This update is for my fellow Spoonies. If you don’t know already I have an autoimmune disease called Ankylosing Spondylitis (and Fibro Myalgia and Arthritis and IBS and…). Well, to make a long story short with the newest shift in one of my disks I have pinched a major nerve.
It’s been a really bad pain that hasn’t disappeared for two months now along my left leg. Sometimes, it even spasms by my pelvis and I go falling forward. What’s worse is that even with the nerve blockers I can’t really exercise at the moment and am limping at times.
Besides the pain, it is super embarrassing and frustrating. If you have ever had a health problem you will know that those two feelings are frequent and never ending. However, at the very least we can try to lessen how bad it is for us.
Tomorrow, I have planned to get a few shots in my back. It is supposed to be a few months of nerve numbing in that area. To be honest, the whole getting shots in places doesn’t make me flinch anymore. But the thing is that all forms of ‘relief’ seem to come with costs. I couldn’t take my normal anti-inflammatories for 5 days. That means going into this I am feeling like a crazy bitchy version of Quasimodo.
I can only hope the relief will be worth the next week of recovering from other issues.
They say it will so I am hopeful and optimistic. However, I will let y’all know if I think it is recommendable for nerve pain.
As y’all know I am a huge Star Trek fan. When it comes to the Discovery series I honestly go up and down about it. Something about the whole Burnham is the future version of Jesus just doesn’t flow as well for me as obnoxious Kirk did for a six year old. However, I love the effort they put into character development. It reminds me of what I loved about Deep Space 9. I also love some of the risks that come with the change of tone CBS has done with the series.
Discovery’s Season 3 Episode 4 [ Forget Me Not ] has stood out for me though. My favorite species (outside of my obnoxious love for the Romulans & Klingons) are the Trill. A large part of that has to do with the Symbiotes. To me, they are a wonderful concept of how different cultures see ‘the end’ and its possible ‘continuation’ differently. It 100% gives me alien circle of life confirmations.
The way the episode showed the relationship between the joined host and symbiote was a cinematic master piece for me. I loved how they revealed the process of connection to the symbiotes and then to the past hosts. I really cried when I saw Adira’s ultimate joining with Gray.
Seeing Ronnie from Schitt’s Creek as a the spiritual leader was a hysterical side bar for me.
There are a few things that bothered me. The Trill species didn’t originally have spots. They had ridges. The spots were added later for aesthetic changes and personally I love the addition. Who doesn’t secretly have a weird moment of I want to be a spotted alien in their life? However, with CBS trying to really put attention to the details it was a missed opportunity to have a Trill with ridges instead of spots. This would confirm the fact that they are still a feature of some Trill and be a pleasant note. It also isn’t that hard to have a mix when you consider their budget.
Also, when it comes to spots they have changed them over the series’. It’s not like I mind the change but I do think how it came off in this episode in the close ups was a little too close and ‘non spot shaped’. When we see them we are reminiscent of spots on animals we know. Now they are starting to seem like a pattern for the sake of a pattern.
All in all, those are probably minor complaints on the episode. It’s more important to remember the fact that the relationship between the host and the symbiote is a beautiful and inspirational thing.
I’d like to take a moment to leave the episode to move to my own Fan Fiction. For those of you who know, and those of you who don’t, Outremusings and I have a Fan Fiction that comes from our original RP. We each had to make choices on characters, relationships and details within a time period of the Star Trek Universe. The timeline we went with was around Kirk era and the beginning of the Federation. It was important to show that the Federation once created wasn’t a perfect ideal but a continuous goal. It was also more conducive to playing around with our interests.
The main character I created was Cadet Wells. One of the early planned reveals is that she is actually a Human-Trill hybrid. There haven’t been many cases of them on the series and it presented a chance to be creative. For instance, when it came to the issue of spots I was able to simply say, “in natural childbirth between Trill and another species mutations on a chance can occur.” This, to me, was a good reason for her spots to be in an unusual pattern and aid in the ‘hiding’ of her heritage.
Further, the early timeline really presented me with a lot of opportunities to play around with a human hybrid character and a Trill character. There weren’t as many hybrids in the earlier years of the Federation and there was still controversy and emotions towards alien species. What kind of man would meet a Trill woman and move to the Trill homeworld?
