There are two sides to every story and multiple ways of interpreting things - just ask the voices in my head. For instance, the past couple of weeks for me have felt at times, devastating - but clumped together could actually feel like the plot outline of some b-grade midday movie - 'drama' or 'comedy' I have yet to decide.
Lets see... a blinding migraine that knocked me on my ass for two days, which led to a CT scan on my head, blood tests and a rather curious doctors appointment in which I encountered the worlds most annoying child, and overheard the thickest Irish accent I'll likely ever bare witness to this side of Dublin. There's the unexplainable crazy-itchy rash that made home on parts of my face last week, oh, and the dermatitis that gave rise under my nose as a result of the cream I was using to 'cure' the rash on my face. Then, while reading a story to my nephew, seated in the kind of awkward positions you can only adopt when dealing with children, I placed my 'other' shoulder out of whack. Because the 'other-other' shoulder has only been in Physiotherapy for the past six months, and maybe this one was feeling left out. But then... while adopting the kind of awkward positions you can only expect to get away with when trying to photograph small children, I also added my neck to the pile labeled: shit that's wrong with me. And that's just the crap I can put a name to.
But, put altogether like that - you could almost laugh at it. Almost.
The journey of me these past few months has been rocky. I'm trying with everything I have, to become a better person, or without embellishment - at least an adjusted person. I've cut my dosage of depression/anxiety medication down to half. I thought I was going ok. But I'm starting to have doubts. I don't seem to be able to engage in things as easily, fighting feelings I'd gotten used to being dulled. At times I've been demanding and challenging to the people around me - which just sucks for everybody. I sort of feel like I'm pushing away the real world in order to address the problems that are flying at me from this internal one; this one of seemingly, my own creation. And it sucks balls - because all I wanted to do was make things better, but I just feel like I'm making them worse. Which could just be this depressive mood talking, or it could be the truth - and I'll never know the difference.
Of late I have brought the battle here, which hasn't made for terribly uplifting, inspiring reading. So perhaps, for a time I need to turn to the paper page in the drawer and not the PC keyboard to the world. I don't know what I'll do, or how I'll do it - but I'll continue to carry myself forward - sometimes dragging and sometimes sprinting (well, in my head, because God knows this big girl does not actually sprint).
Whether I like it or not, all I have is me. And I just have to get myself through this mess.