I Don’t Know Why

I don’t know why I developed fibromyalgia.

It took me about 2 or 3 years to completely stop believing that somehow it was my own fault, that I’d done something wrong, or not done something right, and therefore made myself sick. That was one possible explanation I was glad to discount.

Sometimes I see glistening, spider-web wisps of possibilities: decades of sleep impaired by insomnia and sleep apnea. Genetic inheritance. A delayed consequence of having mono as a teenager. Trauma. Maybe related to my double diagnosis of bipolar disorder and borderline personality disorder. But no one really knows.

Then there are the more “cosmic” explanations, possibilities from the “Why are we on this earth in the first place?” level of life.

Sometimes it feels like shit just happens. Sometimes it feels as though life is trying to break me. Sometimes it seems as though the only meaning in this experience comes from the meaning I choose to give it.

But sometimes, unexpectedly, my soul whispers to me that it’s OK; this is all a part of our journey.

(At times that thought is balm to my system. Other times, I just tell my soul to suck it.)

This kind of got stirred up for me because I was reading a really interesting book last week called The Ear of the Heart: An Actress’ Journey From Hollywood To Holy Vows (by Mother Dolores Hart, O.S.B. and Richard DeNeut). Besides just being a fascinating story, I related to it on a personal level because a few years ago the author developed neuropathy (chronic nerve pain). And I’m always interested to see how other people come to terms with their chronic pain.

I liked Mother Dolores  right away, because she states, “I am not easily persuaded by ‘religious’ answers, in spite of the fact that I am a Roman Catholic convert and a member of a monastic community. I’ve found my answers step by step.”

She then goes on to say, “I do believe that, whatever the medium is, the connection to people has to come down to a living person. Some one has to embody the realities, or it doesn’t mean as much.”

And later, “…I have learned in my years of contemplation that one’s deepest wounds, integrated, become one’s greatest power. You have to speak about it. It is your mission.”

I’m not sure exactly what I think about this, but I do enjoy having something new to chew on.