Posted on May 4, 2016 in Blog |
May 3, 2016
Today, I was going to write another inspiring, hopeful blog about #Lyme disease, encouraging all the patients out there that they too can heal.
I have an entire spreadsheet of quotes from Lyme Savvy that I want to write blog postings about to explain why we said what we said. I started a Word file with the first two days of blog postings. And then today happened.
I woke up in pain. It was hard to get moving.
I went to work and tried to update some software that took two and a half hours and I am still not done because it didn’t install where it said it was installing (and I have a professional who can back me up on that, it wasn’t just me reading something incorrectly). I had two computers and couldn’t use either one because of this damn software malfunction.
Then, I left to go to the Lyme doctor’s office. I got some TLC there, but it is emotionally and physically draining. Jeff has been driving me everywhere since Dad died. I’m not a safe driver right now for long distances.
The crying from grief attacks me at inopportune moments, like when I am on the road, or in the shower, or on a phone call with a client, or before we go to bed and the house is silent.
The phlebotomist fussed at me because I am dehydrated and it took her four sticks to get the iv in. She always gets me on the first try, even when I am dehydrated.
Jeff picked up lunch for me so when I got out of the appointment at 2 pm. I am so grateful for this man in my life.
I came home instead of going back to work because I was crying too hard from grief about Dad’s death.
I came home, turned on my laptop and it told me the Start Up Disk is FULL and it wouldn’t work. I spent three hours lying in bed, clearing files from my computer to try to get it to work. THREE HOURS.
I started to write this blog piece, trying to pull up the file from my thumb drive and the file is GONE. Now, it’s not one of the millions that I deleted for THREE HOURS because I purposely put it on the thumb drive. But it’s not there.
Then I called Mom, because I was going to call her starting at 4 pm and then I got distracted or teary, and then I forgot. Then I would remember, but her phone was busy. Then I forgot again, mired in the laptop muck. Then I remembered and she told me some issues she was having and I was crying on the other end silently because I don’t know how she even gets up in the morning without her best friend of 64 years.
I hung up the phone and started to write this blog and here is what you get.
My therapist told me I need to be ok with not having a lesson to learn, to just be in the experience. It’s the journey that is the lesson, not the destination. She said I need to just be in the grief. I need to not worry about writing something inspirational, or hopeful, or tidied up nice and neat.
“…I would like to beg you… to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.”
My therapist says Rilke is making the point that the answers are not available in the usual way that we might pursue the answer to a logical question because the circumstances of our lives are not based in logic, they are based in the process of the pursuit of living.
Rilke goes on to say: “Keep growing quietly and seriously throughout your whole development; you cannot disturb it more rudely than by looking outward and expecting from outside replies to questions that only your inmost feeling in your most hushed hour can perhaps answer.”
My therapist is wise and correct, but I am still angry.
Lyme disease and grief suck big time.
I’m afraid this grief won’t end; the depression will continue. I won’t get out of this. I will stay crazy like I was with the Bartonella. I don’t want to go back to that point. We have ALL worked too hard to get me here, before Dad’s death illness and death – after our #vacationofalifetime #thanksmomanddad trip to Turks and Caicos.
I want to keep healing and this definitely does not feel like healing. It feels like drowning. And it feels like crazy. I don’t do crazy well.
Before Dad’s illness and death, I was getting treatment from my LLMD that made me feel as though the depression was being extricated from my CELLS, the molecules. It was BEAUTIFUL It was lifting. I was BREATHING. It was new, refreshing, exciting. The start of a new year, a new life, healing. REAL HEALING.
And now I am mucking in the shit of grief. And I am still angry.