promisesandprosperity

[promisesandprosperity]

Some Exhausted Rambling

Anyone who has ever dealt with chronic health issues, physiological or otherwise, understands what it feels like to be a Sick Person.

Even with the relief and validation that comes along with finally getting back test results that confirm that you’re not imagining all the pain and that the exhaustion isn’t just you being lazy, it has a specific confirmation that leaves you with a brick in your stomach. It weighs you down all the same, despite having the weight that was lifted off your shoulders when you found out that what you have wrong with you actually has a name.

For the years I drug myself through the daily grind with no medical assistance, I could admit a few of my diagnoses, but for the most part, I just disregarded it as “This body sucks” and roll on with whatever it would entail to survive.

But I had the ability to pretend I was mostly okay. I could pretend that all the old test results weren’t true anymore. I could pretend that my sed rates weren’t more than double what’s considered healthy, or that my white blood cell count wasn’t elevated, that my joints weren’t wearing down, that my heart wasn’t wearing itself out to the rate that it was going to last into middle age and not much further without medical intervention, all among other ways my body felt like it was falling apart.

I only recently got a doctor. And while the excuse of “no insurance” was convenient enough, that went out the window a few months ago. It wasn’t until a new symptom, as trivial as it was, decided it wanted to present itself that I headed into a fresh state of panic and decided enough was enough.

I had to stop trying to run from being a Sick Person.

Now, unless you are A Sick Person, you will never understand the distinction. Hell, even the doctors that know your history, that ran the tests, that write the scripts, they can never understand unless they themselves are dealing with the same problems.

It means having to carry around a small pharmacy with you any time you leave the house. It means having to have something to remind you what to take and when because your memory is slipping more and more, though, you aren’t sure if that’s because of the medicine or because your brain that feels so broken is just giving up on it too. It means fighting your insurance for meds that work, to get referrals to the specialists you need. It means no one quite getting that you have limits that seem so low, especially on your bad days, and always having their comments about it.

It means almost never being taken seriously by any medical professional, even as they read back the results of your latest scans, the last blood panel.

I can’t even put into words how grateful I am that my new primary does take it seriously. I don’t know if I’ve ever been so lucky. She’s thorough, she’s understanding, all with a great bedside manner. Hell, she’s even been on the front line of battling my insurance to try and get me the right meds that they’re not wanting to approve. And when one of them is $1,200 a month, you really can’t afford to not have it covered.

Downside is, not only do I get to be Sick, but I have to play catch up. And part of that catch up involves facing having a few of your disorders and diseases being misdiagnosed. Not that the problems aren’t there. But that now I get to face the possibility of something entirely new being wrong, and having to cope with that. It’s like finding out you’re sick at all all over again.

I was first diagnosed with a [physical] chronic health issue when I was fifteen. Fifteen! As incompetent as the doctor I went to at the time (he couldn’t see the mischappen mess that was my spine after half a dozen xrays of it!), it felt weirdly relieving to finally understand that the pain in my knees and hips and back and anywhere was in pain wasn’t some weird post-growth growing pains. He would go on to give a few other diagnoses, refuse to listen to me when he fried to put me on certain medicines that I knew I couldn’t take.

Can you imagine what it feels like to be a Sick Person before you even have your own driver’s license?

I miss retail. I genuinely do. I miss the thrill of the sale. I miss getting to learn and try new product. I miss getting to rave about things I love, getting to sway people’s opinions and see their face as I explain something new for them to try that seems just perfect for them. Yes, I loved retail. But retail doesnt love me.

Because retail doesn’t just involve the sales. It doesn’t just involve rambling on and on about how great something is and how you know that they’re going to love it. It involves dealing with shipments, it involves cleaning, unpacking, organizing, standing on your feet for too many damn hours that even a healthy person should have to stand on end.

It’s been a long time since I have felt as physically weak as I do right now. But I’ve also been combating what I assume to be a cold. Which is never just a cold for anyone who’s Sick. You never just catch a cold or an ear infection. And don’t get me started on things like the flu. Sure, it’s hard on everyone, but imagine the extra complications that come with being immunocompromised? Sure, I should have at least called my doctor for something to alleviate something that I’m dealing with now, but I’m still far too heavily in the mindset of not having anything but myself to help me.

I hate having to admit I need any sort of help.

While there’s nothing wrong with needing help, seeking help. It purely comes down to a matter of pride. And while my pride shouldn’t take too hard of a beating, anyone who has experienced life while Sick knows exactly what it entails.

And now I wait, letters from the specialists sitting nearby with appointments with them somewhere between the scheduled times for other exams and scans and visits with my primary, some of which will determine the potential for surgeries.

So here I sit, typing all this redundant nonsense that was inspired by so many people suddenly posting about their own experiences with chronic illnesses. My eloquence is evading me, and faulty memory has robbed me from all my original plans for what would be in this post.

