Coming down with illnesses that shut down most of my outdoor activities and robbed me of my livelihood was unbelievably hard. I literally grieved, for years. And, bizarrely, I was living with a man for most of the first five years, after getting sick, who was abusive, physically violent but also (and more importantly) verbally and psychologically abusive to me. So crippled was I, by my pain and exhaustion, that I felt–I believed–that it was impossible for me to escape from my torturer. The years crept along, and my self-esteem and will to live eroded to the point that I felt I had lost my very self. I could no longer trust my intuition; I believed I was helpless; I could not see the future with any hope whatsoever. I wanted to die, and in fact, I tried, ineffectively, two times, to end my life.

But a chat, on my computer, one day when my partner/abuser was busy elsewhere, woke me up and gave me that one last scrap of energy and motivation, and I pulled together my wits and every ounce of energy I could muster, and without help (he had so isolated me from the world that I no longer had any friends) I began to act.

I packed up as much of my stuff as I could get into my little four-wheel-drive pickup truck, which had sat, rarely used, for five years, and headed to the mental health center I had visited after my suicide attempts, and the worker there helped me find a list of shelters for victims of domestic violence. There I found understanding and support, and began to heal, emotionally.

I’ve done much more healing, in the two years since I escaped the nightmare of domestic violence and abuse, both mental and physical. A year ago, I found, in an incredibly unexpected turn of fate, a marvelous, wonderful, beautiful lover, who took me into his home and helped me re-learn the simple beliefs I’d lost hold of: I’m a good, unique, wonderful person; I’m smart and funny and talented (my talents amaze my new friends, and they amaze me too, often…I look at something, and think, “I made that??”); I’m extremely loving and generous and deeply empathetic; basically, that I’m a worthwhile person and that I can, and should, love myself as much as I love others.

I’ve learned, too, about my illnesses and how to manage them. I’ve let go of what I can’t do, and am excited, every day, about what I can. Best of all, my lover gave me a whole room–and plenty of time–to make art, and now, though I choose some basic domestic goddess activities as part of my life (because I love making his home a happy, nurturing place, and generally making his life better, in whatever way I can), my life is now focused on my creative self. Art was always incredibly important to me, and not acknowledging that importance, for years, definitely too its toll, at the time, on my quality of life. Now I feel, despite my body’s limitations, that I’m thriving. That is an amazing feeling! I’ve learned to manage my pain, somewhat, through nutrition and gentle exercise, and my fatigue through the same, plus lots of rest. But the most important thing I’ve learned is to forgive myself–and the powers that be–for my situation. I’m beginning to think that there’s a life lesson in this, and that, just maybe, I may be able to do some good in the world that I might never have slowed down to do, when I was always pursuing the next big achievement. I’m able to wake up each day and be in the moment, and absorb the beauty around me, and channel it into play (I think of my art as play!). How many people are that lucky?

I welcome, by the way, e-mail, especially from other women with my issues. The importance of support, in all of these issues, is so very great, and I would be happy to lend an ear, and a shoulder, if I can.

Terri

Thank you so much for focusing your article on CFS. It can be such a debilitating illness and hopefully we will encourage people to understand the illness a bit better.

I hope your readers stop by and take the “Do you have CFS” checklist.

In God,

Annabelle