I hate feeling sorry for myself. And yet, the rumination is hard to control sometimes. It crosses my mind at least once a day — How did my son and I draw the short straw? We both live with chronic illness. His since birth and mine, only recently diagnosed as multiple sclerosis at the age of 36. MS scares me because I often wonder — W ill I be able to be the mother he needs? Will I be limited in what I can do for him? I haven’t started treatment yet, but lately I feel much weaker and easily winded. He’s only four and very active. Keeping up with him physically is probably the most challenging part of my day.
Lately my life has been a shitstorm all at once. Beyond the chaos of the American government, I just managed to leave an emotionally abusive relationship (more on that later) nearly six months ago. Somehow, it feels like just yesterday. I must have PTSD because the bad memories circulate in my mind every day. The awful things he said about me. Calling me fat, checked out, and lazy for getting winded going up the stairs… I know I shouldn’t internalize those hateful words, but it’s a struggle not to. Now, in retrospect, a lot of my nonspecific symptoms make sense — fatigue, indifference, and short-term memory loss. I try to pinpoint a timeframe where I changed, but the past is kind of blurry.
