So, in January I hurt myself. I hurt my foot somehow, and it changed all of my plans for 2017.
What’s the line? While you plan, the universe laughs?
I spend most of my time without a lot of access to a real computer. (I’m sorry, I’m not skilled enough to write a post on a smart phone.) If I did have access to a computer, it felt like there was too much to write about it and not enough to write about. I feel like I’ve been a one-note whiny ass on social media as it is.
I also spent a lot of time feeling like I was somehow wasting 2017. I was angry, to be honest, because I feel like a waste of potential, and another 6 months sitting on a couch didn’t make me feel any more accomplished. Out of my personal demons, this one is the most persistent little shit. I had also felt like nothing I would do would matter anyway. The world’s problems were too big, and nothing I would write, no perspective I could try to share, would help any of it. I felt stuck.
Then I got a private message on Facebook from a someone I never talk to. He told me he couldn’t openly respond to anything I posted because of his business, but he was secretly cheering me on. He was someone who spent most of his life on the other end of the spectrum until recently. He still was a lot on the other end of the political spectrum policy wise, but he believed in what I was saying about social justice. He thought my posts mattered.
Sometimes the universe intercedes when you need a little light. That conversation was much needed shiny.
I have also been fighting to get health care. I’ve hustled and hustled and hustled. Tuesday I’m finally getting the surgery I need to repair my foot, hopefully help my pain, and reclaim my life. First, I’m so unbelievably fucking lucky to have Mom and The Viking. They’ve both taken so much care of me and helped me in so many different ways. They’ve made everything possible. I’m lucky to have them and the ability to do the research to find resources. I’m lucky and that makes me mad.
I’m not going to spend a lot of time on this in this post because this is a topic which deserves a post or four of its own to cover it. I think about people who aren’t lucky like me. They don’t have people who love them and who bend over backwards to help them. Some people don’t have my ability to research and find resources. They just end up sick, in pain, dead from treatable conditions, or some combination of the three. This subject has become a passion of mine. You shouldn’t have to be lucky to get medical care.
Let’s be honest here, I had been depressed since Memorial Day. I had felt weak for being so upset. Everyone has the voice of someone who criticized them when they were still transitioning from tiny human to adult human. That voice always comes back to batter us when we need it least. My voice likes to tell me I’m lazy, I only write this or participate in social media to get attention, I need to stop being so weak and just suck it up power through my depression and anxiety to get a real job, how I take too much from others, and how I am obviously so weird for attention and I need to stop it. I fight that voice a lot. I felt it while I cried while the house slept. I felt it while ugly crying when Littlefoot’s mom dies in The Land Before Time, or any mom dies on anything. Then last night, I was talking to my Viking about everything going on, including my dad’s birthday and the 2nd anniversary of his death, and I realized I had a lot of valid, genuinely emotionally difficult things. So that voice can go fuck itself. I’m not weak, and there is nothing wrong with me being this naturally weird.
Then Malea brought me pies. It’s hard to feel like all you’ve really got in your world is your dog, your mom, and your boyfriend when someone loves you enough to bring you pies with no other expectations than you eat the pies and feel better for it. I have a lot of wonderful friends who truly love me. You guys are always understanding about my oddities and anxieties. You guys always make me feel like I have value no matter if the only dragon I slay that day is eating something healthy. You guys make it easier to tell that voice to go fuck itself, and to believe I’m not a waste and my time recovering hasn’t been wasted.
I’m scared about Tuesday, but I know everything will be okay. Even if the recovery is hard, which it might not be at all, at least my body will be healing to wholeness, not just waiting for someone to fix it. I also have a lot of stuff to get done before Tuesday, but I know I can get it done.
It’s hard to not be optimistic when you have pie.