Alouqua47
Peer Supporter
You have to get worse before you get better
I feel like I am entering a downturn once again. During the first stage of my recovery, everything got worse for almost half a year; later, the main discomfort subsided a bit and plateaued. However, my brain changed its strategy: it spread the discomfort to my arms, shoulders, thoracic outlet, and back, and new symptoms began, such as an intermittent burning sensation in my legs. I ended that phase with more aches scattered across my body, even though the overall intensity level had dropped.
In this new period, which began in early October after a brief window of stability, my back is completely locked up and the nerve pain in my arms has flared up again. These past few days, my brain has become completely erratic: every day different ailments appear, coming and going, and sufferings from the past have returned. It is confusing and exhausting because I am supposed to be teaching it safety, but the system seems desperate.
This relapse coincides with me resuming my activities with more intensity and going on very long walks. My legs responded much better than I thought they would, but my upper extremities worsened drastically, returning to the severity of the first stage. I know my fearful mind is terrified by this increase in activity and is trying to slow me down. On the outside, I may look like a totally normal person, but nobody knows everything I have to endure in silence. It is hard to view having pain scattered across more areas as progress, even if it is less intense.
I live in a heartbreaking internal conflict. On one hand, a part of me despairs and screams at me that nothing has changed because the symptoms are now spread everywhere; on the other hand, that little voice appears, remembering the stories of others and knowing that this chaos is just a necessary phase of the process. I try to be compassionate with my brain for everything we have been through, but there are days when I cannot help but feel immense anger toward it, because I feel it has only made everything worse. I know perfectly well that what matters is my reaction and that I handle it better today than before, but the burden is just too heavy. Every now and then, I collapse completely. Today is one of those days when I simply need to cry, break down, and scream in silence, because sometimes I don't know if I will ever make my brain understand how to feel safer. I don't know if I will ever experience my brain truly beginning to recalibrate, where I feel that flare-ups last less time, the pain is less intense, or something that brings more stability to my situation, since nothing seems to make sense sometimes.
I feel like I am entering a downturn once again. During the first stage of my recovery, everything got worse for almost half a year; later, the main discomfort subsided a bit and plateaued. However, my brain changed its strategy: it spread the discomfort to my arms, shoulders, thoracic outlet, and back, and new symptoms began, such as an intermittent burning sensation in my legs. I ended that phase with more aches scattered across my body, even though the overall intensity level had dropped.
In this new period, which began in early October after a brief window of stability, my back is completely locked up and the nerve pain in my arms has flared up again. These past few days, my brain has become completely erratic: every day different ailments appear, coming and going, and sufferings from the past have returned. It is confusing and exhausting because I am supposed to be teaching it safety, but the system seems desperate.
This relapse coincides with me resuming my activities with more intensity and going on very long walks. My legs responded much better than I thought they would, but my upper extremities worsened drastically, returning to the severity of the first stage. I know my fearful mind is terrified by this increase in activity and is trying to slow me down. On the outside, I may look like a totally normal person, but nobody knows everything I have to endure in silence. It is hard to view having pain scattered across more areas as progress, even if it is less intense.
I live in a heartbreaking internal conflict. On one hand, a part of me despairs and screams at me that nothing has changed because the symptoms are now spread everywhere; on the other hand, that little voice appears, remembering the stories of others and knowing that this chaos is just a necessary phase of the process. I try to be compassionate with my brain for everything we have been through, but there are days when I cannot help but feel immense anger toward it, because I feel it has only made everything worse. I know perfectly well that what matters is my reaction and that I handle it better today than before, but the burden is just too heavy. Every now and then, I collapse completely. Today is one of those days when I simply need to cry, break down, and scream in silence, because sometimes I don't know if I will ever make my brain understand how to feel safer. I don't know if I will ever experience my brain truly beginning to recalibrate, where I feel that flare-ups last less time, the pain is less intense, or something that brings more stability to my situation, since nothing seems to make sense sometimes.