Still reeling just a bit from this disease progression, and kicking myself in the arse for having been so stupid about taking care of things. The right foot is now consistently burning, and I definitely need the cane for balance. I don’t want this. I never wanted this. My teaching says this is the answer to some prayer I made. I say fuck all that.
I am still grateful the disease has not progressed to paralysis of any appendage, but my cynical self wonders if that is simply inevitable at this point. I can get through this, of course, but do I even want to get through yet another challenge. There is such a huge part of me that says why bother, throw in the towel, check out. There is always such a huge hesitancy to commit to checking out, though. A hesitancy that is dominated by the singular thought of…what if I’m wrong. What if leaving the scene of the recent unpleasantness does nothing to relieve the pain? What if it becomes worse in some other incarnation? I believe I have more or less committed to staying, but damn – I cannot seem to catch a break.
Perhaps I am not entitled to a break. Perhaps this is what I deserve. My spiritual self says get away from the old binary of sin/punishment. I made a mistake and so I should be prepared for the inevitable ass-kicking. My somewhat rational self says that is not how things work. My spiritual self counters with a repeated query of how and why did I call this to myself. Good lord, this could keep me wound up in perpetual analysis for quite some time, and I don’t have that to give.
With every day that goes by, I am more and more consumed with thoughts of my own death (and not at my hands). My mother died at 82-1/2, and so did her sister. My grandmother died well before that marker because she had cancer, but her sisters and brother died somewhere in their 80s. My father died at 68, and his siblings died in their 80s I believe. His father got hit by a car in his 70s, so he doesn’t figure into the trend of dying somewhere around the 80-year-old mark.
So, all that to say, I figure I have about 20 years left to figure out what the FUCK I am doing down here, and how to reconcile with it all. Do I have unfinished business here, I wonder. Perhaps, or maybe I just have a plethora of things stuck in my proverbial craw that beg for vengeance, or forgiveness. Will it be that my time here ends without ever having been in a loving capital-R Relationship? It seems that way, but what does that matter in the long run? Or the short run.
So many questions, so few answers. Time is linear, or is it? Can one truly manifest a desired reality, or are we just stuck with the hand we’ve been dealt? The just seems to be out on that, but again, does it really matter? If it doesn’t matter, I hope someone can direct me to what DOES matter. Oh, wait – I’m supposed to do that for myself. Hang on, that’s going to take a minute.
I don’t know what I am supposed to be doing, where I’m supposed to be doing it, how I’m supposed to be doing it, or…why. My 12-step training tells me why is not as important as how. Can I stand in my own integrity? Am I treating people in some positive and even useful way? Some days I am not sure about any of that. Integrity seems to be a dying art these days, and I generally ask myself about it too late. Once the heart is involved, once the emotions gallop through me, I am often lost. Lost and hurting people, lost and scared, lost and frozen in fear.
Pain is not relative, and as someone told me a long time ago, it’s major when it’s happening to me and minor when it’s happening to you. Unless you are grotesquely malformed by codependency and addition. I often feel like the most gruesome and disfigured person on the planet, and I suppose that informs who I roll. These days I don’t see myself as rolling at all, however, just standing in the same place and wondering what in the hell I’m doing here.
I have never particularly cared for things that are linear. I have always preferred curves and spheres and what not so that I can squeeze myself into the dynamic spaces between. Never the same position twice, no assurance of the space available. Molding myself to fit in, in between, amidst and among but never presenting a solid form to the world around me. I don’t know if that’s bad or good, if that works or not, but I am thinking it is what it is. I’m just a squishy blob that slides in and out of established structures and more static arrangements. The only problem is that sometimes I go *splat*, and that’s a mess to clean up.
Today, I am contemplative and my thoughts are bouncing off the walls. I’m in a depressed state, but not willing to assume responsibility for it. I have chemicals that are screwed up in my brain, some of which appear to have crossed the blood-brain barrier to cause me other problems. Can I change that? Some would say yes, but I am skeptical. Since I have not been able to change any of it, I wonder if I am just inept. Or maybe just not where I’m supposed to be. I am here and now, so maybe that’s enough.
My life has consisted of moments of great brilliance, followed by long spans of incredible stupidity. I always thought I could do anything, until I began trying to do that and bombed miserably. I’ve always figured if I could visualize it, I could do it, but reality gets in the way of that simplistic notion. I understand perfectly well how a basketball player dunks the ball to score, but that’s not something I can do. Athletic skill and far more height might help, but I can see exactly how it’s done. That and a few bucks will get me groceries but not a contract with a WNBA team. I’m supposed to be at peace with that, but frequently I am not. Maybe that’s just about the money and the adulation. But I coulda been a contenduh, you see. I’m a legend in my own mind, it would seem.
Whether I have a life partner or not, whether I ever leave this apartment or not, whether I ever have a paycheck again, time is moving on with or without me. We are all going through that together, whether we like our fellow travelers or not. I was told to wear life like a loose garment, but I find that it still doesn’t fit. Maybe I’ve outgrown it, or maybe I should abandon the notion of a perfect fit. I’ve never been much of a fashionista anyway, but I’d rather not be on the journey nekkid. Sometimes that is exactly how I feel – exposed and vulnerable to anything and everything around me. I was told to lay down my armor, but I say please, stop shooting at me.
Maybe it’s not too late to do this thing right. I’m not sure, but since I’m here I have to make the effort. Maybe that’s all I’m here to do – make the effort. Somehow that seems woefully inadequate, but I do still have the wherewithall to try, so try I must. Onward. The long strange trip continues, and the colors are amazing. It will be OK. I have to believe that it will be OK. If and when it’s not OK, I guess it will be time to do something else.
The Sound Hole 