Miss independent

Bec talks about coping with chronic pain and depression and why it was difficutl to ask for support.

You know that song "Miss Independent"?  Whoever wrote it obviously knew me better than I know myself...

Miss independent
Miss self-sufficient
Miss keep your distance, no
Miss on her own
Miss almost grown
Miss never let a man help her off her throne

Every word is me.  I am an independent woman of the 00's - I don't ask for help because I don't need it.  I have everything under control... well, at least, I did. Only a little while ago my life began crumbling around me.  Every day seemed a little darker, every hill a little steeper, every night a little lonelier.  My body started to ache, and my world began to look a lot different that it ever had before.

I was diagnosed about 6 months later with Rheumatoid Arthritis, a crippling condition that basically means your joints (particularly those in your hands, fingers, knees and feet) deteriorate with every minute you are alive.  Initially I felt nothing but disbelief - how could a fit, healthy 22 year old have an "old-people's" disease?  My mind couldn't cope... so my sanity went with it.

I was warned that with a diagnosis such as this, depression is a constant companion.  I'd like to think of myself as a really happy-go-lucky, positive, 'glass-half-full' kinda girl, so I guess I thought that depression wasn't something I was going to have a problem with.  Little did I realise that depression is more than feeling 'sad' - I felt helpless and hopeless. I had no energy, no desire to get out and do the things I loved (like going for a walk, or going to the gym, or going to the movies).  I started to lose weight when the drugs made me feel too sick to eat, I always looked tired 'cos I couldn't sleep, and I would walk in pain.  To those around me, who I had banished from the true feelings I hid, I was spiraling out of control... and I wasn't going to stop until someone helped me.

Lucky for me, I had a great group of people around me who helped me every step of the way - being my moral support, my 'smile therapy', my hug-givers, my note-takers, my lolly-bringers, my back rubbers and my crying-shoulders.  It took me a long time to let them in to the private hell I had inadvertently created for myself, but once 'Miss Independent' got it through her head that she was not going to cope with this insidious disease alone, my friends and support network certainly made some very difficult times a lot easier.

Even though I am still fiercely independent, I now realise that sometimes you have to accept help - because you can't do everything yourself.  Being like this though, I know you have to have a code or phrase that lets people know that you're not up for talking about it - mine is "I'm having an EPD" - EPD stands for Excruciating Pain Day, which basically means I'm in a shit of a mood and I don't really want to talk about it.  But my friends understand this means I just need some space, and I'll talk when I'm ready.

I'll admit, most days still suck - I take my 'nasty drugs' once a week, and I only manage to stop vomiting and writhing in pain for about 24 hours before I have to take the next lot.  Despite this, I can wake up in the morning and know that there will be someone to help me through the day.  That knowledge in itself is enough to get me out of bed, even on the very worst days.  And in the words of my mantra: With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.