I wanted someone who wouldn’t be so cookie cutter and in his partnership with a Trill woman present differing views on the Trill culture. I decided on a shady Greek man, whose backstory I cannot reveal at this time, and a controversial Trill woman.
The result coming together when I remembered that my original goal was to include a symbiote. At this time, no one knew about the symbiotes and the opportunity to explore the revelation of them was really exciting. Especially, if it came from the odd case of a hybrid Trill as a host.
I can say in regards to the family that both of her parents are interesting. The father comes from a less ‘wealthy’ and opportunistic area in Greece. The mother comes from an old school ‘wealthy’ family that are known for their difficulties, annoyances and advancement of Trill technology.
I can also say that the name of the symbiote is Pax. There was no way I could have a symbiote and not reference my favorite pair: Jadzia Dax. Plus, Pax means ‘peace’ and all the ironies around that are necessary for my life.
I really recommend Discovery Season 3 Episode 4 [ Forget Me Not] as a stand out must see for any Star Trek fan. I also recommend checking out the joint Fan Fiction for Star Trek. It is currently being worked on and soon may be reformatted into ‘episode’ format. There are also commissions for some of the characters and have plans for more to come.
Last week I went to karaoke with a co-worker of mine and her friends and it reminded me of something I’ve always pondered in the back of my mind: should I ‘fix’ my voice.
What do I mean about that?
Well, I don’t know if ‘fix’ is the proper term or ‘broke’ is either but I’ve done damage to my voice three times in my life: puberty, high school and university.
I’m not 100% sure how I did and I don’t remember much. All I remember is that during puberty when my voice was changing I was playing around with my voice a lot. During it I ended up ‘cracking’ my voice at one point. The choir teacher at the time told me to rest my voice and stop talking. Which, I did. But since that point it caused my post-puberty voice to crack after awhile and sound as if I was running out of air.
The problem wasn’t that bad or noticeable so I left it alone. By the end of high school, the length of holding a note and ability to stay on one note/tone in general decreased. In fact, there would be times when I was acting or talking when my voice would crack for just a moment before returning to normal. Still, I was by no means a singer or voice actor so I didn’t feel the need to take action. Instead, I’d rather make people laugh with the new range of funny sounding sounds I could do.
Flash forward to university and where I am now and my voice is much worse. Holding tunes is a goal for me now. Most of the time I have trouble getting to or maintaining certain sounds. When I do I run out of breath often or my voice cracks.
I don’t know if it is something ‘fixable’ or just a thing that happens to some people but sometimes I wonder if I should of ever looked into what was happening.
If I did maybe I wouldn’t sound like I was screeching a lot and maybe I could hear what I thought my voice might become.
At the very least I’d like to go to karaoke and think about getting up there and singing or sing in my shower.
It’s me. I know I’ve been making a lot of statements and promises since the beginning of this year and haven’t really been following through with them. In fact, I’ve seemingly half-assed works and developing friendships. I’m going to do my best to explain and have it somewhat understandable.
Some of you have had the opportunity to be aware of some of things that are going on with me. Recently, I’ve had to make the decision to take down a lot of what I had posted and change my decisions of what I will post. A lot of this has to do with what I want for the future and how it all has been affecting those around me and changes on what effects I’m okay with. This may be one of the few posts going forward where I am so open about these things so I will try to make it worth it.
Before I went to university I was a pretty healthy person. I mean, I had my problems like everyone and knew I was someone who would have to work hard with my weight my entire life. That was why I ran, did martial arts, yoga and tried my best to remain physical.
Things started to change in my first year of university. At first, I gained the stereotypical freshman 10 pounds from change of lifestyle and being on your own. I did my best to not let that affect me and try to continue working hard.
Soon I started to feel sluggish and tired. It was harder to do things and my head would hurt more often. I attributed it to drinking way too much coffee and going out and trying to have a night life.
By the end of my freshman year I started to notice something really was happening. Everything was 10x harder to do and required more effort. It made me tired and weary. My head felt cloudy and dizzy. I often fell asleep or found my body severely hurting. The worst was my back and joints.
I tried to explain all of this to my family and doctors and at first they pretty much came up with a lot of excuses that implied it was all me. But there is something about a person just knowing that there is something wrong and it is everyone else around you that is saying utter bullshit.
