My tcm (traditional chinese medicine) appointment a couple of weeks ago was postponed because my physician was sick. I thought it would be fine to go a couple of weeks without, but my recovery from my alternate-day-exercise-routine worsened gradually until I had a POTS flareup. Just mere walking alone made my heart rate go up to 130s. This is highly disturbing for someone like me who can run 7km without being breathless. I totally blame covid for this, since this is something that only developed post covid.
This makes me wonder how much tcm has been masking my long covid symptoms. I am still thankful that there is something that can actually mask my symptoms and allow me to have an illusion of a somewhat regular life, rather than just progressively getting worse. I also developed a new symptom: almost unbearable teeth nerve pain that comes and goes 3-4 times a day. I don’t think it is a regular toothache for now because the teeth themselves don’t hurt when I put pressure on them.
It seems like being in perimenopause itself can also cause inflammatory flare ups. After struggling psychologically with being chronically ill for the past 9 years, I feel like it is time to accept that this would be the new normal for me moving forward: mystery symptoms popping up every now and then.
I have also been reading a book titled, “If You Live To 100, You Might As Well Be Happy“. It is written by an elderly korean psychiatrist, and it reads as though an old asian grandpa is trying to impart his wisdom, which means it can sound a little naggy and it demonstrates some thinking that is an outcome of his times. Well I guess people may one day say that of me too, that I read like an old asian grandma. Do I already sound like a middle-aged auntie in perimenopause?
There are plenty of reflections on his own psychological struggles with ageing. Most people want to deny they are ageing I guess. It is a human condition. I haven’t finished the book yet, but this is my favourite quote so far:
If someone were to ask me about one must-have life skill, without a second thought, I’d answer jung-gyeon (정견 / 正見), the ability to see things as they are, to see yourself for who you are. We in our old age need this sense of astute self-awareness. To look the physically diminishing, socially retreating, financially less competitive self, straight in the eye. If you feel anger, accept it and acknowledge that you’re angry. Your old age is not your punishment.
I regularly write about meeting people and ourselves where we are, but I haven’t thought of it in terms of ageing. I think for chronically ill people it is important to see who and where we are in terms of our health too. Illness aside, those of us who are neurodiverse should also attempt to truly see how our neurodiversity impacts our daily life and interactions. Having an illusion of who we are simply because we have some ideal version of ourselves in mind can set us up for so much disappointment, sadness and depression.
For example, I used to be able to stay up all night and survive on a couple of hours of sleep. I could look at my computer for many hours straight. Now I can barely last half an hour. I had plenty of self-regulation issues but there were times when I was highly creative and productive. Now, I have to thank my lucky stars if I am able to move around without much pain. Creative activities and work can only happen once in a blue moon, and often even if I able to complete something, I would have to pay for it after. Because I keep mourning for my past self, I have missed out so much on my present. This is only something I can write while I am being relatively lucid now. Sometimes my emotions are just so overwhelming that I cannot see beyond the darkness and despair. But the darkness and despair only exists because I keep longing for a self that can no longer exist, or a present that is impossible because of its underlying conditions.
Because of my neurodiversity, I have very specific psychological and energetic needs. I have learnt to recognise my boundaries and limits, so I have dramatically decreased my social interactions. But if I kept trying to be more sociable because it is perceived to be a good thing, I’ll just keep burning out. Some things have to be sacrificed because we want to cherish some other things. Some people can accommodate more, we all want to be people who can accommodate more, but I cannot change the reality that I am a person with a tiny capacity.
The other day I read about an artist with bipolar disorder:
Kyohei was diagnosed with bipolar disorder when he was 31 years old. He is very open about his depression; he recognises it as essential for his creativity. It is precisely because there are times when Kyohei is depressed and unproductive that he is able to feel and notice sceneries, sounds, and details that most people overlook. Kyohei’s sensibility allows him to honestly perceive everyday things as beautiful. — apartmento magazine
It was just provoking to me how he simply accepts his condition, just like that. Whereas I’ve been fighting with myself my entire life. But on a meta level: I also recognise I am also an outcome of various complex events, I also have to practice what I preace/write and meet myself where I am, so the irony is I have to accept that for now I am someone who struggles whereas others can simply accept. Will the acceptance of the struggling make it easier, or will I one day cease to struggle?
Like the elderly psychiatrist had written, the ability to see who we are is a life skill. People like me tend to beat ourselves so much that we are blind to our potentialities. Some people tend to have very romanticised images of themselves so they are endlessly upset when they can’t meet their own expectations. If we can’t see ourselves bluntly we may not know we are actually causing harm to the people around us. But if we are overly-harsh then we are shrinking ourselves makes ourselves smaller and smaller. Where is the correct range, and how do we improve our perception?
The past week I could be in a self-pity slash anger spiral because I have been unwell. But somehow I am just glad it did not get worse. Am I finally in the acceptance stage in the 5 stages of grief, or is this just a temporary reprieve?
Maybe I can finally see the absurdity and fragility of this world and my self. It is one thing to write about it, but another thing to truly acknowledge reality, and to live in that reality.