I have been feeling better than usual for the past few weeks. That's
great right? Well, it is great, at least compared to how I've felt for
the past year. So I've been spending quite a bit of time looking
through the want ads, thinking about how great it would be to find a
part-time job. Then I start thinking about what that would really
entail.
I'd have to be able to respond to a set
schedule--like getting up at a certain time every day. Sounds easy
enough doesn't it? I've been doing it for the last couple of weeks,
waking up early and sleeping well at night. If only I could count on
that experience. But in my heart, I know I can't. I am experiencing
this profound improvement in my well-being, because I can sit down and
rest whenever I need to.
I have the option of sleeping
late if I wake up one morning feeling like I've been hit by a bus, and
it WILL happen. I just don't know when. How many times can I go
through the process of job-search, interviews, and hiring only to work a
few months and have to give it all up because of my disabilities? I
want to work. I want to work so terribly at times that I can hardly
stand it, but I am unable to succeed at what the Social Security
Administration calls gainful employment.
This
only adds to my symptoms of depression. So even when I'm feeling
relatively good, like I have been lately, I still have to contend with
the fact that I will never be able to contribute gainfully to the
finances of our household. I have to fight off the feeling that I am a
freeloader in my own home.
No matter how well I feel
now, I know it's only a matter of time before I'm hit with another blow
from my traitorous body and mind. That feeling of knowing the other
shoe is bound to drop nags at me constantly even when I'm at my best,
which used to be great but is now a low mediocre. It is as if my
successful ability to function has gone from a symphony to a barely
perceptible hum.
So to all those of you out there who
suffer with chronic pain, disability, depression, or all of the above,
enjoy the good times, no matter how limited they are. It isn't going to
kill me to fantasize a little about working again, as long as I
understand that fantasy is all it is. I've had my heart broken enough
by trying to do something I am no longer capable of doing. Who knows,
maybe someday a miracle cure will come my way.
