Hello All (or maybe nobody if this goes unread)I was diagnosed roughly 8 months ago with Lyme and Bartonella. As a 28 year old woman in a Doctoral program the thought of having both Lyme and a co-infection was overwhelming, but relieving in a way, in that finally, after countless doctors, raised eyebrows, and mis- or no-diagnoses, I finally had a modicum of hope that with a diagnosis I would become my old self again. I knew nothing of the treatment of Lyme, so I was unaware of the long-term treatment, relapses, and consequences of medications, amongst other problems.

I can honestly say I was hopeful for the first month or so. I knew I was “herxing” (an increase in symptomatology that occurs as the infected cells die off), but then I appeared to flatline. It appeared as though there was little progress, until I was placed on Rifampin for the Bartonella and had a terrible reaction. I became someone I didn’t recognize. I could cry for hours on end for no reason at all, scream all day at family members for the most minute of issues, and knew I was completely out of control of my emotions.

I was lucky enough to, through a family friend, find a psychologist that also has Lyme, and a psychiatric nurse specialist that she works with. They, particularly my psychologist, I think saved my life. I vividly remember the first appointment where she commented about hope. My eyes teared up and I remember saying “There is no hope for me. No one can help me.”

While I no longer feel so hopeless, it feels like my struggles are insurmountable. I have only one surviving parent, that I live with (not by choice), and a day cannot go by without an argument. However, before the diagnoses we never had a particularly good relationship to begin with. I looked at him as a sick and sad mad, with a flat affect, possibly no emotions, and someone who had failed to protect me time and time again.

I’m still currently in the same state, except I had extreme cognitive difficulties, and the complications associated with my infections have wreaked havoc upon the relationship with my one and only source of support: my long-term boyfriend.

So, as I lay here, I wonder if this is just another worthless venture. Another attempt at curing me, the incurable, both emotionally and physically. I suppose I am just reaching out for support, but don’t anticipate any.

I leave you with a summation of my current state of mind, wrote more eloquently than I have the capabilities:

“No, I told you. You only cry for help if you believe there is hope to cry for.”-
Wentworth Miller

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