How a broken desk, bad luck, and a tough week reminded me that healing isn’t linear
Starting in the middle has its perks, but it also has its downfalls. For one, I have a lot of ideas, but finishing them is a whole other beast to slay. I often find myself starting things and never finishing them, but finishing them only really happens in moments of hyper-focus. Everything has to align. And some days that’s much harder than others. This past week, for example, has been incredibly difficult to get all the stars to align.
Everything started to fall apart a bit when we started doing a big house clean. We finally got the dumpster here, all that was left was to clean. But I felt paralyzed. I couldn’t make myself clean; putting even a finished root beer bottle in the trashcan seemed like too much. How was I supposed to clean the house? And then the thoughts would start. My husband is amazing, and took care of the garage by himself, all the while I sat inside paralyzed, telling myself all sorts of negative things. I am so grateful for him, and he didn’t deserve the breakdown that came next.
We got the office clean, and we got new desks. Which greatly needed. My husband’s was one we picked up for 10 dollars; none of the drawers opened, all the paint was peeling, and it was starting to sag. But it did the job. My desk, on the other hand, got into a battle with our cat and our cat won. (Okay, the police officers and my husband won).
I didn’t realize that my desk had a hole to put cables in through a drawer, which my cat found as a kitten. She tried to climb through, but her shoulders wouldn’t fit, she couldn’t pull her head back out. It was a nightmare that resulted in my desk pretty much being torn apart. Vets and cops were called, and thanks to a very kind lieutenant we could finally get the very well made desk apart enough to break her free. Everyone left a little traumatized, but no casualties occurred… Except for my desk.
But back to the point, getting the new desks also involved moving where mine was, and while it may not seem like a big change… It was huge in my mind. My OCD has taken everything away from me, my only safe place left was my desk. Was that corner of the room I’d sat in for 3 years. And as someone who’s position in a room is a trigger for my OCD, this was a big one. I didn’t realize how much it affected me until I finally had a bit of a breakdown two days ago.
A week ago was also my follow up with my electrophysiologist(EP). I hadn’t seen him for 2 months since I’d gotten my loop recorder replaced. There was a mixup at the clinic with my one month follow up that was also supposed to give me the results of my tilt table test and I ended up not being able to see the EP until last week. Still no answers, but we have a plan. Or at least more of one than we did before. Hoping my heart pauses so my insurance will cover a pacemaker is an over dramatization, but that’s basically the gist of it.
For various unfortunate reasons that I can only attribute to bad luck, a monitor hasn’t caught my other pauses. For example, the previous monitor I had died 2 months before my first pause in 3 years. And it didn’t get replaced until 5 months later, which was 2 weeks after my last pause. Or that when my old monitor actually caught a pause, it didn’t record it because it was away from the device that had to sit next to my bed for too long. I had taken it in as required by the MRI tech, and forgotten to pick it back up after the MRI completed. So it went two weeks without recording. When I went in for a check up, they could pull the records from my monitor that it happened, but no record was taken. Just that there was a recorded pause. I could go on about the unfortunate ride that has been my heart journey, but that is for another day. Let’s just say it’s been a fun ride.
So that, combined with an awful therapy appointment earlier that week, everything had just snowballed. And there I was, left a sobbing mess again after making such strides in getting back to my normal. I was healing, but sometimes life kicks you when you are down. And when you’re already so low to the ground, it hurts twice as much when it stomps you back down. Sometimes, something as simple as moving my desk across the room can cause a complete and total breakdown.
But that’s okay. Because what’s important is that I keep fighting to stand back up. I know once I finally get all the way up, it will be easier to stay standing; I just have to get there first. And that looks like taking one day at a time, and not rushing myself to get better. The path to quick recovery or pushing myself before I’m ready hasn’t helped me in the past 30 years of my life. So this time around I’m trying to be kinder to myself, to allow myself time to heal. It also looks like adjusting my medications and dealing with being a little fuzzy for a while.
I’ve got to keep fighting, and I will. I will also take you along for the ride. Even when that ride is me sobbing because I don’t know what’s real anymore. All that matters is that I get back up, and I do what I can to help myself stay standing longer the next time.
So here I am, signing out from the bottom, taking one day at a time.
Remember to be kind to yourself.