I had a thought today after I had spoken with some gathered friends about how I am really doing these days - poorly -- that maybe I can't do any better than I'm doing right now. I thought that maybe I am actually operating at my full potential just getting through this much pain.
This occurred to me after I told my friends that I was eating things that make me not be able to breath, and that I had the idea to stop taking my medication (you know, the one that keeps my car on the road) because it doesn't feel like it matters. That's when I realized that I am so very sad. I'm sad and I'm tired. And I talk with other friends and they are not Margie, and no one will ever be Margie but her and she's not here.
And what I've been doing is drawing these lines in the sand with a big stick and pontificating about the merits of following the lines and I just can't. The waves come in and wash them away. And I'm left holding my stick, in the middle of a sentence, more than a little embarrassed by my lack of line.
I tried again to follow a food plan and I did perfectly well until I went out to dinner...
But here's another thing. I don't hate myself and I have not had to eat since I got home. I am not hungry. I ate like crap at the restaurant (let's just say that I'm surprised that I can still breath) but I'm full now. I'm done. And since I don't seem to have much say over this process, I think I'll stop trying to control it and try to enjoy the ride (like a nervous flyer enjoys turbulence perhaps). I wonder what's going to happen to me.