Forever Fragile

The problem with having a chronic illness is that it somehow, strangely, begins to define who you are.   At least, that’s what I’ve found to be true with depression.  When I was in the throes of it, I truly felt fragile; like I could break apart at any moment, for no reason at all.  I was made of glass and might shatter at a touch, a word, a look.  Nothing could predict when it might happen.  I remember sitting at the ironing board one afternoon, no energy to stand, trying to do something productive, when a wave of sadness crushed me instantly.  I broke.  My head fell into my hands and I wept.  Why, I do not know.  I was fragile.  And I was angry because of it.  Where did this fragility come from?  Why did I have to suffer with it?  How would I regain control?  Could I regain control?

It's several years later and I have regained control, but I still have the label.  And I will always be managing the depression.  But I also have to manage the image that comes with it.  With a chronic illness there is always an image.  And we are all guilty of staring at that image at one time or another. 

Think about those with cancer.  We stare, quietly, wondering what it’s like to be them.  “How do they manage?  What are they feeling?  Does the chemo hurt?  How sick do they get?” 

What about those with diabetes?  “How can they stand to give themselves shots every day?  Should they be eating that dessert?  What if they go into shock?” 

And what about those with heart disease, fibromyalgia, arthritis,  epilepsy, bi-polar, or depression?  We quietly worry about that person having…an “episode” – whatever that might be.  We worry and want him or her to remain safe and healthy. We want to offer as much protection as we can. Funny thing is, we have no control over that person’s illness.  The only thing we have control over is our self; what we think, what we say, how we love.

I don’t want to be viewed as fragile.  I want to make it known to everyone around me, “Please!  No wearing of the kid gloves, no treading on eggshells.  Just be yourself!”  Sometimes I think what I see is a restricted version of selves.  I guess there is a certain pressure that comes with “being yourself.”  The intermittent worry one might have of, “How am I doing?”  If you find yourself choosing words carefully, avoiding certain topics, deciding for your friend what he/she can or cannot handle…you are probably not being yourself. 

Truth is, I'm not fragile.  I think I'm pretty solid if I do say so myself.  I have been through hell and back due to this depression.  I admit, I have my down days but nothing that leaves me feeling so fragile as I did before.  And if people want to know what it was like or how I’m handling it now, it's ok to ask.  I would be so happy to share. 

But I’m not strong; not in the eyes of society.  I have a chronic illness and I will be viewed as forever fragile.

 

*Let it be known that these views are my own.  These statements are not meant to blanket any chronic illness.  My feelings do not dictate the feelings of others who might also be suffering with some type of illness.  These views and these feelings are my own and no one else’s.  I did not write this with intent to hurt, harm, or offend.

Reflection on a Funeral

I attended a funeral service last week.  I didn't know the family very well.  Only the sister of the deceased.  But I attended anyway.  And I'm glad I did.  I found the service so calming and centering.


In the service book we use, the service begins with the invocation and a remembrance of our baptism.  We are reminded that we have been baptized into Christ's death.  We are reminded that just as Christ was raised from the dead, "we too might walk in newness of life."  We are reminded that we will have a resurrection like His.

The Psalm and the readings are always so comforting, full of the reminders of God's love for us that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.  And more of God's love that when we stand before Him in Heaven we will see Him with our own eyes and will not be turned away.  They are full of the reminders that whatever may pursue us here on earth, whatever may haunt us or harm us, it has no hold over us.  We will be free!

We speak the Creed during the funeral service.  We are reminded that, during this sad time full of tears and fears, we can find strength and comfort in one another as the body of Christ.  We share the same faith and are not alone in our weeping.  We pray the Lord's Prayer and again act boldly, trusting in His promises.

The Nunc Dimittis is probably what I found most beautiful.  It begins with the words of Jesus from the book of John, chapter 11. 

"I am the resurrection and the life," says the Lord.  "He who believes in Me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in Me will never die."

Then the song of Simeon from Luke is spoken by the people.  God's word has been fulfilled.  We have seen it.  We can go home. 

I know that this funeral service is meant to focus on the life the deceased now has in Christ.  And I know it's odd that I find the service comforting and calming.  But I can see how beneficial this service could be as I read through it on my "bad" days.  When my day is at it's lowest; when I can see no reason for moving forward another step; when I'm not sure what my purpose is, I can read this service and very easily be re-centered.  I can be reminded of whose I am and who I am through my baptism.  I can be reminded of Job and all of his troubles, yet how he, through faith, was able to focus on the prize at the end of it all.  I can be reminded of my family in faith as I read the Creed and the Lord's Prayer.  I can be reminded of the promises of my Lord and the gift of Heaven I have been given because of His love for me.  And as the benediction reads at the end of the service, I can "go forth in peace, in the name of the Lord. Amen."



