Whatever Works

I’ve been down before. You know what got me through it? Self-reliance. An attitude that says I don't need anybody else, I have myself. I used to feel very strongly about that. It’s empowering to know that you're okay by yourself. You can take on anything that comes your way. You will beat it. You'll take care of it. You're strong and you’ll kick its ass.

I don't have that anymore.

My attitude has changed a bit. I'll try to describe it. Whatever comes up it's not the worst thing that could happen. Whatever it is, it won't kill me; life will go on. It’s more of a don't-give-a-shit attitude, a no-big-deal nonchalance, to use a positive spin. Sometimes a part of me enjoys when something goes wrong. It serves to reinforce my theory. It serves to remind me that the little things that might go wrong on a day-to-day basis don't mean shit. This attitude can work both ways, but I think it’s mostly for the best.

That was 4+ Years Ago

Every now and then I fall down and everybody freaks out. Okay, my mom freaks out. But of course I usually keep these things to myself when possible. I've told you about a few instances over the last few years. The time I tripped and fell on a sidewalk in downtown Seattle comes to mind. Or the time at work when I tripped and fell in the lobby, fortunately prior to filling my coffee mug.

Most of the time the cause is the same. Imagine you stub your toe but can't catch yourself as you're falling forward. The force of your foot hitting the floor as it comes forward is enough to knock you off your feet. Of course the other issue is that should I begin to fall forward, chances are I won't get my arms in place in time to catch myself. If I do get my arms up, I won’t get my hands open and be able to catch the ground in the manner that you might. If I am to catch the full force of the fall, I will probably hurt my fingers, hand, wrist, or something else down from the shoulder.

Let me get to the point. I've fallen a lot of times over the last several years. The first one that comes to mind was at my apartment in Waterbury. If you ever visited you know that I lived on the second floor above a garage. In November of 2011 I was still in pretty serious denial of my diagnosis, and having just arrived home from work I decided to get some exercise by trying to jog up and walk down the 15 wooden steps that led up to my apartment. At the time I was able to get up and down stairs mostly without using a hand rail, but not always with confidence.

After a few trips up and down I was descending at a relatively moderate pace, not holding the hand rail at this point. About halfway down I started losing control and falling. If you have ever fallen down stairs you probably slipped and fell on your butt and slid down a few steps. That hurts; it really does. Landing on your tailbone is not enjoyable by any stretch. That however is not what happened. As my momentum gained my ankles began to feel more like springs than the shock absorbers they should be. Out of control, I managed to hit a few steps before I launched into a somersault.

It hurt. A lot. My right hip slammed into the cement landing at the base of the stairs. I was stunned for a few seconds. I felt like I couldn't move. Maybe I could move. I'm not really sure. In the moment, the shock caused me to lie still and absorb the blow. After a moment or two I was able to get up. There was no lasting injury.

For a long time now, and probably preceding this fall, stairs have been a symbol of my disease, my condition, whatever it is that makes me different from the rest of you. Stairs are always a reminder of the truth.

Does Craigslist Have a Section for the Terminally Ill?

I've been living under the assumption that I'll always be alone. I'm not sure that this necessarily has to be the case, but I have a difficult time seeing it any other way. It seems unrealistic to expect anything else. Am I wrong?

I Have Proof

I often feel the need to carry a picture of myself.  So that when I’m introduced to someone new, I can show them.  And tell them.  I can explain that this is who I was.  I can tell them and make them believe that it wasn't always this way.  I used to look different.  I used to be different.  I have proof.