Written in April 2016, finished April 30th, 2017. Inspired to be published by a sermon given at Central United Methodist in a series called "Life is Hard". I don't talk in depth about this part of my life often. It is my least favorite part of my life and has also been a big part of my life for over a year now. Life certainly is hard...
"Make it stop",
I pleaded to no one in particular. Maybe I was talking to God or maybe to my own body, but the agony continued to build in my skull as if the contents of my mind would explode from the ever-increasing pressure. This was day nine. Day nine of countless amounts of ibuprofen and sumatriptan and muscle relaxers. Day nine of feeling so miserable that I found myself seeping into the grasp of depression. Day nine of losing the battle to the bitch, Migraine. I walked to the bathroom to throw-up again. Honestly, my stomach didn't even hurt. The pain was just too much.
Once again, Nick returned from work to find me lying on my bed in the dark, face buried in my pillow. He was scared that night. It had gone on for so long. I had work the next day. I hadn't missed a day for this insipid migraine. "Syd, we should go to the hospital", he told me. I could hear the fear in his voice. But I knew that the hospital would do nothing but cost me money for a diagnosis of a bad headache and a prescription of extra strength Tylenol. At this point taking four ibuprofen was equivalent to taking nothing at all as I seemed to have developed an immunity. "Just hand me the muscle relaxers", I said. I took the round, white, saving grace and popped it in my mouth. It tasted bitter. I hated these prescribed pills. I hated the lack of control I had over my body in a mere 15 minutes. I hated the need to be forced into chemical-induced sleep. And yet, this was the only peace I seemed to experience in the eleven days of the worst migraine of my life.
For the first time in nearly two years, I went to see Dr. Hussein, my neurologist all the way in Dublin, Ohio. This was the second time I had been to Columbus that week, once to see an urgent care doctor to get immatrix, and now to see what the brain doctor had to say. He prescribed more muscle relaxers, a knock-off of sumatriptan that was supposedly better, and an anti-depression medication known as Nortriptaline that apparently was proven to help prevent migraines. After about two weeks of taking the medication, I felt better. Great even. Not only was I not getting vomit-causing migraines, but my usual headaches were gone.
Two months went by with relatively good health. I had tonsillitis for a few weeks, but my headaches remained at bay. I weaned myself off of the Nortripaline and was fine. Until two weeks ago. Once again, I found myself leaning over my toilet, my body attempting to rid itself of the pain the men with hammers inside my skull were causing. Once again, I would wake up from my drug-induced sleep to pain. A little over a week ago, I lost it. I woke up with a migraine at 7 a.m. I tried to sleep, but I couldn't. The pain was too much. I refused to take a muscle relaxer because it was freaking 7 a.m.I had things to do, a life to live, a wedding to plan, a fiance who always seemed to work and then have to spend his free time taking care of me. I was determined to be functional.
But I couldn't. I couldn't function. I couldn't relax. I couldn't focus. I showered and let the heat from the water pound on my head and neck. I took ibuprofen, knowing that it was a lost cause but trying none-the-less just in case. I begged the air around me yet again, "make it stop". My phone vibrated to a text from Nick asking how I was doing. I replied, "my head hurts" Shocker.
By 3:30, as Nick made his daily trip from work to my apartment, he found my laying on my bed. He asked what he could do, and I'm pretty sure I rudely screamed "NOTHING". I was so frustrated, so angry. I walked to my bathroom cabinet to grab the damn white pills that seemed to be the only peace I experienced in these circumstances. I sat on my bed and looked at the bottle. I probably looked at the orange and white canister for a long minute before chucking it across my room in what I can only assume is the emotion, Anguish (anger and pain?). I don't know what all I screamed that afternoon, but many profanities were used. I think this was one of those rare moments in my life where I was straight up pissed at God. Everyday, I was incapacitated by Pain or Fear of Pain. I found myself laying in bed in the morning when I woke up, afraid to raise my head in case the migraine had returned. On the days when I could only feel the faint tug of a headache, I would stay up until 2 or 3 in the morning, afraid to sleep in fear that I would wake up only to be faced with another day of physical suffering. In fact, as I'm writing this in past tense, I'm realizing that this fear hasn't fully gone away, and this is why: I don't trust God.
