I usually write when I have something positive, helpful or interesting on my mind. This is as much for my sake as for anyone else’s. What good does it do to dwell on negative feelings? I often write stories that give the impression that I am having a fine time and that I have all this under control. That is a correct impression some of the time, the percentage of which seems to be diminishing lately.
I watch my family and friends going on fabulous vacations and doing what I long to do with every fiber of my being, while I sit here in a wheelchair and, as of recently, soil myself, which is surprisingly hard to clean up when you can’t stand up. You would have been hard pressed to find a more athletic outdoor wilderness person than me. That was my home and happy place, a main focus in my life. Sitting in my wheelchair and talking to people as if I am still relevant is so much better than not doing so, but is starting to get a little old and feel a little hollow. I am growing tired of living in the past, but unfulfilled living in the present and scared of living in the future. I hate being that poor handicapped person that people are supposed to feel sorry for, or respect because of the past or some sanctity thing. It’s not that I don’t appreciate my people and their caring, I’m just a doer, and doing is no longer possible.
I am somewhat sorry and apprehensive about posting such “poor me” feelings, but I feel that if I don’t, I would be perpetrating a lie, one that could be hurtful to others in tough situations. ‘Why am I struggling when this David guy has it all under control?’ they might think. Don’t worry yourself on that point.