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.
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…
I express myself through many ways. Traditionally – with my face. And through my art or fashion. Through photography and through my laughter and tears. Through my kindness. Reminding myself that no matter how dark it is, there has to be moonlight somewhere. The single tiniest positive in a sea of negativity is the thread to hold on through the storm. I’m trying to wrap that sucker around my waist and hold on. I hope you are too.
Good news! Finally!!!
I don’t have to go back to the Breast Clinic unless something else happens, and I should be clear to go about my daily activities in a few days! Now, all I have to do is deal with my primary trying to get me a nuerologist!
Good luck to me!