Hello again, old friend
Oct. 7th, 2015 00:17![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
torquillI tend to forget how much physical pain affects my state of mind. I've lived with it most of my life; it's only in the last ten years that it hasn't been a constant companion, something integral to the fabric of my life. But all that time spent with it, when it was just a constant background noise, changed my relationship with pain. I don't fear it (what I actually fear, and avoid, is damage). I don't feel like it's a horrible burden. It's like loud noises -- unpleasant, difficult to ignore when they're especially bad, but not generally a big deal. You may not do your best work when a jackhammer's constantly chattering down the block, but you get resigned to it. After a while, you even manage to tune it out.
I tune out pain a lot. I'm so good at it that I often don't realize I'm in pain until some other indicator catches my attention. Wow, I'm surprisingly tired today... I just can't seem to get warm... I really don't feel like eating. I wonder why. Usually I wonder just long enough to consciously take stock of my sensory inputs -- and, gee, I hadn't realized I was in that much pain. It snuck up on me.
Amy has been restless and unhappy for the last couple of days. I thought it was hormonal, which was definitely part of it. It's also my fall funk; all of those memories of school are still pretty painful for her. But I was sitting here, wondering why I couldn't put my finger on why I felt like crying, when nothing seems to be wrong. And I wondered just long enough.
People with chronic pain usually end up exhausted. Then they go to the doctor, and the doctor sees them dragging along, and tells them they're depressed, as if that's the reason they're feeling horrible. Just medicate the depression, you'll feel better. The reason I was not surprised to see a study implicating inflammation in depression (you don't say) is that I already knew what the study found: inflammation promotes depression. When my inflammatory disorder flares up, I get depressed. I get depressed independently of how tired my body is (though they both tend to get worse in parallel). And when I manage my inflammation, it lifts again. It's not a black depression, not a hopeless suicidal one; it's the apathetic "I don't want to get out of bed" dragging grey type. It makes life that much harder, like walking on deep dry sand. It stifles creativity, shortens the cope rope, and makes everything feel like too much effort for too little pleasure.
My body gets worn down by the pain even when I'm not paying attention. Finally I end up sitting at my desk, wondering why I want to cry. I want to cry for the same reason little kids do: I'm hurt, and I don't have the strength to get up anymore.
I have a Dr. J appointment tomorrow. I'd say that's pretty good timing.
I tune out pain a lot. I'm so good at it that I often don't realize I'm in pain until some other indicator catches my attention. Wow, I'm surprisingly tired today... I just can't seem to get warm... I really don't feel like eating. I wonder why. Usually I wonder just long enough to consciously take stock of my sensory inputs -- and, gee, I hadn't realized I was in that much pain. It snuck up on me.
Amy has been restless and unhappy for the last couple of days. I thought it was hormonal, which was definitely part of it. It's also my fall funk; all of those memories of school are still pretty painful for her. But I was sitting here, wondering why I couldn't put my finger on why I felt like crying, when nothing seems to be wrong. And I wondered just long enough.
People with chronic pain usually end up exhausted. Then they go to the doctor, and the doctor sees them dragging along, and tells them they're depressed, as if that's the reason they're feeling horrible. Just medicate the depression, you'll feel better. The reason I was not surprised to see a study implicating inflammation in depression (you don't say) is that I already knew what the study found: inflammation promotes depression. When my inflammatory disorder flares up, I get depressed. I get depressed independently of how tired my body is (though they both tend to get worse in parallel). And when I manage my inflammation, it lifts again. It's not a black depression, not a hopeless suicidal one; it's the apathetic "I don't want to get out of bed" dragging grey type. It makes life that much harder, like walking on deep dry sand. It stifles creativity, shortens the cope rope, and makes everything feel like too much effort for too little pleasure.
My body gets worn down by the pain even when I'm not paying attention. Finally I end up sitting at my desk, wondering why I want to cry. I want to cry for the same reason little kids do: I'm hurt, and I don't have the strength to get up anymore.
I have a Dr. J appointment tomorrow. I'd say that's pretty good timing.
