(no subject)
One of the poorer days. Depressed, distressed. I've spent the day feeling as if I were watching the world through someone else's eyes. I was terribly blue. Still am. Crying jags. Called jags no doubt because of the headaches they leave in their wake. Nausea. Muscle weakness. The whole stupid relentless schmear.
Dar's friend and her daughter came to visit. I stayed holed up in my room, venturing out only when I thought I could control myself enough not to break into sudden tears in front of them, then I'd scurry back. I miss my friends terribly; I didn't have enough inner resources today not to let that spill out all over their visit together. (And here I go again. Fuck.)
They took Miranda home with them when they left. Of course. She'll have a wonderful life with them, truly, but today just wasn't the day for it. Or maybe it was the perfect day for it. It's not as if they were ruining an otherwise glorious time. Woe, pain, melodrama, what the fuck ever.
I should be doing something about this but I don't know what. Making something positive out of this but I don't know how. I hate this. Hate my own complicity in this fucking disease. I should be able to beat it back, should be able to rise above it, something, anything other than this ridiculous pathetic state I'm in. It's like being held captive in my own body. No, it's not like, it is being held captive. Inside I'm alive and electric, but I no long have the capability to channel that into action. Walking the ten feet down the hallway is like traveling through knee-deep water in a dense fog; it's an effort not just to walk but to connect to the reality of walking.
I had a friend named Sharyn who would frequently say that we are all merely temporarily abled, all just one misstep, one accident, one weak blood vessel, one biological short circuit away from disability. I'd always nod my head in agreement, because I believed that was true. I just didn't really believe that it was true for me. None of us does. But here it is. And here I am.
This isn't a morality tale. There's no clearly defined lesson to be learned, no villain, certainly no hero. There's just now, and then tomorrow, and then whatever future proceeds to whatever conclusion. I suppose if there's any positive aspect to it, there is at least the fact that I no longer carry the illusion that I'm in control of my life's direction. I'm trying to think of it as an adventure, but I'm not quite there yet. On days like this one has been, there's no positive perspective to cling to. But today is almost over. I guess I'll cling to that.
And here's a last photo of Miranda.
Dar's friend and her daughter came to visit. I stayed holed up in my room, venturing out only when I thought I could control myself enough not to break into sudden tears in front of them, then I'd scurry back. I miss my friends terribly; I didn't have enough inner resources today not to let that spill out all over their visit together. (And here I go again. Fuck.)
They took Miranda home with them when they left. Of course. She'll have a wonderful life with them, truly, but today just wasn't the day for it. Or maybe it was the perfect day for it. It's not as if they were ruining an otherwise glorious time. Woe, pain, melodrama, what the fuck ever.
I should be doing something about this but I don't know what. Making something positive out of this but I don't know how. I hate this. Hate my own complicity in this fucking disease. I should be able to beat it back, should be able to rise above it, something, anything other than this ridiculous pathetic state I'm in. It's like being held captive in my own body. No, it's not like, it is being held captive. Inside I'm alive and electric, but I no long have the capability to channel that into action. Walking the ten feet down the hallway is like traveling through knee-deep water in a dense fog; it's an effort not just to walk but to connect to the reality of walking.
I had a friend named Sharyn who would frequently say that we are all merely temporarily abled, all just one misstep, one accident, one weak blood vessel, one biological short circuit away from disability. I'd always nod my head in agreement, because I believed that was true. I just didn't really believe that it was true for me. None of us does. But here it is. And here I am.
This isn't a morality tale. There's no clearly defined lesson to be learned, no villain, certainly no hero. There's just now, and then tomorrow, and then whatever future proceeds to whatever conclusion. I suppose if there's any positive aspect to it, there is at least the fact that I no longer carry the illusion that I'm in control of my life's direction. I'm trying to think of it as an adventure, but I'm not quite there yet. On days like this one has been, there's no positive perspective to cling to. But today is almost over. I guess I'll cling to that.
And here's a last photo of Miranda.