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what do you do...

27/7/2017

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...when you have a seriously bad accident that ultimately changes your life, your view of the world (although mine has always been skewed...like my dominant-use arm and hand), your body's ability to ever be as flexible again as it was prior, and changes your opinion of people's relationship with you, your opinion of people ... period?

I have had to compensate, readjust,  re-evaluate, re-find, accommodate, counterbalance, reconcile, balance, accustom. Super-sensitivity ... I was going to say "doesn't help", but that is what people tell me and I refuse to say that to myself. My sensitivity has given me my gifts and talents. (But) it also makes me, my body, my skin, my senses, my ability to live this life, difficult because of my awareness of life and living, and the thin thread that holds us from dying. We die, we all die, we all die eventually whether it's 10 years away or 2 minutes. Facing actual death which I have done a few times, is life-rattling. And falling does that. Yes, "thankfully you didn't hit your head, break your hip, break a leg". People say that but it negates a further conversation about how rattled I was by the whole experience. I look for depth. Brushing off my experience with an "anyway", which crops up so many times in conversation with friends and family after I have "shared", doesn't cut it.

Anyway ... this isn't about them. This is about finding myself again, finding my music, my art, my gaming love, my use of limb and life. I am on the way there but it takes guts, courage, detachment, love and dare I say it, commitment. A word I learned to hate in my cult days. It is about acceptance, accepting the fact that my fall is another nail, not in the coffin, but in the stack of difficult, harrowing experiences I have been through, mind-boggling, nailed as an extra experience and weight on top of all that's already happened to me. I hear "drama queen", "over-the-top", "yes-but", "be grateful". Too bad, this is my life and my experiences make me compassionate. There are many many many of us on this planet just like me. Many don't speak up, don't need to, don't want to. Silent, because negativity, perceived negativity, isn't looked kindly on in this day and society.

This is my story. Will I ever be grateful for it? No, I doubt it. But it's still my life, my experience. It is me. Is that sufficient? Maybe not. I have to live with it though. No choice. And once again, in spite of depression and PTSD, I paint, I draw, I game, I play, I watch, I read. I have once again found, hauled back, my loves.

What else can you do? After all, I am still alive.
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