Have you ever?

Have you ever asked Why Me?  Have you ever cursed God, forsaking His name because of all that you’ve had to suffer?  Why these deaths? Why these illnesses?  Why these hardships?  I can understand You having a plan for one issue or the other.  but everything in my lifetime?  Why would You do this to me?

I fail to see the bigger plan for a kid losing her mother when she was 7.  For this kid to grow up without much emotional support, feeling isolated, over-sensitive, morbid and sad.  The teenage years being far too serious, looking for warmth and love in all the wrong places, further sequestering emotions from people in an attempt at self-preservation.  Then in adulthood, this kid seeks unhealthy relationships, enters into a failed marriage, goes through illnesses and then major surgery.  Nothing that a person voluntarily and actively seeks, but yet this is the path a person seems set upon.  And then when she thinks the worst has passed, major/chronic illness sets in.

Why?  If you claim to be a Christian, you may wonder why someone curses God.  Why the fuck are you so set against me?  Why me?  Fuck you God….I’ve had enough.  I’ve been through enough and I remained faithful.  Yet you continue to put me through this hell.  What is your plan for me?  Is there a plan at all or am I putting my hopes in a false God?

Even if you are the most devote, ,you’ve been though this or will at some point.  This is the story of Job.  And maybe people like me are not part of some grand, fucking divine plan.  Maybe we are simply the strongest who survive the whole plot, the whole story.  Perhaps the strong and healthy people as the ones who will succumb quickly in the grand scheme of things.  Maybe the sick ones are the people who live the longest because we put up with the most, endure more hardship and because of that, slowly become stronger in the end.

Unfortunately those of us who go through these diseases are the most isolated.  We are lucky to find one person in our lives, be it family, spouse or friend, who will stay with us through all the trials and tribulations.  I found today that my family, although loving and wonderful, cannot be there for me.  They just don’t understand and aren’t capable of the empathy I need throughout this illness.  It’s not their faults, but that is just life.  And it is hard for me to grasp.

When you are chronically sick, you quit communicating the truth to others.  I’ve only told those at work because I’ve felt forced to.  They have to pick up my slack, and they need to know why I’m sick.  But my family and friends have not heard the whole of it, nor have they had to.  I have tried, however, to reach out to certain acquaintances and family, but I don’t feel that they understand.   I feel no blame or anger about that.  I can’t say that I would feel any different if I were in their situations.  When I try to talk to others about how I feel emotionally and/or physically, others don’t understand or think I’m making it up.  Therefore, deep down, I question whether or not I’m crazy.  Maybe this isn’t real?  Maybe I’m an attention whore, just like they think?

I feel like I have to make things up or only tell half-truths about my life to people.  “Yes!  Everything is wonderful.  We are so blessed to be living amazing, happy lives!!!!!  Blah!  Blah blah blah!”

At some point, we have to realize that we are sick.  We have X, Y and Z to deal with and our priorities involve getting through our daily shit without physically collapsing or breaking down emotionally.  Getting through a day/week/month of taking care of our kids, our bills, our marriages, our family, our friendships, our jobs is a lot to deal with.  When you feel you have to make excuses for this or explain it to others, it’s hard.

I’m not a drama queen.  But I have major health issues that prevent me from working full time, from actively involving myself with relatives, that prevent me from trusting others and that keep me from having a party hardy lifestyle.  Hell I feel lucky if I get through the day on the most minimum of prescription drugs AND am still able to operate a motor vehicle.  I’m so damn tired of it and I keep thinking it’s temporary and it will get better.  This isn’t really my life.

I guess it is my life.  No matter how many drugs I take or what I eat or don’t eat, it doesn’t go away.  This is my life.  Period.  And we better find a practical way for me to deal with it.  And I better quit feeling bad at the friends I lose because I can’t go hang out every time they want to.  Or my boss doesn’t get why I can’t lift something over 20 lbs.  Or why I don’t volunteer myself to work extra hours.

This is my life now.

And because of who I am, I cannot end a post on my blog with a subject matter so serious.  So I leave you with all my feelings, my whole heart, my spiritual frustration and a photograph of one of my pet rats in my husband’s pants.  Good night.

This entry was posted on 19. December 2009 at 22:10 and is filed under Fibromyalgia, Rheumatoid Arthritis, Infertility, Family, Health. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response or trackback from your own site.