To Tell the Truth

I’ve been sitting on this post for a few months, writing when I felt the urge. It seems fitting to share this today, which I just learned is the International Day of Happiness, because I am the least happy I have ever felt in my life and I don’t know what to do about it. Admitting that is difficult, because I know my friends and family will want to help me, make things better, do something to make me happy. The reasons for my unhappiness are complex and there are no easy fixes. Trust me, if there were, I would have done them by now.

This has been building since I lost more physical independence after my femur fracture in 2016. That catastrophic event took away my ability to independently drive my van, and increased the number of personal care hours I require. It also caused me to change how I use the bathroom, limiting my ability to pee freely as I described in this post. OK – to be fair, I’ve never been able to pee freely. But, until I broke my leg I was not limited to the use of three bathrooms on the planet.

The loss of independent transportation required me to move – twice – in the past eighteen months. I have been using my local paratransit system for most of my travel to and from work and events. Paratransit is a shared ride system, which means you are not guaranteed a direct ride from your pick up location to your destination. There have been days that I am picked up at my house (which is 15.9 miles from my office) to ride around for two hours, picking up and dropping off other passengers until I am dropped off at work. On average, I spend two and a half hours every day on the bus to travel my 32 mile round-trip commute. This is time I don’t get to write, volunteer, read, work, or just relax.

Last September, my friend and former college roommate Chris surprised me with a phone call. We hadn’t spoken since the start of summer, but our friendship is one where we can pick up exactly where we left off even if it has been months since the last conversation. We we played catch up and traded stories, I admitted that the past several months had been stressful. My exact words were something like, “I’m not really doing well and feel like I’m barely keeping it together most days.”

Chris was quiet for a moment, then responded, “Well, I wouldn’t have known that from your Facebook posts! You’re so busy, and always writing about volunteering with Rotary.”

The truth? I hate being negative all the time. So I don’t share all the crap I’m dealing with on social media.

I am not alone in this. According to a survey conducted in Great Britain, only 1 in 5 people are truthful in how they portray themselves on social media sites like Facebook and Twitter. According to the marketing company Custard, who performed the survey:

When asked how people’s lives differ online, 31% of respondent said that their social page is “pretty accurate, just with all the boring bits removed” and 14% said that their profile makes it look like they have a “much more active social life.” The survey also showed that men are more likely to lie about their lives through social networking sites, with nearly half (43%) of men polled admitting to fabricating facts.

I don’t feel like I’m lying on social media. I am not making up the things I share publicly. In my case, I choose to try to keep complaints to a minimum on Facebook. I am consciously not sharing most of the daily stress that is causing me to slip further into a pit of unhappiness. At least, I try my best to keep the negativity to a minimum.

But I’m struggling. Right now, finding positivity is a chore I force myself to complete each day.

It used to be my natural way of operating. I am an optimist. I see the glass half full. I believe things could always be worse. Yet, recently I don’t feel up to the challenge of maintaining optimism.

I have withdrawn from friends and family who care. I text instead of calling because it requires less energy. Until last week, I hadn’t sent a birthday card to anyone in at least two years. At a time when I should be surrounding myself with other positive people because I’m an extrovert who gets energized in social situations, I am hibernating.

I am not writing as often and when I do it’s not my best work. Writing helps me process what is happening in my world. It is a way for me to maintain balance and emotional stamina. A glance at my blog statistics shows I only posted 55 times in 2017. That may seem like a good number. But when you compare it to 2015, the year before the femur fracture, it pales to the 164 posts I shared.

Before any of you start sending me notes reminding me that you love me and that life is not all bad, I need to tell you something. I KNOW this is temporary. I KNOW what is happening in my life is not the worst thing in the world that could happen. I KNOW there will (eventually) come a day when my new wheelchair doesn’t make me cry in pain. I KNOW I will (someday) get that new wheelchair accessible van with the high tech driving controls which will enable me to participate in my community at will. I KNOW there are millions of disabled people who would love to have the difficulties I am facing right now – people who don’t have accessible housing, access to paratransit, full-time employment, adequate personal care assistance. I KNOW I am speaking from a world of privilege they do not have and would gladly take in a heartbeat.

Knowing those things does not make the challenges I’m facing less real or less of a barrier in my life.

Last week I attended a book reading at my local independent living center. During the community discussion after the reading, someone mentioned the anger disabled people feel – anger that is not acknowledged or validated. Often, well-meaning people will listen to me vent in frustrated anger and respond by saying, “Well, at least it’s not this (insert awful thing here)” or “It could be worse! You could have (insert other disability or illness here).”

