I don’t feel like this all day, every day. Please don’t think all the happy posts have been fake. But I do honestly wish I could take advantage of the free 21 days our medical aid gives to mentally unwell clients who need to be institutionalised. I get the feeling though that they wouldn’t just dose me with large amount of painkillers, silence and hugs… So I won’t go that route either.
I’m in touch with a lovely 64 year old woman who I’ve termed me mom-friend. She’s old enough to be my mom if she had me at age 22, but we are friends. Though we haven’t met because I got scared of getting sick now while I can’t breathe properly so I asked her to stay away. Whcih was incidentally a good thing because she has a terrible virus and is feeling BAD, BAD, BAD. Point is, I have a special bond with her because she’s also unwell and has had many surgeries. And I was struck by how thoughtful she was recently, when she commented that her trials are recent, mine have been there since childhood.
Cue the dark pit I’m currently in.
I can’t escape.
I am unable to get away. I can’t run to a different province-my body would be running right along with me. I can escape in sleep, the same body wakes me up. I’m in a pit of pain and nobody can get me out.
And it’s lonely in here.
I saw this paragraph from AddiTude magazine
and I must be honest with you. I could not empathise. I could relate. But she’s not me. She only has one child with ADHD. She presumably has parents and parents-in-law that love her and her child. She DEFINITELY doesn’t sound like she’s in constant pain or discomfort or taking daily medication for chronic illness.
She talks about finding a community. I have NEVER found a homeschooling community of sick Christian mothers with special children. You know that because I’ve written about it.
She talks about teachers who don’t get her child. I AM teacher. Which means, I don’t get to escape my children either. I know, that sounds weird! But I can’t escape them! We are as bonded as my body is to me. Mainly by religious choice but also by the very needs they have! There is NO way I would ever subject my Twin A to strangers when even in my arms she screams if a stranger comes close to her. Never! I’d rather go psychotic from the stress and end up take away, than to subject her to it. There was a mother who sent her autistic child to a special school. It did NOT go well even after two weeks there. And he was also non verbal and he was even older!
I can’t escape.
I’m in a pit. A dark pit. I can’t ever say that “When I turn 50, things will be different.” This is my life! In fact, I told my ‘older’ friend that I see myself being weaker than she is when I reach her age.
I wish I could describe what it’s like in here. It’s like someone grabbed me, pummeled me, ran over me with a truck, broke all my limbs and then threw me unconscious into this dark, deep pit. And my only conscious memory is of waking up with my bones all wrong. I don’t know who beat me, I don’t know why my bones aren’t set in the right way, but each movement causes the bones to rub painfully against each other, bringing a fresh wave of worse pain than the one I’m in. You all know how my first memory is of hernia surgery when I was three years old. My first conscious memory is of pain.
And then in this dark pit, are the ones I love the most. But with each hug, they touch a bruise that has not healed. Each kids falls on cracked lips. Because one thing I firmly agree with the author about is this. Nobody would CHOOSE that their child deal with the challenges they deal with. It’s not fair on the child, it’s not fair on the parents. “Mommy, how did you know I had ADHD. Does it bother you?”
This dark pit is filled with hard emotions. And while there’s nobody to soothe me, I must do a lot of soothing of others.
This pit is lonely.
I don’t feel like this all day, I don’t feel this hopeless and helpless.
It’s just easier to ignore sometimes.
But every single day, I know I’m in a pit. And today, I can’t ignore it. The sun isn’t shining in. The fire ants came and bit my open wounds. People kept throwing work in for me to do. How do I sew when my fingers have been bitten raw by the rats? How do I think and plan for others when i can’t think or plan for myself?
Usually I find purpose. Light Today, there is none. Just groaning.
I’m sorry for being such a downer today.
But I always set out to be honest and real. This is as real as it gets.
I’m not even going to pretend to check for typos.