I wonder how long a person can grieve before it is no longer acceptable. Who declares what is and what isn’t acceptable when it comes to how a person deals with loss, anyway? I go through stages every single day where I’m trying to find the balance between moving on and acceptance. I can’t seem to do either of the two. All I can manage is the dwelling. I dwell on the past life I lost; I dwell on the abilities, the dreams, the plans, the goals that I lost. I dwell on the parts of me that will never be the same. I sit and analyze for hours trying to discover the internal parts of me that are different and how. I’m down one day and then lifted the next by the reminder I send myself that
every bleed is different, every reaction and response is different, every recovery is different.
How long is a “safe” period of time to grieve over these losses and how many more days must I remind myself that, “hey, you’re different, Kt and no one can predict the path your recovery will follow,” before I can live life without having to be reminded at all?
I am also confused by this recovery. I mean, it’s been over 2 years and I’m still recovering? I know it can take years and years for some but how will I know when I’m recovered? Will I ever “fully” recover? When will I reach the point when I can look at myself – whether inward or via outer reflection, and be able to declare confidently that I am, in fact, recovered? Sure, I can make it a whole day without napping now but I am still exhausted and am grasping tightly my ability to close my eyes and sleep pretty much on demand throughout the day because…just in case I desperately need that nap. Will that ever pass? Will I always be tired the rest of my life? Will I always be so easily confused by things? Will I always be so distracted? People that have known me for a long while may ask me in return, “Have you ever not been so easily distracted?”
When will I stop gauging the quality of my progress by the progress of others? I look at Gabby Giffords and even Malala, both shot in the head (much more serious incidents than my minor brain bleed) and with the ability to overcome adversity and challenges they face since their traumas in the public eye and then I look at myself with shame as I hide in my house afraid for society to see me. I’m afraid of embarrassing my kids one day in their [very near] futures. Children take the brunt of the publics shameful views of those left with one type of deficit/disability or another. I’m not a very positive person and yet I try to tell myself how proud my boys may one day be of me…if I can get to a point where I can give them something to be proud of.
How do I get out of my house?
I don’t have an answer!!! I try so hard and I get nowhere. I don’t want to be closeted up like an out-of-date sweater you secretly love but are too afraid to wear outside where everyone could see you actually lack taste and style but at least you’re comfortable? That’s not even a good analogy because I’m never comfortable!
I think, I’m not sure, but I think I may be ready for the next phase of my never-ending recovery. I don’t have a clue what the next phase is but I think I’m ready to try to enter it, maybe actually face it. I’ll know I’m at the end of this tunnel when I can leave my house without planning for it a week in advance or can do so on a weekend. What to do in between now and then and how I get there safely is an answer looming in the dark just out of reach. I suppose I’ll locate my switch to the light of my tunnel eventually. I just need to pack some extra hope for this next section of my journey…
Anyone know where I can order some extra hope?