snails move too slowly

Last night was hard. I cried about missing so much school and being afraid of not being able to catch up. I was doing so well and everything was on track. And now the train is derailed. For the time being, anyway. Sigh. I'll have to get incompletes because the semester is almost over. That's fine. That doesn't necessarily bother me. But still. I'd rather go to class. But I can't. Even though I feel like doing a bunch of things, I can't. My job is to stay put and rest because I had major surgery not too long ago.

But I want to go to class tomorrow. And I can't. It's imperative that I don't push myself. Class is too much right now. I am on bed rest (or chair rest, couch rest, whatever). I have a stomach full of staples. I'm in a lot of pain, still. But I'm still plenty bored. Class would be less boring. It's a pull, you know. I am desirous to be normal again. But I can't speed things up by pretending I'm more healed than I actually am. It doesn't work that way, unfortunately. If it did I would be back to working and classing and playing and Emily would be dancing all night and running her 80 miles a day or whatever she used to do before her surgery. Alas. Bodies are fragile little creatures. They need coddling.

I woke up in the middle of the night in a lot of pain and cried some more and that was fun. I didn't take any pain meds right before bed. It makes me realized how not-fully-well I am and that sucks. Sometimes the Lor-Tabs make me think I'm fine and dandy because I'm foggy and can't feel the incision so much. It is a HUGE incision, too. I should measure it. It's at least six inches long. And I have two drain holes and another cut for the laproscope they tried at first before they were like "Holy shit this is one extremely inflamed, infected, angry gallbladder."

I mean, It was bad, you guys. Real bad. Like I had been living with the pain and ignoring it for a long time. Months, probably. Which is fucked. It's fucked that I do that. My pain tolerance is really high because I always have pain. So I just waited until I hurt so badly I wanted to die, and even then I didn't want to go to the doctor. Mom cajoled me for like two days before I finally agreed to go. And I had been hurting pretty badly for longer than that. I just didn't tell her.

This whole mess just makes me realize that I don't treat myself kindly. I punish myself for weird supposed sins, and while I've learned to listen to my needs emotionally and mentally, I ignore what my body tries to tell me a lot. Besides hungry, tired, thirsty. I feel like the pain is my own damn fault and I need to just suck it up. That is so fucked. I can't be healthy if I'm always punishing myself. I can't be healthy if I don't listen to my body. I can't be healthy if I'm still hating on myself all the time. That's what this surgery fiasco has taught me. Now I just have to apply that to my actual life and be better and kinder to myself. I deserve it. I owe it to myself. I am a good, nice, loving, caring, wonderful person and I wouldn't let other people treat me like this so why do I allow myself to do it?

Everything is interconnected. Mental, physical, emotional, spiritual. You can't just work on one. You have to address everything. And I'm slowly, slowly understanding that for reals. Everything takes time, though. I can't be perfect overnight (or ever, really, perfection is a myth, unless you are meaning perfect-in-your-flaws).

It will all come together. Sigh. It's hard, though. It's hard to reprogram yourself after 25 years. But if anyone can do it, I can. I've overcome so much already. I'm always growing, never static. It'll happen. I know it will. And it's not a light-switch type of thing, it's an evolution, revolution sort of movement. The unstoppable force of progress.

But for now, I am all about the resting.