[promisesandprosperity]

An Introduction

This is a repost from the blog I originally made for this. But I have since lost the email to access it, so I’m just going to make things easy on myself and remake it as a sideblog off my main that will remain private until further notice.

Nearly anyone who has known me for any remotely extended period of time is well aware that I’ve never really been one to shy away from discussing my experiences with mental illness. All it takes is a bit of trust, and the floodgates of talking about what life is like with chemical imbalances on a basic level burst open. This normally equates breaking down mania as being too much energy, an uncontrollable libido, and such a high level of confidence that honestly no one who has lived could have ever earned. Occasionally, I’ll dip into the effects of psychosis, some of the things that I have flashbacks to, or how it wasn’t depression that inspired a 13 day stay in a hospital after eating handfuls of pills like candy and making my arm look like it met a cheese grater.

Before I delve further into this too short of an introductory chapter of my life with a brain that doesn’t want to function correctly, I would like preface it with a few facts to make the context a bit more clear.

I have been diagnosed as having Bipolar Disorder (Type One), PTSD, and Borderline Personality Disorder.

My family line includes the above mental illnesses, plus a few others, such as (unipolar) depression and addiction.

I have, frankly, a shit ton of chronic physiological health problems in addition to the above mentioned psychiatric variety. These include autoimmune disorders, neurological issues, and a couple skeletal abnormalities. There’s also a few things wrong with the ol’ baby maker, but instead of delving into the details of things like my basically non functional ovaries, we’ll all just express a gratefulness that, regardless of my desire or lack thereof to become a mother one day, my particular line of genetics are ending with me.

There’s a curse that comes with being hyper aware while being mentally ill. You get forced into the passenger seat of your life, stuck in too long of a cutscene that you have no control of while it all plays out. You can be completely and fully aware that what you’re saying or doing is wrong on varying levels, and you have no means to stop the train wreck that you played the conductor for. You want to throw your fist into your own face as words pour out of your mouth and take effect around you before you even become aware what was said. You hate yourself for the intrusive thoughts that come while you snap at people that only want to offer you genuine words of support. You know the voices whispering nonsense behind you are all in your head, but you keep looking behind your shoulder anyway. You’re dragged along and trapped behind your eyes as you drink too much, fuck too much, fight too much.

This level of self awareness brings out plenty of other symptoms, such as frustration at the feeling of having no control over anything (because if you can’t control yourself, you have no say over anything else happening in your life) and an overwhelming guilt that burrows deep into your chest (“If you know it’s wrong, then why don’t you stop?”). Being aware during all the bad decisions doesn’t make laying in the dust of them afterwards any easier. That’s when you’re left to nitpick every detail, every word, and all you can do is cringe and scream and try to stave off another panic attack because how in the world could you have done that?

It helps bring good old self loathing to a whole new level.

It doesn’t help a lot of ill feelings I have for a number of people that have come into, and often left, my life either.

If I can begin to forgive all the ill done to me (intentional and otherwise), maybe I can finally begin to forgive myself for some of the shit I’ve drug myself through. And hopefully, that awareness can finally finally be good for something in that I can know exactly what I’m moving on from, instead of always trying to run away from everything.

I could easily fill a novel or two to even begin to touch on any of the above disorders that I mentioned having, the mistakes I’ve made, and all the things I wish had played out differently. And, hopefully, this blog will get filled with as much of it as I can squeeze out as strings of words in mostly coherent sentences. I’ll write about the varying highs of mania that bring out everything from productivity to downright self destruction, overwhelming flashbacks of things like having a knife pressed to my throat before my age was even double digits, what it’s like to be startled in the middle of a class by the voice of someone you know is currently hundreds of miles away, the lows of the downswing into weeks of being unable to get out of bed due to depression, and a bit of everything in between and beyond.

As I bring this first (of hopefully many) post to a close, I do want to say that this isn’t a cry for help. I want to make it abundantly clear that, at least at the time of writing this, I am in a pretty alright place mentally. And I want it to be known that this isn’t a way of me whining “O, woe is me!” I’m well aware that there are plenty of people with harder situations, who have a much more rugged past behind them. Personally, I believe experiences are relative, and I loathe people who try and make suffering competitive.

I created this blog with the intention of letting out a lot of things that have been kept bottled up for way too long. Maybe someone can find solace in reading my words because they’ve experienced similar things, felt the same pangs in their chest over things the world calls minuscule, but felt like it was the end of the line. I’m writing and posting these things as a means of maybe, hopefully working through some of my problems, recording my journey, organizing a few of my way too hectic thoughts, and leaving myself more open and exposed than I ever have been, even with people in my closest of circles. It’s so that maybe I can pull myself out of the traumas of the past and all my bad decisions, and finally put my eyes to tomorrow.