So, I’m feeling like me again.
I mean, I have pneumonia, I’m dead tired, blah blah, but I’m…me.
I’m not drowning anymore, right now, I’m feeling connected to life and myself and Bailey again.
Sure, I’m stressed. I’ve been waiting to start this stem cell treatment because I keep getting sick, and if it’s effective it will make a huge difference to my prognosis. The waiting is making me want to climb the walls, because its like I’m waiting for it to work (because it has to), before I start planning to, you know, have any semblance of a life ever again.
I’m sick of being on hold, but omg you guys, that is so much better than just not caring as long as I could hibernate and numb myself.
I don’t just mean I’m feeling like the me of a few months ago, I mean I feel like…I can’t quite remember when. The me who used to smile for no reason, who would never let a guy treat her like trash (especially while cooking him dinner every Sunday – seriously why didn’t anyone just slap me?!), who would sit in the park for an hour making daisy chains with the cutest child in the world. The me who will cry at a sad movie, and then get the giggles, who would actually appreciate things like fresh air, clean water, and food in the fridge every single day, who dragged her kid out of bed to watch lightning over the ocean.
I’m sure I’ll still have days where life seems hopeless and it’s hard to get out of bed, but this does -deep breath and praying I don’t jinx it- feel like a permanent shift.
And -another deep breath- I want to ride again, struggle on with my horses for as long as I can. I hadn’t really been wanting to, but I think that was more not letting myself want to, because it’s impractical and expensive and blah blah. I might not ever get back to competing now, but that’s ok. It’s never been about that. It’s about the feeling of being the first one to sit on my young horse, the first time our traumatised rescue pony walked up to me and ever so gently tickled my neck with his whiskers.
It’s early mornings, the smell of hay, mixing feeds with molasses, warming my hands under their rugs. It’s feeling that moment when half a ton of instinct and adrenaline decides to work with you.
So, for now, fuck practicality.
I’ve always been a dreamer, anyway.