I'm a social animal, I like visitors. The right visitors are a welcome break from the 'in bed, in bed, in bed' routine. Sometimes they bring a little present, and one friend walks straight in the door and unpacks the dishwasher without asking. Love that.
But they can be a mixed blessing. Visitors breeze in, unconsciously oozing vitality. In comparison I feel like an unkempt puffy-faced rat. I can smell the vigour of the real world on them. I want to steal some, hide it away and feast on it later. If only it were a transferable treasure.
Much of my time is solitary, and my general head-space is one of acceptance. Acceptance without defeat. But sometimes I have contact with someone healthy and active whom I haven't seen for a while and KABOOM. It's the biggest, fire-crackiest reminder of everything I miss out on and it incinerates the self-preservational house of cards I have built to accommodate my mind. I have to reconstruct it after the visitor leaves. It doesn’t even take a visitor, sometimes just an email with photos of weekend fun, mention of a job, study plans, a picnic, a gig.
I genuinely love to hear about people’s lives. I really do. It's not jealousy. Jealousy implies a resentfulness of others, which I don't have. I don't want anyone else to stop what they're doing, and I actively encourage them to tell me all in great detail.
But I'm not always immune to the sharp reminder of personal loss that can come from hearing of another's activities, witnessing their vibrant glow. Like a paper cut, it can sting surprisingly. When you get sick, you don’t lose your normal life all at once. You lose it every day. There’s a constant bereavement for normality.
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7 comments:
. . . as usual, my dear, you describe severe ME with grace and beautiful words x
I second NMJ's comment. Here is a quote from the Baha'i Writings that helps sustain me:
"Anybody can be happy in the state of comfort, ease, health, success, pleasure and joy; but if one will be happy and contented in the time of trouble, hardship and prevailing disease, it is the proof of nobility."
Wow, that was beautifully written. You really described the isolation and loss of CFIDS perfectly. When I've been crashed and stuck at home for awhile, I practically pounce on my husband when he comes through the door: "Give me news of the outside world!" Very nicely put.
Sue
Really well put!
Its a bitter sweet thing isnt it. It always seems to catch me by surprise because I think I have delt with it, then whatever/whoever yanks the door of loss firmly open all over again!
Lovely.
I remember a time when I burst into tears and asked my friends to stop talking about 'the life outside my room' because I just couldn't bear the pain. Thankfully I got past that and now try my hardest to live vicariously wherever possible :)
Still cuts sometimes though, especially on those days where your body lets you forget for a small moment that you are unwell.
I don't look at greenwords often enough because it either makes me cry, giggle or both every single time - you are a wonder and a marvel.
I know this is a few months late, but I've only just come across your blog. I would like to echo what has already been said: that you express this condition of being in, but out, of the world so very beautifully - with great accuracy. I will be looking in again.
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