Hitting the Reset Button in my Brain

I feel like the last flare kind of put me in a less-than-positive state of mind. Too many of my posts are talking about hardships of living with a chronic condition. While I don’t mean to shy away from being honest, and I don’t believe in deluding myself with positivity when things could obviously be better, I do believe that our state of mind can affect the state of our bodies. Letting out the frustration of a prolonged flare is helpful, but remaining in that angry, frustrated mode does no one any good.

So I have been on a journey to try and reset my mind to be a in a quieter, more peaceful place. I have had varying levels of success with the strategies I used, and I am sharing my thoughts on them here in case it can help someone else in a similar boat.

1. Take time by the moments instead of days.

The idea here is to just get through this moment in time and on to the next, and not think any further forward or backward. I try to keep busy at work, and ignore my body as much as I can. I have also taken to spending my evenings resting completely (unless I go for my pool exercise class). Sometimes I may play a crossword with my husband. We have fun, we goof off, we laugh when we make up silly words; I seem to relax. Throughout the day, I try to keep my focus mainly on the task at hand.

For the most part, this strategy works. When taking time moment to moment, I seem to be alright.

. . . But then a thought will pop up in my head about the next day that’s about to come, and I feel this dread. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I mind my job, I really like it in fact. What I dread is the struggle that going to sleep might prove to be, or the exhaustion when I wake again the next day, or the achiness, the tiredness, the tightness in my muscles that will aggravate me throughout the day. I dread that I will come back home, and rest, and feel better, and then my body will hit its reset button the next morning, and the whole thing will start all over again. Like an endless cycle of rest, pain and exhaustion.

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Emptiness

Taking time in moments stops me from thinking in the fashion above, but it also makes time feel disconnected. I feel like, as people, we thrive on some sort of continuity. That’s why we created the construct of “time” in the first place. When you take life one piece at a time, it is an effective coping mechanism because it gets you through the day. But for me, at some point, every moment seems to run into another, and it becomes hard to see where I have been and where I am going.

So even though this method works, I realized that is like putting a band-aid on wound that needs stitches. It might make you feel better and hide it from sight, but it probably won’t solve the problem. But for problems that can’t be solved, like the one I currently have I guess, this is still a useful strategy.

2. Reframe your mind to think of what you can do.

This one is hard for me because I associate fibromyalgia with so much loss. But I think it is important to note that there is still a lot that I can do that I don’t always think about. I don’t think about it because I expect to be able to do more, so I care less about what I still can. But perhaps I should not take all that for granted.

Perhaps it worth noting that regardless of how bad I felt, I could still take care of my husband after his surgery. I could take care of our home while working at the same time. I can still work! As a scientist, no less! I can still plan for a future, perhaps a house, or a vacation. I am still able to spend some time with friends when I like. None of it is easy, but I am still doing it. Regardless of how much patience I lose with myself, I am still coping with whatever life throws at me.

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I am not just a a face in the crowd – I am still capable of hopes and dreams and accomplishments!

In a weird way, this makes me feel both proud and more confident, and also more humbled. Proud and confident that I am capable on taking on the current challenge. But also more humbled: just because you could do something, doesn’t mean that you should. I feel grateful that I didn’t collapse, only flared, when the workload soared. But at the first chance, I am also cutting back so as to not provoke providence by taking it for granted.

Altogether, I have found this to be a good exercise. When I feel poorly, my list is fairly short. But I try to add every mundane thing I could and try to convince myself to feel accomplished for being able to do it. It helps me feel like I have been somewhere, and can do some things, and can still plan for some kind of future.

3. Accept that it sucks.

Sometimes that’s all you can do. Just accept that this is a bad patch, and ride it out. No point in being angry about it or punishing yourself for what you cannot do. Do what you can to mitigate the flare, but recognize that sometimes it’s like the flu — you just have to wait it out. Admit the feelings and thoughts that invade the mind, find an acceptable outlet for them, and try to redirect them in more positive directions (see #1 and #2 for instance). Show yourself some compassion.

