There are times when we compare ourselves to other people, but we really only see what other’s allow us to see. Behind closed doors there are often tears, pain, misery, sadness, loneliness, dysfunction, and a host of other issues. My official list of symptoms is 27 complaints long and it has just embarrassing stuff on there. Things I don’t even share on The Life Of A Music Monkey and if you have been there you know I share some very intimate details of my life. Yet even I am guilty of looking at someone and wishing I “only” had their problem instead of “all” mine. Like I don’t know that we all have our battles to fight. As if I ONLY have one symptom. It is that piece of me that kinda hopes that other person isn’t doing as bad as I am…and so I want to be doing as well as I imagine they are. The mind is a crazy place to be sometimes, bit even I come back to the reality that we all have our low points and when my pain is at it’s worst, I wish the most to be someone, anyone else who isn’t in my pain. Still, I bet I would be surprised if I ended up in someone else’s skin and had to deal with their problems be it health, financial, emotional, or otherwise. I have enough problems to worry about. I think that I can just be myself and that is OK even if it sucks sometimes because of pain. I could be lonely or mistreated, so I am really blessed.
Through my journey I have worked to achieve a new normal. A new way of looking at things. A new way of living my life. Still, I revisit my “before time” too often and I feel like I have a wasted life. I used to be smart and witty and a singer and a worker and pretty and fun and I and least never lost hope that I would have a good life if I worked hard enough. At this point, I am 36, I have no home to call mine, I have no job, no car, no money. It makes me wonder if I do the things I do because it is something to keep me busy until I die. I love helping people, I love being useful to others. But when the help is done and I am alone again, I hold a vigil for the me that once felt like I could be something more than this. Whatever I am now. I feel like a tool. I get used to fix other people’s problems then they can go lead a productive life while I die a little more inside. There are people who have it worse than me, so I know I should try to just be happy, but everyday I wish I had come off of that table with a simple mind that didn’t feel trapped inside of a body that tortures me incessantly. I suppose my work here is not done. I will continue to bear the burdens of those around me until they finally weigh me down enough to give up. I miss my life. I miss my autonomy. I miss living, because this IS NOT LIVING. I simply exist.
This is a point in my journey I could not have predicted. I have never considerd myself a “happy” person, but I have always felt that I had some direction and motivation.
The loss of my job, my memory, and some of my higher functioning has left me feeling robbed. Chiari has stolen the things about myself that made me feel like my life had value to me or made me feel valuable.
The hard part is staying transparent. I began this journey so that those who came behind me would have a record of the trials I faced in case theit situation was similar to my own.
I have a complicated history that involves some childhood horrors and now I have lost my coping mechanisms (work, work, work, work, work). So, at my neuropsych evaluation it was recommended that I go into long-term therapy with a PhD level psychologist because now I have to work through my current life change and wade through my past so it can be fixed.
That sounds reasonable. Still, on the inside it drives me into an anxiety attack just thinking about it. I don’t want to re-live that part of my life, but in a way I already am. I feel just as trapped and hopeless as I did when I was a child, but with the added bonus of having my own child and remembering independence.
Slowly, the enjoynents of my life are fading. I am checking in less often. The neuropsych eval stated that my intelligence surpasses 99% of people in my age range. At times, I have the clarity to see that I am severly depressed and I am getting worse quickly. I recognize the trail of red flags that my mind is desperately flinging all over, anywhere someone will look.
That is why I have chosen to keep my battle as public as possible (without incriminating anyone or tarnishing anyone’s reputation) because it is time to stop being ashamed. We are not ashamed of diabetes, heart disease, stroke, broken bones, or any other health problem. We should not be ashamed if our brains aren’t functioning well either.
So, this is why there have not been any updates. I haven’t cared enough to do any. I have barely cared enough to get up every day and pretend like I want to be here. I hope that as I go through treatment, this cartoon with flourish and once again be what I created it to be. A mockery of the crazy things people aay to me.