The Depths of Illness - Sun Sensitivity

Shortly after getting off of the Appalachian Trail in 2005 with a diagnosis of Lyme's Disease, I took a job installing solar panels in the northeast - in Massachusetts, Vermont, Connecticut, and New York.  Day in and day out I was on roofs or on the ground in high sun exposure areas.  I wore sunscreen but the sun felt different than I remembered.  Instead a pleasant warmth, the sun light burned.  The feeling reminded me of lighting my finger on fire (a brief obsession in high school).  The trick was to spray a high-alcohol breath mint spray onto my finger and then set it ablaze with a lighter or match.  The heat became unbearable just about the same time the alcohol burned off  and the fire extinguished (although I remember putting the fire out with a shake of the hand most of the time).  This almost unbearable heat - as if my skin had just been set ablaze but had not yet registered the full fury of the fire - was how the sun felt on my skin.  I put on more sunscreen.  It didn't help.  Shade, clouds, and night became well-loved friends.

I found out from my father that sun sensitivity was a side effect of the antibiotic I was on, Ciprofloxacin, for the Lyme's disease, which gave me hope that my new aversion to the sun was a temporary state.  It was not.  Within a few months Ingrid and I moved to San Diego, which is in the top ten US cities for average hours of sunshine each year.  The feeling of burning while in the sun forced me indoors.  I sought apartments on the north side of apartment buildings or sheltered with trees.  The apartments were dark, damp, and cold - which I preferred but Ingrid did not.  I made excuses to stay inside while Ingrid went out to explore, to play beach volleyball and enjoy other sun-exposed activities.  The few times that I indulged in activities in the sun, I suffered the consequences - skin that burned while outside and radiated heat for hours afterward, headaches, and irritability.   

The Depths of Illness - Irritability

2005 - Present:

Ingrid is living in Boston. I am visiting. She comes home after work. I'm sitting on the couch. She leans over to kiss me. I pull away. My face is sensitive. I'm hot. I'm annoyed. I have no idea why. Nothing bad happened. I felt good relative to how I normally feel. Ingrid tries to talk to me. I am annoyed by the questions about my day. It is difficult for me to answer. I want to tell her to leave me alone. I know I am being irrational, but I can't break my mood. It lasts for days on end.

My mood spills over into work. I grumble under my breath when asked to do anything. My boss, who is friends Ingrid, notices and asks how I'm doing. I can't stand the questions. One morning I show up to work at the time my boss asked. He shows up a few minutes later. I am irate that he was the slightest bit late. I struggle to keep my anger under control.

Ingrid and I move to San Diego. I look for a job without success. Ingrid tries to make suggestions. I can't believe her audacity. We argue. We start to cook in our small kitchen. I do not feel well. My abdomen hurts. I cannot think straight. At some point, I want to move from here to there but Ingrid is in my way. I ask her to move but am too impatient to wait for her to respond. I shove her aside. She runs off crying.

Ingrid and I fly to New Zealand. I get ill. Ingrid takes care of me. I resent the care. She asks me how I am. I resent the questions. She brings me dinner. I resent the food. We go to the hospital. I am irritated with the doctors. I can't make decisions. I feel helpless.

I cannot control the irritability. It comes. It goes. I feel guilty for being annoyed and acting childish. I feel like I'm pushing people away. I don't know how to stop.