I think my friend is lost and I don’t know how to help her.
She is sick a lot of the time. A few years ago she was diagnosed with lupus, which is one of those strange diseases that seems like it could be a big deal and life-threatening but also seems a little like in someone’s head? As in a sickness brought up by psych reasons, a manifestation of stress and unhappiness and not being in control. I feel terrible writing this because who am I to know what illness is real? The human body is a big chaotic mess that is at the same time a miracle in that it functions at all.
Because of my friend being ill a lot, I read many memoirs about people being ill, and what it’s like. Especially those with diseases that are a bit on the edge of credibility, like Lyme Disease, and chronic fatigue syndrome, other weird autoimmune diseases. Each memoir I try to figure out why is this person like this? They are trying so hard to get better, they are miserable living with their disease. It must be real. But their disease often seems to have no rhyme or reason: it responds to one drug for a bit, then not at all. Symptoms come and go. I can very easily put myself in their shoes and feel their frustration, but I can’t help thinking, maybe it’s time to stop thinking about it and get on with your life.
In the case of my friend it feels like maybe the way her life is now of part of the problem. (Yes, I still feel terrible saying this). She worries a lot, she is really sensitive about things people have said to her, she wallows in those moments and obsesses about what’s wrong with the state of the world in a way that I admire but also scares me. It feels like the more you take in the pain of the world, and feel all its injustices, the more you are going to make yourself sick from worrying.
Then I have to stop and think about why I love her so much, and probably it’s because she’s feeling all this pain, she’s open to all the emotions coming from the hardships of life. I can contrast this to my husband, who is an expert at ignoring pain, at closing himself off from the world, so he can stay pleasant and optimistic. And yet I admire this way of being too, and love him for it. I especially love him these days while he deals with a quite real disease, where he tries to ignore it as much as possible and get on with life. I guess what I love about both of them is that they are exactly who they are. And sometimes I wonder if I know who am I. And how much I want to feel.
So my friend is lost. But I’m lost too, and not admitting it. And maybe my pointing at her lostness is more about my feeling that the whole human race is lost, and who can guide all these billions out of the wilderness?
— siobhan
She is sick a lot of the time. A few years ago she was diagnosed with lupus, which is one of those strange diseases that seems like it could be a big deal and life-threatening but also seems a little like in someone’s head? As in a sickness brought up by psych reasons, a manifestation of stress and unhappiness and not being in control. I feel terrible writing this because who am I to know what illness is real? The human body is a big chaotic mess that is at the same time a miracle in that it functions at all.
Because of my friend being ill a lot, I read many memoirs about people being ill, and what it’s like. Especially those with diseases that are a bit on the edge of credibility, like Lyme Disease, and chronic fatigue syndrome, other weird autoimmune diseases. Each memoir I try to figure out why is this person like this? They are trying so hard to get better, they are miserable living with their disease. It must be real. But their disease often seems to have no rhyme or reason: it responds to one drug for a bit, then not at all. Symptoms come and go. I can very easily put myself in their shoes and feel their frustration, but I can’t help thinking, maybe it’s time to stop thinking about it and get on with your life.
In the case of my friend it feels like maybe the way her life is now of part of the problem. (Yes, I still feel terrible saying this). She worries a lot, she is really sensitive about things people have said to her, she wallows in those moments and obsesses about what’s wrong with the state of the world in a way that I admire but also scares me. It feels like the more you take in the pain of the world, and feel all its injustices, the more you are going to make yourself sick from worrying.
Then I have to stop and think about why I love her so much, and probably it’s because she’s feeling all this pain, she’s open to all the emotions coming from the hardships of life. I can contrast this to my husband, who is an expert at ignoring pain, at closing himself off from the world, so he can stay pleasant and optimistic. And yet I admire this way of being too, and love him for it. I especially love him these days while he deals with a quite real disease, where he tries to ignore it as much as possible and get on with life. I guess what I love about both of them is that they are exactly who they are. And sometimes I wonder if I know who am I. And how much I want to feel.
So my friend is lost. But I’m lost too, and not admitting it. And maybe my pointing at her lostness is more about my feeling that the whole human race is lost, and who can guide all these billions out of the wilderness?
— siobhan
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