Of determination, dreams and despair
Last week I found myself praying, for the first time in my life.
This was a very surprising experience, to say the least, as I've never been a "religious" person; "spiritual" would be more accurate. This need to pray appeared to be propelled by a deep and irresistible compulsion, coming from a depth of my soul that I find difficult to access normally. It's an experience that is strange to admit to.
I've done rather well taking things in my stride, approaching the obstacles in my path, making adaptations, staying focussed and positive, maintaining sanity in the face of the mammoth changes and limitations that have been forced on me by chronic illness. Yes, I've let myself have my down days, my angry days, my lonely days. But on that particular evening, I very suddenly and very viscerally felt this absolutely negating sense of despair that I could do nothing about. Apart from pray to the Cosmos, the Universe that connects us all.
It is glaringly obvious to me that my life as it has been over the past two years isn't going to work as a long-term solution. It explains - to a degree - the sense of denial that forces the dogged determination that this cannot and WILL NOT be my life for the remainder of my days.
I wonder if the time I spend on the ME forums, reading heart-wrenching accounts of isolation, suffering and pain, trying to find out a nugget of new information for recovery, is somehow corroding this steely determination of mine. My own recovery is moving along at snail's pace, and appears to have plateaued. I wonder if I'm starting to believe, nay realise, that I am one of those long-term, chronically sick people.
My mind balks at the suggestion. But I can sometimes be a ruthless realist, for all my dream-seeking and denial, and a corner of me wonders if I must be prepared to face the reality of a life limited by this illness. I hate the thought of it. It sucks out any positivity, any advances in mental attitude, any fortification of spirit that I've achieved. I realise that my mindset is so firmly entrenched in a particular idea of what I want to do, that it cannot come to terms with a very different life that I may have to face and adapt to. Certainly my denial means I've walked a tight line between doing things that perhaps haven't been so good for my recovery, justified by the excuse (well, the reality) that they have helped me keep my sanity. Or at least that is what I'm letting myself believe in the short-term.
I'm not sure if it's a good thing to remain determined to achieve one way of life, if it helps to get through some difficult times, or if that act in itself is fighting too much against the flow of life as it is. Am I missing something? Am I destined to do other things, things that I can't see right now? Would a complete acceptance of my current reality mean giving in to it as a permanent future? And would that be a happier, freer future than what I'm currently striving towards?
As Spring arrives I am reminded of how life continues to unfold, no matter what time of year it is. I realise that my life will continue to unfold on its trajectory as well, no matter what emotions I feel or questions I ask my existential self, and really the easiest thing would be to enjoy the ride as much as possible.
I am doing my best, but I do really want to be enjoying a different ride. The current one seems broken and unmoving, the mechanic AWOL, the missing pieces no longer in production, the scenery dark, the lights broken. The life-force that I have in my spirit is out of place in this setting and can't be expressed, is held captive like Aladdin's Genie in his bottle. My despair arises at the sense that I may be stuck here for some time.
This was a very surprising experience, to say the least, as I've never been a "religious" person; "spiritual" would be more accurate. This need to pray appeared to be propelled by a deep and irresistible compulsion, coming from a depth of my soul that I find difficult to access normally. It's an experience that is strange to admit to.
I've done rather well taking things in my stride, approaching the obstacles in my path, making adaptations, staying focussed and positive, maintaining sanity in the face of the mammoth changes and limitations that have been forced on me by chronic illness. Yes, I've let myself have my down days, my angry days, my lonely days. But on that particular evening, I very suddenly and very viscerally felt this absolutely negating sense of despair that I could do nothing about. Apart from pray to the Cosmos, the Universe that connects us all.
It is glaringly obvious to me that my life as it has been over the past two years isn't going to work as a long-term solution. It explains - to a degree - the sense of denial that forces the dogged determination that this cannot and WILL NOT be my life for the remainder of my days.
I wonder if the time I spend on the ME forums, reading heart-wrenching accounts of isolation, suffering and pain, trying to find out a nugget of new information for recovery, is somehow corroding this steely determination of mine. My own recovery is moving along at snail's pace, and appears to have plateaued. I wonder if I'm starting to believe, nay realise, that I am one of those long-term, chronically sick people.
My mind balks at the suggestion. But I can sometimes be a ruthless realist, for all my dream-seeking and denial, and a corner of me wonders if I must be prepared to face the reality of a life limited by this illness. I hate the thought of it. It sucks out any positivity, any advances in mental attitude, any fortification of spirit that I've achieved. I realise that my mindset is so firmly entrenched in a particular idea of what I want to do, that it cannot come to terms with a very different life that I may have to face and adapt to. Certainly my denial means I've walked a tight line between doing things that perhaps haven't been so good for my recovery, justified by the excuse (well, the reality) that they have helped me keep my sanity. Or at least that is what I'm letting myself believe in the short-term.
I'm not sure if it's a good thing to remain determined to achieve one way of life, if it helps to get through some difficult times, or if that act in itself is fighting too much against the flow of life as it is. Am I missing something? Am I destined to do other things, things that I can't see right now? Would a complete acceptance of my current reality mean giving in to it as a permanent future? And would that be a happier, freer future than what I'm currently striving towards?
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| Life continues to unfold - Edinburgh, 2015 © |
I am doing my best, but I do really want to be enjoying a different ride. The current one seems broken and unmoving, the mechanic AWOL, the missing pieces no longer in production, the scenery dark, the lights broken. The life-force that I have in my spirit is out of place in this setting and can't be expressed, is held captive like Aladdin's Genie in his bottle. My despair arises at the sense that I may be stuck here for some time.
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