Confusion

I often wonder how life can seem starkly clear one moment and murkily obscure the next. I had a clear vision yesterday. I knew exactly what I wanted to do - get my prescriptions, do some grocery shopping, clean the office, exercise my knee, correct some papers, go to church, relax in the evening. Somehow, the whole thing imploded. I did what was vital - got pill and food. I did what I needed most - went to church and prayed. Everything else disappeared into the miasma of my mind. I know I still expect too much, but I wish I could find the middle ground. Trying to run multiple errands is always a disaster. I need to recognize that. Yet, I hate the idea of making repeated trips in my car; that's wasteful and foolish, unless you have narcolepsy.

Today has not gone much better. I accomplished a few things around the house, but I feel compelled to do more. And, I can't. I took my daughter and her friend to the spring musical. It was wonderful, but it drained me. Sitting in a theater, watching students I love perform (some for the last time), devoured vast quantities of what I had to give today. It didn't help that my daughter is sick. She needed comfort from me, and I couldn't do it. We did go get another mouse after the show. That lifted her spirits some, but I also expended what remained of my reserve. I had planned to stop and get food for us on the way home, but decided against it. I feared that one more stop would endanger my ability to drive safely. How ridiculous is that? Washing dishes, going to a musical, buying a mouse, and dropping off a friend sapped me dry. I honestly questioned how safe I would be driving if I did one more thing. Clearly, we got home without a problem, but I barely managed two or three sentences of conversation with my wife.

Narcolepsy is insidious. It lurks on the fringe, slowly stalking you. Half the time, it wears you down with stress. You worry about when the pull will get pulled to the extent that you near get to enjoy what energy you have. The other half is worse, at least for me. At those times, narcolepsy moves cat-like in a blinding blur, leveling you. I actually feel like someone cut my power cord. In the face of that, how in the world am I supposed to figure out my limits? The proper answer is, "take life one day, or even one moment, at a time." Sounds good, but rings far more hollow in practice. I find my condition difficult to believe, how could I expect someone else to grasp it? I don't like to be pessimistic about my condition, and I desperately try to avoid holding a pity party for myself. Still, the frequency of inconsistency in this narcoleptic nightmare is truly maddening. I would love even a three day stretch in which each day vaguely resembled the other two.

I doubt I am going to get that, at least anytime soon. Part of the problem is that our home life is tumultuous. All three of us have a variety of commitments and activities. My wife is working constantly these days. She is incredible at what she does, but that also puts her in high demand. My daughter's world is not overly complex, but she is involved in a number of activities and extra school work comes with a few of them. While my schedule is the least demanding, it is also the most transient. Amid special school schedules, doctor visits, physical therapy and my own quirks, I rarely do the same thing at the same time any day of the week - even when I have no responsibilities for my wife or daughter. The next level complicating matters is my anxiety. I remain convinced that I have obligations to everyone I meet. Cognitively, I realize how foolish that is. Unfortunately, that drive (and the resultant shame/anxiety) comes from depth within my core. It is NOT rational, and that is the problem. If those emotions had any grounding in rational thought, I would have figured all of this out ages ago. Finally, the entire experience continues to cause me to react like I am here. When I have a day like today, I ponder it for hours, looking for the solution that will prevent the next one. The problem is that my overthinking IS the issue. I live in my brain far too much. I would get much further, and farther, if I would just "be" with days like today.

Letting the day come to me sounds frightening, but it a change I must embrace. The confusion and chaos I fear is the perfect counterweight to my analytical mind. I just need to accept that. While such an idea flies in the face of everything I have believed, I know in my heart that I must open myself to it. Growth comes through risk. I continue to describe the road ahead as long. Today, it looks infinite. All I need to do, though, is take one step, then follow it with another. I find such strength - frightening as this path seems to be - knowing that many other narcoleptics walk it with me. And, each of us has an army of friends supporting the trip, every inch of it.