Somewhere in the middle

I find myself in an odd place these days.  It's like climbing to the apex of a roller coaster, only to discover that the chains are choked and you are stuck, right there, near the top but not over it, moving neither forward nor backward.  Just - there.

I really hate roller coasters.  And I'm frickin' terrified of heights.  What the hell am I doing here?

In the beginning there is lots of work to do - appointments and tests and plans and re-plans and organization and shopping and reaching out and reaching in.  And crying - crying takes a lot of work.  And talking - lots of work there, too.  These are the things that keep one occupied, keep one busy, keep one from thinking too much or sitting motionless, unable to move.  As minutes turned into hours, turned into days, even turned into weeks, I realized I talked less and cried more.  Not outwardly because, honestly, I don't want to upset those around me.  But then I can't really talk to myself anymore, either, because I'm pretty much sick and tired of being with me.  I'm kind of a downer sometimes, and if I were me, I'd rather be anywhere but listening to me.

It's not about depression or being sad.  It's the work that comes with change.  And change is really hard work, especially when it's not your choice.  Even the Buddha tells us that "Everything changes, nothing remains without change."  Life is all about change, every moment is a choice, and every choice leads to a new path and the potential for change.

But we are hardwired to be most secure in the Familiar.  So when something comes along that creates Change, we are thrown onto that roller coaster as we hope and pray for a safe return: to ride our roller coaster, but return back to the beginning, to where we began, to walk away from the experience but to leave any Change behind.

So I feel adrift, in some ways these days.  I'll never be able to go back, and I'm comfortable with that.  But forward movement - it feels like I'm stalled.  Chemo is exhausting; the cumulative effects are becoming debilitating and I pray this next med will alleviate some of that.  I can't run; yoga is out of the question right now.  I struggle to remind myself that what I'm doing is a good thing, a positive thing, a healthy thing (that's hard to acknowledge) because it will help me in the long run.  I feel guilty about being sick; I can't get over letting down fellow students when I can't keep up my end of the bargain in a group project, or needing to ask to leave early because I simply can't sit up any longer.  Or being late for work.  Or missing a family birthday party.  Or waking to find that I'm still here, talking to myself, really wishing I'd just go away and leave me alone for a while.

Living never wore one out so much as the effort not to live. - Anais Nin