Go on, get MAD.

I've pretty much always had a smile on my face.  There has been a constant undercurrent of love and sunshine within me for as long as I can remember.  It has carried me through much turbulence, allowed me to believe in many things bigger than myself and helped me to know that at some point, everything really would BE OKAY.

When I began having symptoms of chronic pain almost SIX YEARS AGO, depression and anxiety weren't far behind.  I'm sure I was always a ripe candidate for these things but they weren't given a chance to take hold until Mystery Illness swooped in and weakened my....well, everything.

I would describe depression as a LACK of emotion or hope or connection.  Some people think that it is just a great big SAD but for me it feels like a Great Big Nothing.  Life isn't fun.  (And truly life IS fun!) When depression is in charge, I cannot find joy in places where it usually lives.  I cannot connect to the many amazing loved ones who are offering to care and support me.  I cannot be ME who smiles and feels sunshine in her veins.

I'm just not There. Constance isn't home.

Unfortunately, my depression was lifting weights when I wasn't looking this year and uh, it got pretty strong.  It got to scary places.  It caused me to doubt, to worry and most scarily, to give up.

These are hard things to share.  It is difficult to put words to how HARD depression is to work through and to live with.  

I like being the smiley person.  I like to laugh.  I like to ENJOY LIFE.

Somewhere along the lines lately, I stopped doing that.

Recently, a doctor said something really profound to me.  I went to her and we talked for a long time about my symptoms and how they were affecting me and what I might be able to do to try and get better. She had some good ideas and shed some light on my physical condition.

She told me I had every right to be upset about the things that I am juggling and that it would frustrate anyone to be in my situation.  She said she understood WHY I was sad and how it was hard to be hopeful.

"But," she said, "I need you to get angry.  I need you to kick this thing in the butt."

She said that while my sadness was justified what I really needed to do was GET MAD about it and FIGHT for the ME I AM SUPPOSED TO BE.

My doctor told me to get angry.

And as it turns out, it wasn't that hard.  I AM ANGRY.  This illness has taken my chosen profession away from me.  It has taken some of my mobility, some of my memory and a lot of joy.

This illness is a thief.

Since I talked with my doctor I have worked to change my mentality.  I AM A FIGHTER.  Getting angry about this makes sense and it also makes progress.

I will not be hopeless or helpless.

I WILL kick some serious ass.

WATCH ME.