Why I am not brave - living with a chronic illness

Bravery is a short term thing.

Bravery is the adrenalin-fueled get-up-and-go, that keeps you moving through a crisis, because you know it's going to be over soon.

When I got sick I was brave.  I faced the tests, and the diagnoses, bravely.

"Surely," I thought "this will all be over soon."  We are used to movies, and stories with a crisis, and a dénouement.  Things reach a peak of emotion, and then there is a resolution.  The brave hero is rescued, or cured, and the crisis is averted, and everyone is allowed to resume their previous life.

Only it never ends.  The illness doesn't end.
You have to keep getting up in the morning, and things don't change.

The adrenalin starts to fade, and the bravery starts to wane, as the realization sets in that there is no end in sight.  Instead of being able to hope for relief, there is the realization that it is life that will have to change, instead of circumstances changing, and permitting life to resume.

Then the grief sets in.  There is a period of shock during which you mourn the death of your previous life, your previous self, your previous existence, and your entire future. 

One morning, you eventually realize that there are only a few options: continue to wallow in grief; end your life; try to build another life within these new limitations.

It is still sad, and there are lots of days in which I mourn my previous life.  Maybe that will change.  I hope so.  There are still lots of days where I struggle with the choice I've made, feel like there isn't much of a future for me, and feel like so much of my life got stolen from my by this illness.

I am doing the best that I can.  I am working to build a life for myself, despite being in pain all the time, and struggling with getting up, and struggling with my day-to-day life.  It's a huge struggle.

It's not brave, though. 

It's the condition of my every day life.

Most amazing present

So she made me an advent calendar. It's from a plastic parts bin, and it's full of neat stuff, but the point being that she thought of it, planned it out, and put it together. It's perfect!

I'm having trouble with being loved. It's fast. There's some compatibility issues, mostly I'm really afraid of getting my heart smashed into smithereens again.

I guess that means I'm not ready?

Maybe this is something I had better put some more thought into.

I want to be ready. I feel ready. She feels good next to me, dammit, and holding her feels good. I like her family. My mom likes her.

Now I'm in Montreal, I needed this family time, to meld with people, share, relax, calm down and get used to day-to-day interface. Maybe I'll be better next round. I hope so. I hope I get a next round.

Art Class, or cleaning the house, and why I don't have any friends

Today I'm supposed to go to the art room and work on an ar project.  I don't want to.  Last night was a big party at one of the student's houses.  I have bronchitis, and yesterday was brutal, so I didn't feel like going.

I don't want to explain that the program is killing me with the fact that I want to learn and there's very little in it to learn.  There's lots of rote material, but everytime we get to something engaging, they shut things down.

See the gifted blog for more.  lol.  Anyhow, I need to get the house cleaned up, and I need to get a bunch of projects done, and I'm justfeeling like things are overwhelming.

Whirlwhind

Things are moving fast here, school is busy, life is busy, and I hardly know which way is up anymore.

I am recently sick with some kind of chest infection, it's making it hard to think clearly, so just as my head was clearing from the junk from the accident, I'm back to being fuzzy because of not being able to think

The inherencies of being femme

So, I'm seeing someone new.   She's chivalrous, and gallant, and protective, and firm-handed, and so many things that I adore, and that make me weak in the knees.

After she drove for 16 hours to come rescue me when I flipped my car, I found myself needing to wash her clothes, and feed her, and take care of her.  (As well as curl into her, and snuggle under her arm, and hide in her neck).  I know that's my femme-ness coming through, and I know that I would need to do that for her if we were together.

I hate that I got sick.  That I have to pick and choose the things that I can do.  That only some of it is possible.  It's going to be an issue for the rest of my life I think, this back and forth.  Craving the expression of myself, and fighting to be myself, and not being able to do it, and then having to come to terms with my illness(es) over and over again.

*sigh*

I'm saying if... it's only because this is so fast.  It's been seven and a half weeks since she found me, and I'm falling hard.  We've had two dates.  One with a friend of hers, and one when I wrecked my car.