Do you ever stop whatever you are doing and pause to tell yourself you are just freaking sick of the whole thing? This is not to be confused with playing the victim card. That is very different. I am talking about reacting to the endless sameness of the struggle, day-in, and day-out.
For me, it only takes the morning tedium of showering, shaving, brushing teeth and struggling to dress. Then come tie shoes. It is wrestling with the footwear that usually pushes me over the edge. Have I already whined about petty frustrations. I think so. They can define a life.
But focusing on life’s little tasks seems safer than facing the deeper hurt that comes from being less than we wanted because of the assault from a disease and disability that block us and wear us down. Sometimes I think of what I cannot do because of arms and hands, fingers and toes that no longer serve me. I consider what legal blindness has taken from me.
Frustrated? Blame the MS.
Though I cannot handle a baseball bat, I want to swing for the fences. Those who feel sorry for themselves do not step up to the plate and fight the good fight. That contest can be whatever challenge we choose. It does not have to be epic or of interest to anybody else. If a reasonable goal is to feel good about ourselves, that can happen. It is easy and unfortunate to get psyched out and give up the ghost.