I’m a crapty nurse, working nights.
I’d call myself fortunate, but I don’t know. I forced myself out the house and worked hard in school, despite my shortcomings, telling myself I’d fail all the while. I didn’t fail, somehow. Will and good fortune.
I wouldn’t say I’m healed either. I can make sentences and move around. I’m not amazing critical-thinker with a rock-steady memory. I don’t work in a high-stress environment either. I would not trust myself working in ED, ICU, or psych. That’s what is nice about
nursing: there can be different options as far as setting, and not all of them are these high intensity situations, like you’d see on TV.
I’m not the worst, but my health is definitely on uncertain grounds. I require treatment from multiple angles to get better. Though, the issue is finding the time and money. But, yeah. I don’t know. I’m divided on how to word it.
My symptoms have always been largely neurological, the mental, and spiritual. I’m fortunate in that my mobility hasn’t gone (yet). But, on the other hand, it has been 10 years, I’m still relatively young, and I can’t afford to not live a “normal” life. Maybe I’m in a little better health, but maybe I’ve also had to adapt and live with what I’ve got? I get down, days worse than the rest, but I’ve put pressures on myself that I can’t skip out on, whether due to financial reasons or just personal, like work or school (screw being a dropout, Lyme already made me do that once). I went through the terrified at every symptom, struggling to find the answers, giving up on life once I did and realized the gravity, not showering or going outside sort of phase, which I feel is an understandable and even necessary part of it.
Though, speaking of adapting to it, I’ve been having a lot of trouble lately accepting things, because I don’t feel this is my life’s purpose. I used to have such a voice for writing, but I’m not in tune with it anymore. I haven’t been since I got sick. Though, these past couple years, there’s been a growing urge inside of me to make something, but I can’t say what. I just feel it, swelling. It feels trapped. It’s so uncomfortable. I’m always thinking about
Compromise is a part of life. Sometimes, you’ve got to settle. Give your dreams every shot you’ve got, but things are unfair, there will always be limitations, and that’s just a given. Plus, it could always be worse, I tel myself.
I realize those things. Though, it’s difficult not to complain. It’s hard not to feel like I’m wasting my potential, being of this brain and body. My spirit, or, you know, the underlying currents of whatever it is that make up my personality, they have so much more to offer. You understand, I’m sure.
Oh well. I’ll probably live another year. Maybe 10. You keep telling yourself, “you’ll get better, your fire will return,” but you never really know. Feels like I’m wasting time.
Post Edited (NotQuiteAntonio) : 9/16/2018 4:24:58 PM (GMT-6)