So this week has been a whole lot of nuthin’ and too much of everything else. We were supposed to get our fence put in this week, but for some reason, we did not. The company who is putting it in is a small business and the dude who owns it is… not great at communication. I always have to call and see what’s going on. Like, if he wants to stay in business, he’s gonna have to work on that. But the long and short of it is, we don’t have a fence yet. We are one step closer to getting our mud room redone, but that will happen next week. I’ll be glad when it’s all said and done because let me tell you dear reader, I have not been feeling well at all this past week, and these last few days have been kicking my ass to the curb and back again. Yesterday was pretty bad. Like I’m okay-ish if I don’t move around very much but if I do something crazy like get up and get a glass of water or something, well, my body lets me know how mad of a plan that was. Still no fever so again I’m still pretty sure it’s allergies and not the plague. That and I feel like this every year around this time… especially when I live in New Mexico. Because New Mexico LOVES me and my lungs.
Just a few more weeks of Juniper season and I’ll be back to “normal” again. Normal being a relative term. I’m still coming to terms with my new normal.
I was talking to Doug about this yesterday, but I have kind of the opposite of imposter syndrome. Impostor syndrome, for those who don’t know, is a psychological belief that someone has made it in their field only due to luck and circumstances and not through any talent or skills of their own. A person with imposter syndrome is plagued with the fear that they will be found out at any moment as the fraud they are and striped of their position. Over the years, since I became completely disabled, my mind tells me that I am not, in fact, disabled. I get these intrusive thoughts that poke at me, insisting that I’m totally faking it, and I should just get up off of my fat ass and be the person I used to be. There’s this fear that I just might not be as sick as I think I am, and I should just… get up and do something because maybe I’m not that sick. I mean, the doctors “can’t find what’s wrong with me” you know? Maybe I should just… take a walk… or sweep… or something. Because I don’t want “everyone” to find out how much I’m faking it and know me for the lazy person I actually am. blah blah blah. Doubt, dear reader, is a terrible thing. Because this train of though, of course, leads me to try and do things I’m completely incapable of physically doing — like, oh… clean the house or try and rearrange the front room, and I end up in a world of pain. I wonder if there’s a word for this phenomena, or if it’s just a form of imposter syndrome? I dunno. But I wish it would stop.
Don’t worry, dear reader. Logically, I know that my diagnoses are true and real. Just because I have weird and mysterious symptoms that the doctors cannot find a reason for does mean that there is “nothing” wrong with me. The pain is real and it is there. Logically I know that the human body is unmapped and unknown, even with today’s advanced technology. I know this because I take medications for my bipolar that simply do not work for other people’s bipolar and the doctors don’t know *why* they work for mine. They just do. Just as they don’t know why many medicines work, they only know that if you give some people this medicine, it’ll take care of the problem. I used to say that doctors will just throw pills at me and see what works, and that’s the long and short of it. They tossed meds at me for my bipolar, and stopped when they found the combo that worked. And I’m okay with that. Because it did work — after a lot of heartache and tears, but what can you do? Doctors are human and fallible, just as I am, and the human body is a big, squishy mess. If doctors look inside of me and can’t see anything out of the ordinary, and all of my bloodwork comes back normal, what can I expect them to do? Guess? I mean, I’m still in pain, but at that point their guess is as good as mine. Maybe better because they have all of that school and science behind them, but they did what they’re supposed to do — test, poke, and probe. It’s still a little frustrating to hear them say, “Look, I know you’re in pain. I can see you’re in pain. But I cannot tell you why you’re in so much pain. Take this medicine and see if it helps.” Lather, rinse, repeat. That’s where the doubt comes in. Especially when I have periods of time when I feel so much better. I guess if I were constantly in pain, it would be different, but nope, it’s just so inconsistent.
Anyway, I just wanted to rant about that a little bit. I get all arghy whenever my allergies put me in a stationary position. I still have laundry screaming at me because I can only do one load at a time, and it’s not even like I can do the full load — from washer to putting away, it’s like I can put it in the washer, then get it to the dryer and there it sits. I don’t even dare put another load in the washer because I’m not sure how long it will sit there and I don’t want to waste water washing it twice. The last load sat in the dryer for three days before I had the energy to fold it. I’m telling y’all, my allergies are bad this year. Thank goodness I can get my groceries delivered. It’s taken a huge strain off of both Doug and me, puts a bit of a strain on the pocket — fees and tips — but totally worth it. Anyway, I just spent the last five hours making this little thing here, so I’m beat. Talk at you later.