I often write here about life’s positive moments. Sometimes I write about wanting life to be positive, about wanting to be positive myself. I do this because I truly aspire to living a life of joy. I honestly want to dwell in the hopeful. In bliss. In rainbows and unicorns.
But just because I write in this fashion, it does not mean my life is without its challenging moments of upheaval or disappointment. I break down and I muddle through more often than you can imagine. Sometimes those spells are short. Other times they linger like odors from a fish-fry. I don’t enjoy those times, and because I live with someone, it isn’t much fun for him, either. In fact, I think my downward spirals are downright befuddling to Mister. During those spells, he has said that he doesn’t get it – that I write about sunshine and roses and yet when life pulls me to my knees, I in no way resemble what I share in these missives. And he’s right.
For several months now I’ve been battling health issues. This isn’t a secret, as I’ve written of my challenges many times. What I haven’t always shared is how incredibly depressing this battle can be. I haven’t told you about the moments when I sit alone and cry, wondering if my fine-fettle days are behind me. Worrying that my health will continue to decline, as my body just doesn’t seem to be returning to familiar function. I’m no spring chicken, I admit. But I’m not so old as to treat this as any sort of “norm.” And even though I understand intellectually that my brain isn’t getting its full quota of nutrients and minerals necessary for good mental health, I am not always able to layer that intellectual understanding over my depressed feelings. Those are the times that get me. Those are the times that rattle the fault-lines of my confidence bedrock.
Maybe my genetic code is just not as well-written as I’d thought. Maybe my good health indicators, while fantastic for so long, have served their time and are now ready to retire. I don’t know. And though I understand a bit about physical function and health, it doesn’t mean I’m able to wave a magic wand over myself and fix me. God knows I’d like to, but that isn’t one of my gifts.
So yesterday, when I had a bit of a set-back on the health front, it got me down. Yes – I’ve experienced improvement since seeing the healer. But I’ve not experienced improvement upon the improvement. Capisce? I guess I’m so frustrated that I needed to lose it. And so I did.
Today I see the healer again, and I’ll relay all this information to her, as her approach is comprehensive and she’s quite caring. I’m also trying to picture my friend, Jolene. I saw her not too long ago and she told me about going through a particularly challenging health crisis that had her on the most limited diet imaginable for 6 solid months (not to mention meds and other means to a healthy end). I’ve only been following my limited diet (not nearly as harsh as Jolene’s) for a couple of weeks. I keep telling myself that if Jolene could handle her time, I can handle mine. And I keep forcing out thoughts that tell me Jolene may simply be stronger than I. That ain’t easy either, as those thoughts are loud and persistent.
Please forgive me for whining. This is not my journal. It is a blog. I know this. And though I seek to write honestly in these missives, I do not aim to complain incessantly. Some days I’m just a little more fallible than others. I hope you understand.