I've Been Told...

I've been called crazy. Insane even. A pathological liar. Psychologically ill. I've been told that I can't be trusted. That everything that comes out of my mouth is a lie. I've been told that it's all inside my head. I've been told that if I swim, it would make it better. Doing water aerobics is ideal! I've been told that nothing is wrong. Yet, I've been told that my parents' divorce has just put so much stress on my body that it may be the only reason I'm in pain. I've been told that I'm making it all up. I've been told that because of my sadness, I am in pain. Perhaps if I would try to do everything I once did, it would return to normal. I've been told that if I stop diagnosing myself, then perhaps I would stop giving symptoms to myself. Maybe if I listened, it would work. But perhaps if I listened to everything people tell me, I would still be in the same bucket of pain. I have been told to be my own advocate...so here it goes.

I can't tell you how much it hurts to hear someone tell you that you're crazy. Maybe I am crazy. Maybe my pain is all inside my head. Then, why am I still in pain!? Who would ever want to carry around a load of pain?! At one point in time, I thought I wanted to be sick. I thought it would give me the friendships that I longed for. I thought it would create a sense of understanding. I already had a butt load wrong with me for a 19 year old, why not add a few more?! But, I was called out. I was told that I was crazy. I was told that my all my illness was caused by that lie. It was one lie. A big one. But still, ONE. And I know that I screwed up. I lost one of the most fantastic friends I have ever had because of it. Because I decided to exaggerate the amount of pain I was already in, added with a little bit of dizziness and memory loss, I lost a best friend, and I was INCREDIBLY close to loosing the only other best friend I had. I can now say, that I have one best friend, and a few acquaintances.

Yes, I'm on anti-depressants. An ever-increasing dose. And while my mood is up and my energy levels seem to be rising as my vitamin D levels return to normal, I still hurt. I hurt physically and my mentality of my existence has been repaired. Every joint in my body hurts. My hand shakes as I write this because it doesn't want to move, and yet I'm forcing it to do so. A twinge shoots down from my shoulder to my elbow which follows down to my wrist telling it to quit. Slowly, my hand becomes tingly. And at the most inconvenient time, it will go completely numb.

Later, when I reach to move my laptop off my lap, my knee will crack as I get out of bed. If I'm lucky, it won't give out. The two steps towards my desk isn't hard to make, unless my hand loses strength to hold the laptop and it goes crashing to the floor. I would then have to bend over to pick it up off the floor. The decision would come whether to bend at the knees and hope I can raise myself up, or if I want to stress my back and hope I don't hurt it more than the usual stretch. Then, I will climb up in bed, hoping my wrist doesn't scream as I pull myself up against the pillows. Using my left hand, since my right hand is already too tired from the day's work, I will work to set an alarm for the morning for a time too early with such a little night's sleep. During the night, I will wake up three or four times, after taking an hour to get to sleep. As I wake each time, I will try to clear my mind of the fear of waking up with a headache or not hearing my alarm. When I wake to my alarm, I will take my morning meds and go to classes. Walking among campus as slow as my grandmother goes (or even more slowly). I will have the energy to want to run, but my body will refrain me. The steps down into my first academic building will bring tears to my eyes, but not one will be shed. I will look around nervously, hoping that no one will notice that I'm taking the elevator to the second floor. The 21 stairs to the second floor will seem like forever. Classes will come and go as I will struggle to pay attention though the lack of sufficient sleep will wear on me, and by the time Hebrew class (my first class) is over, my fingers will scream for relief. Instead, I will progress through three more classes as well as a meeting. Why? Because it's the only time I will actually see people that day.

Afterward, I will go home, which will seem like a forever long journey as the shuttle will take forever for me to avoid the 15-20 minute walk across campus that used to average 8 minutes tops! My ankle will send messages to my brain wondering why the pressure being placed on the accelerator is causing pain. Yes, even driving will be difficult. As I turn into my apartment complex, my shoulder will continue to send messages down my arm and down my spine and create a pulsing effect. I will once again, climb into bed and wonder if I did anything worthwhile that day. I might click around on the internet, but nothing extensive. I might crochet, though not for long before my wrists begin to cry out once more. I might do homework, but holding the pencil or book might cause my wrist and hand to begin the curling in procedure. I will wonder if anyone will call or text me. I will scroll up and down my Facebook newsfeed often, curious if anyone will message me, though seeing all of the things I wish I could do, but can't.

I have few friends. The friends I have live far away. Very few live near. None understand. All think they understand.

No one seems to understand where I am at. Hence the reason for writing this note. I've been told many things. Anything and everything from being mentally ill to just stressed. I've been told that I'm too young to have hot flashes or joint pain. I've been told that I shouldn't have tendinitis just because I ran track in eighth grade. I've been told that I should be able to do more as a 19 year old. I've been told that I would get better if I didn't act so old. I've been told that I need drugs to function as a normal human being of 19 years. I've been told that I must go to counseling to figure out what's wrong with me. Nothing is wrong, but everything is wrong.

I'm not making it up, people. I have good days. I have bad days. I have days that create new words like alrightish or fantastilistic. I can assure you that I don't look sick like a "sick" person does. But I can assure you that it isn't all in my head. I can assure you that I don't want to be sick. I don't want to feel this way. Though, I envy the support that others have who have been diagnosed with chronic pain. I hope and pray that I don't have a chronic disease. I can hardly take the pain I am in now...For it to get any worse seems like a nightmare. For it to go on and for me not to be able to do the things I want to do seems like a nightmare.

I just want people to understand. To take me for what I am. No matter how much change I go through. My opinions change day to day. I have no idea what I have. But I've been told nothing is wrong. It is only stress, depression, and a vitamin D deficiency. But perhaps "only" is enough. I want to be a normal teenager while I still can. The months count down. Less than 120-days til I can no longer be a teenager.

I want people who are willing to be a friend, rather than a professional. I want a friend who is willing to believe me at whatever it costs. I want a friend who doesn't push me off on someone else. I want a friend who will walk beside me. One who will hang out with me, even if it means doing nothing but making pancakes and watching a movie. I want a friend who will understand my ups and downs. One who doesn't mind listening to me groan as I hear the weather forecast predicting a change in the weather. I want a friend who realizes that I'm not normal. But I want a friend who doesn't see me as abnormal. I want a friend who sees me as a unique creation of God who is striving to be more like Jesus, yet who screws up sometimes. I want a friend who can laugh off my "old lady-ness" and join in while retaining their own personality.

I've been told many things. Many non-fantastic things. I'm waiting for the good. I hurt. And I hurt in more ways than one. Mentally from depression. Emotionally from lack of friendship/support. And physically from who knows what?! But perhaps, if I listened to what I'm told, then others would listen to me as well.......And perhaps, that would create true understanding.

I've been told...Understanding must go both ways before it is truly understanding.