Thursday, October 25, 2012

A Rebel Yell

I was one of those angry rebel teenagers. Luckily there were plenty of folks who loved me so somehow I managed to survive a tumultuous adolescence. But during that time I established some pretty scary patterns that followed me into adulthood. I don't remember how many years into my career I was when I realized I had a bad attitude. It was a hangover from running around and telling the world to go to hell during my early days of independence. There was just so much to rebel against then! But now it was only hurting me. Nobody cared if I stayed out past curfew or went to class anymore. It was as simple as either bringing home a paycheck or not. Make a success of my life or don't. It was completely and totally in my hands, and mine alone. So I got with the program and sought out therapy, trying to figure out how on earth at the end of all that hell-raising the only person I was still hurting was me. 

Like everything else in my life hard work, perseverance and the refusal to allow an unsatisfactory present propelled me forward. A wee bit older and wiser, I could now examine my options with a hint of objectivity and honesty and choose differently. This little attitude shift served me well. I got a big promotion at work and learned where I needed to practice discipline and restraint to achieve my long term goals. The concept of ignoring negativity and embracing positivity opened up my world. I could now see further than the instant gratification in front of my face and knew what to do to make it there. I was movin' on up to that deluxe apartment in the sky! 

And then I got sick. Everything changed. It was no longer about choices, but survival. It was utterly maddeningly horrific those first few years. CFS/ME and Fibro pushed me to the brink of my sanity so many times I am still shocked some days to wake up and have my wits about me. There is a unique kind of hell in having a serious illness nobody takes seriously. Every ounce of improvement or bit of health I have today is mine because I fought for it. Nobody handed it to me or gave me the recipe for how to find a quality of life worth living on the other side of chronic illness. It's so darn complicated I don't think anybody else's recipe would have worked for me! At first I had no clue what I was doing, or that it could even be done. I just knew I had to do something. And sure enough slowly, very slowly, lurching in a zig-zagged path that went backwards half the time, I was able to find my way. Looking back now I can't help but think knowing I'd changed my reality once gave me the strength to believe I could probably do it again.

Thanks for joining,

1 comment:

  1. I can really relate to this story. We have to find our own way. I can't even remeber much how I got to this place, let alone tell others, let alone tell them they should do x y or z to fix their fibro!