Friday, January 16, 2009

Everything drains out

Sometimes I’m just startled by how fragile I am, I mean first I’m surprised that I suddenly have all this energy, but that always happens. No, sometimes I don’t have any energy, I’m just acting like I have energy but then sometimes I actually feel okay, except I’m not okay. I’m even telling Ralowe: I seem like I have a lot of energy, but actually I’m a mess – I mean, sometimes I act like I have a lot of energy, even when I feel like I’m a mess, but right now I’m not even acting – I mean I feel like I have a lot of energy, but then as soon as I leave I won’t even be able to function.

But then, when I leave, and suddenly I’m so exhausted I can hardly function, I mean in the elevator I’m talking to someone, he wants to know what I think about the exhibit and then when we get outside we continue talking and then he says it’s nice to meet you, and then I walk a few steps and it’s like everything drains out of me. I can’t even believe that I’m out in the world I feel so awful and sad and luckily the bus is a block away I mean the bus stop is a block away but then the bus is a block away from the bus stop and when I sit in the back I could just fall asleep right then at first I decide why not but my apartment is only a 10 block ride so I guess I should stay awake.


michele said...

yes, yes - (unfortunately), yes.

you describe this type of feeling so well. sometimes it's as if my energy doesn't belong to me and it randomly blows through me like a breeze. a few seconds, or minutes of UP, and sometimes a little euphoria to go along with it, then crash back DOWN where I've already forgotten what the energy felt like.

also I like the details - the bus is only a block away...

I have to gear myself up for the energy to feed myself; "the toast will only take a couple mins, just stick the bread in now. just wash one cup for the tea and you'll be fine."

thanks again for writing so honestly about disability.

ps - sorry I didnt get a chance to say "goodbye" when you left boston. I've had an especially lousy few months recently, but hope to be reconnecting with more folks now.

mattilda bernstein sycamore said...

Thank you, Michele -- and it's so great to hear from you!

And thank you for your honesty -- it would be lovely to chat on the phone about disability and everything and disability and everything -- oh, and disability, sometime...

Love --

Anonymous said...

Your piece reminds me of a time when I lived under the cloud of depression. Of course I didn't realize what it was. It seemed normal. It seemed me.

I had only just escaped from the tyranny of an ex-gay boot camp where I had handed my brain and body and heart and sexuality over to those who sucked the very life blood out of me all the time promising me freedom and new life.

The promise manifested itself in a heavy cloak of numbness, listlessness and drudgery that turned brushing my teeth and making my bed into major accomplishments. I swear my bones weighed more as I could barely lift them. My heart felt full of sand. My brain had ground to halt, gears jammed, rust corroding my memories and will.

Fortunately I recovered. Not immediately and not without scars. Not everyone disabled has that opportunity to walk unhindered, and your blog entry reminds me of that reality.

mattilda bernstein sycamore said...

Thanks for sharing your story -- what a beautiful sweet comment... of course I've dealt with depression in all its various forms as well, help! And then it all intertwines with the pain and exhaustion and overwhelm of the everyday of fibromyalgia and help help help!

Thanks for your understanding...

Love --