The Pain Of Progress

It hit. The colossal flare I knew in the back of my mind I was marching toward but somehow thought a positive attitude could prevent. See I did it again. I've done it lots of times. Convinced myself my behavior causes direct consequence to my health. To a small degree it does, but in actuality it's resoundingly the other way around. I do think it's normal to question "living sick" every so often by challenging the status quo. Normal, even if the outcome is terribly devastating to any sense of progress a person tries to make. So here I sit all pissed off and bent out of shape I because I am being horribly punished for...trying to improve my life.

The absurdity makes me so angry at this stage in my journey. Real, normal, healthy life is just out of my grasp, a feather's whisper away from my reach. It mine as well be miles, though. Closing the gap on living sick and living like a human being with chronic illness is a long and arduous road. Some days I don't think I can possibly take another step. Today is one of those days.

But just like the need to ruffle myself up and polish both my dining room table and toenails to perfection passes, this misery will wane too. Nurturing myself back to balance will nullify a significant amount of the progress I made on my road to self-improvement. Once I balance out again I will be able to pick up a few feet of the mile long progress I prayed was ahead of me. And I'll keep going. I always do. I figure at the rate I'm going I just might have this Fibromyalgia thing down by the time I'm 92.

Thanks for joining,
Leah    

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Back In The Saddle

Image
Well I got back on the horse. What else am I going to do? Take a long walk off a short pier or go play in traffic? So here I sit ready to try again. Raw, insecure and uncertain, but here I am. As I sort through the disillusionment in my mind I realize many of the sanity-saving tools I employed along the way got dropped in the dust a while back. I fell into my old behavior patterns. I allowed negativity and demands to infiltrate my sense of responsibility to myself. It's a big job, to regain my lost ground. I can do it, though. Not all at once, perfectly or on the first try, but it can be done. Of course this requires a significant amount of isolation and reflection. Accepting some will grumble over the selfish action of me taking care of me. Realizing that is not my problem. In fact, expecting myself to get a handle on my issues and then resume a level of interdependent living is exactly why I wound up back here in the first place.  I have finally accepted I cannot go back....
Read more

Waiting On the World to Care

Image
This blog has sat silent for many moons. For eight full ones, more or less, I've been imprisoned in an exile of my own creation. Initially I was so angry about my health relapse I didn't know what to say, other than to hurl epic amounts of fury at my keyboard. I had no solutions, no answers, and nothing positive to contribute. So instead of spewing hate all over the permanent cloud of internet technology, I donned the hair shirt of self-flagellation and turned that anger inward. It's been a horrible, terrible, no good, very bad eight months. As I got sicker and sicker, I got madder and madder. The angrier I became, the more I sequestered myself. I refused to talk about my problems or how I felt. It seemed pointless, like it didn't matter. Nobody could do anything about it or begin to comprehend my reality. There was just me, an isolated island of misery, who wanted to do anything but talk about being an isolated island of misery. But nobody understood that either. I...
Read more

Incurable Fog

Image
One day while driving down the street I forgot where I was. Mind you I just left Target and was headed toward home so had certainly been there before, but in that instant I couldn't have told you where I was on the planet if my life depended on it. I had to pull over and cry for a while, gnashing my teeth and pulling my hair over the fact that I was thirty years old and becoming so sick with something so unfixable, I was literally losing my mind. Flash forward a few years to when I had settled into the reality of living with fibromyalgia. Working retail was a painful necessity that was quickly running its course, so I set about trying to figure what on earth to do to earn a living. Naturally, this required me to take a Spanish course at the local community college. Not because I wanted to earn money off my non-existent Spanish 1 skills, but because I desperately needed to know if my brain was capable of learning and retaining new information, and I took French in high school.  I wo...
Read more