MY HERO

I am going to admit, I've been depressed these last couple weeks, but on Wednesday I reached the lowest point.  I've had three hospitalizations in the past for "breakdowns" so I am much too familiar with the difference between just being in a bad mood and reaching the danger level of depression. 

When you feel this way, it's hard to think logically.  But somewhere along the line, I got it into my head that when I reach that level, I must reach out and call someone.  It was extremely hard to do that in the beginning.  It's hard to admit that you have lost control.  It's a pride thing, but it's like a basic human desire to be in control, and have others think you are in control.  Making a phone call and asking for help is very difficult, comparable to speaking in public for some people.

So on that day last week when the tears started flowing and I couldn't stop them, I knew what to do.  One of the things that helped was having my cats in the house with me because not only did they respond to my sadness, but I knew I was not alone.  Cirrus, the one we've had the longest, stared at me with those eyes that asked, "What is this strange thing you are doing?"

I wanted to escape his stare, so I retreated to my bedroom where all three of our cats joined me.  Cirrus came right up to my head and planted himself next to me, willing to stay as long as it took.  The other two knew something was up, so they just found a cozy part of the bed and went to sleep.

I took the phone with me, and reached for it three times before I made a call.  I thought about who might be available, who might be working or busy, who might understand and talk me through this episode.  I would pick up the phone, and then get scared and put it down.  Finally of all people, I called my mother.  Here I am, 52 years old, still calling Mom. 

But she was the right one.  She knew me best, knew without asking, knew what to say, knew what to do.  And she took action and immediately made plans to come and spend the night.  She didn't make me feel stupid or childish.  She showed me that she cared enough to stop what she was doing and come to my house; a 75 year-old woman driving one hour away in the winter weather. 

She did much more than that as the night went on, and all the next day, but that would take a book to write.  She is not and will never be the perfect mother figure.  She is a little crazy sometimes herself, dealing with being a new widow, and finding her own lost childhood, but the fact is that she still tries to do her best.  I have been angry with her and forgiven her a few times, and sometimes I think we may have grown up together. 

But the thing she did right was to show me that despite the mistakes, she will always try her best to be there, and I always knew that she loved me more than her own life.  She has made incredible sacrifices to "save" me, help me, comfort me, give to me, and love me.  Other family members don't understand our relationship, but they also don't understand my illness. 

It seems to me that as a grown daughter I am the one who should be caring for mom at this point, but with Fibromyalgia all the "shoulds" get thrown out the window. I "should" be a better wife, mother, sister, friend, daughter. I "should" have a cleaner house, a good job, a better schedule, the list goes on and on. But all I can do is accept what I have been given and do what I can. God will have to pay my mom back for all the sacrifices she has made. All I can do is humbly say "thanks Mom".
I don't know why I get depressed.  I have medicine, therapy, family, friends, and whatever I need to get through each day.  Even though I have disorders, God has provided me with what I need to get through each day.  I lost my dad over a year ago, and I can't imagine losing my mom.  I pray that if that day comes, God will give me the strength to continue on. 

I wish that everyone had people like I do, especially those with chronic pain and disabilities.  It's hard to ask for help, but remember that you are allowing someone else the opportunity to fulfill their purpose when they are helping you.  It's not a fun position to be the one receiving help, but it's the way life works.  One of the greatest gifts you can give is to help someone without making them feel helpless.

"The greatness of a man's power is in the measure of his surrender."
............... William Booth, founder of the Salvation Army,

PRIORITIES

One thing I've noticed lately is that it seems like I have less time than I used to.  When I thought about this I came up with a couple reasons.

First, it's winter and of course that means shorter days.  The mornings are darker, and it gets darker earlier, so of course the time of light is shorter.  This affects me tremendously, not like in depression so much, but in fatigue and lack of motivation.  Maybe this happens every year, but I've noticed it more pronounced this year. 

The good news is that with it being nearly the end of February, this season is on it's way home, so the short days will soon stretch into longer, warmer spring days. 

The other thing I realized is that having Fibromyalgia really cuts into a busy life.  Of course those who have it, already know this, but I want to put it into words for those who do not have it.

It starts in the mornings.  It takes longer to get up and out of bed, and to get moving.  I used to tell my Avon customers not to expect a phone call until 11 in the morning, and now the time is after 1.  I always promise myself that I will force myself to change that, but so far I've not had much progress because I end up having a bad night and it starts all over again.

After I do get moving, I barely get out of the shower and I'm exhausted again.  Sometimes, I'm so tired I am dizzy and actually have to lay down again.  Not necessarily to sleep, but just get that never-quenched feeling of rest.

I do have some good time in the afternoons and most evenings, but when I look at the whole day I don't accomplish much.

After thinking about all this, I realized that not having so much time has made me focus on priorities.  I have to think about what is important and what is not important. 

I've come up with some important priorites:  Health, Family, Financial, Mental Well-being.
The things that are not important:  Fights with my husband (or anyone else for that matter), listening to idle gossip and chatter, computer time wasters, some TV shows, house cleaning extremes, etc.

So I'm working on the thought of approaching things with the question:   Does this activity fit in an important category, or a non-important category?

It's sort of like if you knew you only had a month to live, what would you do, and what would you cut out of your life.  I think having severe Fibromyalgia has given me a chance to focus on the important things.
I believe doing this blog is one of those important things for my well-being, and hopefully for others.

I'd like to get your thoughts on this in case I've missed an important thing, or an unimportant thing.
Thanks!

 “I must govern the clock, not be governed by it.”

― Golda Meir

That's Normal

I have been sick this last week with sinus, cold, flu-like symptoms.  I don't know what it is officially, but I do know that there is a difference from the normal Fibromyalgia symptoms and having some type of virus.  Of course when you have Fibromyalgia, a simple virus is a catastrophy because it is like a second army attacking while you are still fighting the first one. 

What bothered me the other day was something that my poor husband said without thinking.  He called from work and asked how I was doing.  I told him I was sick, and he responded by saying, "That's normal".  I didn't have the strength to argue, and inside I knew how he felt.  It seems like it is always something, so when I say I'm sick it doesn't cause any alarms to go off. 

When a healthy person gets sick, they might go to bed for the day, they might get treated special with chicken soup in bed, etc.  But when you are already having constant problems, being sick is no different than any other day for those who live with you.  In fact, many times you feel like you have the flu, and you look it too.  So in a way, I'm expected to continue to do everything I can like I always do.  And when I don't, I get funny looks, like where's supper?  Or did you do ANYTHING today? 

My family is tired of me being sick.  My friends don't want to hear me complain.  My doctors just fill up the pill bottles and shut me out.  I suppose I could and should suffer in silence.  But I'm a truthful  person, and I never hold things in.   If I did'nt explain how I feel, no one would know why I am withdrawn, silent, not moving, angry, irritable, not answering phones, etc.  Either way, it's not a good situation. 

I've read about saints who suffered and even continued to labor while suffering, and never complained.  But I'm not a saint.  I want help and support.  I realize that no one can do anything, but sometimes a kind word, a gentle touch, a smile of understanding is all I need.  People who live with you get tired of doing things like that because it never ends.  And I don't blame them.  I'm not sure I could live with myself if I wasn't confined in my own body. 

But I did a good thing today for me.  I called a friend who does understand because she has something very similar to me.  And we leaned on each other for a while.  She built me up, and I made her feel better.  We know that God has given us to each other as friends for this very reason.  In fact, I found a description that fits our friendship that goes something like this, "True friendship is one soul in two bodies."  That's how I feel about my friend. 

So when you wear your family out, don't forget about your friend who has the other half of your soul.