Why I’ve Not Been Here

In short, it’s because I’m not sure how to turn toward day anymore.  I’m not sure how to be “positive” anymore.

First of all, I didn’t end up having my surgery.  The weekend before my surgery, my doctor’s working partner was hit by a car while jogging, and though he was expected to survive, my doctor was then in charge of getting to all of his partner’s patients as well as his own.  They postponed my surgery, which I was perfectly fine with…and then they never called back to reschedule, and a few other folks called me and talked to me as if my surgery had already taken place.  There were a few more problems with that practice, some strange handling and some stuff that smacked of unprofessionalism, so I just decided not to bother trying to get them to handle my surgery since I was uncomfortable and wary anyway.

Then I began to suffer more symptoms in March like I had back in December and January.  Let me put it this way:  I woke up in several situations which would make the horse head scene in The Godfather look like Sesame Street.  I went through another period of anemia and feeling generally like bug guts on a windshield, which I’m still recovering from even now, but at least now I’m not losing volumes of blood every time I move the wrong way.  I don’t know when that horrible bleeding will start back up, either–which has been a constant worry on my mind for the last 4 years.  I am going to see a new specialist at the end of May, which I’m very very hopeful about since she’s apparently one of the best in the region, if not the country.

The other weight on my mind has been grief.  It will be a year tomorrow since Mom’s passing, and though I am so glad she has found eternal rest and relief from that awful pain and illness she suffered through, my relief does not quite override the ache in my heart.  There are times it’s like I lost her 5 years ago, and other times it’s like I lost her 5 days ago.  My heart is easily ripped open to bleeding again, just like my body.  I cry easily and I am moved by the smallest poignant things.  Most days I just want to stay home and away from everyone so I don’t burden them with these wildly swinging emotions, but I’m also an extrovert (well, at least I thought I was), and I know I’ll be better for being around people.   But these days I get so tired just trying to be around others, because I feel so burdened to be “positive” and “upbeat” all the blasted time.

That’s honestly the last reason I haven’t written for a while.  How am I supposed to write on a blog about “positivity” when I’m drained even past the point of crying?  How am I supposed to be “uplifting” and “encouraging” when I’ve literally spent the day on Netflix,  Youtube, and mindless games, struggling to escape the sinkhole that has opened beneath me?  How am I supposed to be an “example” to anyone when even getting myself bathed costs too much mental money?  I used to wake up with millions of dollars in my mental bank account, and now I wake up feeling like I got hit by a bus and someone stole my wallet.  I’ve never been necessarily a perma-chipper, cheerful person–I feel things too strongly for that–but now I am made to feel that if I am not chipper and cheerful, I’m some failure of an adult, or that “I’m just not trying hard enough,” or that I “chose to live this way.”  Every bit of advice I get or read shames me.  No matter how hard I’m trying, no matter how much effort I put in, it’s not enough if I’m not handling it all while wearing a sparkly Miss America smile.

I am sick of being told I’m “making excuses,” that I should “get over it,” and that I’m a “bad person” for feeling as I do.  I spent too long believing that junk, believing the world would be better off if I was dead because I was so incapable of meeting its ridiculous demand of “positivity.”  Now I will not be convinced I am bad, inferior, making excuses, refusing to get over whatever “it” is, etc.  I am surviving day to day on a stubborn spark of existence that has somehow rebuffed every attempt at snuffing, and I’ll be damned if anybody is going to crush it now, not when I’ve only just found out it’s still there and still burning.  This might not be the world’s preferred brand of positivity, but it’s all I’ve got and all I’ve ever had–a defiant sense of self and a refusal to bend to what others want me to be anymore.

I know this isn’t my typical post and I’m sorry for that.  But it is truthful, and completely germane to my experiences right now.