This is just a lot of whining about death and pain

[float_on_alright]

 

I have had the last two days off and I’ve barely written anything at all. Part of what I did write was an update for my goals for last week. It’s just sad. I know I’ve been watching too many Christmas movies. That’s okay. Well, I’m not sure it is okay, but it also is what it is. 

My sister’s birthday is tomorrow which is exciting. It’s her thirtieth birthday which is wild. I’m about to turn thirty-three which is even wilder. I keep thinking about how, when I was maybe eleven or so, I didn’t think I’d ever be older than Cher in Clueless. That girl turns sixteen--SIXTEEN--in the movie which means she spends half of it as a fifteen-year-old. Here I am more than twice that. 

I don’t feel old. Most of the time I feel pretty immature. I’m not sure I feel young, but I definitely don’t feel old either. It’s weird to feel so in between everything. I joke that I’ll be old when I’m 108 or dead, whichever comes second, but it’s also not a joke. I’m not sure that I’ll ever feel like an adult. I wonder sometimes if other people do feel like adults. 

It seems like a weird thing to worry about, but sometimes I do worry--in a weird detached sort of way--about what I’ll do when I do get OLD old. Not like sixty-five old, or even seventy old, but like eighty-five old. Assuming I get there. With advancements in medicine and technology and the things we learn at an alarming pace, I suppose it’s possible that what’s eighty-five old right now will be more like one hundred and five old in a few decades. And no life is guaranteed. Accidents happen. But because I know that I don’t want kids and I’m so full of doubt that I’ll find a life partner (I would have to put in the work to meet someone, and I definitely haven’t done that and don’t have any plans to start looking any time soon), I have to wonder if I’ll have people to take care of me and help me in my dotage. I have incredible, wonderful friends, but they’re my age. Some are younger, but the vast majority are at least a couple of years older, so it’s not like they’re going to be much better off than I am. And so few of my people are in relationships, let alone have (or plan to have) children that it’s unlikely there will be an army of the next generation to take care of us future old folks. 

Most of the time I put that worry off for later. It’s not like it’s something I can do anything about right now, and there’s no way for me to really know what life is going to bring or how long I’m going to live. Shit, I hope that I continue to want to live. When you have depression, the feeling that you desire to live is not something you can take for granted. At least, I can’t take that feeling for granted. 

I think I’ve spent more of my days hoping that I just wouldn’t wake up the next day than days when I’ve wanted to live. 

Not that I’m feeling that way right now. I feel mostly pretty good right now--happy even. I’m a little nervous about starting grad school come January. And there are always things at work that leave me feeling anxious. But overall, I feel really good. 

It’s just that I don’t trust this “feeling good” feeling to last forever. Medicine is a miracle. Anti-depressants are literally God sends, but depression is a chronic, lifetime illness that cannot and should not be taken lightly. 

Still, neither of those things are problems right now so I suppose that I should just leave those things well enough alone. 

At the moment, I’m a little concerned about my foot. I’m trying to be patient while also being sure to do what I need to do to help my ankle and foot heal, but I’m worried that something may not be right. I know that the x-rays haven’t shown anything and physical examinations (pushing, moving, testing by doctors) haven’t turned up anything wrong, but it does not feel right. It’s been more than two months and it still hurts every time I step or put pressure on my foot in any kind of way. It doesn’t feel stronger, it doesn’t feel more stable, it doesn’t feel like it’s getting better anymore. And for the life of me, I just can’t understand why not. 

The specialist made me feel like by the new year, I’d be pretty much back to normal. Or at the very least, mostly out of the brace. He didn’t think I needed to come back to see him for another appointment. But it’s been three weeks since then, almost four, and I don’t feel like I’m any better today than I was when I walked out of his office that last time. It’s infuriating! And I don’t know what to do. I guess for now I have to just keep going--using the brace and the boot to help me and doing my best to take care of things in the meantime. I have a physical on January 8th, so if I still don’t feel better by that point, I guess I can ask that doctor about it too. 

I know I probably sound like a wimp or a hypochondriac and, hey, maybe I am. But I’ve always had a pretty high tolerance for (physical) pain. This is not “just me” saying that I have a high tolerance for pain. I have a foot tattoo and I didn’t cry. I had a massage therapist who said what I found to feel good pressure wise was painful for other people. I won’t go into my experiences with BDSM, but we’ll just say that there is further proof I do not have a low pain tolerance there too. 

And I really don’t think I’m a hypochondriac. I have a history of putting of checking on things because I’m convinced they’ll turn out to be nothing and it won’t have been worth the time and money to go to the doctor to check on it. I told myself I would be better about that since the incident with pancreatitis and getting hospitalized. It’s been almost three years since that happened, and I never want to be in that situation again if I can help it. I really am working to do better at that. 

All that to say, I really do think something still isn’t right with my foot, and I think it’s something more than, “needs more time to heal.” 

I guess we’ll see. 

I really need to work on my story writing. I hope I can throw something together (and edit and post it) before 11:59 on December 31st.