Nursing Home Motivations: to Write and Wrong
I get a lot of things wrong. I'm human. Perhaps I get more things wrong, than right. I don't know. And I don't even know if that matters. But really, what does matter here? What is the point of being alive? Why do we continue pushing forward, especially when there are more reasons not to?
I am going through a life experience that differs from most of you (right now). Sure, each of us will get there, or rather, get here eventually… if we don't first die suddenly in a car accident, or from a massive stroke. Many of us will inevitably find ourselves alone and isolated and not quite sure if anybody still cares about us. It happens. It's happening to tens of millions of elderly and/or disabled human beings right now, across the globe.
So why am I even bothering with this, writing a blog? What makes me so special that my story matters more than anybody else's?
Reasons (do I provide any value?)
I feel there's a void to fill. A gap. A lack of perspective from a person in my current situation (a bed-bound, severe M.E. sufferer who enjoys and is somewhat capable of writing). And I feel as though I can share and accurately describe what's going on in my world, allowing the reader to experience what I am going through… what my eyes see, how my body reacts, and how my varying emotions handle the daily ups and downs.
Why I Thought I was Doing This
Clearly, I want to write, yet I'd prefer to write in (and amongst) the relative safety of my fellow sufferers, the ones who understand. Otherwise, I'd start a blog out there somewhere else, amongst the un-afflicted.. the insensitive, the not willing or not yet capable of understanding this illness. Or, is that something I should be doing instead? Would that be more beneficial to the group, or the cause, if I were to publish articles snd anecdotes out there in the real world?
If somebody thinks so, set me up. Create a webpage for me on the worldwide web. Let's get moving on this while supply lasts!
So, why again am I blogging? Why even bother sharing? Why not keep it all to myself.. these words upon endless series of words?
I feel it's my duty and responsibility to fill in the blanks, as I, and others of us in the exclusively bed-bound community reside in a place likely unfamiliar to most. I've been wanting to do this for the past few years. A call to attention? A call to action?
Hmmm…
Are we unseen? Are we unheard? Not entirely.
Do we suffer more or less than anybody else? Not necessarily.
Do we suffer differently?
Yes, I think so. And I suspect the vast majority of others fail to realize the unique difficulties faced daily (not even including a nursing home stay, in my case) for those of us in a severe or very severe M.E./C.F.S. state. And I believe that's something I can bring to the table (not that I'd be able to get to the damn table in the first place… and even if I could, I'd not be able to eat anything once there.. haha!)
I'm not seeking out sympathy (although I do appreciate all forms of encouragement, I mean.. are there any humans who do not?) but, perhaps I am seeking attention. Yes, on some level I wish for others to acknowledge my existence, to know me as being human. Nope, I cannot right now exist in the real world as others do. But here? I am nearly made whole. I am amongst the others living, fighting, researching, hoping, helping and holding imagined hands. We're part of a community doing the best we can to ease unnecessary suffering. And I wish to be part of the solution, not the problem.
My voice, your choice.
Howard
I get a lot of things wrong. I'm human. Perhaps I get more things wrong, than right. I don't know. And I don't even know if that matters. But really, what does matter here? What is the point of being alive? Why do we continue pushing forward, especially when there are more reasons not to?
I am going through a life experience that differs from most of you (right now). Sure, each of us will get there, or rather, get here eventually… if we don't first die suddenly in a car accident, or from a massive stroke. Many of us will inevitably find ourselves alone and isolated and not quite sure if anybody still cares about us. It happens. It's happening to tens of millions of elderly and/or disabled human beings right now, across the globe.
So why am I even bothering with this, writing a blog? What makes me so special that my story matters more than anybody else's?
Reasons (do I provide any value?)
I feel there's a void to fill. A gap. A lack of perspective from a person in my current situation (a bed-bound, severe M.E. sufferer who enjoys and is somewhat capable of writing). And I feel as though I can share and accurately describe what's going on in my world, allowing the reader to experience what I am going through… what my eyes see, how my body reacts, and how my varying emotions handle the daily ups and downs.
Why I Thought I was Doing This
Clearly, I want to write, yet I'd prefer to write in (and amongst) the relative safety of my fellow sufferers, the ones who understand. Otherwise, I'd start a blog out there somewhere else, amongst the un-afflicted.. the insensitive, the not willing or not yet capable of understanding this illness. Or, is that something I should be doing instead? Would that be more beneficial to the group, or the cause, if I were to publish articles snd anecdotes out there in the real world?
If somebody thinks so, set me up. Create a webpage for me on the worldwide web. Let's get moving on this while supply lasts!
So, why again am I blogging? Why even bother sharing? Why not keep it all to myself.. these words upon endless series of words?
I feel it's my duty and responsibility to fill in the blanks, as I, and others of us in the exclusively bed-bound community reside in a place likely unfamiliar to most. I've been wanting to do this for the past few years. A call to attention? A call to action?
Hmmm…
Are we unseen? Are we unheard? Not entirely.
Do we suffer more or less than anybody else? Not necessarily.
Do we suffer differently?
Yes, I think so. And I suspect the vast majority of others fail to realize the unique difficulties faced daily (not even including a nursing home stay, in my case) for those of us in a severe or very severe M.E./C.F.S. state. And I believe that's something I can bring to the table (not that I'd be able to get to the damn table in the first place… and even if I could, I'd not be able to eat anything once there.. haha!)
I'm not seeking out sympathy (although I do appreciate all forms of encouragement, I mean.. are there any humans who do not?) but, perhaps I am seeking attention. Yes, on some level I wish for others to acknowledge my existence, to know me as being human. Nope, I cannot right now exist in the real world as others do. But here? I am nearly made whole. I am amongst the others living, fighting, researching, hoping, helping and holding imagined hands. We're part of a community doing the best we can to ease unnecessary suffering. And I wish to be part of the solution, not the problem.
My voice, your choice.
Howard