Body Over Mind

It's eight thirty and the sun has set, but it's still light. I started my dishwasher before coming outside to enjoy the last bit of gloaming, after which I'll go back in to make spring rolls for dinner. But right now, I'm sitting on the top landing of the outside stairwell in my apartment building, my legs dangling down the first two steps and my computer on my lap. The air would make anything more than a tank top and shorts sweat, but in my gray spaghetti straps and the red shorts with beaded minnows I got for my birthday, I feel great. I feel like the air and I are the same temperature, like we flow in and out of each other without causing more than a light breeze, like I don't know where I end and the world begins. No mosquitoes bother me since they don't have any in Colorado, one thing I don't miss about home. As I take a sip of wine from the glass sitting next to me, warming slightly in the outside air, I reflect on my day.

I went to my first career counseling session today. Of course, I was half an hour late because of horrible traffic and missed the first half of it, but it didn't seem that I missed much since I just stayed after to complete the Strong Interests (or something like that) test. Thirty minutes of multiple choice questions, covering my job interests, my interpersonal skills, what kinds of activities I enjoy and various job environment preferences. A twelve dollar processing fee later, I was on my way. I didn't learn any deep truths about myself, but that wasn't really the point - today was mostly a meet and greet.

I rolled down the windows in my car and blasted angry girl music to drown out my thoughts. It's been four and a half months since my surgeries, but they still permeate my life. I never imagined that I would feel plagued by recovery for this long. Why am I still so tired all of the time? Why do I still get headaches almost every day? When I lie on my couch with a cold pack on my forehead or have to go home early because the Tylenol isn't working, I feel like a let-down. If I'm not letting myself down for failing to accomplish much of anything in a day, I'm letting down my parents for not having a job yet, or my pilates class for not being able to go upside down, or my friends for having to retreat from loud noises, crowded spaces and prolonged conversation. Is it me? Am I just lazy and looking for an excuse? A cop out? Do I just need to be given special treatment and attention? Those are the thoughts that make me hate myself. The voice inside of me that answers yes to each one makes me feel worse and worse about myself. The stubborn streak comes back and yells at me that I'm not trying hard enough. Body be damned, I clearly just don't have the will. This is the part where I have to stop myself. I can't just say, "body be damned", because I spent the last eight months trying to fix my body. I cannot put that in jeopardy just because I'm feeling bad. I worked too hard to get where I am now to throw that away, even if it would mean appeasing my family, my friends and myself. No. It's not worth it. I'm healing, all of this is okay, it's normal. I'm not making up excuses. I don't know how long it will take me to heal, but I can't rush it. Not after all I went through. I'm seizure-free, and I won't give that up.