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Late night ramblings again. Awaiting a late night call from BC that never came. Girl time got the best of her and who could blame her?
I sit here late at night, exhausted and yet I cannot sleep. I'm lonely. There are so many people around me and yet I feel quite alone. I have a house. It's waiting for me in a tree laden neighbourhood near my BFF who is adding to her successes by beginning a new career. Erick will be gearing up to apply into the available jobs for paramedic in the GTA regions. It is imperative that he gets it. I've prepped, preened, massaged and bought a digital experience called the Fire Starter Sessions to light a fire of confidence under him. All this pressure, to tie us down further. Instead of going off to live our lives.
I have a sewing machine now. I knit. I've joined a writing group. I have been given the all clear to rehab like crazy to get my mobility back. I have a house that has a ton that needs doing. Painting. Cushions. I have to pack. The chance to wean stuff out. Get rid of junk that clutters. So much to do. So why the atrophy?
Everything is so confusing and yet it doesn't have to be. I go on in this life that seems to have appeared before me and everything is easy. All I have to do is get better.
I feel better physically. Mentally, that's another story. My psycologist is AWOL. She said her report would take awhile but this is getting ridiculous. Why rip away a bandage only to leave the wound festering, when you are expected to help promote healing from the inside, applying a soohing balm when necessary
I miss who I was. I miss her with all my heart. She was such a fighter. She strove for excellence. She had such a vision. She was on the brink of realizing her dreams, which she built herself, from the ground up. I never thought it was possible for one to break their own heart. Maybe this is what growing up means.
I was so close. I could taste it. I know that this grieving process is natural, has to unfold. Maybe that is the essence of what recovery means. Laid bare, stripped of one's identity, not whole. To recover is to develop a new self out of the wreckage. To cover one's self in a new identity, created from the inside out.
I have a headache and my cat is whining. Bed time. My meds can go down after today.