Music Understands Me

Therapy: Rebooted.

I've been going to therapy (with the new therapist) for a couple months now.  I like her very much because her technique, thus far, has been to listen.  It sounds so simple, doesn't it?  Listening - not just the words but the tone of my voice.  No fancy text book therapy processes, no five dollar words.  No aggressive pushiness.  Sometimes, people just need that impartial ear to hear them.

We talk to our loved ones, those closest to us and that's important and necessary.  And yet, it's difficult to be.. raw, brutally open and honest, to show them the very harsh reality of what a disease is and how it manifests not only physically, but mentally and spiritually.  I can't speak for everyone but it is my nature to protect them.

Hence, the need, often times, for a non-invested person to talk with.  We don't have to shield them.  We're finally free to rant and rave, to cry until we blow our noses into wadded up tissue that has been gripped tightly by a fist that trembles.

This is what surprises me most about being sick - how strong one must be to keep fighting for their life or their quality of life.  By the very nature of being ill, having an illness or disease, you're already physically weaker.  Yet, we find some inner source of strength, sheer force of will, that keeps us going. 

The freedom to say anything we want and to release a well of emotion is crucial.  We absolutely need to get it all out until we're limp and empty of the bad stuff for a while.  Maybe your person to do that with is a spouse or best friend, a lover, a soulmate, your favorite cousin or your pastor.  Maybe it's the therapist that sits across from you, silently watching with a look of compassion on her face as yours crumples.

Somehow, she knows that you've pretty much got this figured out.  You're a smart cookie, you've done the research, you know the five stages of grief and you even know you'll have to revisit them from time to time.  She listens and knows that you're going to be okay, that you'll find a way to live this new life that fits like too small, pinched, ugly shoes at times but slowly, you're finding your way to not just hobble but dance in them.

Therapy - God - Friends - Love

Today I begin therapy.  Not the kind that works on my muscles and bones, rather, the kind that works on my mind.  Three hours from now, I'll be in that therapist's office, beginning what I hope to be a journey towards balance.  I have been counting down the days and now, the hours.  Counting them down because of hope and fear.  I need this to help me find the balance that I've lost to fibromyalgia. 

I'm scared because I'm not sure if I realized how much work this might turn out to be.  I have to find a way to reveal myself to this male therapist.  I point out his gender because I don't trust men.  Due to things that happened during my childhood, I have no reason to trust them.  But, I've been on a waiting list for six months to get this opportunity for help and I need to reach out and grasp it with both hands.  

I'm not very good at talking to strangers.  I feel like what I have to say might be boring or dumb.  I feel insecure.  I feel, when I open up and allow others into my mind, that they might see the terrors, the horrible memories that live there.  I know this therapy can't just be about my struggles with depression due to fibromyalgia.  I have to talk about my childhood too, my son's illness and what that did to me.  

You don't get to talk about things like that and not relive it in a sense.  That's painful and difficult.  A part of me wants to cancel this appointment, hide from having to communicate.  But how do I get help if I don't?  The answer is.. I don't.  I need help.  Just saying those three words, admitting it, is hard for me.  

I talked with Tony about it last night.  I talk with him a lot about it.  I talked with Heather about it yesterday too, while we shopped, while we ate dinner together.  Both of them have been so supportive and I'm grateful and blessed to have them.  I truly do not know what I would do without their consistent presence, patience and capacity to listen and hear me, endlessly.  

Today, I called my sister in law, Carol.  I told her about going to therapy and how frightened I am.  Before we hung up, she prayed for me.  She asked God to be with me, to fill my heart with peace, strength.  To touch me with his presence.  I had tears in my eyes.  It was needed.  I love you, Carol.  I love you, Tony.  I love you, Heather.  I love you, God.  Thank you, all of you, for forming a circle of love around me.

"When you're weak, I'll be strong.  When you let go, I'll hold on.  When you need to cry, I swear that I'll be there to dry your eyes.  When you feel lost and scared to death, like you can't take one more step.. just take my hand, together we can do it.  I'm gonna love you through it." - Martina McBride

Do You Ask Yourself These Questions?

 

Some people do not believe in the progression of fibromyalgia.  I do.  Not only physical progression but mental and emotional progression as well.  Nearly four years into fibro, I am not much better at navigating the emotions and thoughts that go along with this disease. 

I'm incredibly sad, confused, angry, even full of rage at times over what this has done to my life, to the woman that I once was.  Being the kind of person who is in her own head a lot, I ask myself questions.  I try to do the work of self-analyzation, healing and growth.  I thought I would share some of the questions that I ask myself regarding living with this disease:

How do you live with constant pain and not be angry?

How do you live with constant pain and not hate your own body at times?

How do you not see your body as the enemy?

How do you see all of the changes to your life and not want to scream and cry?

How do you witness the changes to the lives of your loved ones and not feel guilt?

How do you not grieve the person you once were compared to who you are forced to be now?

How many times do you have to whisper, "Why me, God?"

How many times do you have to talk yourself out of feeling like a burden to those who love you?  Like you are trapping them into living this life with you, because they don't want to be the jerk that leaves over it or the person who avoids you.

How many times do you open your mouth to try and communicate what's happening to you on every level, only to close it because you can't even explain it?

How often do you push past the inexplicable agony and staggering exhaustion to do the things that need to be done?  Cooking, cleaning, laundry, errands, interacting with people.

How often do you wake up in the morning and have to talk yourself into getting up because it hurts and you're so damned tired?

How often are you full of sorrow over having to give up a job, a career, school and you now feel like an unproductive member of society?

How do you help people to understand why you can't spend time with them or go do fun things that they want to share with you, because you're in too much pain, you're too tired, or you dread the flare that will inevitably happen because you did 'too much' according to the limitations fibromyalgia has placed upon you?

How do you stop yourself from beating your fists against the limitations?

How many times do you have to revisit stages within the five stages of grief? 

Why do I work so hard to hide my symptoms, tears and emotions from my loved ones?

When I do talk about it, do people get tired of listening?  Do they understand how difficult it is for me to share? 

How do I make people understand that they cannot fix me?

What happens if the medicines quit working?  How will I ever live with that level of agony?

Would it be better, unselfish to let people go so they can have a more fulfilling life than what living with a sick person provides?

Why is every day of this disease different?  So different that navigating it is nearly impossible because -nothing- seems stable.  It feels like the foundation I stand on is trembling, crumbling.

Why won't some people believe that I'm sick?  How could they ever think I would make up something as awful as this is? How could they believe I would choose to live like this?

How do I accept that I will always be ill?

Am I a burden?

Am I still pretty?

Am I still sexy?

Am I still smart or funny?

Am I less than I was?

I have precious few answers to those questions.  I realize that rather than doing better with this, I might be doing worse in some areas.  Fibromyalgia has progressed on every level.  It is too big for me. 

I have always been a strong person, a strong and fierce woman in the face of any crisis.  Fibromyalgia puts me to my knees, begging for answers, for a sense of peace within my illness, within my whole life, as it is now.  Next week I start therapy.  I feel both a sense of dread and relief.  I am hopeful.  I'm scared.