My legs have been giving me a lot of pain lately. They still don’t respond to touch, or heat, or cold. But they seem to make their own pain, even though they’re numb.
I try my best not to show my pain, but I still have to try to limit myself. No one seems to understand this, and it’s taking a toll on my emotional and mental health.
They expect me to do just as I did before, but it’s just not possible. Trying to ignore and push away my condition does not help. I need to accept, and try to work my way around my life so that I can live it.
This, in itself, is a very unpopular opinion. Mostly according to my mother, I shouldn’t “give in” to my condition. Ever since I got my cane, that is a phrase I hear often, between the scoffs and the eye rolls and being told I should do things I am unable, then being asked in a nasty tone why I can’t.
I learned that even just holding off getting my cane has done more damage than good for me. The fact that the people around me would rather me be in more pain than get what I need to ease it just because they think somehow that means I’ve “given up” speaks volumes.
Life is an unpredictable whirlwind that picks up and throws anything it wants at you at any given time. Just when you think you’ve just about balanced out your physical and emotional hurdles, it throws something new at you.
You like to think that the breeze is finally light, the air is nice and crisp and maybe things have settled. And then suddenly a cow is thrown past you and you’re sucked into the vortex.
Please tell me that the other things I’ve thought to have finally gotten through in my life won’t come back to whollop me in the face either! Does anything you fix stay the way you need it to?
The new aggravations being hurled at you, when the old ones suddenly come at your back, you end up spiraling down and it feels as if you’ll never stop.
This is my life now. I think I’m growing a phobia of being happy. When I’m happy, something happens. When I think I’ve got something to hold on to, it’s yanked away. When I think I’ve sewed up all of the wounds, the stitching comes lose.
I know I’m not alone in this. Join me on this ride called life. We can have tea and cookies in the whirlwind.
Have you ever witnessed the moment you realize your dreams have shattered? Have you ever been able to hear the very moment each crack is placed until it simply explodes in your mind’s eye?
Lately, I have come to the conclusion wishing is for children. Dreams are what kept our hearts warm, our lives hopeful. Most recently, I’ve begun feeling quite down with myself. Perhaps it’s due to the realization I’ve never had a fruitful dream in my life, all my wishes ungranted, and yet, here I am. A mere shell of myself in regards to whom I thought I was; a charming, loud and strong girl that could take on just about anything and come out on top.
Alas, that’s not who I am, perhaps not even who I was. I believe we all, in human nature, are weak. We’ll pull up our strengths just long enough to hold out for the next obstacle, but should the tower be too large to climb, we crumble at the stone at our feet.
I realized this when I found the oldest yearbook I have of myself. In kindergarten, I was bullied, but happy. I didn’t pay much mind to their words or actions then, and I stood up for those who had it even worse than I. Now, as the tables have turned, I am met with silence and myself. The cane I walk with is the most I hear, and though the one person I love most tries, they cannot understand, and there are still issues therein between us we need to work out.
Why am I writing this? Because I looked at the yearbook picture of a hopeful girl with big dreams and lots of guts and wondered if she would cry to see me now. Would she look onto her future self with disappointment and tears in her eyes? I no longer can carry large, heavy things, I have to walk with a cane inside the house, I often forget things now and am in constant pain that rides up to excruciating waves without warning. Knowing that I might fall and not get back up, what would little me think? I look at this picture and wonder…
There have been a lot of personal things stacking up to add to my increasing health issues. My dog had another seizure, though thankfully not as bad as the first. I had to cut someone I considered a best friend from my life. My life is not, by any means, going according to plan… My relationship has gotten better in some big ways, but worse in some small ways that eat away at my insides like a virus I can’t shake.
Sometimes I question why this all came to be. Why me? Why them? Why this?
The other day I simply came to the realization that I will, in fact, be in a wheelchair at some point of my life. I’m already questioning if I need a cane already. My 21st birthday is in a few days, at the beginning of next month. I don’t see any celebrating happening. Not for me.