It took two really bumpy years of resulting life problems and a surge of sucky progression for people to start believing me. The problem was by the time they did my entire life had changed. I was now a completely different person. I was someone sick. Leaving my bed physically was hard and painful. My head felt like it was going to split open and reading paragraphs felt like a foreign language. Forget being able to sleep or go through a day without wondering why my body was trying to kill me. Everything was pain and struggle.
A whole another year went by full of tests and random medication and speculation that just prolonged the confusion and suffering. So many people I knew that I was lying, exaggerating or causing all of it since no easy answers were given. By the end of it, the doctors just laughed and smiled happily. I was lucky and should be relieved that it wasn’t Cancer or anything exotic sounding. It was simply other ‘easier’ things.
I was 23 years old and my body was simply acting as if I was at retirement age. First, they told me I had Ankylosing Spondylitis. Something I couldn’t even spell if I didn’t have to. Apparently, back stiffness and pain wasn’t from scoliosis and bad posture. My immune system was causing issues with my back and joints. I had disks out of place, disks fading away, disks fusing and inflammation wherever my body seemed to be able to cause it. It was such an easy and simple thing to everyone. Then I had Arthritis. It was basically, in their own words similar and a common result of having the first thing. It was meant to explain why I have even more inflammation problems in my joints and when my body tries to heal from something. Lastly, they were ecstatic to tell me that everything else was the result of Fibro Myalgia so I should be relieved. My body was simply processing pain more intensely than the average person. Great, right?
Everyone expected me to bounce back immediately to the person I was and be amazing again. I spent another two years going through different treatment options, meds, physical therapies and professional opinions on how to handle it. Also, a shit ton of judgement. All that weight I gained from being stuck in bed for two years? Why couldn’t I immediately work to get rid of it? I wasn’t missing a limb or dying. And so many people who are go out there and do amazing things. Who was I to be such a failure? My pain was simple and easy. By my name I was expected to always be a fighter.
The thing is I am still working on it. I’m working on the crazy flare ups with no schedule, the ever changing symptoms, the emotional toll, the sleepless nights, the loss of self, the joints that pop out of place, the inflammation that can cause me to look like a hunchback, the use of cane some days, the weight that brings judgement, and the attention I’m expected to pay to myself. Boy, I am really really really trying to work on it.
And sometimes, I am not the best at it. It affects me and what I do. I hate that. I wish that wasn’t true. But it is true and I have to always think of ways to be content with that and try to live a happy life.
I think even before my physical health issues I’ve been open and weird about my mental health issues. I don’t keep a diary (hate it) and I go back and forth with therapists that my writing has always kept a part of myself and where I’m at at the time.
Growing up, I dealt with a lot of expectations. My grandfather ended up with all girls and all of us with our own problems. He himself had dreams he wanted to fulfill but didn’t. So all those hopes and wishes everyone had all felt to me. I was raised to think that was right and fight to make sure I fulfill them. That puts a lot of stress and pressure on a child even when they aren’t realizing that is what it is. Even worse, I never knew how to talk to them or other people about things that weren’t about the expectations. My natural introvertedness and social anxieties just got worse. I never knew who I was or what I wanted.
Then came bullying. It seperated me into two halves. The one who was always on in public and the one who waited alone in the shadows. That does work for awhile. The split functions with one stable and holding you together. The thing is that all it takes is one thing to bring it down completely.
For me, it was middle school. By the time I entered it that shadow part of me hated myself. It knew I was a failure and that I was doing only enough to get by in fulfilling my expectations. It mocked me and reminded me that there was no one I had a real connection with. I became someone who pitied themselves and that was what brought me down- that pity.
I accepted a lot for the idea of creating the image around me. What ever it took to seem like I was fulfilling some of those expectations. Whether it was complete or off or not. Some of it was being done right. The problem is when you make the chose to allow pity into your life the price for things becomes even more expensive.
I won’t go into detail about these things but I’ll say this: during puberty I dealt with massive family issues, bullying, rape, molestation and the complete denial of the idea of being my own person. I thought I was a tool for others.
That lead me into forming a lot of unhealthy relationships and making a lot of poor decisions for myself. That shadowy part of me was pushed aside even more. When any sense of a connection occurred I poured too much into it. I entered an extremely unhealthy relationship and allowed that to be the new thing that defined me. I had at this point completely accepted I was whatever those around me saw me as.
This didn’t change much in high school. The only thing I learned by the end of it was that I really never learned much about social relations and making decisions at all.
