Why now?

[justdivine99]

I've been wanting to join the forum for some time now. Idea of community attractive, but nearest support group more than 50 miles from my country home. With my meager disability income, just can't afford the gas.

Been wrestling with depression and anxiety for 14 years now. For much of that time, it felt like
I was at a standstill despite therapy and medication.

Relocated 6 months ago and have been unable to summon motivation for anything other than lying in bed, listening to podcasts and audiobooks, and obsessively playing logic/strategy/word games on my tablet. About 80% of my stuff is still in boxes. My house lacks porches for the 2 back exits. It lacks heating too. There's some kind of leak that makes the shower unusable (can't afford a huge water bill). Need a kitchen sink and a refrigerator. Place also needs foundation repair, and electrical work. Also, I now have a decent-sized yard for gardening-my dream and, I thought, a way of healing and becoming whole. It is now a riot of 2-3 foot weeds.

Yeah that's a lot of stuff for anyone to contend with. Thing is I remember being the person who would have hardly thought of this crap as a challenge.

A few years ago, I woke up with my right arm feeling numb. I thought, "I slept on it wrong; it'll wake up in a little bit." I jumped in the shower. Couldn't use my right hand properly, but I still thought, "it's just slow to wake up."

Got dressed and ate something. Right arm and hand still gimpy, but it was time to go to work. Got out to the car, a stick, and quickly realized that I couldn't move the stick in my usual easy way. What did I do? Found a weird grip that allowed me to awkwardly shift. Work was more than 50 miles away, so I reasoned that once I got up to speed on the interstate, I wouldn't have to shift again till I got off the highway.

So I get to work. I'm teaching college English at the time. I call roll and then get ready to lead class discussion in my usual way. I turn to write key ideas from discussion on the board. Then it hits me. The gimpy-ness that made shifting the car awkward won't let my hand and fingers assume the position for writing. I stand there for a moment trying to figure out the exact hand position and muscle movement, something I hadn't had to think about since 1st grade, some 34 years prior.

I know, at this point, this is not some simple limb sleepiness from sleeping wrong on my arm, but I don't panic or fret. No. Instead, I turn to the class, shame-faced. I apologize, explain that I am unable to write and ask for a volunteer to be the class note-taker. I do the same for my other classes that day. When I have to use the computer, I hunt and peck with my left hand, even though I've been a touch-typist for years.

It took some weeks to resolve the gimpy-ness. The hand doctor had me try a splint while sleeping. No help. Then there came the visit where he lightly pinched the web if skin between my thumb and forefinger. "Your muscle is atrophying." He had me hold up both hands so I could see how flat the webbing was on the right hand, compared to the left. "We need to go in and move that pinched nerve before you lise the use of your hand."

So I had surgery to move and tack up the pinched nerve so it would get pinched again. The post surgery splint kept my right arm so straight, there was no work around that would allow me to work my stick.

The semester was not over. I maybe took a day or two off post-surgery. I elected to do the surgery as an outpatient procedure. A coworker lived in the same city so I caught rides with her. When paper grading came around, I had extended, exhausting office hours. I had the students print 2 copies of their papers. The students came to office hours and we verbally discussed the papers and I had them takes notes on their own papers. I continued to have volunteer note-takers, continued to hunt and peck at my computer. When it came time to turn in grades, I printed off the relevant part of my grade worksheets and clipped them to grade sheets and turned that in to my department chair. The same coworker gave me a ride to commencement.

At home, suddenly, I couldn't cook. I realized in a moment of frustration that I couldn't even open a can. No electric can opener. I had to ask my neighbors to open cans for me. My brother or sister took me grocery shopping. I lived downtown so my errands within that limited area were by bus or by foot.

When I told the story later, it was always with laughter. I know so many people who would have at almost all of the stages of challenge I faced would have thrown up their hands and said, "I can't." Got a doctor's note to get out of work.

Never occurred to me. In fact, once my primary doctor had ruled out multiple sclerosis, I didn't even think of myself as having something seriously wrong. It was simply inconvenient as hell. I was apologetic asking for rides and other assistance and was frankly surprised at the, "No problem" response.

Growing up poor, black and female in the U.S., my life had been a constant series of challenges. I had never had time for "why me?" It was always, "what can I do despite the shit coming my way." That's who I was.

So now, as the weeds take over my yard and I camp out in my hovel listening to mice scurrying around, I'm wondering what happened to that gimpy self who just kept plowing ahead, who thrived on coming up with solutions to seemingly insurmountable problems?

[justsomeoneinacorner]

I don't really have any words of advice, but I want you to know that you are not alone. In fact, I have been wondering the same thing all day. This time last year, I was 40lbs lighter with clear goals that seemed well within my reach. I've always had a can do attitude and I've always made things work but right now finding the motivation has been a struggle.

Anyhoo I'm rooting for you, we're all in this together.

[justdivine99]

Thanks. it does help to know others are dealing with the same stuff.

I've been wondering if difficulties are cumulative. I've heard people talk about sustained trauma and its effects. Maybe difficulties and disappointments are like that. None by themselves can way waylay you. That even groups of difficulties aren't powerful enough. But as they pile on, one after the other, as we age, it's like the proverbial straw. Or worse, difficulties are stones in a pressing. You know, that medieval torture where they placed a board on the victim, then pile stones on the board until the victim suffocates or us crushed. But instead of there being one additional stone that is too much, there are so many stones piled up, that a single straw laid atop the pike of stones is the difference between life and death.

Cheerful, hunh?