Sick Sad

I’m stuck in a hole and I don’t know how to get out of it. Rather, I’ve been stuck and I have tried almost everything to get out of it. No matter what I do or how hard I try, there is always the deep, dark unique sadness that comes with life-changing, life-altering, life-limiting illness. And it’s always there. No matter how happy I am in the moment or how much positivity I attempt to emit or how many people I try to surround myself with.

It’s a sickness that makes you sad.
It’s a sadness that makes you sick.
It’s a never-ending downward spiral and it has one hell of a grip.
Sick sad.

Most times it’s just there underneath, lurking like some monster of the sea, but other times it’s the ocean itself; it’s surf overwhelming everything in its path and leaving its exhausted victims to be continually beat unto the shoreline.

I guess the real issue, for me, is that no one really seems to be talking much about it…And why would they. It hurts to talk about and to think about. No one wants to have to constantly consider the pain of another human being. But ignoring the fact that this type of suffering exists isn’t okay either. Ignorance hurts too.

So let’s start talking about the deeper and more difficult emotions that come hand in hand with illness.

I know I’m going to.


2 thoughts on “Sick Sad

  1. Julie Pruitt says:

    ::hugs:: I know just what you mean. I go through periods where I can live my life and only occasionally touch that aching despair. Then there are times when it is always there on my shoulder, even when I am genuinely laughing outwardly. I’d rather not speak of some of the darker times when it wasn’t just on my shoulder, but wrapped in a stranglehold around my throat. And for some reason, it is something that I find entirely impossible to explain to anyone. If I try, it sounds woefully inadequate, and I end up feeling like I’m whining. So it’s difficult to release the pressure when it builds. It’s difficult to open up enough to let it all pour out, because when I do it IS an overwhelming flood, and is likely to drown anyone I open up entirely to. (As a consequence, the only one who I ever have done that with is my dear, patient, accepting hubby.)

    You are not at all alone in feeling this way, nor are you alone in wishing it was a more acceptable discussion topic. Not in a “poor me” sort of way, but in a “sharing the load” sort of way. I am lucky enough to have a good number of people who are supportive of me, who share my load in little ways, even though some of them probably aren’t even aware of it. That helps a lot, but it still isn’t quite the same, since I feel it would be terribly unfair to let them into that darkest corner of my world. I don’t want to throw shadows into THEIR worlds, and I know it would.

    So I guess that leaves those of us who do understand, who already experience it, and who are willing to acknowledge that this is part of daily life now, something we need to learn to live with, cope with, and fight down. It helps to hear of others struggling too, or at least it helps me. Thank you so much for sharing.


    • Aleigha says:

      How lucky you are to have a loving husband who is willing to share the burden that is chronic illness! I would never EVER wish for someone to feel even close to the extent of despair that dealing with illness on a day to day basis can be. The most helpful friends I have found are those who simply listen or those who share a similar experience as I do. There is such a huge mental illness factor that comes hand in hand with being physically ill that has to be acknowledged which is why I choose to share my story even though it risks being chastised by those who do not try to or are unable to relate.
      There is a quote about this that I absolutely adore:
      “You go on by doing the best you can. You go on by being generous. You go on by being true. You go on by offering comfort to others who can’t go on. You go on by allowing the unbearable days to pass and allowing the pleasure in other days. You go on by finding a channel for your love and another for your rage.”
      I’m not sure of the source – it’s from a book, but the last line is my favorite.
      Thank you for reaching out, I appreciate it more than you know.


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