22/02/2020
Have you started over? I know I have! Let's hear your story in the comments below! I'd also be grateful if you would share this post with your friends so we can grow together as a community filled with love and support!
My story is very long, and one of my biggest complaints of being in therapy is that it is so incredibly difficult to find that one person you truly connect with so you can start to heal. Sadly I've been through so very many therapists, psychologists, and psychiatrists trying to find the *one*. Some were just flat out awful, a couple were decent, and two were incredible, but sadly both of the good ones left practice. I say this all because every time I met someone new, I had to re-tell my story all over again. It became exhausting. I contemplated many times just giving up, but I knew that I needed to press forward. So I did. I now have another therapist who, so far, is more of a sounding board. Not quite what I need, but its what I have and I'm too tired to tell my story again to someone new. And so, here I am. Starting over.
I'm starting over.
I had a career that I loved with every inch of my soul. It fit me. Like a glove, as the saying goes. Every morning I woke up excited to go to work, to make the world a better place. Ok, so maybe some mornings I was grumpy and exhausted from working 48 hours straight but I still wouldn't have have given it up for the world. But as the years passed, my anxiety started eating at me. Telling me I wasn't good enough, that the whispers behind my back meant this was a place that, maybe, I didn't belong. I tried harder to fit in, to do good work. But it all became so overwhelming. I wanted nothing more than to be respected like everyone around me. To be needed. But even with my efforts I didn't feel like I was wanted. Depression set in. Days when I was called to work and be around others I slapped a smile on my face and was able to do the work I so very much cherished. But when I was alone the thoughts crept back into my mind and chiseled away at my soul. That is where the feeling in the pit of your stomach comes from. The darkness within you that has taken control and you have no way to defeat it. This went on and in the midst of it all I injured both of my shoulders. Labrum and rotator cuff tears and torn biceps tendons in both arms. I had surgery on one shoulder, though the doctor was incompetent and missed the biceps tendon injury and diagnosed my other shoulder three different ways. I had to beg workers compensation to see a second doctor and that was when I found out about my biceps tendons. It was a mess. My job wanted me at work, I wanted to be fixed and back at work, but my body healed slowly and workers comp was not easy to deal with. I returned to work for a short period of time wherein I was faced with work that had backed up and additional work that had sat during my former bouts of depression and anxiety. Psychologically things went downhill for me and even opening up to my bosses about it resulted in no sympathy. I left my dream job, having several years of therapy and medication already under my belt. Sadly it wasn't enough to save me then. My depression engulfed me.
Out of absolutely necessity I found two jobs to try and pay what bills I could. One was sales, minimum wage, and not super helpful for whatever resume I would put together for the future. But it was at least a little income. The other was a job I also had back in college, working for a similar company, and I fell into it immediately with passion and fervor. It soaked up my depression and anxiety while I was at work and I felt more, like me again. However triggers were all around me and once again, when I was alone, the darkness of depression engulfed me and the buzzing of anxiety stung me like a hive of angry bees. During this time I somehow found the strength to leave my fiancè as he had become emotionally abusive.
Starting over.
I met my ex and we hit it off immediately. He seemed to understand my weaknesses and was there to support me when I faltered. Things were good, until they weren't. One day he found me passed out on the steps to the front door. After trying to rouse me, which took over 20 minutes, he and a neighbor drove me to the hospital. I don't remember how long I was there, but I remember life thereafter. For the first week I was bed bound. Then I had to use a walker, cane, or the wall to get to the bathroom. Then as the weeks progressed I could make it to the sofa. Then the kitchen. Then the front stoop. Then the picnic table outside. Then the short end of the driveway. And after so many months I was finally able to walk to get the mail from the mailbox. My first trip to the grocery store was almost a disaster. I refused to use one of the electronic carts so it took us forever to shop. My weeks were filled with trips to my primary care doctor, the infectious disease doctor, the cardiologist, and the neurologist. I had 20+ migraine days a month, barely any short term memory (especially the first few months), horrible brain fog, muscle pain, joint pain, nerve pain, dizzy spells, vertigo-like spells, extreme intolerance to heat, whole body weakness, issues focusing, and widespread fatigue that left my body feeling like noodles. I also had something called post-exertional maliase which meant that any kind of physical or mental activity would be returned twofold as extreme fatigue. I couldn't look at a computer screen or read a book for months. The illness that I was finally diagnosed with was called chronic fatigue syndrome, also known as myalgic encephalomyalitis. I had other symptoms too, I'm sure I'm forgetting them now. I always had to write down everything for every doctors visit for fear I would forget something. My ex took care of me for 11 months. Then he said no more. I had to leave. So I left.
I had to start over.
It is now exactly 3 years, to the day, since I was diagnosed with CFS/ME. I am much stronger now than I was, and, honestly if you had told me how I would be now back when I was first diagnosed I wouldn't have believed you. But, just because I don't look sick doesn't mean I'm not sick. Every day I still struggle with depression and anxiety. Every day I struggle with fatigue, pain, and post-exertional maliase. I spend much of my time in bed. However, if I go out in public I put that happy face back on-- but this time it's because I so terribly miss being normal and doing normal things just... feels... so... good. So about that starting over thing. I moved 4 hours away to a small town where I didn't know a soul. I'm completely starting over from scratch. Even being disabled, and yes, I use that term because it describes what I am now, I am still trying to stay positive. It's not easy. But I'm trying. My first foray into applying for disability ended with the judge agreeing with my doctor that I was sick with a disabling condition but she felt I could still sit on a stool somewhere and take tickets for a job. So, I was denied. A ticket taker. 8 hours a day. She must have missed the part where I can't sit or stand that long. So, I'm back in a holding patterning. I'll be reapplying again one day. In the meantime I'm trying to do what I can with my strength each day. It may only be a few hours, and post-exertional maliase is biting right at my heels, but I'm starting over. And I'm trying not to give up.
