Two posts in as many days… holy cow. I am anxious to get back to posting at OStatic, but my brain is being still so dodgy. I think I have to try either today for posting tomorrow… or not care that much that it’s going to take three days to write a three hundred word, somewhat informative and not “me-centric” post. I have a hard time not caring about that, because it shouldn’t be so damned hard. But nothing that’s easy should be as damned hard as it’s been.
Part of me is more certain than ever, and relieved, that this is probably some variety of dysautonomia. Part of me doesn’t want to think that at all, because I’ve got a history of “this is it” and it isn’t. And none of the things “it” has been suspected to be are fun, but knowing what it is is something. I almost smacked the last doctor who said “Well, I’m glad it wasn’t myasthenia gravis! That would be terrible!” Right, because identifying what’s making my life (biologically, my social life has been comatose for years) hell, and finding out that it’s something miserable yet very treatable would sure be a lot worse than going on feeling miserable for no apparent reason.
But I am certain it is one of these disorders. And there’s no comfort in that, but in some way, I do feel a lot more relief than I thought I would. I mean, I knew I wasn’t making it up, I knew it wasn’t psychological. But after years of feeling like this, with really nasty stuff going on, and no one can find much of anything — how do you not have doubts?
I was afraid this would be something that would always be unpredictable. It seems no matter which it works out to be, that fear has been realized. I know we can get better handle on the symptoms, mainly because I don’t think it’s possible to have a much worse one than we do presently. I know avoiding stress is neither possible or desirable, and at this point, the biggest stress in my life is feeling like this, so it’s not like it’s something I can avoid.
I think there’s that crappy realization I really am never going to be able to hold a job with rigid, set hours again. Flexible hours are kicking my ass currently. I wish it weren’t like this, but at least I know why. Well, sort of. I have to accept it, and move forward with it. But dammit, I don’t have to be happy about it or act like it’s a gift. Denial isn’t productive, and I’m sure as hell not wasting my time lying to myself.