b a r e

writing is healing. ask me anything.

Tag: illness

Death

Yesterday I wanted to die. I was at the end of my rope, and ready to let go. Six months. I’ve had six months of bacterial infections in my gut, diarrhea, anxiety, depression. Six months trapped. Six months of trying to be strong, trying to rally, faking it, forcing myself to stay productive, running on empty, watching my body slowly deteriorate before my eyes. I’m falling apart. I have nothing left to give. I’m done.

Yesterday I was scared of myself. Over the years in battling my depression and anxiety I have often wished everything would just stop. I wanted to disappear. Wanted to not exist. I needed a break, an escape. Temporarily. I didn’t want to die. I needed relief. But yesterday was the second time in my life, second time in six months, that I was ready to go. I didn’t care about anyone else’s feelings anymore. The friends whose hearts would break. My husband’s trauma. The destruction it would cause my daughter. I just couldn’t do this anymore. I was so scared.

I’m a coward. I fear pain. I’m in pain, and I just can’t cause myself more. I fear failing at suicide. Then having to deal with the repercussions. Guilt and shame. Everyone else’s feelings. Not being trusted. Being judged. By myself as well. So I didn’t do anything. I took my anti-anxiety pill. I called my sister and I sobbed and sobbed. I medicated it away. But is it, away? Where did it get tucked into? When will it slip out again?

I’m tired. I’m so tired. I’m tired of being tired. I’m tired of this physical illness. I’m tried of my brain’s lies – which are so hard to ignore. I’m tired of monitoring my diet, dealing with the constant pain, taking medications, taking supplements, watching my body disintegrate. I’m tired of hoping that any minute this will turn around. I’m tired of being disappointed and devastated every time I get worse again.

Today is better. Today I have a little more in my tank. How long will it last? When will the floor fall out beneath me again? It’s so hard to trust any improvement. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. Any minute I can crash back down to the bottom. Instead of watching for the fall I’m going to be grateful that right now I’m not there. Right now is here. Here is…ok. I’m grateful for ok. I’ll take it. It’s not happy. But it could always be worse.

pneumonia

I’m trying to understand why. Logically it doesn’t make sense. My brain is not panicking. But my body is. The sensation of not being able to breath, that’s the inflammation in my lungs. The nausea from the antibiotic that grips my throat is chemical. The stomach cramping (tmi diarrhea) also just a side effect. The exhaustion, that’s my body fighting this thing.

So why the panic. Why does my mind so easily wander over to old thought patterns – get me out of here, I don’t want to exist, make it stop. It’s just a combination of symptoms. All with their own flavor of discomfort. But a week of discomfort. A week of this misery. And I’m losing it. It’s wearing me down. It’s frightening my husband.

I can’t get comfortable. When I am beside myself with anxiety that is always my primary complaint. I’m so uncomfortable. Uncomfortable existing. I didn’t want to be anymore, it was all too much. I don’t want to be here now.

But this is temporary. This is an illness. This isn’t going to last forever. And yet, my body is responding as if it was. Panic. Feel like I’m barely holding on.

Help me.

Got to hold it together. Got to act as if it’s all okay. Don’t want to frighten people.

Help me get through this. Make the time pass faster. Please.

sick and tired

Tired. So completely, utterly tired. Limbs heavy. Body sinking. Mind struggling to focus. Heavy like laying at the bottom of the ocean crushed by the weight. Heavy like 100 suffocating blankets. Heavy like pinned down by Sisyphus’ boulder.

The heaviness is centered in my chest. That’s where the virus settled down. 5 days of body wrenching coughs. 5 days of not being able to sleep because I wake up unable to breath. Today is the first day I’m not coughing all the time. But I can still feel the pressure, the obstruction in my lungs. An itch I can’t scratch. An uneven surface, abrasive breathing. This illness has really dragged my mood down. The racing heart, the pressure in my chest and around my throat, mimicked my panic attacks…and so resulted in panic attacks. The weakness in my body, the loss of appetite, the nausea, mimicked my depression. I had no energy to do anything but sit there. And sitting there, alone, in a darkened room with the curtains drawn, is a ticket to the bottom.

I forced myself to sit outside, in the light. Even if I still couldn’t do anything but sit there, at least I have fresh air. I forced myself to focus on specific tasks. Take myself out of the helpless stuckness. One moment at a time, get through this, get through to the other side of this shaky bridge.

I finally got my appetite back yesterday. What a relief. To be able to enjoy the taste of food again. To enjoy the process of eating, what a treat. You don’t realize how miserable eating can be until you’re forcing yourself. This will definitely help with my energy. Now if I could just sleep through the night. Piece by piece. I’m putting myself back together. It’s surprising how much mental pain can be brought on by physical discomfort. But I’ve made it through the worst of it. And though it’s a slow, tedious climb, I will get back to solid ground.