So, the About Me thing is tiny. Teeeeny really. There wasn't enough room for me to really go into details about being a Spoonie (A person with one or more chronic illnesses) or anything like that... And then I discovered the blog area and went, "Ah ha!"
The truth is, I'm mostly on here to find friends. I've become jaded to the aspiration of finding a husband and ever having children though this has been a long-held dream. Why? Because... I'm a Spoonie. Now, before you jump in and say anything (Can you comment? I don't know, but, just the same, keep reading) allow me to explain.
I've been living with my chronic illnesses and daily chronic pain since I was ten years old; I turn 30 in December. I can count on one hand the number of romantic relationships I've been in, and only two of them became serious; I was engaged twice, and married once. That marriage lasted eight months before we separated and then legally divorced. Now, this man I married, whom we shall call Joe, no, no, I like that name... Um. Jack. Jack works, that's nice and common. I had known Jack for YEARS. We gamed together all the time, we Skyped, we talked about real life, we stayed up late laughing our asses off at the stupid stuff we came up with or that happened in game and in real life, some of which in spite of my bitter feelings toward him still make me smile and laugh to this day.
Jack knew everything about me, and about my illnesses. He knew there were days I literally could not get out of bed without help, even to walk the six or so feet from my own door to the bathroom door where the counter would be available to support me. Tack on the distance from where my bed was...oh, about nine feet in all. My mother, who at the time was in her early 60s, had to help me out of the bed and to the bathroom due to the joint and muscle pain I have. I had to miss doctor appointments because I was too sick to go in, if that isn't ironic, I don't know what is. I had and still have migraines that can last for up to ten days at a time, where the tiniest sound or the most dim light is excruciatingly painful.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" You may ask... Well, you can google these yourself, buuuuut. I have Fibromyalgia, I have hypermobile type Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, I have a type 1 Arnold-Chiari malformation, I have chronic fatigue syndrome, have degenerative disc disease, I have cervical ridiculopathy, I have arthritis in my knees, and most likely in my hips, I have sciatica, I have depression, I have anxiety, I have bipolar affective disorder, I have chronic insomnia, I have irritable bowel...well, to be honest, I have a 3" thick file of medical records. That's what I have. I have too many acronyms. That's what I have. I also have some unknown heart condition that I'm currently in testing for; it isn't beating right - early A-fib, for those of you who know what that is. What they're going to do about it depends on the results of the test. The heart thing is new. The rest? Was already there.
He knew.
Now, the thing about chronic illnesses and chronic pain is the fact that one day, I can be bedridden, needing my mom or crutches to get to the bathroom and back to my bed, and by the time I get back from that, I'm so exhausted I have to take a nap! I'm not even joking. But them, the very next day, I'm just fine and able to conquer the world and do anything a normal person does. It follows no rhyme or reason, no schedule. Sometimes, I can have weeks or months of remission before the chronic pain train runs me over again.
The first few months we were married, I was in a remission. I think it was in part due to the climate change - I moved from Indiana to Arizona. But then I got sick with a nasty strep infection, and wham. Everything snowballed. I couldn't be the perfect maid/housewife anymore, leaving the house spotless and having dinner ready when he got home from his desk job so he could sit and play games and smoke pot all evening. I was also dealing with a surge of depression, mostly, I think, from being so horribly homesick. I've always been very close with my family, and they were across the country. So I began to do what I always do when I'm in extreme physical and/or emotional pain. I began to recluse. That is my fault, my error, in this whole mess. I shut myself in our bedroom, hiding away from everything, suffering my pain in silence. I told him about it, when he asked, but in spite of his insurance we could magically never afford a doctor, yet we always had money for him to get takeout or him to buy pot. Amazing.
I wasn't aware that we were actually having -marital- problems. I wasn't. He never said anything. The house was going to hell in a hand basket because he and our roommate apparently had no idea how to wash a dish or clean up after themselves, so it fell to me to clean the literally molding dishes while I was in tears from pain because neither one of them could bother to. I did that once, and I couldn't do it again. Neither one of them could do the grocery shopping, either. Jack bugged me about our being low on groceries, so I suggested he go, but he refused to go without me. I think he simply thought I was being lazy.
Food supplies dwindled, and eventually, while Jack and our roommate were getting takeout because he picked our roommate up from work on his way home (rarely if ever thinking to get anything for me) I subsisted on canned mixed vegetables and peanut butter sandwiches when the ramen finally ran out. Jack meanwhile commented to my mother on the phone, I later found out, that I was looking great because I had even lost weight. Yeah, jackass, I was starving! I also later found out from my mother and eldest brother that he was talking to them, and his family, about our marital problems but not to me; he was talking to everyone BUT me, I had no idea anything was wrong, at all. He was a very non-confrontational individual, but that was ridiculous.
On the night we decided to divorce, my mother called me to warn me he had filed papers and was planning to just spring it on me out of nowhere. MY MOM KNEW I WAS GETTING A DIVORCE BEFORE I DID! How screwed is that?
But ... digressing... All of that has made me so horribly, horribly jaded about getting into a romantic relationship as a Spoonie. Yes, I am an excellent housewife when I have the ability; I will keep the house spotless and I will cook you a kickass dinner that will be ready or nearly ready the second you walk in the house from work, because I see that as my contribution as I can't work. But when I don't have the ability... That's where the problems lie. When I don't have the energy to even take care of MYSELF. How am I supposed to take care of anything else? How am I suppose to expect there's anyone out there... Anyone at all... Willing to deal with that shit? With the regular doctor visits, with the necessary regular testing, with the unpredictable nature of my illnesses.... I can barely deal with it, so... How can I expect,or even ask, anyone else to?
I've been told I'm a great person, I'm kind, I'm generous, I'm loving and compassionate, and all that. That may be true, but... I'm also honest. Especially with myself. Sometimes, maybe a little too much. I honestly can't see someone wanting to deal with this, no matter what they think of me, no matter how great of a person I may or may not be.... And why would I want them to when I know they could be happier and have a less complicated life with someone else? And...truthfully... How could I have children knowing I might pass this hell onto them?
Maybe this is the depression talking. Or maybe.... For once... I'm just being real with myself and telling myself to just... Give it up. Hang up the dream and just... I don't know. Become an old cat lady. Or something.
