I'm Tired

2:57 PM

Life motto.
I really didn't want to write a blog post, but it's been a while. And I think I needed to be honest with myself and all of you lovely readers. I often try to hide frustration behind an irritating optimism that's constantly at war with my unrelenting realism. But I can't do it right now.

Because I'm tired.

I'm just really, really tired.

I've been knowingly fighting endometriosis for about a year and a half, but it's truly a battle that I've blindly navigated for 14 years now. Even though there's a name for what I have, not a whole hell of a lot has changed in the long-run.

Yes, I have medications to haphazardly treat my pain and other inexplicable symptoms. Yes, I can find support groups of women who get me. And yes, I feel that I can speak more openly about my illness.

Okay, I guess a lot has changed. But in the end, regardless of what I know or what I do, I can't win this war. I really can't. There isn't a cure. There isn't a solution. I just keep going until I run out of options, I guess.

I've heard people say "Everyone has something" when it comes to sickness. Really? Every single 25-year-old has a chronic illness like this? Mmmm I don't think so. If that were true, I would think we'd be chatting about a global health crisis, not a "woman's" health issue.

I think everyone has a battle. But I'm about ready to throw in the towel with mine.

I recently became beyond overwhelmed with endo when my symptoms changed a month or so ago. My ob-gyn began suggesting surgery again, and I wondered if this was all I would ever have to look forward to - just surgery after surgery for the rest of my life. 

And she started throwing around the term "interstitial cystitis," (IC) which is a common sister condition to my endometriosis and vulvodynia that causes bladder pain. So great. Now I have another incurable disease to add to my ever-growing list?

I was pretty convinced I didn't have IC, based on the symptoms list. It really seemed unlikely, and I was definitely not into the idea of getting a scope done without anesthesia. But I allowed my doctor to schedule me for an ultrasound to determine if I had a cyst or mass near my uterus that required immediate surgery.

To make a long story short, I don't. My husband, Andrew and I took a day off of work to sit in a hospital and be told that everything looked fine. Yeah, that is great news. But now, I have no resolution. No surgery. No other treatment.

Sometimes, you just want answers, even if they're bad.

I do have a painkiller though! One that numbs my brain whenever I take it and piles more sleepiness onto my chronic fatigue. The first time I took Tramadol, it took me two hours to get through a really, really basic work assignment. It's been better lately, and I only take it as needed, so I really shouldn't complain too hard, I guess.

Oh, but did I mention that IC doesn't look so unlikely after all? In the last few days, my body has been like "OH! You think you know best, huh?" and given me a few other symptoms to keep the wheels in my brain spinning and lead me to wonder if absolutely all of my organs are rebelling against me.

Dude, I'm complaining hard, and I'm not even sorry right now. I'm so, so tired. (That's my excuse for these poorly strung-together paragraphs.)

I'm tired of going in circles and thinking too hard. I'm tired of waking up tired, going through my day tired and going to bed tired. I'm tired of being in pain while I sleep and while I'm awake. I'm tired of arguing with insurance companies, explaining myself to everyone and fighting to be heard.

I'm tired of being brushed aside and being told I don't have it that bad. Because yes, you're right; there are countless people out there who suffer worse than I do. But my body has rioted against me and robbed me of any control since I was a child. I have a right to be angry, and I have a right to be tired.

Hah. Sometimes, when it's a weekend, and Andrew asks where I want to go out to eat, I explode with "I don't even care! I've made non-stop decisions all week! YOU pick!" Poor guy.

It's Endometriosis Awareness Month, and I've hardly participated because I'm just tired of fighting. Writing out my internal screed is hardly "fighting," but it's what I can do at the moment. I can be a voice, if I can't currently be a decision-maker or action-taker. I can use my tiny corner of the internet to tell people why they should give a crap about my uterus and other women's uteri or just chronic illness in general because we shouldn't have to constantly knock down walls to get the care we need.

(I'm going to be honest. I've never heard of this nonsense happening to a man. But I know a ton of women personally who have similar stories to mine.)

So all of these feelings - and there are a lot more I haven't found the words to describe - just piled up and made me not want to write. I've actually spent a ton of time playing Pokemon and not thinking at all when I'm done with work. (Not to brag or anything, but I have a Charizard now.) I've cut down my gym time a little to make sure I'm giving myself space to be idle - something I'm not very good at doing. I've started spending a lot more time with Andrew and my dog and just being still.

When I'm feeling better, I'll return to my old routine. But I have to let myself have downtime. Even self-care has started turning into a chore and something I "have to do," rather than something I enjoy doing. So clearly, I'm doing this whole "care" thing wrong...

Anyway, I don't want anyone to feel sorry for me. I'm incredibly frustrated, but it'll pass. I'll find resolutions, and I'll be less tired. If I'm anything, I'm resilient. I am what Daryl Dixon would call a "little ass-kicker," even though I'm not a baby in the zombie apocalypse.

But for now, I want to own these feelings and recognize them. And understand that they're okay.

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