Ideal Self

Sorry for my long absence, I’m on my third week of meds for anxiety.  As you could probably tell by my post on anxiety, mine had gotten out of control.  The good news is my medications are working and I am starting to feel better. 

I ended up taking a few days off work to see how I would react to the meds and I discovered something.   I do better with structure.  I do better when I have to be somewhere every day at 8am.  It has only been in the last 2 years that I have had a normal schedule like this and my health has been a lot better and my sleep has become amazingly better.

The first day I had off, the meds weren’t giving me any strange side effects so I wasn’t spending that resting in bed.  I found it fun, dyed my hair, and watched a movie. 

The second day I felt like a slug.  I didn’t want to move, I had slept too much and that makes my body hurt. I barely did anything.  I was grumpy too.  I looked around and had a realization.  If I worked less and stayed home more my house would not be cleaner.  I wouldn’t spend my time making crafts and writing.  I would spend my time watching tv and eating.

It’s a fantasy I need to let go of. Time is not the only enemy to this idealized self.  “If I had enough time I would write that book…”  My own will, my emotional and physical health are also barriers to this fantasy life.

  I’m not saying we should all be pushing ourselves harder, and to stop watching TV and sleep less.  I need that rest; I have limitations within my body.  Even when it comes to sitting I feel pain. 

I’m saying there is an ideal self, an image in our head, of who we would like to be.  Maybe it would be better if we grieved that, let that image go, and just love ourselves just the way we are.

I am proud to be a beautiful mess. 

I haven’t given up on writing or being creative; but I allow myself to have balance.  

I haven’t mastered this.  I have very high expectations for myself and find that I am my worst critic.  I’m working on accepting this beautiful mess, just as I am. 

Pain and Anxiety

 

            Over the years and years of dealing with a chronic pain condition I have found that pain and anxiety have a relationship.  The anxiety of possible pain has paralyzed me and kept me from sleep. I believe I have experienced both normal/passing anxiety and clinical/diagnosable anxiety.  I now take a medication at bedtime to help with it.  

            My anxiety is all revolved around pain. I get tearful just to talk about my pain because I remember when my pain was at its worst and I get fearful it will get that bad again.  Sometimes my anxiety is warranted and I feel pain matching or exceeding the pain I have experienced in my past.  My experiences are teaching me to expect pain. 

            Last spring, I had extreme pain in the heels of my feet.  It was very hard for me to walk, especially at the end of the day.  I would stand up after dinner with my boyfriend and I would be unable to walk as I stood there adjusting to the pain. BF would give me his shoulder to hold me up and help me to the car. I eventually got a cane. The cane helped, but I struggled with using it at work.  

        "What happened? Are you okay?"

No I'm not okay, I'm never okay, I'm pretending to be okay and your sympathy is getting in the way of my preformence. 

I have anxiety about calling in sick to work. I was fired once for calling in sick during the first month of employment.

I fear my boss will ask too much of me. 

I have anxiety about my abilities deteriorating. 

I have anxiety about my prognosis.  If I'm alone in a quiet room and there is a ticking clock, I go mad. The repetitive sound of the clock mocks me by drilling into my head that my life is short. Any repetitive sound aggravates my nerves because of the fibromyalgia.   

I have anxiety about undone chores. This stress me out because I fear that I'll become so ill that I'll run out of clean clothes. (That has happened before when I was living alone) Same goes for dishes. 

I have anxiety that I will become disabled and unable to work. 

I fear I will run out of pain meds. 

I fear that people won't believe my pain. I went to the ER once in horrible pain and they doubted me because I was listening to my iPod. I was listening to my iPod to try and distract myself from the pain. 

I fear I won't be able to sleep. 

I fear the worst can happen, my condition will get worse, BF could leave me, and I would have to move back home with my abusive alcoholic father. 

       I can hear my inner therapist validating these warranted fears. 

The thing is.... I don't know what to do about these fears and anxiety. 

I think some people would tell me to "give it over to God."

Okay, but I cant ignore it because these experiences are part of my past and often part of my present. 

Some people may push it off, "just don't worry so much."

Thanks... I guess I'm cured now. That's my knee-jerk sarcastic response I seem to always have locked and loaded. I wish these people could understand that I am not choosing to be anxious. It feels out of my control. 

Matthew 6 "25 “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? 26 Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them.Are you not much more valuable than they?27 Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?

... 34 Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."

Beautiful sentiment, but I don't know how to do this. God asks this of us but I really need a step by step guide to do this. Maybe God can do this within me through medicating my anxiety. God can work through medications.

 But there is additional fear in handing my anxiety to God because I fear that my anxiety will become another disease that won't be healed and can't be cured. One day I will have too many incurable diseases and conditions that I snap. I'm waiting for the day that I give up and simply go comatose because it's too much to handle. 

         It's so hard to just breath and live everyday with the anxiety. It's like trying to keep a lion beside me all day without it attacking me. I'm holding onto the leash while I try to work and participate in the world. 

I'm sorry if this was painful to read. I know it's much more fun to read a story about how someone overcame it. 

If you've experienced this, I'm also sorry. 

If you're a medical professional treating people like me, 

please listen, 

please support, 

please get your people the treatment and medication they need.