As I yelled and cursed and sobbed and threw things in pain and frustration, my compassionate and kind now husband wrapped me up in his arms and held me. As I sobbed pathetically, he mourned with me. I felt so weak and so out of control and so helpless. As I began to calm down from my mental episode, he prayed. He prayed that God would take the pain away. He prayed that whether it was from a miracle or a doctor or a medicine, that I would experience Him and His love and healing restoration. When I have a full blown migraine, they never go away unless I sleep and even then it is a gamble. One hour after Nick prayed my headache was gone. And I found myself stunned. And I realized that was a huge problem.
Lately, I feel as though my body has betrayed me. I've always had weird non-life threatening anatomical issues. I have mild cerebral palsy which has caused half of my body to be significantly weaker than the other half, my muscles to tighten at random, and my hips to be misaligned and legs to be turned inward. I think I have come to a point in my life where I am just tired. I'm tired of my body not working and conforming to my will. I'm exhausted by the Fear that reigns dominant in my soul. I'm sick of feeling guilty for my anger and frustration and humiliation. I actually came to a point where I wondered if God was punishing me for un-confessed sin or just sin in general. In fact, I'm honestly not sure if I've stopped wondering that. I've come to a point where pity and self-absorption periodically take over my brain and the insipid cries of "why me" leave the confines of my mind and travel through my mouth out into the cruel world that seems to hate me. Ummmm, the delicious words of self addiction and pain. Music to the Prince of the World.
Confession: sometimes I loathe myself. I get up out of bed, making sure to be quiet so I don't wake up my now husband, and I creep down the stairs of our new townhouse into the living room. I grab my green and yellow notebook that I have labeled my anxiety book and I write whatever I feel capable of writing. At times, it is a monologue of all the convoluted thoughts swirling around inside my brain immortalized with the ink of my pen onto the paper. At other times, it is a list of all the things I hate about myself. And still, at other times it is just a word, a momentary feeling that I am able to identify. And after this...therapy?, I just cry. I talk to God and I cry. Sometimes, tears leak from my eyes because of the physical afflictions that affect the everyday activities of my life, Sometimes, they fall because of the shame following these afflictions. And sometimes, it is just the frustration of not being able to effectively communicate the feelings of my soul. This has been such a frustrating season.
I have been ungrateful. Because the truth is, my life is not a pile of rubble. I have a cat who is the best thing since indoor plumbing. I have a wonderful, loving, patient husband and the recent memories of a beautiful wedding surrounded by my favorite people. I have an air-conditioned new apartment and am starting an exciting new job with an exciting new salary. I also have a body that allows me to get up in the morning. I have a brain that allows me to experience the world around me filled with both joy and pain. I have deep friendships that neither distance or time can seem to ruin or make less meaningful. I have doctors that are trying to help me and friends who will listen to me.
All too often in my life, I bury my trials and have tried to compare them with that of others to invalidate them. Recently, I've found myself going in the polar opposite direction and making my problems the center of my universe. Neither extreme is healthy. I am going through real, painful physical trials that effect me both physically, emotionally, and spiritually. But I am also loved like crazy by a perfect Father who knows my pain, who authenticates earthly struggles on the cross, who holds me even when I scream obscenities in His direction. Pain whether physical or mental does not mean that Joy has stopped existing. It doesn't even mean that Joy cannot be experienced. Joy can be a choice. It is one I have seldom made recently, but not a choice that Pain can take away from. Pain can make it harder to identify. It can make Joy seem like an unrealistic dream. It can make the world look bleak. And lets be honest-- There is bleakness in the world. There is darkness and brokenness and oh so much Pain. But it does not make the world void of Joy.
