The things that need healing...

It's Saturday. My Sabbath. The only day I have completely free. And if I'm being completely honest, I'm in tears.

My to do list runs the length of my arm. My apartment is decimated from neglect- every single room needs care. I need to grocery shop and cook. I need to pick up prescriptions from two different pharmacies because apparently, its a big deal that the pharmacy 20 minutes away from me actually filled my prescription for an Epi-Pen. I need to finish prepping one thing and start something else. And I feel awful. I've felt awful for a week, but I mostly ignore it- everyone has allergies, right? 

For the most part, right...except most people don't have Mast Cell Activation Syndrome and Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome Hypermobility. Most people don't always carry Benadryl and Zantac and pop them like candy some days just to get by. Most people don't lose their mind when they realize their inhaler is empty because they realize that could mean a trip to the Emergency Room if they don't carry it. Most people don't wonder if, when they eat, a food they've eaten regularly is suddenly going to make them stop breathing because their suddenly allergic. Most people don't see their doctors at 2pm on a Saturday. Most people don't roll their ankles just walking down the street, or tweak their back just moving from sitting to standing. Except I do all those things. I guess I'm not most people. 

I'm melting down because, yeah, I'm sick. And you'd never know it most days, especially not if you've been following me on social media the past two weeks, seeing me post thing after thing. You won't even know if you ask me how I am, because I won't bother to tell you I am in pain all the time, or that I only slept two hours the night before because sleep apnea and Ehlers-Danlos seriously mess with my sleep patterns, or that I've spent a third of the week being nauseous constantly, or that I just took my inhaler because my body just had a random allergic reaction to air. Instead I'll answer, "Busy" or "Okay". If it's a really bad week I'll say, "I'm still here," without elaborating. 

I'm in tears because I don't want to be sick, but I am. I hate that it makes me different, and I hate that it makes me feel weak, and I hate how much I fake being well. I hate rolled ankles, neck pain, brain fog, nebulizer treatments, the days when I am anxious and I don't completely understand why, and having to eat differently than everyone else. I hate being sick and capitulating to that reality. But it is my reality. 

And in sitting with that reality, the reality that I am sick,  that I realized something kind of profound. I cannot be healed until I am willing to admit that I am in need of healing. As I mentioned in my last blog post, in the quiet moments I sometimes hear the question, "Do you want to be made well?" I thought this one was simply a yes or no kind of question, and I thought my answer was "Yes". But before I could even answer the question, I needed to be able to admit that I am not well. It's only if I admit that I am sick that I can be made well. And I didn't really reach that place until today. 

So although there were tears today, there is also hope.Today I can say I want to be made well.