I'm getting on here today, and realizing how long a hiatus I've taken from posting. There are 4 or 5 drafts I've begun, and simply not finished. I'm not writing, simply because I've lost my inspiration. It's not as though I had a fabled source, but I've been working hard relearning to deal with my feelings and emotions. I always was pretty emotional, but could never accept, and got into the habit of pre-emptily disposing of them. In high school, I kept myself occupied with academic, and every extra-curricular activity out there, from running, and horses, to drama and student council. At home, I had horses, and sunk any spare moment into them. Being active and busy, is who I am. I repeated the exact same process in college, working part-time jobs, completing a full ourselves load, ummm partying, outing club, alternative spring break, student council, cycling team. I've never learned to connect with people for the the long term, simply because I never allowed myself enough time to do so. I don't mean that I don't have friends, and people I care about, I'm just reflecting on where I've been, to figure out, where I'd like to head.
I'd like to start writing more regularly again, it's not like I've dropped all of my usual activities, I just lost my ability to positively reflect on my experiences. It's been difficult to learn to come to terms with the fact that I now need help. Independence has always been part of who I am. Growing up, I realized, the more I did, the less I'd be hanging out, at home by myself (only child syndrome). My biggest goal in the last 5 years, has been to be rid of rehab program, get through it successfully. Trouble is, I'm here, and Im completely uncertain, of where I'd like to head now. I'm lost, as I refuse to start over employment wise, though, not having held a job in 5 years, reflects poorly on my résumé. I also miss the social connections I once made through employment, and school, which may be why I pushed so hard for both, in the past few years. Last year, was a banner year for me, and my handicap. Though, towards the end of it, I felt lost, alone, and melancholy. Oddly, all of those thoughts are meddling with my mind most of the time. I'm still running, snow boarding, and planning adaptive trips, just not writing about it. So, I'll take this opportunity.
Last fall, my dad heard of a treadmill, that simulated weightless motion, by suspending the runner, with compressed air. At first I was into it, because I knew it meant I old run all winter, and not have to worry about flying off a treadmill. Although, its really enabled me to work on using my left side. Oddly, symmetry has never been a focus in my PT, over the years. Though, I couldn't be happier to say that, through my work at On Track, on the Alter G treadmill, I'm slowly learning to run faster, without using my hands like vice grips to support myself. Of course, every day is different, not everyday is a success, but it's all steps in the right direction. (Heh, literally)
I've also been snowboarding, at Smugglers Notch, was supposed to go this past weekend, but travel didn't cut it, and I found myself housebound. After much reflection, I've diced I need to change my outlook. Easier said than done. My first step was last night, when I listened to my friends suggestion, to ask for help walking to the car, because of the ice. If you know me, you more than likely are aware that I don't generally ask for help, I'm also not always the most appreciative, of it. It's poor line to walk, because I create a harsh edge for myself, that no one appreciates. Although, my blood curdled with fury, when the young man who'd agreed to help said he'd just carry me to the car. By ll men's, a grand gesture, that I appreciated, though having someone take away the opportunity or me, in one 'foul' swoop, it's humiliating. Although there always an upside, and I'm trying to learn to appreciate that, rather than fighting tooth and nail.
There will be lees sons for all of us throughout life, though most recently, I'm slowly learning o be more gracious Anne accepting help.