"I cannot believe you let your mother support you, why don't you get a job? You look fine to me."
"She's a fakin' bitch. I won't call you for a ride no more."
"The convenience store is hiring, why don't you go apply there?"
"You need to see a doctor about this."
"I think Satan is attacking you."
"You just need to pray about it. Give it to God, He will take care of you."
"Why don't you get a second opinion?"
"You need to see a specialist. Don't you want to know what is wrong with you?"
"It's all in your head."
All of these have been said to me, or someone who is still willing to be my friend. Each of them cuts a raw and painful cut through my heart. Each one of them is as painful as the one before it. Each one reminds me of what I cannot have or do. Each one reminds me of what I have lost in less than six months.
You see, I do have a lot of problems, other than this condition. I am a recovering addict. I am a domestic abuse survivor. I am a child neglect survivor. I am a child sex abuse survivor. I am a verbal abuse survivor. Some of these people know that I have these problems and relate them to how I was just a short time ago. After all, a year is not that long a time. The ones that have the same answer, I have grouped together.
"Your a phony. Why do you need attention so badly that you would fake something like this?"
This was said to me just after I moved in with my mother, because I lost my job and following that my apartment. The person who volunteered to care for me, the person who made a show in public about being there for both my mother and I said this to me while I was laying in bed, unable to move either my legs nor my arms. I had to use the bathroom. We did not have the appropriate accommodations for someone who was quadriplegic. He had to lift me, carry me, undress me, set me on the toilet, and wait for me to finish. Then, he had to return, wipe me, dress me, carry me back to my bed and position me in it. Can you imagine doing that for someone? Can you imagine someone doing that for you?
That was the longest day of my life. For ten grueling hours, I was a prisoner of my own body. For ten long, painful hours this person said cruel and painful things to me while tending to my needs. He put his hands on my breasts while telling me I was using him and my mother to feed my need for attention.
When he took me to the restroom and undressed me, he touched me between the legs and said if I needed attention that bad, I could have just said something. He said he was more than willing to show me attention.
You may be wondering why I didn't say anything. Why didn't I yell for help. After all, my mother was just in the other room. I wanted to, but I had just lost my job and apartment. My mother and this man were the ones paying the bills. How would my mother afford this place without him? Where would I go, if she lost it?
To this day I have not told me mother what he did to me. She believes the lies he told her, when I made it clear to him I was not going to have a relationship with him and as soon as I could I was moving out. I guess he was afraid of what I would tell people, he laid a smear campaign on me that would make a politician look saintly! If I was half as bad as he said I was, I imagine Satan would worry about me taking his position as the ultimate evil!
"I cannot believe you let your mother support you, why don't you get a job? You look fine to me."
"The convenience store is hiring, why don't you go apply there?"
I was at the store and had run into a couple of old friends. All of my limbs were working and I was thrilled to be out of the house, though terrified my limbs would go out on me and I would get hurt.
"If I could hold a job, I would still be where I was. I had a job and an apartment. My limbs go out on me without warning. I would not be working long enough to get a check." I responded, then walked away.
When I think about what I had finally gained after years of being an addict, I cry. I had a home of my own, I was clean, I had a large circle of friends, I had a support group, I had a job that paid enough to pay the bills, I was looking for something that paid more, I had a vehicle, I had furniture, internet, a life...
In sixty days, I lost it all and more. I lost the ability to walk across the floor without fear. I lost the ability to say, "Sure, I can do that." I lost the ability to sleep at night. I lost the ability to trust my body. I lost the ability to feel safe taking a shower. I lost the ability to feel safe anywhere. Can you imagine fearing the walk from your bed to the toilet? Can you imagine what it is like trying to explain to someone that you look fine because, right now, you are fine. However, in a moment or an hour or a day, you will be unable to move your arms or your legs or both or one of each or just one limb?
"She's a fakin' bitch. I won't call you for a ride no more."
I have a few friends left, but not nearly as many as when this started. I do not blame them. I am not sure I would believe this could be happening to someone, if I were not that someone it was happening to. Most of the friends I had were people who would only call when they wanted something anyway, so it was no big loss. Though, a few of them I believed were friends. They have their own problems and dealing with mine may be too much for them to handle. I understand. I forgive them. It does not make the pain go away, nor does it ease the ache of loss I feel.
The person who said this was one of those friends that only called when they wanted something. I feel nothing about her saying this, except one thing. How many people were avoiding my friends because they are still friends with me and I have this condition? It hurts to think that someone would not be friends with one of my friends because I have this condition. I know that if they were true friends, this would not be an issue. It does not help the hurt. It does not stop the tears. It does not ease the ache of loss.
"You need to see a doctor about this.""Why don't you get a second opinion?"
"You need to see a specialist. Don't you want to know what is wrong with you?"
I was seeing my regular doctor and we were working through everything that he could do. He wanted me to see a specialist, but I had no insurance. If you don't have insurance, specialists want five hundred dollars or more up front. I had a job that paid slightly more than minimum wage and it was only part time. I didn't have that kind of money. I still don't.
