I know I’ve mentioned this before, but dude. Dude. We are supposed to be a team. I’m supposed to come up with stuff to do and make sure that it’s reasonably safe for you, and then you’re supposed to do it.
I know we’ve had our differences (for instance, you don’t seem to think that I need to inhale, and I don’t seem to think that you need any fuel but bacon and drip coffee), but we did okay for a while there. I got you asthma meds, you got me eating quinoa and (ugh) vegetables and skating regularly, and we found our groove. That was nice.
Lately, though, our system has fallen apart. I skate, you hurt. I skate slower, you hurt. I skate at.all., you hurt. Which kinda kills my motivation to skate, which makes me feel like I am falling into a bottomless pit and dying of starvation.
Look, Body, I got you insoles. Then I got you inserts to supplement your insoles. Then I added in PT to help you, literally, find your own ass without both hands and a flashlight. (You’re not so good at gluteus medius recruitment, it turns out.) I haven’t been perfect keeping up with our exercises, but I haven’t been wretched, either. And you know what? Skating still hurts so much that I’m not doing it right now.
Which means GRIEF, which means FIVE STAGES MUTHATRUCKAH.
We’ve well tackled denial:
I think, though, Body, that I may still be harboring a teeny tiny bit of anger towards you. To wit:
I know, I know. It’s not your fault that we were born with janky hip/femur connections. Still: you bastard. You utter, utter bastard. >.<
Apparently, we can experience the stages simultaneously and/or intermittently, so we may be due for some bargaining. I don’t see what the point of bargaining would be, though, because if you can’t skate
But you can’t skate. Hence the stage with the dee-pression:
I’ve been feeling that one since June when this whole business started. Also the anger. The anger and the depression, I’ve got those down. *fistpump*
Thing is, though, writing to you about my disappointment and frustration has been therapeutic. I feel some acceptance coming on:
Which is NOT MELODRAMATIC of me. Not at ALL.
It’s okay, Body. We’re stuck together. I get that. It’s like a marriage we were contracted into before either of us were born, which, now I think about it, doesn’t sound strictly ethical. But here we are, and here we will be, and I’d really like it if we could get along on skates. Think it over, would you?
Your Derby-Dreaming Mind
PS: I’ll eat more quinoa. Promise.
PPS: I’m not giving up the bacon, though.
PPPS: Or the caffeine.
PPPPS: *sigh* Fine. I’ll give up the bacon. Just know that if it’s you or caffeine, baby, I am gonna choose caffeine every time.