CW: Medical issues, reproductive health, blood mention
So, Where Have I Been?
You may have noticed that it’s been quite a while since I last posted here: nearly a whole year, in fact. Shortly after writing about the history of chronic pain treatment, I was struck down by a massive flare-up of my own chronic illnesses for around 10 months. I’m sure there’s a joke in there somewhere, but I’m too tired and annoyed to bother finding it.
I was fighting almost constant anaphylactoid reactions from April through to October, and just as the pollen season died down and took my furious mast cells with it, my PCOS flared with a vengeance. I bled heavily from the end of October to the beginning of January with almost no letup whatsoever. I was genuinely afraid for my life. The pain, weakness, lightheadedness, and brain fog were among the worst I’ve ever experienced.
I am finally getting myself sorted out with use of the progesterone only pill, but that’s coming with its own set of problems – it is exacerbating my connective tissue disorder and causing me a lot of pain and trouble with walking and subluxations. When you have multiple co-occurring chronic illnesses you sometimes have to choose the lesser of two evils, and for me the increase in pain and subluxations was worth it to not, you know, die from anaemia.
[For further information about my “constellation” of disorders (some diagnosed, some as yet unconfirmed by doctors), definitely check out the wonderful Oh TWIST! ]
Impostor! Impostor!
One of the more annoying results of all this health mess is that I have barely been able to write anything for a year. Extreme exhaustion, pain, and brain fog are not conducive to any kind of writing. But if I’m brutally honest with myself, the biggest hurdle in getting back on my feet as far as writing is concerned has been my own doubt.
I always thought writing was in my blood, but when your blood is disappearing from your body at an alarming rate and just thinking about what you want for dinner feels like trying to do an Olympic sprint through a treacle bog, you start to question everything. Even when the worst of the flare-up had died down, I didn’t feel like I could call myself a writer anymore. I hadn’t written anything in months! My Twitter friends and followers were extremely kind and helpful when I sobbed all over the Internet about my loss of creativity, but despite their positive, comforting words I still felt like a fraud. Some writers talk about inspiration not mattering as much as dedication and work, but what about when you don’t have the capacity for either? I was convinced I had lost my touch entirely and would never be able to write again.
Some of my friends pointed out that Twitter threads surely count as “writing” (and of course they were right), but my brain wouldn’t allow that because I hadn’t touched any of my various WIPs or my blog in months. My fanfic readers probably think I’ve gone back to my home planet or something.
Of course the actual pain and sickness and fear were the worst part of being severely ill for most of a year – of course they were – but at the same time one of the most difficult things was the constant feeling of slowly losing parts of myself. I could feel my energy, my creativity, my desire to do things just … trickling away, as if my brain and body had become an unplugged sink through which my whole self was draining into oblivion. When you lose the things you love about yourself, who are you?
Miles to Go
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.– Robert Frost, Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening
The road to recovery is a lot like trudging up a snowy hill. Sometimes you’re making good progress and then there’s a hidden patch of ice and suddenly you’re not as far along as you thought you were. This is especially true of chronic illnesses, because even if the bad flare-up has died down, you’re still not well, and “getting back on your feet” can look a lot different to when an abled person has been ill and is recovering.
It can be very tempting, as Frost writes, to just stay where you are, lulled by the silence into a kind of trance. The uphill climb is so difficult and the snow is so pretty and there aren’t any people to bother you. The darkness is alluring. But the problem with staying still is that you freeze to death eventually. Stagnation means a slow death, creeping infinitesimally toward the dark even without you realizing it.
You can’t know until you try. With the caveat that I’m not recovered but still recovering, I have to speak from my own experience and say that you just have to give your creativity a chance to come back. Don’t force it, but don’t deny the tiny flashes you have. Let them come naturally, organically, and listen to their small, bright voices. The snowy hill may always be there, and you may have to reconcile yourself to never actually reaching the top, but you can admire and enjoy the individual snowflakes as they fall, without stopping too long and freezing your feet to the ground.
It’s a struggle, but then isn’t that life and art all over?
[Image credit: SamuelFrancisJohnson on Pixabay]
Livin' on a Prayer 