This one, for me, is by far the hardest, though I have been actively coaching myself for a while. I feel like I need to have the answers to all my problems. If I don’t have ready answers, I feel like I need to find them. But sometimes there is no answer. All you can do is accept this is how it is. Funny thing is, when I am able to do it, it brings me so much peace of mind! And yet I struggle with the idea that I am “giving in” to the flare. But it is not: I am still looking for ways to help myself feel better; I am just done fighting the the problem itself. The focus is now on me. Not the flare or the illness itself.

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Peace

I have written extensively about acceptance before, and I will put the links below. It is probably the best way I have found of dealing with the emotional aspects of my condition. As you can see, however, it is not a goal you achieve and stay at. It’s a a never-ending journey on the road to peace.

Gentle hugs,

Fibronacci

 

READ MORE ON ACCEPTANCE:
Part I: A Lesson in Perspective and Acceptance
Part II: What is “Acceptance”?
Part III: How Acceptance can lead to Happiness
Part IV (A): Seeking a State of Acceptance 
Part IV (B): Fighting the Denial of a Chronic Illness

Fibromyalgia is not “just” feeling achy and tired

Word of Warning: This is a rant/life update post that also makes something of a point. Other chronic illness fighters may relate to the point, and I hope “healthy” readers can appreciate it and maybe learn something from it!

So without much adieu, here’s the point, nice and early, so you don’t have to read till the end. Point

As my husband has been known to say, “the point is the point.”

OK, just kidding. No such luck! But if you stare hard enough at it, and then look away, you will see a square. I hope that makes up for the the last 20 seconds of your life reading a bad joke. No money back guarantee for the next 20 seconds if you don’t see the square, though.


For the last month or so, I seem to be hopping between flares. This last one has lasted a few weeks, replete with intractable pain and bone-crushing fatigue that is made worse by lack of sleep. That I come close to passing out unwanted (often at my work desk) but then struggle to sleep at night just feels like an unfunny joke my brain is playing on me.

Sleep_PHDcomics

Although my husband is much more mobile now, I am still taking care of some house chores. After a full week of work, I was feeling the lack of adequate rest on the weekends for a while. It’s a bit like I kept making automatic payments out of an already overdrawn bank account. Except here we are dealing with the biological currency – ATP – adenine triphosphate, aka, raw naked energy.

ATP_overdrawn

If you’ve ever overdrawn your account, you know the overdraft fees that apply. It’s money that you pay for not having money to pay with in the first place. Well, the Bank of ATP is no charity either. Pushing forth on empty just pushes you deeper into a hole that becomes harder and harder to come out of. That’s where I was when the weather flip-flopped rapidly. Without any energy left in savings to speak of, I went down almost as fast as the barometer.

(In a bizarre way, this flare makes me feel vindicated that I did not just stop partaking in the chores for material pleasure — it actually made physical sense for me to spend the weekends resting, and recharging the battery for the following week.)

Since I also just started my new job, I don’t exactly have an abundance of leave time or bargaining chips (or any really!) accumulated yet. That means I simply have to push through, even as I am struggling to stay sitting up. I am also starting work much earlier these days. That means forcing my body to move before it’s had a chance to thaw, thus using up more energy for the “wake up” routine than it otherwise would.

Kind of like the chicken you didn’t have time to thaw before dinner, and now it’s going to take extra power to cook from frozen.

Which, all, finally brings me to the point of this post:

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And it’s a bloody big one too!
(or as “bloody” and “big” as the 2018 super blue blood moon ever got for me anyway)

All that about counting energy bars used for strenuous activities like “waking”, and struggling to breathe through the pain, and running while practically on empty, is what makes fibromyalgia a little more than just feeling a bit achy and tired.

I know a lot of people get achy when it’s rainy. Nobody likes waking up early after not getting a good night’s sleep. Everybody gets tired from time to time. And I know all of these people still do everything that I do, and maybe a dozen things more, and chalk it all up to “adulting” without a complaint.

So why can’t I? Because fibromyalgia is a bit more than just feeling a tad tired and achy sometimes. It’s feeling like that all the time. And I work through it too without most people even knowing I have a chronic pain condition.

