What? I have a blog? Oh yeah, I guess I could log on and write something sometimes!
The truth is that I've been in a pissy mood all week -- and what is it they say? If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say nothin' at all. Of course, I reserve the right to be a complaining, uptight bitch anytime I want! It's my blog after all... but I somehow don't feel much like sitting down to type it out when all I have to say is bah.
First of all, I've been busier than a one-legged man in a butt kicking contest. And that's partly because I apparently must now sleep for 9+ hours per day and fart around for another hour (at least) in the morning to be functional. And I've just been tired. I'm tired all the time, it seems. Definitely still hypo. Not as bad as when I had NO medicine in me at all, that was really hell. For one thing, I don't have the energy for my workouts. And my muscles get more sore, it seems, and it takes them longer to recover than before.
[On a tangent here, I was thinking grim thoughts and realized that without taking any thyroid hormone, I was pretty much DYING. I mean, it probably would have taken months before I would go into a coma or anything, but I would die without thyroid hormone... eventually. Ok, moving on...]
I'm tired of being sick. And I'm sick of being tired. I'm just sick and tired!!! Aargh! It's so frustrating because I look pretty normal, and I just want it all to be behind me already.
On the workout front, not much has been happening. I worked out a whole two times last week. Pathetic. It's part of my undoing - I start to fall apart when I don't exercise. I've been running some. It's sub-optimal, to say the least. My heart is just working so hard and I'm not running that fast, which means it's difficult to carry on for very long. Mostly my runs consist of moments when I feel ok, just ok, and moments when I am FREAKING THE HECK OUT BECAUSE OH MY LORD HOW AM I EVER GOING TO BE READY TO RUN TEN MILES IN LESS THAN EIGHT WEEKS. Which does not help the heart rate, I can tell you. Plus, it is really stinking cold here, people. It's going to be in the low 20s for a high all week. And I absolutely abhor running outdoors in the dark in the morning in those frigid temperatures. I abhor it just slightly more than I abhor running on the Dreadmill, which means that I run on the Dreadmill. And there is no joy in that, people. No joy.
I can report that I ran yesterday and it did not go too poorly. It was sunny and 32 degrees. Perfect weather for a Saturday winter jog. And my heart rate stayed around 158, which was happy. Evidently I can keep it close to normal as long as I maintain 10-11 mph on a flat surface. I saw something curious on the trail that sent me into a brooding pensiveness. There was a woman walking along, outside on the trail, for exercise, while reading a book. A large hard-cover novel. Strange. That's not the first time I've seen that in this city. I'll never forget the first time I saw someone on their lunch break downtown, strolling along a busy city street reading a book. I've seen people clearly headed somewhere - with a determined stride - on a busy sidewalk reading the paper or a novel. But this is the first time I've seen someone on the trail doing it. I have to just say, can't this city just chill the heck out? For five minutes?! Heck.
Part of my depressive, ass-dragging, bitter mood is probably caused by the fact that I'm now starting to deal with some of the emotional/spiritual repercussions of a cancer diagnosis, and everything I've been through in the last few months. Sometimes it's completely overwhelming. I've said before that cancer is a thief, and it continues to prove itself such. The latest in the list of things it has thieved away from me is my identity. My sense of self and purpose and direction. All that went up in the wind on October 19, when I found out I had cancer, and it's still swirling around up above me. I haven't had much chance to think about it while I've been going through all the immediate life-saving stuff. But now that that's over, I'm left with all these holes and pieces of my self and my life and I just haven't quite figured out how it all fits together anymore. There are holes that never will be filled, and some broken things will never be fixed, and some pieces just don't seem to belong anymore. It's not like I sit here and wonder specifically, who am I in this world? It's far more subtle than that. I feel like I'm just going through the motions of my former life, waiting for something. What does all that mean to me now? I'm just not sure. My perspective is so changed and shifted, and I'm still so dizzy from it, that I can't see the path ahead, or if I'm still on the same path, or even in the same forest.
Why do I do any of the things I do each day? What matters to me? How do I want to spend my time, my precious time, each precious minute? How do I want my life to look? There are many many moments when I just want out. I want to get away from this city, this rat race, this void of politicians and self-important people, this never-ending stream of demands and developments. Sometimes it seems so ... absurd. I feel like I'm standing still, submersed in water even, while the world rushes around me, absurdly, uselessly, wastefully. I just want to get away from it. I want a more quiet place. A more beautiful place. A less paved place. I want more laughter and joy, more adventure. If I thought I could find a job even half as interesting as what I do now, I would split in a second - back to the west, to the mountains and the desert. Near my family.
Sometimes I just want to not have to BE so much anymore. Not have to be so smart, and have so much information, or the answer. Not have to be going here and there, not have to eat just so or be awake or be interested or interesting. Sometimes everything seems so tiresome.
And I feel like a stranger in my own skin. This scar, which I see every time I look in the mirror. Purply red still. Forever there now. It makes me want to throw up sometimes when I see it and I think about it. And it hurts, in the morning especially. Tender like a fresh burn. It wakes me up sometimes. It will be there on my wedding day- a little smile reminding me of where I've been. Yes, I think about that, and feel sad about it sometimes too. And this body, which does not want to work as well as it once did - I feel too young to be broken. I feel jealous in the gym when everyone is pushing through their workouts and I have to stop every five minutes so I don't pass out. I want my body back - I want to trade in this ever-softening, weak, sad body. And I think of all the things this body has to carry me through in the future and I feel scared for it. Pregnancy someday... how will I get through that?! Will it just be a challenge instead of a joy as I always imagined it would? And don't even get me started thinking about all the follow-up and possible recurrences and retreatments and all... I will become a nervous wreck!!
So... that's pretty much all I've got to say. Not a whole lot positive - there's a lot of stewing and churning inside of me. It's made me withdrawn and isolated. I'm usually extremely introverted anyway, but this is a solitary and silent struggle magnified greatly. You know it's bad when you can't even open up to the internet. And internet, I know you're always there for me! I think about you all the time. What is the internet doing right now, I think, does it miss me? Does it even notice I've not been around? Here's hoping I have better thoughts to add to the ether next time.