So, I thought entering University would be that fresh start with the new knowledge I had learned and the new opportunities that would present themselves. Yea, I was still pretty naieve and thought those problems I pushed down would stay down.
They didn’t. I broke. I had to face things I didn’t want to face and face even knew things. New lessons had be learned and boy oh boy did I struggle with them. There was no idea on how to balance them all with this new environment and this possible new me.
But eventually, everything around me was exploding and so I sat down to try to. It didn’t go so well at first and even now it is rocky at times. I’m Bi-Polar. It runs in the family. I have Depression and Anxiety. That also runs in my bat shit insane family. I have ADHD. Welp.
I can’t run away and live in my feelings when it comes to this. It’s always on my mind that even if I want to live in the feelings and writings that can be born from not dealing with it I can’t. Life is going on around me and I have to participate in it. So, I take my meds every day and always try to put that first on my list of responsibilities. Still, I can’t stop that there will be days that I will feel extremely down or days that I have a panic attack at the idea of something stupid.
What I can do is be responsible for knowing that I don’t have to be low enough again where I think of suicide or high enough that I am super productive for three weeks in a row at the cost of sleep.
It’s always going to be my bumpy ride
Growing up, I never had a problem in school. I was either great at something or if I spent some time on it could be better than average. It is something I began to define myself as. I was the smart one just like my grandfather. If I put my mind to it I could do anything I wanted. And yea, through high school I could certainly get by with being like that.
However, university is a whole different ball game. Especially, when you choose an elitist school in a foreign country that has a different system with different expectations. My first year, I had to realize I was not a special unicorn. I mean… I still was a unicorn just not a super special one or anything.
And that was fine… I like to be challenged and I wanted to prove myself. The problem was I wasn’t an adult ready to be independent. The school I attended expects a person to become independent.
Well, life hit me with a lot of challenges and I took them hard. School wasn’t the same for me and it fell way down on my list of things I need to handle. It came up only when feelings of failure and disappointment did. Or when I got angry and frustrated. When I wanted to lash out at the crappy things people did around me.
Now, I’ve been in University for six years and I haven’t finished my four year degree. Now, it isn’t completely me. There is medical leave and school class limit restrictions in there but still it’s on me.
All those feelings about it are really consuming. It’s not just the past me who expected to get through this successfully but the current me. I should be able to finish this at least and succeed in it in some way.
I am frustrated that there are restrictions on me causing this to be even longer and that there is a part of me that believes some of them are right.
All I know is that I have to figure out a way to finish my four years. That is a part of the old me that has remained and reminded me of what I always thought was me.
My family since I’ve been born has always been middle class or above. One side worked hard for it and the other was born into it. I was really naive and privileged with it. Private education, fancy clothes, fancy meals, and all the activities I could want were normal.
When the first depression hit from housing my side of the family took it hard and they never really fully recovered. For them it was a reminder of how they worked so hard in the first place to get there and all the feelings from losing that consumed parts of them. They acted like the things they did to get to middle class wasn’t worth the same anymore. They also realized that the spoiling they did for us may have not the been the best thing for us an individuals.
Over the years, that realization has become a crippling addition to their personalities. They have become overly difficult and hard as if to make up for everything they did in the past. The problem was they never accurately prepared their children for it.
In some sense, my age was beneficial that way. I’ve had the time and chances to start to learn as I’ve gotten older and realize the worth of money. That’s definitely a big bonus.
The problem is I don’t have the time, resources or ability to rapidly change and become independent. Let alone, help my family and their financial difficulties.
Recently, my mother’s hours have been cut to the point where staying in her house is truly a questionable choice. It could be done if my mom changed her life style but even with the changes she made she is used to a life style that can’t be afford. Much of which still requires money to be maintained whether you want to or not.
I can’t get mad at her for that because it’s always been her life, she doesn’t have the tools she should have by now and I myself fall victim to the same problem.
The issue is now I’m expected to do more than just help and I have no idea how I’m supposed to really do that. Besides, the new idea of trying to balance a full time job Monday through Friday and a part time job Saturday and Sunday. While, also trying to get online classes during this crisis and be able to do them with that work schedule.
Maybe then I can get enough money to cover my family and the mess they have dug themselves in.
Also, I need to pay for my university semester no matter what and float my credit card as a new card to use.
I’m really panicking here. It’s hard for me to do most jobs with my health issues. They are too hard on my body right now.
