Struggling to accept help

So, you've read some about my amazing support system--I love each and every one of them. I'm extremely blessed and I know that my support system would do anything for me.

The only problem with that is, I don't like asking for help. Plenty of people offer help, and I'm sure my life would be a lot less stressful if I accepted the help, but I can't.

When the struggle with my health first began, I didn't mind asking my family for help. I will fully admit that I was whining left and right, because I simply had no idea what was going on. The pain was nothing I had ever experienced before, I didn't understand why I was sick all the time and I was definitely in the "woe is me" stage.

At age 17, I got into a semi-serious relationship...and the reason I say semi-serious is because, really, how serious can you be with someone when you're 17 and you spend 70% of your time in the hospital? I'm not saying it's impossible, but that just wasn't the case with me.

Anyway, this boyfriend (we'll call him Henry for privacy's sake...though I don't know that he deserves it), was with me when I was really sick. I was in the hospital at one point, and they had to do a bacterial culture of my blood...which required them taking an unhealthy amount of blood from my body...I mean, I could only see my left arm (the arm they were taking blood from) and I could tell I was pale just based on the color of my arm.

Back to the story, Henry was fairly supportive for 6 months, then he started to get distant, even though my health seemed to be on the uphill climb. After about 8 months, he sat me down and simply stated that he "had changed his mind" and that "I was a burden."

Those four words have forever changed my life. 

For most people, it would seem ridiculous that almost 6 years later, something like this would still have such impact on someone--but it seemed/seems so plausible.

I am sick constantly. The break in my posts these last few days is because I somehow came down with the flu...in August. I randomly spike fevers, I get debilitating migraines, I have to constantly watch what I eat because of my wheat/gluten intolerance and my hypoglycemia...it's constant with me. I can't just say screw it and go eat whatever I want--that's virtually a death wish.

Because of my health, my family has had to make changes. My brother, sister, mom and dad have been forced onto a different diet because of me. My mom, graciously, has taken different cooking classes to learn how to cook for me...all of this with minimal complaint (my sister likes to give me a hard time, and while I know that it's in good fun, some times it just hurts.)

Whenever I had to miss class, I apologized  profusely. Apologized to the point where I think I had more than one professor get angry with me for apologizing.

Honestly, "sorry" should probably be my middle name. If I have to apologize, I don't just do it once. It becomes an OCD-like trance where I am apologizing at least a dozen times.

At one point during my freshman year, a good friend of mine asked me, "Why do you apologize so much?"

The short answer? Because I cannot stand the thought of being a burden to others. I cannot fathom people constantly worrying about me. I hate it. I worry enough about myself. There are people dying. There are people who are fighting worse battles than what I endure--worry about them. 

I don't want to become a burden. I don't want to be that person.

Now, I can hear the protests of my friends and people reading this saying "BUT YOU'RE NOT A BURDEN IF THEY CARE ABOUT YOU!"

Yeah, I've heard that. I've heard pretty much everything. Unfortunately, that doesn't change anything in my mind.

If I so much as do something minimally wrong, I apologize for days. When Emily drove me to the hospital, I thanked her for weeks. It took me being on the bathroom floor, laying over the toilet for me to ask her to drive me to the Emergency Room because I knew I couldn't take myself. It will take me until I'm bent over in half in pain to admit that I need to go to the doctor and ask someone to take me.

Are there times when I'm sick and I call my mom crying and ask her for help? Yes. I'm almost 23 and sometimes I just want my mommy and daddy. But calling them is completely different than being at home and having them take care of me.

Every time I get sick, every time someone offers to help me when I'm sick, I hear Henry's voice in my head..."I'm sorry. I've changed my mind. I just can't. You are a burden."

Those words have ruined relationships because I can't accept help and they can't understand why, so if you're struggling like I am, accept the help.

Those people love you, they just want to help.

I just wish I could take my own advice.

Until next time, stay strong. 

“There's no need to curse God if you're an ugly duckling. He chooses those strong enough to endure it so that they can guide others who've felt the same.”
― Criss Jami

My Support System

The first picture is of my immediate family. My sister, brother, dad, mom and myself. This was taken last Thanksgiving, and we have a good time together. That was a loud thanksgiving, as you'll see in the bottom picture with all of the extended family that was there--aunts, uncles, cousins, and my grandparents. We made it work, of course, but it was loud. And hot.

My family is my biggest support system, hands down. They've been there for me since day one, and I haven't always been the easiest "patient" to deal with. Some of the medicine that the doctors have put me on occasionally (a steroid to help with my breathing or with general swelling called prednisone) makes me mean. That's not an exaggeration. I made/make people cry on this medicine. I do my best to be extra-conscious of my actions when I'm on that medicine, but sometimes there's no helping it.

