Monday, June 17, 2013

Crisis Of Purpose

A few weeks back I bottomed out psychologically. My inner Chicken Little ran around ranting and raving like the sky was falling. Any sense of purpose or progress in my life vacated my reality. In fact I didn't know who I was, what I was doing or where I was going. And certainly couldn't make sense out of where I'd been. Misery soaked my aura in radiating beams of destruction. Slicing through the air like a million lightsabers clearing my path to ruin. I was absolutely certain I would never be able to write another word in my entire life. I got mad I wasn't back in school or working. Simply not contributing to the household financially made me feel like the biggest loser in the world. And the fact that most afternoons found me in my sweats, hair pulled back in an elastic with an unwashed face and unbrushed teeth, well it was embarrassing. In the simplest terms my entire existence...offended me.

The back of my mind screamed, "This too shall pass!" but I didn't really care or believe it. Trying to count my blessings or focus on the positive seemed utterly frivolous. All I felt was profound disappointment and anger. How did I work so hard to get my life back from umpteen illnesses only to be this? Did I have the strength to keep on this road, believing in a better tomorrow with all my might? Or was I being a delusional ninny? A significant amount of philosophizing and bargaining rattled around my brain. Finally my hormones and chemicals and viral surge sparking this disillusionment settled down enough for me to find a speck of light in the far off distance and start to march towards it. Luckily the more determined I became to reduce my misery, the bigger the light grew until it was shining brightly over my culpability in this whole mess.

I realized I do have job. One I don't like, didn't want and wasn't raised to find value or satisfaction in. And boy was I doing a terrible job at it! So Leah the housewife recognized she needed to buck up and expect a little more from herself, and a funny thing happened when she did. I realized there is actually immense pride to be taken in creating and maintaining a comfortable and ordered home. I was just so damn sick for so damn long the absolute last thing I cared about were dust bunnies and spots on my carpet. I've worked very hard to balance my life and get my pain under control. Cooking and cleaning no longer evoke such agony I want to fling myself off a steep cliff. The time had come to shift my expectations and challenge myself to forward progress. So I cleaned my house.

But all that happened after I got my slovenly ass off the sofa and into the shower. It seemed stupid the first few days, putting on makeup and doing my hair to just sit at home by myself. Not too many days in I realized the immense value in caring about my appearance, though. When I look better I feel better. I am prepared to actually leave my house and go live life if the opportunity presents itself, and it did. A friend called mid-morning to see if I wanted to meet for lunch and I was actually able to say yes! So onward I march. My house a little cleaner, my blush a little brighter, my hope that life with this illness can actually improve a little bigger.

Thanks for joining,