This started out as the saddest post I’ve ever written. It gets better, much better, but the first part still makes me cry. (Mom, skip to the epiphany.)
I sometimes forget I’m an interesting person. People ask what I’ve been up to and my answer is basically nothing. We used to go out all the time. We’d see friends at least twice a week, more often three or four times. We’d go to plays, baseball games, concerts. We’d eat dinner out nearly every night.
Listening to friends talk about going out made me realize how much is missing. In the last couple years, I’ve really lost something important to my identity. Where did I go? Do I go out less because I feel worse or because I am more aware of how bad I feel?
It is no longer a matter of pushing myself. The last couple times I’ve tried to meet friends for brunch, I’ve left the restaurant in a woozy daze, shaking uncontrollably and feeling like the world is on its side.
Our car is in for a tune-up at a garage literally five blocks from my house. I’m trying to figure out if I can get there before it closes at 5 and what I’ll do if I can’t. It is a gorgeous day. I want to be outside, walking and enjoying it. But I feel horrible.
You know I hate to dump my complaints on you. The problem with finding the positive twist is that I don’t know if there is one. I miss myself.
Creating my Facebook profile, I was surprised by how many interests and activities I could write. There was a sense of deception… Do activities have to be something I’m currently doing in my life? I do them when I can, but that isn’t too often.
Have I become an “I can’t” person? If I have, it is with reason. The last six months have shown me that I can’t make classes that I sign up for, that I have to lie in bed while my friends play Rock Band, that I can’t make it to parties, that I cancel on friends at the last minute. Everything proves to me that I can’t do it. That’s not Kerrie. At least, it wouldn’t be if I had my say.
I am so sick. So much more than I’ve ever let myself believe. I want my life back. Hell, I’ll take any life these days.
When I feel bad, I feel awful. When I feel good, I feel tremendous. There aren’t in-between push-through-it times right now. As is my pattern in life, my headaches, dizziness, wooziness and nausea occupy the extremes.
I’m writing this sitting in my hammock, which I hung after I got home from picking up the car, going to the library and getting coffee. A shower energized me today, though it usually makes me feel worse. I only have a mild headache. The wooziness is slowly creeping up, but I’m still happy.
I’m not lazy or moping. I do whatever I want or need to do as soon and as long as I’m able to do it. I think I am an “I can’t” person. But almost exclusively when I truly can’t!
The last two days have been particularly bad. Wednesday started out great, but three-hours spent at a new neurologist’s office was exhausting. The appointment was great, but it wore me out more than I have been in a long time. I woke up Thursday with such a bad migraine I canceled my appointment with a different new neurologist. I also skipped the baseball game Hart went to with some friends. And the migraine was with me until 11 a.m. today.
My outlook is much improved over this morning’s take. I don’t get to do many activities I want to do. I feel bad more often than not. I am much sicker than I’ve ever acknowledged. These things suck.
Still, I have a life that I love: An amazing husband, wonderful parents and family, friends who haven’t forgotten about me even though I’m not around much, a beautiful house, trips to incredible places, a blog with a huge readership and readers who care about me.
I enjoy this life most of the time. This morning was bleak, but I still have hope that I can live a happy life in the face of illness. I just have to remind myself of that once in a while.