So right now in this moment of clarity, I am making the choice to be Joyful. I am precious to the Holy one. I am never without Hope. I am beautiful and beloved and not a mistake. I was created on Purpose with a purpose. "More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us." Romans 5:3-5
Confession: sometimes I loathe myself. I get up out of bed, making sure to be quiet so I don't wake up my now husband, and I creep down the stairs of our new townhouse into the living room. I grab my green and yellow notebook that I have labeled my anxiety book and I write whatever I feel capable of writing. At times, it is a monologue of all the convoluted thoughts swirling around inside my brain immortalized with the ink of my pen onto the paper. At other times, it is a list of all the things I hate about myself. And still, at other times it is just a word, a momentary feeling that I am able to identify. And after this...therapy?, I just cry. I talk to God and I cry. Sometimes, tears leak from my eyes because of the physical afflictions that affect the everyday activities of my life, Sometimes, they fall because of the shame following these afflictions. And sometimes, it is just the frustration of not being able to effectively communicate the feelings of my soul. This has been such a frustrating season.
I have been ungrateful. Because the truth is, my life is not a pile of rubble. I have a cat who is the best thing since indoor plumbing. I have a wonderful, loving, patient husband and the recent memories of a beautiful wedding surrounded by my favorite people. I have an air-conditioned new apartment and am starting an exciting new job with an exciting new salary. I also have a body that allows me to get up in the morning. I have a brain that allows me to experience the world around me filled with both joy and pain. I have deep friendships that neither distance or time can seem to ruin or make less meaningful. I have doctors that are trying to help me and friends who will listen to me.
All too often in my life, I bury my trials and have tried to compare them with that of others to invalidate them. Recently, I've found myself going in the polar opposite direction and making my problems the center of my universe. Neither extreme is healthy. I am going through real, painful physical trials that effect me both physically, emotionally, and spiritually. But I am also loved like crazy by a perfect Father who knows my pain, who authenticates earthly struggles on the cross, who holds me even when I scream obscenities in His direction. Pain whether physical or mental does not mean that Joy has stopped existing. It doesn't even mean that Joy cannot be experienced. Joy can be a choice. It is one I have seldom made recently, but not a choice that Pain can take away from. Pain can make it harder to identify. It can make Joy seem like an unrealistic dream. It can make the world look bleak. And lets be honest-- There is bleakness in the world. There is darkness and brokenness and oh so much Pain. But it does not make the world void of Joy.
So right now in this moment of clarity, I am making the choice to be Joyful. I am precious to the Holy one. I am never without Hope. I am beautiful and beloved and not a mistake. I was created on Purpose with a purpose. "More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us." Romans 5:3-5
I experience chronic pain. There aren't many people who see the worst of it. There aren't many people who really understand the frustration, pain and depression unless they experience chronic migraines. It's been rough again lately. Not as bad as 11-Day Migraine. Not nearly as bad as ER-Migraine. But frequent. Now I take an anti seizure medication with a muscle relaxer daily and receive up to 10 injections in my necks every four months called trigger point injections. I have not found the perfect treatment and I do not know when it will end but I have a hope and a knowledge that one day it will. One day, I will no longer feel the ache in my neck creep and build into my temples. Whether that day comes in this earthly life or not, I don't know. That is the part that scares me sometimes. That is the part that moves my fingers to cling to the robes of Christ. I try to be grateful for every moment where I am pain free. Sometimes, I am very human and pity myself instead. However, I'm not going to do that thing where I say, "it could be worse" or, "I could be that person who (insert painful situation here)" because I don't think that God intended us to compare struggles to diminish them. We are to be vulnerable and transparent, to share our brokenness, to mourn with those who mourn and rejoice with those who rejoice because we all have a story. Paul, who claimed to be the least of these, mattered. My struggle matters to the Lord and though he takes no joy in my pain, I am beginning to trust Him with it and trust that it matters. In fact, as I type, I am experiencing one of those moments where my mind is clear and free of pain. And it is beautiful and I so grateful! Thank you Lord for my body and for this moment of clarity. This has been a difficult and challenging two years because of this affliction and other factors and life events, but that is for another blog. I thank God for showing me His grace through a husband who mourn with me and cares for me. I thank God for showing me His discipline when I fall into self-pity by not letting me stay in my cocoon of self-deprecation and absorption. I thank God for forgiving and gracious friends who understand when I cancel plans or miss a phone call. I thank God for an understanding administration at work who, though I don't miss work often, have understood when I have needed too. I thank God for allowing me to be angry and to question. My life is valuable and hard and Good. You are a Good, Good, Father.
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