TRIGGER WARNING: illness, depression, discouraging, hopelessness.
I’m slipping back into the depths of pain again. Nothing can stop this. Already sleeping less than three hours last two nights combined in my car so far. And it doesn’t look good. A week of hell ahead.
I can usually endure this. But the downward spirals are getting closer together, like labor contractions.
I used to scrape rock bottom a couple times a year. Then, every other month. Then monthly, and so on. Last time I scraped rock bottom was a week ago.
Moreover, I have new terrifying symptoms. The infection is spreading beyond the jaw bone.
My entire left face, head, left lower lip, left tongue, left neck—these all have new pain. Pins and needles, prickly, and sore when touched. It feels like thousands of tiny cactus burs embedded under my skin and in my tissue.
It’s going metastatic now.
I don’t think I can do this. I mean, I can sleep more sub-2-hour nights. I can keep writhing in a fetal position. But this new symptom. It’s the fear. It’s telling me that it’s too late now. That nothing can be done.
Maybe this is a very slow progressing thing. Maybe I just need to get used to yet another new normal. But it’s so real, so in-my-face, this fear. Right now.
Over the past years, I’ve seen many very ill community members pass away from apparent suicide. People who fought valiantly for years, even decades. One particular Proctor and Gamble executive committed suicide after battling chronic and acute toxin illness for many years.
I chat weekly with a handful of people sick like me. One of them, her illness has progressed more than mine. She’s on her last leg. We encourage one another when the other inevitably feels like giving up. But it’s hard. We both know the prognosis, the overall outlook, the low probability of being healed. The pain we experience is really hard for others to believe. So we believe in each other.
She reminds me to keep fighting. She is a warrior. And most days, she’s stronger than me.
Today is one of those days.
Today, I’ve had enough. Again.
The pain is so intense, so relentless, so sleepless. It’s a dark tunnel, without any hopeful light in the distance. It may go on and on and on. I have no idea.
Today, I want just a day without pain, without fear. Just a sip in the desert. Is this too much to ask for?
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