its all about me

This past weekend has been quite interesting. I have managed to stay busy and enjoy myself for the most part knowing that I was contending with some serious health issues. This is not to downplay my forgetfulness of the meaning of the term: feeling normal, but actually I have not tended to my bronchitis, physical need, instead pretending it did not exist unless asked or mentioning it to a select few that needed to know as they are kept abreast of my health status regularly.

Unfortunately my lack of concentration to that before me and choosing to look the other direction has created internal havoc for which I possibly may pay a heavy price. And tonight when I should be talking about recovery I am writing about the consequences of my own inactions as I slowly watch my stomach distend, temporarily I hope, knowing the thought of my system not draining fluid is a further sign of the advanced deterioration I am and have been experiencing for several weeks now.

I was warned and told what I needed to do medically and REST was at the top of the list. I chose to avoid the warnings, pretend reality was not what it is and do it my way, ending up exhausted, physically doing too much and certainly, not resting but instead watching Ashley Marie rest, I 'climbing a mountain with heavy gear alone' per say and as a result, tonight more than other nights I sit in a pool of sweat generated out of my own fear for not following the advise given, understood and discarded.

So I have to ask myself, for now is as good a time as any, if possibly I am playing a game of self mutilation consciously and subconsciously as I approach the two year mark of having moved to Dallas, living with my parents. Being presented with questions as to whether the physicians have misdiagnosed and assumptions that I am creating this illness out of spite have painted an ugly picture in my mind, deflated me emotionally and hurt. I know I do not have a death wish nor do I enjoy what I experience on a daily basis, however; the comments, surprising comments with possible malice or pure stupidity in asking has made me want, at brief times and for brief moments, to have this life end as the doubters, the critics I am giving power to would be forever silenced realizing that would be my fate as well only my silence is permanent as I know the end to be just that for this life, this plain, this journey.

I quickly paint my face with warrior colors knowing I must fight as I have created, somewhat, my predicament out of pure frustration and an inability to channel my hurt away from self hatred and toward something positive. So as I write I know the importance in change and changing immediately, distancing myself from anything other than that which makes me thrive, selfishly or otherwise so I may continue living longer. So my world turns lonely as it has been only this is my choice as it is the only option I have before me. Concentrate on me, healing my lungs or suffer the fate I have been writing about for sometime now, the good and the bad, knowing the importance of people having an understanding and compassion for those like me, living with a terminal illness and the failure to know or simply not wanting to know creates so much unwanted isolation, questions of self worth and lessons the ability one has to fight as I look and hear myself say, 'what am I fighting for?' when their have been and continue to be disbelievers and one is enough to want to quit.

So I no longer will apologize if I distance myself to protect the only thing I have left that matters and is sacred,
me.