“It . . .is . . .just . . .too . . .much . . .work.”
Frustration breaks our resolve, and our hearts collapse from the strain.
Chronic illness, which we must eat every day, is a fruit that’s bitter from the first bite. The monotony of our psychological diet leaves us malnourished as we struggle to find the strength to fight to live a life beyond.
So, at some point, even the brave, whose banner reads “We will find a way to be content,” find themselves prostrate on the ground. As you lean your ear to their mouth, you will hear them whisper, “It . . .is. . .just . . .too . . .much . . .work.”
Then, slowly, they bend one knee and then the other. Grasping a handicap bar, they pull themselves up. Their eyes tell the story: clear and focused on the day and its promise of pain, fatigue, trouble, and frustration. With the smiles of Mona Lisas, they ask themselves, “Do we cry out to heaven with bitter tears? Are we defeated?”
“No!” Birds scatter as the sound carries from sea to shining sea.
The more I read, the more I find a deep resolve in the Chronic Illness Community. Our struggles cannot be easily understood by those who do not experience the realities of our daily lives. At times, darkness settles on us, and we do not have the energy to fight. The length of time it takes for the depression to lift is unknown, unpredictable, and capricious. We know it will release us, eventually. However, in those bleak moments, it is just too much work. We need to remove ourselves from the demands around us.
Nevertheless, the more I read blogs written by people suffering from the wide blanket of chronic illness, the more I am amazed at their spirit. The heartbreaking and heartwarming stories carry the same underlying theme: It is just too much work, but I will not give up.
I love this aspect of my community. For the past six years, I have been determined to live despite my disease. I want to do all that I can for as long as I can. Sometimes this means tackling two steps to enter a friend’s house. Sometimes it means that I spend time with family even though I can hardly stay awake. Other times, I need to listen to my body and bow out of activities I was looking forward to attending. In the end, I have articulated my determination into the motto Never Give Up.
Often, I see wheelchair-bound people without any spark in them. My heart bleeds for them. Could it be that their resolve has been broken by daily frustrations? I watch them look at me, then my wheelchair, and then into my eyes. I smile a little; they smile a little in return. As we engage in an easy conversation, their words expose their pain. The mirror reflecting their value is cloudy, and their reflection distorted. In the midst of despair, they fuss and find reasons not to participate in any activities. Even though we both hope that the feeling will pass, their eyes reveal their secret. As they complain to me, they are covertly saying, “I don’t want to do anything. It’s too much work.”
They’re right. It is too much work – but, we will encourage one another to do it anyway. After all, what are our choices?