Today is a brand new day. I know this because outside the rain is busy washing away all my hurt, shame, and misery from my yesterday. Besides that conrete proof, I am doing this thing called "Blogging". I haven't blogged in years and the thought of failing at it is frightening me. I am slowly starting to realize, though, that I cannot fail at this. It isn't possible to fail because I'm doing this for me. If not a single other set of eyes see this but mine for as long as its here I won't be upset. I'm doing this for my health. There is something very, incredibly healing about writing. Everything that I wish to say but haven't or couldn't can flow out of me like there's no tomorrow and it feels so...Precious. The truth is I would have done this a lot sooner but I have a tendency to put things off. Hours, days, months... Years, at a time. It makes me sick to my stomach to know this is what I've become. But Lyme Disease will do that. It will seize and destroy. It will control every last inch of you, and all that you are. It will rein over you and laugh in your face. It will be prominent in every last little aspect of your life. It will day after day, try to take the last of you; what's left of you. It will steal your independence, your freedom, your perspective of life. So quickly will any positive be taken away, and sooner than later negativity moves on in. And it all happens so quickly, you wont even know what hit you non the less where your life and the old you has gone. Or in some cases, where they are hiding. So, I've learned over the years to become a soldier, and to fight for what makes me, me. Or at least what's left of me. I am at battle. A constant battle at that. And every ounce of power, of territory, that I gain over the enemy, is usually to be won back ten fold soon after my victory. Sometimes I lay on my bedroom floor crying, paralyzed in agony, thinking: "What is this life?". Other times I find paper and pen, or in this case my phone, and create beautiful words. Pain filled, tired words. Angry words. Happy words. It doesn't matter. Because its all beautiful and valid to me once I can see it and read it. There is always so much I have to say. And there is always not so many people around to hear it or care. Im learning to accept that there may never be anybody to shelter me and cry with me more than I. Nobody to listen to me and really Hear me, more than I. Nobody in my immediate world to understand me like I do. Nobody who will truthfully take the time out to even try. Sometimes, I categorize even my boyfriend, the closest one to me, in this category. And as much as I don't like it, I need to accept it. He has his own life, his own problems. I am stuck and he is not. And that isn't his fault. I am realizing that Its ok to be angry at it, the situation, but not at him, the person. He doesn't understand why I am clingy and needy and sometimes so small and that's OK because he will potentially never fully understand something he has never been through. There is his normal and there is my normal, and I think that all I can really hope to do is to someday build a bridge between the two of our normals, connecting us, and freeing us both from the others criticism and judgment. Until then, though, I must nap. For napping helps me to keep my sanity these days!
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