I’m really struggling with this emotionally and physically.
Over the years I’ve gone through a pretty big self discovery process. I’ve learned that a lot of the things I thought I wanted I didn’t really want. They were either expected of me or things I wanted because I liked the idea of them or even liked part of them.
Instead, I realized what the things I like or could want. I started to take a look at my hobbies and passions. Were there things I could make money off of? Make a life out of? Enjoying doing for a long time? There were… And all of them had different ways of going about them.
I thought here would be where I could still have that ambitious part of me fulfilled so I jumped in. I was only half prepared for it. So there’s been a few years of trial and error and mistakes and stuff. Can’t deny that.
I can say I’m trying to fix that. Do research first and set schedules I can keep. To say hey this is what I want so I will do the work for it.
With everything that has gone down in my life and whatever version of myself I have become I will always be a writer. That is a part of myself I can’t deny or not pursue. Whether I end up working somewhere else on top of it or being able to work enough to make that my life is still undecided.
I guess I just want to say that I believe that even with struggles I’ll never fully disappear or give up on this. I want to be a writer and share stories. That is my gift. Part of my purpose.
All I can do is hope that there is patience and understanding when it comes with those dealing with me.
My final subheading is about the current world crisis. It has basically blown up everything above to a level of extreme stress and wonder if I can handle it. The answer is I’m not sure. All I know is right now I am trying to survive and just keep going.
Because this pandemic has affected the system and structure of everything I deal with. From doctors and getting medication, to using online banking to pay bills, to taking classes, getting a job and to being able to leave my home at all has all exploded. Honestly, my mental health and physical health hasn’t been the only thing that has severely taken damage from all of these changes. I have in total of everything become over-worked, over-stressed, unsure, in unbearable pain, questioned myself to no end and have scrapped myself off my bed to try and just move through it all.
I couldn’t of even imagined the result of this pandemic on me and my family. On how it has changed everything. Like Taxes. Filing them was the most difficult thing ever this year. Like OMG WHY WAS FILLING MY TAXES SO DIFFICULT.
Since, this is my first writing camp I haven’t really had it planned well. BUT I AM FIXING IT NOW! Until, the end of June I will have a post a daily reminder of the monthly camp and a day challenge to keep yourself going!
Reach out to any of fellow writer’s you know and check in! Tell them about your WIP and what it inspires in you.
I know more and more I talk about chronic illness. It’s not meant to just be a purge, a kvetch or a notice for recognition. Lately, my flare up have just been getting worse and longer. All the advice doctors gave and the awkward hard to explain moments just seem worse. More then ever, I am just tired. So very tired…
A friend of mine is coming up to visit me in April and I am so excited to have someone see where I go to University and be an understanding friend. I had been debating when ( and more importantly) where to get a back tattoo I have always wanted.
When I was a kid I was obsessed with Yakuza movies, samurai movies and ronin movies. I loved the traditional colorful tattoos on them and the values that seemed to come with them. As I got older, learned more about what it meant and how it was perceived I didn’t want such a large piece anymore. For awhile, I thought about abandoning the idea completely.
Then I got my diagnosis and I started to reconsider. What eventually solidified the desire to get the tattoo was this increasing problems. My drugs are increasing and surgeries that seemed far off seem sooner and sooner. More and more I feel like I am missing out and that I’ll miss out on things even more in the future. Weighed down by everything around me and having it all be unseen is taking a bigger toll on me. I can do less then I used to at the moment and no one really sees it or understands it. More and more I have to come to terms with being seen by the average person as a ‘disappointment’.
It’s these things that make me stop caring about some of the things I used to. If I feel like life is short and changing so much for me I have to at least do the things I enjoy? A giant back tattoo or some crazy visual representation of all my problems probably won’t do much for me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t stick to aesthetic and feel as if I did something to show it.
My back has two curves and a tiny hump on my neck. At the top of my spine there are signs of bones thinning and possibly going to fade away. As you got to the bottom of my spine fusing has started, my hips are out of place and my legs are now two different lengths. None of this can be seen or understood unless I give up and say I want to walk around like Quasimodo so people notice me. That is always going to be the reality of my back. Anything from now on won’t be seen.
I like small minuscule and thin lined tattoos. Normally, I don’t want color and just want simple black. I’ve known since I was small I would want tattoos that represented ideas that meant a lot to me in life. Knowing this it isn’t hard for me to know what sort of tattoo I’d get on my back.
