In A Healing Pattern

I’m staring at a blank page and a blinking curser. It’s mocking me or silently judging my typing abilities. Are you going to write something? Anything? Tippy-type away, my dear.

Why did I open this document? What made me think this was a good idea? I don’t have anything to say. I’m blank. There are no words or thoughts or anything resembling reason. Why did I think this was a good idea?

Uh, boredom, mostly, with a touch of self-inflicted guilt and a dash of, ”Get off your ass and do something!” Anything at all will do. Stop sitting here, feeling sorry for yourself, and do something that makes you smile.

And what would that be? I don’t know. Stop being a lazy expletive-filled so-and-so.

Wow, that was a bit harsh of me, but perhaps there’s some truth to it. I have been feeling sorry for myself. I’m not saying that I haven’t earned this pity party. This last year has been incredibly painful in so many ways. Physically, and mentally, and don’t get me started on spiritually. 

So much has happened, and I seem to have misplaced myself, who I am, who I wanted to be when this year started. I feel so out of sync that I don’t know what to do with myself. Does that make sense?

Have you ever lost yourself? You stand in front of the mirror, and you don’t recognize the person staring back at you. That face, those eyes, the shoulders tense yet dejected. Who is she? Damn, she looks wrecked. You might even say she’s gone through hell and hasn’t found her way out yet.

Does anyone else feel that way?

I don’t want to live in the past too long— I’m not too keen on the present either— so let’s get the recap done in short order. I had a kidney transplant 17 years ago, and at the beginning of this year, my body started rejecting it. There are treatments, thankfully, but they’re awful. The side effects are brutal, and it just destroys the body. There were moments when I genuinely questioned if wanted to live at all. Is this really worth it?

It takes months, and there are always complications. At least, I always find the most obscure ones on the list. When you read it, it starts with the most common and goes down to the least. I tell my doctors to start at the bottom because that’s most likely to occur. If it says, “In rare cases…” that’s me, I’m gonna be the rare case.

The treatment for rejection involves shutting down my immune system and slowly restarting it. That means, until it’s working again, I’m at the mercy of any infection that comes a little too close. Which is why I ended up in hospital with sepsis. That’s an infection in the blood. Fun times. Not at all life-threatening. Yes, I’m being sarcastic.

Oh, and while all of this is going on, my dog died. My sweet, beautiful, kind, loving…My reason for getting up and fighting was gone. And that’s all I’m gonna say on that because I don’t want to start crying right now.

Deep exhale, and here we are, sitting together in this moment, wondering why I’m saying anything. Whew.

At least the page is a little less blank, and I’ve done something with myself. I didn’t spend the last thirty minutes looking out my window or watching another mindless video on one of those apps. I haven’t doom scrolled, daydreamed, or been an overall useless lump.

Progress?

Physically, yes, there’s been some progress. I’m feeling better, and my strength is coming back. My numbers have improved. They’ve even been pretty stable for a couple of months in a row. On a medical level? Things seem to be going in the right direction.

Knock on wood. Spin eight times and spit into a northern wind. What other superstitions should I employ? Throw salt over my shoulder. Is it the right or the left? Damn it, I don’t remember which one it is, and I can’t jinx myself.

Mentally though… Uh, can you tell?

I heard someone say that they were clinically alive but emotionally dead inside. Humorous, yes, and it comes close to describing my current situation. Except, I think I’m currently feeling all the emotions. Everything. All at once. It’s noisy and overwhelming. I can’t even begin to identify any of them, but they are a sign of life.

A life that has stalled out?

I was going to say, or complain, that my life has been in a holding pattern for months. Out of necessity when it came to the treatments. Self-inflicted when it came to my recovery. The latter is something I have more control over, but the thought of healing has added to the overwhelm.

Healing is a choice we make when we’re ready to move forward, and I’m not sure I’m ready yet. Or, healing looks different than it has in the past. Does it look different every time we find ourselves living through or transitioning out of traumatic situations?

This isn’t my first ride on this malfunctioning roller coaster we call life. I usually square my shoulders, look straight head, and put one foot in front of the other. If I keep moving forward, I can leave the worst behind me. A stiff upper lip approach to life, I suppose.

My British ancestors would be so proud.

This time, I haven’t been able to shrug it off and keep going. I’ve had no desire to do it or even try. I’ve sat down and stayed down. I’ve fallen and I can’t get up. How’s that for a throwback, eh? 

Of course, I’ve chastised myself plenty for not sucking it up. God knows I’ve been through a hell of a lot worse, and I’ve done more with less, but this time has been different. I was blindsided. The warning signs weren’t obvious. All I had was a gut feeling telling me that this year would suck, but damn, I was not prepared for it to suck this much.

These last couple of months, I’ve thought about writing, going out, and picking up my life where I left it, but I can’t. It feels too hard and too heavy. Getting out of bed is a challenge. Showering, eating, the bare bones basics of life take all of my energy. Again, I call myself names because I know I should do better, but I can’t.

Than again…

As I type these words, I wonder if I’ve been doing exactly what I needed. Not the name-calling and the self-flagellation. I need to stop being so hard on myself. No, I need this time to be still and catch my breath.

I called it a holding pattern, but I think it’s been more of a grieving and healing pattern. I’ve been sitting in these very uncomfortable emotions. Of course, I tried distractions, but these feelings have been too overbearing. I thought about numbing out with some old bad habits, but I resisted, and I sat in the grief, the pain, and the emotional exhaustion.

Instead of the hurry-up and move-on approach, I’m doing something different. Not intentionally, but necessity has taken over. I have been too tired to move, too sad to try, and too overwhelmed to know where to begin, so I’ve been waiting. And waiting. Then I’ve done some more of waiting.

Waiting for what? I’m not sure. I’ll know it when I see it?

Perhaps this newfound boredom is a good sign. Maybe I’m slowly transitioning from the stillness phase of healing to a more proactive one. The emphasis is on the slow because I don’t feel like I need or want to rush. Pushing too hard too fast would, most likely, be a mistake.

No, my steps are small and timid. I don’t trust my body, and I certainly don’t trust life or the Great and Powerful It. They’re tricksters, and I’ve got a weary gaze set on both of them. I see you smirking in the shadows. Leave me be for the time being, please. You’ve both done more than enough.

I guess the point of these words is a simple one. Healing looks different for everyone, and it can be different every time we’re tasked with it. A kind neighbour told me the other day, “It’s okay to go easy on yourself. You’ve been through a lot.” So I’m heeding her sound advice and moving forward with trepidation.

Screw confidence and bravery. Forget about being the strong one. I’m timid, scared, and tired, but I went for a walk this morning. I’m writing these words now. That’s progress or an attempt, at least.