So here it is, a week before Christmas, and I'm both dreading and looking forward to it at the same time. Truth is, I just can't wait for this year to be over. I've been doing a lot of major cleaning lately with most going into the trash, but quite a pile of stuffed boxes ready for donation with much more to go through. Among the things I found in my cleaning spree the other day was a receipt for my wedding dress--dated almost 10 years ago. I didn't even know that the receipt still even existed. But it got me thinking.
Ten years ago, I was working in a shop on a fast track to management, should I choose a desk over working under a hood all day. Ever since I was little, I always wanted to be a mechanic like my father, uncle, and grandfather. The older I got in school, the more cemented the goal became. What wasn't to love about it? I was great at problem solving, never minded getting dirty, no two days would ever be the same. And I loved it. Not only did I love it, but I was excellent at it. Yes, I was in may ways considered a freak in high school because I wasn't into the whole fashion scene, I kissed no ones arse for any reason, and had my own set of opinions and morals that no one could take from me. I never backed down and never had a problem standing up for myself. But I digress. lol
For as long as I can remember, I've always had aches and pains, never felt fully rested, regardless of how much sleep I got, and always just felt like something was "off." Nurses and doctors used to say it was nothing more than growing pains, pms (later pmdd), or just plain hypochondria. I was always an athlete through school and continued after graduation. I found running to be an excellent way to control my stress. There was nothing like putting on a pair of headphones, zoning out into the music while just running the stress of the day away. It was like instant dissociation. I averaged about 20 miles total a week, even when I was working 3 jobs and going to school full time.
By the time I was 21, I was pretty much settled in my ways. I had a vague "life plan" like most of us have at one point or another and in some respects still do. I was going to be at the top of my field (which I wasn't too far from the top at the time, even given the gender obstacles the occupation brought), buy a house, and maybe one day find a nice guy, settle down, and start a family. I expected all of this by the time I was 30. I was dating a nice guy who later proposed to me and I said yes. I admit now that it wasn't that I didn't love him or anything, because I did, but I said yes because hell, I'd never been engaged before, so why not? Not to mention the romantic way he proposed. I went along with the whole planning thing, found and bought a dress, set a date, etc. etc. etc. Then his mother told him he had to break it off, so he did. At the time, it hurt, but I was kind of relieved as well.
It wasn't too long after that while I was in another management seminar training session that I really started to feel worse. I had no idea what was wrong. All I knew was that I hurt. And it was getting worse until one evening, while I was trying to change out of my uniform at my then-boyfriends house I collapsed onto the floor. I couldn't even change my own clothes it hurt that bad. I had no other choice but to go to the ER. Then, as now, my blood tests showed abnormalities, but no clear answers.
That ER trip was the beginning of a very long, hard road. Fibromyalgia seemed to be the only diagnosis because doctors couldn't find anything else that fit the rest of the symptoms I was having as well as my test results. I was told that I'd never be a mechanic again. I was given medication after medication to try to treat the symptoms, each with a worse reaction than the last. Not surprisingly, the depression I'd been battling my entire life worsened. I tried to have a normal social life, had several relationships, one lasting over 3 years which included another engagement, but nothing felt right. I felt lost. I knew what I couldn't do, but not what I could do. He stood by me through all of it, learned about what fibromyalgia and later chronic Lyme Disease was, did his best to understand what it was like to live with it, and tried every way he knew to help me. The problem then was, no matter what he tried, or what his intentions, he couldn't fix me. I knew he wanted me to be happy, wanted to find a way to fix what was wrong, but in the end, I knew it had to be me. He's the one man I can honestly say that had I met a few years later, things would have worked out between us, but in the end, my depression was too big of a hurdle to overcome for both of us.
Slowly, as if waking up from a dream, I began to see what I had become, how much I hated it, and began to change things in my life. I went back to playing softball (not the fast pitch, mens games I used to, but it was still softball), I began doing yoga not just as a form of exercise, but as a way to meditate and relax, and began different things to improve my emotional well being. Within a year, I had lost almost 150lbs, in many ways, I felt better than I had in years, and had a new plan: I was going to go back to school. I wanted, and still want, to become a psychologist to help those who are living with, or living with others who have chronic illnesses. I've never claimed to have all of the answers and know that even when I finish with all my schooling, there's a chance I may never be well enough to see the inside of an office, but if I can help just one person, all the years, the money, the hard work will be worth it. Then things began to change again.
Just in the past 2 years, I've had 2 knee injuries serious enough to require surgery, a third injury requiring over 2 dozen stitches and weeks in an uncomfortable immoblilizer, and months dealing with Epstein-Barr Virus, given to me by my cheating ex boyfriend. I've also had a very tenuous, if not outright volatile relationship with my brother's wife and my brother, a father who walked out with seemingly no explanation, leaving me to pick up the slack around the house for my mother, and just one stressor after another.
That receipt reminded me of what life was like and what it's like now. It also reminded me of how far I've come since then and how hard I've fought to try to live and have as normal a life as is possible, and it made me realize that even though I'm still in school, I'm still making it through each day, in many ways, I'm back to where I was a little over 6 years ago: in such a deep, all-encompassing, seemingly hopeless depression and I have no idea where to go from here. But at least I see it and know it now. I've gotten out of it before and I'll do it again. Maybe I was supposed to find that receipt and a few other small reminders of what seemed like someone elses life to remind me where I was, where I went, and where I came from. It won't be easy, but anything worth it is never easy.
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