Today, here in Canada, is a day dedicated to increasing awareness around mental health issues. It's ironic, as my mental health has taken a beating in the last few days. I think the realization that ALS is now clearly attacking my hands and fingers has something to do with my mild depression and general feeling of sadness, and, dare I say it, self-pity. It may not be socially acceptable to say it, but these last few days I have been feeling downright sorry for myself.
I don't think this feeling of self-pity is entirely condemnable. Let's face it; I'm in a fairly pitiable spot. Advanced ALS is no dance at the Roxy, no walk in the park. This is a tough spot to be in, especially for someone as dependent on hands and fingers as I am. What's going to happen when I can no longer type, no longer dial the phone, no longer pick up a glass? So, yes, I'm feeling a bit sorry for myself. Wouldn't you?
There are those who will remind me to find joy in what I have, or rather, what I have left. For those who have not suffered this suffering, that is, at best, a specious comment. I have, for seven years now, been working hard to find joy in my ever diminishing life. The first two years I didn't know what was wrong, so it was possible to pretend I could be fixed. After diagnosis, with reality firmly stomping on my hopes and dreams, I learned to live with what I could, when I could. I have to say, though, that this requires effort, work. Self-pity requires no effort at all; it's just there to take over me.
Stop and think for a minute. I, acutely aware of the process, am losing my body, slowly inexorably. My intellect is intact, such as it is. My mind is relatively intact, although my emotional core is taking a real beating. Psuedo Bulbar Affect is having an impact on some cognitive functions, but it is not harming my intellect. Some days I wish it would, taking me to a place where I was not only unaware of the changes, but unconcerned about them too.
I am fairly and firmly tired of this disease. I'm not dead yet, but the life is slowly being sucked out of me, ounce by ounce, milligram by milligram. It's wearing, grinding. If you want to give me grief for a bit of self-pity now and then, consider trading places with me. Then again, maybe not. I wouldn't wish this on anybody.
You have every reason to be exhausted, pissed off, sad, etc...you've lost so much, Richard.
ReplyDeleteYou are 100% entitled to feel sorry for yourself. Infact its testament to your will and determination that you would even consider that you shouldn't.
ReplyDeleteI suspect many of us are PALS and though we haven't experienced what you are going through first hand, we may have witnessed it and admire your fight and willingness to find positives most days.