At the top of my neck, I would want in thin black lines Vegvisir. Vegvisir is one of the most popular Nordic charms. It wishes for the person to never lose their way in storm and bad weather even if the path is unknown. I don’t think there is anything more symbolic of everything going on then that. However, there is one more reason. My great grandma’s mother was a Swedish Orphan. She had come to the U.K. and met a Spanish Jew. They married and moved to the U.S. Apparently, unlike her husband and the efforts she put into now being Jewish and raising Jewish kids she never gave up her belief system. She was very very very Christian. I’m talking crosses and bloody Jesus pictures everywhere sort of Christian. Yet, there was one thing that my great grandma remembered seeing even when she didn’t know the name of it until I told her: Vegvisir. In a legacy where only food and some old myths managed to be passed down, my great grandma could vaguely in her dying times remember seeing Vegvisir as a child. Now how could I argue with that? Jewish or not, my great grandma read me Nordic myths as I was growing up, joked how if it was true Odin was 100% cooler than Zeus, and how we were meant to be tough because it was just in our blood. I’m traveling rough waters right now and maybe that means it isn’t just about being Jewish, but remembering all beliefs that helped create me.
Underneath Vegvisir is the real highlight though. Running in small thin lines will be the I Ching and its 64 changes. For a person of my aesthetic and weirdness (and love for Asian culture) what is better then 64 line patterns each symbolizing a different part of early understanding and divination? Nothing. Seriously, nothing at all. My life is certainly one of change and phases, of fortunes and dis-fortunes, and of joy and sadness. These line patterns will follow the crooked path my spine takes all the way to my tailbone. Maybe it will seem funny to some, but to me it’s a little part of the truth. And when these inevitable surgeries come, the scars appear on my back and the fight through new types of pain begins, I have marks of it all. Little lines that exist as part of scars and as part of the journey.
Going through all of this has taught me that living behind a mask is no longer something I’ll really be good at again. My body demands of me the truth. It demands that I grow past the angry cynical jaded girl I was when I was young and try to find the joy of life. It tells me that it will not tolerate lies and will only tolerate truth.
Don’t I have to do it then?
P.S. Odin really is way better. Norse > Greek everyday <3
I had just finished locking up the store I work out at night and I was passing the collection of fellow students in the lobby of my building. They were dressed up for no reason, laughing, chatting, and wondering what last minute plans they should make. For the first time in awhile I wondered if I was missing out.
I spend a lot of time trying to remind myself of the positives that have come with my life changing so drastically and so quickly. I have grown up, became a more understanding person, learned a new sort of strength, learned to love myself, learned to take it slow and learned to to speak out when I feel like someone should. I do all of this because it’s too easy to get pulled into the bad. No one wants to get stuck in a swamp of negativity.
However, I don’t think I am reminded of the bad. Maybe, I think I am reminded of the sad part of nostalgia. When I see them I am reminded of how I remember being. There were a lot less fears and a lot more risks for the joy of adventure. I could stay up as late and as far as I needed too to keep the thrill of it all going. Everything around me I wanted to experience. It’s so different to how I am now.
Now, I am a person who fights anxiety and fears about leaving my home to be a part of the world again. I am a person who makes lists on what I’ll need and where I can find things in case of an emergency. The odds are weighed before every move I make because it feels like that is the only way I can live. The silly little things I used to laugh about feel like scheduled in hassles.
I have gotten over not being able to remember how I used to be. It’s natural for people to change. Seeing people my age though like that reminds me of parts of myself I didn’t know I missed. I never thought I would miss being foolish, or jumping before I looked where I was going, or making mistakes because I had no idea what was going on or loving to be outdoors to feel the wind on my skin. I was someone who wanted to experience it all and dreamed of going everywhere. When did this change? When did I think that it was okay?
I know I am a different person and that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Seeing them though reminds that I have let myself miss out. I have become so wrapped up in trying to stay on task, do things well and manage the unmanageable illness that I forgot to just do the things I like about life. I’ve been forgetting to live. I was letting the pain get to me more then I realized.
I think next weekend I am going to go to archery. Maybe I’ll go to the dog park near my apartment or to a cat cafe in the city. Maybe I’ll even just go for a walk.
I think we need to enjoy life again. What’s the point of being a warrior unless you are fighting for what you enjoy?