The past couple of weeks have been tough on me. Well, longer than that actually. Ever since earlier this year when I found out I would be moving again, I've been going through my things packed away in the basement. It's been tougher than I thought. I see pieces of the woman I used to be throughout my boxes and bins. Old pictures of me. And various other things. Seeing pictures of myself is the hardest though. Seeing who I was before I got sick 11 years ago. Before this intruder took over my body.
The pictures from the cruise my sister and I were on, in January of 99' is the hardest to look at. That's where the wound runs deep. It was the last big thing I did before my world got turned upside down that March. Before my body turned against me.
I see that woman in the pictures and my heart aches. 'Cause I'm not her anymore. I'm not that woman who's alive and vibrant. Life radiating out of her. So happy. You look in my eyes and they were alive. They popped. I enjoyed life and it showed.
Its difficult to find a picture where I wasn't smiling. My face beaming. Oh, I do have pictures where I'm not smiling. For instance the photo shoot I had done of me by a lake. And there are others. But even if I wasn't smiling, you could see life in my eyes. They spoke volumes when words weren't needed.
But after I got sick, it was as if someone turned the light off in me. I changed. I was no longer vibrant and alive. I felt like death, and it showed. I didn't have a reason to smile anymore. And if I did, it certainly didn't reach my eyes. When you looked in my eyes, you saw defeat. Fear. Loneliness. I had given up on life, since so many others had given up on me.
I'd look at the reflection in the mirror and wonder who that woman was staring back at me. There was no life in my eyes. No joy. Just emptiness. I didn't recognize myself anymore. I had changed. And I didn't like this new me. I hated this woman staring back. Because the moment she took over, I was gone. Just like that. It wasn't a gradual thing. I didn't slowly fade away over time. It was immediate. One minute I'm there, and then the next I was gone. And all I wanted was my life back. To be the woman I once was again. I wanted it all the way it was. I wanted my job back. My friends. My family. My life.
As the months turned into years, I just didn't care anymore. I didn't care if I lived or died. If one day I just wasted away. For those first couple of years, I rarely left the house. The only time I did was for doctors' appointments, numerous trips to the ER, or for more tests. Occasionally to get together with a family member. I had given up. Quite a few doctors' had given up on me, so I figured I might as well too. What was the point of fighting anymore?
On year three a friend of the family pretty much slapped me upside the head and said I needed to fight. I needed to live my life again. I couldn't stay locked away in my room anymore. I needed to move to a different location. Even if it was as far as the living room. But I needed to see more than the four walls in my bedroom. I needed to find a reason to live. To get up everyday. I needed to dream again.
Slowly I started to fight for my life again. Started to care what happened to me. Having two puppies to take care of gave me a reason to get up everyday. I had someone I needed to take care of. Who needed me. And I found where I needed them too. They made me laugh. Smile. They comforted me when I was sad. Sat in my lap when I cried. Laid next to me in bed when I was hurting.
Even inspite of trying to live again, go out with family or friends just for a little while, I didn't like this new me. Couldn't get over the fact that I wasn't the same anymore. For the longest time I didn't like looking at pictures of this new me. Hated it. Just because I didn't look like myself anymore. I didn't see life in my eyes. Not to mention it took a lot to get me to smile. And when I did, it never reached my eyes. And I hated it. It made me sad. Made my heart break for something that I could no longer have. My life back. I wanted ME back. All I wanted was for this intruder to go away so I could have my body back again. To be the same as I was before. But as the years went on, I realized that it never would be again. That I would never be the same again. And it broke my heart.
I grieve over the life I had. Over the woman I once was. It truly is a death. My death. On March 9th, 1999, I died and an imposter took over. So I grieve over all that I have lost. Cry over the loss of my life. And especially over the woman I once was. I grieve. I ache. And I long for what I can't have with every breath in me. I long to be the woman I was, alive and free, instead of just this shell of the woman I once was.
The pictures from the cruise my sister and I were on, in January of 99' is the hardest to look at. That's where the wound runs deep. It was the last big thing I did before my world got turned upside down that March. Before my body turned against me.
I see that woman in the pictures and my heart aches. 'Cause I'm not her anymore. I'm not that woman who's alive and vibrant. Life radiating out of her. So happy. You look in my eyes and they were alive. They popped. I enjoyed life and it showed.
Its difficult to find a picture where I wasn't smiling. My face beaming. Oh, I do have pictures where I'm not smiling. For instance the photo shoot I had done of me by a lake. And there are others. But even if I wasn't smiling, you could see life in my eyes. They spoke volumes when words weren't needed.
But after I got sick, it was as if someone turned the light off in me. I changed. I was no longer vibrant and alive. I felt like death, and it showed. I didn't have a reason to smile anymore. And if I did, it certainly didn't reach my eyes. When you looked in my eyes, you saw defeat. Fear. Loneliness. I had given up on life, since so many others had given up on me.
I'd look at the reflection in the mirror and wonder who that woman was staring back at me. There was no life in my eyes. No joy. Just emptiness. I didn't recognize myself anymore. I had changed. And I didn't like this new me. I hated this woman staring back. Because the moment she took over, I was gone. Just like that. It wasn't a gradual thing. I didn't slowly fade away over time. It was immediate. One minute I'm there, and then the next I was gone. And all I wanted was my life back. To be the woman I once was again. I wanted it all the way it was. I wanted my job back. My friends. My family. My life.
As the months turned into years, I just didn't care anymore. I didn't care if I lived or died. If one day I just wasted away. For those first couple of years, I rarely left the house. The only time I did was for doctors' appointments, numerous trips to the ER, or for more tests. Occasionally to get together with a family member. I had given up. Quite a few doctors' had given up on me, so I figured I might as well too. What was the point of fighting anymore?
On year three a friend of the family pretty much slapped me upside the head and said I needed to fight. I needed to live my life again. I couldn't stay locked away in my room anymore. I needed to move to a different location. Even if it was as far as the living room. But I needed to see more than the four walls in my bedroom. I needed to find a reason to live. To get up everyday. I needed to dream again.
Slowly I started to fight for my life again. Started to care what happened to me. Having two puppies to take care of gave me a reason to get up everyday. I had someone I needed to take care of. Who needed me. And I found where I needed them too. They made me laugh. Smile. They comforted me when I was sad. Sat in my lap when I cried. Laid next to me in bed when I was hurting.
Even inspite of trying to live again, go out with family or friends just for a little while, I didn't like this new me. Couldn't get over the fact that I wasn't the same anymore. For the longest time I didn't like looking at pictures of this new me. Hated it. Just because I didn't look like myself anymore. I didn't see life in my eyes. Not to mention it took a lot to get me to smile. And when I did, it never reached my eyes. And I hated it. It made me sad. Made my heart break for something that I could no longer have. My life back. I wanted ME back. All I wanted was for this intruder to go away so I could have my body back again. To be the same as I was before. But as the years went on, I realized that it never would be again. That I would never be the same again. And it broke my heart.
I grieve over the life I had. Over the woman I once was. It truly is a death. My death. On March 9th, 1999, I died and an imposter took over. So I grieve over all that I have lost. Cry over the loss of my life. And especially over the woman I once was. I grieve. I ache. And I long for what I can't have with every breath in me. I long to be the woman I was, alive and free, instead of just this shell of the woman I once was.
No comments:
Post a Comment