But sometimes it's just such an oppressive load to carry and no amount of "putting on the red rubber nose" is effective. It's really hard at only 56 to think that moving to Vienna may be too much for me, or to curb my rare boosts of energy (when I feel 75 instead of 85 for example), because to enjoy that one day means living in hell for a week after. I can't get excited about anything, or laugh too much, be too physical, or enjoy feeling normal once in a while; in short, I have to keep my adrenalin as calm as possible or else I really pay the price.
No one should have to live like that...
I take the meds and do what I'm told, but my life has become a roller coaster dictated to by a little gland at the base of my throat. I was diagnosed two years ago and things still aren't right. I've come to believe they never will be, that all I have to look forward to is a steady deterioration of my spirit and a gray, blah existence. It feels like a parasite has attached itself to my soul and is daily sucking it dry.
I used to be so vital! I had energy to spare and the party didn't begin until I walked in the door. I had a light in me; a passion, verve—nothing could hold me down. Now look at me. I must appear lazy. Bovine might a better word. And I know I'm no fun for Nettl, who is feeling better and younger every day. When I think about joining her gym, I just get tired. Hell, I put off going downstairs. How the hell can I even consider working out? Dragging the laundry down—and back up—the stairs is workout enough for me.
I'm only writing this because I know there are many, many others with thyroid disease and I hope some of them will read this and know that they're not alone. I need to know that I'm not alone, too.
