Your friendly neighborhood Sherrie isn’t feeling very friendly. The frustration, anger, sadness, and grump are strong in this one.
Frustration stems from an inability to control pain when it’s in an uncontrollable state. My daily routine, relaxation, and even meds only aggravate the pain sensors and make me stabby.
Anger comes from the same place as frustration, but is magnified by the limited mobility, lack of meaningful exercise, and fear of the flare continuing past week two.
Cue the sadness. Once fear comes around, the tears are sure to follow. I’m only 46. If this is what 46 feels like, what will 56 bring? If I need assistance to stand now, I might need more assistance later. And what if the degeneration speed increases with time? How am I supposed to train when I can barely stand?
Yes, it gets that bad sometimes. It’s hard to tell when people see me smiling and pushing through.
Once anger passes, the general grump sets in. Why are people calling me? Why do I need to cook? These dogs need to feed themselves. Bah, humbug.
The longer the flare, the longer this cycle lasts. I know flares are temporary, but while living through one, logical thinking flies out the window. And laughs at me.
Why do I share? Because it helps keep me sane. And to let anyone reading this know that the feelings are real and you’re not crazy. Or alone. Chronic conditions can do a number on your body, mind, and spirit.
If you need me, give me an hour or so. I’m riding out the flare from my bedside workstation. Thank you, flexible scheduling!