Having such a low sed rate is weird. It’s too weird.
I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, but in reality I kind of more hoping it does.
My whole identity is based off of me being a fighter. If, for now, I’m winning the battle against Arthur, who am I?
It brings up all these emotional issues to deal with too – like above on the nature of self, past issues I’ve pushed down too long and now have to deal with, and more.
I’m no longer afraid I’ll randomly go into the hospital and never come out. I’m afraid of what happens if I continue to be better.
I’m in physical therapy twice a week, which is good but kicking my ass. Building up strength is something I’ve never been able to truly do from the ground up.
Part of me wishes, though, that I was running, that I could take out my emotional turmoil and anger on my body.
I guess that’s a form of self-harm, but it’s one that helps me process.
Or not – it helps me hide from processing anything, everything.
I wish I was still flaring. My body doesn’t know how to move. Like Lucy, I’m having to learn to do things all over again. When it was a constant back and forth, I was okay with it.
Now I have to see all the damage – mental, emotional, physical, dental – piece by piece.
I have to face the fact that my mother didn’t do jack shit for my body growing up, and negatively affected my soul.
I have to see my body the way it is and know that this is what I truly have to work with, that $20k of dental work and bajillions of dollars in mental and other physical work has to happen.
I could use weeks of PT and mental therapy alternating while I get my dental crap worked on. Work is already unhappy about the time I’ve taken off for PT alone – so much so I have to redo my FMLA paperwork to prove that I’m sick enough for this crap.
I’m doing what I’m supposed to do, rebuilding myself. No one got mad at the six million dollar man for recovering from all his surgeries and crap. Would it be the same if I were recovering from a more obviously severe and well known illness like the big C? Would my office mate be as angry? Would my supervisor or HR? I thought society was supposed to support this type of journey? Am I not inspirationy enough for the inspiration porn club?
I don’t know that I’m strong enough to face all the issues I’ve discussed but not fully dealt with – my mother, my molestation and sexual assaults, emotional and medical neglect, illness issues, feeling like I don’t do enough for others, inadequacies, triggering PTSD moments… These are not things one can address one at a time, not now, not without that distraction of pain.
As horrible as it sounds, I miss it. It was comforting. I knew standing and dancing at a concert would lead to angry knees. I knew sitting at my desk would piss my neck off. I knew I couldn’t do certain things like vacuum.
I don’t know who I am anymore.
It’s easy sometimes for us to climb up from so far in the rabbit’s hole. We swear we can see the top, and we keep pushing even when we fall.
Right now, despite the things I’m doing, it feels like I’ve finally hit that bottom and am really looking at all the steps to get way back to the top.
If and when I get there, I don’t even know that I will be able to climb out all the way… It isn’t what happens if I don’t, but what happens if I do?