Whenever I'm in the hospital, I always have a parent with me (unless it's an Emergency Room trip and I'm on my own...like the case is currently, or when I was in college...then the roommates and friends support system become my lifeline) and whenever they need or break, my sister typically comes and takes their place. My brother lives in Seattle and went to college in New York, so I don't get to see him much, but I'm normally sick when he's around. And in good big brother fashion, he puts his hand over his mouth and tells me not to breathe on him because he doesn't want to get sick--but that joke, I know, is in good humor and he never really means it. My big sister is easily my best friend, so she's always bringing me movies or trying to sneak my dog into the hospital or harassing me for being "doped up." She always tries to keep me laughing, and most times I need it.

Even when I feel like I don't deserve to be loved (like when I broke my leg on Father's Day and we had to spend the day in the Emergency Room and I had to leave the baseball game early because I was in so much pain...and my ankle/leg was the size of a football) my family's always there for me. Even when I'm screaming and crying and whining (all of which I admit I do more than any one person should do), my family loves me regardless. We fight, they scream back sometimes, but they do all out of love. They may be weird. They may drive me crazy sometimes. But they're my family and I wouldn't change or exchange them. Ever. (Note: I'll complain about them a lot--especially one, imparticular, who I believe just doesn't understand my health. But everyone is allowed their own opinions about my health. Family is always family).

“Be strong. Live honorably and with dignity. When you don't think you can, hold on.”
― James Frey, A Million Little Pieces

These girls surrounded me my freshman year of college and I honestly wouldn't have survived without them.

The Three Musketeers. Always.

The best roommate a girl could ask for. Three years living together.

My sanity and one of the best people ever.

Best friend a girl could ask for.

 















While I couldn't go through this journey without my family, I couldn't do it without my friends, either. Above, you see a handful of the people who helped me survive college. My freshman year, the girls would stay with me in the bathroom if I was sick, they'd be ready to drive me home at 2 am if I was so physically sick, I just wanted to be home (and they were always game for that road trip). They constantly reminded me of my faith and to remain strong and pray through some of the toughest days of my life after Brian committed suicide. They held me when I cried, made me laugh so hard I was crying again, and I have memories with them that will last for the rest of my life.

My Musketeers are ALWAYS my strength. They always make me laugh, they know what to say to lift me back up, and how to bring me back to reality when I may be lost out on my own. It's great that we're all journalism majors, so we understand each other on a level that others may not get. Their strength, courage and compassion inspires me to be a better person.

I literally would not have survived with Emily. I lived with her for three of the four years of my college career. She drove me to the ER more than any roommate ever 'should,' and never complained. We've had some of the oddest conversations ever (in the history of mankind, I swear), we share a love of Disney movies, and she was always there for me. Emily has seen me cry more than anyone probably should, but I think that probably evens out for the both of us. She has more strength than any woman I know, and she perseveres even when she doesn't think she can.

The only male you see in the pictures is Pat. I met Pat my freshman year when his English papers badly needed editing. I'm proud to say he doesn't suck at writing anymore--thanks to me, of course (totally kidding there, bud!). Pat is, without a doubt, a best friend. I say one word to him, and he knows something's wrong. He's always honest with me, even if I'm being ridiculous. He always reminds me to find my way back to God if I've started to lose my way, and we always find a reason to laugh--even if we're both crying at the time. We've both had our reasons to cry over the years, but somehow we encourage each other to find the reason to smile, regardless. He's overcome so much, and still smiles every day. He continues to fight through his own trials, and still does everything he can to support me. I wouldn't be the person I am without him.

Finally, Ashley. Ashley and I have a common enemy of the English language. We endured many English courses together, and learned a lot about each other in our non-fiction class. Ashley's probably the only reason I passed my English classes because she was always willing to copy notes with me, proof my papers (multiple times) and keep me sane when I was ready to delete my 33-page non-fiction paper and just start completely over. She held my hand as I was shaking, reading my personal story to the class, and constantly reminds me that just because you have a rocky past, doesn't mean that you can't excel in the future and show people how awesome you are. She's also probably one of the smartest people I know. And craziest--but in a good way. :)

And then there's everyone I didn't put pictures up of...Erin, Ben, Sylvia, Kelly, Styles, Michael, Brian, Tracy, Lisa, Steven, Sarah, Ashley (different Ashley)...my friends keep me strong. I couldn't even list them all because everyone in my life touches me in some way that I find the will to keep fighting.

Enough of my support system though--who keeps you strong? Why do you keep fighting?

Coming soon: I may love my support system, but I hate accepting help. 

“In the end, some of your greatest pains become your greatest strengths.”
― Drew Barrymore