Something very weird is happening to me.  Very strange.  As though I am coming undone; my seams seem to be splitting.  And it's all very strange.  And hard for me to completely wrap my head around.  Kind of like living in Paris for a year and suddenly looking up and realizing that you can't read the street signs.  ?!?  Hence why I am up writing this here at 1:30 in the morning even though I am exhausted and not in bed sleeping.  My mind keeps spinning in circles, with brief conversations with people over the past couple of years all flowing one from another.

I'm sick.

...and the funny thing about this is that I think that I finally get it.  I'm really sick.  wow. 

This whole experience has been a strange one for me.  And it's only now that I'm looking back and asking myself what the fuck I was thinking, or am thinking for that matter. 

I'm sick. huh.

I think that this all started recently when a very very very good friend of mine suggested that I try to get disability income.  I mean why not, I'm not working; I can't work for that matter.  Why not try to bring in income this way.  I seem to be trying everything else to bring in some money these days, most unsuccessfully.  So I filled out something on-line, not thinking much about it.  You know, we'll see, whatever.  And then I got the call.  From this sweet sounding young girl who I instant adored, and she was asking me questions about me being sick.  A lot of questions.  Questions that last over an hour.  Like so how long have you been sick?  What is a normal day like for you?  How does this affect your daily routine?  Just all of these questions that I had to come up with an answer for.

And I've began to realize that I don't really talk about me being sick.  NONE of my friends, the few and far between even get it.  When I do see them I may say, well I have chronic fatigue, but that's about as far as it goes.  I have recently learned that this is considered one of the "hidden illnesses."  I keep having this memory of the party this past July.  It was late at night.  Most everyone had left at this point.  I was beyond exhausted, not to mention drunk off my hoopla, and this friend... friend of a friend asked me, "So Nikki, what do you DO?"  And I replied, "Well, I'm sick."  And it was the oddest of moments because I didn't know how to explain it to him, especially after this party that we put on... I put on, which inevitable sent me to a place that I have yet to fully recover from.  But to him, and through his eyes, I was more than healthy.  Not only to him but to Ty, John's best friend, who was sitting there with the two of us and who is considered to be a close friend of mine as well.  He didn't know and probably still doesn't quite understand.  I am the evergizing, energetic, enthusiastic and everything that I am bunny rabbit (maybe I should add a fucking in there because I do so love to swear.) when just about anyone see's me.  And I am now asking myself, "What is this?"

I was very uncomfortable answering that girl's questions.  I kept saying things like, "I'm not a victim.  I make the most of each day." trying to differential myself from the people I could only imagine she deals with every day.  Because in my mind... I am not one of them. 

And then the packet came from Social Security which included three lengthy stapled stacks to be filled out and returned.  Two for me, one for John.  And the questions began again.  And I once again began to explain my daily life to these unknown people who will judge if I am worthy or not.  That being said, I was not only answering these questions, but force to actually LOOK at them and SEE my responses.  There's something that happens when you visually digest information.  It somehow becomes less passive.  I think that I was FORCED to SEE that I am sick. 

I think that I've somehow been in denial.

It's weird because when I left PNCA for the second time, everyone was telling me how much they admired me, how strong I was and what a positive attitude I had.  Believe me, it was really nice to hear all of this, but it kind of washed off of me like rain hitting the window.  Pelted at me, but it never penetrated.  I didn't understand what they saw in me or why they were saying these things.

And then I started looking at the past year.  The only place where I have really truly complained about being sick is here.  But I'm not even sure how much I've complained.  I bitch about the insurance companies and inadequate doctors, but have I expressed the actually pain?  Or symptoms?  Or how at this point even taking a shower and getting dressed is exhausting for me?  I just don't know.  I'll have to go back and read, but I don't think that I have.  I know with this last health post I've been a bit more expressive, but I also see that it's been after filing out this paperwork.  I believe that I don't want you to see my weakness.  I will not show or share this with you.  I still won't even here.  It's mine, and I am fine with that.

