i've become very aware recently of people's personal limitations due to candid conversations with family members and friends. turns out a large percentage of the population is starting from a sub-par physical or emotional level each and every day - kind of begins to shed light on things like road rage, failed relationships, or forgeting to renew your car's inspection sticker. when you're not performing on an optimal level all of the time, stability and attention to detail can go by the wayside. i digress. what i was really saying is that very few people spring out of bed, dance a few steps of the charleston, and say "woop! i feel fricking dynamite today!" (if you do, love you. high five, brother.)
i spent a long time...years, really...wading around in a greyish and largely fictional mucky, emotional pile. i had extra energy to fixate on things like A- v. A, weight, social standing, etc. furthermore, i was able to beat myself up about some inachievable standard of perfection regularly. what a crummy way to go through the day. it took physically feeling like shit to realize how counterproductive all of this "activity" was.
senior year, i was lucky enough to get mono. lucky. i'm not kidding. i certainly had a full plate, and couldn't afford the downtime. i'd regularly slept four hours nightly for the past eight years. immunosabotage now forced me to my bed for seventeen hours each day. after the initial virus itself passed, i didn't actually feel much better. i could swallow, sure, but god...i was just...so...tired.
"chronic fatigue syndrome," said a doctor at mass general, "we don't know much about it, but it looks like you have it. the symptoms fit." "great," i said, "what should i take for it?" "nothing, actually," he said sheepishly, "we can't treat it. it will probably take years for you to fully bounce back." what? sounded like bullshit to me.
i did some reading. lots of reading, actually, because every piece of medical literature published on the topic seemed intentionally vague. not contagious, not really well recognized, just marked by inexplicable fatigue and the magical ability to contract every cold and flu bug circulating. aka, every so often (once every two weeks?) i feel as though i've been run over by a truck for no good reason. getting dressed is a challenge. breakfast, lunch, and dinner are nauseating. going to work is equivalent to running a marathon after sitting down for a week and eating nothing but cheese fries and coke. washing my hair is like lifting two lead pipes to my head. i don't talk about it, generally. i don't want to. i don't want anyone to know if i'm having a slug of a day, if it's more than i can fathom to drive up the highway, if i'm not okay with being the company cheerleader.
i'll tell you what's been really interesting, though. i think my prior, overdramatic self would've a) complained a buttload and b) returned to bed, feeling sorry for herself. the past two and a half years have been a pretty steady upward progression. before, when every day was essentially the same, i had to invent reasons to differentiate them from each other. now, on the thirteen days out of fourteen that are normal, i wake up feeling kick ass. i love my days, i love my friends, i love my job, i have a really, really wonderful family, some pretty amazing mentors, and a smooth little path. the stuff that was important to fixate on just a few years ago no longer registers on the worthwhile scale. it's easier to keep "drama" in perspective.
my personal kryptonite? it's a tiny, green glowing pebble. my albatross? compared to almost everyone else's, it's a hummingbird. a crappy day just makes the others more dynamic. high five, friends. it's not all about me anymore, and i'm grateful.
No comments:
Post a Comment