If it isn’t clear by now, then let me just say it outright: I’m struggling.
I’ve been in denial for a while now and I’m finally starting to admit it to myself and others. I’ve been making excuses: poor sleep, allergies, trying to do too much, etc. But what it all boils down to is that I’m in the middle of a flare and in terrible pain.
It takes more to do less. And I don’t want to admit it.
Worse: by trying to pretend that it’s not happening, I am hurting myself even more.
This is so, so hard for me to admit. And I get so angry at myself for not taking better advantage of when I was doing well. My “well” may be someone else’s “bad day”, but my “bad day” doesn’t bear description. It’s all a question of degree.
Part of it is timing. Of course, is there ever a “good” time to be held back by pain? But some times are worse than others, and just before an important doctor’s appointment when I’m hoping to cut back on my meds is NOT a good time for a flare.
I’m just so frustrated, and instead of taking better care of myself I keep pushing. It’s getting to the point of sheer stupidity. I am owning up to it here, but it’s hard to stop the forward charge when the only other option available seems to be complete stasis. I feel like I am forever putting off my life for when I’m “better”, when the truth of the matter is that the the past six months may be the best that I can hope for.
It’s not as bleak as it sounds, but right now it looks pretty damn bleak.
Making it through the Relay for Life was a big part of this- I’ve been working towards that for so long. I now have to admit to myself, however, that choosing Relay means that I will not walk in the 5k. Even if my body lets me, I’d be paying for it for weeks, and I can’t afford that.
And then I kick myself for being overambitious in the first place. What was I thinking, that I could do all these things? Who do I think I am? I’m not allowed to do things like that- not anymore.
Just when I think I’m getting better at acceptance I find myself railing at my new “normal”. I don’t want this. But I don’t get to choose. I know what my options are, but it doesn’t stop me from hating having fewer options. It’s part of the grieving process, and I’m still grieving.
There’s so much that I want to do and so little that I can do, and sometimes it bothers me more than others. This is definitely one of those times.