Today I learned the extent of being unable to feel sensation in my legs. A large piece of glass was evidently on my shoe for at least half the day. I, questioning why I felt so off kilter, was confused by it all until I took my shoes off and found it. I had to put gauze and tape on the wound, as it would not stop bleeding. I can’t feel the pain, but the wound is there anyway.
I’m hoping to find help. I need it.
I feel… Weak. I just avoided stepping down from a place I would have no problem with before. I used to jump to climb things for fun. I’ve been trying to walk to keep my muscle tone in my legs, but I think in turn I’m somehow making them weaker, and more numb with every passing day. The pain never ends, the numbness is almost comical. My balance has all but left me. I try not to rely too much on the pain cream I’ve obtained to soothe my nerves. The past few times I’ve gone for a walk, I beg to whatever deity that will listen that I don’t fall.
My neurologist is non-existent. The high-rated one I tried won’t take my insurance. None in the area are any good. I’m not sure where to turn. I’m not sure who can help. I fear I may have to start using a cane soon, and what of by the end of it all? By the time I’m finally seen, will I be forced into a wheelchair?
Knowing all the things I love, and all the dreams I had, am I okay with the idea? No. Already, only one person close to me even cares enough to know I need help, and I feel as though I’m a burden for putting all the weight on them, even though it’s out of my control.
Everyone else insists I’m fine, or one in particular person insists they have it too, and it “isn’t as bad” as I say it is.
I’m tired of it. I’m tired of this. I’m just tired. Sometimes I think my dreams seem sweeter. Even with my gory, bloody nightmares. At least I could run. At least I had some form of control. At least, by the end, I could always find a way out.
I feel as though, I am watching the life I always dreamed of, burn slowly to ashes right in front of me; and no matter how many tears I cry, the fire won’t go out.
A lot of things happen. Some of them good, some of them amazing, and other times it’s bad… Or, there’s occasions where it’s a mix of all 3 of those things.
If I wrote every negative word I associated myself with on my body, I would be covered. Completely covered, and overlapping. Sometimes it’s the words we let ourselves believe that harm us most. Sometimes changes force those words to the front of our minds, and they’re screaming louder than they ever been because at one point, they were completely silent – just for a little while.
I wonder how different those words would be if I just had a harder heart or thicker skin. I wonder why I let other people pull those words to the surface. No, I’m not blaming anyone. At least, anyone but myself. I have myself to blame.
Everything was amazing. I could smile for a while. I felt absolutely perfect. But all good things must end, and that is why I am awake at 12:30am writing this and feeling sorry for myself. I wish I had hope tomorrow will be different. Or the next day. But life isn’t the dreams I once believed were my future. Because, sometimes you end up bringing people into the tangled, grueling mess that is your life, and it’s complicated.
I hope I, and we, get past this. I hope I can go back to smiling again, with those voices locked away. I hope… They smile at me and join me in my happiness.
I was never very “fit” in the sense I was never a skinny little size 2. But I had great physical strength. At 10, I could carry about 100 pounds fairly easily. I spent a lot of time outside and loved to run. I would catch just about every illness there was and scrape my knees just as much, but I would heal quickly and everything was fine.
When people define me, they say strength. But, I don’t think they think of emotional strength. They mean physical strength. Now that that has been fading as far as my legs go, which was the strongest part of me. I used to be able to lift my boyfriend. Now it’s hard to carry two frozen lasagnas to the stove, because my legs wobble and it’s like I’m wearing the cursed red dancing shoes.
Unfortunately, it’s a comical jig that’s being played by a jester. Falling is usually inevitable.
With this definition that I’ve believed, for all my life, of this strength… I feel as though I am losing myself; losing who I am. I feel as though, as the things I am expected to do throughout the day become harder to deal with, I don’t know who I think I am anymore.
Perhaps it’s my pride stinking me like a cold whip.
I don’t think anyone believes I am in pain. I don’t think they realize it.
In other news, my appointment with the Neuro-Bozo was unfruitful. Go figure. I tried to call another neurologist, one that’s supposed to be much better. I haven’t gotten a call back yet, but I hope I will soon.