Grief

I recently saw another girl with dysautonomia vlog about getting diagnosed. She mentioned going through the "7 stages of grief." The more I thought about it, the more I agreed with her. Only, I feel like I have gone past acceptance over and over...yet somehow I keep backtracking. I always end up back in denial stage and quickly ease into the depression stage for a long stay. It happened again today. Now, let's have a look at my life at the moment. I'm getting back in touch with God, I am doing okay with my parents and am not going through the pain we've dealt with in recent years, school is difficult but going okay, and - here's a big one - I now have a person in my life who actually cares. And he's unbelievably wonderful. Haven't I been crying about feeling lonely for months and months on this blog? Haven't I sat there in tears going through my Bible, finally realizing the fact that God DOES want us to have friends to support us here, and spent hours praying for one? And yet I am still back in this stage of depression. It was such a little thing that set it off, too - I started thinking about all the people I saw at the doctor's office today, all the people who are dying. Which made me think about me and my own sickness, which reminded me of the fact that I may develop one of the feared disorders I pitied the other people for and die myself. Which got me back in denial. Back in anger. And, what pops into my head? Self destruction. It's ridiculous. It discusts me. I have so much going for me. Today I was in a makeup class and I was able to put makeup swatches on my bare arm and put it out in the light, for other people to see. It's been so long since I could do such a thing without a care in the world. I felt proud. Do I really want to give up all the healing, all the progress, for one little moment of gratification and weeks of secret anguish? How can this thought even pop into my head? How can these other thoughts even pop into my head? How can I decide, while in the car on a beautiful day near Christmas, that I want to torture myself when I get home? My mom is next to me, we are listening to Christmas music and gazing out the frosty windows at beautiful displays of lights. We are joking and laughing. And THIS is what goes through my head? I hate it when these moments sneak up on me. I can do okay. I can be happy even. I just have to absolutely, positively, not let a few thoughts cross my mind. If I begin to think about my future, I'm ruined. I really don't know what it is about secret abuse that makes me feel better. I'm in a helpless situation. I need to feel like I'm doing something, helping in some way. So I do this? I refuse to go there ever again. I want to rely on God. I don't want to hurt my body anymore, even though I hate it. It just takes so much strength. So I pray that God will give me it.