Anger… and Such.

In the spirit of honesty, I must admit that things have been pretty rough lately. Not only have I been experiencing a major flair in symptoms, but my emotional and mental states seem to be running amuck. It’s really disheartening and discouraging to have made so much progress only to backslide so far. I’ve been having some difficulty walking again, having crashes again (which I’ll write about in a second, but basically it means my body shuts down completely), struggling cognitively (especially with reading/writing – which is why I haven’t posted in almost a month), having tons of pain, etc. …and then there are the emotions and head games I play with myself. Battling the constant depression and anger has left me overwhelmed, exhausted, and struggling to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I know it’s there, but I just can’t seem to see it right now.

So back to the crashes I mentioned. Often times, it happens just like this: I’m lying on the couch or sitting in a chair when all of a sudden I feel something “pop” inside my head. Yes, it actually feels like a tiny explosion in my brain. The pop is then followed by weird nerve sensations, like extreme heat or extreme cold, that make me shiver or sweat uncontrollably – which is then followed by my extremities completely shutting down, leaving me unable to walk or lift my arms. To top it all off, I lose my ability to speak (at least in any audible, coherent way), and my head becomes too heavy for my neck to support. These crashes happen to varying degrees, but anytime it does happen, my mind always jumps to the worst-case scenario.

“It’s happening again.” “I’m going to keep getting worse.” “Is this the time Lyme disease wins?” “I’m never going to get better.” “I hate that this is my life.” “I just want to be better!”

As I lay there, being fed medication, praying and waiting for the torment to pass, I feel helpless. I am weak, and scared, and unable to reason with myself that things will be ok. Beyond that, the crashes are unpredictable as to when they will happen. I can be doing great when all of a sudden I become incapacitated. Will I be at the park? Will I be at home, alone? Will I be able to get the necessary help I need? Every time I have a crash, regardless of where it happens or how quickly I respond, it means days of barely functioning. It means using the cane or wheelchair again. It means being 30 years old and relying on my parents or husband for just about everything. It means that I am one step further away from health.

This is where the anger comes in. You see, for the first six months of my treatment, I was angry. Sure, I dealt with depression and sadness and loss …but the anger – it overshadowed everything. I was mad that I had Lyme disease. I was mad at the countless doctors who nonchalantly misdiagnosed me. I was mad at my friends and family for not fully understanding what I was going through. I was mad at God for allowing me to go through it. I was mad that there wasn’t a clear path and that insurance doesn’t cover long-term care. I was mad that I couldn’t work, that I couldn’t run or crossfit, or drive myself around. I was mad that my body had betrayed me and that mind had followed. I was mad that I had lost who I was …and that I had lost my freedom. I was mad that my future was uncertain (even though I knew it never was). I was mad at myself for not handling the diagnosis and treatment with grace and that I had become so completely consumed in my own suffering, I couldn’t see the hurt all around me. I was just – plain – mad …at everyone and everything. Mostly though, I was mad because, deep down, I knew there was no one and nothing to really be mad at. This is life. It’s not fair and it’s feels impossibly hard at times, but I understand (at least some of the time) that those bad times, they bring a sweetness and a balance to the good that wouldn’t be possible otherwise.

After the first six months, things didn’t get easier. In fact, in a lot of ways they got much harder. The longer I battled on, the further from health and my old life I felt. What did change though, was the anger. It became less and less consuming. I was learning to find acceptance and peace with my situation. That doesn’t mean that I didn’t still have moments where I took out my frustration on the undeserving and that I wasn’t hostile and rude at times. It certainly didn’t meant that my struggles with hopelessness and depression didn’t take over occasionally. It just meant that I was starting to see beyond the anger that had hijacked the caring and compassionate person I once was before my diagnosis (or at least that I thought I was/tried to be).

The break from anger lasted until recently. It wasn’t perfection, but it was progress. I guess that’s what has caught me so off-guard this last month or so. As my symptoms began to reappear and the side-effects of the harsh drugs began to take their toll on my already broken body, that old enemy of mine started to creep back up again. Anger. Only this time, I am starting to see it from a different angle. Thanks to a new counselor I’ve been seeing to try to deal with all of this, I have been painstakingly examining the “why” behind my anger issues. I am constantly digging to find the root cause. Truthfully, it has been terrifying to examine myself that closely without over magnifying my imperfections or placing harsh judgments. As I began to look past my instincts of being impossibly hard on myself though, and as I begin to see myself through the eyes of grace, I am able to start to see the truth – or at least what I believe is the truth. The reason I think anger has become my knee-jerk response to my current rough patch, is because of fear – fear that I will never get better, fear that my life will be over(both literally and metaphorically), and fear that I will never be the person I once was.

I know, I know. Fear seems like a pretty obvious place to look, but for me it really isn’t. Unfortunately, anger and fear seem to go hand in hand for many people. I’ve seen it countless times …I Just wish it hadn’t been so hard to recognize in myself.

That leads me to the here and now. The tornado of negativity that I had become, taking down everyone in my path, has dissipated. Rather, I have forced it to dissipate. By facing my fears of this disease and what it can do (does) to me, and by making decisions based on love instead of fear, I am starting to move past the anger. I am not perfect, but I am sincerely trying. I hope my poor husband and parents can see that (they are beyond patient with me and I am forever grateful to them). While I may not be able to choose everything in my life right now, the woe is me thing has taken its toll – so I’m done with it. I can only imagine how “done with it” the people around me are. So many of my loved ones (friends and family) are going through incredibly difficult and trying times themselves. I don’t want to be someone who leaves wreckage in my wake. I don’t want to be so consumed in my own anger and selfishness that I lose sight of what really matters. I want to offer hope, love, and support as opposed to bitterness and spite. I want to offer encouragement, instead of being an emotional drain. There is no shortage of negativity and hate in this world. I don’t want to add to it. I want to be a part of the positivity and kindness that can change this world. Instead of expending all of my energy consumed by illness, I am going to fight to live each day in love instead of fear. We should all be so lucky.

 

P.S. Happy Memorial Day and thank you to all of those who have so bravely served our country …my brother included. We owe you more than our gratitude.

 

“All of the world is full of suffering. It is also full of overcoming.” -Helen Keller