Stalled

I been holed up lately, because there’s not much to say right now. Yes, I’m still sick. No, I don’t know if I’ll ever be completely well. No, there’s really no clear path or prognosis for me. Yes, it sucks. The uncertainty and grind of being sick for so long has started to wear me down a bit emotionally. Since I can’t change the fact that my future is not predictable or stable, I have to change the way I look at it. This is euphemistically called ‘adjusting my expectations. What a loathsome phrase. We all know it really means ‘tough shit, your life is not the same, it’s never going to be the same, and you’d better fucking get used to it’.  After four+ years of Lyme, I am stuck in the ‘almost well’ category. Why? Who knows. Maybe I’m not trying hard enough. Maybe my body reacts to things differently. Maybe there are other factors in my environment. Maybe I’m one of the unlucky few that just can’t quite get well.

It doesn’t really matter at this point, the adjustment has to be made. I’ve been working on accepting that I managed to get a serious illness since the onset of Lyme. Lyme keeps moving the bar and fucking with me. I get better, something pops up, I get sick again. What is truly mind-boggling is how obtuse I can be to the cycle.

It’s a level of stupidity that I can only ascribe to both Lyme and my own inclination to turn a blind eye to bad things. The signs are all there: I forget dates, I’m exhausted, I cry at nothing, I can’t concentrate, my neck hurts, my hands throb, and my teeth hurt. The same damn things every time and still I’m blindsided when I have another relapse.

After that, I accept the fact that I have to hoard my energy, and always plan for the worst. It makes my social life unpredictable and my working life difficult, but I do it, and without too much fuss. Emotionally, though, I struggle every day with adjusting. This is where I stamp my foot an scream “but I don’t wanna!” Lyme doesn’t give a rat’s ass what I want.

Picking which adjustment has been the hardest would be impossible. Is it that I can’t work full-time? Or maybe that I can no longer just up and do something. Perhaps it’s the uncertainty that if I DO do something, I might not get out of bed for a few days. It also could be how weak and puny I feel about myself when I get sick once again, as if my body is betraying me again. Maybe it’s the guilt I feel about constantly cancelling out on friends, or ignoring their emails, texts or phone calls because I just can’t summon the energy to talk to them like a normal person. It could be all these things, but I think the main thing is if I adjust, I am admitting I am an irrevocably changed person from Lyme disease.

For one thing, my life is much quieter than it was. It is amazing how having to parcel out your energy gives you a laser focus on what you want or need to do. I suppose I could blow off taking care of the house for a more active social life, or I could give up everything else and work full-time. Or I could simplify my life until I only have the essentials and free up time from maintenance for something else. Most people have to make some of these decisions, but not to the extreme that I do. When I decided to celebrate Thanksgiving and my birthday, it took four to five days beforehand devoted to resting and taking care of food and cleaning. Even then, I was knocked out the Sunday and Monday after Thanksgiving and my birthday party. It is ridiculous, and I hate it.

However, hate is an emotion that wastes a lot of energy. In fact, all extreme emotions use up energy. Love, hate, sorrow, anger, all suck the vitality right out of you, so they are best doled out in tiny portions. Bonus: I don’t have the energy to sweat the small stuff.  It’s been tremendously hard to wrap my brain around the various labels ‘adjusting’ conjures up: disabled, chronically ill, and malingerer come to mind. Once I get over that, I might be, no, I will be in a better place. If I know this to be true, then why is it proving so difficult?

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priorities

I am bouncing back from a particularly shitty relapse. I’m feeling overwhelmed and hopeless, like I can’t manage my own life anymore. The worst part of this relapse and aftermath has been mental. If you haven’t heard from me in a while, you are not alone. I prefer to be wiggy in private. To add to all this crap, it’s been four years since I was bitten by a tick. FOUR YEARS. I’ve read anecdotal evidence that people have relapses around the same time they were bitten. If so, it makes perfect sense that I relapse now. On top of that auspicious milestone, heat causes some Lyme patients (me included) to feel much worse.

This one blindsided me. I was, I thought, on the road to real recovery. And so began valuable lesson #1 with Lyme ‘recovery’: plan to relapse at any time whether you like it or not. The hallmarks of any valuable lesson is suffering, humility, pain, and a bunch of other emotions I avoid. Denial, my old bitch of a friend (denial is female in my world), came for a nice visit until I dragged my ass to my LLMD. It seems that my bugs like my brain. It’s where they hide when I’m feeling good. He announced the return of bartonella. YUCK! Bartonella is the worst. Sore feet, sore teeth, ear pains, headaches, neck aches, muscle aches, creaky joints, muscle cramps, watery, itchy, achy eyeballs, and mental problems. I love a good euphemism, and “mental problems” is right up there with “small setback” and “not too bad”. Why is it so hard for me to admit to depression, anger, anxiety, hopelessness, lack of motivation, and obsessive compulsiveness? Everybody has some of these feeling sometimes. If anything, I should announce them like a badge of honor, because I have bugs in my brain.

