Still tired. Good weekend, though -- I spent the majority of it with Meg and Phillip, till about yesterday at noon when I rolled up my figurative sleeves (I was wearing a tanktop) and tackled the rottenness of The State of Denmark for which I held myself responsible. I'd let things slide considerably around the house, and I was tired of living like a troll.
Eleven hours of cleaning later, the house looked as good as it's ever going to. Even clean it looks moldy, but I've done what I can do, and the goodness of turning off all the lights on a tidy dwelling last night, and of waking to the quiet peace of an orderly home, made everything seem better.
I'm learning how to cope with this, better and better each time the wave rolls over me. For the first time I'm refusing to sink into a blankly lethargic isolation; I made myself call my mother when the tide hit, and last night forced myself to call a couple of my childhood friends who've been with me since all of this started -- and found that it's not as difficult to talk to people in this state as I'd thought. Rather, conversation is a welcome distraction from the tiredness, the pain and the effort of living past it.
I also put a call in to my doctor at the onset to get some temporary medical relief, and made myself stay busy all weekend. Those are old tricks, though; it's the actual talking to people before I'm completely better that has me almost dizzy with the joy of reaching a new pinnacle in a long hard climb.
The old tricks are good because tried and true -- a determined busyness during the days, and a calculated application of favorite movies while wearing favorite PJs and sipping a favorite drink during the evenings, combined with plenty of sleep and the company of trusted friends, always take the edge off. So does a careful simplicity -- easy meals (last night was Burger Night) that I still create myself, paper plates -- making the necessary tasks of daily living as small and uncomplicated as possible. (These "bad stretches," as I call them, are very different from bad moods -- in bad moods I love to fling together complex recipes and focus the power of my rage into producing truly awesome food.)
This recovery phase is always marked by hope. I'm "gettin' better -- every day," and it's exciting to see a little growth as I do. It's a minute by minute process, requiring attention to the smaller details to ground myself in the present and in my external, rather than my internal, reality, and the effort makes me tired and quiet...but I'm getting there. I don't know how long I'm going to have to deal with alterations in my biochemical balance, but looking back on its history from my preadolescence until now, I've come so far, and I can only echo better writers than I in saying, "hither by Thy help I come," and " 'tis grace hath brought me safe thus far," and
Day by day, and with each passing moment
Strength I find to meet my trials here
Trusting in my Father's wise bestowment
I've no cause for worry or for fear.
He whose heart is kind beyond all measure
Gives unto each day what He deems best
Lovingly, its part of pain and pleasure
Mingling toil with peace and rest.
Every day the Lord Himself is near me
With a special mercy for each hour.
All my cares He fain would bear and cheer me
He whose Name is Counselor and Power.
The protection of His child and treasure
Is a charge that on Himself He laid.
"As thy days, thy strength shall be in measure" --
This the pledge to me He made,
and
"For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."
Amen.
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