Someone asked if I was at peace with myself.
I had to answer truthfully and I think my answer shocks people.
No. I am not at peace with myself.
I fight daily it seems to find that calmness inside of myself. I am angry, all the time, some days more then others. It’s the kind of anger I struggle to put into words. It’s not the same anger I have about my childhood in Butler, MO. It’s not the anger toward people who suspected what was happening to me and did nothing, it’s not the same intense blind rage when I think of the fact they let other children go though that hell. It’s not the same hate filled anger I have toward my step father and the abuse I grew up in. It’s not even the same anger I have against Trump and social injustices.
It’s a different, deep sort of anger I never knew was even possible.
It’s anger at my body’s unwillingness to bounce back from NF and all the affects of surviving. It’s small bits of anger when I can’t bend down and tie my own shoes anymore from the lack of muscle and the pain in trying.
It’s anger of not being able to walk the 3-5 blocks to the drugstore anymore from the pain and the exhaustion of it all.
It’s the anger at those who give me pointed stares and muttered insults over my using a battery ran cart at the Walmart, the pity some friends still have as if since I now use a cane, that I no longer am of value in general.
It’s anger at how I can’t control how much energy I will have from day to day, that some days just taking a shower is all the energy and spoons I have to work with.
It’s anger at taking meds for the rest of my life to try to rebuild an entirely broken immune system, to be afraid of someone’s cough or sneeze for fear it will give me flu.. or a cold that could put me back in to the hospital.
It’s anger that my old life is gone, and that that fact becomes more and more clear that is a battle I will not be able to win and there is nothing I can do to win.
It’s anger at my own body betrayed me.. left me for dead and now both it and my spirit have to find some way of coping with everything.
It’s anger that it’s been nearly two years and I still hate to see my scars at time, and that I wonder if I am still pretty in my weak moments.
It’s anger that I have weak moments.
It’s anger that at times, I want to give up, that I still scream and cry some nights from the pain and the sense of loss of who I had worked so hard to become before everything was yanked out from under me.
It’s anger at the fact I can’t dance with my husband, have a full glass of champagne to celebrate our marriage.
Under the surface, under the bright cheerful smiles, and hope that I will conquer this and make it my bitch as I have done everything else in my life, I am angry.
Under the highlight and glitter and talk of being a bad ass unicorn, I am angry.
And under the anger… is mind numbing fear, never ending grief, of what may happen, what has happen, and the sense of lost..not of being to do things, but who I was before.
So, no I am not at peace with myself.
I do not know if I ever will be again.