Late last night, early this morning I fell to pieces.
It was spectacular.
I posted a series of posts on Facebook as I alternated between sobbing and feeling numb. I only got a couple of hours of sleep. If you want to rubberneck on a car crash, keep reading, as I feel the need to share about what is going on. If not, steer away now.
Why am I sharing? That is a good question. I think part of it is for all of those who think I am OK because most of the time I seem to be OK, even when my version of OK is dubious. I think after you read what I wrote, there will be zero doubt that I am not OK. It is my hope that it will remove any question in your mind about the point I have arrived at.
There is a part of me that is angry for a number of reasons, some of which I suspect I know, probably many of which I likely have no clue. I woke up this morning to someone who sent me a message, with the best of intentions, I know. But I had a reaction to the message that I want to share with you, as I think it is something that broadly could fit what others feel and experience, too.
The person said my situation has people feel helpless, so they withdraw, and pray for help for me. The thing that I do not think that many get is that they are not as helpless to help as they give themselves credit for. I do not expect that all of my problems can be solved by anyone. However, a lot of my problems stem from things that could be helped by the interaction of others. And while others retreat to their helpless corner and do nothing, hoping somehow, magically, help will appear, I am floundering, even drowning.
I have referenced a tale about how a flood came, and a man needed help. Three different people came by offering rescue. His response was that God would save him. He wound up dying. When he got in front of God, he asked him what happened? God's response was that He sent 3 people to help. But the thing is, there were 3 people who showed up. 3 people who took action. They did not sit back, and think someone else would help him. You don't hear how they sat back and prayed for him to receive help. They got into their vehicles, and they showed up, offering to tangibly help.
It may be uncomfortable, or inconvenient, to help, but people can help a lot more than they are. And I am angry about the fact that they are not. Am I angry at THEM? It might seem that I am. But I am not so sure that is the case.
There are lots of reasons people do not help, and I think it possible I am angry with the way people are trained to be in situations like this. I am angry with the mindsets that allow people to sit back and do nothing other than possibly pray when another human being expresses a need. Angry that people will donate to people and things and situations that might not be of as great a consequence as someone who desperately, immediately needs the help. It is as though the person worth helping is the one who doesn't ask for it, the person who doesn't have the pronounced, verbalized need. It is as though the person who doesn't speak up, or has some stranger speak on their behalf is strong and worthy while the one who speaks up is in some way weak and unworthy.
I am angry about those things.
I am angry at how so many doors slammed shut the minute cancer showed up. I can talk about the good things that showed up, and put a smiley, "everything is ok" face on, but the fact is there is often much more overcast than sun. And when that is the case, even if I know deep down the sun is there, if I can't see it, feel it, experience it, does it really matter if it is there?
I know part of my anger is mourning. It is mourning for the loss of the things that may never be. When growing up, and relatively healthy, you think you can do anything. Be anything. You can create your world. When suddenly your world revolves around an illness and treatment, a lot of that goes out the window.
There are so many emotions and feelings I have, and I just don't know what to do with them, other than to give them a voice. I sometimes feel like the person who is talking to someone, and the other person doesn't seem to get it, so they raise their voice because, obviously, the person didn't hear them. Somehow in the raising of their voice, the other person has to understand, right?
I just can't help but think that people aren't hearing me, because if I was being heard they would have to do something. It is the "only" reasonable explanation why plea after plea seems to go unheard by a majority of those who are aware of it. The people just don't hear me. That has to be it.
I realize that much of what I am saying is likely to cause many to become defensive, and to run counterproductive to any result I may say I want and need. But the thing is...the things I am saying are my reality, and they have been my reality for the better part of 3 years now. And I have discovered that people will think and say and do or not do whatever they will they will think and say and do or not do with very little thought of me or input from me. People have an idea of who they think I am, and no matter what I do, or don't do, it will support their beliefs of who they think I am. I really don't have much say, if any, in the matter. If I actually did, I would have to think and hope there would be a much different reality for me to talk about.
Yesterday someone close to me told me I can change my life. He soon realized he said something not so smart. I don't know if he realized how much it hurt me, and just how insensitive the statement was. He, of all people, knows how hard I have tried to help myself, and do what I can. And this was someone close to me. What hope do I have for others who don't know me - to even remotely understand what I am dealing with, and who don't know all I have been through, and done. What hope do I have for them to understand my exhaustion and feelings of futility? When those closest to me go on with their lives with seeming little thought of me, and with limited, or no, offers to help, how can I begin to imagine getting help from virtual strangers?
I get a whole lot of cheerleading from people. I am supposed to stay strong. Is supposed to do a lot of things. But it strikes me that the cheerleading I get is like cheering for a wounded player on the field. The player is lying there, injured, and play has stopped. Is there really any point in cheering him on to move the ball down the field? The player needs to have the focus shift onto to him, and not the play. He needs someone to come no help him, and maybe even rescue him because he cannot get off the field on his own.
I do not need cheerleaders. I need help. I need people on the field with me. Even if people don't know what the problem is, or how to help, I need them to ask me how best to help, and for them to do the best they can to get as close to what I say I need as possible. I need them to recognize that that I am not asking them to help, or carry, the whole team. I am just asking them to help me in this moment. I need them to understand that without help, I may never make it off the field.
I had intended to share my Facebook postings here...but this entry is already long enough. Curious? Read next post. (http://anewme515.blogspot.com/2015/04/did-you-miss-it-here-it-is.html)