Denial left the house and self-pity moved in. I wallowed around with him (of course self-pity is male!) like a pig in a mud bath for a few weeks. I cleaned. I cooked. I slept a LOT, walked the dogs and gardened very early while it was still cool. That was all I could manage. Self-pity is that friend who doesn’t like any of your other friends. After that, I had hours to fill with all those fab feelings of worthlessness, sadness and guilt. I was able to read some ‘beach read’ books, and the sheer mindless entertainment helped a little.

It wasn’t until I found Downton Abbey that self-pity had a challenge. I know, I’m late to the party. At this rate, I’ll probably start GOT in 2022, and Breaking Bad in 2024. What can I say? I was hooked. Katie will remember this as the summer her mom sat in the cool dark of her bedroom at midday, the sunlight cracking the edges of the blackout curtains, lost in the delicious machinations of the Crawley family.

My relapse was also worse because I had four months of relative clarity and sanity. Is it harder to bounce back mentally each time my brain becomes inflamed? Is it harder for anyone else in this situation? I meet so few people who suffer from episodes of an inflamed brain. Is the quality of the crazy different if it’s a chemical imbalance, rather than an illness-induced debilitation? These really aren’t the kind of questions I can ask most people. There is the possibility that I won’t ‘work through this phase’. What if I never truly get well? What if I have to live a different kind of life than I thought? What would that look like and would it be so bad?

In a sense, I’ve been given the gift of getting my priorities straight. What adjustments am I willing to make to concentrate on what matters most to me? And what matters to me the most? At the end of the day, how do I want to have spent my time? This is not an easy task. The options all have good and bad sides.  What irks me the most is the adjustment I am struggling with now: the loss of endless possibilities. The emphasis is on ‘endless’. That part of the equation is simple. I can’t do it all. I have to make the hard choices in order to stay healthy. This must be what makes Dad worry so much—he is far more aware of the implication of limited possibilities than I am.

What I must do is what I have always done, and that is to find the positives in relapsing. In that, I have boundless confidence. It’s what I do best, even with an inflamed, fragile brain (and for me, my brain is my vanity, my Achilles’ heel) and low, low self-confidence. As with all things Lyme, this will pass and I will feel better, at least for a while. If I can figure out my priorities and can handle my new levels of expectations, then everything else should be gravy, not the other way around.

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bumbling

A new chapter, turning over a new leaf, rising from the ashes, rebirth, starting over; the sheer number of maxims boggles the mind. The facts are usually the same. Person has a setback, person begins life with a new purpose. I might argue this is one of the most basic facts of life. It smacks of redemption, courage and strength. There are many levels of this type of renewal. From “tomorrow I’m going to start to get to work on time” to “I’m going to recover from cancer and live my life differently”, we all understand the concept, just as we realize the difference in magnitude.

For me, my own personal rebirth begins with “the good news is I’m nearly well from Lyme disease” and “the bad news is I’m nearly well from Lyme disease.” How could getting well be bad news? Let’s look at the word ‘nearly’. Being nearly well means I can’t quite begin a new life, but I have to try anyway. ‘Nearly’ means I will fail often because I will try to do either too much or not enough. ‘Nearly’ means still picking and choosing where to put my energy, and getting it all wrong. ‘Nearly’ means napping almost every day, not because I want to, but because I have to. ‘Nearly’ means doing work that is not challenging just in case I have bad days where my brain isn’t functioning.

There is no other solution than to carry on. I make modest daily goals in hopes that one day, I will be well. On good days, I get everything accomplished and feel like perhaps I’m getting my life back. On bad days, I have to decide what to let go and find a way to be happy about it.

I’m still trying to figure out how to explain that I’m mostly well. There are days when I think, I’ve got this. Where I make a new Plan A. Those are the days I forget I have Lyme (Had? Another thing about ‘nearly’—is it ‘have Lyme’, or ‘had Lyme?’). Other days, I am overwhelmed to the point of giving up. That’s when I think about selling the house, moving into an RV, and disappearing.

On one of those good stretches, I decided to redesign my web page. After all, I am no longer ‘finding joy while living with Lyme’. Surprisingly, figuring out a new tagline and a picture to represent ‘life after Lyme’ was harder than the nuts and bolts of redesign, or writing this post. Because, who the fuck am I now? I was already changing when I got sick. I should view Lyme as a delay, but that wouldn’t be correct. Lyme changed me. It changed my priorities and what I want for the rest of my life.

It took a discussion with Katie to figure out what best represented my life. The tick isn’t gone. The tick will never be gone. It is crystallized forever inside me, slowly fracturing into a million pieces as I struggle to become whole again. After we figured that part out, the tagline became easy. I don’t think bumbling is too harsh a word. I am bumbling, because I am still changing. Maybe that’s what ‘nearly’ is.

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