Those comments don’t help me feel less angry. They don’t acknowledge that here and now, I am living with levels of fear, anger, and unhappiness which threaten to burst out at inappropriate times. They don’t validate my feelings of discouragement at having to battle and navigate a bureaucratic system which is supposed to be helping me but has not produced anything meaningfully helpful in 18 months (I’m talking about you ACCES-VR).

So, today, on this International Day of Happiness, even a gratitude list doesn’t make me feel happy. I debated whether or not to share this post and eventually decided perhaps there was someone else who is not happy today who could benefit from knowing she is not alone. I edited, deleting swear words and prepared myself for the reaction it will bring.

Tomorrow I’ll be better. That’s the way it’s been for over 2 years. This too shall pass. Periods of happiness can be found, just not for me today.

Because I’m Happy (At Least, I’m Trying)

This year has not been a happy year for me. Sure, there have been moments of laughter and joy. But if you look at the year as a whole, I have been depressed, cynical, sarcastic, moody, and angry. I know I have not been myself and recently I’ve been hit upside the head by what is really happening.

Since my femur fracture in January, and throughout the subsequent months of rehabilitation, I have not bothered with much beyond the basics when it comes to my daily habits. Most days, if I’ve been able to get out of bed, pee, and get dressed, I’ve been content to call the morning a success. Bonus points for the days I’ve managed to shower!

I am not a vain person, but I have been blessed by the hair gods. My hair is thick and pretty much does whatever I ask it to do. Every now and then I find a stray gray, but nothing that makes me want to rush to color it. As I dried my hair on Wednesday while preparing for a work event, I realized it had been at least six months since I took the time to dry and style my hair. Unless you count a pony tail as a style, my hair hasn’t had much of a style this year.

Friends and family know I can be counted on for lipstick. I don’t wear much makeup, but I always have at least four or five lipsticks with me. A few years ago at a family reunion, I provided various shades to all my aunts and many cousins before we took the group photo. Yet, I can count on one hand the number of times I have worn lipstick in 2016.

I love music. There are over 6,000 songs in my iTunes library. I am usually singing or humming, and most of the time I don’t realize it. This always makes for interesting times at work when I am not aware I am singing at my computer while people are trying to do work around me. But since January, I have rarely listened to music. Even sadder, today I realized I have not even opened iTunes on my computer since I moved in August except to download audiobooks from the library onto my iPod.

For the past twenty five years, I have treated myself to new perfume at Christmas. Since 1998, my signature scent has been “Happy” by Clinique. I like the scent because, well, it makes me happy. Friends say it’s “very Dee.” Wearing one spritz per day, it takes me about a year to finish a bottle. Today, I looked at the bottle of perfume I purchased last December and realized I have not worn any perfume this year.

I am an extrovert and draw energy from being around other people. Every time I have completed a Myers-Briggs Type Indicator personality inventory, my scores on the extroversion/introversion scale have been the same – total extroversion, not a single introversion answer. I draw energy from being around other people and seek out social opportunities. I nurture friendships and do my best to connect with others on a regular basis. Some people tease me for having too many friends. Not this year. I haven’t gone out to happy hour since last December. When I have free time, I don’t call friends or seek out opportunities for socialization.

These observations made me realize I am falling back into the trap of withdrawing from the world and nurturing my relationship with grief. I have a comfortable relationship with grief. I stoically cultivated it four years ago as I trudged through the “year of funerals.” Fourteen funerals in thirteen months can do that to a person. I became good at sitting alone with my thoughts, ignoring the habits which bring me joy and make me feel nourished and alive.

I’m walking down that path again now and I need to turn back before I go any further. This year, I am not grieving the loss of loved ones or friends. Rather, I am grieving a further loss of independence and mobility due to my injury, the loss of my ability to manage daily pain to a level which does not interfere with my daily routine, the loss of my ability to drive independently, and the loss of trust in some of my Personal Assistant staff.

When I am mired in grief, my daily habits change. Priorities shift. I compromise, trying to balance what I would like to do, what I need to do, and what I actually have the energy to do. Instead of practicing daily gratitude, I engage in destructive list making. I expound on all that is negative, ignoring all the good still surrounding me.

Today, I pledge to make a shift in my daily habits. I will resume my daily writing. I will start wearing perfume and lipstick again. I will practice daily gratitude. I will schedule time with friends and reach out to those I have been avoiding. I will enroll in that writing class I have been considering. I will submit that essay I have been working on. I will sing songs that always make me happy.

Because sometimes when you pretend to be happy, you find out you really are happier than you think you are. And Straight No Chaser singing one of my favorite songs really does make me very happy.