“The Dark Feelings Are Not You..."

"They’re not even a disease. They’re a fever.”

“I like to use a metaphor for something like this,” my psychiatrist said:

“The dark feelings are not you. They’re not even a disease. They’re a fever.”

I know fevers well. There was one time, almost two years ago, when I spiked a notable high fever nonstop for near two weeks. No breaks. At first, I missed work (dance) because I wanted to be responsible and not get anyone else sick. Once it didn’t go away- and I was shivering and fugue full time - I realized, “Oh yeah. I have CF,” and went on with it.

I’d show my friend Sam the fevery results and be like “Can you believe it’s been going for this long?” and I remember my CF doctor actually feeling my skin like a mother would do and remarking how hot I was, after I flagged a fev (not a FEV. That’s a nuanced pun?)- and it was such a nurturing thing to do that I felt better emotionally in a lot of ways.

But a psychological fever? (‘Tell more, kindly sir’, I said with my body posture in the moment)

“If a body has an infection… it spikes a fever but we look to see why. We don’t just diagnose someone with the disease, Fever,” he explained: “So if you’re having these feelings of grief in the ways you are… We approach those like a symptom. It’s a fever. The real question is: Why? Where’s the infection?”

I love metaphors.

Something I don’t love is rushing to an appointment for something that could kill me (all of our minds could, technically) but I don’t view it that way. I’ll rush to CF clinic for a fever. But if I have to go to a therapist in person- with the amount of pain it takes to sit in an office or attend at all- I can find every reason that exists to not go. And the worst part is: All my reasons are legitimate and pretty hard to argue with.

“Sorry, brain. Your liver is so sick today that you’re doubled over in pain, sky high enzymes, and your J is spewing bile.”

Pretty good excuse, right?

So here’s what I did this last miserable stretch of psychological fevers: I bribed myself. Rather, I challenged myself. I said: “You’re only allowed to wear outfits that are in the noir color family” (I prefer to have a capsule wardrobe of blacks and tans, because then I don’t have to panic as much about making decisions.)

Waist bands are a source of pain for feeding tubes. Clothes can rub at the bolt that’s still visibly pressing out of my skin in my lower back; Scars and nerves and numbness all over the place. I used to be a fashion journalist who hosted swag events for a (then) “little known brand” called E.L.F. or watched runway shows at the old Lincoln Park like some backwashed B roll character on The City.

So I set a vapid, surface level gauntlet to distract myself, and I use it to get me dressed (albeit, often for comfort, not to be Camille… the only character in Emily In Paris who’s fashion continuity doesn’t have a fever of its own).

Clothes hurt. Psychology hurts. Hurting hurts…

But hacking the system to heal even just a little bit has to count for something.

Thank you for everything you do.

Can’t wait to carve out some precious time for you next week… and hopefully, share a little bit more about healing (as next week is a precious rare time to do so).

Once ready:

Do you want me to share a bit about how I am re-wiring my work week at this time, to fit in critical (even life saving) health habits and healing?

If a “Week In The Life” in terms of new habits and new goals is a realistic raison dêtre…. Let me know?

In the meantime:

“WHAT IS ONE HEALTHY, DISTRACTIVE OR JOYFUL HOBBY OR HABIT YOU’RE TRYING TO BEGIN THIS MONTH?”