Feeling Better Is Hard

I've been healthy ish now for months. I haven't had to count spoons (Google spoon theory if you're confused). I haven't had to take naps. I haven't been completely exhausted at ether end of an uninspiring day.

And I don't know how to handle it. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the sickness to rear its ugly head again and take my life down to a series of minuscule challenges that keep me from accomplishing what I truly want.

And I'm so scared that it will come back, that it will come back with a vengeance and take double toll on me for all the fun and good times I've been having, that it will come back twice as badly and make me regret pushing my limits.

I have been sick 7 years. So I guess a few months of relief just isn't enough for me to settle into this "healthy" ness.

I didn't know how much I was lying when I said I was feeling better for the past 7 years. I hope you'll forgive me. I truly didn't know how wrong I was. I was so, so sick. Hurting. Beyond desperate. And this? This is almost worse. It's not a battle I can fight, against all odds, to win. It's ...daily life. Accessible daily life. Eating and sleeping and pooping and breathing. Grocery shopping and keeping my room organized.

How much easier to fight, when your options are limited and you are up against all the odds.

Now my only enemy is my memory, my self-preservation developed over years of terror. The journey to balance started already, and I'm slowly realizing what that means.