Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Swimming

When I was a girl, on particularly hot summer days, I loved to swim below the surface of a lake, almost deep enough for my back to touch the bottom, then flop over and stare up at the crazily distorted view. The light would reach down through the murk and spread out through the grey-green bits and seem to reach for me, pulling me back to the surface. It was so tempting to stay cocooned in the silent murky depths. When my need for oxygen would overcome the pull of this mysterious world I would float slowly to the surface and let the harshness of the sun and bright sky break across my face. Always, the pull of the water called me back underneath.
This past month has felt much like this. I don't know if it is the depression speaking louder than usual or the grinding nerve pain or the ongoing battle to take care of my basic needs or the long hours I am alone every day or the cognitive losses that are piling up or the never-ending battles with doctors or the toll this takes on my hubbie or this or that or the other thing. But it is all too much right now.
I think you have to have had a major tragedy or a chronic illness or poverty to really understand how alone one is with these things. At the end of the day, even with the many people who so graciously give of their time, love, and care, I am facing this monstrous reality alone. It is hard to say this, because I don't want for one second for anyone in my circle to think I don't appreciate them, but cold hard truth is: everyone else has to live their own lives and should. From friends and family with their own struggles, mortgages, kids, joys and sorrow to byzantine bureaucracies that ask more of me than I think I can give.
I haven't written in some time because I feel some social obligation to be appreciative of what I have. I don't want to offend. I do have much to be grateful for. To be blunt, I just don't know how much longer I can keep life and limb together.
And, I really don't have any choice but to figure something out. I do know that in order to keep writing this blog I have to have the freedom to be honest. So, if mucking around in the murky end of the pond isn't your cup of tea, I truly understand, most of the time, I'd rather not be here either. 

5 comments:

Judy at Peace Be With You said...

You are such a gifted writer that I could see, as if in a movie, the descent into the deep. I could engage with your altered state of perception, and feel your emotions. Then you used all this as a masterful metaphor for your MS life. Truly extraordinary. And, don't forget, this blog is your place to vent, to find scarce solace; in short, it is yours to do as you wish. And you do it so well.

Muffie said...

We all have to freedom to do whatever we want on our blogs, and if you need to vent one day, then so be it. We've all been there, and we know how the muck that is MS can interfere with our daily living. So use us, your readers, as your sounding board, and get it out of your system.
Peace,
Muff

Donna said...

The straight-forwardness and rawness of your posts speaks to me. In fact, much more than most blogs. I haven't commented on the last couple as they were so profound for me that I didn't know what to say.

I think I relate to that aspect of acknowledging that in the end we're alone to deal with our challenges however we do that. And, the constant struggle with medical community and layers of bureaucracies that add to it. For me that is often bigger than the physical condition itself. Being treated like I'm bad, a nuisance, or even dishonest, when I'm actually sick.

I recently discontinued blogging due to not being able to access that level of truth anymore. Or at least not wanting to share it.

Thank you for sharing.

Donna

Have Myelin? said...

you are correct - we are indeed alone with "these things" as you called them. a sad, lonely place to be.

i blog because i find more support from internet friends than i do from friends who live their own lives. i don't resent them for it but i know they do not know how hard it is for me. how so very hard...

loved this post.

Marie said...

Wow, I see many familiar names here! Yet this is the first time I have found your blog. I think. My cognitive state is pretty crappy these days too. I have left the burner on on the stove three times in the past week. Not good.

I really related to this post. It was brave of you to write what you did. Sometimes things suck but sometimes little bits of something wonderful slip in when you don't expect it. Hang in there. :)