But “achy” is not the same as the band of pain and muscle tightness and spasms that grip my chest and make every breath a struggle. And after having tasted quite a range of the pain menu (joint, muscle and nerve), I can safely say that the Iron Maiden — my most favorite metal and least favorite pain band [yes, the “band” pun was totally intended] — is the absolute pits.

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It’s really amazing how much easier it is to fight the rest of me once I can BREATHE again!

That is a bit different from when someone is sore for a day or two from the weather or an especially hard exercise routine. They don’t have to brace for a major flare from ignored achiness, that might bring on new heights in pain sensation. The ache is the flare. It’s downhill from there.

In a fibro flare, on the other hand, I have been known to want to cry, but the fatigue is so all-encompassing that I realize it will take too much energy to cry. I have to save whatever is left of me to move my limbs and get through the day without passing out. A large part of what makes the flare worse is also poor sleep. What I once described to my doctor as an “all-body migraine” means I cannot get comfortable enough to sleep well, and lack of restful sleep in turn makes both the pain and the fatigue worse; and thence is triggered a vicious cycle.

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The reasons for staying up may not be the same, but as usual, Jorge Cham got the sentiment of the vicious cycle pretty right in this PHD comic!

Avoiding these kinds of flares that have the potential to floor you become of near-paramount importance in the management of a condition like FM. I have had to restructure my whole life, sometimes struggling to keep up with even the reduced pace, cutting back everywhere and on everything that I can, just to avoid these flares. I imagine people with chronic pain disorders know what I am talking about. But it is very hard to explain this to somebody who doesn’t see the struggle behind the shallow breaths, even when they otherwise know what being in pain feels like. They don’t have to worry about the localized pain turning into an all-over flare that literally affects every part of the body, everything from sore feet to a foggy head.

The centralized nature of this pain disorder also means that I never know where and when to expect an exacerbation of the pain. The back is a constant, so at least I know that’s a house guest who’s staying again today. But who else is coming to visit — and for how long? Is it going to be my arm? The wrist perhaps? Or maybe the knee, or the feet (are the ankles coming too?), or perhaps it’s going to be the thigh? Is the neck pain just from sleeping funny, or is this about to be a killer migraine? And how long will that last?

FMS
A snapshot from a video by open.osmosis.org explaining fibromyalgia as a central sensitization disorder (i.e., stemming from issues in the brain)

The uncertainty and unpredictability of pain due to a central sensitization disorder makes it very hard for people with only peripheral injury-related pain experience to understand or empathize with this kind of “achy”.

If you can expect a pain a certain way, it’s easier to take mitigating steps, which you know will work with some reliability. With centralized pain, you never know what to prepare for. And because you can’t be prepared for everything all the time, you are likely to be sometimes caught off guard. Like I know laying down helps me breathe again when the pain otherwise tightens the vise around my chest, but I cannot lay down at work.

And the fight it takes to keep sitting up when the pain is overpowering takes up more energy that I don’t have. I used to be a high-achieving student, so I know what “tired” feels like. I never dreamed it could be counting how many ATPs it took me to get out of bed this morning! Some days it takes more than others. So you can either plan your day accordingly, or, if you’re fresh out of choices, you go further into overdraft at the Bank of ATP. And then you feel the dire exhaustion that takes “tired” to the next level.

My friend describes it as being like a “zombie”. Well, it’s pretty accurate. I was alive and moving, but all the life juice was taken out of me, and I was just performing the motions. I felt like I might collapse into a bag of bones the minute I didn’t pay explicit attention to allocating the necessary resources to hold my body upright.

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It’s a great exercise in mindfulness — paying attention to holding your body up — but I really don’t recommend it.

All of this constant daily struggling, peppered by knock-out flares, is why fibromyalgia is not just feeling “kinda tired” and “a bit achy” once in a while. That’s why, even when people are not trying to be belittling, I can only sigh when I hear things like, “you’re fine, everybody gets tired”, or “I didn’t feel like waking up this morning either”, or “yeah, this weather’s hard on everyone”. I appreciate that people often mean well, and are trying to be kind when they say those things. I just wish that before they said it, they had a small inkling of what we truly felt like.

Love,

Fibronacci