Last night I laid in bed bitching to my husband incessantly about how horrible I felt. It rained and wow did that do a number on me. "Oh my God my head is splitting. My sinuses are engorged and I feel like my face is weeping. My eyes don't look like a character from Japanese anime, do they? Man they sure feel like it. It's like my lower lashes are hitting the bottom of my cheekbones! My sacroiliac is frozen and killing me and the pinched nerve in my neck is shooting pain down my arm in pulsing waves," I finished, feeling I had appropriately briefed him on the many points of misery I currently suffered from. It was not the first time this evening I had done this.
But then I heard myself. It was like I floated up to my bedroom ceiling and looked down on the dynamic unfolding in complete objectivity. "You must get so sick and tired of hearing me complain!" I exclaimed with enthusiasm. "That is all I do. How can you stand it? How can you even be around me," I asked him, disgust rolling off my tongue. "Well that is not all you do," he said with a tease. "It used to be a lot worse." But I had opened my mind up to his perspective and needed to sit in it a little while before I could imagine what I would do if the tables were turned. What if he complained to me as much as I complain to him? What if he was always sick, an emotional roller coaster and when I came home each day never knew what person was going to greet me at the door, or if they were even out of bed? I can barely stand it when he comes home in a bad mood, for I want to fix whatever ails him at any cost.
After examining this I concluded it is the need to be understood that causes my incessant ravings about painful symptoms. I don't complain nearly as much to my friends with Fibromyalgia because they already know when I utter the phrases, "Can't sleep" "Headache" or "Rain," exactly what I am going through. And one would think by now my husband would know, too. Which he does. So what exactly is my bleating all about, then? During deep reflection while I played that stupid cell phone bubble game I discovered two causes. One is a constant need to remind those who are not physically suffering with me that although I look fine and dandy, I am oh so not. And the other is guilt. Argh! Still that damn guilt. Because my health problems have ruined every plan we dreamed of or expectation we had and I feel terrible about it. I am still bearing the burden, even though I know I am not to blame, I still somehow am. But I declare enough already! I gotta move past this phase, this need for approval and acceptance I am so desperately seeking as a way to assuage my own conscience. I want to improve my circumstances, not stay stuck in them! Life is what it is. Que sera sera, whatever will be will be. It comes with no guarantees. We do the best with what we are given, that is all one can do. And really didn't Al Pacino say it best in The Devil's Advocate while speaking to Keanu Reeves? "Guilt is like a bag of bricks. All you gotta do is set it down."
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