As evidenced by the residual tears on my pillow and the fact that I am Google searching things Ernest Hemingway said while I lay in bed, today was a rough one.
I woke up feeling lonely with a headache that would respond just enough to medication to be tolerable but not enough to let you catch your breath, and despite the best efforts of my parents to cheer me up, the tears stayed on the brim of my eyelids for hours. I lost my cool more than once wondering why with a life so full I felt so empty. I reached out to people I loved but avoided anything too close because my heart felt fragile.
My last two weeks in the hospital were really difficult. I tried hard to stay away from heavy meds, to stay lucid and clear headed so as to govern my medical decisions. I felt like a burden to those I loved and for one of the first time’s in a really long time, I just felt plain sorry for myself. I wanted out of the hospital so bad. And now that I’m out the terror of another recovery has left me utterly speechless.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful I survived. I’m grateful for my beautiful family and friends. I’m grateful for a genuinely full and happy life. I’m just sad about my head. I’m sad about how it’s never cut and dry and I am sad that I am sad, which is dumb.
There’s no reason today was a hard day. In recovery there just are those days. Hell, in life there just are those days. So I am leaving today as just what it was, a day where the weight of all you’ve been carrying starts to make your back ache, and I will close my eyes in faith that tomorrow will improve. Not because I’m an optimist and not because it has to, but because I want to believe that. And sleep will bring me reprieve.
And maybe tomorrow I’ll come up with a plan of how to put some of this weight I’ve been carrying down.
In the meantime, all I have is this moment, where I name where I am, and notice how fleeting this moment is as I move on from it.
Peace and love,