What compels me to write tonight is illness related. Go figure. The way illness affects me. Today was just awful. I got eleven hours of sleep last night. Sounds amazing, right? You would think so. When you're a sick person though, sometimes that's not enough. Sometimes enough would never be enough. Eleven hours. I woke up exhausted. I took a nap only four hours later. If it weren't for needing to write, I would be in bed now. I woke up to the worst brain fog imaginable. Cotton stuffed in every nook and cranny. Not a thought to hang on to. Terrible vertigo, caused by low blood pressure. Even when I was sitting, the room was spinning. Awful nausea. I can't even describe how dreadful I felt. I would have given anything not to be me today. Then to make matters worse, when you're already feeling vulnerable, you enter the mystical world of Facebook. The book of fakes. Where "my kids are perfect," "my house is perfect," "my tires got slashed, but hey, the sun is shinning! #lifeisgood #godisgreat #nothingcouldkillmymood" is totally normal. Oh, and butterflies just shot out me arse. Welcome to social networking. Where being real is complaining, and hey, no one likes a grumpy puss here. I too fall into the fake category now. It was when I got too many private messages, or not so private messages, saying, "yeah, we all hurt," or "what's going on with you, are you depressed?" No, it's real life. I thought you added me as a "friend" to see what was going on my life. M.S. That's what's going on in my life. It runs my life. It chooses everything for me. Will I shower today? Will I be able to get out of bed? Will I need assistance making my food? I dunno, ask M.S. What will I do with my life? What will I be? What am I contributing to society? I dunno, ask M.S. Today was that very question. The one that got me feeling even worse. "What will I do, M.S.?" What are you going to let me do? I ran across a friend's blog tonight. So many comments, and so much hooplah over it. "You're such a good writer." "Amazing, so well done." It made me feel like crap. He is a good writer. He's a great writer. My mom doesn't even read my blog. It's boring and well, for most people, it has too much complaining in it. I want people to appreciate my work. I am a makeup artist and I look at armatures who do better makeup than me. Then I feel like crap. I look at moms who freaking Pintrest their kids meals. Who in the hell makes snowmen sandwiches? Yeah, not me.
I have had this sick desire, ever since I was a little girl, to be the best. At what? It didn't matter. I dreamed big, and I knew I could be the best at it. Turns out I couldn't. Aside from being sexually and physically abused, I was told horrible things. "That's unrealistic, that isn't going to work." "You've never done anything in your life, why would you be able to do that?" These voices were a part of every day life for me. "They say I'm stupid, why would I ever be able to get an A?" "They say I'll fail, why would I even try?" They drummed them into my mind so much, they now live rent free in my head. These voices are as much a part of me as M.S. is. I'm Jewish, though. Stubbornness is written into muh gosh darn DNA. Why do I still try when they tell me otherwise? I was always told I was ugly and worthless. Now it's my job to be the prettiest, be worth the most. There are much prettier girls than me. Do I still try? Yeah.... I'm dumb, and I still want to be the smartest. In all things I do, I always strive for perfection. I won't be satisfied until I can be the best. Which is totally unrealistic, so why do I try? Beats me! I lay in bed tonight, telling my husband how frustrated it makes me. I don't wanna blog anymore because so and so did it better. If I can't be the best, or at least do it well, I don't wanna do it. Same with makeup, same with school, same with everything. It hurts my feel bads to be so passionate about something, try so hard at it, and then see someone effortlessly doing it better than you. I dunno, maybe it's just me. I am not jealous. I am the LEAST jealous person I know. I am totally happy for these people. I love to see people excel. I'm just mad at myself that I couldn't be one of those people. It's silly. It's a waste of energy, but there it is. I tell my husband all these things, afraid he'll laugh at me and tell me it's silly. He doesn't. He says he feels the same way, too. Except he IS one of those people you look at and say, "why can't I do it like that?" He's amazing though, and always knows what to say. "Yeah, I read ---'s blog, too. It's a bunch of crap. He doesn't talk like that. He's just trying to sound smart by using big words. If it helps, I'll buy you a thesaurus so you can sound fake, too." I love my husband. "Your blog isn't to complain. It's not to be flowery and try to appeal to people who want to pretend they're smarter than you. Your blog is about living through disease. It's realistic and it's about life. People don't say you're a good writer, they say, 'thank you for understanding, thank you for writing, it helps me so much.' It's about helping others, not trying to place yourself above others." It's true. It's why I started writing. To show non sick folk what's it's like to have the carpet pulled out from under your feet. To show sick folk that they're okay saying their back hurts. That's it's freaking okay to be sick! We don't need permission from kids, spouses, family members, or any nay sayers. We don't need to prove we're sick to people who say, "but we're all tired!" We didn't ask for this. We would trade anything in the world to be rid of it. We're not lazy, we're not making excuses. We were randomly picked, like any child born deaf. We had no say in the matter. No one chooses to be blind, no one chooses Diabetes, no one chooses chronic pain. THAT is what I blog for.
"Well, I may not be the best at anything, but I'm gonna be the best at being sick. Thanks, honey."
 |
| Yeah, I think I'm getting pretty good at this sick thing! |
No comments:
Post a Comment