At one point, I lost control of all my limbs in public and was taken to the emergency room. They sent me to a large city where a neurologist put me through test after test after test and found no reason for my condition. I was there, playing guinea pig, for a week. I regained use of my arms after four to six hours, but they would not let me out of bed until a couple days before release and that was only with supervision. I followed all of their rules, just to make sure that things went right. I did not have a single episode. This was not unusual, at that time, as the episodes were the exception instead of the rule. They suggested I see a psychiatrist, at least until further symptoms presented themselves. The neurologist released me from the hospital and I headed home. When we arrived at my house, I could not move my limbs again. The irony of it is that I believe the medical staff kept me so long to see if I would have an episode while in the hospital.
"It's all in your head."
I went to my support group as soon as I could because I needed the support of friends. I ran into one of the most painful things anyone could have said to me at that meeting. At first, I thought they were trying to make light of it. However, that was the last time they spoke to me. Other people at the support group began giving me the same look that she did and stopped talking to me.
Some of my friends there still talk to me and give me support, but the looks and cold shoulder I receive from the largest percentage of the group makes it uncomfortable. I have gone online to get the support that I need, though it is difficult because I have found that I am a social person. I enjoy talking to people about the day to day things that grab their attention for whatever reason. I enjoy telling people about something funny that happened to me. This condition makes that extremely hard. I have become wrapped up in my own crap and breaking out is difficult. When I do manage to break out of it and behave normally someone reminds me I am no longer able to behave normally without the risk of injury.
I, now, take a wheelchair with me wherever I go. I may not be able to use it, but it helps with the movement of me for those that help me. I named it "My boyfriend." I am thinking of changing it to "My ex." A boyfriend is someone you want to spend time with, want to have around, whereas an ex is someone who is there, in the background all the time, whether you want them there or not.
"I think Satan is attacking you."
"You just need to pray about it. Give it to God, He will take care of you."
I have said before that I am not a religious person. I do have faith in God and that He will take care of me through whatever comes along, as long as I do my part. I, also, believe there is a balancing entity which is the enemy of all that is good. When someone tells me that I am being attacked by this enemy of all that is good, I interpret that as "You must have something big planned for you by God because His enemy has noticed you."
Being an addict, I have a problem with thinking I am more important than I am. This is not helpful. This causes me to fantasize about what wonderful things I will be doing for God in the future. These fantasies are not healthy for me. When I realize that I will not be handed these wonderful things and I have to get through what I am going through before these things come about, I become depressed and crash into what some have called a "bottom".
I find myself wanting to use and forget about everything that is going on. I find myself thinking stupid things like 'when i was using this never happened, maybe if I use it will go away' or 'How stupid can I be believing God has some great plan for someone like me? I am not one who is ever going to have the kind of faith it takes to reach into the spiritual realm and draw out the power it takes to heal someone or reveal some unknowable information'. This is when it is dangerous. This is when the world takes on a stark view and I can find no positives in anything. This is when my natural tendency to use drugs to change the way I feel and the way the world looks comes in and chatters away in my head.
Sometimes, I react in a way that does not include wanting to use. Sometimes, the battering rams in my head that beat on me and tell me how useless I am go into overdrive and I begin thinking about suicide. If I talk about it, this is a good thing. I know, you are thinking that talking about suicide is bad because I may convince myself to kill myself. This is not the case. I have lived with me for years and I know me pretty well when it comes to suicidal tendencies. Each and every time I have tried it, I stopped talking about it. I put up a front that everything was okay. That things had changed. That I felt okay about things now, I have found hope and a reason to live. Though, I cannot remember ever telling anyone what had changed, what hope I had found, what reason to live. People were just glad that I had stopped talking about it, they didn't care why.
For those of you who know someone like me, this is the danger zone. This is where those red flags should be beating you on the head. This is where your heart should skip a beat. This is where you should be asking a lot of questions, getting to the bottom of what has changed. If I cannot or will not give you a reason for things to have changed, they haven't. I have begun to plan my death, my escape. I have returned to the old me in order to help others not to worry. This does not mean that I am no longer suicidal. This means that I am protecting you from what is inside me, I have come to realize that I am hurting others by talking about it and decided that they do not deserve such harm.
This is where I have chosen to release you from the pain of having to deal with me. This is the point at which you should be calling the professionals in and having me committed. This is the point where I can no longer see any reason for me to continue living.
I am writing this at this time of year, because this is the time of year when most people feel the least hope for their lives. This is the time of year when people decide their life is no longer worth living. This is the time of year when loved ones get the news of someone taking their own lives. You would think that this would not be so, but it is. It is more difficult for someone like me to deal with happiness and love than it is for me to deal with hurt and hate.
I do want to wish you a merry Christmas and happy holidays, whatever holiday you choose to celebrate. I do wish you joy and peace in the new year and hope that whatever dreams you are pursuing bear fruit in the coming year. I will probably write again before the new year, but, if I don't, I want it to be there for whoever is looking to find it.
I, also, want to say to those who are like me and thinking that life may not be worth living that perhaps you and I both need to start looking around and seeing the things that we do affect in a positive way. There may be someone out there who needs us to let them know how we feel so that they can not feel so very alone. They may need us to look to them for help because they no longer feel useful. They may need us to assure them that their lives are not nearly as miserable as ours are. I don't know, I am not God.
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