Reflecting...and refilling

I hate the sneak attacks.  The ones that hit out of nowhere.  I've written about this before, but I guess I'm still searching for an answer.  If I understood why this happened, I could handle it better.  But then it wouldn't be a sneak attack.  And if I could handle it better, it wouldn't be depression.  I've heard the clinical reasons so many times.  "It's not you, it's your body chemistry."  And then the loving reminders, "Are you taking your meds?"  But this doesn't help me UNDERSTAND!  And that's all I want.  To understand.  I feel like M'Lynn from "Steel Magnolias" when she is in turmoil at the graveside of her daughter.  Her face is twisted in pain and anger as she beats her fists in the air, screaming, "I want to know WHY?!  WHY?!"  I thank God I am not dealing with the death of a child, but my question remains the same.  WHY?!

When Satan gets a foothold, he has a heyday. My downward spiral looks something like this. 

My mothering techniques are lacking.  I need to do more with my children.  The public school no longer has them.  I now have them.  How come I cannot find anything to do with them?  Other mothers have them all year and always find things to do.  What is wrong with me as a mother?  I used to be so creative. 

My writing techniques are lacking.  In fact they stink.  Other bloggers do so much better than me.  Other women find their work(s) published and useful and admired.  Mine will never be.  Another dream never realized.  I have no discipline. 

My homemaker skills are lacking.  I can't stick to writing menus.  When I do have a menu I don't follow it because I don't "feel" like it.  My ironing pile grows and grows.  It mocks me every day.  My floors are sticky to the point of the boys complaining!  There are pile of crap and junk all over the place.  I can't find the joy in my home.

I don't think I'll ever understand.  Not in the way I wish to understand.  No answer can be given other than,  "It's your body chemistry.  Let yourself be and 'this too shall pass.'"   These kinds of days come and go, along with the days that are full of joy and success.  Maybe I really need to look in the mirror and sing to myself the song Hubs and I often sing to the boys.  "You can't always get what you want.  But if you try sometimes, you might find, you get what you need!"  Thank you, Rolling Stones.

here

What I need is patience...for myself.  What I need is to train my mind to reflect on the good days.  What I need is to listen to Hubs.  What I need is to know that I am forgiven.  What I need is to soak in the grace of God.  And then I find, I do get what I need.

Do you find that, too?  Do you get what you need?  Can I refill your cup?  You, too, are forgiven.  You, too, can soak up God's grace.  You, too, are God's child and you, too, belong to Him.

My cup runneth over.

Going through the motions

I go through the motions because I don't know what else to do.

Because I'd spend the day in bed, in tears, in depression....

I go through the motions so my kids have a meal; so their clothes are clean.

I go through the motions so my husband has a towel to use in the morning, so he can face his day.

Because I cannot face mine.

This too shall pass....going through the motions.

sadness

So much sadness around me today.  I sit in my sunny room, full of things that make me happy and all I feel is this cloud surrounding my head and shoulders.  It threatens to burst open and drench me in tears.

So many of my thoughts and feelings are sad today.

divorce of friends

lonlieness

disappointment in myself and others

restlessness

anger

I can't see how to get past it today.  The wind blows outside as it does so much in the spring.  I wish it would blow away this cloud of mine.

Something Old...

I journaled a lot when I was in the midst of one of my serious struggles with depression.  I read through that journal now and then.  Here is something I wrote in January 2010:

My sadness...

I wish it was not mine.

Maybe that is how I must start-

     

 Disown it.

           

      Remove my name from it.

               Disconnect it from my self.

The sadness that hangs around me, that follows me, leads, accompanies me.
It pulls at me-
I cannot lift my arms to hug,
           My hands to write,
                My legs to walk.

It pulls at the corners of my mouth;
                I frown in my sleep.

It occupies every corner of my brain.
           My memories are sad,
                My thoughts are sad,
                    My words are sad.

My body and soul are consumed.

Heaviness

I'm feeling heavy today.  I went to the gym this morning, got weighed and measured, and the numbers are going down (yea!).  It's not a physical heaviness I feel.  It's an inner heaviness.  I hate days like this.

The heaviness wasn't with me earlier this morning. 
     Not even earlier this afternoon. 
          It sneaks up on me.  
               And it always, always catches me off guard.

I wonder for a long while what is wrong with me.  I go through the self scoldings of, "Get over it.  Get back on track. Your list for the day isn't done yet."  Then I sit, because I just can't get myself to do anything else. 

Slowly the reality of it comes into focus.  It's just the depression displaying its ugly head.  I really can't say it "rears" it's ugly head.  It used to do that.  Now it's more subtle.  Just reminding me that it is still there.

 And then I am content to just sit...and let myself be sad for a while.  I stop berating myself; stop finding fault with myself.  I just exist for a while.  Slowly, the depression colored glasses slip off and I begin to see more clearly what is real.  Because with the glasses on, the reality I see is not the reality that is before me.  The reality that is before me is this:


"Satan, hear this proclamation: I am baptized into Christ!
Drop your ugly accusation, I am not so soon enticed.
Now that to the font I've traveled, All your might has come unraveled,
And, against your tyranny, God, my Lord, unites with me!"
                    (vs. 3 of "God's Own Child I Gladly Say It"  Lutheran Service Book pg 594)


When I am reminded of these words, I am reminded of who I really am.  Of how God sees me.  And how very, very different it is from how I see myself.  Especially this afternoon.  How glad I am for the gift of His Spirit and the clearness with which He helps me to see.