Even with my husband.  He see's me day in and day out and I may say "I'm really tired today." or "I didn't take a shower today."  And for whatever reason I think that he just gets the rest.  "I don't feel very well today." Blah, blah, blah... 

Why am I doing this?   

I think that there's a part of me that just won't admit to being sick.  I mean come on!!!  I've tried to go back to school, what? three times since I first went to the urgent care, and each time I have to drop out.  You'd think I'd get a clue by now.  And believe me, I'm planning on trying again this January.  I push myself to no avail.  I've pushed myself from day one.  I even went to school the day I was in the emergency room, practically crawling in pain to class to tell my professor and let him know that something was wrong with me.  I would show up for class periodically just to say "Hey!  I'm still out here.  I can do this!"  I truly believed that I was going back to finish the semester for the next month or so until we found out that I had mono.  And THEN I went to talk to the dean of student services asking would it be acceptable for me to return to my classes with mono.  WHAT AM I THINKING!?!  He strongly suggested that I go home and rest.

I wonder why I won't allow myself to just be sick.  Why won't I go there? 

Pandora's Box has opened and I have started to talk to people about this.  I talked to my hair stylist about it (One of the few that I tell just about everything to.) I said, people don't realize how sick I am.  And even she said she didn't realize.  She's been there month after month for the past going on two years.  And this is all surprising the hell out of me.  That she just doesn't know. 

And then my very very very good friend Barbara came into the picture.  (Enters Barbara, unfortunately before introduction which is still to come...) who begins to talk to me about this and is offering her support to me, as the angel she is in my life.  And you know what I tell her?  I told her I don't want it.  I don't want her support or anyone else’s.  I don't need it.  I don't want to talk about me being sick.  I don't want to feed it.  I don't want it to overcome me and swallow me alive until I give in and I am dead. 

What a horrible thing to tell a friend.

And I've started to talk to John about it more this past week, but more about this THING that I'm going through where I think that I may be sick.  I really may be sick.  He's used to it, because I have gotten sick in the past, I do and it's not until I have a huge fever and can't move off of the couch or from bed do I finally say, "You know what?  I think I'm sick." 

This is not how I used to be. 

I've started talking to John and I will say these things.  Randomly like, "I don't think that I can make it another year." or like tonight, "I don't think that I've ever fully recovered from July."  And then once it's out, I want it gone.  I want to move onto the next thing that needs to be done or let's go get a cup of coffee or I REALLY WANT these rain boots.  But once I get it out, end of discussion; I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT. 

It's all very curious.

And I wonder.  What's better?  Am I somehow not facing it by ignoring it?  Is that worse for me?

I told my father recently that I would rather push myself and end up sick in bed for a few days than sit around all day and feel sorry for myself that I am sick.  I'd much rather look at the "opportunity in my situation" as I listed off the positive things that have come of this.  ONE... my mood swings are NOT as drastic at all.  I don't have the energy to go too high anymore and I rarely go too low.  Go figure.  TWO, I've had time to learn these new "things."  THREE, I have gotten the opportunity which presented itself to write a book.  I could go on I'm sure, but am I just doing it again?

I just don't know.  And a part of me is terrified that I have opened the box and what will come of me now.  I am sick, yes, I get it... ok.  But what do I do now?  Do I give in?  I don't want to give in.  I DO NOT WANT TO GIVE IN!!!  I CAN NOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH. 

"One's mind, once stretched by a new idea, never regains its original dimensions."    

--  Oliver Wendell Holmes

and this frightens me.

and I won't be talking about this again for awhile.  Unless something really "good" happens of course!

And a note to Laura if you read this.  Thank you.  :)  For meeting me in this place for a moment and for this http://www.butyoudontlooksick.com/navigation/BYDLS-TheSpoonTheory.pdf.  I may have to think about my own spoons a little closer and how I squander them.