Still now it brings me to tears. I’m so so incredibly relieved of a my tablets I chose the ‘wrong’ ones. That I’m anal enough to only choose the one. That my friend deciphered my cry for help. 

Starting the next day I made changes in my life. I decided that if something wasn’t working for me, it stopped. No more punishing myself for not being enough. No more going for the wrong guys because I didn’t believe I was worthy of the right ones. No more of all of it. 

Years on and things are completely different and exactly the same all at once. I am still in pain every single day. I am still exhausted. I still often feel useless, a burden. But I am not alone. I am married to a man who loves and supports me to the very best of his ability, as I do him. I have a small group of true friends and family, who support me in what I can do and don’t hold what I can’t do against me. I have more children, my beautiful girl has wonderful siblings. I live my life as best I can. I laugh and love, I cry and don’t feel (too) bad about it. The difference between now and then is the difference between night and day. 

Though I will always regret what happened that night, I’m grateful for the changes it forced me to make. I looked critically at my life, and at the things that weren’t working. Then I changed them. It ashy easy, but with each change a piece of me returned. I became more than just my illness. I found my life, my family and my happiness. 

Sometimes you have to hit rock bottom to work your way back up. I will always be disabled. I will always be in pain and exhausted. But now I know I can still love myself, and be loved. I deserve happiness, and so do you. 
*If you of anyone you know are struggling with suicidal thoughts please contact your doctor or nearest hospital. 

U.K. Call Samaritans: 116 123 

U.S. Call National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-237-TALK

Broken Promises.

Sometimes I actively hate my body. Today is one of those times.

Yet again it has let me down. It has not lived up to its end of the bargain. It has promised me something and delivered only disappointed and pain.

It probably seems odd to you that I speak of my body in this way. Like an entity I do battle with. But that’s how it is for me. My body is my enemy. My monster in the night. My prison cell. My torture device.

I must be kind to my body. I must treat it with respect and not push beyond my limitations. I must rest when I need to and eat well, take my medications and generally do what I can to appease the beast. But what’s the point?

What’s the point when I do everything right, but still my body betrays me????

I do everything right yet I still end up with tears down my face.

The point is that I have to try. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be joking about it all again.