Anxious, hopeful, helpless, desperate, angry.
My doctor prescribed Xyrem yesterday. She said it’s usually a night and day difference for most patients. If it doesn’t help, she said she’s comfortable letting me try the new orexin agonists because she’s witnessed some of the clinical trials and trusts it. Everything could change. My sleep, my energy, my mood, my metabolism. The concept of having the energy to work out and go full work days, and of not having to do triple the work to lose half the weight, and of not randomly snapping at people it’s because I missed a nap. I’m so, so hopeful.
And then there’s the realization that this is only the start of the journey. After 5 years of telling people it’s autoimmune, it was vindicating to be diagnosed N1, and now it’s time to figure out what treatment helps it. My doctor said I can’t drive because I fell asleep at the wheel last weekend. Our follow up is in 4 months, so I likely won’t be able to drive for most of the entirety of that time. I have to work. I can barely stay away at work as-is and have accommodations to go to the back to take naps. It’s 20 minutes away, and I can’t drive, and I can’t Uber because I don’t even make enough money to cover anything other than my rent. Not my car insurance (which I guess won’t matter?), nor my phone bill, not utilities, let alone groceries. Disability is a pain, and the process will take about a year to start paying out, and by then my symptoms might very well be under control.
And then I carry this frustration that nobody listened except my doctors. While my doctors said, “We believe you that something is wrong, we just haven’t figured it out yet,” my mom is saying diet, diet, diet. I eat the same as my skinny friends. My diet is fine. I could drink more water, that’s it. And then it’s lazy, lazy, lazy. Our suffering is invisible and people can’t fathom the weight we carry from the smallest tasks feeling like they take everything out of us. I’ve consistently held down jobs despite coming home exhausted and feeling like my weekend isn’t enough to rest. I did a week-long inpatient EEG and they struggled to induce seizures because I had no stress, as I was receiving a break for once. But no, it’s my diet, and I never learned how to work hard, and I always play victim, and I’m napping to dissociate, and I’m saying I think I have an autoimmune condition to justify my weight. The saddest part is that I’m not even big. I’m a little chunky but I’m proportionate and never look out of place. But I was adopted into a family of people who think looks are everything. So if I’m overweight, it must be my diet. Surely it’s not because I can’t sleep or metabolize food and never have the energy to work out. Surely not. Fuck you.
My friends and people from my parish/churcha nd my priest are so understanding and accommodating in the most valuable and precious way possible, and for that, I’m appreciative. There are a number of people who, upon being told yesterday I had my driving restricted, discussed together who would drive me where and when. These are just my friends, my regular old friends who have shared mutual love and support with me for years. I say, “I don’t know how I’m gonna get to work. I can only drive in emergencies.” My mom says, “Don’t you think that’s an emergency?” A coworker who lives an hour away says, “I will talk to our manager about picking you up. I’ll get there super early because I live so far.” The difference is astounding and it enrages me. Albeit I think it cuts deeper because my adoptive mom has been emotionally abusive for years and when I finally told her it was narcolepsy and I was right that it was autoimmune, it’s, “I’m pleased for you to have some answers. You need to drive to work.” She thinks it’s being an adult and pulling myself up by the boot straps and getting shit done. No, being an adult is knowing my limitations. Struggling for a time while I invest in working towards something that could potentially alleviate the struggle completely is sucky, but completely necessary.
She grew up in a two parent household and her parents had a healthy marriage, she never struggled with money except for briefly during Covid, and hasn’t worked for 30 years. They paid for all of my brothers’ Bachelor’s degrees out of pocket, and then spent tens of thousands on my siblings’ weddings. I received help from my roommate on rent one time in 2024 and then she gets in my face and screams at the top of her lungs about all of the “free handouts.” And of course, they won’t help because, “If you give a man a fish for a day, he eats for a day. Teach a man to fish, he eats for life…” Fuck you. I don’t even eat seafood.
My family would block me from the couch, say “don’t fall asleep.” I fell asleep at parties, on floors, park benches, in the shower, in chairs, in cars, at church, at work and was poked fun at. It didn’t bother me when friends did it because they truly were just teasing, but with my parents it was just hostility masked as a joke.
I’m so exhausted, I’m so excited. I can’t drive, and I’m processing how it felt during the years of invalidation and mockery while I silently suffered, but I’m seeing a light at the end of the tunnel even if I don’t know how long that tunnel will be. That has to be my focus, the little light at the end of the tunnel.