Uncategorized
Nooks, Crannies and Landmines
A few weeks ago, I officially ran out of room. After having spent months shoving down each new loss, terrifying realization and micro trauma as deep as possible, I dead ended. When every nook and cranny had been stuffed, I moved on to distraction mode, desperate to avoid dealing with what was festering underneath. My defenses were on overdrive.
For a while, almost six months in fact, this was an effective strategy. But my delicately crafted system inevitably started to malfunction. The compartments burst open and the contents spilled everywhere. It was messy and uncomfortable and I cried. A lot. For days. I cried to my family, I cried to my friends, I cried to my husband, I cried to my therapist. I even cried in front of my boys.
I am twelve long years into this disease and I still find myself back at the beginning. Is this really happening to me? Is this actually my life? Is this my body that’s continuing to decay against my will? I sometimes wonder how I can remain my full true self when I’m losing so much of me.