We’ve been through a lot these last 27 months. ‘We’ being me, my friends and family and those few who read my blog. I guess if I’m being honest I’d hoped my blog would reach further and help more, but ultimately there was and is a remaining fear inside me that prevents me sharing it regularly to my personal social media platforms. I fear other’s opinions greatly, I always have. But I do wish to help others from my experiences – not just these last two years because they’re just a small part of my life. But I’ve shown resilience throughout my life in many ways.
But these last 27 months have by far been the hardest. I don’t know at what point things got easier, but they did. But there was a lot of resistance from me. Something that is evident in the many dark and scary thoughts I’ve shared here. The main catalyst to things becoming easier was that I had to be willing to let go of me; the me that I knew and every version of me before that. I had to fully let go of her and the life she had. Ultimately it came down to an acceptance of where I am now and who I am now. It’s not who or where I’ll be forever, but I had to accept my current situation as a whole without resentment.
At some point that happened. I don’t recall when so I know it was a gradual shift that happened over time. Letting go a little bit more each day and grieving that loss. Because it was a loss that needed grieving. Unless I allowed that and processed it then I’d still be fighting where I am now. It’s a scary thing to do – to be willing to let a version of you die.
I’d be naive to think that I love my life right now. I don’t, how could I? But I do accept it. I accept how small my world has become, how much I’ve changed and how I have to embrace the small windows I get where I can see others or do things. It’s been a struggle.
There are some feelings that never go, like the constant feeling of being isolated and alone. The ‘cabin fever’ from being stuck in the same room or house for years and only being able to escape a couple of times a week for a couple of hours. I spoke to my friends this week and it came up in conversation that I don’t know when but at some point I was able to see them without having a breakdown as soon as I was alone again. It hurt like crazy saying goodbye and the loneliness and isolation would hit me so hard. My few hours of freedom just weren’t enough, I needed more and I’d come away feeling robbed and bitter. Bitter about how cruel life was being to me. That it could only give me a few hours with them but those few hours would cost me a lot in pain. Physically and emotionally.
I’ve learned to accept that exchange. A few hours of freedom and pretending life was normal in exchange for increased pain. It became worth it because I knew I needed those few hours to survive. It stopped being a punishment and became an acceptable compromise for the benefit of my mental wellbeing.
Then there’s the hope that nothing stays the same forever. Finding the strength within me to fight the system and get the treatment I deserve and the strength to continue fighting. Hope has kept me going even though I’ve often thought I had none. But I knew deep inside that while I didn’t want to live like this any longer I also knew that if I kept fighting I might be rewarded the chance of having a life again. That’s what I hope this treatment will give me. A chance, no matter how small, of a life worth living.
Part of me does fear what would happen if this treatment doesn’t work but I’ve survived this far by telling myself to ‘trust the reroute’. That’s been my inner motto all this time. I have to trust that there is purpose in my suffering, that it is part of my journey to the life I am supposed to have. Because from my suffering there has been great personal growth and finding. I feel like I’ve truly started to find who I am, my core values and my core personality and beliefs. From this I believe I have stronger foundations to build a life that is true to me on the other side of my suffering. So I must also believe that there is a life after my suffering.