Of course
So my therapist, whom I've seen twice now, suggested that maybe I try writing again. It's difficult - my mornings are no longer free, and since I've quit smoking, I no longer wake up at 5 AM. Those precious hours where I could wrap word against wrist and onto keyboard are spent holding onto precious, precious sleep.
It turns out that maybe I wasn't so much a writer my entire life as I was simply *compelled* to write. Without that driving me, it doesn't feel the same. Will it have anywhere near the same benefit as it used to?
I suppose the only way to know is to write. Writers write.
So fucking write, Teressa.
We are trying to narrow down what frightens me so much about dialysis. The obvious concession is DUH, of course it's scary to be on dialysis, but that's too broad to be useful. It's just a platitude at that point. What, exactly, am I afraid of? If I am not willing to dive into the terror, then my entire life is a lie, so I. Must. Know.
There I go. Trying to make it sound pretty, or dramatic. What a ridiculous thing. As if dialysis isn't dramatic enough all on it's own.
Except that I feel maybe it's not. I am terrified, and if I read too much about it, I cry - but when I try to tell people this.......okay, Jesse and Pat.......I get.........
I get everything I could possibly expect - sympathy, an acknowledgement that this is hard, a few minutes of being listened to, and then an obvious shift in the conversation. Fidgeting. Far away looks. I made them uncomfortable.
Of course I do. Of course I would. Of course ANYONE would be uncomfortable with this. How could I possibly blame them?
At the same time, how could anyone blame me?
Not that anyone does, but at the same time - I have no one can I talk to. No one but Steve, who is a very nice therapist, but he doesn't really get it. He's just being paid to not look uncomfortable for the hour I'm with him every week. And while I appreciate that, it doesn't cure this new, absolutely racking sense of loneliness that I feel.
I so rarely feel lonely. In this, I do. That scares me. That alone terrifies me. I've made people uncomfortable before, and I've accepted that chasing people away is occasionally the price to being an open human being.
But this? I can't handle chasing people away with this. I can't.
Or, conversely, perhaps this ISN'T a big deal, and I'm being ridiculous by wanting to talk about it for more than 5 or 10 minutes once or twice a week. And I think to myself, why does it matter if it's a big deal to other people when it's a big deal for me, except this is the way I learn, this is how I see if I'm healthy or not, by judging the reactions those around me have. And if those around me don't think this is a topic worth conversing about (regardless of reason) well.........
what am I supposed to do when I want to talk about it?
I guess write. So maybe I'll make a goal this week to write about the things about dialysis that scare me. Or to just write. Facebook is nice, but it's not.......or it didn't used to be me. I feel I've lost a good deal of my depth since I've stopped writing.
I'm just too tired to write most days.
It turns out that maybe I wasn't so much a writer my entire life as I was simply *compelled* to write. Without that driving me, it doesn't feel the same. Will it have anywhere near the same benefit as it used to?
I suppose the only way to know is to write. Writers write.
So fucking write, Teressa.
We are trying to narrow down what frightens me so much about dialysis. The obvious concession is DUH, of course it's scary to be on dialysis, but that's too broad to be useful. It's just a platitude at that point. What, exactly, am I afraid of? If I am not willing to dive into the terror, then my entire life is a lie, so I. Must. Know.
There I go. Trying to make it sound pretty, or dramatic. What a ridiculous thing. As if dialysis isn't dramatic enough all on it's own.
Except that I feel maybe it's not. I am terrified, and if I read too much about it, I cry - but when I try to tell people this.......okay, Jesse and Pat.......I get.........
I get everything I could possibly expect - sympathy, an acknowledgement that this is hard, a few minutes of being listened to, and then an obvious shift in the conversation. Fidgeting. Far away looks. I made them uncomfortable.
Of course I do. Of course I would. Of course ANYONE would be uncomfortable with this. How could I possibly blame them?
At the same time, how could anyone blame me?
Not that anyone does, but at the same time - I have no one can I talk to. No one but Steve, who is a very nice therapist, but he doesn't really get it. He's just being paid to not look uncomfortable for the hour I'm with him every week. And while I appreciate that, it doesn't cure this new, absolutely racking sense of loneliness that I feel.
I so rarely feel lonely. In this, I do. That scares me. That alone terrifies me. I've made people uncomfortable before, and I've accepted that chasing people away is occasionally the price to being an open human being.
But this? I can't handle chasing people away with this. I can't.
Or, conversely, perhaps this ISN'T a big deal, and I'm being ridiculous by wanting to talk about it for more than 5 or 10 minutes once or twice a week. And I think to myself, why does it matter if it's a big deal to other people when it's a big deal for me, except this is the way I learn, this is how I see if I'm healthy or not, by judging the reactions those around me have. And if those around me don't think this is a topic worth conversing about (regardless of reason) well.........
what am I supposed to do when I want to talk about it?
I guess write. So maybe I'll make a goal this week to write about the things about dialysis that scare me. Or to just write. Facebook is nice, but it's not.......or it didn't used to be me. I feel I've lost a good deal of my depth since I've stopped writing.
I'm just too tired to write most days.