I’m flummoxedOctober 10, 2018
A lot has hit me lately, in as much that any light bulb just goes off in your head when you’re in the middle of fighting a chronic illness, fighting for your life, fighting to keep a roof over your head and food on the table. So realizations come to me they generally come slow. Often they vanish. They’re not well times things, entering into my consciousness when I’m in the middle of a meeting, dizzy from my expansive and unmanageable symptoms, when I’m sitting on the royal thrown experiencing another bout of the runners.
I think, “Wow!” I should put pen to paper, make sense of it. But then I’m up against another obstacle that’s been plaguing me this entire year: an absence of motivation.
I had some at the beginning of the year, when I returned to work after a month of FMLA (sick leave). I was illegally threatened for taking legally protected medical leave for a chronic medical condition known by many as Lyme, though more accurately known as what happens when you work 60+ hour work weeks all year plus weekends without vacations while at the same time having a chronic illness that doesn’t respond too kindly to being pushed to the edge of a cliff. So yeah, I was motivated to fight, but as I saw the company that I helped build over five years falling to pieces, the culture inside it turning against itself, toxic storms abounding almost daily, I spent a month looking for work, I found some place I though was a dream, and I gave notice. Took a week off. Though still extremely ill for the last fifteen or so months I put a smile on my face and came in every morning and put my all into building something. Then I got fired. I won’t go into it. But I will say it was unfair, unjustified, and in large part because this time around I didn’t share the fact that I had Lyme. Perhaps more on that another day, I’ll simply say it didn’t give me much respect for Millennials.
I spent the next many months looking for a job. No, I spent good portions of that time trying to find joy in, say, the bottom of a bottle. That’s not exactly true either. I spent the remaining time wondering where the fuck my motivation went.
I’ve been Depressed. I know Depression more than most ever or should. I’ve known the desire to stay in bed all day unconscious and dreaming or simply staring at the television while wrapped in blankets so as not to fall deeper into the hole. But never did I find myself without motivation. Self-doubt, for sure. I’d think, “I should work on a short story,” then I’d hem and I’d haw until finally giving in and sitting at the computer for the rest of the afternoon. Often I’d take longer simply to finish out some much needed self-care. But I’ve never experienced anything like this.
Besides the fear that motivates me to get up and go to work every morning I have no motivation. No motivation to work on my book. No motivation to work on the house which is falling apart on the outside. No motivation to improve my relationship with my wife, to make more friends, or to have relationships with those at my current place of employment. It all seems rather pointless. The moment things start to go right I back my wife’s care into a pole (first wreck of my life). Yeah, I’m motivated to write this blog entry, but it’s take me a week to get here.
I’m scared that I’ve done nothing with my life. I’m scared that I am not a good person. I’m scared that I will spent the remainder of my life anxious, depressed, in extreme pain, and dealing with symptoms that could kill me tonight, tomorrow, or a few months down the road. I do not want to die feeling like this and I certainly don’t want to die at a job where I don’t feel part of something meaningful around people I don’t feel a deep connection with. I just don’t know how much longer I can keep this bullshit up.
I need a new doctor.