If no one has told you that boredom is not suffering, I will certainly tell you that said person has not had to spend 23 hours out of each day in bed, with a body that is so weak that it can only move sporadically, and the mind inside said body is delirious from being awake almost twenty hours of the day.
For those of you, however, who knows what it is like to have hour upon hour upon second to kill with no real outlet, save a TV and a loptop, I can feel our kindreds spirits merging in one resounding chorus of “Yes, Life is Bloody Boring As Hell”.
The truth be told, I find that boredom is without a doubt, the most difficult aspect of suffering I have to deal with. To me, it is worse than anything that I have encountered on this earth, to date. For, I would much rather be in pain than bored. And I am both. Intolerable.
At times, I am so bored that I am far beyond just the desire to scream. What I would like to do at those times (which are far too darn many, let me tell you), is to call up the people at the Guiness Book of Records so that they can mosey on over to my place to record the world’s loudest and longest scream ever howled by a human throat. (I am convinced that I’ve got that record locked up tight. Without a doubt.)
What frustrates me so much about boredom is the fact that I have so few methods of alleviating or eradicating it. My illness is of such a magnitude that I am virtually imprisoned by such fatigue that I am unable to keep my limbs (and my attention) moving. Any kind of exertion causes my body to weaken to the extent that leaves me unable to lift my head from my pillow for more than a second or two at a time. And that includes mental exertion. As in, thinking. Every single activity, from sitting up to walking across the hall the the bathroom to turning over in bed, my body makes me pay for in spades and it will take me days or weeks to recover. (So, you can imagine how much I am going to have to pay the piper for writing this blog, can’t you? I hope you are starting to get an idea.)
Besides irritating the crap out of me, boredom, for me, is dangerous. Because it is at those times when I despair of life the most. It is times like these that stirs up the voice of despair and that voice begins to tell me how useless I am and how better off this world would be without me in it. Those are the times when I have to take out my sword of the Spirit and battle with satan, himself. And my mind is the battlefield. Most of the time, I win. But I will be honest and admit that there have been far too many skirmishes that I have lost, and lost BIG! (For at those times, I did what no smart soldier would ever do. I not only listened to the enemy, I became my own enemy and beat myself over the head with shame, condemnation, and fear. I am so very thankful that I serve a God Who came to my rescue time and time again and never once scolded me for messing up again and again and again.)
I am beginning to learn, though, that one can actually be bored and live. (That is earth-shattering to me because I was certain that I was so bored at times that my body was simply going to give up the ghost in sheer protest and agony.)
I am also discovering that the more satisfied you ae within your own skin, the less bored you will be. Because, the more you love yourself, the more peace you experience. And I can truly say that I am experiencing more peace and less boredom. Thank God for that!
Now, somebody please remind me I said this the next time that I am bored. I’ll probably be too busy screaming to remember.