I read a beautiful article a few days ago on Crafts, Chronic Illness and Adulting about how happiness is a state of being, and it is our choice to make every day (as much as we can) to seek that happiness within ourselves. I have ruminated much about that elusive state of happiness before, and couldn’t agree more with that attitude.
I feel like happiness is a flame that is burning within us. Sometimes the flame dwindles, gets buried, becomes hard to reach, as daily frustrations take over our minds. It can be especially hard to deal with the everyday when one is also fighting a chronic illness. But in a moment of quiet, it is possible to find that little candle of happiness still burning, underneath all of the tears of anger, sorrow and frustration.
Depression, on the other hand, is the absence of that flame. You can push yourself, just like you push anyway with the pain and fatigue, to do your everyday tasks. You can cover it up with laughs, alcohol, drugs, music, company, whatever you think might make you happy. But really, all of it is to cover up the knowledge that that flame is gone.
I became acutely aware of that as I had to come off some nerve pain medication rather suddenly. The burning in my arms, trigger points, and spinal cord became more insistent, along with my other FM-related woes – but that was expected. What was a little unexpected (and perhaps stupidly so) was the effect it had on my mental health. I felt a return of my depression and anxiety like I haven’t felt in a decade.
Then funnily enough, I saw the light (again) on one of my absolute worst days. My muscle spasms were so bad in my upper back that I was largely immobilized from neck up, and I could only move my right arm with intense stabs of pain with each movement. Yet, I had promised to bring my friend’s daughter to the circus, and I did not want to cancel on an 8-year-old. So I doused myself in every pain relief method at my disposal, and I went.
Despite all my pain, the joy that emanated from the child at her first circus took precedence over all my misery. I feel like she not only stopped me that day from delving deeper into the hole that I was in, but she actually pulled me a little bit out of it!
That night was one of the worst nights I ever spent. I was practically paralyzed from the pain, and the only reason I did not go to the emergency room is because it would have caused me more pain to get there than just languish in bed.
And yet, that night I was able to find a little bit of the happiness spark, like the flickers of light from a flint, as if a caveman was trying to start a fire. It was like the first dim light that touches the earth after the darkest part of the night. As if from the ashes, a phoenix was trying to emerge!
That flame then grew stronger a day or so later.
I had spent another night in intense pain, so much so, that my husband said I moaned aloud in my sleep anytime he turned, or even touched the bed. He fed me a pain pill, and then spent the rest of the night on the couch to minimize my discomfort. I did not learn of this until the morning, and was filled with so much gratitude when I did.
As I learned that day, gratitude is a like a breath of air on a little spark, a little blow of oxygen that can stoke the happiness flame, and help it realize its potential as a bright source of light.
Although you don’t need much to be happy, on the darkest of days, it helps to remind yourself of all that you do have to be happy about.
I have much to be happy about. I have a husband who is made of the stuff of dreams, I finally have access to my nerve pain medicine again, my pain is slowly getting better (progressively fewer screams have been heard by my neighbors over the last couple of days), and I have a very understanding doctor. Not to mention the friend who trusts me with her children, on whom I can shower my adoration as if they were my grandchildren, and with whom I can connect and find tender joy.
Yes, I also have many challenges that I am going through right now, but I have a lot more to be grateful for. To be happy for.
So today, now that I have the choice, I will try to focus on the silver linings when I look at the clouds from my window. And by doing so, I hope that window opens into another dimension, one where the flame of happiness continually glows bright within me.
Each painting has a story, one that I strive to tell here. Since many of them have to do with my journey with fibromyalgia, 20% of all yearly sales income from my paintings will go to the American Fibromyalgia Syndrome Association (AFSA), who fund research into this poorly understood condition. If the paintings and/or the cause touch your heart, as they do mine, please feel free to contact me through my Facebook page for more information. Thank you for accompanying me on this journey!