Keep Crying

I hate it when people use their blogs to complain, so please forgive me for indulging my need to share my current struggle.

It’s been a hard week… month… year. As my health continuously declines, I am faced with more challenges to overcome. People who realize the severity of my fibromyalgia are shocked to know how much I still do. Most others, at this point, would be spending a lot of time resting, off their feet, medicated, and undergoing any treatment imaginable. I don’t have time for that, nor money, nor a desire for idleness and the fog which comes with being medicated enough to dull my pain. I would rather deal with the pain, most days; it’s the exhaustion that gets to me.

I used to be a non-crier. I cried maybe at funerals. Maybe. These days, I cry at least once a week. I told Benny I never know if it’s because I’m tired, because of the constant pain, because of problems at work… he said he would guess it’s the combination and the lack of control from working until I’m falling over worn out.

Heck, that sounds pretty bad… but I could even deal with being tired if I didn’t have a job. That’s the straw that breaks my back. I wake up in the morning with pretty good energy, ready to take on the day and get things done. Then I go to work. I use up all my energy trying to fit a housewife’s daily work into five hours, then I come home and have to fit in my own housewife work into the remainder of the day I’ve had… but I can’t. I can’t be a housewife in two homes. It depresses me. And the constant going means I’m constantly getting more tired. In the past week, Benny has had to drive me to and from work twice, and he’s had to have someone drive him there to pick me up on another day – because I would have been endangering others and myself trying to drive. Pathetic. And depressing.

And I ask myself: is it worth it? I know it is my duty to do my work well. I’m good at it, and I love it, but my job as a wife is more important to me. I’m not able to do both, and my home suffers as a result. I pray for strength to get through the morning – just the morning – then I pray to get through the afternoon and hope that nothing comes up in the evening.

I’m so tired. I would hand in my resignation today if I could, because I want to be a good wife. Working doesn’t feel like it does much, since I make under $800 barely keeping up with a part-time job, and most people could work full time at a better job.

I find myself praying that God would provide a way for me to do my job – my actual job – and quit the other one. I almost wish we could come by some inheritance that would help us survive for the next ten months – until Benny is out of school and can work. I can come up with schemes that seem to half work, but I keep coming to the same conclusion: I have to keep fighting. Keep crying because I can’t do both. Keep thanking Benny for being so understanding when his very sick wife can barely stand on her own two feet; keep apologizing that I can’t do more.

That’s all. I just needed to admit that I feel so dead, all the time, and I know others have had similar struggles and will understand. Sometimes, even admitting it makes one feel a little better.