A LOVE LETTER TO MY FRIENDS… By Lindsay

See this here? <– It’s a blog post I wrote in November, 2012 which my friend Lindsay liked. Lindsay writes Musings of a Dysautonomiac and I don’t even know how she found my blog. That was in its infancy, when I was just venting to the universe because I didn’t know what else to do with myself, before I even knew what dysautonomia was. That’s 5 years of her friendship and, like so many others I’ve met through this blog and its associated Facebook account, I treasure our relationship. I rely on her/their humour, honesty and nonjudgmental support. She wrote a love letter to her friends and expressed everything I feel better than I could have, so I’m sharing it here. And, in case you’re too lazy to click on the link, I will copy it below.

A LOVE LETTER TO MY FRIENDS…

Growing up, most of my friends were boys. I was into riding bikes and playing video games, and most other girls were not. As I entered my teens and 20’s my closest friends were female, but the majority of my friends were still males. Generally, I always felt that I got along better with men.

While that’s probably true, as I entered my 30’s I began to realize that I get along best with kind, brilliant, funny, drama-free women. In short, You.

Yes, you, reading this. YOU. (Apologies to the, like, 4 men who read this blog. I think you’re swell, too).

I have lost friends since I first became sick. Some were “party” friends, who didn’t have much use for me after I stopped going out as often, and some were needy friends who didn’t like that I now had problems of my own to solve. Some were just friends, and I don’t know why. I usually lose a “friend” or two everytime I post something about postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome (POTS), dysautonomia, mast cell (MCAD), or chronic illness in general, on Facebook, which I do about twice a year. Apparently I’m not allowed to post occasionally about a lifelong life-altering illness, but am expected to “like” the 5 posts about a friend’s kid who has the flu.

I have gained friends, too, through support groups and this blog. Some live in my city, and others live in other states and countries spread throughout the world, friends who I have never, and unfortunately due to our illnesses probably will never meet in person. There’s a kinship in mutual suffering; we fight different battles in the same war. I save every email I have received through this blog. That perfect strangers share their fears, their vulnerabilities, their hopes, and their stories with me is incredibly humbling. We are unlikely friends, brought together by circumstance, but held together by compassion and understanding.

A friend recently got married, and while we were discussing the wedding plans over a drink, she asked what she could do to make it easier for me to attend. At that wedding, friends sat and stared at the ocean for over an hour with me, as I was moving pretty slow after three migraine days that week. For my birthday last week, chronically ill friends whom I have never met sent birthday messages. And not just “hey, happy birthday” messages, but touching messages that remind me that, although we have never been face to face, I have still been seen.

Chronic illness is hard on friendships. As a whole, we aren’t the most reliable bunch. We get sick and miss important events, even after promising we’d be there. Due to brain fog, we may forget important details you have told us. We probably aren’t going to join you for a hike, or a late night party, or skydiving, or standing in line at the grocery store. You’ll have to help us, from time to time. We may not make the best bridesmaids, godmothers to your kids, or workout partners. Somedays, we may not even make that great of a friend.

But I promise you this: we will never take you for granted. Because we know what it’s like to be left behind.

Friends, thank you for letting me share my life with you here. For letting me be this confused, existential mess, and for responding with softness and acceptance and dirty jokes and “we’ll figure this out togethers”. For remaining my friend through it all, or for sending me an email through this blog and planting the seeds of friendship.

I will continue to strive to be worthy of your friendship.

“In the end, all you have are memories, and usually the ones you have with friends are the ones you treasure most.” – Notes from the Universe

Smell ya later.
Linds

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Rag and Bone Blog Anniversary

I started this blog one year ago today. I never thought it would become a permanent part of my routine and something that gives me such pleasure. I started it as a daily tracker of treatment with low-dose naltrexone. The original url was ldndiary.com.

Since then, I have sacrificed most correspondence and contact (emails, cards, phone calls) and used my limited energy to write blog posts so that friends and family will all have a place to go to see how I’m doing. Of course, relationships are a two-way road and my hope is that my loved ones will continue to contact me. I will answer or pick up the phone when I can. If I can be an ear for someone or a shoulder to cry on, it makes me feel like my old self again ~ a reciprocal, functional friend.

This is a very tough line to walk for everyone involved. I’ve had friends tell me they thought I just wanted to be left alone. I am a very private person in some ways. I will lay bare my feelings, my opinions and my thoughts, always ~ I can’t be shocked or grossed out, I am rarely offended ~ but, I’m oddly private about sickness because I don’t want to accept that this happened to me. I want to believe that I am healthy and vibrant. I left my job and only told my bosses why. And I even told them half-truths. Everyone I had worked with for over 8 years didn’t really know what had happened. Eventually, I sent a select few individuals a link to my blog and said, “I’m not purposely out of contact. This is what is going on.” So, I understand completely why people didn’t contact me ~ they didn’t know and, if they did, they were trying to respect my privacy and hermit-ism.

Recently, a friend on Facebook commented on what a good book Unbroken is and I took the opportunity to comment that the author Laura Hillenbrand‘s story is as incredible as Louis Zamperini’s. I also mentioned that I was dealing with the same illness. I’ve been sick for almost 2 years and that was the first time I had said anything about ME/CFS on Facebook (and it’s not because I have thousands of friends on there ~ I’m selective; I’m only friends with people I know and like).

I don’t know if I’ll ever accept my limitations. I used to think of myself as a workhorse, a rock, an efficient multitasker. I spent my life feeling exuberant, passionate and ambitious. At work, I had huge responsibilities, I was in charge of seven restaurants and, no matter how stressful it was, I felt trusted, knowledgeable and accomplished ~ all traits that help self worth. This illness stripped me bare. Suddenly I felt weak, dependent, unattractive… Suddenly, my dreams for the future were out the window. I worked so hard to get where I was in my career and I had only just got there ~ I’d only just started to feel comfortable in my expertise and financially secure. My support network and any activities that gave me joy vanished… This on top of my new broken body.

I guess, after being sick almost two years, I’m finally coming around to the idea that it’s not a failure, not shameful. We all will grow old and health will fail. Mine just happened a little earlier and a little more abruptly. That’s what I tell myself. And I squash the voice that says No, this is worse than the majority of health problems. What do I know? I haven’t walked in anyone else’s shoes.

I think finding friends in the blogging community and making contact on ME/CFS forums has helped in ways I could have never imagined. I truly care about these people that I’ve never met face to face. I wonder how they are and I worry when they don’t write. They have made me laugh and cry. They comment on my blog and I feel like, I may be housebound, but I’m not alone. I’d never read a blog in my life until this day last year and now I am so incredibly grateful for my little circle of online friends who understand what I am going through and give me strength.

Thank you to my family for visiting, cheering me on and sending care packages to cheer me up. Thank you to the friends who call me, confide in me and tell me all the time that they’re thinking of me. And thank you to my blog family ~ my blamily. 😉 You know who you are. I wouldn’t finally be finding acceptance and hope without your help.

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