Smoothing
the Emotional Roller Coaster
By Bruce Campbell
(Note: This
article is adapted from the online booklet Recovery
from Chronic Fatigue Syndrome: One Person’s Story.)
Before getting Chronic Fatigue Syndrome,
I knew that it is normal to feel strong emotions when you
have a chronic illness. But my background didn’t prepared
for the strength of the feelings associated with CFS. When I got CFS, I felt less in control of my emotions than at almost
any time in my life. In response, I developed a number of strategies, all based on recognition that I was
much more emotionally vulnerable than usual.
The first strategy was based on the
observation that the
strength of my emotions was often parallel to the severity of my
physical symptoms. A low mood often occurred when I had higher levels of
symptoms (most often fatigue, brain fog or both). I found that the strategies I used to
control my physical symptoms also helped moderate my emotions. In particular,
resting seemed to reduce the intensity of emotions as well as
alleviating my physical symptoms.
Fighting
Depression
I found a couple of other strategies
helpful for depression. Contact with other people, even if just a phone
conversation on everyday subjects, could reduce and even reverse my mood
when I felt down. I think that occurred because the sense of being
connected to someone else was reassuring and counteracted the stress of
isolation.
Also, I found it helpful to fight my
negative "self-talk" by saying soothing things to myself when
symptoms were strong. I observed that I had an exaggerated initial
reaction to relapses, often seeing them as evidence I would never
improve. So I learned to talk in reassuring tones to myself. I consoled
myself by saying things like “you’ve always bounced back from other
setbacks” or “remember how life looks better after you've rested.”
Calming
Worry
In addition to experiencing depression
from time to time, I also struggled with anxiety. Edward Hallowell’s
book Worry was very useful, showing me many practical ways to
reduce anxiety. I also appreciated his statement that anxiety
often has a physical basis and should not be seen as a character flaw.
Perhaps the most helpful idea in the book was the suggestion to
incorporate a relaxation procedure into my daily rests. Learning more
positive and reassuring self-talk was helpful for anxiety, just as it
helped depression. Exercise or just getting out of the house helped,
too, perhaps because being out distracted me from my problems. Finally,
talking with others, especially fellow patients, was calming.
I trained myself to mute my emotions
after observing the toll from strong emotions, whether positive or
negative. It seemed that any event that triggered the production of
adrenaline made my symptoms worse. This effect was most noticeable with
brain fog. I first noticed this under “happy” circumstances. I was
moved to tears at the last session of one of our first self-help groups,
as people talked about the meaning the class held for them. I noticed
that my joy was accompanied by a heavy dose of brain fog, which didn’t
lift until a half an hour or more later. After this event, I noticed
that situations that made me anxious also resulted in brain fog.
As a way to avoid symptoms triggered
by the production of adrenaline, I tried to cultivate calmness and to
construct a life that emphasized routine. I paid a price, of course,
losing some of the enjoyment brought by positive emotions, but, for four
or five years, the trade-off was worth it. Even if I felt like I saw the
world mostly in gray rather than in color, it was a price I was willing
to pay to avoid brain fog.
While I was ill, I tried to identify
the circumstances in which I experienced anxiety. A common one was when I
felt under pressure. The anxiety I experienced when I thought I had too
much to do led to an adrenaline rush and
frenetic activity. Taking a step back to observe myself helped me to detach from the reaction,
taking away its inevitable character. Then I began telling myself to be
calm when I started to get anxious, that I could choose whether I would
act. I have gone through this sequence enough now that I think I've
established a new habit, freeing myself from some needless anxiety.
I used writing to combat anxiety. As I
improved, I kept a journal recording my thoughts about resuming a
"normal life." I started this exercise when I observed that I
was slow to expand my activity level, even when others told me it would
be safe. What was the basis for my irrational fears of expanding my
activity? By writing about my fears, I was able to recognize that I was
carrying around apparently outdated beliefs about safe activity levels.
A
Surprising Reaction: Paranoia
I experienced another emotion during
the time I was sick with CFS, one
that took me completely by surprise: paranoia. Even though I had never
experienced paranoia prior to getting CFS, I encountered it in the
months after becoming ill. Part of me was convinced that
people were out to
get me. I tried telling myself that this didn’t make sense, but
a part of me wouldn’t believe that and remained convinced that there
were people intending me harm.
I was very confused by this until
I read in Hallowell's book about children who developed OCD
(obsessive-compulsive disorder) when they had strep infections. The
symptoms started when the infection began and disappeared after the
children were treated. Hallowell wrote that the children’s experience
showed that “a purely physical event” could cause a psychological
syndrome. My experience paralleled that of the children. The strength of
my paranoia was closely related to the strength of my physical symptoms
and the paranoia faded away as my CFS symptoms declined. But my strange
encounter with this emotion left me amazed at the mysterious connections
between mind and body.
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