(no subject)
...well i've been burned out, broken, torn out, torn down
in ways i never knew i would...
Usually, I amend any confirmation of normal human emotion. Throughout the years, many people I've known have made it clear to me that they've thought I work differently than most, that maybe I was a little broken. I don't have an excuse, but I suppose, in the spirit of full disclosure, I have done and said, and more importantly, felt, things to that effect.
I get "a little sad," because I am so often able to make a rational argument against grief. Most fear is useless, so I get "a little nervous." Anger is a poor decision, so I get "frustrated."
I temper.
I've done this since I was a very young child, and I've found that it is rarely a conscious decision. On the contrary, I try so hard to be wanton, to feel big and often; the only constant desire I have is to feel purely, honestly. I want my heart to ache with experience. But, I fail habitually in this quest, because I am intimately acquainted with this one great truth: we cannot coerce emotions. Often, it seems as if our hearts are under no obligation to behave as we would like them to, at all.
I've come to realize, also, that there can be other repercussions; these last few weeks, my illness has been particularly difficult to bear, and it's like everything I could have, and maybe should have, felt normally over the course of time since the day I was diagnosed came to pay visit all at once. It's always been as though as soon as I come to terms with some aspect of my condition, I'm sucker-punched by a new one. Now, I've had to brook a general sense of uselessness, of losing options and losing control. And it's hard to watch a life filter between your fingers like sand, to wonder if you'll ever be the person you were once. My body is failing me, but I'm having difficulty appreciating the ramifications of that because I'm so very obstinate.
This wouldn't be an issue if it was only about the pain. But, it's just so hard to maintain dignity when simple things you've always done for others are being done for you, when the mother you want to care for and protect as she grows old is caring for you. It's hard to feel alive when most days it seems as though life is happening without you.
Also, I thought that realizing I'm finally emotionally ready to have a child of my own and creating a comprehensive plan with my doctors to get me to a safe place to make that happen the day before I find out that I'm now unable to bear one was a nice touch.
In a cosmic joke sort of way, of course.
And, so, I felt so frustrated. But, no... That's tempered. What I really felt was overwhelmed. Last night, for the first time since childhood, I cried. Not just tears -- there was definitely sobbing involved. But, it wasn't even as cathartic as I've always been told such a cry would be. It felt unproductive, a waste of time and energy; all it left me with was snot and a massive headache.
I think I finally fell asleep because I was tired of ping-ponging between feeling like a burden and feeling neglected and alone.
We all have that moment when we're younger, that "By the time I'm 30, I'll..." conversation with ourselves. I have always been a pragmatist, so I never made any grandiose claims. I never swore I would be married with 2.5 kids hedged in by a white picket fence. I never promised myself money or prestige, a steady job or an impressive social life. I just wanted to be a good person doing big things. I never thought that would be too much to ask.
But the pragmatist in me knows it could be so much worse.
Then, at some point during the night, GOD pushed play on my computer. I woke up to Jeremy Camp's "One Day at a Time."
So, actually... I'm better, now.
...well, i know i will carry on;
i can see you took my life this far...
in ways i never knew i would...
Usually, I amend any confirmation of normal human emotion. Throughout the years, many people I've known have made it clear to me that they've thought I work differently than most, that maybe I was a little broken. I don't have an excuse, but I suppose, in the spirit of full disclosure, I have done and said, and more importantly, felt, things to that effect.
I get "a little sad," because I am so often able to make a rational argument against grief. Most fear is useless, so I get "a little nervous." Anger is a poor decision, so I get "frustrated."
I temper.
I've done this since I was a very young child, and I've found that it is rarely a conscious decision. On the contrary, I try so hard to be wanton, to feel big and often; the only constant desire I have is to feel purely, honestly. I want my heart to ache with experience. But, I fail habitually in this quest, because I am intimately acquainted with this one great truth: we cannot coerce emotions. Often, it seems as if our hearts are under no obligation to behave as we would like them to, at all.
I've come to realize, also, that there can be other repercussions; these last few weeks, my illness has been particularly difficult to bear, and it's like everything I could have, and maybe should have, felt normally over the course of time since the day I was diagnosed came to pay visit all at once. It's always been as though as soon as I come to terms with some aspect of my condition, I'm sucker-punched by a new one. Now, I've had to brook a general sense of uselessness, of losing options and losing control. And it's hard to watch a life filter between your fingers like sand, to wonder if you'll ever be the person you were once. My body is failing me, but I'm having difficulty appreciating the ramifications of that because I'm so very obstinate.
This wouldn't be an issue if it was only about the pain. But, it's just so hard to maintain dignity when simple things you've always done for others are being done for you, when the mother you want to care for and protect as she grows old is caring for you. It's hard to feel alive when most days it seems as though life is happening without you.
Also, I thought that realizing I'm finally emotionally ready to have a child of my own and creating a comprehensive plan with my doctors to get me to a safe place to make that happen the day before I find out that I'm now unable to bear one was a nice touch.
In a cosmic joke sort of way, of course.
And, so, I felt so frustrated. But, no... That's tempered. What I really felt was overwhelmed. Last night, for the first time since childhood, I cried. Not just tears -- there was definitely sobbing involved. But, it wasn't even as cathartic as I've always been told such a cry would be. It felt unproductive, a waste of time and energy; all it left me with was snot and a massive headache.
I think I finally fell asleep because I was tired of ping-ponging between feeling like a burden and feeling neglected and alone.
We all have that moment when we're younger, that "By the time I'm 30, I'll..." conversation with ourselves. I have always been a pragmatist, so I never made any grandiose claims. I never swore I would be married with 2.5 kids hedged in by a white picket fence. I never promised myself money or prestige, a steady job or an impressive social life. I just wanted to be a good person doing big things. I never thought that would be too much to ask.
But the pragmatist in me knows it could be so much worse.
Then, at some point during the night, GOD pushed play on my computer. I woke up to Jeremy Camp's "One Day at a Time."
So, actually... I'm better, now.
...well, i know i will carry on;
i can see you took my life this far...