This isn’t my first post - I used to have an account, tried resetting my password and somehow I can’t reset it, but that’s by-the-by.
Does anyone else just think “screw this” and want to bring this all to an end? I know that sounds a tad dramatic, but bear with me. I’m 40, been living with this godforsaken evil disease for the past nine years - officially diagnosed in 2016 - and I’m starting to notice things that are different now than what they were when I was still in my thirties. Because of the MS I’m not as active as I once was. My life is now a constant cycle of “get up, take Tecfidera, try to deal with whatever side-effects it may throw at you but do so before you have to go to work, head to work, feel remarkably crap because you feel less and less able to do your job, go home, take another pill, try and have something to eat, then feel like death because the MS has decided to treat your body like a half-charged battery, fall into bed and then somehow do it all over again”.
I used to want to do things. To see places, to go travelling, to have adventures and have fun. Now I just feel like my life is dominated by a bloody illness that is slowly and surely eating away at me, both physically and emotionally. When I was diagnosed three years ago I didn’t cry, I didn’t “grieve”, I didn’t do anything like that - I just got back to work. Well, what else was I supposed to do? I had this crazy idea that everything would be “Normal” and everything would be “Fine” and now…now that I’ve turned 40, I’m starting to realise that MS has started to overrule everything I do. I’ve not been on holiday for nearly twenty years. I’m scared to go on holiday - anywhere - because I’m not even sure if I can. I’m angry, all the time, sheer and pure unadulterated rage that I somehow keep contained and manage not to hurt those around me because they think they’re doing the right thing by making me do X thing when I know - I know and have told them - that X thing is not what I want to do or feel capable of doing. I want to learn to drive but I’m terrified to get behind the wheel of a car because I’m not even bloody sure if I can. I’m sick to the back bloody teeth of people telling me (and always in that forced-cheerful manner!) that I should be “grateful” that I “only” have MS (I’ve got relapse-remitting) and not something “Awful” like cancer or Alzheimers. I want to punch people, hurt people for these comments, I want to actually throw people in front of traffic for being patronising and belittling.
I had a severe dizzy spell at work this morning, so severe that I had to come home. I was escorted - bloody well escorted - to the front door. I’ve never felt so patronised, so belittled, so humiliated. And why didn’t I say anything? Because if I try to vocalise what I’m feeling when I’m stressed or worried, I stutter. I stumble over my words and I can’t speak properly. I sound like an idiot. So I keep my mouth shut. But, oh, you can guarantee that I’m furious inside.
And then the fury subsides and I become depressed. And then the suicidal thoughts come on. Dark, horrific thoughts of killing myself, actually researching ways to kill myself in the quickest time possible. I’ve never went through with it, mind you, because I’m bloody scared of dying (oh, the irony!) So I try to find ways to combat the depression. I went on anti-depressants before - not recommended. So I’ve turned into a serial Instagram stalker. I put words into Instagram that I associate with being happy and I have an entire Instagram profile that follows nothing but travel bloggers and hashtags of places I went in my youth, to remind me of better, happier times.
And then my mind slips and I find myself fantasising about winning the lottery and going travelling. I remember going swimming in the Pacific and I remember how it felt. And then I remember that, thanks to the god-damned-evil-disease, my legs don’t work like they used to. That I’ve got reduced mobility in my left arm. So the chances of my swimming like I did when I was twenty are nil. And (to carry the oceanic motif forward), the depression crashes in on me like a wave. Again.
It’s a vicious, neverending cycle of hurt. And I’m sick of it. I’m sick, sick, sick, SICK of it. I hate how my life turned out, how my life has just collapsed in on itself and I hate the people around me who think I’m “coping fine” when in fact I just want to burn everything down. I just want to end it all and be done with it. Just wish I wasn’t so bloody scared of death.
Rant over. Call me psychotic, delusional, whatever. I just needed to rant somewhere where no one knows who I am.