Last evening, my pain spiked. I have Fibromyalgia, and for me, that means never having another pain free day as long as I live. But my pain usually exists around a 4. Yesterday it reached as high as 8.5 before I finally applied some extra methods of pain regulation and had to retire to the bedroom, despite having company.
I struggled to get to sleep, often waking myself up simply because I'd moved, and a joint had protested to the point that I could hear myself whimpering, gasping, and otherwise vocalizing my pain.
For many people, this in and of itself would be enough. They could end
this post here, having made sufficient points about mental health. I
mean, who wouldn't have issues with depression, etc. when faced with
this as a reality?
But that's just the intro.
This morning, I'm still in pain. I had to use my cane to get out of bed and shuffle to the kitchen to start breakfast (oatmeal) and caffeine. My roommate called out to make sure I was okay when I made noises of protestation just bending to sit on the toilet. I had to get help to carry the laptop to the couch, and get my electric blanket out of the tangle of the bedclothes. I certainly needed help carrying a pitcher of water to the livingroom so I don't have to get up to hydrate today. Lifting it to pour into my glass is going to be deadly enough, nevermind carrying it all the way across the apartment,
I should mention that my roommate works nights. It was the end of their day, and all they wanted was bed. Which is completely understandable. However, I am living in a reality where the most dangerous (read: most likely to cause me excruciating pain, with the possibility of losing support in my legs and falling to the floor) is to bend over. My joints are just WAITING to collapse under the weight of my body.
So really, I should have asked for help plugging in the laptop, and my external hard drive, and my electric blanket. Instead, I bit my tongue and did it myself. All because I didn't want to be a burden.
Let me paint you a picture: My roommate would GLADLY and easily have done it for me. Would not have complained, or felt annoyed in any way. And yet.... Sometimes, when I KNOW I should be asking for help, I honestly feel trapped in my own mind. It's not that I can't get over the nagging guilty feeling, nor that it's some misguided sense of pride. I simply cannot open my mouth and ask. It feels like a mental block, that when I try to push past it, threatens a full blown panic attack.
Illogical, I know, but no one ever said that brains had to make sense.
PS: I got everything plugged in just fine. No falling, no sudden attacks of pain, but it took me about 5 times as long as it should have, because I had to move so gingerly.
But that's just the intro.
This morning, I'm still in pain. I had to use my cane to get out of bed and shuffle to the kitchen to start breakfast (oatmeal) and caffeine. My roommate called out to make sure I was okay when I made noises of protestation just bending to sit on the toilet. I had to get help to carry the laptop to the couch, and get my electric blanket out of the tangle of the bedclothes. I certainly needed help carrying a pitcher of water to the livingroom so I don't have to get up to hydrate today. Lifting it to pour into my glass is going to be deadly enough, nevermind carrying it all the way across the apartment,
I should mention that my roommate works nights. It was the end of their day, and all they wanted was bed. Which is completely understandable. However, I am living in a reality where the most dangerous (read: most likely to cause me excruciating pain, with the possibility of losing support in my legs and falling to the floor) is to bend over. My joints are just WAITING to collapse under the weight of my body.
So really, I should have asked for help plugging in the laptop, and my external hard drive, and my electric blanket. Instead, I bit my tongue and did it myself. All because I didn't want to be a burden.
Let me paint you a picture: My roommate would GLADLY and easily have done it for me. Would not have complained, or felt annoyed in any way. And yet.... Sometimes, when I KNOW I should be asking for help, I honestly feel trapped in my own mind. It's not that I can't get over the nagging guilty feeling, nor that it's some misguided sense of pride. I simply cannot open my mouth and ask. It feels like a mental block, that when I try to push past it, threatens a full blown panic attack.
Illogical, I know, but no one ever said that brains had to make sense.
PS: I got everything plugged in just fine. No falling, no sudden attacks of pain, but it took me about 5 times as long as it should have, because I had to move so gingerly.
No comments:
Post a Comment